Being Christians on
Weekdays
by J. R. Miller
How to carry our true religion into all parts of our life—is the question
which perplexes many of us. It is not hard to be good on the quiet Sundays,
when all the holy influences of the sanctuary and of the Christian home are
about us. It is not hard, in such an atmosphere, to think of God, and to
yield ourselves to the impact of the divine Spirit. It is easy then to
accept the gospel promises and allow them to entwine themselves about our
weakness, like a mother's arms about feeble infancy. Most of us have little
trouble with doubts and fears or with temptations and trials—while sitting
in the peaceful retreats into which the Sunday leads us. Our trouble is in
carrying this sweet, holy, restful life—out into the weekday world of toil,
anxiety, strife and pain. Ofttimes with Monday morning we lose all the
Sunday calm, and resume again the old experience of restless distraction.
The restraints of godliness lose their power, and the enthusiasm for holy
living, so strong yesterday, dies out in the midst of the world's chilling
influences, and we drop back into the old habitudes and creep along again in
the old dusty ways.
The Sunday has lifted us up for a day—but has not power
to hold us up in sustained elevation of soul. The duties we saw so clearly
and so firmly determined to do while sitting in the sanctuary, we do not
feel pressing upon us today with half the urgency of yesterday. Our high
resolves and our excellent intentions have proved only like the morning
cloud and the early dew. So our religion becomes a sort of illusion to us—a
bright unreal dream, only which for one day in seven breaks into the
worldliness and the self-seeking of our humdrum lives, giving us a period of
elevation—but no permanent uplifting. It is like when one climbs up out of a
valley, into the pure air of a mountain top for one hour, and then creeps
down again and toils on as before amid the mists and in the deep shadows—but
carrying none of the mountain's inspiration or of the mountain's splendor
with him back into the valley.
Yet such a life has missed altogether the meaning of the
religion of Christ, which is not designed to furnish merely a system of
Sunday oases across the desert of life, with nothing between
but sand and glare. Both its precepts and its blessings are for all the
days. He who worships God only on Sundays, and then ignores him or disobeys
him on weekdays—really has no true religion. We are perpetually in danger of
bisecting our life—calling one portion of it religious and the other
secular. Young people, when they enter the Church, are earnestly
urged to Christian duty, and the impression made upon them is that Christian
duty means reading the Bible and praying every day, attending upon the
public means of grace, taking active part in some of the missionary or
charitable associations, which belong to the Church, and in private and
personal ways striving to bring others to Christ. Now, important as these
things are, they are by no means all the pious duties of any young
Christian, and it is most fallacious teaching which emphasizes them as
though they were all.
True religion recognizes no bisecting into sacred
and secular. "Whether therefore you eat, or drink, or whatever you
do—do all to the glory of God." It is just as much a part of Christian duty
to do one's weekday work well—as it is to pray well. "I must be about my
Father's business," said Jesus in the dawn of youth; and what do we find him
doing after this recognition of his duty? Not preaching nor teaching—but
taking up the common duties of common life and putting all his soul into
them. He found the Father's business in his earthly home, in being a dutiful
child subject to his parents, in being a diligent pupil in the village
school and later in being a conscientious carpenter. He did not find
religion too spiritual, too transcendental, for weekdays. His devotion to
God did not take him out of his natural human relationships, into any realm
of mere sentiment: it only made him all the more loyal to the duties
of his place in life.
We ought to learn the lesson. True religion is intensely
practical. Only so far as it dominates one's life—is it real. We must get
the commandments down from the Sinaitic glory amid which they were
first engraved on stone by the finger of God—and give them a place in the
hard, dusty paths of earthly toil and struggle! We must get them off the
tables of stone—and have them written on the walls of our own hearts. We
must bring the Golden Rule down from its bright setting in the teaching of
our Lord—and get it wrought into our daily, actual life.
