Reality

What prominent untruths and unreality have become part of business life, dress, in social forms, and in religion. Have we not read of some who are described as “having a form of godliness but denying the power thereof.” Yes, we have; and upon reading it we have always found genuine inner satisfaction in immediately applying this stinging rebuke to professed Christians who (of course members merely of other churches than ours) who “have a name to live but are dead—” Let it fit them if it does; but how about ourselves—we who are saved and know it, who have spiritually alive and glory in it, we who have received what we enthusiastically call “the full gospel,” and for which we thank God daily, how about ourselves, have we any forms that are not filled with power, do we ever testify that graces we are not actually possessing, is our preaching ever cut under by our conduct—have we, in short, ever considered the danger of evangelical formalism?

So far as the psychology of the situation goes there is no reason in the world why words may not become mere words and nothing more as easily on one plane of Christian experience as another. So far as the intimation of the Scriptures goes, we are warned that the greatest dangers of all beset the Israelites after they had crossed the Jordan and victoriously entered the promised land. So far as human nature in general goes man is forever prone to lose the inner meaning of all forms (religious as well as others) and gradually to come to be quite satisfied in juggling with the dead shell of what once was pregnant with living meaning. Man, easily and unconsciously transfers his centre of interest from the reality itself to the form which stands for the reality. He may have lost all vital touch with reality, but he retains the form—and he does not miss the content. He has not forgotten how to talk the language, he can still repeat the Shibboleth, but what these things all meant in inner experience he may have long since forgotten. Yet so long as the old forms flow trippingly from the tongue, he is happy. He mistakes the form for the power.

How may a Christian who has unconsciously slipped into this deadly condition of spiritual counterfeit come to a realization of the truth concerning himself—if perchance he has grace enough to acknowledge even the possibility of his being so seriously astray? There are at least two simple tests of spiritual unreality. The first is: when one’s outward life is fairer than his inward life, we are in the presence of unreality. Things are put on the surface, which do not belong in the heart. Artificial fruit is tied to the exterior of the life, while the inner spirit is a barren. Prayer is abundant in public, but sparse in private; or at least it wears out when trouble and persistent heart-searching for friends is better than earnest words concerning those friends. When talking with gospel Christians one’s Master’s name is often mentioned, but left to ourselves He is not nearly so prominent in our thoughts. In our testimony we say we love lost souls, but all too often in our heart we are seldom moved to pray for them. In meeting we talk love, but bitterness is within toward the “brother,” but beneath the surface is cherished anger. We may talk of peace, yet we are daily worried and distracted. If we will patiently and courageously (for it takes more courage than most men suppose) test our hearts and lives in the light of this first outward form of this test, it is very likely before long to make some sad but interesting discoveries.

A second way to test for genuineness is to proceed on the basis that when a man professes more in his outward form than his actual outer life, we are in the presence of unreality. This is almost the first test an unturned around; but it may grapple what the first had missed. It must be noticed that the statement reads, “he professed more life.” This takes care of those cases where men claim to have what we do not have. How are we to test this case? By the outward life. The Master has remarked that in the long run, the fruit that men can see is the true test of the inner nature which cannot be seen. It is well to ask ourselves, therefore, some questions along this line. Am I professing a consecration that I am not living up to? Am I talking about inward holiness when my speech is often sharp and unkind? Am I claiming to be one with Christ when I am acting in duplicity with any of my brethren? Is my assertion that I have the Holy Spirit supported by a thoroughly Christ-like dealing with every man, woman and child touched by my life? When I stepped into the deeper Christian experience I claimed to have received much from God; has there been a corresponding increase in the apparent divine virtues of my daily conduct? In my practical life am I as much more Christlike than those whom I call “carnal Christians” as my testimony and profession is higher than theirs? Or do I talk higher, but find in myself the same stubborn evidence of being after all pretty much self-controlled, rather than, as I profess, Christ-controlled?

These are good wholesome questions. The only danger is that we shall not answer them honestly—and this is not intentional, but because the deceit of self-deceit may extend to that point where one is not only deceived, but is deceived about the fact that he is deceived; he is not only blind, but is blind to his blindness. Yet the searching Spirit of God will assist a sincere soul. But sincerity here must mean honesty, perfect frankness. It is rare to be honest about one’s inconsistencies, and another rare thing to be absolutely frank in dealing with one’s religious shortcomings. A religious hypocrite is hard to deal with: he will not grant you a point of contact, no fixed point upon which one might apply the lever of reason, a fulcrum for your lever. And the more religious he is the harder it is to reach him. His very religion tends to make him immune to even the suggestion of disingenuities. This fact constitutes the greatest danger for many of us. We are ready to pray for the sinner, to plead with the backslider, anxious to bring the carnal Christian to the altar, but we—we! why we have not known the Lord at these years, and are we not filled with the Spirit, and do we not hold the full gospel? Let some hope appeal to this pride. But at the same time let us not shut our eyes to the fact that with all the things laid in man’s case so thick in professions of them, and let us not forget that religiosity constitutes and represents one of the commonest and one of the most deadly kinds of unreality in the world. Probably more harm is done the deep things of Christ, its fundamental realities in its fullness, by the mild and high-sounding religious talk of those whose lives do not ring true than by all other forces put together.

There are in truth glorious realities in the Christian experience, greater that those that have been achieved. Do not the fear going too far with the Master, do not fear to becompletely controlled by the Spirit. But let us nonetheless solemnly vow before God that, however far we may go, we shall remain genuine both outwardly and inwardly, and that whatever degree of spiritual experience we may profess must be strongly backed up by unquestionable spiritual reality.