Chapter II: Part 2

Recently a learned professor proclaimed from his speaker's chair that no single individual, no organization of any kind, could rid the world of the devil, but Time would--Time would most certainly get him away. And the assemblage applauded enthusiastically from out the joy of their hearts. Most likely they did not stop to think at that moment that Time would undo them long before it could ever undo the devil. That may, however, be excused, for learned people often are somewhat thoughtless--and all these were scholars.

Or was the charity of the auditors so far-seeing that it rejoiced in behalf of generations yet unborn? Well, who knows--for that kind of people also possess a heart.

Be that as it may.

But, concerning the devil--whether a devil actually exists or merely is a creature of imagination; whether he is a really dangerous foe or simply a phantom from the days of yore--I must try to make clear to myself, and you must do likewise.

It doesn't appear to be so difficult, after all, when the matter is approached without any frills and furbelows. I look at it this way: I have been baptized to renounce the devil, all his works and all his ways. That was told me at the moment of my baptism. I affirmed it in order to be incorporated into the Kingdom of God. Jesus Christ demands of me that I renounce the devil if I am to be His disciple. If, then, no devil existed, He who is Himself the Truth and the Lord of the Kingdom of Truth, at the outset must expect of me that I affirm a lie--He whose own lips never knew untruth and deceit, would ask that I in order to become a part of His Kingdom, renounce a devil who does not exist: That would not only be senseless: It is impossible! When my Lord and Saviour tells me to renounce the devil, then I do believe a devil exists, and that my own welfare now and hereafter makes it necessary that I keep away from him.

_In this matter, the word of my Lord sufficeth for me!_

It is my faith in this which relieves me of many of those speculative difficulties which entangle so many others. I must choose between the word of my Lord and the speculative mind of man. To me the choice offers no difficulties at all. I choose the word of my Lord--no matter whether or not the scornful laughter sounds derisively from the other side. And let me say it once more: The word of my Lord sufficeth.

When, then, I meet some of those people who claim there is no devil; that all talk about the devil is a relic of ancient superstition, I simply say: You must excuse me, but in this matter I abide by the word of the Lord. I cannot ignore His word and accept yours, and, furthermore, I have _no reason whatever_ for doing so; I have never yet found that I could not depend upon His word.

And if I then consider the ways of the world, as they are--then I most certainly am not tempted to abandon the covenant of my baptism. The works of the devil are apparent to all: Murder, adultery, theft, robbery, fraud, deceit, drunkenness, etc. Many may say that these are the doings of evil people, but if we look a little closer at these evil people we will find that back of it all is one whose thralls these poor creatures are.

If I try to look into the spiritual anguish of these pitiful individuals, I am not tempted to give up my belief in the devil. To be sure, I do not behold him physically, but I see his works. To me it seems to be as when I see a building is being erected. I ask: Who is building this place? I am told: It is Mr. Smith who builds this place, and we are his laborers. I do not see Mr. Smith himself, but I notice that his work goes on, and I do not doubt that he exists. I see his laborers working, some sing and joke while others are sullen and indifferent just because it happens that they have entered into an agreement which for the time being makes them realize their obligations to Mr. Smith. If the latter could only find a way to wriggle out of that relationship, they would feel unspeakably relieved to do so.

Thus I see the works of the devil in the life of man, and by seeing them I find no reason to doubt his existence. The evil people are his laborers. They work in order to complete his job--some singing and joking, others under compulsion. It is clear that especially the latter are the slaves of the devil. By looking into the spiritual life of these miserable ones I find confirmation of the word of my Lord that there is a devil that must needs be renounced if we are to live contentedly. It is from him our generation needs relief, and not from all that ancient gossip about him.

I said a little while ago that the word of the Lord sufficeth for me in this matter, and that is true. It does not correspond with the theories of the wiseacres, but with Life itself. From the learned infidels the cry is sounded: It isn't true. But from the depths of real human life we hear the sigh: _We are sorely troubled by the devil!

TWO EPISODES OF THE CIVIL WAR

1. _Looting Those Who Fell_

THE battle was over. Darkness expanded its misty veil over the battle-field. Victory had been won by neither army, but there were left a large number of dead and wounded.

The ambulances were sent out with help for those who fell in the fight. Where moans were heard, they went, raised the wounded limb a trifle, asked sympathetic questions and bandaged the wound as well as could be done in a hurry; then the wounded were taken to the field hospital.

But if one looked more carefully, other figures were discernible; half hidden by the darkness they sneaked about among the wounded and dead.

Who were they?

It didn't look as though they heeded the moans of the dying, nor did they raise them to carry them off to the field hospital. What were they doing, then?

_They were plundering those who fell_, taking from them their little articles of value: A hideous thing, truly a deed of darkness! Who would have believed that anyone could have the heart to plunder the dying.

