The Problem of Questioned Things

A friend took me to luncheon one day. He is a leading member of his church, and prominent in various forms of Christian activity. We ate at a very finely appointed club house. As we were looking over the menu card and deciding upon the items of luncheon, my friend said, in the same tone as when asking about meats, “Will you have some beer?” I said quietly, ‘’No, I believe not,” not supposing that he was speaking seriously. But as I glanced over at him he seemed as though he actually supposed I might drink that beverage. For a long time I was in doubt as to whether my friend was serious in his question, but, chancing to meet him in a hotel, in another city, dining alone, I knew through my eyes that he had not been indulging in humor in his question.

At another time a young man who was a leader in an organization for aggressive Christian work offered me tickets to a certain performance at the popular theatre of the city, commenting favorably on the merits of the performance. In response to a question, he said he had found it enjoyable to go sometimes.

I remember vividly the scene one Sabbath night in a large hall in a city in Germany. A very large audience was assembled, including several clergymen sitting upon the platform. It was a union meeting of the churches of the city. Beer was being served throughout the service. And I noted the dexterity with which the waiters could handle a half-dozen large full mugs, make change, and glide quietly about, without disturbing the service by noise. I remember, too, that when one of the speakers gave expression to a pleasing sentiment the young element present began to applaud by hand -clapping, but were instantly checked by a storm of hisses, that ran like a sharp breeze over the hall. Such desecration of the Sabbath day clearly was not permissible.

One Sabbath morning I was startled, on entering the church where I was to speak, to notice in the corner of each pew a spittoon, and then one in the pulpit. These articles were of white china, and so in sharp contrast with the surroundings of walnut and brown furnishings. The color of that which had evidently gone into the spittoon was in such keeping with the general color-scheme of the church as to make quite clear the usage that required them.

One of the leading speakers at a Christian workers’ convention was inquiring about what train he could get after the service Sabbath night. He was a very busy man, lived a full night’s ride away, and was eager to be at his desk Monday morning. Another leader present in the group remarked to me afterwards that he would not think of doing such a thing as taking a train on Sabbath night. Yet I knew that he was in the habit of using bottled beer on the score of his health.

A large party of church people were on a trip to a religious gathering. It was a long trip, involving a Sabbath day on the way. The specialtrain schedule was arranged so as to stop over for that day, and then leave at a few minutes past midnight of the Sabbath day. In a chance exchange of remarks with an engineer who did not know me, he said, with a leering wink of the eye: “These church folks don’t travel on Sunday, you know.” His tone and manner suggested that he did not think much of the sort of technical Sabbath observance that required him and his crew to use part of their Sabbath day in working.

A Southern clergyman visiting his brother in the North was to attend a certain church service on the Sabbath day. It was some distance away, too far for him to walk; but he did not think it right to use the street cars on that day, and so requested his brother to engage a carriage for his use. The brother did so. Later the brother remarked to me that if he were seen on the street cars on the Sabbath, his friends would know that he was going to the mission he attended every Sabbath; if they saw him in a carriage driving they would likely suppose, he said, that he was out for a pleasure jaunt.

A young woman, member of a leading church in her home city, teacher in the Sabbath School, and faithful in attendance at the Young People’s Meetings, was talking with a friend of mine about card-playing and dancing. She said she thought it was not right for a true Christian to engage in these things, but when she was out in social gatherings, where they were indulged, she would join through dislike of being thought peculiar.

Questions that are Not Questions,

These incidents suggest at once the principal things that are being regarded to-day as questionable things. They suggest, too, the differences of opinion held regarding them by Christian people. Wherever Christian circles and worldly circles touch and overlap and interlace these things are being discussed. It is very striking that everywhere they* are called questionable. Though if a thing of this sort be questionable, surely it is not questionable. If some one seriously raises a question about some such matter of conduct, there is surely no question about that item for the man who would touch the highest levels, and always ring true.

