The Things of Others

“Let nothing he done through faction or vainglory (Phil. ii. 3, 4).

The Apostle lays his condemnatory hand upon two very perverse and perverting spirits, the party spirit and the spirit of personal vanity. Many men are passionately devoted to party who care nothing at all about truth. It is so in political strife. Men become feverish in controversy, passionate in declamation; they labour night and day for a triumph, and when the triumph has been won they relapse into lethargy, and the sacred cause of the kingdom is forgotten and ignored. They are not chivalrous knights in a great crusade; they are small squabblers in a petty campaign. They fume for a trifle; they are cold to the august. They fight to conquer an enemy, not to emphasise a truth. And so it is in the Christian 64

Church. Our sectarianisms often eclipse our Christianity. The shrine is valued more than the faith, the letter more than the spirit, the man-made more than the God-born. Even while we serve, our eyes are not upon our Master that we may reflect His beauty; they are rather upon another company of believers, that by our competition we may trouble their progress. Yea, and many things are “done through faction.” And equally true is it that many things are done through “vainglory.” The applause of men is more pleasant and welcome than the presence of God. We appro’ priate to ourselves the glory which alone belongs to Him. We become termini rather than thoroughfares, ends in ourselves rather than ministers of God. Half tremblingly I write the words — we sit in the place of God, and “deck ourselves in majesty,” and take His dues. It is a transient sovereignty and as shallow as it is brief. Let us humbly seek the good Spirit of God that He may deliver us from both fatalities — from the destructive fever of faction, and from the diseased conceit of vanity.

“But in lowliness of mind each counting other better than himself.” Yes, our defence against these perilous usurpations of the Divine prerogative must be sought in “lowliness of mind.” And how beautiful is the grace which is here described! Behind the word which is translated “lowliness” is our word “tapestry,” and I think I shall not be far away from the Apostle’s mind when I say that he counsels us to lay our life down like a soft tapestry carpet — in kindly thoughts and gracious sympathies and helpful services, in order that the weary, bruised feet of other people may find ease and comfort on the road. For some of the ways of life are very rough and flinty, and the sharp jagged edges of circumstances cut the feet most sorely, and “going” is for many people a matter of ceaseless pain. It is the blessed privilege of Christians to lay a soft surface on the roads, by spreading over them the graciousness of tender compassions, so stooping that other pilgrims can “walk over us” and so forget the hardships of the way. That is surely the secret of “lowliness of mind,” it is the very opposite to the spirit of haughtiness and pride, a spirit which multiplies the difficulties of others, and terribly aggravates the agonies of the road. And how different is all this to the mood of the “natural man,” and to the principle by which he orders his goings. With him it is ever “the weakest to the wall,” crushed against the wall by the thoughtless, brutal energy of the strong. With him “might is right,” and the “first come” must be “first served.” With the Christian the first to be served is the brother, for the Christian counts “other better than himself.” He makes a place for him, shares his interests, and seeks to guide his feet into the ways of pleasantness and peace.

“Not looking each of you on his own things, hut each of you also to the things of others The measure of our Christian growth may be estimated by the circles of our sympathetic interest. What is the circumference of our outlook? Are my sympathies represented by my umbrella, and do they merely cover myself? Or are they something like a garden tent, and do they cover a family? Or are they like a great marquee, and can all the people in the village find shelter beneath its roof? Or still grander and nobler, do they find their symbol in the overarching firmament, and do they embrace, “all nations and kindreds, and peoples and tongues”? What is the scope of my sympathetic circle? They tell us that the concentric rings in the interior fibre of a tree record its age and the story of its growth. And most sure I am that the concentric rings in the soulinterests of a Christian tell the story of his growth in grace. How large is the circle of our prayers? How many of “the things of others” find hospitality in our fervent petitions? Are they mostly concerned with “our own things,” or do they reach out to grasp the needs of a race? Have our prayers grown with our years, or is it the same little ring which characterised our childhood? If a man’s prayers do not grow bigger and deeper and more unselfish every year, there is something wrong with his roots. And as it is with our prayers, so it is with our services. How far does our beneficence reach? Over what distance do we feel the pangs of the race? Can we hear the call from afar? Can we hear “a cry from Macedonia?” Or is the far-ofif land a silent land in which we have no interest, and to which we render no service? If that be so, then we need the great Renewer to “restore our souls,” to open out the blocked senses, to clear away the impediments from the highways of our life, in order that we may have ready communion with our brother, a quick and intimate correspondence with his joy and pain. “And a highway shall be there, and a way.” Yes, our Lord is a great maker of roads, and if we only place ourselves entirely in His hands, He will open out to us the unvisited needs in our brother’s life, so that we shall look not only on “our own things,” but also “on the things of others.”