As I Have Loved You
“lu the long run all love is paid by love;
Though undervalued by the hosts of earth. The great eternal government above
Keeps strict account, and will redeem its worth. Give thy love freely; do not count its cost; So beautiful a thing was never lost, In the long run.’^
*’ The man who wins is the man who stays In the unsought paths and the rocky ways, And, perhaps, who lingers, now and then, To help some failure to rise again. Ah, he is the man who wins I ^’
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R^wV^l ESUS called Ms commandment of love a new commandment. Why new? There was an old commandment which ran, ‘’Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.” Some people suppose that this is the same as the commandment Jesus gave to his disciples. But there are two differences. The old commandment refers to your neighbor, that is, to everybody; the new refers to your brother, that is, your fellow-Christian. The other difference is in the measure of the love — “As thyself ‘’; “as I have loved you.” The world never knew what love meant until Jesus came and lived among men. “As thyself,” leaves self and others side by side; “as I have loved you,” carries us away beyond that, for Jesus made a sacrifice of himself in loving his disciples. [231]
Cle Wititt life
This lesson touches our lives at very practical points. It is not enough for a Christian to be a glib, fluent, golden-mouthed talker. “If I speak with the tongues of men and angels, but have not love, I am become sounding brass, or a clanging cymbal.” It is not enough for a Christian to be a great teacher, understanding all mysteries and all knowledge — if he has not love, he is nothing. If a man is a great benefactor and if he even becomes a martyr, giving his body to be burned, and has not love, all counts for nothing. “Love suffereth long, and is kind.” That is, it bears patiently with others’ faults, their unkindnesses to us, their ill treatment and ingratitude, and is kind. That is, it continues to be kind in spite of the unkindness it may receive. The trouble with too many of us is that our kindness is spasmodic, is shown only when we feel like it, and is checked continually by things that happen. But nothing ever stopped the flow of Christ’s kindness — nothing ever should check the flow of a Christian’s kindness.
Take another line from St. Paul’s picture. “Love... doth not behave Itself unseemly.” That IS, it never forgets itself, is never rude, is not supercilious. Haughtiness is unseemly. All uncharitableness is unseemly. Nothing is more remarkable in the story of Christ’s life than his unfailing respect for people. He seemed to have almost reverence for every one that came before him, even the poorest, the lowest, the worst. The reasons were that He loved every one, and that He saw in each the glorious possibilities of heavenly sonship. If we had our Master’s lofty regard for, and his deep interest in the lives of men, we would never act in an unseemly way toward even the unworthiest. A poet said he would never have for his friend that man who would needlessly set his foot upon a worm. If it becomes us to treat so considerately, so almost reverently, a worm, how should we treat even the poorest, the lowliest, who wears the divine image, is a child of God and is “but a little lower than God”.?
A newspaper recently gave an account of a [233] mt mntv uft
new society. A good woman boarding in a New England town one summer, learned that a charitable and kindly feeling was almost universal among the people of the town. She found that they all belonged to a Take Heed Society, and had all pledged themselves to three things — to speak no unkind words, to think no unkind thoughts, and to do no unkind deeds. This society never met in a body, it had no officers, paid no dues, assessed no fines. There was a fine mentioned in the pledge, but this was to be imposed by the oifending person upon himself if he ever violated the rules of the organization. He was to fix his own fine, making it as large as he was able to pay, and the fine was to be paid, not to some treasurer, but to the first poor and needy person he met. It might be worth while to start such a society in some families, in some boarding-houses, in circles of friends, and even in some churches. It might help much in getting the law of love wrought into every-day life.
“Love is not provoked.” That is, it does not [234] become vexed or irritated at what another may do or say. Yet many people seem to overlook this line of the picture. Nothing is more common than ill temper. Some people get provoked even at things. One tells of seeing a boy the other day in a great rage at his bicycle, from which he had fallen, and beating the machine unmercifully. A man awkwardly stumbled over a chair, and flew into a violent passion, kicking the chair all about the room. No other infirmity is so often confessed as bad temper. Many people will tell you that they find no other fault in themselves so hard to overcome. Nor do they seem ashamed to make the confession, and apparently do not consider the fault a serious one. Sometimes it is spoken of apologetically, as an infirmity of nature, a family failing, a matter of temperament, certainly not a fault to be taken seriously, nor anything more than a matter of regret. Ill temper has been called the vice of the virtuous. Men and women whose characters are noble, whose lives are beautiful in every other way, have this one fault — they [ 235 ] are sensitive, touchy, easily ruffled, easily hurt.
