THE KING’S BUSINESS
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T here are many Christians who are not known as Christians; they dare not say it, St.' Chrysostom tells us of one of the early martyrs (St. Lucian)' who was brought up before the tribunal of the judge to be con demned to death, and the judge said to him, “What is your name?” and he answered, “1 am a Christian.” “And what is your coun try?” and he answered, “I am a Christian.” “And what is your business ?” and he an swered “I am a Christian.” And to every question of the judge he had but one an swer : “I am a Christian.” The man’s life had got absorbed in his Redeemer. He had no family, no country, no trade, except to be Christ’s, and to confess him before men. We want Christians of that sort today. M r . S unday offends many Christians by his plain speaking, arouses the latent en mity of everyone who is at heart at war with God, attacks with ridicule, sarcasm and argument, the destructive higher criticism of the day, fulminates the fiercest anathemas against sin of all kinds, preaches a heaven and eternal reward for the sinner who ac cepts Jesus Christ as his Saviour, and hell and eternal punishment for the one who re jects him, tender as the Son of man to the one, merciless as the destroying angel in Egypt to the other, scathes the prayerless, pleasure-loving, wealth-worshiping church member, until he either gets mad. and runs away cursing him in his heart, or, smitten by his own conscience, he cries out : “Un clean ! Unclean ! Lord, make me clean.”— The Presbyterian. T here is a beautiful Oriental custom that tells the story of Christ’s atonement on the cross very clearly. When a debt had to be settled, either by full payment or forgive ness, it was the custom for the creditor to take the cancelled bond, and nail it over the door of him that had owed it, that all pass ers-by , might see that it was paid. Oh, blessed story of our remission! There is the cross, the door of grace, behind which a bankrupt world lies in hopeless debt to the law. See Jesus; our Surety, coming
Pearse in great distress because, as she said, she could not love Jesus Christ. She did want to love him, but somehow she couldn’t. So the genial minister said to her: “Well, my little woman, don’t keep thinking about your love to Jesus, but just keep on saying, ‘Jesus loves me.’ Say it to yourself over and over again; and come and see me to morrow.’’ The little girl did as she was told, and when she came to see Mr. Pearse the next day there was no need to tell him of the change that had taken place. Her face was radiant. The love of God had been shed abroad in her heart by the Holy Spirit which had been given to her. “T he power of an endless life.” When the mighty thought, compressed into this phrase of half a dozen words, once enters the mind, it is as in the old fable where the fisherman’s hut, entered by the gods, rose and swelled and grew to the vaulted hall of a palace. No life is small or poor or nar row that is endless. Immortality raises each soul to infinite value, and gives it infinite powers. The smallness of our personal life lies only in our own thoughts about it. We can take hold on eternal joys, eternal en ergies, eternal rewards, if we choose; and, living with this thought, our days will be surrounded, not with the narrower horizons of drudgery, but with divine vistas every where.— Selected. M r . W esley was once asked by a lady. “Suppose that you knew you were to die at twelve o’clock tomorrow night, how would you spend the intervening time V “How, madam?” he replied. “Why, just as I intend to spend it now. I should preach this night at Gloucester, and again at five tomorrow morning. After that I should ride to Tewkesbury, preach in the afternoon, and meet the societies in the evening. I should then repair to friend Martin’s house, who expects to entertain me, converse and pray with the family as usual, retire to my room at ten o’clock, commend myself to my Heavenly Father, lie down to rest, and wake up in glory.”
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