Ah, if men only understood that Jesus is to be found today down among the world’s burdened and weary souls, not as a priest begirt with ceremony and aloof from daily life, but as a physician, approachable, helpful, human, who sees and pities their weakness, and longs to save them and help them to their best. If men only understood that!
Prayer
We come to Thee, Thou Good Physician, with all our ills and fears. We would whisper in Thine ear the troubles that frighten and shame us. Surely Thou wilt hear. Draw near us in Thy strength and pity, and in Thy mercy heal us all. Amen.
VI
Well and Now
“Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might, for there is no work nor device nor knowledge nor wisdom in the grave whither thou goest.”
Ecclesiastes 9:10
In popular and condensed form, the golden rule according to Ecclesiastes is, “Do it well and do it now.” His own words are, “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might, for there is no work nor device nor knowledge nor wisdom in the grave whither thou goest.” We want to let that precept soak into our minds for a little.
Do it well. “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.” Among the lesser joys of life there are few that thrill one with a more pleasurable sense of satisfaction than that which goes with the bit of work finished, rounded-off and done as well as one can do it. No matter what the job may be, if it is worth doing at all, or if it is one’s business to do it, it is not difficult to recognise in the curious inward glow over its honourable completion, a token of God’s good pleasure, some far-off echo of His “Well done!”
It is a truism which never loses its point that it is enthusiasm that commands success. In her weird book called Dreams, Olive Schreiner tells the parable of an artist who painted a beautiful picture. On it there was a wonderful glow which drew the admiration of all his compeers, but which none could imitate. The other painters said, Where did he get his colours? But though they sought rich and rare pigments in far-off Eastern lands they could not catch the secret of it. One day the artist was found dead beside his picture, and when they stripped him for his shroud they found a wound beneath his heart. Then it dawned upon them where he had got his colour. He had painted his picture with his own heart’s blood! It is the only way to paint it, if the picture is to be worth while at all. If we would have the work that we do live and count, our heart’s blood must go into it. Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might.
What magnificent heart-stirring examples are coming to us every day just now, from sea and battlefield, of the good old British virtue of sticking in gamely to the end and “seeing the thing through!” If the stories of the old English admirals are calculated, as Stevenson says, to “send bank clerks back with more heart and spirit to their bookkeeping by double entry,” shall not the story that unfolds day by day of what our own kith and kin are doing, nerve and inspire us all to “do our bit,” to face up to our duty, humdrum and ordinary though it be, with the same grit and energy, with the same determination to see it through, and make as good a job of it as we can?
The Preacher has his reason for this advice. Because, he says, some day you will have to stop and lay down your tools, and that will be the end. No more touching botched work after that. No going back to lift dropped stitches then. Such as it is, your record will have to stand as you leave it, when Death raps at your door. Even for us in this Christian age, this ancient Preacher’s reason still stands valid and solemn. Do what you are at now as well as ever you can, for you shall pass that way no more again forever.
The Apostle Paul, who expresses practically the same sentiment, gives a different reason. “Whatever ye do,” he writes to the Colossians, “do it heartily as to the Lord.” And that is the point for you and me. Not merely because we have a limited time to work, but because our work is Christ’s service, we must do it heartily, with all our might. It is to the Lord. To us all in our different labours, in the things we work at day by day, and the worthy interests we endeavour to support, there comes this call that transforms the very commonest duty into an honourable obligation to a personal living Master—Whatever ye do, do it heartily as to the Lord.
Yes, and do it now. For the amount of misery and suffering and remorse that is directly due to putting off the God-given impulse or generous purpose to some other season, is simply incalculable. If all the kind letters had been written when the thought of writing was fresh and insistent—ah me, how many burdened souls would have been the braver and the stronger. If only the friendly visit had been paid when we thought about it—and why wasn’t