But we make a grave mistake when we let ourselves think that bad temper is a mere trifling weakness. It is a most disfiguring blemish. Jesus set for us the perfect model of living, and he was never provoked. We cannot find a single mention of his becoming even ruffled in temper. He never lost his calmness, his repose of mind, his peace of heart. In all his life of persecution, wrong, mocking, and injustice he never once was provoked. He would have us live the same life. He promises to us his peace. When he bids us love one another as he has loved us, this certainly is part of what he means.
Loving one another as Christ loves us makes it easier for others to live and work with us. A minister tells of some persons in his church who are excellent workers, full of zeal and energy, always doing things, ever active, but he says they have always to draw in shafts — they will not drive double. There are horses of this kind; they will not pull in a team, [ 236 ] but have to be driven single. It seems there are people who have the same infirmity. They want to do good, but they must do it by themselves. They will not work with another person. There is a kind of carriage with only two wheels and a seat for one. It is suggestively called a sulky, because the rider rides alone. But the love of Christ teaches us a better way. We need to learn to think of others, those with whom we are united in Christian life and work. It is so in all associated life. It is so in marriage. When two lives are brought together in close relations, after having lived hitherto separately, it is evident that both cannot have their own way in everything. There is not room for any two people to have their own way in the marriage relation. They are now one, occupying only the place of one, and they must live as one. There must either be the entire displacement of one by the other, the losing of the individuality of one in that of the other, the giving up of one to the other, or else there must be the blending of the two lives in one life. The lat- [237] ter is the true marriage. Both die, the one to the other. Love unites them, and they are no longer twain, but now one — “two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one.”
The same principle should prevail in Christian life and work. Headstrong individualism should be softened and modified by love. Jesus sent forth his disciples by two and two. Two working together are better than two working separately. One is strong in one point and weak in another; the second is strong where the first is weak, and thus the two supplement each other. St. Paul speaks of certain Christians as yokefellows. Yokefellows draw together patiently and steadily, two necks under the same yoke, two hearts pouring their love and fellowship into the one service. None of us should insist upon always having our own way. In community of counsel there is wisdom. Jesus says that where two agree in prayer, there is more power in the pleading, and the prayer will be surer of answer.
We know the Importance in Christian life of being pleasant to live with and work with. It never should be said of us that other people cannot work with us. The secret of being agreeable yokefellows is love. This means self-losing, self-forgetfulness. The Christian who is always wanting to have positions of prominence, to be chairman or president or secretary, first in something, has not caught the spirit of the love of Christ, who came not to be ministered unto, but to minister. Love never demands the first place — it works just as enthusiastically and faithfully at the foot of a committee as at the head of it. It works humbly, seeking counsel of the other members, and not asserting its opinion as the only wise one. It seeks in honor to prefer the other, rather than self. It is content to be overlooked, set aside, if only Christ is exalted. It is patient with the faults of fellow-workers. It strives in all ways to have the Master the real leader in all work. “Love one another as I have loved you,” is the command of Christ. If we love thus we will sacrifice any- [239]
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thing, everything, that the Master’s name may never suffer dishonor. This lesson calls us to a love like Christ’s In building up his kingdom. He loved and gave himself; we must love and give ourselves. We can be saved only by a sacrificial love. We can serve Christ and our fellow-men only In sacrificial service. “As I have loved you,” means loving to the uttermost, loving unto the end. We must give our lives for the brethren, as Christ gave his life for us. We must stop at no cost, no effort, no sacrifice, in helping another, in lifting up a life. This love to which Christ calls us Is a love that Is not affected by the character or the past Kfe of the person we love. To love as Christ loved is to love the worst, the least worthy, to love them until they are lifted up, cleansed, and transfigured.
To love as Christ loved Is to get his love into our own lives, to learn to live as he lived, in gentleness. In patience. In humility, in kindness. In endurance, in all sweetness of spirit, in all helpfulness and self-denial. It Is not [ 240 ] easy, but It was not easy for Christ to love as he did. The trouble with too much of what we call love is that it costs nothing. Is only a sort of gilded selfishness. Is not ready to sacrifice anything, to give up, to suffer, to endure. Oh! profane not the holy name by calling such life as this love. To love as Christ loves Is to repeat Christ’s sacrifice continually. In serving, forgiving, bearing, enduring, that others may be helped, blessed, saved.
That is the love that we are to have in our homes, in our friendships, in our business relations, in our companionships, in our neighborhood life. Yes, It costs — you must give up things and pleasures you greatly want. You must make sacrifices. But have you ever thought that nothing Is love at all which will not sacrifice.^