The Whole Heart
A FEW years ago, a distinguished American naturalist was discovered, by one of our vessels, wandering alone on the silent shores of the Pacific Ocean. He was strolling by the water-side on a sharp search for specimens of natural history for the cabinet of Harvard University. Five thousand long miles separated him from his comfortable Boston home. But what were privations, or loneliness, or scanty fare, or the absence of loved faces, to him? Was not his whole soul embarked in the search for rare flowers such as flame on California plains, and for the cunning shells that the Pacific waves cast up on the pebbly strand? His heart was invested in the enterprise; he was a self-devoted missionary of science.
This was the secret of Newton’s imperial success. He gave his days and nights to physical science. And when his magnificent discoveries had been achieved, and the heavens had yielded their hidden secrets to his telescope, — when the solid globe had been weighed by him as in a balance, — then the Genius of Truth crowned his honored head with the benediction, u Thou hast sought me and found me, for thou didst search for me with all the heart?1
Show me the effective Christian, too, and I will show you a man whose whole heart is in love with Jesus. The will to serve God (implanted by the converting Spirit) is at no loss to find ten thousand ways to do it. He is “always abounding in the work of the Lord.” On the Sabbath lie always manages to get to church, however fiercely the sun streams down its fire, or however violently the rain-cloud pours its deluge upon the pavements. His heart so aches for the poor waifs gathered into his mission-school class, that a headache is no hindrance to him. When the Wednesday night comes, it finds him weary with a long day’s work; but the bell rings for the weekly lecture, and a heart-bell within responds to the welcome music. He says, “I cannot afford to miss my soul’s food to-night.’’ No more can his pastor afford to have him absent. It is so on the night for the prayer gathering. He will be missed if he takes counsel with tired limbs or sleepy eyes. His soul will miss the meeting, too, and be the leaner for the loss. So he fires up the engine once more, and with a wide-awake heart in a weary body, he sallies off to the prayer circle. The neighbor who dropped in to discuss the war, or to inquire about stocks, or to take a game of chess does not detain him. His heart is with Jesus and the disciples in the prayer meeting already, and his body “follows suit.” Does a lover ever find the night too cold, too stormy, or too dark for him to venture off to find her “in whom his soul delighteth?”
Such service of Christ is downright enjoyment. It is a daily luxury. It is none the les3 enjoyable because it entails some hardships and self-denial; because it sometimes sends a head wind of unpopularity into his face; because it requires him to wear an old coat the longer in order to have a few extra dollars for a work of charity; or because it involves some sacrifice of money-getting or of social comfort. He turns work into play. His soul lives in a constant sunshine; and all the aches, the pains, the rheumatisms, and bad digestion of a spiritual dyspeptic, he knows no more of than of the plague or the Jewish leprosy. But take the heart out of a man’s religion, and it becomes the most pitiable penance, and the dreariest of drudgeries.
Perhaps, too, we may find in this very spot the reason why so many awakened and once anxious sinners have never yet found the Saviour. They only sought the infinite blessing with but a fraction of the heart. God was in earnest when he invited them; they were not. The Spirit of grace was in earnest when he strove with them; they were not. A fragment of the heart — a few hours of the Sabbath — an occasional fitful thought — they were willing to give to Christ if he would insure them a safe escape from perdition. But the very least and lowest terms which the blessed Saviour could offer them were,” Ye shall seek me and find me when ye shall search for me vnth all your heart.’’’’
Unconverted reader, does not this touch the very “sore spot” with you? Is not this your very sin and danger? You ask everything from God; you will not give everything to him. Just as surely as the day of judgment comes and finds you hopeless and Christless, you will take up a bitter lamentation in words like these: “I am lost — lost for ever! I might have been saved. I- often came near to heaven; I was more than once at the threshold. Others passed by and went in. My intimate friend went in. A brother entered in at my very side; my wife, with a tearful pleading to me to follow her, passed through the open door. I might have gone. Conscience bade me go. Reason urged it. A crucified Saviour with pierced hand, opened wide the gate. I expected to come in ere it should close. The Spirit strove with me to give God my heart. But the conditions of salvation were ‘Ye shall seek me and find me when ye shall search for me with all your heart. y This I would not give. I kept back what God asked, and I have lost everything P1 To sink into perdition is a fearful doom at best, but infinitely more harrowing and awful for the soul that remembers that it fell there from the very threshold of heaven!