Just such questions of propriety and of conscience have always been up for discussion. Ever since Jesus was on earth men have divided themselves into two great groups around Him. For those who have stayed close to Him that line of division is usually clear, and sharp, and easily seen. For those who travel closer to the line itself, and the people on the other side, it has seemed to be a vague, indistinct line, not easily seen. The folks on the other side of it seem to be raising a good bit of dust and those near by are bothered in their seeing.

Yet, too, let it be said that for many an earnest Christian who would live very close to the Master there arise just such questions of conduct and of conscience that seem very difficult to decide.

The settlement of them is a matter of standpoint. A simple statement of the Christian standpoint helps much to clear away the haze and fog. It has been said in a former talk that the Church is Jesus Christ’s preacher to the world. What is true of the Church is true of its members. Each one by his life is Jesus Christ’s preacher to his world. Jesus is counting on us. We are the ones upon whom His plan for the world depends, and the only ones. The world knows Jesus through His followers. It knows Him only as it knows His followers.

It is to be feared that some of us are preaching a rather scrappy Gospel, or a very much hidden Gospel. But whatever each follower of His is in his life, that is the impression of Jesus Christ which his circle gets so far as he is concerned. Whatever gives a wrong or weak or obscure impression of Jesus, and of the life He ‘calls us to, clearly belongs outside the Chrisian man’s life. Whatever hides Him away should be put out.

We are judged by our attitude towards these questioned things. That outside congregation does not know much about creeds. It doesn’t know much about Jesus Christ. It does lay great stress upon conduct, upon what a man does. It judges his belief by what he does, the way he lives. Could there be a keener way? or one more philosophical? For a man hterally believes only so much as he actually makes over into life. These questioned things are familiar to these folks. They are not questioned out in their world, but freely indulged. They seem to think a Jesus-man should be different from themselves, in the sense of being better, being guided and held under the strong thumb of a better and higher motive. So that our Christian profession is largely judged by our attitude towards such matters.

Years ago, before the time of railroad consolidation had set in, a certain bit of railroad whose main line was about two hundred miles long, was under the management of a Christian man. He was as much noted in church circles for his earnest, faithful spirit, as he was in railroad circles for his abihty as a manager. The road was widely known for three things: its good service, its good dividends, and the fact that there were no Sunday trains. An annual report had just been issued, and the directors had voted the usual good-sizeddividend. Referring to it, another railroad manager, in conversation with a group of business men, remarked, “Well, those blank Christians know how to run a railroad.” The manager of that railroad was preaching Christ to all the world by his simple Sabbath observance rule.

The Sabbath Question.

The question of Sunday travel, both on trains and on street cars, has been one of the questioned things, but in many circles seems to be passing outside the line of question. Some who would not think of travelUng on a train on the Sabbath use the street cars freely on that day, though the difference is difficult to see, except in the matter of distance and time involved. Some who do not commonly travel on Sunday trains will yet take a train Sabbath night in order to have a full day for business at the journey’s end.

In the ttrick of city life, with its congested population, the long distances involved, the home now out a bit may be, and the church still down where it used to be, with people of limited means getting accommodations where they best can, and also, be it said, with the growing disregard for the hallowed things — in the city it is very difficult to get along without using the street cars. The man trying to help in church services and at missions seems practically compelled to their use. Yet I know a family of limited means, living in a large city, who, on remoling the home from one part of the city to another distant part, changed their church membership, breaking old ties in doing so, simply to avoid the Sunday travel.

I know a Christian man whose service for many years has called him to travel much over the country. I have heard him say that in twenty years of such travel he has never taken a Sunday train, except once in the beginning of his travel, when he missed a connection late on Saturday within a short distance of the place of appointment for the next day. Yet, he said, very deliberately, as though quite clear after much thinking, that the work of that day led him to question very seriously the propriety of his action. And he felt that his influence for the highest standard of the Christian life had been lessened in that place, which was a boom town where Christian standards were loosely held.

He went on to say that he had travelled on the Sabbath a few other times in cases of emergency, once a death call, andafew times taking a train late Sabbath night to reach home on account of serious illness there. This man’s matured conviction is that practically it is better to avoid such travel entirely except in distinct emergencies. And I have grown to have great and increasing respect for his judgment. His habit regarding streetcar use on that day is to avoid using them. In making appointments he has this in mind. Yet when he feels led to an appointment necessitating a longer distance than he thinks it wise to walk he does not hesitate to use them.

