The Message of Victory, July-Sept. 1975 / Why Some Seek and Never Find

Christ has set reproach and persecution as two cherubim at the gate of the Eden of perfect love, to test the consecration, courage, and confidence of all who seek to enter. They who lack any one of these qualities must be excluded from this paradise. Dear seeker of soul-rest, are you willing to have your name cast out as evil, meekly to wear approbrious names, to be accounted as the filth and off-scouring of all things for your testimony to Christ as a perfect Savior, able to save unto the uttermost?
But you say, is this the indispensable condition? In this age of enlightenment and religious liberty has not the offense of the cross ceased? Nay, verily, except to a world-conforming sort of Christian, who keep up a state of peace with the world and a truce with the devil by declaring that they consciously sin every day, and that there is no efficacy in the blood of Christ to cleanse the heart of its depravity, and no power in the Holy Spirit to keep the trusting soul from sinning.
Jesus wishes that all who propose to follow Him fully should count the cost, and not shrink back in disappointment when they find that He had not where, in worldly honors, to lay His head. Hence total and irreversible self-abandonment is the indispensable condition of that oneness with Christ, that harmony with God, which, in scriptural phrase, is called perfect love.
When the will gladly makes this unconditional consecration, it is easy to trust unwaveringly in Christ as the uttermost Savior. In fact, when the self-life expires, the fulness of the Spirit comes in as naturally as the air rushes into a vacuum. Faith then becomes as natural as breathing. We create vacuum by dethroning our idols.
The whole question relating to the faith that leads the believer into full salvation is simply whether he will sell all to buy this pearl of great price. Nearly all the delay, difficulty and danger lies at this point, a reluctance to part with all things. Self can assert itself just as effectually in a little as in a great thing. If self has life and strength enough to cling to a straw, it has power to bar the gate to perfect soul-rest.
It is said that a traveler by night fell into a dry well. His cry for help attracted a neighbor, who let down a rope and attempted to draw him up, but did not succeed, because the rope kept slipping through his hands. At length the rescuer, suspecting that the man’s grip was feeble because of his having something in his hands besides the rope, called out to him, “Have you not something in your hands?” “Yes,” replied the man at the bottom, “I have a few precious parcels which I should like to save as well as myself.” When at last he became willing to drop his parcels, there was muscular power enough in his hands to hold fast the rope till he was drawn up.
My dear friend, seeking purity of heart, and still finding yourself, day after day, in the horrible pit of impurity, though the golden chain of complete salvation is lowered to you from above, have you not something in your hands? How about those precious parcels? Have you dropped them all? Then lay hold on the hope that is set before thee, and keep hold till thy feet are on the rock, and songs of deliverance burst forth from thy lips, and thy goings are henceforth established in the highway of holiness. Is that last parcel too precious to be dropped? Well, say then, “I will not give up my idol,” and no longer dishonor God by saying, “I cannot believe.”

Bend with Thy fires our stubborn will,
And quicken what the world would chill,
And homeward call the feet that stray;
Virtue’s reward and final grace,
The eternal Vision face to face,
Spirit of Love! for these we pray.

