Features

The Christian Minister Emulating the Master Teacher. Some Timely Observations.

Professor of Religion, George Washington University

Business Manager, Porter Sanitarium

The Christian Minister

JOSEPH R. SIZOO, Professor of Religion, George Washington University

There are three questions that the church or the community always asks of its minister. Some churches and communities ask many more questions than that, some of which are valueless, but sooner or later they all come back to these. The community and the church have a right to ask the questions. And the three questions that the community and the church always ask of the minister are these:

Has he a sense of vocation? Is he intellectually competent? Does he care? Is he a dedicated man? Does he really show he is dedicated? Has he a heart? Is he completely committed to Christ? Has he a gospel? Does he carry a concern in his heart? These are the three fundamental questions that the community asks and has a right to ask of all its preachers.

The Sense of Vocation

You know that one of the perils of modern life is that the sense of vocation is going out of people. Many people today live without meaning. Their lives never come into focus. They are utterly disorganized. They have nothing to live for.

Some years ago I came to know Clarence Darrow very well. One evening we were sitting together, and he said to me, "Do you want to know what life is? Well, life is an unpleasant interruption in nothingness."

Yes, for many people all the meaning has gone out of life. Of course there are reasons for the change. A materialistic society is one reason, and war is another. You and I as Christians will never have that experience, and because of it there is danger that we will be unsympathetic with people. We have an end toward which we are reaching.

A friend of mine was an Episcopal rector in Connecticut. He was a striking figure with white hair and blue eyes, but he would never set the world on fire as a preacher. However, he was a great pastor. Last August he was going through the community calling on his people. He rang one doorbell, and a little child heard it ring. She peeked through the window, and said to her mother, "Mother, Mother, Mr. God is at the door." That is what you are to many people an ambassador, a walking representative of God. It is a great privilege to belong to this fellowship. I have been a parish minister all my life, but I no longer have that privilege. Last night I was thinking of the Christmas services ahead of us and what a wonderful privilege it is for a parish minister to anticipate. This vocation does something to you. It broadens your life. The average successful businessman in the average community has a very limited circle in which to travel, but the minister can go anywhere in the community as a representative citizen. He meets people on every level of life in every area and every crisis of life birth, baptism, marriage, and death. John Wesley said, "The world is my parish." That is true of all of us. This business of being committed broadens life and brings the whole world within our reach.

The opposite is also true, and this sounds like a paradox. While it broadens life, it narrows it too. If a river will not stay within its boundary, it becomes a swamp. A life with too many side lines sooner or later goes bankrupt.

The greatest need of today is the recovery of vocation. The greatest weakness of the church in which I travel is that among the men between the ages of forty-five and sixty there is too much professionalism. I think the hope of the organized church is in the leadership of younger men. There was a time when too many were interested in the ministry as a kind of profession. That was true five years ago, but it is not true today. The sense of commitment is deepening and is coming back. We are no longer scraping the bottom of the barrel. Today we are beginning to screen ministers. Some of the finest men in the universities and colleges are going into the ministry. The sense of vocation is broadening and also deepening in the world today.

It was a thrilling experience in the last year to meet all the chaplains in the service in Korea, fifty or sixty of them. I have slept, talked, and prayed with them. One of the things that impressed me was the complete sense of commitment. I have wished that my own brethren might have the same dedication they had. I asked some of the boys, a night patrol group, how they liked their chaplain. They told me that before they went out he talked with them and prayed with them and went with them as far as he could go. When they went back he was there. Such service is not without its price.

I spent a day with a group of chaplains and was standing at the chapel door shaking hands. I had gone back into the hills and was wearing the battle dress, for it was the only thing to do. One of them said, "Thank you for coming. I think I can go through anything now." A few hours later I was on a plane for Seoul, where I had dinner with three officers. I told them what I had been doing that day. One of them was called away to the telephone. When he returned he said, "Listen, Dr. Sizoo, your man has been wounded, desperately wounded by shrapnel." He said he was being flown to a base hospital, but there was no hope.

The best-known building in Tokyo is the central chapel. A granite tablet with the names of seven chaplains killed during 1952 engraved on it has been built. It is not without price. These men are dedicated.

