August 1929
388
T h e
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
To his own surprise Lawrence found there were tears in his eyes. And now he walked over to the corner he had avoided since Althea’s telephone call. There was a certain picture there—a great artist’s idea of a wonderful divine Face—and as he looked into the tender eyes, in spite of those twenty-one years, Lawrence’s own over flowed. Take that picture down? Never! He was glad he was crying about it! Glad that he still had manhood enough left to kneel down in his old boyish way and pray aloud as he used to d o :—* “Only one thing can help me, Lord, and that’s a love for Jesus Christ. Such a love as John Dowling showed in his face when he preached to us at Vespers about the Son of God! Such a love as shone in Pauline’s eyes when she faced that crowd! Thou hast shown me—that is my trouble. I do not half love Thee! Lord, I want such a love for Thee as Paul had, when he turned his back on the Roman world. I want to love Thee as Stephen did, when he looked upon his persecutors and his face was as the face of an angel. One thing I ask, dear Lord,—give me such love for Thee.” Not until long years had passed, and a life of useful ness to his Master was half over, did Lawrence learn that all that afternoon and till late that night the boys of the thin red line had been upon their knees for him. Only a God who hears and answers prayer could have wrought such a wonder in him. Only the love and faithfulness of the little band he had called “hobbledehoys,” could or would have held on in prayer and faith for such a wan dering sheep as Lawrence. And what was their reward ? They saw a young life flame into a usefulness almost unparalleled. They had the joy of fellowshipping with a heart so aglow with love for Christ that they could only compare him to Paul when he cried out: “1 have suffered the loss o f all things and do count them hut refuse that I might win Christ and be found in Him.” All round the world there is a thin red line—the hobbledehoys, the awkward ones! Who have never been “presented” except in the Courts of Heaven! Who wield no “influence”—except with God! Simply His “little ones,” unknown—often objects of contempt—fed with manna from on high! To your knees, dear awkward squad the world over! Keep asking! It is you, and those like you, who move the hand of God. Lawrence served with the thin red line. He added also one more wall decoration to those already in his room: John Wesley once said: “Give me one hundred Christians who fear nothing but sin and desire nothing but God and I care not a straw whether they be clergymen or laymen, such alone will shake the Gates of Hell and set up the Kingdom of Heaven on earth. God does nothing but in answer to prayer.” Jjg “Riches In Glory” Here is an ocean, bottomless and shoreless. God is sufficient in and with Himself; we draw physical and spiritual life from Him. Without Him, soul and body would die. He, Himself, is life. He draws nothing from anything or anyone external to Himself. God is to God all sufficiency. Surely that which fills the ocean will fill a thimble. The revenue sufficient to maintain the Court of the King of kings certainly is more than enough to meet the budget of a pauper’s hut. If God can satisfy Himself, surely He can satisfy us. Open your heart to Him, dear soul; receive His fulness.— Rev. Roy Talmage Brumbaugh, D.D.
Aunt Abby’s birthday gift! That must come down! It was an illuminated parchment affair with knightly in signia thereon: T h e O ath of th e T rue K n ight To speak the very truth. To perform a promise to the utmost. To reverence all women. To maintain right and honesty. To help the weak. To treat high and low with courtesy. To be constant to one love. To be fair to a bitter foe. To despise luxury. To pursue simplicity, modesty, gentleness in heart and bearing. In a word:—To serve the Lord Christ. Althea had paused before it, read it, and laughed when her brother and aunt brought her to visit his room. “My child! How sweetly archaic!” She had cried. And her brother, fresh from Berlin, had exclaimed:- “You don’t mean to rib us on this flossy idea, do you?” Lawrence had flushed and told them his old maiden aunt had given it to him. “Oh, yes! Quite!” Althea had replied. Lawrence looked doggedly at it. John Dowling had liked i t ! He had said: “Laurie, I ’m glad there’s a bit of the old chivalry le ft! And chivalry simply means Christian manhood. No man reading that could sit here and lightly discuss a woman, or speak in any but a reverent way of girls. If we wish our womanhood to be sacred, we must be true knights.” Deeper into his trousers’ pockets went Lawrence’s hands as he recalled this. “To speak the very truth” with himself, how could anyone reverence Maryone Power whose picture was to replace this knighthood oath upon his walls? Down at the beach club last summer—how vividly he remembered it! A cry came from the float whither Miss Power had drifted and Lawrence on the beach sunning himself with a group of older men had asked: “Is Miss Power in trouble ?” and had been astonished to hear one reply: “Let her drown,” as he lazily turned to expose his left arm for a darker tan. Lawrence’s eyes ran on down the scroll—“To be con stant to one love!” Of course the fair Maryone, twice wed, would not be able to “see” th a t! One hand was uneasily shifted to his coat pocket and came in immediate contact with the troublesome letter from the thin red line. Have the thing out and read it! Ah—a circular letter! To whom it may concern: We, the Evangelistic Association known as the Thin Red Line, challenge you—all of you who love the Lord we serve. The business of every Christian is soul-winning. Come and help us if you love Him. There is a Macedonian cry from many quarters. The bandstand at Pebbly Beach is available for our Gospel work every Sunday afternoon this summer. Come and help us reach these untouched crowds! Come and preach or sing at our street meetings! Come—if you’re a Christian! Come—if you love H im ! We challenge you! And then a little scarlet thread! And beneath that a postscript especially addressed to him, Lawrence, in the cramped hand of Donald Donald son of the Cameron Clan: If you don’t love Him, Lawrence, it’s because you’re just a plain sinner. Down on your knees, man, and ask Him for His love—for His great love! Like His peace, it passeth all under standing.
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