EDITORIAL
HUNGER FOR HOLINESS

“Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled,” is the promise that applies to the search for God and His character at all levels. The regenerated soul, being now alive unto God, has a God-given appetite for more of God. This is a natural accompaniment for all time. The new-born Christian experiences a longing for God and His righteousness which is holiness. Most frequently the new convert feels at first on the top of the mountain but as the weeks lengthen, he invariably discovers that there are certain inner desires and tendencies that are not entirely pure. A real conflict may ensue.
If rightly encouraged and taught, this hunger for more of God will lead him to discover “the fountain opened for sin and uncleanness.” Alas, he often is isolated and doesn’t know what is going on within, after the wonderful “honeymoon” period of his first love. Or worse still, wrong advice can do a pernicious work of either making him feel that this hunger can never be satisfied in this life, or pointing him in the wrong direction.
Loss of Appetite. We become alarmed when one dear to us loses his physical appetite. If such a state continues, a medical examination is in order which is bound to reveal a definite cause. Unfortunately when religion is at a low ebb, loss of spiritual appetite is so common a complaint that we accept it as normal. Actually it ought to alarm us to search whether disobedience and actually giving way to sin is at the root of the trouble. Little desire for the Word of God, absence from the prayer meeting, neglect of the prayer closet should give mature Christians grave concern.
Perverted Appetite. The early Methodists used to tempt the new convert’s appetite by the Class Meeting, the Holiness Meeting, Conventions, camp Meetings, etc. But today, the new-born Christian is often encouraged into excessive activity. He becomes so filled with the company of people and the thrill of doing and rushing that the innate hunger fades.
Substitutes for righteousness such as “gifts” that feed pride and are often mixed with catering to the baser, physical nature, are far too frequently encouraged. The life becomes man-centered and the hunger for God and His righteousness fades.
Fact or Formula. A great incentive to hunger for God’s holiness is to behold another’s life, where God reigns supremely. A witness to soul-satisfying reality is the most effective of appetizers. A struggling seeker’s glimpse of a person who has been over the road and has himself met God in reality, is tremendous in its effects.
On the contrary, there is nothing that so causes desire to abate than to be fed on mere formula. One minister, relating his experience at the Training College, told us, “We went out expecting, but being told merely to believe, and attempting to do so humanly, we discovered that our outstretched hands were empty.”
This is very sad, but it is repeated over and over again at rallies and conventions for the deepening of the Christian life. The great truth of Full Salvation by faith becomes humanized. One can never tell another how to believe, and the desire for statistics often prompts evangelists to encourage this head-belief on a mass scale.
Nothing is more demoralizing and leads to greater disillusionment. “I have tried and came away empty,” can quench the spiritual appetite most effectively. God-given hunger can only be satisfied by divinely-inspired faith. If we would leave these seekers to the operation of the Holy Ghost, and contribute less advice and much more prevailing prayer, the hunger of many more would lead to true soul satisfaction.
Hunger satisfied. How precious is the sight of the young Christian, who, by simple obedience and trust in God’s Word, seeks and claims a cleansing and refilling that is real, satisfying, powerful in its effects and God-glorifying. We have experienced it! We have seen it in others. We may have approached the goal through varying schools of theology, but the quest is real and the finding is a blessed fact!
The Preciousness of Hunger. The Bible gives much evidence that a hunger for God and righteousness is very pleasing to Him. Abraham, Moses, David, Saul of Tarsus and very many others attracted the attention of the God of the universe by a heart throb that reached out toward divinity.
This desire is also of greatest value to the individual himself. There is much he can do to see it increased. He can follow the God-given urge in longing prayer, in eager Bible study and in instant obedience. Negatively, he can discipline himself by separating from things and people unto God. That trickle of hunger can become a flood-tide of passionate longing. The result? “They shall be filled.”

