Perhaps no characteristic of Jesus of Nazareth was more beautiful than his sublime patience. The gospels are replete with instances wherein he turned with tenderest compassion from his own high view-point of spiritual vision to meet on its own plane some frail, outreaching blossom of thought just struggling into the light. We remember how obediently he left the temple at Jerusalem, where he was "sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them, and asking them questions," and at his mother's bidding went home with his parents, and "was subject" unto them. Even at the age of twelve years he knew more of God and His law than his parents did; but he was willing to wait until they found that out. That they soon understood this fact is evidenced by the words of his mother on the occasion of his first public appearance after that, at the marriage-feast at Cana of Galilee, when she whispered to the servants to do whatever he should bid them.

Jesus never forced an issue. His faith in the omnipotence of good was such that he knew he could well afford to stand aside and await the ultimate adjustment effected by his Father's perfect and unalterable law. He knew that the divine activities were already in operation, even though unseen and unacknowledged by blind material sense for the time being. Yet the deadly dulness of those around him must oftentimes have taxed his patience to the utmost.

Perhaps no incident in the earthly record of the Master is more touching than the scene in the "upper room" when he and his disciples talked together for the last time. For three years they had been his constant companions, listening daily to that dear voice, admonishing, encouraging, rebuking, explaining,—teaching both by example and precept "the deep things of God;" yet the very trend of their questions on this memorable occasion showed how utterly they had failed to understand him. Judas regarded his Master's life of less value than thirty pieces of silver; Peter wondered where he was going; Thomas complained that they could not follow, because they knew not the way; while Philip stupidly demanded, as a final proof of his Messiahship, that he show them the Father. It seemed indeed a sad commentary on those three years of patient ministry among them! One can almost fancy that a little note of wistfulness might have crept into that gentle voice as he replied to the last demand, "Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip?" Yet a moment later we find him praying for them in words of such ineffable tenderness that all aspiring men still listen to them in wonder and amaze.

But Jesus understood, and that is why he could be patient. The man who is patient is always the man who understands. Patience is that which can see another's point of view and make allowances for it. Patience means comprehension. It means faith. It means compassion. It means hope. It is the dove hovering over the troubled waters of mortal mind, waiting to catch its first glimpse of the olive-branch. Not for a moment does it imply a false sense of submission, the meek and supine resignation of a nature too indolent or too weak to rise and overthrow adverse conditions. Rather is it that heaven-born courage which enables one who has already done all, "to stand." Just to stand still is sometimes the hardest thing that any one is ever called upon to do; yet there comes a time in every human experience when it is the one thing that can and should be done.

Learning to wait is a rare achievement. Mortal mind does not like to wait. It wants what it wants, and it wants it right away. It thinks patience means stagnation. It thinks that unless it is hurrying, it is losing time. It thinks that unless it is all out of breath in the effort to make things move, nothing is being done. It has great respect for the soldier who, under stress of excitement, with flags flying and drums beating, may rush up some hill to sudden victory; but it gives very little consideration to the same brave spirit which enables a man to lie in a trench all through some starless night, just waiting. Yet patience is one of the tests of a great man or woman. Every one who has ever truly achieved, in the best and highest sense of the word, has had to learn to wait.

Joan of Arc heard what she called "the voices" long before the time seemed ripe for her to follow where they led. Columbus had to bear in silence the jeers and jibes of his mutinous sailors as he stood day after day, with the sublime courage of the man who knows, looking out upon the western horizon. Galileo, under stress of torture, had to retract a statement made before a stupid world was ready to receive it; but he retracted it with his lips only. Jesus waited thirty years before he began his ministry. Mrs. Eddy conceived the idea of The Christian Science Monitor years before the time came to send it forth upon its healing mission.

Let us, therefore, not grow restless if conditions to be rectified sometimes need to pass through successive stages of development before reaching ultimate completion. If we who have turned to Christian Science for help sometimes find, for instance, that our healing is unaccountably slow in coming, let us make the greater effort to meet Love's immutable requirements, knowing, as Mrs. Eddy has said, that "Love is not hasty to deliver us from temptation, for Love means that we shall be tried and purified" (Science and Health, p. 22). Christian Science healing is essentially a purifying process. In fact, it sometimes involves the entire readjustment of a lifetime of mistaken thinking; and this is not likely to be the work of a day.

Not only in our relation to individuals, but in our relation to one another as church-members, this rare gift of patience finds opportunity for gentle ministry. In every organization there must of necessity be some workers who are mentally in advance of the others, and to such the temptation often comes very strongly to force an issue. Evil, coming in the name of good, may even beguile an assertive few into forcing an entire membership to take a step for which it is not yet ready, by means of the time-worn argument, "I am an older Scientist, so I know best." Human will, however, is still human will, even when it calls itself a Christian Scientist. Beloved, let us ponder these things. May not the right thing, done at the wrong time, sometimes become the wrong thing? The wise householder in the parable waited until the harvest before he allowed the tares to be rooted up. He knew that there are some things which time alone can adjust; so he had the patience to wait, knowing that whatever tares were in the field, if given time enough, would finally prove their utter worthlessness in the sight of all men. And this they promptly did.

Does patience, however, sometimes cease "to be a virtue"? Are there limits even to human endurance? That is quite possible, for all earthly things have their limitations. There is no limit, however, to the sublime courage with which one may face any situation when he once recognizes his true identity as a child of God, and manifests the love which, as St. Paul declares, "beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things." Our risen Lord, with the awe and wonder of the resurrection morning still shining in his face, once waited in patient silence while the slow, blundering fingers of a dull disciple searched for the prints of the nails in those wounded hands; and Jesus was the Wayshower. If he could afford to wait while a doubting Thomas found the only sign which he could seem to understand, should we murmur if we are sometimes called upon to do likewise?

To bring every thought into obedience to the law of Christ is not the work of a moment. The sculptor sometimes chisels away at his rough block of marble for weeks and months before the beautiful statue of his dreams shines out in all its resplendent loveliness. "We are all sculptors, working at various forms, molding and chiseling thought" (Science and Health, p. 248). The perfect man of God's creating will be discerned as soon as the wrong thinking which seems to obscure it has been taken away. How long a time this may require, "no man knoweth," not even "the Son, but the Father." It is our work to keep steadily on, refusing to listen to any outside suggestions that these hours of slow, faithful, painstaking chiseling are not accomplishing anything. Sooner or later we will have the reward of our patience. Each day a little more of truth will be gained, a little more of error lost, a little more of God remembered, a little more of self forgotten, until the long looked for moment will come when the Christ-ideal, the perfect man, will stand revealed in all the purity and sublimity of spiritual completeness.