Introduction

On the flyleaf of my Bible, I find the following words, taken from I know not where: “This generation has rediscovered the unselfishne ss of God.” If I were called upon to state in one sentence the sum and substance of my religious experience, it is this sentence I would choose. And no words could express my thankfulness for having been born into a generation where this discovery has been comparatively easy. If I am not mistaken, the generation before mine knew very little of the unselfishness of God, and even in my own generation, there are, I fear, many good and earnest Christians who do not know it yet.

Without putting it into such words as would shock themselves or others, many Christians still, at bottom, look upon God as one of the most selfish, self-absorbed beings in the universe — far more selfish than they would think it right to be themselves — intent only upon His own honour and glory, continually watching that His own rights are never trampled on; and so absorbed in thoughts of Himself and His own righteousness as to have no love or pity to spare for the poor sinners who have offended Him. I grew up believing God was like this. I have discovered that He is exactly the opposite. And it is of this discovery I want to tell.

After more than seventy years of life, I have come to the profound conviction that every need of the soul is met by the discovery I have made. In that wonderful pray er of our Lord’s in John 17, He says, “And this is life eternal, that they might know Thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom Thou hast sent.” This used to seem to me a mystic saying that might perhaps have a pious, esoteric meaning, but certainly could have no practical application. But every year of my religious life I have discovered in it a deeper and more vital meaning, until now at last I see that, rightly understood, it contains the gist of the whole matter. To know God as He truly is in His essential nature and character is to have reached the absolute, unchangeable, utterly satisfying foundation upon which — and upon which only — can be built the whole superstructure of our religious life.

To discover that He is not the selfish Being we so often imagine Him to be, but is instead truly and fundamentally unselfish — caring not for Himself, but only and always for us and for our welfare — is to have found the answer to every human question and the cure for every human need. But how to make this discovery is the crucial question.

In our present stage of existence, we do not yet possess the faculties that would make it possible for us to see God as He is in His essential and incomprehensible Being. We need an interpreter.

We must have an Incarnation. If I wished to make a colony of ants know me as I am in the essential essence of my being, I would need to incarnate myself in the body of an ant and speak to them in their own language, as one ant to another. As a human being, I might stand over an anthill and speak for a lifetime, and not one word would reach the ears of the ants. They would run to and fro, unconscious of my speech.

To know God, therefore, as He truly is, we must go to His Incarnation in the Lord Jesus Christ.

The Bible tells us that no man has seen God at any time, but that the only begotten Son of the Father has revealed Him. When one of the disciples said to Christ, “Show us the Father, and it suffices us,” Christ answered, “Have I been so long with you, and yet you have not known Me, Philip? He that has seen Me has seen the Father; and how then do you say, ‘Show us the Father’? Do you not believe that I am in the Father, and the Father in Me? The words that I speak unto you I speak not of Myself, but the Father who dwells in Me, He does the wo rks.”

Here, then, is our opportunity. We cannot see God, but we can see Christ. Christ was not only the Son of God, but He was also the Son of Man, and as a man to men, He can reveal His Father.

Whatever Christ was, that God is. All the unselfishness, all the tenderness, all the kindness, all the justice, all the goodness that we see in Christ is simply a revelation of the unselfishness, the tenderness, the kindness, the justice, the goodness of God.

Someone has said lately, in words that seem to me inspired, “Christ is the human form of God.”

And this is the explanation of the Incarnation.

I do not mean, however, to say that no one can have any revelation of God to their souls except those who believe the Bible and who know Christ as He is revealed there. I believe reverently and thankfully that “God is no respecter of persons, but in every nation he that fears Him and works righteousness is accepted with Him.” God has “not left Himself without a witness” in any age of the world. But what I do believe is exactly what is declared in the opening words of the Epistle to the Hebrews — that God, who “at sundry times and in divers manners spake in times past unto the fathers by the prophets, hath in these last days spoken unto us by His Son,” who is “the brightness of His glory, and the express image of His person.” Therefore, although we may find many particular revelations elsewhere, if we would know Him as He truly is, we can only see Him fully revealed in His express image, the Lord Jesus Christ.

It was a long time before I found this out, and until I did, I was — as my story will show — as truly ignorant of Him as the most benighted savage, even though I lived in a Christian community, was brought up in a Christian church, and had the open Bible in my hand. God was a terror to me until I began to see Him in the face of Jesus Christ, when He became an unmixed joy. And I believe many weary souls are in a similar case — souls who, if they could once be made to see that God is like Christ, would experience an unspeakable relief.

A friend of mine told me that her childhood was spent in a perfect terror of God. Her idea of Him was that He was a cruel giant with an awful “Eye” that could see everything, no matter how hidden, and that He was always spying upon her, watching for chances to punish her and to snatch away all her joys. She said she would creep into bed at night with the dreadful feeling that even in the dark the “Eye of God” was upon her; and she would pull the covers over her head in the vain hope — though she knew it was vain — of hiding from this terrifying Eye, and would lie there trembling, whispering to herself in agony, “What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do? Even my mother cannot save me from God!”

With a child’s strange reticence, she never told anyone of her te rror. But one night her mother, coming into the room unexpectedly, heard the poor little despairing cry, and with sudden comprehension sat down beside the bed, took the cold little hand in hers, and told her that God was not a dreadful tyrant to be afraid of, but was just like Jesus. She reminded her how good and kind Jesus was, and how He loved little children and took them in His arms and blessed them.