FROM LIFELESS CEREMONIAL TO EXPERIMENTAL REALITY

The personal Testimony of a Baptist Minister

My parents, who were intelligent, cheerful, and exemplary Christians, were connected with the Chambers Presbyterian Church, and resided, at this time, remote from the sanctuary of their choice and opposite a Methodist Church. Here I would occasionally attend, and listen to the sainted Pitman and other faithful men of God.
It was at this time, when only thirteen years of age, that the burden of sin was removed, and I had peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. I can remember the very place, time, and circumstances in which this wondrous change occurred. For many days I had gone sorrowing. I cried unto God for the pardon promised to the penitent; but He seemed deaf to my entreaties. One night in the great congregation I presented myself for prayer; but no peace came. I returned home and retired at once to my chamber. I knelt near the window and heard, or seemed to hear, the voice of One saying unto me, “I love them that love me; and they that seek me early shall find me.” That promise was mine. It was my Father’s assurance of a loving welcome. It was but a moment, and I was in His arms. It was a rapturous hour. All things were changed. Sorrowing and sighing fled from my bosom. The Spirit of God witnessed with my spirit that I was born again. “Being justified by faith, I had peace with God.” I never afterward had a doubt of my conversion. Even in the most unsatisfactory days of my Christian life I could not question the reality of the work of grace in my youthful heart.
In my twenty-first year I was ordained pastor of the First Baptist Church, West Philadelphia, then just organized. Here God greatly blessed my labors in the salvation of sinners. I often marveled how one so partially consecrated could be so successful. I am conscious now that I was proud of my success, and that it was needful for God to humble and afflict me.
After a pastorate of fourteen years I accepted a call to Newark, N. J. Here, also, God wonderfully blessed my labors, and hundreds were added to the Church. But O, how were all my services, even the best, mixed with selfishness, ambition, and pride! A consciousness of this often filled me with shame and sorrow. Then I would make a new effort to improve my life by more watchfulness, zeal, and prayer; and although failure was sure to follow, yet, not knowing of any better method, I would tread the same weary road over and over again.
Severe afflictions visited me. The sweetest voice of the household group was hushed; the brightest eyes were darkened in death; health failed; many friends proved unreliable; hopes withered, and the way grew rough and thorny. My unsanctified soul, instead of learning submission, became impatient of restraint, would sometimes murmur against the dealings of God with me, question His wisdom, and doubt His love.
These feelings would not always prevail. There would be periods of relenting. Mortified at the indulgence of unchristian passions, I could not refrain from weeping before God with true contrition of heart; but it was only to return to the same bitter experience. That marvelous portrait which is hung up in the seventh chapter of Romans, and which portrays the fearful struggle between will and power—between the evil that is hated and yet committed, and the good that is approved and yet not performed—is a faithful picture of my condition at this time.
After a residence of ten years in Newark I returned, in the autumn of 1868, to the scene of my early labors, and became pastor of the Berean Baptist Church, Philadelphia. Here I found the religious condition of the members of my new charge as unsatisfactory as my own. They were in a cold, barren, worldly state. I have seldom seen a church more broken and paralyzed. I grieved for them with tender compassion. This solicitude in their behalf produced a fresh consciousness of my own imperfections. I hated sin. I felt that it weakened my moral powers, grieved the Holy Spirit, interrupted my communion with God and impaired my usefulness.
In February, Mr. Purdy, an evangelist, was holding meetings in the Methodist Church adjacent to mine. I was invited by the pastor to attend these efforts to promote Christian holiness. I went timidly at first, and yet I continued to go every afternoon for several days. There were divine influences drawing me there. Many Christians from different churches were also in attendance. Day after day, with meekness and gentleness, and yet with unwavering confidence, they told the story of long years of conflict, and of ultimate and complete triumph through simple faith in the blood that cleanses from all sin, of their soul-rest and abiding peace, of their power with God and man, and the fulness of their joy.
At first I became deeply interested, and then my heart began to melt. I said: These Christians are certainly in possession of a secret of wonderful power and sweetness. What can it be? Is it justification? No; it cannot be that. I have experienced the blessing of justification; by it I have been absolved from all my past sins; by it I stand in the righteousness of Christ, and every privilege of a child of God, and every grace of the blessed Holy Spirit, has been secured to me; but I do not realize that it has ended “the war in my members,” or brought to me complete rest of soul. I have peace; but it is often broken by “fear which has torment.” I have joy but, like a shallow brook, the drought exhausts it. I have faith, but it is such a poor, weak thing, that I am in doubt, sometimes, whether it is faith at all. “I hate vain thoughts”; and yet they continue to come, and seem at home in my mind.
I believe that Jesus saves from sin; and yet I sin from day to day, and the dark stains are everywhere visible. Prayer is inestimably sweet; but alas! it often becomes an effort. To work for Christ is a great privilege; but it often wearies me or degenerates into mere routine.
Now, these believers have an experience altogether different from mine. Once, it is true, they felt as I feel, and mourned as I mourn, over broken vows, sinful tempers, intermittent devotions, and repeated failures. But a wonderful change is now manifest. “They are rooted and grounded in love.” “Being made free from sin,” they now bring forth fruit unto holiness. Having purged themselves from all filthiness of the flesh and spirit they have become “vessels unto honor, sanctified and meet for the Master’s use, and prepared unto every good work.” My desires were kindled. An insatiable hunger seized my soul.
Just at this stage of my experience the meetings ended, and Mr. Purdy was compelled to leave for another appointment. Before leaving, however, a suggestion was made, that he might be induced to return and hold meetings in my own church. It was a surprise to me. I was not sure that my people would consent. I could do nothing, therefore, but leave it for the decision of the church on the coming Sabbath. I did so, and, greatly to my surprise, there was not the slightest objection raised. It was of the Lord.
During the ten days that preceded the meetings I was more than usually prayerful. I commenced a careful examination of the doctrine of sanctification. I reviewed my theological studies. I could scarcely think, or read, or pray on any other subject. I conversed with intimate friends of my own and other denominations. Nearly all of them pronounced the views advanced as nothing else than unscriptural and pernicious errors. They admitted the existence and universality of the disease, but could tell of no adequate remedy this side of the grave. They allowed that the malady might be mollified; but in this life, they affirmed, it could never be perfectly healed.
I searched the Scriptures, but, alas! “my eyes were holden,” so that I could not see that perfect deliverance from sin which God has provided, through the redemption of Christ, for His believing people. Those passages in the Word of God which require all of His children holiness of character, purity of heart, the entire sanctification of the soul, body and spirit, I was led to regard, from educational training, as marks—very high indeed—after which every Christian should aspire, but to which no one could ever attain; or else as figurative expressions, indicating that at conversion we were made, in some judicial sense, holy before God.
These views, however, could no longer satisfy me. I had an intense longing for something better. With the poet, my poor heart cried out:

