April 17

"I came not to send peace, but a sword."—Matthew 10:34.

Not peace but a sword—my Lord, it is a hard saying. Teach me to believe it, and to submit to the ordeal, sharp and keen and sore though it may be.

Between me and my world, Christ's sword may pierce with its remorseless edge. He separates me from old habits, old employments, old pleasures, old friendships. He divides me from the society in which I was accustomed to move. "Your home is no longer there," He says. And I go out from the familiar surroundings into an untrodden region and realm.

Between me and my nearest and dearest, Christ's sword may pierce pitilessly, unshrinkingly. Perhaps the loved ones of my own house will have none of my Redeemer and my Lord. Perhaps they see no beauty in Him that they should desire Him. Then, in the deepest and highest things, they and I will stand apart, a sundering tide rolling between us. And how immeasurably sad that will be!

Between me and myself, Christ's sword is sure to pierce with a blade that does not spare. The I, the soul, the self, that used to be so vain, so confident, so proud, must be slain outright. Its days of bluster, of parade, of government must take end. It must cease to be. Till I can say, "It is no more I who live, but He—my Prophet, my Priest, my King—who lives in me." What a change that is! What a martyrdom!

It is painful, this stroke of the sword. But the old confessor was right: "The nearer the sword, the nearer heaven"—heaven to-day on earth as well as some other day in the skies. If I am victim, I am victor too. Smitten down by Jesus, I am not destroyed but crowned.