Intellectual Competence

Now to the second question to be considered, Is he intellectually competent? I go up and down this country a great deal. This is no time for a minister of Christ to stand with his tongue in his cheek, leaning first on one foot and then on the other, rubbing his hands together and voicing platitudes. I was asked to speak at the chapel service of a certain university on the Atlantic seaboard. I had been asked several times before, but I finally said to my secretary, "Oh, just write it down now," so we put it down. When the time came, I dis covered I was to be there Tuesday noon of Holy Week. There were three thousand students, and 83 per cent were Jewish, 9 per cent were Catholics, and 3 per cent were Protestants. The other 5 per cent were nothing. Before I spoke, I said to the chancellor, "How long do you want me to speak?" and he replied, "About thirty or forty minutes." I said, "This is Holy Week. May I talk about that?" He answered, "It is not for me to say what you should talk about. Use your own judgment. You know the percentages." So when I got up to speak, I began, "Men and women, I want to tell you something. I belong to a group for whom this is a very significant week. We know it as Holy Week because this is what happened. I would like to stand before you and tell you what the atonement can do for modern democracy." Afterward I was to go to the faculty club for lunch.

I was walking along and heard some voices calling the chancellor. The voices proved to be three of the students, and so I went on ahead, thinking they would want to talk to him. But he called to me, "Dr. Sizoo, these men want to talk to you." I said, "I will be glad to talk to them, Mr. Chancellor." They said, "You know we do not belong to your faith or religion, but some of us were talking after you spoke, and they wanted us to thank you for not pulling down your flag." I want to tell you who are going out to preach, "Always be able to give to every man a reason for the hope that is in you." That is the greatest need today. That is the thing men want. They do not care for things out on the periphery and on the circumference. I was speaking about the cross one day to a group of four or five hundred men, and they said they wanted to sing. Their choice was "Jesus, Keep Me Near the Cross." As music it will never win an Oscar, and as poetry it is not much, but its message is what this world needs.

The thing that worries me about organized Christianity is that we are not making enough of the thing that lies at the center. In some respects' organized Christianity has never been stronger numerically, never been richer, socially never so acceptable, politically never so powerful, ecclesiastically never so well organized. But many have come to believe that something has gone out of it, and they have had to go outside the framework to find something that was missing.

Caring for People

Not only is it necessary to have a sense of vocation in life, with intellectual competence, but it is necessary that a minister care for people. The real minister does not find fault with his people on Sunday. There is enough scolding during the week without the minister's bringing in the "anvil chorus" on Sunday. They want to be helped by a man who has some compassion and concern for them in their day-by-day problems.

One of the great preachers of the Protestant church was Mark Mathews. Those of us who knew him called him the "tall pine of the Sierras." He was a brilliant lawyer in his early days and used to try cases before the Supreme Court. The lawyers needled him because they loved him. He always won his cases too. One day in church he looked over to the side and saw an elderly woman sitting in the pew, not clad in keeping with the rest of the people there. He recognized her as the charwoman who swept the office for him every morning. The next day he said, "Mary, do you ever come to church? Do you ever hear Mark Mathews preach? You know he is a very intellectual man. Can you understand him?"

"No," she replied, "I do not understand a word of what he says, but he washes clean the gutters of my life."

Compassion and concern for people are needed in the world today.

Keep your compassion. You have to fight for it. I made up my mind in New York City that I would not lose my sense of compassion, for when you lose that everything is gone. I learned that there were two hundred thousand people in New York arrested for some crime in a year. These were not all major crimes, but they were booked for them. I deter mined I would find out how people got that way. The average case load of judges in New York City is thirty thousand cases a year. I visited many courts and talked with many prisoners. I asked one man why he did not come clean. The prisoner replied that he believed nobody cared. Keep your concern; never lose your love, love that asks no questions. Love that is unearned, unmerited, and undeserved always ends in the cross. Let us believe in men. A child who knows he is wanted and loved will be a normal child. But let him know that he is unwelcome, as sometimes hap pens, and he will grow up to be emotionally unstable and morally bewildered. The ultimate basis for courage and patience in our lives is the fact that we are held by love that will not let us go. In the end this divine love always redeems. Irnet William Jennings Bryan, and we became quite good friends. We did not always agree about politics, but we never broke the friendship in spite of political disagreements. Sitting one day in my study, he said, "I am going to recite to you my favorite text." It was, "I have fought a good fight," and so forth, and at the close he looked at me and said sharply, "Some people are going to question whether I have fought a good fight; other people are going to question whether I have finished my course; nobody is going to question whether I have kept the faith."

