The Moral Taught by the Idle Thessalonians
“We hear that there are some which walk among you disorderly, working not at all.” — 2 Thes. hi. ii.
The disorderliness here spoken of was the result not of religious unbelief but of religious conviction. These Thessalonians refused to work on earth because they looked for an immediate advent of heaven. Christ was coming; He might be expected any hour of any day. What was the use of beginning work which might be interrupted ere it was half done! Why start the building of a house when there was imminent expectation of a house not made with hands! Why launch a ship for the voyage when the time was about to come in which there should be no more sea! Why teach the boy at school when tongues were about to cease and knowledge to vanish away! Why study human politics when the kingdoms of this world were to become the kingdom of the Lord and of His Christ! So asked the Thessalonian workmen; and in answer they folded 284
their hands in rest. They deemed it a waste oi time to labour at structures which might ere long be superseded. It was to counteract such a spirit that Paul wrote this epistle. It is to my mind the most peculiar writing in the Bible. It is the only book of Scripture I know which is written with the express design of moderating the sense of another world. Paul seeks to throw a veil over the coming of Christ. He feels that the Thessalonians have too near a view of heaven — a view so near that it makes them unpractical towards the earth. He restores their practicalness by shrouding their vision — by bringing a cloud over the transfiguration glory. And truly we have all a lesson to learn here. There is nothing of which we complain so persistently as the silence of God. Here the silence of God is made a form of His benevolence — a thing necessary for the perpetuation of the world. We are shown the picture of an earth arrested by the overwhelming prominence of heaven. We are made to see what would be the effect of a letter from the sky telling that the time was brief. It might stimulate the missionary, it might benefit the evangelist; but to every other profession it would be paralysis. It would disband the army and navy. It would impoverish the lawyer. It would dull the trade 285 of the merchant. It would arrest authorship. It would stop education. It would impede the wings of medical science. It would give a quietus to philanthropy. It would cause to seem superfluous the help of man to man.
Therefore, O Lord, I thank Thee for the cloud that mingles with my sunshine. I thank Thee that there is a mist on the other side of the river. I have often lamented that the op]3osite bank is not more luminous; but I have changed my mind. I should not care to beautify the bank on which I dwell if I saw the other side too clearly. I often bless Thee for Thy revelations; do I sufficiently bless Thee for Thy silences? But for Thy silence I should have no speech. Should I ever provide for my children if Thy provision were made plain? Should I ever clothe the poor if I saw Thy hand weaving their garments? Should I ever redeem the lapsed if I beheld Thine angels streaming forth to save them? My efforts would be ended; my love would be lost; my charity would be chilled; my pity would be plucked up by the roots. What Thou cravest is not provision but my providing. It is to my care Thou hast entrusted my brother. It is to teach me my responsibility that Thou hast kept silence. If I heard the heavenly music, I should relax my toil. 286
It is the mist that moves me; it is the need that nerves me; it is the doubt that dedicates me; it is the peril that prompts me; it is the unseenness that stimulates me. I have gained more by Thy silence than by Thy song. Thy song gives me faith and hope, but Thy silence teaches me charity; for it is the uncertainty of life that sends me to the help of my brother, and it is the mystery of to-morrow that wakes my sympathy with man.