You and I would not do such a thing. We become intensely indignant and disgusted when told of such heartlessness. "God, I thank thee, that I am not as the other men are, extortioners----"

No, on that battlefield where the wounded lie, having been hit by shells and maimed by swords, we do not go in order to plunder and loot. That is true enough.

But--alas, there is a "but" about it.

The world is a huge battlefield. Right and left we see about us the _wounded_ who are moaning and suffering from pain; they are sighing for just a little aid, a kind word, a gentle smile. They need succor--they need being taken to the hospital. They still have a remnant of the sense of honor left. There is a possibility that they may right themselves; that they may be able to qualify as good fighters in the next skirmish--perhaps to conquer where now they have suffered defeat. _But_ instead of the gentle smile, the kind word, and the little aid--we took away from them whatever was left and let them lie where they were. We deprived them of the last remnant of honor, extinguished the last faint glimmer of hope. The bruised reed was broken. The smoking flax was quenched.

On Life's vast battlefield you and I may, after all, have taken part in the plundering of the wounded; or we may have gone by just like the priest and the Levite. At least we have not always done as did the Samaritan: Bound up their wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and brought them to an inn!

Old Dr. Bengel says: "I am kept constantly busy by reading proof upon myself."

Let us do likewise. Then we will be better and better enabled to heed the moans of the wounded on the vast battlefield of Life, and to bring them to the inn, to the church of the Lord where there is healing for all wounds. This is our task toward the wounded, and it was that which was in the mind of Jesus when He said:

"Go, and do thou likewise!"

2. _Removed Because of Mischief_

During the Civil War it became necessary to remove one of the officers serving under General Sherman; "Removed because of mischief" was the way it was entered upon the record.

General O. O. Howard succeeded him in command and continued to have charge of the unit until the end of the war.

Then the army arrived at Washington, where a parade was to be held followed by disbanding.

The day before the parade General Sherman said to Howard:

"The political leaders demand of me that the officer whose place you took, resume his charge tomorrow and ride at the head of his unit in the parade, and I wish you would help me out of this predicament."

"But it is my unit now, General," Howard said, "and it is but fair that I ride at its head tomorrow."

"Yes, of course," General Sherman answered, "but--are you a Christian, Howard?"

"What do you mean by that?" Howard asked astonished.

"I mean that you can bear that disappointment and let him have the honor. You are a Christian," Sherman added; "well--what do you say?"

Like a brave officer, jealous of his honor, Howard had anticipated this day with delight, but, after hesitating a moment, he said:

"Yes, looked at from that point of view, only one answer is possible: Let him ride at the head of his old unit tomorrow!"

"All right then," said Sherman, "but you will report at headquarters tomorrow morning at 9 o'clock."

The next morning at the appointed hour Howard reported that everything was arranged. The officer who had been removed because of mischief had resumed his old post.

"Very well," Sherman answered, "then you ride by my side today."

"I have no right to do that," Howard replied.

"It is an order," Sherman answered smilingly.

Thus O. O. Howard rode beside General Sherman at the head of the entire army in the parade at Washington--he who had renounced glory and right for the benefit of one who had forfeited both, so that the latter might _be honored_.

"Removed because of mischief." That might have been written upon the brow of Adam when the portals of Paradise were closed behind him. Removed from the living God because of mischief--that _was_ the legend above the whole story of mankind until the fullness of time.

Removed because of mischief--from one another, from the respect of fellow-beings, from honor and enviable positions among men: That was the legend above the lives of so many--of him who had stolen money from his master's till; of him who had suffered a moral lapse, etc.

But into the life of him who has been removed from God because of mischief one came and said: It is my will that you resume your old place of the child in the arms of his Father. It is my will that you take part in the ride into the new Jerusalem. I will share my rights with you and give you my glory. Yes, thus speaks the Son of the King of Heaven in His church upon earth.

This I have done for thee, Jesus says. But then, when you go among those people who have been removed because of mischief from good positions or from the respect of their fellow-beings: How much of your glory and rights can you give to them?

_You are a Christian._

We ask, almost as surprised as O. O. Howard: What do you mean by that, Lord? Too often, we ourselves think too little of it. But Jesus sayeth: Remember that you are a Christian when you associate with those who have lost the respect of their fellow-beings. As a Christian you must be able to sacrifice a little of your honor and your rights for their sake.

To be a Christian is not merely to be a child and to rest upon the arm of the Father. _It is to make real the love of the Father, in the steps of Jesus Christ, among those who have fallen by the wayside._

_You are a Christian._

_Are you?_

And one thing more. Howard did not lose anything by relinquishing his glory and rights like a Christian. Far from it! He gained by it. He was placed beside the supreme commander at the head of the entire army. Thus with us.