Emulating the Master Teacher

ARTHUR W. SPALDING

Jesus, we say, is our master. The word has many meanings, and perhaps in our own minds we divide it be tween two meanings as we apply it to Christ. First, He is our sovereign, to whom we give allegiance; second, He is our teacher. This latter use of the word in English was more common at the time our King James Version was produced than it is now, and it is in the sense of teacher that, with three exceptions, the term is used wherever found in the Gospels. Jesus the Master was the teacher.

We shall do well to study Jesus as a teacher. When we preach, do we teach? Preaching, if it wins intelligent converts, inevitably includes some elements of teaching; but unless the preacher makes a study of the science of teaching, his preaching tends to develop into oration or monolog, and so entertains (or otherwise) without teaching. Let us not mistake telling for teaching, however we may embellish our telling. Let us not perpetuate that stupid conceit: "I have preached to them the truth; if they heed it not, they have no excuse." The Judge might, in the great day, consider their excuse valid, that they listened to a preacher, but they had no one to teach them.

Jesus was pre-eminently a teacher. He sought not crowds but individuals and little groups to teach; for crowds must be charmed, but the few seek knowledge. Yet when He ministered to multitudes, He emulated not Demosthenes or Cicero; He was uniquely the teacher rather than the orator. He spoke to no passions; He sought not to arouse unthinking enthusiasm. Instead, He challenged minds, He invited thought with His parables, His paradoxes, His searching questions. Then when His disciples came to Him, He fed their minds with the truth they had been inspired to seek.

Let no one think that he can improve upon Jesus' methods or do greater works than the Master by doing different works. It is an enticing delusion that numbers mean success, that the greater the crowds, the nearer the kingdom. As a corollary to that ancient error comes the smug assurance that modern conditions demand different methods. The superficiality of mob appeal is no modern invention; it was continually thrust upon Jesus, and He as consistently repelled it. As the teacher, He realized that His work must go deep in individual human lives to effect transformations, and to this rather than to the securing of a great following He bent His efforts. If we would do His work, we must study His principles, we must follow His plans.

Teaching With Authority

Jesus taught as one having authority, and not as the scribes. How did the scribes teach? As the scribes teach today. They cited authorities. They said not, "I say unto you," but, "Moses saith," "It is written in the prophets," "The Talmud declares," "Rabbi Judah benIlai comments." Because they had no power, no authority in them selves, they must seek authority without. And to bolster their authorities, they were continually adding tradition to tradition, to enhance the reputation of the oracles. They themselves had no power because they did not do, they only quoted. Jesus declared of them, "They say, and do not." Therefore they could not teach with authority.

It is of course true that they assumed authority. They were great critics, on the ground that they alone might teach "this people who knoweth not the law." But the critic reveals that he is unsure of himself. He seeks to depreciate others that by contrast he may appear to advantage. The fact that he feels the need of praise is evidence that he has no power in himself. If one who has not such innate power says, "I will speak with authority," he yet does not speak with authority. His assurance becomes bluster, his learning pedantry, his eloquence bombast, his virtue a whited sepulcher. The inevitable accident will unmask his pretense.

Jesus spoke with authority because He had virtue, power, within Himself. What was the source of His power? It was that He lived the truth.

"What He taught, He lived. 'I have given you an example,' He said to His disciples; 'that ye should do as I have done.' 'I have kept My Father's commandments.' Thus in His life, Christ's words had perfect illustration and support. And more than this; what He taught, He was. His words were the expression, not only of His own life-experience, but of His own character. Not only did He teach the truth, but He was the truth. It was this that gave His teaching power." Education, pp. 78, 79.

Living the Truth

Here is revealed the indispensable, basic element of Christian teaching. The teacher, if he would have power, must live the truth before he attempts to teach it. He cannot teach with conviction unless he has the truth in his own life. He may develop a flair for preaching, he may have "a mouth speaking great things," he may, like Judas of Galilee, draw away much people after him; but in the end, spiritually, he also will perish, and all, even as many as have obeyed him, will be dispersed. Without the life he may preach, but he cannot teach.

