Indifference

66 Woe to them that are at ease in Zion! ’’ — Amos vi. 1.

HE saddest thing in this world is indifference. It is sadder than any heresy, than

any false belief — I would even say, than any honest unbelief. The mind that has struggled into rest is to be envied; the mind that has struggled without finding rest is to be appreciated; but the mind that has never experienced any struggle is to be pitied. The seer of Patmos says that if a man is not hot he had better be cold. I think he is right. I can understand a man looking at Nature and believing; I can understand a man looking at Nature and doubting; but I cannot understand a man not looking at Nature at all. That wonder should turn to worship is natural; that wonder should lead to scepticism is possible; but that a mind should exist without wonder is inconceivable — it can only be explained by a want in the mind itself. And if indifference is the saddest of all things, it is beyond measure sad when it occurs in serious circumstances. To be at ease is, for a mind, never a high thing; but to be “at ease in Zion” — that is an awful calamity! It is like laughter in the midst of a funeral; it is like Wordsworth’s little girl dancing round the grave. Frivolity is a sad spectacle at all times; but in the presence of great things it is specially sad. To be frivolous under the awful dome of night, to be frivolous amid the products of the artist, to be frivolous in an hour of national triumph, to be frivolous in a season of earthly calamity, to be frivolous when in any form the glory or the shadow of God is passing by — that is to be less than man, for that is to be at ease in Zion.

Lord, I often lament that this human soul of mine is the most burdened creature in the universe. I often contrast my care with the lark’s carol and my sigh with the nightingale’s song. Teach me that my burden is my glory! Teach me that I am not “at ease in Zion” just because I am “in Zion”! The shadow that dims my sight is Thy shadow; the weight that impedes my wing is my sense of Thee. I should be more reckless if I were less responsible. If I were not my brother’s keeper I too might have perpetual song. But with that weight upon me,

[ cannot. Would I have it otherwise, my Father? No — a thousand times no! I would rather walk with Thee in the shade than soar with the lark in the light. My care is better than a carol, my sigh is better than a song. I have seen the King in His beauty; therefore I pity the slave in his deformity. I have heard Thy far-off music; therefore earth’s discords grate upon my ear. I have gazed upon Thy spotless robe; therefore my brother’s rags rend me. Thy rainbow brings my flood. It is Thy beauty makes my burden; it is Thy glory makes my gloom; it is Thy nearness makes my night. Shall I not take Thy yoke upon me — the yoke that comes from seeing Thee! Shall I refuse the pain Thy child alone can feel! Shall I reject that pressure of the heart which comes only to him on whom Thou hast laid Thy hand! Nay, my Father; rather would I abide with Thee and bear Thy shadows in my soul. To lose the ease of the lark is the price I pay for Zion.