The world knows not Christ, nor does it know his followers. The character and conduct of the martyrs were a perfect mystery to the mass who looked on their sufferings. The Platonist who made of necessity a virtue, and tried philosophy to prepare himself to bear anything, was completely at a loss when he saw the Christian conqueror meet death in its most aggravated forms with joy. One, when thrown on the flames, said: “This is a bed of roses.” Another, overwhelmed with joy, forgot his sufferings, cried out: “None but Jesus! none but Jesus!” These things were, indeed, wonders to the gazing world. The followers of Christ were like beings from another world; so it will be with us if we are Christians. We will be pilgrims, and, of course, strangers here. The world will not understand us. Our motives to action, our joys and hopes, our supports, are all strange to them. For example: that we should have so much pleasure in contemplating the crucifixion and death of our Master—a thing supposed to give us pain—is a mystery. That we should be so careful in performing some duties, which the world regards of so little use—that we should rejoice in the darkest hours of trial and in death, make us strange to our nearest worldly friends. We are bound for another land, and feel strange here. If strangers, let us live so. If a traveler in a foreign land is going homeward, if he has an unpleasant journey, he finds relief in the fact it will soon be over. If, as he halts for the night, he has a disagreeable landlord and uncomfortable accommodations, he remembers it is only for the night. As soon as morning comes he will leave all these behind him, and be nearing his home. So should we, in our pilgrimage, look on our homes, our lands, merely as they aid us on our journey heavenward. If we have trouble and bereavement and sorrow, remember these are soon to end, and we shall find sorrow turned to joy. [110]
[Volume V: January, 1868]
Return to Lard’s Quarterly index.