Jesus lived not merely a part of the law but all of the law. He was not one-sided. He did not exemplify the third commandment while violating the fifth. He did not keep the Sabbath day while committing adultery in His heart. He was self-controlled in body as well as in speech. He paid His tithe of anise and cummin, but He neglected not judgment, mercy, and faith. He gave His bread to the hungry before He went to the synagogue; He lifted the little child in His arms while He taught the parents. He turned His cheek to the smiter, and forbore not to double the burdened mile. He built up His strength by right living and close communion with God; He gave with lavish love the power that was in Him to heal, to serve, to save. He was listened to, He was believed in, He was made Saviour, because He lived the truth and He therefore was the truth.

The Scriptures were to Him not a library to be quoted, but a life to be lived. He was the most diligent student of the Scriptures and of nature, the written and the wrought words of God. But what He received from these sources He did not merely memorize and repeat but absorbed and digested. His teachings are not merely echoes of the law and the prophets, but new editions formed by His life. Because the Word dwelt in Him, He became the Word, and "in him was life; and the life was the light of men."

Would we have the power of Jesus? Would we be able to teach with authority, and not as the scribes? Here is the irreducible essential: that we live the truth. Every one of us has difficulty in living some particular part of the truth. Some have trouble over diet, some over social and moral prob lems, some over avariciousness and meanness, some over gossip and intrigue. What ever our weakness and our fault, it must be overcome by the power of God, and we must receive the divine character before we can be effective teachers.

The first and great quality of Jesus was His sincerity; the first and indispensable quality in us must be sincerity. It is a requirement on which no human authority can check; we do not have to put it in our reports. But it is a prime question between us and the Master. "And why call ye me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?" We wait not upon the great assize to be judged. Every, man's work shall now proclaim whether he builds with the rock of sincerity or with the stubble of pretense.

"Whosoever cometh to me, and heareth my sayings, and doeth them, I will shew you to whom he is like: he is like a man which built an house, and digged deep, and laid the foundation on a rock: and when the flood arose, the stream beat vehemently upon that house, and could not shake it: for it was founded upon a rock. But he that heareth, and doeth not, is like a man that without a foundation built an house upon the earth; against which the stream did beat vehemently, and immediately it fell; and the ruin of that house was great." Luke 6:47-49.

"He Had Compassion"

A man, to be a benefactor of his race, must have power. A man may have power and not be a benefactor of his race. Shall we call the roll of the Herods and the Neros to prove that? To be beneficent, a man who has power must also have sympathy, in sight, ardor to serve. He must be one who loves his fellow men, and the measure of his love for others is the measure of his forgetfulness of himself.

Jesus had unexampled insight. "He knew all men, ... he knew what was in man." John 2:24, 25. But this intimate knowledge, which might well have engendered aversion, contempt, disgust, because of the weakness and the guile and the impurity and the hatred that He saw in men's hearts, served rather, because of His great love, to awaken pity, sympathy, compassion.

His compassion never took vacations. The twelve had been out on a mission, healing the sick, delivering the demoniacs, preaching good tidings to the poor. They came back enthusiastic, but weary and worn. Jesus said to them, "Come ye your selves apart into a desert place, and rest a while." Mark 6:31. But when they arrived there, they found the crowds ahead of them; for many, having guessed their destination, had, in their eager speed, made the long road the shorter. For this invasion of His retreat at a time when He and His disciples needed rest, even the best of men might have rebuked the multitude and sent them away. Why should a needed vacation be spoiled? But "Jesus, when he came out, saw much people, and was moved with compassion toward them, because they were as sheep not having a shepherd: and he began to teach them many things." Verse 34.

How often, throughout the Gospels, do we catch that note resonant with saving power: "he had compassion," "he was moved with compassion"! It is the keynote of His ministry. His fallible disciples were often moved with other impulses; they were moved with ambition, "moved with envy," "moved with indignation against the . . . brethren." But Jesus "was moved with compassion," "and he began to teach them many things."

True Teaching

The teacher must have compassion, sympathy, understanding, or he cannot teach. He may utter words, he may make gestures, he may enforce order, he may give tests and pass judgment, but without compassionate love he cannot teach. For teaching is not telling, it is not lecturing, it is not preaching, it is not conducting a questionnaire. All these may enter into teaching, but teaching is as much more than they all as a man is more than flesh and blood. Teaching is the giving of life.