When Jesus demands of us that we as _Christians_ shall bring sacrifices, then it is not for the purpose of causing us any _loss_, or to make us _advance_ something for which we will not be reimbursed, but simply to enable us to receive more from Him. Such advances He changes into an income for us. We will receive a hundredfold. We will be qualified to be at the front, and by His side we approach the goal.

YOUR WORDS

(MAT. 12, 37)

"FOR by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned."

Isn't this a strange way of speaking?

If Jesus had said: "By thy works thou shalt be justified, and by thy works thou shalt be condemned", then I would have immediately conceded that this was good common sense. Actions are something tangible, something you can get the actual "feel" of, but words--why, they often are nothing but hot air.

Still Jesus says: "By thy words shalt thou be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned"--so, I must accept that.

When, then, I think of the words I have spoken, at home, in the church, in the midst of the congregation, I cannot conceal _to_ myself the fact that there were many empty words among them. Not only that--there were also some mean words, and when they are to be measured by Him who never sinned, and whose lips never knew deceit, then I must tell myself: There is enough right here to condemn you! And I am possessed with _fear_ and worry because of my own words.

If I revert to the good words I may have spoken, it isn't much better. And still, I cannot say but that I doubtless have spoken some good words, and that they may have been of benefit to some. I am quite certain that I often have spoken good words at sick-beds, in the homes and in the church--words that were willingly listened to just because they were good words, that really did comfort those who were sick and had sorrowful souls--words that were something more than sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal--words that were inspired and filled with the warmth of my heart--words in which I myself rejoiced sincerely, and for which I could never sufficiently thank God that He gave me the grace to utter them.

But, yet--in spite of all this--it does seem to me that when my words are to be judged by Him who always spake the pure, the powerful, the pungent, and the perfect word--then mine will be found wanting. In other words: I _doubt_ that those words of mine were so faultless that He who is Himself faultless, would consider me justified by my words. No, to the contrary--I must tell myself: Thou art weighed in the balance and found wanting!

Thus I find myself placed between _fear_ and _doubt_--fear because of my evil words, and doubt about the faultlessness of my good words.

What shall I do, then? Shall I timidly withdraw from the words of the Lord: "By thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned"?--Shall I attempt to forget them, imagine that they were not meant for me, have no bearing upon me--or shall I try to avoid them as some fearfully avoid cemeteries at the midnight hour?

No, I cannot do that!

I must have these strange words clear in my mind. I must work them through. To stand between fear and doubt, timidly withdrawing from the words of my Lord! No, that cannot be possible. Where shall I seek refuge? Where shall I seek that explanation which reconciles me with the word of the Lord, and which brings peace into my soul?

I will seek refuge in the pledge of my baptism--as so many others have done in the hour of worry and distress. I let it pass upon my lips, and the word is: "I _renounce_ the devil and all his works and all his ways." But to renounce means that I break off from, separate myself from, and become a foe of, the evil one and all that is evil--also my own words. But can He, the fair judge, condemn me for that which I disavow and separate myself from, what I personally oppose?

No, it is impossible! That cannot be!

This gives me surcease. The fear of my evil words must vanish, and, thus unburdened, I go on.

"I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth.... I believe in Jesus Christ His only Son, our Lord; who was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary; suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, dead and buried; He descended into hell; the third day He arose again from the dead; He ascended into Heaven and sitteth on the right hand of God, the Father Almighty; from thence He shall come to judge the quick and the dead.... I believe in the Holy Ghost; the holy Christian church; the communion of saints; the forgiveness of sins; the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting."

The word of the Apostles' Creed is the word of faith. And what did I say? I _believe_! It may be feebly, alas, but nevertheless--with all its frailty the heart embraces the word of faith, and doubt vanishes before this word.

Almost astonished I ask myself: Is it possible? Is it possible that I who found myself placed between fear and doubt, conquer both by the word of faith?

That word of faith has thus passed upon my lips, not like a sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal, but as a _truth of the heart_. It was not a hollow saying, it was not a faulty word, and yet it was my own. It was given to me in the early morn of my life as a gift from God in my baptism. Now it asserts itself in spite of all the evil, empty and faulty words I have spoken--reaches to the Lord Himself as an expression of the innermost life of my heart, and the answer of the Lord to this word is: By thy words shalt thou be justified!

Thus, through the words of the Lord I gained peace in my soul, and my heart bursts out its "Praised be God!"

BEHIND THE SHIELD

(EPH. 6, 16)

PAUL is imprisoned at Rome and is writing to "the saints which are at Ephesus." He beholds Christian life as one immense struggle--not against flesh and blood, that is, against the depraved elements in the life of mankind and the evil tendencies in man; no, back of flesh and blood are principalities and powers, a host of spirits trained in the wiles and the cunning of the devil, and exercising a tremendous power in the world, through evil persons.

