Soul crises, our relation to the great war

Front matter

JAMES WILLIAM ROBINSON

Class

Rnnk TH S ^>

Preface

Rev. W. J. Dawson, D. D., whose inspiring books I literally swallowed as a "teen-age" boy, and to all other masters who have written upon the subjects dealt with. I feel with Mr. G. K. Chesterton that "I am the man who with the utmost daring discovered what had been discovered before." ^ With the fervent prayer that it may in some measure encourage and inspire young men in their soul crises this message is humbly sent forth.

J. W. Robinson.

Welwyn, Sask. 1918.

* Orthodoxy.

A Challenge to Civilization .

Chapter I

FACING THE CRISIS Lord, ujhai ivilt thou have me to do. — Acts IX, 6.

T^HERE is a certain study which can be made very interesting and which is very profitable. It is a study which appeals to all who wish to know the meaning and purpose of life, and to make the most of theirs. The study to which I refer is biography. We enjoy reading the lives of those who have excelled and while appreciating their respective merits we like to discover the hidden springs of their character. What was the secret of their success ? What was it that led them on to greatness? In our perusal of the biographies of eminent men we encounter certain features which seem to stand out with more or less prominence. As we ponder the life of any man who has distinguished himself, and whom we regard as a hero, whether he be a hero-soldier or a hero-saint, we almost invariably conclude that he was a man of great natural ability.

In most biographies this aspect occupies a place 13 out of all proportion to other essential, but less congenial factors. It is doubtless quite in order to magnify the genius of the man who has played a conspicuous part in the progress of the world, but with all our love for the romantic we must not forget that it is untrue to life to magnify the genius and minimize the early struggles, the strenuous efforts put forth by way of preparation for life's work. It is this customary advertising of the brilliant achievements, to the almost total exclusion of any hint of a Gethsemane's agony or a Calvary's cross which has made ordinary people conclude that all great men have been favoured with a superabundance of natural ability. There is a partial truth in this statement, but it is not the whole truth by any means. The distinguished man may exhibit his talent with such grace and ease as to lead us to infer that he is one of those geniuses who are born and not made. But apparent as it seems in nine cases out of ten, history does not confirm this conclusion.

Despite the poetic strain in us which lauds the saying that, *'Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them," the diamond must be mined, and even when discovered, it must be ground and polished, and so with every man born with what we term great natural ability. It is my growing conviction that the big majority who distinguish themselves achieve greatness. They rise from the ranks and the most casual observer may acquaint himself with the fact that a large percentage of the real heroes of the race owe nothing to the possession of the silver spoon. The secret of their success lies in something deeper and more fundamental than great natural ability. What we, in our complacent ignorance, delight to call great natural ability, these men of the order of the lion heart call by another name ; and were they so disposed, they could open chapters in their history which would inform us that they knew how to "toil terribly." As we scanned those pages we would read of many a bloody sweat, and of many a cross patiently borne ; until they emerged from the gloom in resurrection power, and the world was compelled to acknowledge their greatness.

Another feature which is easily discernible as we study the biography of the great man is, what many are pleased to term, his good fortune. The lines fell to him in pleasant places. He just happened to be there, and things invariably came his way. The whole cycle of events just seemed to wait to confer fresh honours upon him. The worldly-wise account for his fame by a study of astrology. He was born on a lucky day; he had a lucky star, and his whole story is summed up in his being more fortunate than his fellows.

It is the old story of luck, but luck is something with which he whom the world delights to honour never took time to confer. He was not hanging around with nothing to do in particular when all this good fortune arrested his attention and cari6 ried him on to glory. No ! He was a man with a mission; life had a meaning to him. He had a part to play, and whether good fortune smiled or frowned to that end he came forth ; for that he had toiled incessantly; for that he had risked the loss of all. Others were around before he came upon the scene, but were unequal to the illustrious task. When he came, it was easily recognized that he alone was master of the situation. He was not carried there by luck or good fortune ; he came to his own by the sheer logic of honest drudgery. Luck was an unknown word in his vocabulary. He tarried not for good fortune; nor feared to face bad fortune, but through good report and evil he kept on his lonely way.

There are those who seem to partition time off into lucky and unlucky days, who shun superstitious omens, and believe in lucky stars. One or two things about these people I have observed. Luck is the forlorn hope of the man who was born tired, and who has never conquered his inertia. Luck is the creed of the morally bankrupt. Luck is the god of the spiritually blind, who eventually find themselves in the ditch. Luck sounds very romantic; and is, in fact, quite as romantic in its rewards as in its promises. It promises something for nothing and eventually its votary dies. On his tombstone write, "This is a man who for forty years was always going to do something; but who was waiting for something to turn up, and lo ! here he lies in a pauper's grave."

