I found a gem of a paragraph that served as a filler in an 1861 issue of
the Millennial Harbinger, one of the
wartime volumes that are now scarce. It is entitled "The Great Man"
and no author is given. Campbell himself may have penned it or it may have been
lifted from another publication. But it served to bless my early morning
reading. Rather than quote it in full I'll just tell you about it.
God's hero is not necessarily the man of rank, title and dignity. It is
rather the person who looks not on his own things, but the things of others. It
is the person who is kind, tender and thoughtful, with a hand to help and a
heart to feel. It is the one who spends and is spent so as to lessen the vice
and misery in the world.
The great person seeks to bind up the broken‑hearted,
to befriend the friendless, to cheer the sorrowful, to enlighten the ignorant,
and to lift up the poor. In God's sight this is the measure of greatness.
This description of greatness warmed my heart, and yet it reminded me of
how much both the church and the world have missed the point of life. But it
cautioned me to make sure that I do not allow the lesser things of life to
dominate over those set forth here. We are all morally obligated to improve
ourselves everyday and to cultivate the marks of true greatness, as the grace
of God allows.
Those words "a hand to help and a heart to feel" especially
moved me. It is so easy for us to withdraw into our own little selfish world
and to forget that God placed us here to be a blessing,
to help and to feel. When we lose our capacity to feel and to care for
another's woe, we have become something less than persons. Certainly we have
become less than Christians.
Even Jesus' own disciples had difficulty in getting greatness into proper
focus. Visualizing Jesus as a glorious monarch holding sway over all earthly
kingdoms, they wondered if they could not sit at his right and left hand and
bask in all that splendor. Then came one of our Lord's most startling
statements: "Whoever would be great among you must be your servant."
(Mt. 20:26). This is at the very heart of Jesus' teaching, but how many of us
really act upon it with any appreciable zeal? He calls us to greatness by
inviting us to be servants.
The point of our call to be saints is that we be like Jesus. Oh, to be like thee! That should be our
constant longing and prayer. These marks of greatness were perfectly manifested
in his life. He left the glory of heaven and became poor in the world so that
we might know the true riches. He was tender, kind and thoughtful. His hands
were helping hands and his heart was a feeling heart. He looked upon confused
humanity with compassion, not in terms of what they could do for him. He was
here to minister, not to be ministered to. His mission was to bind up the
broken‑hearted, to befriend the friendless, to cheer the sorrowful, to
enlighten the ignorant, and to lift up the poor. That is our task, too, and we
must feel it if we share in his
likeness and greatness.
I am convinced that when we act upon these principles of greatness that
it will bring power and vitality into our vacuous and impotent lives. The world
will look to the church as really being of Christ
when it sees the power of goodness motivating all we do. The power of goodness. The concept is a
neglected one. The power of money we know; the power of knowledge we even
sometimes know. Certainly the power of high office. But how about the power of
goodness? The character of Jesus of Nazareth underscores goodness as the
greatest power ever loosed on this earth. Pilate, who had the power to execute
him, stands as a weakling beside him. The staves and swords of the Roman guard
were as nothing before him. "Do you not know that I can summon my Father
and he will send twelve legions of angels," he said to them. Even death
and the grave could not hold him. His goodness overcame all the paltry forces
that men and demons could devise.
The secret of the good man's life is that he has a greatness that the world does not and cannot know. He can summon his Father and make things happen. —the Editor