Against these gigantic powers we must needs fight, and we must vanquish them. But we cannot do so by our own power. We must be "girt about with truth," must be clothed in "the whole armour of God." This is not an armour that can be forged from the steel within ourselves--although we say that with all due deference to bravery, shrewdness and wisdom; but in the great struggle against the powers of darkness we must be girt with something stronger. Fortified with _our own_, we sustain wounds, but win no victory. The armour of God gives victory, but protects against wounds if we know how to use it rightly.

But when Paul describes the whole armour of God, he strongly emphasizes a particular part of it, for he says: "Above all, taking the shield[A] of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked." Thus it is a question of making proper use of the shield rather than of the sword. The church of the Lord has hitherto laid stress on the use of the sword, and therefore the result of the fight has often been a number of wounded souls, for the sword wounds, while the shield protects.

It is said of our heathen forefathers that they knew how to _fight_ as well as how to _rest_ behind the shield. They knew how to grasp all the hostile arrows in their shield while they fought; when they had fought themselves weary or spent all their arrows, while the foe still had plenty of deadly arrows to hurl against them, they knew the art of taking a rest behind their shield in the midst of the shower of arrows. Covered by the shield they gathered strength for the purpose of resuming the fight with axes and spears while the enemy uselessly wasted his supply of arrows.

I wish sincerely that we possessed somewhat more of this ability of our forefathers to use the shield, to _fight and to rest behind the shield of faith, spiritually speaking_. That would make it possible for us to give battle the thunder of which would resound in the remotest corners of the earth, as in days of yore the song and the hammer strokes of our forefathers were heard in distant countries. Then we would not use our fighting ability to plunder foreign shores, but to lead the fight against the spiritual powers of evil--to be in the front ranks during the fight that shall be fought from the sea to the ends of the earth, in which thousands must bleed because they have not learned how to use the shield of faith.

_We shall make a stand against the wiles of the devil!_

If I am not very much mistaken by the signs of the age, the attacks on the church of the Lord will during the present century become still more marked by diabolical cunning and cleverness than ever before. _The arrows_ will be sharpened with all the shrewdness of science, directed against us with cunning, glowing with a devilish hatred against everything that is of heavenly birth, and aims at heavenly goals. Indecent jokes, cutting scorn and cleverly formulated inquiries will constitute a cloud of arrows which will darken the sun to many. They will be hurled against us through the means of literature and science, with violent haughtiness, with fierce hatred. And we--we have not that unconquerable courage which enables us to say with the hero of Thermopylae: "So much the better--then we fight in the shade!"

How shall we approach the struggle of the twentieth century?

Someone may say: We shall sharpen our arrows, make them pointed, and send them forth with shrewdness and wisdom. We shall use our common sense, meet the opponents on the battlefield of thought and cleverness, show them what is unenduring in the chimera of the atheists and what is depraved in the life without God. In the church of the Lord we have men who are not inferior to our opponents in respect to cleverness and wisdom--indeed, we have, praised be God!

But it does seem to me that many a valiant fighter will succumb in this kind of a struggle, and many plain-thinking Christians may flee, as did the Philistines in ancient days when their giant had fallen. All honor to those who defend and promote the Kingdom of God by thought, by reasoning and by wisdom! But along that way we do not accomplish much more than to humbly admit that

"Stood we alone in our own might,
Our striving would be losing."

More and more the shibboleth must be: "Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked." Learn how to fight, covered by the shield! That means: All your struggle must be based upon the words of faith, all your arguments must take these as their point of departure instead of using human sagacity and the tricks of interpretation; then you will be unconquerable. And if it does happen that you become weary in the fight against the wiles of the devil, or that your arrows are all spent while the foe has plenty, then do as our fathers did: Take a rest behind the shield! Cover yourself completely with the words of faith, then no hostile dart will reach you, far less wound you. On the contrary--you rest and gather strength while the foe exhausts himself uselessly, and "all the fiery darts of the wicked are quenched."

This method of fighting is especially adapted to the people, and it is _the age of the people_, also in the church of our Lord. The future does not require a great chieftain with a host of good-for-nothings behind him, but an army whose every individual is trained in the use of the shield of faith.

When Mr. Moeller-Anderson, a Dane with a warm and faithful heart, a Dane whose quiet ways his compatriots abroad do not forget--in the summer of 1888 made regular sailing trips from Copenhagen to Sweden for the sake of his health, it happened one day aboard the vessel that some scoffers wished to have fun with him. They may have thought that it would be an easy matter to subdue him. They, therefore, started a conversation with him, but soon their speech changed to scoffing and witty questions, daring attacks upon Christianity. Then Mr. Moeller-Anderson replied: "I don't know how that all may be, and I cannot answer you, but if you wish to know what my faith is, then I will confess my faith through the Apostles' Creed before you right here!"