“I’m weary of the strife within,
O let me turn from self and sin!”

The first day of our meeting had come. The church was well filled. I introduced Mr. Purdy. But I had many misgivings, and a secret desire in my heart that he would say nothing about sanctification, but bend all his efforts to the conversion of sinners. This, however, was not his way. Like a wise master-builder, he commenced to lay the foundation broad and deep.
He took our Confession of Faith, and urged, from the teaching contained therein, that we should accept the doctrine of sanctification by faith. Our Covenant was next produced; and here he reminded us that in this we solemnly promised that we would so regulate our lives as to enable us to “stand perfect and complete in all the will of God.” Last of all, he spoke of our baptism as a beautiful symbol of our death unto sin, our burial with Christ, and our resurrection to a new and holy life.
“According to your form of baptism,” he said, “the body is buried in water as the corpse is buried in the grave. In all your teachings on this subject you insist that it is a figure of the believer’s death and burial unto sin. But that is not all. You not only claim, in this act, that you die to sin, but that you also rise to a life of holiness. ‘Now, if we be dead with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him: Knowing that Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over him. For in that he died, he died unto sin once; but in that he liveth, he liveth unto God. Likewise reckon ye also yourselves to be dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord’” (Rom. 6:6). With great emotion and emphasis he said, “You have the type, the figure, the symbol: will you deny the doctrine, and make what distinguishes you as a denomination a mere empty, lifeless ceremonial?”
After the sermon a number of persons bore testimony to the fulness and completeness of their present salvation. They represented several evangelical denominations—the Methodist, the Episcopalian, the Presbyterian, the Friend, the Baptist; and there was a beautiful harmony in all that they said. I had no reason to doubt the truthfulness of their statements. “I might question,” I thought, “their logic, find fault with their theories, and reject their phraseology; but how could I dispose of their experience?”
My judgment was assailed as it had never been before. After the meeting I returned to my study, fell upon the floor, and poured out my soul before God. I did not pray for pardon, but for purity. I did not seek clearer evidences of acceptance, but to be “made free from sin,” not in a judicial or theological sense, but by a real, conscious, inwrought holiness.
That night I was unable to sleep. I was completely broken down in heart before God. The vision of Isaiah seemed reproduced. “I saw also the Lord sitting upon a Throne, high and lifted up . . . Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone: because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts.”
The morning at length dawned, and on every ray I could read, “Walk in the light as he is in the light.” “Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of hosts,” as chanted by the seraphim, seemed floated through the air. As I thought of God, it was not so much His power or wisdom or justice or love that attracted my attention, as His infinite, spotless holiness.
That day, Friday, March 9,1871, was observed by the church as a special season of fasting, humiliation, and prayer. My soul was in great agony. I can compare my experience on this memorable day to nothing else than crucifixion. It seemed to me that I had gone up with Christ to Calvary and was transfixed to the cruel and shameful cross. A sense of loneliness and abandonment stole over my mind. All the powers of hell assaulted my soul.
The enemy brought before me, with tremendous force, my life-long prejudices, my theological training, my professional standing, my denominational pride. It was suggested that I must leave everything behind me should I go a step farther in this direction. The dread of being misunderstood, of having my motives questioned, of being called “unsound in doctrine,” of being slighted by my ministerial brethren, and treated with suspicion and coldness, filled my heart with unspeakable anguish. Everything appeared to be sliding from under my feet. My sight grew dim, my strength departed, and faintness, like unto death, came upon me.
This mental conflict, however, soon subsided. The storm-clouds passed away, and light began to stream in. I was now done with theorizing, with philosophical doubts and vain speculations. The struggle was over. I cared no longer for the opinions of men. I was willing to be a fool for Christ and to suffer the loss of all things. I was like a little child. I cried out, “Teach me thy way, O Lord! and lead me in a plain path.” Just then the fountain of cleansing was revealed. Jesus stood before me, with His bleeding wounds, saying, “Come in! Come in!”
I turned to my congregation and said, “I stand before you today a poor, weak, and helpless sinner. I have tried to find the way of holiness by every possible means. All my efforts, my struggles, my prayers, my fasting and my round of duties have proved miserable failures. God is making a wonderful revelation to my long-darkened understanding. I am confident now that it is not by growth, or by effort, or by works of any kind; ‘for then should our salvation be of works, and not of grace.’ ‘In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house of David and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for uncleanness.’ That day has come. Here lies the fountain of my Savior’s blood. ‘It was opened for me, even me.’
