spirit of the
T he act of crucifixion is one thing, but the spirit in which the crucifixion is to be borne is another. In some respects the act may be brief and finished, but the inward heart dispo sition that should pervade crucifixion is a con tinuous principle extending through life, ever widening its range over a multiplicity of appli cations, and growing in intensity to the end. This divinely beautiful spirit of self-immolation can not be defined. It can only be faintly described. It is a heart quality, a soul essence too fluid to be held by words. If we could get a vision of the soul of Jesus from the Last Supper to His death on the cross, and have a clear spiritual discernment of all the thoughts and feelings, and affections, and sym pathies and every quality of disposition that was in His nature during those long hours, we would see the full-sized mind appropriate to crucifixion. Thousands have had in greater or lesser degree a spiritual revelation into this history of the soul of Jesus. Such an insight can only be given by the Holy Ghost, for it is infinitely beyond the natural reason and imagination. In the same proportion that we discern the inward spirit Christ had during those hours, in that proportion we can drink of that spirit, until we can suffer, bleed and die in our measure with the very same disposition He had. It is a silent spirit. It suffers without advertis ing the depths of its suffering, it can be subdued, scolded, criticized, misunderstood, misrepresented and checked and hindered in a thousand ways without a groan, or a kick or a trace of threaten ing or imprudence (1 Pet. 2:23). It has calmly signed the death warrant of self. It can have a thousand little gifts and treasures, and harmless earthly pleasures and pleasant hopes and friendly ties snatched out of its hand, without clutching the fingers to hold on to them. It can obey God and be rushing at full speed on lines of service and duty for Him, and then at the touch of God’s providential air brake, it can be brought to an instantaneous standstill without shaking the train to pieces by a single jar or the least jostling of the will from its perfect repose in Jesus. It is a flexible spirit with no plans of its own. It can be turned by the finger of God in any direction without a moment’s warning. It can walk into a dungeon, or a throne, into a hut or a palace with equal ease or freedom. It partakes of the movement of the Divine mind, as a floating cloud partakes of the movement of the air which encircles it. It can wear old, threadbare clothes and live on plain food with a thankful and sweet disposition,
without even a thought of envy or coveting the nice things of others. It looks with a quiet, secret, joyful contempt on all the honors and pleasures, learning and culture and the honorable splendors of earth. It inwardly despises what other people are longing to get hold of. This is because it sees into heaven, and is so fascinated with the magnitude of coming glories that even the pretty and honorable things of the world look ugly to it. The rugged cross which frightens so many Christians is embraced by this spirit with a secret, subtle joy, because it knows that all suffering will enlarge and sweeten its love. What other Chris tians shun as hardship, it will gladly accept as an opportunity of sweeter union with God. It loves its enemies with a sweet, gentle, yearning affection utterly beyond what they would be will ing to believe. It can be bruised and trampled on and turn with a quivering, speechless lip and a tear-dimmed eye and kiss and pray for the foot that under the pretense of religious duty is tram pling it in the dust. It will not receive human honors upon itself. If it is praised or honored by its fellows, instead of eating it as a sweet morsel, it offers it up in stantly to the Lord as the angel did with the good dinner which was presented to him by Manoah. Its highest delight is in sinking into God and being little. It loves to humble itself before God and man. It shuns debate and strife and theologi cal argument. It is modest and retiring and loves to get out of God’s way and see Him work. It does not make others wear its sackcloth. It would rather take other people’s sufferings on itself than to take their joys. When the soul enters sanctification it is just the beginning of the spirit which is to spread, intensify and brighten, until the crucifixion-life becomes a beautiful flame of self-abnegation, which takes hold of all sorts of woes and troubles, and mortifications and pains and poverties and hardships, as a very hot fire takes hold of wet logs and makes out of them fresh fuel for more self-sacrificing love. It opens the gate of heaven without touching it. This is the spirit that wears out the patience of persecutors, that softens the hearts of stone, that in the long run converts enemies into friends, that touches the hearts of sinners, that wins its way through a thousand obstacles, that outwits the genius of the devil, and that makes the soul that has it as precious to God as the apple of His eye. — By G. D. Watson. ( Reprints of this article may be secured from Pilgrim Tract Society, Randleman, N .C .) END.
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