We say in creed, confession and prayer—that we love
God; and he tells us, if we do, to show it by loving our fellow men;
since professed love to God which is not thus manifested, is not love at
all. We talk about our consecration; if there is anything genuine in
consecration, it bends our wills to God's; it leads us to loyalty which
costs; it draws our lives to lowly ministry. "One secret act of
self-denial," says a thoughtful writer, "one sacrifice of inclination
to duty—is worth all the mere good thoughts, warm feelings,
passionate prayers, in which idle people indulge themselves!"
We are too apt to imagine that holiness consists
in mere good feeling toward God. It does not! It consists in obedience in
heart and life to the divine requirements. To be holy is, first—to be set
apart for God and devoted to God's service, "The Lord has set apart him who
is godly for himself." But if we are set apart for God in this sense, it
necessarily follows that we must live for God. We belong wholly to
him, and any use of our life in any other service is sacrilege, as if one
would rob the very altar of its smoking sacrifice, to gratify one's common
hunger. Our hands are God's—and can fitly be used only in doing his
work. Our feet are God's—and may be employed only in walking in his
ways and running his errands. Our lips are God's—and should speak
only words which honor him and bless others. Our hearts are God's—and
must not be profaned by thoughts and affections which are not pure.
Biblical holiness is no vague sentiment—it is
intensely practical. It is nothing less than the bringing of every
thought and feeling and act into obedience to Christ. We are quite in danger
of leaving out the element of obedience in our conception of
Christian living. If we do this, our religion loses its strength and
grandeur—and becomes weak, helpless and forceless. As one has said, "Let us
be careful how we cull from the gospel, such portions as are congenial,
forge God's signature to the excerpt, and apply the fiction as a
delusive analgesic to our violated consciences. The beauties and graces of
the gospel are all flung upon a background of requirements as inflexible as
Sinai and the granite. Christ built even his glory out of obedience."
Now, it is in the weekday life, under the stress and the
strain of temptation, far more than the Sunday life, beneath the gentle
warmth of its favoring conditions—which really puts our religion to the test
and shows what power there is in it. Not how well we sing and pray, nor how
devoutly we worship on the Lord's day—but how well we live, how loyally we
obey the commandments, how faithfully we attend to all our duties, on the
other days—which manifests what kind of Christians we really are. Nor can we
be faithful toward God and ignore our human relationships. "It is
impossible," says one, "for us to live in fellowship with God—without
holiness in all the duties of life. These things act and react on each
other. Without a diligent and faithful obedience to the calls and claims of
others upon us—our religious profession is simply dead. We cannot go from
strife, breaches and angry words—to God. Selfishness; an imperious will;
lack of sympathy with the sufferings and sorrows of other men; neglect of
charitable offices; suspicions; hard censures of those with whom our lot is
cast—will miserably darken our own hearts and hide the face of God from us."
The one word which defines and describes all relative
duties is the word "love". Many people understand religion to include
honesty, truthfulness, justice, purity—but do not think of it as including
just as peremptorily— unselfishness, thoughtfulness, kindness, patience,
good temper and courtesy. We are commanded to put away lying—but in
the same paragraph, and with equal urgency, we are enjoined to let all
bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor and evil-speaking be put away; and to be
kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another.
The law of love in all its most delicate shades of
application to disposition, word, act and manner—is the law of all true
Christian living. Thus the religion of the Sunday, like a precious perfume,
must pervade all the days of the week. Its spirit of holiness and
reverence, must flow down into all the paths of everyday life. Its
voices of hope and joy must become inspirations in all our
cares and toils. Its exhortations must be the guide of hand and foot
and finger—in the midst of all trial and temptation. Its words of comfort
must be as lamps to burn and shine in sick rooms and in the chambers of
sorrow. Its visions of spiritual beauty must be translated into
reality in conduct and character!
So, in all our life, the Sunday's lessons must be
lived out during the week! The patterns of heavenly things shown in the
mount—must be wrought into forms of reality and act and
disposition and character. The love of God which so warms our
hearts as we think of it—must flow out in love to men. We must be Christians
on Monday—as well as on the Sunday. Our religion must touch
every part of our life and transform it all into the beauty of holiness!