_The scoffers had nothing more to say!_

What had Mr. Moeller-Anderson done which made them silent? Had he told them a striking joke which could not be commented upon, or had he stated a cleverly formulated truth which they could not resist? No, he rested behind the shield and the scoffers realized that _he was protected_.

You Christian man and woman from the everyday walks of life--when you meet the scoffers, then don't try to find clever thoughts with which to defend Christianity, as though that were your way to victory. In that case it would merely become a question as to which side was supported by the greatest wisdom, the most cleverly pointed shrewdness. The great struggle of the world is the _struggle of faith_, and it must by no means be changed into a chaos of personal trickery and clever stratagems. Above all, grasp the shield of faith instead of resorting to your own wisdom and cleverness. Say your creed plainly and simply, you mother of a child, you master of the home, you young man and woman among your chums, when you meet the devil and his wiles in the form of clever questions formulated so as to entangle you in self-contradictions--catch you in the net of words as formerly the Pharisees and the Herodians tried to catch Jesus asking: Is it lawful to give tribute unto Cæsar?

You often hear it said: You claim that God loveth mankind: But why, then, does _He_ let some suffer in all eternity? Or, you claim that you have a good Father in Heaven who can do everything: How is it, then, that He lets His children suffer distress on earth? etc.--Say it plainly and simply: Well, I can't answer questions like these, for I do not see through all these things, but if you want to know what my faith is regarding salvation, then I will confess my creed right here before you! That's to rest behind the shield, and you will feel how blissful that is compared with the fight by wisdom and reasoning in which there is the fear of being wounded and vanquished, and of rendering harm unto Christianity by attempting an unsuccessful defence.

_Behind the shield of faith: there is victory both when you fight and when you rest!_

Paul was not afraid of fighting. Neither must we be. But that fight which gives victory without wounds, without one painful sensation to limit the joy of victory, must be directed from a _covered position_. And the agility necessary to enable one to seek cover behind the shield of faith is obtained only by _daily training_. Therefore, train yourself every morning to protect yourself by the words of faith before going to your work and fight your fight; and in the evening when you lie down to rest, you must train yourself so that in fight as well as during the lull, you can be covered by the shield of faith; then you will conquer the wiles of the devil, and his fiery darts will not wound you.

Thus I consider it essential for the church of the Lord in the twentieth century that it learns how to use the shield rightly whether in fight or at rest. The _struggle_ of the church will then result in a greater victory and in fewer wounds than during the last century, and its _rest_ will become increasingly beneficent and strengthening while its restlessness will become less nervous and less strength-consuming.

Wonder if the time has not come when the church, driven by inner friction and by enemies from without, will listen readily to the apostolic warning: "Above all, take the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked."

I look forward to the day when the Apostles' Creed becomes the _universal slogan_ for all Christian organizations. Then the church of the Lord will march forward to victory.

FOOTNOTE:

[A] The Apostles' Creed.

LOVE ME--AND TELL ME SO

AN English bishop was traveling in India to inspect the mission work, and when his journey was completed, a farewell gathering was held in his honor. On this occasion the bishop spoke on the words: "Love me--and tell me so!"

He had often asked himself whether his congregation at home really loved him. He thought it did; but sometimes he couldn't help wishing: If they only would say so! Now he wished to say, by way of a parting greeting, to the Christians: Love your ministers, and let them know that you do! They need your love, and they need to be told that you actually do love them.

This little speech reached England before the bishop arrived there. When, upon reaching home, his congregation received him with a banquet. On the wall of the hall, just opposite the main entrance door, was an inscription in large letters ornamented by leaves and flowers: "We love you, and we are saying so." That was the first thing the bishop saw, and he rejoiced.

Love me, and tell me so! That's the cry from thousands of souls yearning for love, and where the cry finds an answer the heart rejoices. Where no answer comes, life will be utterly miserable.

Once upon a time a wealthy woman met a poor orphan who looked imploringly at her. "What do you want me to give you?" she asked. "O, just like me a little bit!" the orphan answered.

O, just love me just a little bit!

I have seen that prayer where one should least expect it--I have read it in the eyes of a mother when they rested upon her grown-up daughter. She had indeed grown, was taller even than her mother. And then she had received an _education_--mother surely could be proud of such a big and fine girl who had learned so much! But a mother's heart finds no sustenance in mere pride. It required delight in the daughter--and there is delight only in love. But the girl went about so _fine_ and _big_ and _cold_ while the mother, even as the poor orphan, implored, O, love me just a little bit!

All you nice and big children: Remember that mother and father need your love! Love them--and tell them that you do! You can tell them in a number of ways, and it will be rewarded, for in love there is a world of joy.

Love me--and tell me so! O, love me just a little bit!

