Part 6 (1/2)

Nonconformists. But now, ”My mother does it,”--”my aunt goes,”--”my father likes it”: so run the excuses which the members of your Bible Cla.s.s, children of Church members, fling in your face.

But what you call ”lawful” games, are stupid. Not all of them, perhaps; but if they were, that would not touch the question. Paul's ”If meat make my brother to offend, I will eat no flesh while the world standeth,” was crippled with no such condition as ”If I can get bread.”

And when the Lord bade us cut off the offending right hand, no question of whether we could live without it came in. It is not absolutely needful that Christ should find all his tired Church members rested and fresh; but it _is_ necessary that they should be ”spotless,”

”faithful,” ”ready,” when he comes.

There are other amus.e.m.e.nts that might be touched upon just here, but perhaps they are as well not named. Whatever takes you full into the ranks of Christ's enemies, not to fight but to follow them; whatever you cannot do straight through in the name of the Lord Jesus; whatever turns you away from the s.h.i.+ning presence of his face; is unlawful for you. Once remember that there is no middle ground, and then ask yourself what standing room there can be for you on a race course, what seat at a circus. If you are not with Christ, openly, unmistakably, you are ”scattering,” even in your games. I asked a friend (a minister of deep experience) lately, if he had seen much of this private card playing among Church members? He answered, ”Yes, a great deal.” Then I inquired what was the effect, as he had noticed it. And the reply was instant and emphatic:

”_Always_ evil!”--

Carlyle tells of ”patriots” in the French Revolution who shaved each other out of the fragments of bomb sh.e.l.ls, and wore ghastly trophies from the guillotine. But short of a Reign of Terror, making all men mad, one does not expect such things. Few people (I fancy) if they knew it, would care to use the gla.s.s from which some poor wretch had drunk his draught of poison; and even to touch the murderer's knife stored up in a public museum, would turn most hearts sick. But if you could only see as G.o.d sees; if things in society were but labelled and cla.s.sed; you would find your cards dark with the soul-life blood of thousands, and could hear their ruin in every fall of the dice.

I was much interested in a recent English essay (”On the Criminal Code of the Jews”) to find how the typical Israel regarded games of chance.

As if something of the old blessed ”The Lord is our King,” staid by them, even in the days of their downfall. The writer says:

”All who made money by dice-playing or any games of hazard, by betting on pigeon matches and similar objectionable practices, were not only incapable of becoming members of a tribunal, but were not permitted to give evidence. The Ghemara regards a man who gains money by the amus.e.m.e.nts named, as dishonest.”

[1] Once pastor of the Mercer Street Church, New York, and Professor in Union Theological Seminary.

[2] Prov. xvi. 33.

What Left?

But you will say, I leave nothing for you, then; no amus.e.m.e.nts, no recreation. Is that true? Is the narrow way indeed so barren, that we must step out of it to rest? Has the Lord only food and water for his flock, and when they need change and refreshment must they leave their Shepherd, and go over to the wolf for a run upon the hillside? That sounds hard for weak human nature--and strange, for a Lord of boundless resources. And somehow the Bible pictures of the flock shew wondrous contentment. ”A stranger will they not follow.” [1]

Then following the Master must be very sweet; for all men like variety, and the mere fact of a new voice is of itself enough to draw one aside.

Yet ”a stranger will they not follow, but will flee from him,”--O how much that tells! And here we touch the very root and spring of true refreshment, of real recreation. For while good general health is the best specific against mere bodily fatigue, so against a jaded, over-wrought state of nerves and energies, there is nothing like a heart full of joy and a mind at rest.

”He that believeth on me shall never thirst.” [2]

And if this satisfaction does not underlie all your pastimes, they will be a failure. No other stream alone can freshen even the small dry barrens of this earth.

But besides that, what is there left for Christian people?

To begin: ”Dancing is such good exercise!” people say. Granted. Or at least it _might_ be. But instead of night hours in a ball room, get on horseback for two hours in the open day, and then balance the profit and loss. You don't know how?--then learn. You have no horse? Go to riding school. An hour in the ring will stir your blood better than twenty Germans. But you ”cannot afford” to take riding lessons.--Well to say nothing of ball dresses, just throw satin slippers and long gloves and carriage hire together, and see if you cannot afford it.

Ay, and have a ticket now and then for some one poorer than yourself.

Then for people who live within reach of the opera, there is generally much other good music to be had, at far less expense and with none of the objections. And there again, the money and time spent at the opera, would train the voices at home into a lovely choir. Voices which now ”have no time,” and talents perhaps unknown.

”Everybody cannot sing.”--No. And neither can everybody paint; but it is a delicious pleasure to those who can. What joy to go sketching!

what delight to work up the sketches at home. What pure, noiseless, exquisite play it is. And if some of the party care nothing for pencils, let them lie under a tree with a book, and be part of your picture.

”Ah, books!--Of course you disapprove of novels,”--some one exclaims.

Indeed no. A good novel is very improving as well as refres.h.i.+ng. And after much study over that word ”good” (that is, for us, worth reading) I can give no better meaning than this. A good book, whether novel or other, is one which leaves you further on than it took you up. If when you drop it, it drops you, right down in the same old spot; with no finer outlook, no cleared vision, no stimulated desires, it is in no sense a good book for you. As well make fancy loaves of sawdust, and label them ”Good Bread”; and claim that you rise from the banquet refreshed.

A novel has special power of its own. It may be deeply historical, like ”Waverly,” and ”The Tale of Two Cities.” It may be a picture of vivid local colouring, like ”Ivanhoe,” or ”Lorna Doone,” or ”Dr Antonio.” It may be full of social hints and glimpses, with many a covert wise suggestion, like Miss Austin's ”Emma.” It may shew up a vital truth or a life-long mistake, like Miss Edgeworth's ”Helen,” or open out new natural scenes like the ”Adventures of a Phaeton”; or life scenes, like ”Oliver Twist”; or be so full of frolic and fun and sharp common sense, that the mere laughter of it does you good ”like a medicine.” Witness ”Christie Johnstone,” and Miss Carlen's ”John.”