The secret of renown lies in something more fundamental than natural ability; in something more reliable than good fortune; it lies in the birth of a single strenuous purpose in the soul. Before the advent of an all-controlling purpose, great natural ability and good fortune pale into insignificance. Such is the potency of an idea, such the power of purpose ! When a man comes to a crisis, faces the issue, and chooses to do the one thing worth while, he has clothed himself with a power before which time and death are impotent. The man without a purpose is like a ship without a rudder: he has no aim in life. He is simply drifting on the high seas, and when hailed by a passing ship, "Whither bound?" he answers with a laugh of derision, "Nowhere in particular; out for a good time." Such a life is bound for the rocks.

An imperative question for every young man standing on the threshold of life to ask is : "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" Such a question is evidence that we have awakened to the greatest issue confronting the mind of man. The words of our text ring with genuine interest for us because they mark the crisis in the history of a soul. Saul of Tarsus was certainly a young man of more than average ability; he was the very essence of devotion, and withal eager to succeed. Fortune smiled upon him, and it seemed as though nothing could hinder his ascent up the ladder of Rabbinical fame, when, lo ! a light appeared on the highway of life :

i8 he saw a face; he heard a voice, and all was changed ! Here his Pharisaical career terminated. Here he exchanged the path of persecution for the path of martyrdom, and with the cry, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" he pledged himself forever the bond-slave of Jesus Christ.

Will any of you dare to suggest that he made a mistake? No man ever makes a mistake, no matter how favourable his chances of promotion, or how certain his fame, who, with a glorious abandon, throws policy and caution to the winds and with grim determination cries, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" Sometimes we have to choose between good and evil, and sometimes we have to choose between the better and the best. There is fame, and there is immortality. Fame awaited Saul as a Rabbi, but the Rabbis, even the greatest, have passed off the stage and their greatness is a memory; while St. Paul who was entrusted with the future of Christianity grasped the situation, and proved himself its master by overthrowing paganism and conquering the world. St. Paul lives to-day, and easily takes his place at the head of that noble line of heroes and martyrs of whom the world was not worthy.

In asking you to consider a few features of his remarkable life, I beg no pardons, for I ask you to behold a man: a man who was transformed by the living Christ and transfigured by the power of purpose. I want you to come with me along the Damascus road; that road which is symboUc of repentance toward God and faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. I want you to see this prostrate man, pale and trembling, with a great fear in his heart, intensified by the conviction that he has been living at cross-purposes with God, lifting his face heavenward, and I want you to hear him in a subdued voice say, ^'Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" He is a conquered man. Hov/ truly he could enter into the experience of another who cried, "O Galilean, Thou hast conquered." He is a resolved man. He has come to an irrevocable decision. He volunteers his services. He wants to do something for the Lord. What can he do?

If you and I had looked at that prostrate form we would have asked him to stand up. We would have taken a mental survey of him and then we might have confessed, "We wanted you for an apostle, but your appearance is against you." It was quite true, at least in so far as tradition can be trusted, and St. Paul confirms this conclusion. His appearance was against him. Speaking of himself Paul says, "Who in presence am base among you." "His bodily presence is weak and his speech contemptible." St. Paul's appearance was certainly against him. He was undersized and he was weak-eyed, but he was not weakkneed. In that little frail body, often racked with infirmity, there slumbered the soul of a giant. If this young man had come up before many of our modern church courts, offering his services as a minister, I'm afraid he would have been rejected.

A few generations ago a young man presented himself as a candidate for the Christian ministry. He was rejected by one church but he tried another. He was none other than Dr. Joseph Parker who began life as an assistant to a mason. Speaking of himself he said, "I early reached the conclusion that God intended me for something higher than carrying bricks." Dr. Parker was a prophet in his day and generation, and he being dead yet speaketh. What happened to a spiritual giant like Dr. Parker has, doubtless, been experienced by many others.

In asking the most momentous question of your life, you may wonder what you can do. In appearance you may have a distinct advantage over St. Paul. Healthy in body and supple in limb; well proportioned, strong in muscle and graceful in bearing. A good appearance is not to be despised. It is a great asset. If your appearance is against you you may be conscious of a serious handicap, but do not be discouraged. Make your disadvantage a ladder.