I fell upon my knees and bowed my face to the floor. For a moment I felt that I was sinking in a great sea, and that all its waves were going over me. But they did not seem to be the waters of death.
The Spirit of God whispered those precious words: “But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin.” My faith laid hold of this wonderful truth; a strange peace entered into my soul. I exclaimed within myself, “I am free! My heart, my soul, my mind, my body, are washed in the blood of the Lamb!” It was all so strange, so new, so unlike anything I had ever experienced before, that I could not utter a word, and then the only sentiment of my heart was, “Lord, it is done! I am saved!”
When the meeting ended I repaired immediately to the parsonage. I experienced great physical exhaustion, like Jacob, who was never so weak as when he had just prevailed with the angel.
I threw myself into a chair, and at once the blessed baptism came. I seemed filled with all the fulness of God. I wept for joy. All night long I wept. All the next day, at the family altar, in the street, and in the sanctuary, tears continued to flow. The fountains of my being seemed broken up, and my heart was dissolved in gratitude and praise. My soul seemed filled with pulses, everyone thrilling and throbbing with such waves of love and rapture that I though I must die from excess of life.
At once I had a new and wonderful sense of the presence of Christ. Those words of Jesus were made real to me: “Abide in me, and I in you.” I had now an abiding Christ.
The sovereign will of God seemed at once so sweet and blessed that I felt lost in the thought that God ruled over and in me. I found myself praising Him for every trial, sorrow, disappointment, and loss.
My sense of unworthiness was greatly quickened. I felt so mall, so weak, so utterly nothing, I could no longer pray in the sanctuary, as had been my custom, in a standing position. I wanted to keep sinking lower and lower. And this desire brought a strange pleasure.
I felt a sweet spirit of forgiveness in my heart. It was easy for me to pray for those who had injured me; persons who had become repulsive to me appeared, all at once, as possessing many excellences. I saw so much more to admire, and so much less to condemn, in the people of God, that it seemed God had “made all things new.”
My love for the brethren was much enlarged. Denominational distinction disappeared, and my heart flowed out in tender affection for “all those that love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity.”
Answers to prayer were continually occurring. The promise was made good, “Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, he will give it you.” One out of many instances of this nature I wish to relate. During two or three weeks I had scarcely slept at all, first from excess of sorrow and then from excess of joy. Night after night witnessed my utter inability to sleep. Mind and body began to show great nervous exhaustion, which only increased the tendency to wakefulness. One night after retiring, and suffering as before, it occurred to me, “Now ask Jesus.” At once I raised my heart in prayer, saying, “Blessed Jesus! I need sleep. Effort will not bring it. I now seek it from Thee; let me go to sleep. Immediately I fell asleep, and continued to sleep soundly all that night and every night since.
My mind became solemnly impressed with the personality of the devil. For several days, it is true, he was not permitted to attack my soul in the slightest manner. But it was only for a time. One afternoon, just as I took my seat in the pulpit, Satan stood at my side in dread personality. He suggested such thoughts as these: “Your present experience is, I admit, very satisfactory. But will it continue? What will you do when these meetings shall end, and all these Christians are gone to their several churches and you shall be alone?” Words utterly fail to convey to another the malignant force of these satanic utterances. But with humble boldness I answered, “I can do without the creature, but not without the Creator. Human sympathy and Christian fellowship are inexpressibly sweet; but they are not indispensable to my happiness or safety. Possessing Christ I have all.” “And he shewed me Joshua the high priest standing before the angel of the Lord, and Satan standing at his right hand to resist him. And the Lord said unto Satan, The Lord rebuke thee, O Satan; even the Lord that hath chosen Jerusalem rebuke thee: is not this a brand plucked out of the fire? Now Joshua was clothed with filthy garments, and stood before the angel. And he answered and spake unto those that stood before him, saying, Take away the filthy garments from him. And unto him he said, Behold, I have caused thine iniquity to pass from thee, and I will clothe thee with a change of raiment” (Zech. 3:1-4). At once I had such a ravishing view of the infinite loveliness and all-sufficiency of Jesus that my heart glowed with new rapture, as the words of the poet came flashing upon my mind:

