Christ and the Young Man

OF all the young men mentioned in the Bible, probably none is more interesting than the one who came running to Christ, and kneeled to Him, and asked Him what he was to do to secure eternal life. Jesus Christ took up little children and blessed them without any conversation at all. From the maimed and the halt, the blind and the helpless, He required a simple assurance of faith in His own power. In this case, however, He sets up a new test. First of all, however, look at the young man himself, and let us ask what can possibly be wanting in a character apparently so complete, We may judge somewhat of the character by the remark which is made by Jesus Christ; namely, that He on beholding him at once “loved” him. This would have satisfied a great many people. There was a good deal in the young man’s own behaviour to beget this complacent regard for him in the mind and heart of Jesus. For Christ Himself the young man had great respect, as seen from the fact that he hailed Him as Good Master, or Teacher. The

TI5 earnestness of the young man is seen in the fact that he ran, as if with eagerness and delight, to consult. this new Master in Israel. The question which the young man asked is the greatest that can be propounded by human thought; it was nothing less than, “What shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?” Observe that the young man, after all, was not satisfied with himself, although he claimed to be a moralist of the highest type. He had kept all the commandments from his youth, Was he not therefore entitled to eternal life? He was not able to answer this inquiry in the affirmative himself. After keeping all the commandments he felt that something more was necessary. He had been moral, but not religious. He had walked worthily after the outward form and pattern of things; he had been a severe technical disciplinarian; he had not written commandments for himself, he had accepted the commandments written for him; yet after all his observance of routine and discipline, he felt in his heart an aching void, “What lack I yet?” was his inquiry. It was not an inquiry that answered itself. Some questions are boastful challenges. A question like this might have been put in another form, such as: I call upon Thee to show that a man so well-disciplined as I am can possibly lack any one thing great or small. Such was not the spirit of the inquiry, and therefore

Jesus answered it with forbearance and patience and characteristic solicitude.

I want you to see from all this how possible it is for men to have a good deal that is really valuable, and yet, because they lack some one thing, they do not realise the advantage even of that which they already possess. This young man was no barbarian; the voices of the law-givers and the prophets had resounded in his hearing, and he was familiar with the harp of the holy minstrels who had turned duty and sorrow, victory and defeat, into music. The case becomes intensely interesting at this point. Not only had the young man heard these things and read them; he had actually “observed” them, that is, he had kept them, carried them out punctiliously, and proved his earnestness by the minute care which he expended upon himself. There may be most careful training of the memory, and most watchful jealousness over the conduct from a social point of view, and yet the heart may not be the temple of God. Is such training, then, without advantage? Certainly not. By so much as the mind is occupied with right considerations, it is indisposed towards that which is evil. Hence there is a great moral value in many pursuits which are not directly religious or ethical. A young man, for example, cultivates the art of painting; day by day he watches the changing lights which play upon the landscape; he knows no greater gladness than to succeed in catching the precise expression of light and colour, and giving it permanence on the canvas: so far, good; refinement of taste is a high attainment, studying nature is an inspiring exercise, life on the mountain is incomparably better than existence in the den of the debauchee. The study of art, then, which is not in itself religious, is of good tendency; by it the mind may be so preoccupied, that the force of many temptations may be broken.

The power of temptation is in proportion to the nature of the soul tempted. A thoughtless miner takes an uncovered light into the mine; where there is but little gas there is but a wavering and flickering transient flame — hardly flame, indeed; but where there is an accumulation of gas, the uncovered light occasions an explosion which shivers the rocks, and brings swift destruction upon all who are in the mine. In both cases it was the same mine, the same light, the same miner, but the condition of the air was different. So it is with the fiery darts of the wicked one; they are shot into all human hearts, and just in proportion to the materials, so to speak, which are found there, will be the success or failure of the enemy. A formal religious education may by simply preoccupying the mind break the force of some temptations, and save the soul from the more violent forms of depravity. Yet not necessarily so; and this shows the weakness of the most careful training. A parent is determined to preserve his son from social contamination. I know a case in point: the son was watched well-nigh day and night, was forbidden to speak to the servants lest he should be “corrupted,” was expected to read good books and to attend public worship regularly. Was not this well? Was not this a beautiful picture of domestic government? That son was not treated according to his temperament and quality. All this attention was wasted upon him. The father had not made a special study of his own child’s individuality. What was the consequence? The son felt the restraint — the recoil was tremendous — as soon as he escaped parental oversight he plunged into excess, and eventually was hanged as a felon. This young man’s education was simply imposed upon him. He had not, like the young man in the Gospels, “observed” the commandments. We cannot lay down one rule of training for all. Hach case must be judged by itself, and attended to as if it were the only case. I am not disposed to reject the reading of the proverb, “Train up a child in the way he should go,” as if it meant that each child had a particular way in which he alone should be trained. At first this may appear to be a fantastic reading of the text; but on further consideration it is quite possible to find in it a sound moral philosophy.

The final attainment of education of the highest kind is the conquest of the heart. The young man knew a good deal. He was not perishing for lack of knowledge; the light shone upon his intelligence, but his affections were self-enclosed and self-encoiled. ‘There was one cross he could not lift — one surrender he could not make! Observe, only one; but that one was all! Sometimes the one thing lacking is the one thing which gives value to all else. We may put down ciphers in a long row, but they are without value until the unit is put at the head of them; that unit gives value and significance to every one of the ciphers. Charles Kingsley said of his father that he had all the talents except the talent of using his talents. For want of that practical talent, what became of all the rest? There is nothing more dangerous than mere brilliance. There is nothing much more misleading than dry and technical information when it is brought to bear upon the direction of the inner and the upper life of man. We are not saved by information. That which saves the soul must be of the quality of the soul itself. What, then, did this young man in particular want? The answer that was given to him was not the answer given to Nicodemus, nor was it the answer given to the blind and the halt. It is an answer unique, simply because the circumstances under which it was given were unique. The young man was called upon to give; not to give a little, but to give all — observe what the commandment is: “Go, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor.” Make thyself poor, and in this self-created poverty find the treasure which is stored in heaven. Giving means different things to different people. There are men who give a thousand guineas at once, yet is their gift without value. If certain rich merchants whose purses are always accessible would but utter two sentences distinctly in favour of Christ as their personal Saviour, such utterance, given under such circumstances, would be a greater gift to the Christian cause than all the gold they ever lavished upon public institutions. Man must give himself, else he gives nothing. When a man gives a guinea where he should give a life, he mocks God to His face.

The Christ Himself had been no Lawgiver Unless He had given the LIFH, too, with the law.