A weak appearance may be glorified by God, and suffered by man, but not so discouragement. Discouragement is a sin which must be dealt with in its early stages or all is lost. Discouragement acts like lead around the body of a strong swimmer; it weighs him down out of sight. Appearance is a serious factor in daily affairs, but when compared with the power of purpose it is a minor detail.

As we interview Saul regarding his attainments we quickly conclude that he is a talented young man. He was born in Tarsus of Cilicia. Tarsus was a city of wealth and culture. After receiving a liberal education in his native city, Saul went up to Jerusalem to receive further instruction from the renowned GamaHel. There he distinguished himself, and prophecy was rife as to his even surpassing his brilliant master. Naturally a student and burning with a thirst for knowledge, it seemed as though nothing would prevent him becoming the greatest scholar of his time. Scholastic fame was within easy reach. But on the road to Damascus he experienced a change which led him to break forever with the past and with a vision of the true meaning and purpose of life he cried, 'Xord, what wilt thou have me to do?"

When we turn from the consideration of St. Paul's personal appearance to his personal attainments we instinctively feel that the tables have been turned. We are standing in the presence of an intellectual giant who commands our admiration. Without question we acknowledge ourselves in the presence of one who is our superior. But while we revere him, let us not get benumbed in his presence; for he too had a beginning. When he asked this question he was an untried man.

Until we set ourselves bravely and persistently, to the task we never know what we can do. Most men who have distinguished themselves in life have been almost as big a revelation to themselves as they have been to other people. Therefore while conscious of our limitations let us recognize that we belong to the same order of life as Socrates and Seneca, Handel and Shakespeare, Luther and Lincoln. Every life has a mission and "who knoweth whether thou art come to the Kingdom for such a time as this?" We all have talents for something, and I am not concerned about ascertaining the precise nature of your talents : what I am concerned about is this, Are you willing even now, to dedicate them to God?

Recollect, before you can hope to have the talent of achievement you must utilize the talent of preparation. To every aspiring young life I would say. Have you the talent of application and the talent of perseverance? If you have you are possessed of omnipotence. There are some people who have general talents for everything and particular talents for nothing. Of these people I fight shy. Application and perseverance always tell.

We have two notable illustrations of this fact in Demosthenes and Coleridge. That Coleridge was a "myriad-minded man" all literary men will agree. His genius was evident to one and all. In his early life no one met him without a sense of wonder and admiration. The apostrophe of Charles Lamb respecting him, as Dr. W. J. Dawson has so ably expressed it, is "equally famous and pathetic." "Come back into memory, like as thou wert in the dayspring of thy fancies, with hope like a fiery column before thee — the dark pillar not yet turned, Samuel Taylor Coleridge — Logician, Metaphysician, Bard!"^ What he did produce is the pure gold of literature, but he frittered away his time and did practically nothing. Compare Coleridge with Demosthenes. Demosthenes had an ambition to be an orator, but he was troubled with defective speech. Any one can appreciate how hard it must be for a stammerer or a stutterer to excel as a speaker, but Demosthenes applied himself with a will. He studied his calling and practised his art on the sea shore with pebbles in his mouth until he became one of the few experts in expressing the beautiful but intricate language of Greece.

One more glance at this young man Saul, and then we must leave him for the present. As we listen to him we become convinced that he is intensely devout. Saul was the very embodiment of sincerity. We do him serious injustice if we think otherwise. He mourns the fact of his having been a persecutor, but confesses that he did it ignorantly in unbelief. Never was a man inspired by loftier motives than Saul, when he set out to overthrow Christianity. But when the light of God flashed upon his soul, he became aware that his fife hitherto had been a huge blunder and trembling with astonishment he cried, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?"

Young people, I do not question your sincerity.

* The Making of Manhood.

It may be as transparent as the noon-day light, but sincerity is not all. May not your life with all its good intentions be wrong? Have you recognized and acknowledged the Kingship of Christ? Let your life be guided by an intelligent purpose, and henceforth and forever may it be your purpose and mine to live Christ!

Chapter II

Lest there be any fornicator, or profane person, as Esau, ivho for one morsel of meat sold his birthright. For ye knonv hovj that afterward, <when he vjould have inherited the blessing, he ivas rejected: for he found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears. — Heb. XII, 16-17.

JACOB and Esau are brought before us, by the sacred historian in a very realistic manner. Taking the two young men as they are depicted to us, they present a very profitable and interesting study. As we look at them our first impression is that they are not akin. One is red and rough and ready; the other is white and smooth and deep. When we are fully convinced that they are brothers and twins at that, we marvel at the striking contrasts to be found in the same family. Doubtless we often have remarked upon the differences in children: difference in disposition, of ambition, and of appearance, in numbers of families we have known.