“O Lord! I would delight in Thee,
And on Thy care depend;
To Thee in every trouble flee,
My best, my only friend.

“When all created streams are dried
Thy fulness is the same;
May I with this be satisfied,
And glory in Thy Name!”

Instantly the devil fled, and I was dissolved in tears of gratitude.
The personality and office-work of the blessed Holy Spirit were revealed to my spiritual perceptions as they had never been before. He taught me more of His own adorable Being in one moment than I had learned from theological treatises during all my life. Indeed, all the doctrines of the Gospel at once became luminous in the presence of the Sanctifier. What was formerly a speculative conviction became now a wondrous reality. What once appeared in dim outline, like some beautiful landscape partly revealed by moonlight, now glowed with distinct and golden splendor.
Life has become marvelously simplified and natural. I no longer work for liberty, but as having liberty; not for, but from life. That which before was either impossible, or at least difficult, is now natural and easy.
I do not find this life—what in my ignorance I once regarded it—one of mysticism, indolence, and self-gratulation, but a life of ceaseless activity amid undisturbed repose; of perpetual absence of all weariness amid perpetual employment. Neither do I find it a condition of stagnation. All life involves growth, and there are no limits to the possibilities of growth in the life of faith. The more the soul receives the more it is capable of receiving, and the more it yearns to receive.
I have not realized that this experience exempts us from trial, persecution and disappointment. For me the way has frequently been strewn with thorns rather than roses. Unkindness has often wounded my heart. Friends have turned away, sometimes with pity and sometimes with blame. At times I have been in heaviness through manifold temptation, and faith has almost yielded to the outward pressure; but, blessed be God, for sixteen years I have been preserved from all murmuring, disquietude, or fear. The trials have not been too many or too severe. Every arrow has been feathered with love, and every furnace blast has but consumed the dross. I am saved! Saved to the uttermost! Glory to the Lamb!—Edgar M. Levy, D.D.
—From Forty Witnesses by Rev. S. Olin Garrison.

God has one destined end for mankind, viz., holiness. His one aim is the production of saints. God is not an eternal blessing-machine for me; He did not come to save men out of pity; He came to save men because He had created them to be holy. The Atonement means that God can put me back into perfect union with Himself, without a shadow between, through the Death of Jesus Christ.
—Oswald Chambers.

The Vision
The world, I thought, belonged to me—
Goods, gold and people, land and sea—
Where’er I walked beneath God’s sky
In those old days my word was “I”.

Years passed; there flashed, my pathway near,
The fragment of a vision dear;
My former word no more sufficed.
And what I said was—“I and Christ.”

And then the more I looked on Him,
His glory grew, while mine grew dim.
I shrank so small. He towered so high.
All I dared say was—“Christ and I.”

Years more the vision held its place
And looked me steadily in the face;
I speak now in a humbler tone.
And what I say is—“Christ alone.”
—Unknown.

Out of the keenness that notes others’ failure,
Blind to the pain of the path they have trod;
Out of ourselves and our own fancied goodness
Into the life that is hidden with God.

Out of the fear of what others will think of us,
Out of the longing that others should praise,
Out of all questioning why He thus deals with us,
Into the life of content with His ways.

Out of the life that is always expecting,
Sympathy, love, all that friendship can give,
Into the life where the joy is in sharing,
Poured out in service that others may live.
—M. Hardwick.

If you want the glory and the life of God to come upon you, it is in the grave of utter helplessness that that life of glory will be born.—Andrew Murray.