The consideration regarding Sunday travel is wholly a practical one. It is not that such travel is breaking the Sabbath day necessarily. Even the Jews, the greatest sticklers for Sabbath observance on technical grounds, did travel on the Sabbath; travelled much less, but did travel, as the phrase “a Sabbath day’s journey” indicates. But

Sunday travel is not a necessity, though in our intense civilization it has come to be so regarded.

The chief objection to it is that thereby men are deprived of their day of rest. That is quite enough of an objection in itself to decide an earnest man. Every man has a right to the rest-day. In being so deprived he distinctly suffers both bodily and spiritually. The tone of his life, and of his home, is lowered. But there is a second great objection. A disregard of the Sabbath day is apt not only to indicate a disregard for other hallowed things, but to breed such a disregard. The Sabbath is a sort of safeguard. Once it is broken through, other breaks are apt to come in a man’s regard for holy things.

It may seem very radical to say it, yet I am more and more compelled to believe it soberly true that the common Sunday travel and trafhc, both mail and freight, are not a necessity, from any standpoint, with the usual saving clause about exceptions and emergencies. In our intense, aggressive cililization it seems that it must be a necessity. Yet it is not. It could all be stopped, and our national life be both stronger and sweeter. The intense drive of the time, the continual railroad accidents, the breakdowns from overwork, all spell out in biggest capital letters the deep philosophy of needed rest that underlies the old Hebrew commandment.

Giving Comjort to the Enemy,

Regarding the theatre, it can be said that without doubt there are some performances, such as historical plays and others, that are thoroughly enjoyable, and that would not be otherwise than helpful. But clearly these are the exception. The theatre as an institution is not good; more, it is bad. The tone of its performances has been steadily lowering to cater to the sensual appetites, the morbid desire for the sensational. Its representation of life, as a rule, is not true, nor good, nor well balanced. Then it can be added that the worst features of sinful Hf e in the city are constantly fostered and intensified by the theatre.

A man might choose only the exceptional, fine play, and refuse all others. But many of those in his circle who are under the influence of his conduct make no such discrimination. They are younger, it may be, with their character and convictions just in process of being formed. The fact that this man goes influences their going. The chances are all in favor of their choosing the popular play of the hour, or the one that happens to strike the fancy. The chances are still more in favor of their being hurt in their moral lives, not to go higher and say Christian lives.

Cards have long been gamblers’ favorite tools. It may not be that the playing of any of the numerous card games has necessarily any influence upon one’s thought of gambling. But there does seem practically to be a subtle, sure connection between the two. There is an itch about cards; a contagious itch. The chance of winning something for nothing must be added to give zest to the playing. And the step from a trifling something to something of real value, and then of great value, seems to be a ver)’ short one. And the highly colored glamour of high society casts a spell over all. Gambling itself is not questionable. It is only bad. It is wrong in principle, of course; never right. It would seem the only wise course to leave gamblers* favorite tools to themselves.

The word dancing seems to cover a great variety of physical exercise under greatly different conditions. David danced before the Lord to express his joy at the return of the Ark. The old Scottish dances were used as fine means of development, but were strictly guarded, men with men, and women with women, and never otherwise. What is called the modern dance seems to have ra’dically altered these old regulations.

Many of the common usages of dancing to-day put it quite outside the line for the modest, thoughtful people. Many dancing institutions and centres join hands with the theatres in fostering the worst impurity lurking in city life.

But what about private dancing in one’s own home with a chosen circle? Well, the fact that there is a question-mark over the wiiolc custom would seem to answer that question. What is being questioned in morals would far better be left alone. And with this goes the kindred fact that people do not discriminate keenly.

PauVs Advice.

Paul set down a great rule about the appetites. There were many things which he might justify himself in doing, but he said he would not be brought under the power of anything. Whatever habit brings me under its power, and so lessens my own power, is a bad habit to me. The habit of good, such as prayer, or doing kindness, in bringing me under its power is also increasing my own power of self-mastery. What injures my body is wrong for me.

