The Spiritual Use of Worldly Experience

“Jesus, walking by the sea of Galilee, saw Simon called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea: for they were fishers. And He saith unto them, Follow me.” — Matt. iv. 18, 19.

This is not the first call to Peter and Andrew. They had been already called to conversion; they are now called to the ministry. Why did not Jesus elect them to the ministry at once? He had made them His disciples when very young men in the wilderness of Judaea. Would not this have been the time to ordain them — to give them a premonition of their coming glory? Why allow the scene of rapture to fade into the light of common day? These young men had at first been caught up to meet their Lord in the air. They had been raised to a height of exaltation; they had gazed upon the beatific vision; they had seen the face of the only-begotten Son of God. Why bring them down again into the coarse life of the world? It would have seemed all right if the world had been the destined sphere of their

religious life. But it was not. They were intended

to be preachers, to stand upon the mount and

bless the people. Why, then, not lift them to the

mount in a moment? Why permit them to go

back from the solemn wilderness into the routine

of secular work — into the sphere of the boat-hirer

and the net-mender and the fish-catcher? Was

not the stage between the first and the second call

a waste of time? No, my brother, God’s work is

never arrested even where it seems to be. Do

you think it was an accident that after their lofty

flight in the wilderness Peter and Andrew were

sent down to the sea to be fishermen? I tell you

it was a part of the coming call. God does not

want His preachers to be untaught in the present

world. He wants them to know something of

human need and human toil. The fisherman’s

life was such a knowledge; it was the satisfaction

of the cry for bread. If the redemption of the soul

did not include the resurrection of the body, our

preachers could be trained in the wilderness. But

it does. Therefore in the training of the preacher,

yea, in the training of the Christian, God has

ordained a drop from the primitive height ot

exaltation, a drop into the sea of human trouble

—into the knowledge of human need, human

want, human toil, human care, human doubt and perplexity; the first flight into the air must be followed by a plunge into the sea.

Lord, there have been few moments that have so much disappointed me as my first religious moments. I can remember how on some golden morning I saw the heavens opened and heard the angels sing. I stood upon the mount and looked down, and the things below seemed as grasshoppers. Earth faded into nothingness before me, and I wondered it was a matter of human care. I proposed, like Thy disciples, to build my tabernacle on high — above the sound of the waves, above the friction of the crowd. Suddenly, a cloud came and the glory vanished. I was swept down the hill by an earthly blast — down to the conflict with the storm, down to the waves of the sea. And I cried, “To what purpose is this waste; why bring me from the calm sky to the rough ocean?” But now, O Lord, I have received Thine answer. It is because Thou desirest the bridal of the sea and sky. Thou wouldst not send me on an earthly mission with an unearthly heart. Thou wouldst not send me to Galilee without tasting toil, to Samaria without sympathy for the slighted. Thou wouldst not send me to quell temptations I had never known. Could I dare to rebuke a brother’s passion if my

own heart were passionless! Could I dare to reprove a sister’s temper if my own soul were frigid! Could I blame without knowing the blast! Could I condemn without feeling the conflict! Could I judge the sinner without the sense of his struggle! I thank Thee, O Lord, that Thou didst not send me on my mission in my first enraptured moment. I thank Thee that I was brought down to Jacob’s wrestling-ground. I thank Thee that I entered on my mission with a shrunk sinew — a sense of human weakness. I can meet Thee in the rapture of an upward flight; but I can only meet my brother in the tossing of an earthly sea.