I have read that prayer in the eyes of a wife: Her husband was a man in whom she surely could take delight. He was efficient; everybody admired him, women especially, and he seemed to like everybody. Indeed, she could be proud of such a husband! There were plenty of women who envied her and wished themselves in her place. And--how beautifully he could speak of domestic love--women were deeply touched, and their eyes moistened when he did so. O, if they only had such a husband--but such a one had not fallen to their lot!

He had plenty of smiles and kind words and love for everybody else--only not for his wife who sat at home. Hard-hearted, frigid and haughty he passed her by when she sat with the baby on her knee, with despair penetrating all her features, and the one prayer was flaming in her eye: O, love me just a little bit--just a little bit, O, please do!

Love me--and tell me so! O, love me just a little bit! That has been written in the eye of ever so many poor and forlorn human beings--especially among those who seemed to have become sadly superfluous in the busy life of the world. Now and then I have heard just such people say, with a strange mingling of wistfulness and joy vibrating in their voice: To think that the minister would call upon me! Nobody else ever comes here. Nobody cares about me any more!

Thus many a man or woman has been placed in that miserable kind of solitude in the midst of throbbing life. Nobody cares about me. Love me--and tell me so! O, love me just a little bit, please! That's the cry from the depth of their hearts, but it is uttered as though in some limitless desert: No answering sound is heard--there is no sign that anyone cares for them. This is heartrending.

Yes, that is true. But if these lines of mine might reach some such poor soul, then I would say: It isn't quite as bad as this. Let your yearning for love soar upward to that God who listens to the sighs of the heart of dust, and then you will hear the response: I love you--and I tell you that I do. I have told you so through my only begotten Son: "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

_This has been said to mankind plainly enough._ And these plain words are not merely written in the leaves of the Book of Books. They are inscribed in the very life of mankind with the blood of the only begotten Son.

Such words are not merely for the happy world surrounding you. It means _you_--just exactly you who are yearning for love: For your sake these words have been spoken.

But we who are more fortunately situated--we who enjoy the love of God and of our fellow-beings, and who, in return, love those in our homes, in our circle of acquaintances and in the church--let us tell one another about it in a good and nice way. So much joy of love is lost--just because it finds no expression. For this reason so many gradually come to doubt that they really are being loved.

The congregation wrote it on the wall of the festival hall, ornamented with leaves and flowers. It went out of its way to say it in just such a way as to make its old bishop feel deeply delighted.

It pays to exert yourself in this way.

Let it be written with large letters between minister and congregation, between man and wife, between parents and children--yes, let it be written with large letters--and wind about them the leaves of the forest, the flowers of the field--everywhere: We love you, and we tell you so! Then our lives will become rich with the joy of love.

TO BEAR BURDENS

(GAL. 6, 2)

"BEAR ye one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ," Paul says.

"No, thank you!" you say, "I have quite enough in taking care of my own burdens. If I am to be troubled with those of others in addition, life will be intolerable."

Nevertheless--do you think Paul speaks aimlessly? Or isn't it rather the case that there is something of _relief_ in bearing burdens for others--something of a _gain_?

Think of a wheat field: One straw stands close beside the other. The wind-storm sweeps the field. The wheat bends down in billowy undulations under the heavy pressure of the wind, but rights itself stronger than ever before. The close-standing straws bore the pressure together. Then the wheat is harvested. A few straws are left standing. The wind again sweeps across the field, the lonely straws bend down to the soil--and lie there. They are broken. Singly, they could not resist the pressure of the storm.

Thus in the life of mankind. Great burdens can be shouldered with ease when shouldered in common while the smaller burdens may crush and destroy those who stand all alone.

There is relief in bearing burdens for others.

But you ask: Dare I, a single individual, try to shoulder the burdens in my home, in the church? Suppose that in one or more instances I were the only one to do so. The others left it all to me, although they had the same obligations that I have--what then? Will I accomplish anything but being crushed under the weight of the burdens?

How about Jesus Christ when He, _all alone_, bore the sin of mankind? He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities, as the prophet had foreseen.

But when He who was so strong, was wounded and crushed under the weight of the burdens--what will happen to me, then, when I shoulder the burdens of others? I cannot do so cheerfully and courageously and expect a satisfactory result. Rather I must flee timidly away from the burdens by recalling what happened to our Lord Jesus Christ.

Yes, if that was all that may be said about Jesus that He was "wounded and bruised" when He, out of the depths of His love, shouldered our burdens, then no doubt you are right. Then there is no prospect that you will do better.

But that isn't all.

After having been wounded and bruised under the weight of the burdens, bent to the ground, indeed, bent in death, He arose with the mark of victory upon His brow, and with _peace_ and _healing_ for us.

Yea, _peace and healing_!

That was the last, the ultimate result. And it is the law in His church that wherever we shoulder one another's burdens, we shall find peace and healing.