These two boys have no family resemblance whatever and as they grow to manhood they exhibit different traits of character. Esau was a cunning hunter, while Jacob was a plain man dwelling in tents. Jacob was shrewd, calculating and crafty; whereas Esau was frank and goodnatured ; but withal reckless and impatient of all restraint.

These two brothers come upon the stage as actors in a scene which reveals their character, and decides their destiny. In the first act we see the sturdy but famished hunter returning from the chase, and we impulsively sympathize with him as we see him staggering along and almost falling with exhaustion. In the foreground we see his scheming brother preparing a tempting meal. He has been watching for a favorable opportunity, and now he is determined to have his price before his brother shares his meal. The mess of red lentils looked very savoury, and the smell of it simply took Esau by storm. We are told of the Arab by those who know him well, that his hunger is madness. That madness is now upon Esau. Being a hearty eater at any time and knowing the pleasure of gratifying a good appetite he exclaimed, "Feed me, I pray thee, with that red — that red!" He did not know what to call it: but it looked good to eat, and it would satisfy the cravings of hunger.

And Jacob said, "Sell me this day thy birthright." The birthright was more than a title. It was an honour which carried with it certain distinct advantages. In the Jewish economy the first-born was signally favoured, he was consecrated to God, he received a double portion of the inheritance, he became the recognised leader or chief of the tribe, and had a right to demand a particular blessing from his dying father.

By meditation, Jacob had peered into the future ; and had a fairly accurate idea of the advantages accruing from the birthright; while Esau had thought little or nothing about it. And without the slightest suspicion that he was nearing a crisis he burst out, "Behold I am at the point to die, and what profit shall my birthright do to me?" No! Esau ! thou art far from dying ! A dying man is not quite so vehement. Thy words are an outburst of passion rather than a cry of pain! Esau is suffering from a lack of patience. Other men have been as hungry, and tightened their belts. Why didn't he set to work and prepare his own meal? Surely Jacob did not have a monopoly of all the red lentils in the country. Had Esau exercised patience, and behaved like a full grown man, instead of acting the part of a giant baby, he would not have ignored his crisis.

What a tempted man needs is patience, staying power, the ability to hold out. If he can hold out long enough, the demon of darkness will release his grip, and he will emerge from the struggle victorious.

In the second act upon this stage the bargain has been accepted, the birthright has been sold, and Esau is busy satisfying the cravings of hunger. As we watch the two brothers we hardly can refrain from remarking that one lives to eat, and the other eats to live ; one has a stomach, and the other has a soul; one is a kind of digesting machine, the other thinks, and, whether commendable or not, he gets things going his way. It is hardly necessary to say, that as they stand neither of them is a saint. In fact one of them does not wish to be regarded as a saint. He had little use for prayers and pious looks. They might be all very well for his aged father; but as for his slick brother a fine kind of saint he would make.

Although Jacob was no saint he ultimately became one. To begin with he did not give much promise of sainthood; rather he was full of faults, and among others he was guilty of the detestable fault of meanness. Jacob's conduct has been a problem to a great many young men ; but whatever view you take of Jacob remember that God did not countenance his wrongdoing. "Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap," and Jacob was no exception.

On the other hand Esau was frank and free; an openhanded fellow with an honest heart. He was the kind of a young man you like to meet, but when you have been in his company for a while you have his depth. At first he can charm you with his hunting adventures, but you soon tire of hunting stories, and when you begin to talk on any other subject to Esau, he is at sea. All he can wax eloquent about is a good square meal; his last carousal, or his anticipation of the next. You have met those amiable Esaus. They are fine fellows; but if you take them away from their favourite subjects of appetite or sport, they are dumb. They can tell you nothing about the best authors; for they do not read those books which are worth while and which are the best thoughts of the noblest brains that ever throbbed. They do not care for music; for they do not sing the songs that have led battalions on to victory. They are strangers to the divine power of sacred song. As for art they may gaze upon it, but they cannot see its inner beauty. They have the eyes of a hawk but the vision of an owl. How keen-sighted they are I By a kind of instinct they can discern a beast in the forest, or a ball upon the field, but they are blind to the really beautiful in art, in nature and in history.

A would-be critic said to Turner, "I never see such sunsets as you paint."

The artist replied saying, "Don't you wish you could?"

