A Sense of Values

W. Carl Ketcherside

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     The true Christian is one who evaluates things in harmony with the perspective of Jesus. Having fully surrendered himself to the Christ, he sublimates his will to that of the Master. He sees the world about him through the eyes of Jesus. Needless to say, his vision is greatly altered. Things which once seemed important become matters of no consequence; the things he once disregarded become momentous. There is no finer example of this than Saul of Tarsus. After he faced Jesus on the Damascus highway he was never again the same man. He expressed the transformation in these words, "What things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ.... I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung...."

     The greatest work of Jesus was the changing of values. To this task his earthly sojourn was primarily dedicated. To it he devoted most of his teaching; to enforce it his life was a constant example. Many of us who profess to be his followers are sadly deficient in following his precepts or pattern. I shall illustrate with one specific instance--our exaggerated regard for human life. This is a distinctive feature of our age in contrast with previous eras. We are liable to think of it as an expression of Christian feeling. It is not!

     To many people there is nothing worse than physical death. They feel that life must be harbored, nurtured and sustained at all cost. When one dies, his friends give way to uncontrollable fits of grief. Often they render their own lives useless and futile by their emotional attitudes. Much of such grief is purely selfish. It demonstrates not so much a love for the departed as a lack of faith in God. We want our loved ones to remain for our benefit, regardless of the pain and torture to them, and when they must leave us, we summon a mortician to rouge their cheeks and to use artificial means to make it appear they are still alive. We try to fool ourselves by calling their temporary resting place "a slumber room" and labeling the cemetery a "garden of memories."

     We speak of death as a grim reaper, we talk of it as a demon or monster. We

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think of it as a dragon relentlessly stalking one to deprive him of every blessing. We allow ourselves to be cowed into thinking that when a man is killed the greatest tragedy imaginable has come to him, taking from him all that possesses real value. It is true that we do not always act upon that basis, for men forfeit their lives for scores of causes and we call them heroes. We admire the man in the research laboratory who fights to subdue cancer, and when he succumbs to the radium he used, we laud him as a courageous example of all that is best in humanity.

     Our present philosophy is not at all that of our primitive brethren. It is virtually the opposite. They were taught to respect the present life very lightly as contrasted with the eternal. Jesus said, "Fear not them which kill the body." The average disciple of this age greatly fears and shrinks from any form of violent death. But Jesus also said, "He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it." This ought to give concern to those who are always writing to one who is zealous, urging him to slow down, husband his strength, and save his life, when the cause he loves demands that he "be poured out as a sacrifice." They may, by their senseless dread and unchristian fears, deprive him of that which is worth far more than life.

     Why is it that our sense of values has swung so far from that of the Christ? No doubt our thinking is a product of our age and environment. It is the composite result of many factors. Let me suggest a few of them. We live in a world of earthly security. In spite of the abuses of political agents, our governments and police powers have protected us against much violence. We are not accustomed to seeing men killed, unless it be in highway accidents. The age span has been extended, and we have come to think of violent death as a much more dreadful thing than our forefathers thought it. We shrink from physical wounds and faint at the sight of blood. We recoil from death. It is no longer a travel agent arranging a vacation from vexing surroundings; it is now a masked robber stealing that which is precious and giving nothing in return.

     Too, it has been many centuries since our Lord left the earth. He has delayed his coming and the faith of his servants in immortality wanes and becomes dim. In spite of pious platitudes spoken in sympathetic tones at funeral services, we bear our dead to their resting places under the turf, as those who have suffered loss rather than gain. The Christian is carried away to the sound of the dirge and lament, rather than in a fierce sense of triumph as the fallen soldier borne on his shield from the thick of the battle. As the faith in the immortal vanishes our hold upon that which is mortal tightens.

     Perhaps the most serious thing of all is the loss of faith in spiritual things as opposed to material. We are creatures of comfort. In our lives of luxury we have come to trust in the things that are seen. It is the things which are not seen that are eternal. We look upon this earth as home. We conceive of a Christian who dies as leaving home, rather than going home. To the extent that we believe we have an abiding city, we cease to seek for one to come. We would be content to stop looking and settle down here. This false sense of values operates in many fields. Religion begins to trust in the material for strength. Church edifices increase in size and worth, and in proportion as the financial outlay for these externals increases, the moral standard of

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worshipers decreases. A preacher who planned a huge edifice died recently, just before the "dedication service," whatever that is. The whole theme of the speakers at his funeral was one of sorrow that he could not live to see the completion of this huge pile of brick and cement. These considerations combine to give a false sense to the value of human life at the expense of the soul. We cease to fear him who can destroy both body and soul, and become increasingly afraid of him who can only destroy the body. As faith in Christ goes up, a love for this present life goes down. There are many things worse than death, and violent death may be visualized as a much more terrible experience than it really is. To depart and be with Christ is better than to be present in the body and absent from him. The true value of life is not in retaining it, at whatever cost, but in using it, and even losing it, in the service of the Lord. Many a man who seeks to save his life will only lose it. You may lose your life and thus gain it!