We may be wounded, indeed crushed, under the heavy pressure of those burdens. We may be bent down into the dust, but that is not the last, the ultimate result.

It is peace and healing.

Thus it is not only a _relief_ to bear one another's burdens; it is the highway to peace and healing. We can extract this blessed fruit from out of the burdens. How splendid to be able to bear the burdens of everyday life with and for one another and to gain peace and healing for those who are timid and bruised. _This is the last and final result of bearing one another's burden in the name of Jesus.

BE STEADFAST IN PRAYER!

1. _A Gain and a Protection_

O PRAY for me!

That is one of the cries that frequently come to us from the sick and the dying--sometimes because they have not themselves learned how to pray in the days that passed, but always with the consciousness that prayer is _needed_.

_Pray!_ sayeth our Lord Jesus Christ, for it is _helpful_ to pray. And on the background of nearly two thousand years of actual experience His church responds: Indeed, it is helpful to pray!

"Ask, and it shall be given you ... for everyone that asketh receiveth.... Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?" (Mat. 7, 7, etc.)

The prayer is a _gain_ to us since we have such a generous Father who will not refuse us anything good, and who has it in His power to give us all.

But the prayer also is a _protection_. "Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation" (Mat. 26, 41). The ability to be absorbed in prayer is a protection against temptations, and in the prayer strength and fortitude are secured with which to resist the temptations.

In complete realization of this the Apostles continuously implore us to pray.

Make the prayer a regular and constant feature of your daily life. Don't let it be a matter of chance whether you offer a prayer or not. Don't let every insignificant hindrance prevent you from saying your prayer. Many of the ancient leaders in the church of the Lord set aside several hours a day, parts of their most propitious working time, for praying--and considered that a gain. Thus Luther often devoted three or four hours a day to constant prayer. You may not accomplish anything like that, but you are able, nevertheless, to give the prayer a fixed and constant place on your schedule for every day, and then you will experience that it is a gain and a protection; for "prayer brings down from Heaven the peace of God; it brings down the strength to love and revere Him; it brings down from Above relief in the hour of distress, and it brings infinite comfort at the moment of death."

2. _What Mother Taught Me_

A chaplain at one of our insane asylums related the following:

One day when he had been preaching a sermon to these poor, insane people among whom only a few were able to make out what he said, one of them came to him and announced: "I, too, can pray!" The chaplain stopped surprised, because the man was completely an idiot. He had forgotten everything--his name, his age, his home; about these things he could give no information whatever. Somewhat doubtfully, the chaplain asked him: "What can you pray?"

The poor fellow righted himself a little and answered: "What mother taught me"; he then folded his hands and spoke the following verse with perfect ease, and without mistakes:

Lord Jesus, who dost love me,
O, spread thy wings above me,
And shield me from alarm.

Everything was forgotten. Not one event in his life was he able to recall in his memory. Everything had been left out of his soul, out of his memory--only not that one prayer his mother had taught him.

I have myself had a somewhat similar experience. It was a Dane who was not wholly demented--rather what is known in the vernacular as "crazy"--and a little more. He never did any harm, and for that reason he was sent to the poor-house instead of to an insane asylum. Whenever he found an opportunity, he made his escape, and once in a while he came to my home--once at eventide and he was then allowed to stay overnight. In the evening he sat plucking at his clothes just like a child, and he then said: "I'm clean enough, all right." A little later he said: "I ain't forgotten how to pray--want to hear me?" Then he folded his hands and spoke two little verses of the kind a mother teaches her very young child. These he could remember. It was the same thing over again: What mother taught me.

Remember this, you Christian mothers!

3. _The Evening Prayer: A Protection_

Above all, it is important to give the evening prayer a fixed and permanent place in the daily schedule of our life. When we intend to pray for something, the time at which it is done may be relatively immaterial, but if we think of the prayer as a _protection_, the evening prayer goes before anything else.

And why?

Because it requires the peaceful quiet of eventide--and the same thing is true about all kinds of silly fun and of evil. In point of time, the evening prayer meets with the tempting voices of wickedness that sound with the greatest irresistance in the darkness. A decisive battle thus takes place between the tempting voices of wickedness and the evening prayer--a battle about time; it is a Whether--Or, for to divide the time in twain in this matter is impossible. It is not possible to devote one evening hour to wickedness, and the other to prayer. Then, if the evening prayer is given a regular place in one's everyday life, it is a protection against the temptations.

Therefore the evening prayer should be a part of the child's life even 'way back in the days of the cradle. And therefore we praise the fact that the evening prayer is just that prayer which it is easiest for a mother to make a part of the everyday life of the child; this is not a mere accident, but is due to that grace of God which descends upon Christian mothers. Say the evening prayer with your child, and for your child, every evening when you tuck him or her into bed--do it even before the babbling voice of the child is able to say the words after you--and do never miss an evening!

