Service
My lineage has served the old institution since 1886. But the terms of our service go back, in some historical sense, to 11 August 1755. On that day, in a French church at Spitalfields in London, John Wesley led a mass dedication to the service of God. Tonight I was listening to a somewhat pared-down version of that great dedication. I compared this in my mind with the original words:
Christ hath many services to be done, some are more easy and honourable, others more difficult and disgraceful: some are suitable to our inclinations and interests, others are contrary to both; in some we may please Christ and please ourselves, as when he requires us to feed, and clothe ourselves, to provide things honest for our own maintenance, yea, and there are some Spiritual duties that are more pleasing than others; as to rejoice in the Lord, to be blessing and praising of God, to be feeding ourselves with the delights and comforts of Religion; these are the sweet works of a Christian.
But then there are other works, wherein we cannot please Christ, but by denying ourselves, as giving and lending, bearing and forbearing, reproving men for their sins, withdrawing from their company, witnessing against their wickedness, confessing Christ and his Name, when it will cost us shame and reproach: sailing against the wind, swimming against the tide, steering contrary to the times; parting with our ease, our liberties, and accommodations for the Name of our Lord Jesus.
Sometimes, it seems to me that there is not so much service as acquiescence to slavery. A genteel and civilised slavery, to be sure, but one nevertheless – and inextricably linked to the modern democratisation of the intellect. How so? By offering service to all and sundry just because service is seen as an end unto itself, we are debasing the idea of deliberate and considered service. Service is an active act of bending the knee to receive a load; it is not the act of bending the knee alone (which oddly enough is called lip service), and neither is it the mere act of bearing a load.
Service is a fierce defence of the right to act for another, for that other's good. Service is a terrible pleasure, in which you may not necessarily (and often will not) please yourself. Service can be a disgrace, in which you might yet be surprised by grace. And service is not something in which you begin by making your own terms and conditions. If it is to serve, it is to serve without hedge or constraint. One modern reading can be found here.
In a later post, I will write about those who serve with me – my friends and colleagues. Tonight, I will be alone in the chapel of my head.
Christ hath many services to be done, some are more easy and honourable, others more difficult and disgraceful: some are suitable to our inclinations and interests, others are contrary to both; in some we may please Christ and please ourselves, as when he requires us to feed, and clothe ourselves, to provide things honest for our own maintenance, yea, and there are some Spiritual duties that are more pleasing than others; as to rejoice in the Lord, to be blessing and praising of God, to be feeding ourselves with the delights and comforts of Religion; these are the sweet works of a Christian.
But then there are other works, wherein we cannot please Christ, but by denying ourselves, as giving and lending, bearing and forbearing, reproving men for their sins, withdrawing from their company, witnessing against their wickedness, confessing Christ and his Name, when it will cost us shame and reproach: sailing against the wind, swimming against the tide, steering contrary to the times; parting with our ease, our liberties, and accommodations for the Name of our Lord Jesus.
Sometimes, it seems to me that there is not so much service as acquiescence to slavery. A genteel and civilised slavery, to be sure, but one nevertheless – and inextricably linked to the modern democratisation of the intellect. How so? By offering service to all and sundry just because service is seen as an end unto itself, we are debasing the idea of deliberate and considered service. Service is an active act of bending the knee to receive a load; it is not the act of bending the knee alone (which oddly enough is called lip service), and neither is it the mere act of bearing a load.
Service is a fierce defence of the right to act for another, for that other's good. Service is a terrible pleasure, in which you may not necessarily (and often will not) please yourself. Service can be a disgrace, in which you might yet be surprised by grace. And service is not something in which you begin by making your own terms and conditions. If it is to serve, it is to serve without hedge or constraint. One modern reading can be found here.
In a later post, I will write about those who serve with me – my friends and colleagues. Tonight, I will be alone in the chapel of my head.
Labels: 1886, Covenant, Dedication, John Wesley, Service
etched with acid at 10:30:00 pm
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