Love Without Dissimulation

Romans xii. 9 v.
“Let love be without dissimulation.”

The words are commonly understood to mean, “Don’t pretend you love when you do not “; I would rather understand them to say,” Don’t pretend you do not love when you do.’’ There are those who feign a love that they do not feel; but I would not call this love’s dissimulation. It is rather dissimulation from the absence of love. But there is a dissimulation which belongs to love itself. There is a false shame, which pretends it does not care for the object — which tempts love to hide itself within the heart. Why does Paul say, “I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ “? Because he knew the tendency of man’s heart to be afraid of its own revealings. He knew that affection never likes to display its treasures. He knew that love has been taught to deem itself a weakness, and to blush over its own ecstasy. Therefore, he cries, “Oh, ye, who cherish tender sympathies, hide them not from one another. Defraud not your brother of his tribute from your soul. Conceal not the warmth that is in you; one day you shall be glad that your heart did not hide its gold.” So says Paul, and I feel with him. I feel that the sting of death is never so painful as when I have kept back part of the price of love. My friend is gone, and I did not tell him. He walked side by side with me, and never knew. I had the opportunity, and I have let it go. I had the love, and I dissimulated that love. I intended I was cold, indifferent, unmoved. I thought it was a strong thing, a manly thing, to be made of iron. I suppressed the overflowings of my spirit; I closed the gates, and shut them in; and now they come out in vain. There is nothing so sad to me as a thought like that. Sometimes we have reflectioDs as to whether we have used every remedy for the body. Is there any remedy for the body like love? We call it a spiritual thing; doubtless, but its power is over the physical. Tell me that someone loves me, and you have given me a new draught of life — water of life, as our Lord calls it. How many an early victim would have been kept alive by a deeper draught of love! How many a withered rose would have bloomed; how many a drooping flower would have revived! A little word by the wayside, the pressure of a hand, the ring of a voice, the glance of an eye, the beat of a responsive heart, would have sweetened the waters of Mara and revealed the promised land. Hast thou an alabaster box? break it, oh, my soul. Hide it not; hoard it not. Wait not to garnish the sepulchre; pour it on the living head. Give it to the weary limbs; shed it on the throbbing

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brow; shower it on the fainting heart. Thy love was made to shine before the cross; take heed that it linger not behind.