What Is Our Spiritual Inventory?

The passing years bring changes. A few days ago, when re­arranging some of the files in my office, I picked up a copy of the 1931 Yearbook of our church. It was interesting to note, as I leafed idly through the pages, the names of some of the older workers who have since laid down their burdens—names that still shine across the years with a luster all their own. Of course, the names of most of our present leaders were there too, but in positions of limited responsibility—men with ability and con­secration, just beginning their long journey of service for the Master. As I read I pon­dered: "What were these men like twenty-eight years ago?—these union conference presidents, these General Conference offi­cers, these denominational leaders. Have they changed or are they the same men they were back in 1931?"

Doubtless you have had the experience of meeting an old friend after a lapse of many years, and as he warmly clasps your hand and looks into your eyes, he says—in all sincerity I am sure—"Why, you haven't changed a bit!" And when you hear those words, your love for him interprets them for what they mean, not what they say.

We know, of course, that we do change as the years go by. Time inevitably leaves its mark on us—in hair grown white or thin, in lines of care and experience, in change of figure. Just as inevitably, the processes of our mind change too; and as to our spir­itual life, our Christian experience—the passing years do bring changes.

It was this constant, irresistible process of change that the wise man had in mind when he wrote, "The path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day" (Prov. 4:18).

He is describing only one kind of change, but implicit in his statement is the inevita­bility of change itself. It seems to be axio­matic that a living organism does not and cannot remain static; it either progresses or deteriorates, and Solomon in his wisdom saw that this is just as true in the spiritual realm as in the physical.

Surely, then, it is important for each of us to review our own course from time to time, and to check on our own progress in life. In my chosen work I have much to do with the auditing and inventories of the physical assets of our various organizations. May I recommend that each of us might profitably devote a little time now and then to an inventory of his spiritual char­acteristics?

A good check list for such an inventory is found in the following paragraph penned by God's messenger many years ago:

At this time God's cause is in need of men and women who possess rare qualifications and good administrative powers; men and women who will make patient, thorough investigation of the needs of the work in various fields; those who have a large capacity for work; those who possess warm, kind hearts, cool heads, sound sense, and unbiased judgment; those who are sanctified by the Spirit of God and can fearlessly say, No, or Yea and Amen, to propositions; those who have strong convictions, clear understanding, and pure, sympathetic hearts; those who practice the words, "All ye are breth­ren;" those who strive to uplift and restore fallen humanity.—Testimonies, vol. 7, p. 249.

As we lay this divinely prescribed meas­uring rod alongside our own lives, how do we fulfill the expectations, and measure up to the standards of our Master?

I am thinking just now of two men in sacred history, and of the changes wrought in their lives by the passing years. At the age of forty Moses seemed to have all the world before him. Trained in the court of Pharaoh, he was gifted, influential; his future was bright with promise. Yet God saw fit to take this man with so promising a career ahead, and condemn him to long years of exile and hardship. What man un­der such a rod of discipline would not emerge an embittered, despairing misan­thrope? But during those years in the wil­derness God was Moses' constant compan­ion and we read that Moses' "pride and self-sufficiency were swept away." He "became patient, reverent, and humble."—Patri­archs and Prophets, p. 251. Yes, the years brought changes in the character of Moses, for he found in the loneliness of the desert something that the self-indulgent luxury of Pharaoh's palace could never offer—communion with God.

Solomon reached the portals of a full and productive life even earlier than did Moses. King of a powerful nation, with the unstinted love and allegiance of all his peo­ple; a deep and comprehensive knowledge of God and His ways, gained under the tutelage of David, his father—what brighter prospect could a young man ask? Yet all these advantages were of no avail, for toward the close of his life these dolorous words were written of him: "His heart was not perfect with the Lord his God, as was the heart of David his father" (1 Kings 11: 4). True, he returned to God at last, but what a bitter kernel of remorse must have lived in his soul during the last period of his life as he thought of the misspent years and the neglected opportunities!

How is it with you this morning, my brother? The years have brought changes, it is true; do you find the shining light a little brighter now than it was last year, or five, or ten, or twenty years ago? Strange, isn't it, that it is possible for one who himself carries the responsibility for the spir­itual leadership of hundreds of thousands of our people to awake suddenly to the realization that the years have brought to his own personal experience not progress but retrogression or indifference or stagnation. Oh, yes, the change is bound to come—but its course is determined by each in his relationship to the heavenly Father.

What is our attitude to the cause of God today? Is it possible that almost imperceptibly we are adopting a course that as the years go by will rob us of many of the dis­tinctive marks of a "peculiar" set-apart people? I am not thinking now of the historic pillars of our faith—the Sabbath, the anti-typical significance of the sanctuary, and so on. Rather, I refer to the accounterments of our lives as Seventh-day Adventists—the things that in past generations have made us what we are to the outside world. Granted, the eschewing of cosmetic aids to beauty, the lack of jewelry, will never get us into heaven. Nor will we, by turning away from certain worldly amusements, en­sure our entry into the realms of the blest. Not even a faithful adherence to all the principles of health reform and an Edenic dietary will secure to us the reward of eter­nal life. But all these, and other standards that I know will occur to you, are marks that have set us apart historically as a peo­ple whose hearts and minds are fixed not upon this world but upon the world to come, a people preparing for citizenship in a heavenly country.

We are saddened to see these standards of dress, of deportment, of dietary, being treated with an attitude of noncommittal caution or indifference, or in some cases even with ridicule or contempt. As the scissors of broad-mindedness are wielded from day to day and from year to year, and a snippet of our standards of behavior drops away here and there, is there not a danger that someday we shall suddenly find that we have lost something infinitely precious and sacred? In spiritual things at least—in the building of the standards of the church—Euclid was wrong. The whole is greater than the sum of its parts. And while one small detail of our standards of personal rectitude may seem unimportant, the sum of all these details, gathered as a fitting adornment to the eternal truths of salvation, transcends in meaning and in significance the petty interpretation placed upon them by those who have lost the vi­sion of the beauty of the whole.

So, as leaders of men we have a solemn responsibility, and we strive earnestly and prayerfully to discharge it. But even Moses, the great leader, was never permitted to for­get that although he was the leader and the spiritual mentor of thousands, he remained forever a trembling, helpless soul in the sight of God.