PARTING CHARGE TO THE PILGRIM FATHERS
Prior to their setting sail from Holland for New England, the Pilgrim Fathers were given this parting charge by their pastor, John Robinson:
If God reveals anything to you by another instrument, be as ready to receive it as ever you were to receive any truth by my ministry; for I am persuaded the Lord has more truth yet to break forth out of His Holy Word. For my part I cannot sufficiently bewail the condition of the reformed churches, who are come to a stand-still in religion, and will go at present no further than the instrument of their reformation. The Lutherans cannot be drawn to go beyond what Luther saw; whatever part of His will God has revealed to Calvin, they will rather die than embrace it; and the Calvinists, you see, stick fast, where they were left by that great man of God, who yet saw not all things. This is a misery much to be lamented; for, though these were burning and shining lights in their times, yet they penetrated not into the whole counsel of God. Were they now living, they would be as willing to embrace further light as that which they first received.
I beseech you to remember it as an article of your church covenant, that you be ready to receive whatever truth shall be made known to you from the written Word of God. But I must here, withal, exhort you to take heed what you receive as truth—examine it, consider it, and compare it with other Scriptures of truth before you receive it, for it is not possible that the Christian world should come so lately out of such thick anti-Christian darkness, and that perfection of knowledge should break forth at once.

CAN WE BE HOLY?

By Mrs. E. F. Harvey

Is it possible to be holy in this life? Has this question ever disturbed you as you read Christ’s command, “Be ye holy, for I am holy?” Is it not significant that a righteous, holy and just God could not command anything that He would not enable helpless man to fulfill.
Have you, however, tried ever so hard, and then been utterly disappointed with your best endeavors to attain to this holiness? Are we convinced that there is no good thing in us? Have we the sentence of death in ourselves that we should not trust in ourselves? Many of God’s choicest saints have revealed in their journals or letters how poignant grief succeeded grief as resolution after resolution to be good, only failed. Even great efforts at prayer, good works, and reading of Scripture but seemed to enlarge their impurity. But many of these saints learned the secret of finding their holiness in God.
Could we just briefly remind ourselves of how this depraved state became universal in man? We will need to go back to our first parents in the Garden of Eden. Among the many varieties of trees in the garden, there were two to which God drew Adam’s attention—the tree of life in the midst of the garden and the tree of knowledge of good and evil. Man’s whole inner nature was to be invaded by that of which he partook. When, therefore, Adam and Eve fatefully ate of the forbidden tree of the knowledge of good and evil, they brought in a flood of every ill with which our society is cursed. The mixture corrupted everything, for now man was evil within, but having the knowledge of good as well as of evil, he would be very adept at cover-up.
The proud would know how to act humble; the selfish would cleverly conceal greed by benevolent acts of charity; the jealous would study how to compliment the very person for whom they felt inward spite; the angry person would appease by some expensive gift; the deceitful person would instinctively camouflage his deception by an appearance of truth or partial truth; the adulterous partner would make amends by an insincere show of affection, and so on.
Jeremiah speaking of man’s corruption says: “I had planted thee a noble vine, wholly a right seed; how then art thou turned into the degenerate plant of a strange vine unto me?” (Jer. 2:21). Isaiah speaking to the chosen people of God in his day expressed their condition tragically: “From the sole of the foot even unto the head there is no soundness in it” (Isa. 1:6).
When John the Baptist came he startled his hearers by saying: “And now also the axe is laid unto the root of the trees; therefore every tree which bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.” The Cross was that axe which could now justly be laid at the root, for the amazing plan of man’s full salvation was soon to be consummated on the Cross. Could such a holy God have made such an amazing provision in His Son’s sacrifice for sin, and have left the citadel of man’s heart still under the serpent’s control? Surely it was at the root of man’s trouble that the axe of God’s judgment for sin was laid.
When Jesus came He denounced the whole system of good and evil so intermixed in man’s worship and conduct. Since the fall of man, there had been no absolute truth, but He came saying, “I am the truth.” “Either make the tree good, and his fruit good; or else make the tree corrupt, and his fruit corrupt: for the tree is known by his fruit” (Matt. 12:33). “Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire.” He, too, laid the axe at the root of Adam’s corrupt tree.
But Christ provided another root. “I am the true vine,” Jesus stated more emphatically in one of the most beautiful chapters of the entire Bible. “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me. I am the vine, ye are the branches” (John 15: 4-5). In other words, man was to find a new rootage of righteousness alone in Christ. Man could not be truly righteous in any other way. Therefore Christ could command, “Be ye holy, for I am holy.”
St. Paul taking up the picture says: “If the root be holy, so are the branches” (Rom. 11:16). Then he spoke of the process of grafting. Now there are three steps in becoming a part of the Vine-root—Christ.

