Chapter 2 continued:
To return to St. Paul
Is there no such thing as “evil speaking” in the form of religious gossip; the willing, easy, worse than useless, talking over of the characters and the work of others? Is there no such thing as “bitterness” in the disguise of that evil sweetness with which a good man can sometimes rejoice in iniquity; hearing, perhaps, with positive satisfaction of inconsistencies of life in one from whom he has differed on questions of doctrinal truth? Be not deceived. It is one thing to be thankful that a pure jealousy for the Gospel is illustrated and vindicated, and to think prayerfully and gravely over the failure of brethren in Christ; it is another thing, and a very much easier and commoner one, to be glad because our own opinion is vindicated as such.
Is there no such thing as the very opposite of “meekness,” in the form of a jealousy for our own work and reputation, which make it disagreeable to hear of distinct blessing from God granted to work carried on in other lines than ours, or divided from ours, perhaps, by merely the demarcation that it is – not our own?
Is there no such thing as trifling, minute perhaps and subtle, but most real, with entire straightforwardness and truth; a willingness to forget that nothing can possibly be holy that is not quite truthful and quite just; that the least shadow of a “pious fraud” is great iniquity before God; that exaggerations of fact are sin, grievous sin – exaggerations, for instance, of the facts of our spiritual prosperity, or of our success in work?
And close akin to this is the sin, the contradiction to holy meekness, which lies in the least reluctance to be “brought to book” about our failures. Few things, surely, can more truly grieve the Spirit of Truth and Holiness than to see a man whom He has regenerated entrenching himself behind some personal excuse, or some theory of sanctification, against the plain duty of confessing, “I have sinned.” Oh, may He never find us, in such a position again; unwilling, in face perhaps of some failure of loving kindness, of charity in tone and temper, to say, “I see it; I am ashamed of myself. It need not have been, but it has been. And now, I will confess my iniquity unto the Lord, laying it on His sacred Head for pardon, and beneath His feet for victory.”
Is there no such thing as “evil speaking” in the form of religious gossip; the willing, easy, worse than useless, talking over of the characters and the work of others? Is there no such thing as “bitterness” in the disguise of that evil sweetness with which a good man can sometimes rejoice in iniquity; hearing, perhaps, with positive satisfaction of inconsistencies of life in one from whom he has differed on questions of doctrinal truth? Be not deceived. It is one thing to be thankful that a pure jealousy for the Gospel is illustrated and vindicated, and to think prayerfully and gravely over the failure of brethren in Christ; it is another thing, and a very much easier and commoner one, to be glad because our own opinion is vindicated as such.
Is there no such thing as the very opposite of “meekness,” in the form of a jealousy for our own work and reputation, which make it disagreeable to hear of distinct blessing from God granted to work carried on in other lines than ours, or divided from ours, perhaps, by merely the demarcation that it is – not our own?
Is there no such thing as trifling, minute perhaps and subtle, but most real, with entire straightforwardness and truth; a willingness to forget that nothing can possibly be holy that is not quite truthful and quite just; that the least shadow of a “pious fraud” is great iniquity before God; that exaggerations of fact are sin, grievous sin – exaggerations, for instance, of the facts of our spiritual prosperity, or of our success in work?
And close akin to this is the sin, the contradiction to holy meekness, which lies in the least reluctance to be “brought to book” about our failures. Few things, surely, can more truly grieve the Spirit of Truth and Holiness than to see a man whom He has regenerated entrenching himself behind some personal excuse, or some theory of sanctification, against the plain duty of confessing, “I have sinned.” Oh, may He never find us, in such a position again; unwilling, in face perhaps of some failure of loving kindness, of charity in tone and temper, to say, “I see it; I am ashamed of myself. It need not have been, but it has been. And now, I will confess my iniquity unto the Lord, laying it on His sacred Head for pardon, and beneath His feet for victory.”
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