If the use of tobacco or alcoholic drink in any shape affects the action of the heart, or lessens my staying powers, or unsteadies my nerves, this clearly to me is wrong. And the best physicians, backed abundantly by science, and by constant illustrations from life, have spoken very positively here. In the light of what specialists say it would seem that any indulgence is bad. Sooner or later its effect will be felt in the body and so in the life.

With the conditions of life prevalent to-day there is no question at all regarding strong drink for the man who would be Jesus Christ’s true preacher to men. Total abstinence is the only safe rule for a sound body, a clear brain, a strong will, and for the influence upon the great crowd of our fellows on a road very slippery and slanting.

The Church of Corinth fairly bristled with questions about matters of conduct. They gave the earnest people there great concern. They concerned Paul very greatly, for these people were his spiritual children, whom he had brought into new life through hard travail. These people write to Paul for advice and help in the perplexity The first nine chapters of his first epistle to the Corinthians are largely devoted to these matters. Some of the questions raised were about abuses concerning which there was very expKcit command from God. Regarding other matters there was no such command, and so Paul is adlising them as in his judgment is best. And he feels that he is being guided in his advice by the Spirit of God.

He says that if doing something causes his brother to stumble he will not do that thing while the world stands. The passion of service burned that into his heart. The love for the Master who had sent him to serve was yet greater. The eager longing to win men up to the highest life overruled all his own tastes and preferences.

His controlling principle in settling all such questions was love; a tender, intensely practical love for all men. Love is the great test of the Christian life. Knowledge puffeth up; we all know that, and are constantly reminded of it. Love buildeth up. We need more of that.

Paul says, “All things are lawful forme, but all things are not expedient.” It is not wrong to do certain things, but it is not best. It is not a question of right and wrong here. That test belongs lower down. Up here it is a matter of doing only what is best, and rigidly lealing the rest. Some of these questioned things are not necessarily wrong, but they clearly are not best. And if we judge a thing to be wrong then it is wrong for us, for we are doing the thing we think to be wrong. The hurt to the character is as great as though it were wrong.

If the inner Voice has said to me not to do a certain thing, and I do, I break off the intimacy of contact with the One who is wooing me into the inner intimacies of His friendship. I become less sensitive to His voice. The next time I will not hear so easily what He is saying. It does not affect my salvation, of course. But then, who would use the friendship of Jesus as a convenience or as insurance!

If witnessing a play tends to make me get used to sin, and so think lightly of it, or to make impurity less repugnant to me, or to loosen to any degree my hold upon the highest ideals of life, clearly to me it is not good, and so it is positively bad.

There is with many a fear of being thought peculiar. Yet one of the fine, distinguishing marks of Christ’s followers is that they are a peculiar people. That does not mean peculiar in an offensive sense, in criticising all who differ with us, nor in setting up standards for others; not pecuHar in oddity of habit or expression of opinion; but peculiar in the purity of the life, the lovableness of the spirit, the sweet charity of forbearance and thoughtfulness of others, in modesty of bearing, and in the earnest willingness to help and serve.

But these questions can never be settled satisfactorily by a negative policy. It will not do merely to cut things off from without. They must be pushed ofy from wifMn. Jesus said that when the unclean spirit is cast out of a man he comes back, and if the man is empty within the outcast spirit secures the co-operation of other spirits and re-enters the empty house, and now holds the man more strongly under his sway than ever. If on returning, he had found in his old place the gracious, mighty spirit of God in possession, he would quietly have slunk away to other haunts.

A man needs a great, absorbing passion to fill and r;rip and control his being and life. There is the one great passion, that which absorbed Jesus — love. That reaches eagerly up to Himself; it reaches quickly within to remove what He doesn’t like; it reaches warmly and earnestly out to tell others of Him. This love — Jesus Himself enthroned within — fills one so satisfiedly that things not congenial are crowded out. It lifts one up to such a level that small things are seen in their smallness and so their hold loosens. It drives one wdth such intensity out into ser’ice for men that whatever hinders is stripped quickly off and thrown aside.

