Life's Open Doors
by J. R. Miller, 1912
Life is full of doors. A door is a very simple thing. It
may be only a plain, unadorned piece of board. Its significance is not in
the material of which it is made, or in its costliness or its artistic
beauty—but in the fact that it is a door which opens to something. One door
may open to a noble gallery of pictures; enter, and you stand amid the
finest works of art. Another door opens into a great library; enter, and you
find about you the works of the wise men of the ages. Another door opens to
a school, a great university; enter, and you are listening to distinguished
teachers whose learned teachings will enrich your mind. It is not the door
itself that matters—but that to which the door is the entrance.
Life's doors are not shut and locked. They may not be
ornate, and they may not invite to ease and pleasure—but they open to the
truest and best things, to the finest possibilities of character and
attainment, and to the noblest ultimate achievements. There are doors which
open to good. They may not invite us to easy things. The best things do not
offer themselves to us as self-indulgences. The doors which we ought
to enter may not be attractive—but they open to the truest and best life, to
the finest possibilities of character and attainment and to the noblest
ultimate achievement.
There is the door of education. All life is a
school. People may have graduated from college and university—but their
education is not finished. This should go on in the occupations and
struggles that follow. It is there, that we learn the real lessons of life.
There is the door of hardship and pain. One
of our newspapers pays tribute to one unnamed man who died recently after
years of intense suffering. He never asked pity or any concessions because
of his suffering—but grew more and more devoted to his work. There are many
people who permit their pain and misfortune—to make constant appeal to human
sympathy, instead of bearing these burdens quietly and heroically.
Suffering, properly endured, develops power and adds to usefulness. The
school of hardship and pain is where we learn many of the finest
things.
Another of the doors which opens to us in life, is the
door to kindness. Many people think of kindness as only a
kindergarten lesson—but one who accepts the task, finds it very long.
Kindness begins in unselfishness, the crucifying of self. It is sacrificial
in its every feeling and act. Wherever self reigns in the heart—there
will be unkindness in the life, in some form. To be kind is to be gentle.
Kindness will not break a bruised reed, nor quench the smoking wick.
Kindness is thoughtful, so sensitive of other people's conditions, that it
refrains from every act, word or look that would give pain. Kindness is
sympathetic, touched by suffering and quick to give comfort. It is a
wonderful door, which opens into the school of kindness.
Another of life's doors opens into the school of
helpfulness. When we begin to be like God—we begin to be helpful. We
think we love each other—but the love is only mere sentimentality, until it
has been wrought into sacrificial act, into service which costs. Personal
helpfulness is the test, as well as the measure, of the quality of the mind
of Christ which is in us. Evermore people need to be helped. This does not
mean that we are to carry their burdens, pay their debts, do their work,
fight their battles. Such helpfulness does evil—rather than good. We help
others truly when we make them strong and brave, that they may carry their
own burdens and meet their own struggles! Helpfulness should cheer,
encourage, inspire, impart larger visions and greater hope and confidence.
There are men everywhere who are pressed down, beleagured, ready to sink and
perish, whom strong brotherly sympathy would save. They are in sorrow,
disappointment has staggered them, or they have been defeated in their
purposes. To be able to help these is the highest service which we can
render to the world. "To be a strong hand in the dark to another in the time
of need," says Hugh Black, "to be a cup of strength to a human soul in a
crisis of weakness, is to know the glory of life." There would seem to be no
limit to the possibilities of this higher helpfulness.
The true Christian life is reached—by the emptying of
self and the filling of the emptiness, with Christ. When Christ is in
us—we are able to help others with his strength. It is a wonderful door
which opens into a noble Christian life. Men are trying to make us believe
that there is nothing in Christianity, that taking Christ into one's life
does nothing for a person. But what has Christ done for the lives of his
friends along the centuries? What did he do for John and Peter? What did he
do for Paul? What is he doing continually for those who follow him in faith
and consecration?
Robertson Nicoll, in a recent address, referred to John
G. Paton's work in the New Hebrides. "His wife died when he and she were
laboring in a savage island and had made practically no converts. The
missionary had to dig her grave himself and to lay her there with the dark,
hostile faces round him. 'If it had not been for Jesus,' Dr. Paton says,
'and the presence he gave me there, I would have gone mad and died beside
that lonely grave!'" If it had not been for Jesus the world would never have
seen the glorious ministry of Dr. Paton. Nor is that splendid life singular
in its story. Say what we may about the failures of Christians, which so
sadly mar the beauty of the Christian life—we know that thousands of
believers have realized wonderful things, which if it had not been for
Jesus—they never could have done.
By and by, we all come to a door which opens into old
age. Many are disposed to feel that this door can lead to nothing
beautiful. We cannot go on with our former tireless energy, our crowded
days, our great achievements. But there is altogether too much letting go,
too much dropping of tasks, too much falling out of the pilgrim march—when
old age comes on. We may not be able to run swiftly as before. We
tire more easily. We forget some things. But old age may be made very
beautiful and full of fruit. This door opens into a period of great
possibilities of usefulness, a true crowning of the life. Old age is not a
blot—if it is what it should be. It is not a withering of the
life—but a ripening. It is not something to dread—but is the
completion of God's plan.
Last of all we come to the door of death. Into
what does this door lead? Is there anything beyond—anything beautiful,
anything glorious? Our Christian faith tells us that death is not a wall—but
a door. We do not in dying, come to the end of anything
beautiful and good—but only pass through into blessedness and glory! We are
immortal and shall never die! All the lessons we have been learning in
earth's schools—we shall go on practicing forever. We shall enter into the
joy of Christ—when we pass through this last door of earth!