The evening prayer which has thus been implanted in the heart of the child because of the privilege and the intense love granted to the mother-heart, and which is to be protected by that same love throughout the years to come, will prove to be a real protection to the child during its earliest youth, which is just the very time when it stands most in need of _protection_ because the tempting voices of wickedness resound with the greatest power in its own breast. For that reason the time of youth is that period of our life when we stand most in need of the evening prayer.

Loving parents often are somewhat worried when they discuss the day that the children must go _out into the world_. Now and then a tear drops from the mother's eye when she thinks that her half-grown boy or girl soon must leave home. It is not because of worry for their future, economically speaking, nor always because of the thought of separation--but it is the fear; How will they come out? Will they listen to the voices of wickedness, find evil associates, forget both God and their parents so that they rather seek the _saloon and the dance hall_ than the home of their childhood? Of course, you may say: It won't be as bad as that! And, praised be God--these things do not happen in a great many instances. But the danger is there, and the temptations are ever present--and many a young man and woman who during childhood were the very joy and pride of their parents, succumb to the temptations and suffer during their youth such defeat that recovery is possible only much later in life or--never:

You suffer for that through many years which only was
briefest delight----

But to comfort such parents let me say: Let the evening prayer find a fixed and permanent place in the life of the child from the very days of the cradle--then you have built a fortification about it which will guard and protect it at all times because it has become an essential part of itself. The evening prayer of its mother is the last thing the child ever forgets--that which it is most difficult to part with. It does not yield to a little push or two, but will powerfully assert its right to occupy the seat of honor in the heart, and it will insist that the quiet hours of eventide belong to it by right. And even though the child throw its mother's evening prayer overboard in order better to heed the tempting voices of wickedness, he or she will be conscious of restlessness and uneasiness in the depths of the heart, until that demand is met which the evening prayer makes. Yes, even though the child may time and again scoff haughtily at the evening prayer and thus apparently get far enough to push it away with all the silly "nerve" of the age of adolescence and to conquer it--that time will come, is sure to come, when the memory of it and the memory of mother awakens in the child's heart and revives in loving remembrance so that the evening prayer resumes its permanent place in the life of the child. The memory of mother will be a treasure to the child who only then realizes that the evening prayer proved a protection against the plentifulness of temptations. She will receive the gratitude shown her with child-like reverence, because she implanted the evening prayer in the heart of the child. That was one of the mother's deeds of love that became the greatest blessing throughout the storm-tossed time of youth. When everything else sinks into forgetfulness, it will still be remembered "what mother taught me"!

4. _The Morning Prayer: A Gain_

It is a little more difficult to give the morning prayer a fixed place in our life than the evening prayer, because in the morning we feel strengthened by sleep and are in a hurry to get to our work. But if we thus seem to think that we cannot find time to say a morning prayer, let us remember the old proverb: "In prayer is no delay," and if there are other reasons--petty things that have hindered us--then let us summon our will and say to ourselves: _I want to!_ The morning prayer is henceforth to have a fixed place in my everyday life and in my home, and I think everything will go well: In prayer is no delay.

Just as the evening prayer because of the significance of time is particularly adapted as a _protection_ against temptation, so the morning prayer for a corresponding reason is especially fit to prove a _gain_ to us.

When we arise in the morning, the day is facing us, and it is of importance that we approach our work with willingness and high hopes--whether the work be that of the intellectual or the manual laborer. But, how often is it not the case that we approach our work slovenly and sourly--with the consequence that we feel it a burden and a difficulty. We do not discover that rest and that joy in the work which God bestowed upon it. The work becomes nothing but unwillingly done toil, and the day seems long and weary.

By way of suggesting a preventive I know of nothing better than to start the day with a morning prayer. It stimulates the willingness to work, to begin the day by thanking God for the night that has vanished, and to pray for blessing upon the work of the coming day. It imparts joy of living. It makes it easier to discover the rest and the delight in work, no matter how exerting that may be.

How often is it not the case that the man who is ready to go to his work, gets up silently and grouchingly, washes himself and sits down at the table: Breakfast is not yet ready, and his wife gets for this reason some nagging reproaches. At last the meal is served. Silently the man partakes of his breakfast, takes his hat and his dinnerpail, remarks sulkily that now he is going--and goes. Such a start promises a cheerless day for both man and wife. He goes to his shop or field with head bent low and his mind heavy while his wife takes up her duties at home--without cheer.

How different would not the _day_ and the _work_ be for the man and wife if they could unite in a little morning prayer and part with the words of the poet upon their lips:

Then gladly we go
Each to his work
Relying upon God's grace.
Thus gaining strength
To be of use, as God wills
In the very best way we know.

And that applies to all of us.