Not to Judge hut to Save.

There is need of greatest tact in expressing our preferences regarding these things among those who practise them. There has been in earlier generations, and not wholly gone yet, a rigidity of practice in some such things coupled with lack of a loling, earnest, consistent spirit. And the two have become fixed together in many minds. Truth has always suffered at the hands of some defending it.

One should be very careful not to express himself in such a way as to seem critical of another. The keenest criticism of wrong is a consistent life. We are not sent to judge the world but to save it. We are not sent to be critics of our neighbors. Each man is to be fully persuaded in his own mind. We are to presume that the other one has thought for himself and reached a conclusion; we should respect his opinions. So that while as occasion needs one should clearly make known his own thought and habit, it should be done with the tactful deference to others that love inspires.

I glean this fine bit from a memorial of Dr. Maltbie D. Babcock, that rarely sainted, sane young minister who so moved the heart of New York the brief year he preached there: ‘’ He never hesitated a moment over questions of policy. Like Paul he held tenaciously to the doctrine of Christian liberty. But he had more delight in waiving his use of that liberty than in exercising it, if his use of it might in any way interfere with his usefulness. Knowing so well his native dramatic power, and his great enjoyment of good comedy and tragedy, I asked him if he ever went to the theatre. ‘Never.’ Bearing in mind his delight in the best music, and his familiarity with many scores of celebrated compositions in opera, oratorio, and orchestral music, I said, ‘How about the opera? Do you ever go?’ ‘Never.’ Anyone who knew him well would not have to ask why. I knew it was Paul’s reason.

‘’But Mr. Trumbull, in the Sunday School TimeSj after Dr. Babcock left us, related two incidents which explained and illustrated his reason, which I here quote. ‘When lunching one day with some business men, Dr. Babcock was offered a cigar, and a hope was expressed that he would join the others in a social smoke. Instantly his face lighted up with one of his winning smiles, and he said to the speaker: “Thank you very much for your kindness. But you know I have a profession that means more to me than anything else in the world. I guard it very jealously. I am liable to be called out at any time of day or night, in the service of my prcfession, and if I were called suddenly to the bedside of some one who was dying, it wouldn’t seem just right, would it? — if I had the odor of tobacco in my clothes and on my breath. So you will pardon me, won’t you, if I don’t join you in this?”

“‘At another time one of the wealthier members of his congregation offered him the use of his box at the opera through the season, and instantly this reply came: “I can’t thank you enough for the kindness you are showing me. But you know how a surgeon in practising his profession is not only obliged to keep his hands and linen free from dirt, but he must keep himself aseptically clean as well. Now, in my profession, I have to be even more careful than a surgeon, and so I must be careful about things that might do harm in even the most indirect way. You will understand, I know, why I cannot accept the great kindness you are offering me, though I do thank you for it from the bottom of my heart.” ’ “* * “Maltbie Davenport Babcock.” By Chas. E. Robinson, D.D.

Here was the exquisite tact of a perfect gentleman combined with the highest standard of conduct. His service controlled in his life and actions. Here is a great simple question suggested that goes at once to the very heart of this whole matter of questioned things: Should not service — thought for others whom we would win by both direct and indirect touch — control every one of us who belongs to Jesus Christ?

The Law of Love.

There is a very simple law to follow here. It is Paul’s law. He got it from the Holy Spirit. It is the law of love. It speaks thus:

Whatever dulls the sensitiveness of my spirit towards God, or takes the fine, tender edge off my thought of Him must be ruled out, for He is my Lord.

Whatever injures or weakens my body, or affects my mastery of it, must be ruled out, for it is the temple of my Lord.

Whatever affects hurtfully the earnestness and clearness of my witness to Jesus Christ before others must be ruled out, for it was His parting wish that I be a witness for Him to all men.

Whatever lessens in any way, even through prejudice or misunderstandings, the results of my service must be ruled out, for to influence men for Him is to be the passion of my life.

Whatever may cause my brother to stumble in his Christian life must be ruled out, for that would grieve Jesus.

on Theological Seminary-Speer Lit