The Humility of Love
“Love vaunteth not itself.*’ — i Corinthians xiii. 4.
This is the main difference between love and duty. Duty has a sense of merit; love has none. Duty has always the feeling that it has done very well; love never admits that it has come up to the mark. Duty says, “Lord, we have prophesied in Thy name, and in Thy name done many wonderful works;” love cries, “When saw we Thee an hungered and gave Thee meat!” Whence this humility of love compared to duty! Is not love the higher of the two! Duty is mere talent; love is genius. Why should genius be more humble than talent? Because it really has less trouble. It is as natural for genius to soar as for the bird to soar. It is written, “Genius does what it must; talent does what it can.” Therefore is talent always more conceited than genius; it is more conscious ot its labour because it really has more labour. Love is the genius of the heart. It does its work because it cannot help it — not because it ought, but because it must. That is why it repudiates merit. That is why it casts its crown in the dust. That is why it declines the laurel wreath.
Lord, I should like to be amongst those who veil their faces before Thy throne; it is the humility of genius, the humility of love. I can never have the face veiled until I have stood before Thy throne; only the men of the front view are humble. When I was far back from the throne of Thy beauty I was wonderfully vain; there was no veil upon my face; I marvelled that the Cherubim were veiled. But as I draw near I begin to understand. It is their revelation that makes their veil. It is their deep sense of love that takes away their sense of merit. They do not feel the stones beneath their feet. They do not hear the waves that lash their shore. They do not see the clouds upon their sky. Therefore they say: I have no merit in serving Thee, O my
Christ. I cannot help it. It is no crown to me because it is no choice to me. If I had less love I might have more vaunting. If I served Thee from duty I might praise myself every morning. But where shall love find room for boasting! Can the mother vaunt her devotion to her child! Can the brook vaunt its reflection of the sun! Can the flower vaunt its drinking of the heavenly dew! My love to Thee must always make me feel that I am following afar off, never so far as when nearest to Thyself. My face is most deeply veiled when I stand before the throne.