As Jesus was going on His mission to save the daughter of Jairus, there pressed into the throng about him a poor woman who had been despairingly ill for years, and who ' "had suffered many things of many physicians." She said to herself, "If I may touch but his clothes, I shall be whole." In desperate effort she thrust between the close-pressed persons of those who thronged Him, and reached, not merely the hem of His garment, but the fountain of life. Rejoicing in the instant consciousness of health, she fell back.

Then Jesus, immediately conscious that virtue, beneficent power, had gone out of Him, turned about in the press and said, "Who touched my clothes?" Astonished, His disciples protested, "Master, the multitude throng thee and press thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me?" But He said, with particular emphasis, " 'Someone has touched me, . . . for I feel that power has gone out from me.' " Luke 8:46, Weymouth.

So it was always in His ministry: "The whole multitude sought to touch him: for there went virtue out of him, and healed them all." Luke 6:19. As in His healing, so in His teaching: "The words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life." John 6:63. This means no easy, idle flow; life is not such. The giving of life is a sacrifice, blessed though its giving be. Jesus felt the drain. Often at the close of the day's labors He was so exhausted that His disciples feared for His life; but in hours of communion with His Father, He renewed His power.

The Christian teacher, like his Master, gives of his life through his teaching. He has not merely a set task to perform, a given course to pursue, a series of lessons to go over, a collection of doctrines to preach. He has life to impart. How is life ministered? We may not wholly know. We perceive certain operations, partial means. We feed the hungry, and perceive that we have given energy to fainting powers. We lift a toiling neighbor's burden, and see new life in his eyes. We clear away the distracting doubts of an inexperienced youth, and watch him go with ardor up the heights. We smile at a little child, and his skipping steps are the merrier. We take a brother's hand in a warm clasp, look into his eyes with cheer, and sense a vibrant current of hope and courage thrilling through both our beings. But all the science of life giving is more than we yet know.

But this we know, and we know it from the Master's example and teaching, paradox though it is: that life is saved by giving it up; that we are best served by forgetting ourselves and serving others; that, like the corn, if we give not of our life, we abide alone, but if we die, we shall bring forth much fruit. And therefore

"All who would bring forth fruit as workers together with Christ, must first fall into the ground and die. The life must be cast into the furrow of the world's need. Self-love, self-interest, must perish. But the law of self-sacrifice is the law of self-preservation. The seed buried in the ground produces fruit, and in turn this is planted. Thus the harvest is multiplied. The husbandman preserves his grain by casting it away. So in human life, to give is to live. The life that will be preserved is the life that is,freely given in service to God and man. Those who for Christ's sake sacrifice their life in this world, will keep it unto life eternal." Christ's Object Lessons, pp. 86, 87.

Some Timely Observations

H. E. RICE, Business Manager, Porter Sanitarium

Peter had been in close association with the Master. After dedicating his life to the Master's service and walking in the Master's very footsteps, one day while in committee with some of the other disciples he began to question in his own mind whether his life of sacrifice and service was worth while. Following this line of delusive thinking, he came to the Master and said, "Behold, we have forsaken all, and followed thee; what shall we have therefore?" Matt. 19:27.

The temptation came to Peter that perhaps is common to man, to consider whether it is all worth while, and what he was to get out of it. The Master had an easy answer easy for Him, but hard for Peter. He pointed beyond the immediate present, and told Peter that he was going to get a great deal out of it, but not all now. He inferred that Peter would get the most worth-while things in life, and implied that life is only a little trysting ground in which we decide whether we want to live hereafter or not, and that the hereafter is what we primarily get out of it.

When we consider Peter's weakness, it might not be illogical to conclude that you and I are tempted on this same point. Our minds will turn at times from the great objective and the longer-range thinking, and focus on the things we will get out of it now. Peter was tempted for the moment to think of the work he was engaged in as a spigot to open, out of which he would get something, rather than as a funnel into which to pour his life and thus pass the blessings of heaven on to others. As Peter was tempted, so you and I will be tempted, and we must not be deluded by this temptation. Let us never focus our attention on what we will receive in the immediate present, but rather on what we can contribute.

What About John?

Peter had more than one weakness, as we all recognize. One of the most human references in all the Bible is found in the last chapter of the book of John. Nothing reflects so clearly the natural traits of humanity as this particular text John 21:21.