My friend said she had always loved the stories about Jesus, and when she heard that God was like Him, it was a perfect revelation. It took away her fear of God forever. She went about all that day saying to herself over and over, “Oh, I am so glad I have found out that God is like Jesus, for Jesus is so nice. Now I need never be afraid of God anymore.” And when she went to bed that night, she actually laughed out loud at the thought that such a dear, kind Eye was watching over her and taking care of her.

This little child had caught a glimpse of God “in the face of Jesus Christ,” and it brought rest to her soul.

By the discovery of God, therefore, I do not mean anything mysterious, mystical, or unattainable.

I simply mean becoming acquainted with Him as one becomes acquainted with a human friend — finding out what His nature and character are, and learning to understand His ways. In short, I mean discovering what sort of Being He really is: whether good or bad, kind or unkind, selfish or unselfish, strong or weak, wise or foolish, just or unjust.

It is, of course, evident that everything in one’s religious life depends upon the sort of God one worships. The character of the worshipper must necessarily be shaped by the character of the object worshipped. If the god worshipped is cruel and revengeful, or selfish and unjust, the worshipper will become cruel, revengeful, selfish, and unjust as well. But if the God worshipped is loving, tender, forgiving, and unselfish, the worshipper will also become loving, tender, forgiving, and unselfish. Likewise, the peace and happiness of the worshipper must be absolutely bound up in the character of the God worshipped; for everything depends on whether He is a good God or a bad God. If He is good, all is well, of course, and one’s peace can flow like a river; but if He is bad, nothing can be well, no matter how earnest or devoted the worshipper may be, and no peace is possible.

This came very vividly to my mind when I once heard, in a meeting, an educated black man belonging to one of the more savage tribes of Africa give an account of their tribal religion. He said they had two gods, a good god and a bad god. They did not trouble themselves about the good god, because, being good, he would do right anyway, whether they sacrificed to him or not.

But the bad god they had to try to appease through all sorts of prayers, sacrifices, offerings, and religious ceremonies, if possible, to get him into a good humor so that he might treat them well.

To my thinking, there was a profound truth in this. The poorer and more imperfect our conception of God is, the more fervent and intense our efforts will be to appease Him or try to win His favor. But on the other hand, the higher and truer our knowledge of the goodness and unselfishness of God becomes, the less anxiety, fuss, wrestling, or agonizing there will be in our worship. A good and unselfish God will surely do right anyway, whether we attempt to propitiate Him or not, and we can safely trust Him to manage His own affairs with very little advice from us. As for wrestling or agonizing with Him to do what are simply the duties of His position, such things could never be necessary; for, of course, a good person always does his duty.

I have discovered, therefore, that the simple statement “God is good” is, if we understand it rightly, a sufficient and entirely satisfactory assurance that our interests are safe in His hands.

Since He is good, He cannot fail to do His duty by us; and since He is unselfish, He must necessarily consider our interests before His own. When we are assured of this, there is nothing left to fear.

Consequently, the only truly vital thing in religion is to become acquainted with God. Solomon says, “Acquaint thyself with God, and be at peace,” and I believe every one of us would find that a peace passing all understanding must necessarily follow this acquaintance.

Who is there on earth who could see and know the goodness, kindness, justice, and loving unselfishness of our God as He is revealed in the face of Jesus Christ, and fail to be irresistibly drawn to adore Him? Who could have anything but peace in discovering that the God who created us, and to whom we belong forever, is a God of love? Who among us can continue to fear once we find that He cares for us as the apple of His eye?

And what else is there that can bring unwavering peace? Acquaintance with doctrines or dogmas may give peace for a time; blissful experiences may give peace; success in service may, but none of these can be trusted to last. Doctrines may become obscure, experiences may fade or change, we may be prevented from doing our work, and people and circumstances may fail us. Unless our peace is founded on something more stable than these, it will waver like the waves of the sea.

The only place of permanent and abiding peace is in acquaintance with the goodness and unselfishness of God.

It is difficult to explain exactly what I mean by this acquaintance with God. We are so accustomed to thinking that knowing things about Him is enough — what He has done, what He has said, what His plans are, and what doctrines concern Him — that we stop short of knowing what He is in His nature and character, which is the only truly satisfactory knowledge.

In human relationships, we may know a great deal about a person without ever actually becoming acquainted with them, and it is the same in our relationship with God. We may blunder on for years, thinking we know a great deal about Him, yet never quite certain what sort of Being He actually is, and therefore never finding permanent rest or satisfaction. Then at last — perhaps suddenly — we catch a glimpse of Him as He is revealed in the face of Jesus Christ. We discover the real God behind, beneath, and within all the other conceptions that may have puzzled us. And from that moment, our peace flows like a river. In everything and through everything — even when we can rejoice in nothing else — we can always and everywhere “rejoice in God, and joy in the God of our salvation.” We no longer need His promises; we have found Himself, and He is enough for every need.

My own experience has been something like this. My knowledge of God, beginning on a very low plane and in the midst of great darkness and ignorance, advanced slowly through many stages, with a vast amount of needless conflict and wrestling, until I learned at last that Christ was the “express image” of God. Then I became, in a measure, acquainted with Him, and discovered to my amazement and delight His utter unselfishness. I saw that it was safe to trust Him. And from that time onward, all my doubts and questionings have been slowly but surely disappearing in the blaze of this magnificent knowledge.

It is the process leading to this discovery in my own soul that I want to tell. But to do so, I must begin with the earliest influences of my life; for I am convinced that my knowledge of my Heavenly Father began first in my knowledge of my earthly father and mother, who were, I am sure, the most delightful parents any child ever had. Knowing them and their goodness, it was only reasonable for me to believe that my Heavenly Father — who had made them — must be at least as good as the earthly father and mother He had created. And no story of my soul would be complete without beginning with them.