As for the sacred name of religion, these Esaus have no use for it; they are emphatically unspiritual. They can see no need for ministers and churches and Sundays and endless expense. We have Esaus around us who glory in their physical strength, as though the body were everything, but as for their soub they never seem to give them a passing thought! They are strong and swift and clever. They win our admiration as athletes, and, indeed, they are splendid animals; but in moral calibre and spiritual force they are as children who have not yet begun to walk or talk. These Esaus with their splendid physique are full of promise, but unless the body hands the reins of moral government to the soul, they will plunge forward into madness and ruin.

Esau sells his birthright, eats his meal, and goes out as though nothing had happened, but he has not gone for good, he will return again, and when he returns he will be brought face to face with his folly.

In the third act an old man sits upon the stage. He is almost blind. Isaac imagines he is about to go the way of all flesh, and before he makes his exit from the stage he intends to bless his first-born. Esau is called and given his instructions. *'Now therefore take, I pray thee, thy weapons, thy quiver and thy bow, and go out to the field, and take me some venison ; and make me savoury meat, such as I love, and bring it to me, that I may eat; that my soul may bless thee before I die." Esau goes on his errand, and presently in comes Jacob dressed as Esau, and bringing with him savoury meat. Isaac cries, ''Who art thou my son?"

Jacob tells the first of his three lies, and steals the blessing. He retires, and has just made good his retreat, when in comes Esau saying, "Let my father arise, and eat of his son's venison, that thy soul may bless me."

Isaac trembled, and said, "Who? Where is he that hath taken venison, and brought it me, and I have eaten of all before thou camest, and have blessed him? Yea, and he shall be blessed."

"And when Esau heard the words of his father, he cried with a great and exceeding bitter cry, and said unto his father. Bless me, even me also, O my father!"

We are profoundly moved by this exceeding great and bitter cry. It is always an affecting sight to see a man in tears; but to hear a strong man crying out in an agony of anguish is simply heartrending. We feel the tragedy of his position as we take our stand by the side of poor heart-broken Esau. The tragedy is this: his tears are of no avail, the blessing has been pronounced upon the head of another, and what is done cannot be undone. Our hearts vibrate with genuine sympathy for Esau as the consequences of his folly break upon him like a bolt from the blue. We instinctively take sides with him as he vows vengeance on his brother, and as for the part played by his mother we regard such treachery as beneath contempt. But we must exercise a care.

There is a law in the moral realm which we break at our peril; and we are all too eager to look for sympathy and excuse ourselves when the consequences of our wilfulness are brought home to us.

As for Jacob, he also sinned and that most grievously. He played the detestable part of a sneak and a coward. The blessing went with the birthright and had Jacob been a truer man he would have chosen a more honourable means of obtaining it.

The present seems an opportune time for venting our wrath upon all the crafty and cowardly conspirators that ever have lived; upon all the scheming, self-seeking Jacobs at work in modern times, but we must refrain.

Jacob's meanness is no excuse for Esau's folly. Esau is a type of that vaunting individual who gaily intimates that he is going to sow his wild oats. The would-be Esau had better reflect upon his course. There is seed-time and harvest in the moral world, and harvest time comes with unerring certainty. Esau's behaviour over a mess of pottage was anything but commendable. His impatient utterance then was a seed sown which grew into an exceeding great and bitter cry. "Behold, I am at the point to die: and what profit shall the birthright do to me?" His words reveal a lack of reverence. If he had thought seriously what the birthright meant to him he would have been more reluctant in parting with it. His demeanour suggests that he had thought little or nothing about it. He did not appreciate the fact that his father was a patriarch and that, in the natural order of things he would succeed his father, and have the unspeakable privilege of walking and talking with God.

A lack of reverence is a serious defect in a young man's character. But you ask, "What did Esau know about reverence?" He was not a heathen or we might excuse him. It is to be feared that many poor heathen groping in pagan darkness have reflected more upon the majesty and mystery of human life than many of our young people living in Christian homes. They fail to see any advantage in having a godly father and a praying mother. Esau-like they are despising their birthright. Esau had opportunities for healthy reflection. Though modest, his father was a distinguished man, a man honoured of God and esteemed by his fellows, but Esau cared for none of these things. Life to him was a hunting ground, and as far as we can gather from the sacred records, he had no more reverence for God and the world than had the animals he stalked in the chase. Besides, even though he was not a god-fearing youth he might have exhibited a degree of self-reverence which makes a man feel the dignity of human life, and to, at least, ask himself the questions, "Whence?" and "Whither?"