Shortly before His ascension Jesus was talking with His disciples, and naturally the focus of conversation was on the future. It looked dim, indistinct, and shad owed. The good Master was counseling Peter regarding his future work of feeding the flock. Peter was eager to follow the lead ing of his Lord. He had given his life completely to the Master's cause. There was now no temptation to debate his reward or his remuneration. He was willing to experience persecution and suffering, and to give his life in sacrifice to the cause he had espoused. But lo and behold! His eye fell upon John. "Peter seeing him saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do?" John 21:21.

Immediately the dedication of Peter's life became modified to the extent that he wished to be certain that the same things that were happening to him would also happen to John. He would go to prison and to death, but he wanted to be sure that John was faring no better. He would give unstintingly in hours and unlimited devotion, provided John was doing the same thing, and thus he came up with one of the most human questions in all the Bible, "What shall this man do?" And the temptation that came to Peter while right there in the presence of the Master will also come to you and to me.

In fact, is it not true that most of us are getting too concerned about John? There, comes to my office a constant parade of people who are greatly burdened over the question, What about John? Someone is working less hours, or under better conditions, or finding time off, and immediately the dedication of someone's life becomes modified by the question, What about John?

The Lord gave a clear answer to Peter when He said, "What is that to thee? fol low thou me." Verse 22. The lesson is obvious. Let us take heed lest we be distracted in the giving of our lives completely to this cause by worrying about what happens or does not happen to John.

The Danger of a Swivel-Chair Gospel

Having mentioned the weaknesses of Peter, I would like to consider the weaknesses of James and John. Possibly in their lives also we can see ourselves.

The real problem was not expressed through their own lips, but through the lips of their mother. It could have happened that coming down the dusty road one day, the mother of James and John chanced to come into conversation with the Master. In any case her request is well known to you and me: "Grant that these my two sons may sit." Matt. 20:21. If we were to admit the truth, we would say she was the spokesman for most of mankind, and unfortunately for much of this generation. It is granted that she went on to say, "The one on thy right hand, and the other on the left," but the burden of her heart was that her boys might sit.

Here again I am inclined to believe that the longing to sit did not perish with her generation, for a parade of people come through my office expressing the longings of their hearts to conjugate the verb "to sit." I sit, you sit, he sits, we sit, they sit, everybody sits; and I wonder whether we are not confronted with the danger of at tempting to carry the gospel to the ends of the earth from swivel chairs. We need to warn ourselves against a longing to preach a swivel-chair gospel. The answer of the Master was "Go," whereas the wish of humanity was "Sit." Let us not be deluded into the idea that the gospel can be carried to earth's remotest bounds between nine and five except on Sundays and holidays, nor can it be done from office desks.

Over the past ten years a strange philosophy has come into our thinking. It is exemplified in the types of applications for employment that come to me. In dusty and forgotten years I used to receive applications from people who wanted to find a place to start in the work, whereas today the applications disclose a longing to take charge of something. There seems to be a different thinking in the atmosphere, a virus in the air.

Net Versus Catch

There is a last danger that conceivably confronts us. I know it confronts me. It is the danger of being tied too much to the traditions of the past. It is illustrated in one of the byways of the Bible a text seldom read in what some might feel is a rather barren chapter in the Bible. It is in the book of Habakkuk. But it is an interesting text, and I will forbear giving you its exact location, because if I do, you will read only the text instead of the book. It was vitally connected, of course, with the great political power of his day. But the prophet likens this great power to a man who went fishing. This man cast a net into the sea and brought in a great draught of fishes, and then it is recorded that he fell down on his knees and worshiped the net. He attached more importance to the net than to the catch. The machinery became more important than the results.

We are engaged in a great work. We have an organization that might well be com pared to a great net, and with this net we are endeavoring to carry the gospel to all the world. Could it be that we are in danger of worshiping the net, and of substituting in importance in our minds the machinery for the results? Can it be that traditions be come our criteria, and machinery and mechanism become more important than the accomplishments? This line of delusive thinking leads to a dedication to the perpetuity of the organization rather than to the warning of the world. That surely is a danger that confronts us today, and we need to guard against it. The machinery and the net, though important, are not of the utmost importance. It is the result that is important.

It is the catch that counts. Let us give our lives to it!

Professor of Religion, George Washington University

Business Manager, Porter Sanitarium

July 1953

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