Magyar Egyház, 1982 (61. évfolyam, 1-12. szám)
1982-01-01 / 1-2. szám
8. oldal MAGYAR GGYflAZ prophet Jeremiah, actually sought to stifle the voice within his soul, and said to himself, I will speak no more, I will sit in silence and witness no more, but the mighty word within him became as a burning flame in his bones, he was weary of forbearing, he could not contain (Jer. 20:9). Ease, comfort, home often, wealth, social position, friends are all secondary, and are sacrificed without a pang of grief when they would thrust themselves between the man and his mission, when they would arrest his feet. He is God’s messenger, and he cannot be stayed nor linger. Men sent from God are endowed with the noblest talents and gifts. The magnitude of the errand upon which they come necessitates this. All workers for God may justly be said to be sent by Him, and by Him they are fitted for their task. But there come occasionally into our race those who create epochs in history, who set loose new forces that change the course of things, who become light-centers that fling their radiance far out into the surrounding darkness, whose life and teaching mold the thoughts and beliefs of generations. He who sends them takes care that they are supplied with the gifts and filled with the talents, the greatness and the difficulties of their mission demand. From their birth they are girded by Him with power. John the Baptist was filled with the Holy Spirit from his mother’s womb (Luke 1:15). The angel that announced his advent said, “He shall go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah.” He was born great; enriched with supreme gifts from the beginning. We find evidences of an impartation of extraordinary gifts for extraordinary service, in other men whose names are not recorded in the Scriptures. There is Martin Luther. A child of the people, of obscure and humble origin, the son of a miner, all his ancestors back to his greatgrandfather peasants, without fame or fortune, Luther was set to grapple in a death-struggle with the most gigantic power, the most consummate organization in existence. What were his gifts that he single-handed should smite the Colossus to the ground, free the race from its cruel domination, unchain the Bible and give it unfettered to the world? God was in the mighty struggle, we cannot doubt; it was A Prayer God, give me sympathy and sense, And help me keep my courage high; God, give me calm and confidence, And—please—a twinkle in my eye. Amen. His battle, not Luther’s alone, and His was the victory. But He took care that the man sent to accomplish the mighty task should be girded with His strength. If the trenchant words of John smote on the ears of Israel as a voice from the other world and stirred the heart of the nation, we may well say with Richter that Luther’s words were “half battles.” He flashed out illumination from him; his striking idiomatic phrases and sentences pierced to the very heart of the controversy. There was in him insight, profound insight that betokens genius and more than genious, even the presence and the power of the Spirit of God. This assured confidence of the infallible certainty of the message is what the world wants. Multitudes are weary and sick of speculations, of barren idealities, and hollow formalism. They want realities, not hypotheses, food, not husks nor stones. God’s chosen messengers bear precisely such messages, and their faith in them is unwavering. They know that they know. It is easy to denounce the evil and evil tendencies of our age, and to extol the virtues and excellencies of former days. While there are not wanting the evidence of much good, of genuinely heroic selfsacrifice on the part of multitudes of Christian men and women, it must sorrowfully be acknowledged that sinister assailants of no common sort threaten the cause and people of God on every side. There are principles and tendencies at work in modern society which if left unchecked will ere long result in disaster and ruin. A lawless drift is already on us, precurser of worse to come. Who does not perceive that the ax is already aimed at the chief hoops that bind together the staves of the civil polity? The restlessness under restraint, the revolt against authority and even law, the growth of agnosticism, the assaults on the Bible the anchor of all true religion, the prevelence of materialism, fostered as this is by the philosophy and the commercialism of the time, the enormous greed of those who have and who want still more, the deep ominous growl of those who have not, who want and will have—all this betokens the breaking down of the barriers and the near approach of the “falling away,” the apostasy, of which prophecy speaks with most solemn warning (2 Thess. 2:3,4). Men sent from God, with their living personal apprehension of God never perhaps were more needed than now; men who believe, with their whole mind and heart, soul and strength; believe, and endure as seeing Him who is invisible. Some other features of these men may be grouped together and briefly treated. These are men of ardent love, of deep and abiding affection for their fellows. Paul had a continual heaviness and sorrow in his heart for his unbelieving countrymen. One may well doubt whether he had unalloyed happiness for a single day during the whole period of his Christian career. Wherever he went he carried this burden of grief, a heart full of tears. Nor was his solicitude confined to the descendants of Abraham. How pathetic are the terms in which he addresses certain Gentile converts who were slipping away from the truth and the liberty of Christ in which he had set them: “My little children, of whom I am again in travail until Christ be formed in you.... I am perplexed about you.” “Now we live if ye stand fast in the Lord.” Knox’s midnight cry, “Give me Scotland or I die,” discloses the like passionate, tearful love and yearning. It reminds us of His tears who wept over guilty, impenitent Jerusalem, “0 Jerusalem, Jerusalem, that killeth the prophets, and stoneth them that are sent unto her! How often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not!” Strength and courage are always found allied with the tenderest feelings and emotions. Luther could be as strong and fearless as a lion in the presence of the great and mighty of earth, and yet be as a little child with children. He loved music, loved to sing his evensong, to play soft melodies on his flute. He delighted in birds, in the still starry nights, and in the flowers and shrubs and trees. Many a tree he planted with his own hands. Strong, courageous, but tender withal, and gentle as a little child. He used what seems in our day violent and awful words against the pope, against Henry VIII and against others, yet words that the circumstances demanded and the tyrannies and despotisms of these exalted potentates made necessary. He called them the swine of hell, and told them he, Martin, would grind their brazen foreheads into powder! He writes: “I have seen and defied innumerable devils. Duke George of Leipzic”—a great enemy of his—“is not equal to one devil. If I had business at Leipzig, I would ride into Leipzig, tho it rained Duke Georges for nine days running.” “He lies there,” said the Earl of Morton at Knox’s grave, “who never feared the face of man.” They may appear harsh, intolerant, these heaven-sent men, but it must never be forgotten that the mission imposed on them, the solemn, awful message they have to deliver, and their fidelity to Him who commissions them, forbid absolutely all softness, compromise, and pliability. The message as often contains lamentations and mourning and woe as good tidings of great joy. It is the Lord’s word they speak, and it is one of truth always, often of stern reproof and dreadful denunciation. Whatever the message, let it be ours to welcome the messenger, and be glad for the heaven-sent man.
