Chapter Ten: A Reckoning

Whether we speak of our passage through this world to the next as a pilgrimage, a walk, a race, or a voyage, in any case it will be wise for us occasionally to ascertain what progress we have made, and to see just where we are. We can make this passage but once, nor is it possible for us to avoid making it. Right or wrong, foolishly or wisely, rapidly or slowly, we must go on and on till we reach the end. There is no turning back. There is no way of escaping the responsibility. Whether willingly or unwillingly, we must finish our course,—some course, be it good or bad, and terminating in some destiny, either of joy or sorrow, of glory or anguish. In deliberately choosing the way of life which he will follow, and the principles by which he will be guided, and in making this choice in the light of the highest wisdom and most trustworthy experience known among men, the Christian is in no sense at disadvantage. His sacrifices are no greater, his trials no more serious, his disappointments no more frequent, his pleasures and enjoyments no less than those of the man of the world; while he has the assurance, which the other cannot have, that at the last he will reach the true home of his soul, and be perfectly happy.

We are, I fondly trust, faithfully striving to finish our course with joy, but very often the winds have been contrary, while strong currents have caused us to drift hither and thither. Fogs and mists, too, have sometimes encompassed our little vessels, and have shut out the light of sun and stars; and now we may not know in exactly what latitude and longitude we are. We have been trying to steer by chart and compass, but it may be that winds and waves and tides have deflected us to the right hand or the left; and so it will be well for us to take an observation and ascertain our position.

The careful mariner, making his way across the pathless sea, does this every day at noon, if the sun can be seen, and if not, he still has the record of his log-book, from which with proximate accuracy, he can calculate his position by “dead-reckoning.” He can, of course, tell nothing by simply looking at his vessel, or by surveying the vast expanse of water in which it floats. To all appearances these are just the same to-day that they were yesterday and the day before. He must look up to the heavens. His place upon the sea is to be ascertained by observing his relations to the heavenly bodies.

So, while it is doubtless necessary upon occasion for us to examine ourselves whether we are in the faith, I am quite sure that frequent introspection is neither necessary nor wholesome. Our peculiar frames and states of mind may lead, if we brood over them, to needless discouragement, or, on the other hand, to unwarranted spiritual elevation and self-satisfaction. It will be better for us, I think, to consult our “log-book,” the record of the course we have been following, and the rate at which we have been moving, and then to look up and ascertain our present relations to the great Sun of Righteousness, whose very unchangeableness directs and regulates our lives.

I am happy to believe that those whose principles and sympathies have led them to accompany me in this series are persons who, perhaps for years, have gradually been making progress—persons who could not be content to neglect the great salvation, and who have, therefore, been all the time, though with varying speed, going on to perfection. By comparing their present with their past, they cannot fail to observe, first of all, a marked and decided advance in knowledge. I do not mean by this merely an increase in intellectual attainments, nor even a greater familiarity with the word of truth. These, great as is their importance, are subsidiary to the true knowledge. I trust that we have come better to know God and Jesus Christ whom he has sent, without which all other acquirements are vain and nugatory. This knowledge, and this only, is life eternal. This knowledge, and this only, is life eternal. We have been living with him all these years of sunshine and shadow. He has come near to us in our sorrows. He has hallowed our joys. He has blessed and brightened our lives. We have laid upon him our heavy heart-burdens, and have felt relieved. With the spirit of a little child we have drawn near to him in trustful love and in spiritual communion, and have found peace and refreshment and comfort. Yes, we have learned by sweet experience that in very deed he is to his people all that his word had led us to believe. “Grace and truth have been multiplied to us through the knowledge of God, and of Jesus our Lord, according as his divine power hath given unto us all things that pertain unto life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who hath called us to glory and virtue” (2 Peter 1:2-3). We have indeed made good progress if we have come to know that we may trust him; that we may safely trust him; that we may always trust him; that he is really caring for us, and watching over us, and sympathizing with us.

To the extent that the foregoing is true of us, we must have acquired also “the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price” (1 Peter 3:4). We have learned by this time that fretting and chafing can do us only harm; that as God rules the world, and “worketh all things after the counsel of his own will,” our murmurings at seeming evils are really directed against him; and we have come, let me hope, to accept what he sends us in the spirit of resignation at least, if not yet of positive gratitude. We may not have reached, though it is possible to reach, as the apostle did, the supreme and crowning attainment of glorying in tribulation; but if we are cultivating this spirit, if we are more and more clearly seeing the hand of love in every stroke of chastisement — if we are looking for the Fatherly heart rather than for that of the angry Judge—we are in some measure at least following Paul, as he also followed Christ.

Surely, too, with increasing years and riper experience, we have acquired a more complete mastery over ourselves, our passions, our appetites, our tongues. Doubtless we have found this last the most difficult. The apostle seems to place its achievement at the very end of progress—at the very goal of perfection. “If any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man, and also able to bridle the whole body” (James 3:2). Again, he says: “If any man among you seemeth to be religious, and bridleth not his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man’s religion is vain” (James 1:26).

If we have reached a deeper and heartier interest in the welfare of our fellow-men; if we have acquired the habit of always making allowances for their frailty, their weakness, their temptations, their want of early instruction, and so to put ourselves in their places that the sweet spirit of heaven-born charity dictates our judgments and mollifies our feelings; and especially if we have risen to the plane of earnestly desiring and faithfully laboring and sacrificing to promote the salvation and happiness of the poor and needy, the friendless and the outcast, we may well feel that we have drawn nearer to God, and that we are moving onward to perfection.

But alas, how often have we stumbled and fallen! How often have the distractions of the world, its cares and pleasures and riches, turned us from our true course, and filled our hearts with unworthy love! Our advancement at best has been unsteady, and come short of our duty and of the glory of God. If amid all this checkered experience we have made any progress, it is owing to his mercy, and because his compassions fail not. At best we have not yet attained, neither are we already perfect. But the glorious Sun is shining above us. It is noontide. We may look up into his face, and by comparing ourselves with his matchless perfection, we may see and know “whereto we have already attained,” and may settle upon our course for the future.