REDEEMING THE TIME
‘Redeeming the time, because the days are evil.’
We find the words, ‘redeeming the time,’ occurring twice in the Epistles of St. Paul. They mean—when literally translated—‘buying up the opportunity.’
The text addresses itself to Christian people. It is intended, in fact, for them. Let us see, then, what lessons, what warnings, what exhortations it contains for those among us who are living for Christ, and earnestly desirous of glorifying Him by word and deed.
The Apostle tells such persons that they are to ‘buy up opportunities.’ Now opportunities—as I have already hinted—are of two kinds. There are opportunities of getting good, and there are opportunities of doing good.
I. Opportunities of getting spiritual good for ourselves.—Many such occur. Many such are continually occurring. Have we bought all of them up? or have we allowed not a few of them to slip through our fingers?
II. Opportunities of doing good.—For these are included, of course, in the precept of the Apostle. Now, doing good to others is no unimportant part of the calling of a Christian. When a man is brought to the saving knowledge of the truth as it is in Christ Jesus, God gives him a work to do. You may be sure of that. And it is every man’s business, first, to find out what that work is—and then to do it. There are differences of administration, as there are differences of talents.
III. This is a voice to which we may all listen.—God keep us all from having to make such a confession as this before the Judgment-seat of Christ!—‘Lord, Thou gavest me talents. I had gifts of mind; I had means; I had many opportunities of doing good in the world; but all I cared about was myself, and to carry out my own schemes and fancies. Lord, I have lived for myself. And now that all is over, here Thou hast the talent that Thou gavest me, wrapped up in a napkin.’
Rev. Prebendary Gordon Calthrop.
Illustration
‘It was years ago. I was returning from some service on a Sunday night; and as I paced rapidly along, my attention was drawn to what seemed to be a heap of ragged clothes, drifted under the porch of a magnificent West End mansion. I stopped to look at it. I touched it. At the touch the heap uncoiled itself, and showed me two poor little children—sisters, if I remember rightly—who had nestled together for warmth in the bitter cold of the night; and who woke up from their sleep to gaze, with a wild, scared look—like that of ill-used animals—at the stranger who bent over them. The whole circumstance was a fit emblem of what is continually taking place amongst us. There was the wealthy family within—with the power to help and to bless, and, probably enough, not without the inclination, but knowing nothing of its opportunities. There were the children without—miserable in soul and in body. The need and the supply were in closest contact. Oh, that we knew what we might do, if only our eyes were opened to the true state of the case!’