1. We must be severed from the old root—Adam—by a spiritual process called death.This severance from all dependence upon our own native goodness is absolutely vital to any hope of our becoming holy. The old tree, into which we were born, must have the axe of God laid to its very root.
2. The wounded end of the branch thus severed, must be inserted into the wound of the Vine and bound together until healing takes place, supplying a new source of sap rising into the branch.Our Lord Jesus Christ was wounded and pierced in His side at Calvary in order to make a way for the human race to become completely identified with Him and so engrafted to the new rootage. One translation for the word planted reads, “If we have been grafted into the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection” (Rom. 6:5, Conybeare). Paul knew that experience when he said: “I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (Gal. 2:20).
3. The branch must henceforth draw completely and always only from the life of the Vine-root.The fruit will only then be the fruit of the Spirit or of the Vine. The place where this analogy breaks down is that man is endowed with a free will. The branch in nature is the servant of the vinedresser, but God does not violate man’s free choice. Therefore He commands, “Abide in me.” The “ifs” of the 15^th chapter are there because man can choose, and so there is always the alternative of fruitlessness and being cast forth as a branch and withered.

John Wesley, an exponent of this wondrous truth, says, “that the moment I cease to look to Jesus, I am all unholiness.” We cannot build up a stock of holiness or righteousness, but are made completely dependent moment by moment upon the life of Another—even Christ.
We can be holy because He is holy, and His holiness is freely made available to us by simple faith.

A life on fire! A life ablaze with God,
Alight by means of Pentecostal love.
A life on fire! On fire with love for souls,
Divine compassion nurtured from above.

A burning coal which God can take and drop
In house or street or whereso’er He will,
To set some other life alight for Him,
And thus to spread the fire further still.
—Selected.

THIRST AND SATISFACTION

By Alexander MacLaren, D. D.

God’s love is an infinite desire to give Himself. If only we open our hearts—and nothing opens them so wide as longing—He will pour in, as surely as the atmosphere streams in through every chink and cranny, as surely as if some great black rock that stands on the margin of the sea is blasted away, the waters will flood over the sands behind it. So unless we keep God out, by not wishing Him in, in He will come.
As swift as Marconi’s wireless message across the Atlantic and its answer; so immediate is the response from Heaven to the desire from earth. What a contrast that is to all our experiences! Is there anything else about which we can say, “I am quite sure that if I want it, I shall have it. I am quite sure that when I want it, I shall have it”? Nothing. Earthly goods are like the wells in the desert to which the Bedouins have to go, with empty water-skins, many a day’s journey, and it comes to be a fight between the physical endurance of the traveler and the weary distance between him and the spring. Many a man’s bones, and many a camel’s, lie on the track to the wells, who lay down gasping and black-lipped, and died before they reached them. We all know what it is to have longing desires which have cost us many efforts, and efforts and desires have both been in vain. Is it not blessed to be sure that there is One Whom to long for is immediately to possess?
Then there is the other thought here, too, that when we have God, we have enough. That is not true about anything else. God forbid that one should depreciate the wise adaptation of the earthly goods to human needs which runs all through every life; but all that recognized, still we come back to this, that there is nothing here, nothing except God Himself, that will fill all the corners of a human heart. There is always something lacking in all other satisfactions. They address themselves to sides, and angles, and faces of our complex nature; they leave all the others unsatisfied. The table that is spread in the world at which, if I might use so violent a figure, our various longings and capacities seat themselves as guests, always fails to provide for some of them, and whilst some, and those especially of the lower type, are feasting full, there sits by their side another guest, who finds nothing on the table to satisfy his hunger. But if my soul thirsts for God, “my soul shall be satisfied” when I get Him.
The prophet Isaiah modifies this figure in the great word of invitation which pealed out from him, where he cries: “Ho! every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters.” But that figure is not enough for him. That metaphor, blessed as it is, does not exhaust the facts; and so he goes on, “Yea, come, buy wine”—and that is not enough for him; that does not exhaust the facts. Therefore he adds, “and milk.” Water, wine, and milk; all forms of the draughts that slake the thirsts of humanity, are found in God Himself, and he who has Him needs seek nothing besides.