[Rev. John Bevan, M. A., in the Christian World, London, England]

Our only chance of convincing men and women who have no use for religion—especially those of the younger generation—that there is anything in our religion, is to show by our life that it makes us kinder than the nonreligious man; more gentle in spirit, more humble in disposition, more patient when things go wrong, more hopeful in adversity, more courageous in trouble, more indifferent to class distinctions. In short, we have to win on our merits, for sheer goodness of heart and kindness of deed.

It is for us to show that Christ [Jesus'] religion improves the quality and power of goodness. Everybody has goodness—church people have no prerogative of it; the virtues . . . we find . . . everywhere. But it is for us to show that we bring Jesus into it, and that by his spirit, in work, play, sport, friendship, everything, life is raised to its highest power. It is this ingredient, the Jesus spirit, that is the yeast in the lump, the quality that makes goodness religion and keeps religion goodness.

[Editorial in the Chicago Evening Post, Illinois]

The King James translators called it [gentleness] "meekness." In our modern speech the word "gentleness" probably more nearly approaches the thought of Paul. The suggestion is of a spirit that is contrary to the rude, the rough, and the overbearing; a spirit that acts quietly, talks softly, is retiring rather than assertive where its own interests are involved. Consideration for the feelings of others is uppermost. It will not consciously offend. We have all of this in the true meaning of the good old word "gentleman." That word is not properly a mark of social distinction, but of spiritual distinction; it denotes an educated heart rather than an educated head, although it may include both. It means refinement at the core, not merely on the surface. It is one of the most beautiful of the values which are possible to the Spirit-led life—and one of the most difficult for many of us to attain.

In a world where there is so much talk about rights; so much clamor; so general a reliance upon force, it is not easy to be gentle. It takes a real faith in the supremacy of the spiritual to be willing to rely upon the methods of gentleness. But he who achieves this reliance and puts it into life-practice is getting very close to the example of his Master. Of all the gentle spirits the world has known, surely the man Jesus was the gentlest, "who, when he was reviled, reviled not again;" who exhorted his followers, if they should be smitten on the one cheek to offer the other.

And yet the gentleness of this man was not the meekness of submission. Rather it was his way of conquering—the way of love. There is a very striking passage in the book of Revelation. It pictures a universal cry for one who can prevail to open the volume sealed with seven seals. And then it discloses in the midst of the throne "a Lamb as it had been slain," and to the Lamb is ascribed the power which none other was found to have. Here is gentleness, sacrificial gentleness, achieving what lay beyond the strength of all the wise and the mighty.

Whatever else this strange symbolism may signify, it surely means that the final triumph in the universe belongs not to violence but to gentleness. In the end the love-way is to be the victorious way. But how slow we are to learn this lesson! In the home, in business, in the state, and in the world we cling to the idea that there are certain ends which may be attained only by force, by violence, by the loudly spoken word and the hard blow. Success is to the aggressor. If we would maintain our rights we must fight for them. These are the ideas to which most of us give ready acceptance.

Force does gain ends, but never the supreme end. Violence has its victories, but never the only eternally worth-while victory. . . . The supreme end is the spiritual end, the ultimate dominance of life by love. The eternally worth-while victory is the triumph of the Christ-ideal. The only success that really counts is the creation of character in the likeness of a son of God; and the rights of an heir of God and joint heir with Jesus Christ are safer in his Father's keeping than in his own hands. We need not fight for them, because no power in the universe can effectively assail them. In this view of life gentleness is the effective means. It wins in the long run. Gentleness is a supreme expression of trust. It has put life in God's keeping, and it leaves it there. It is concerned with doing His will, not with the consequences. This is not weak resignation, but strong and positive following of a program by the method which is certain to achieve its end.

Nothing could be more mistaken than to suppose that gentleness means lack of courage. On the contrary, it means the highest sort of courage. It is the fruit of the perfect love which casts out all fear. It is quiet, but it does not quake. It is nonresistant, but it does not surrender. It is always the spiritual victor in any conflict. Its triumph may not be apparent at once to the eye which sees only the surface aspect, but it is written on the eternal records. It will abide the final issue. If the kingdoms of this world are to become the kingdoms of God and of Christ it will be by no other way than that of gentleness. When Elijah hid in the cave, and the tempest and the fire swept by, it was not in these that God became known to him, but in the voice of gentle stillness which spoke in the ensuing calm. We must learn the power of this great virtue if we would follow the Master to victory.

[Rev. William P. Merrill, D. D., as quoted in the Boston Evening Transcript, Massachusetts]

One gets a bewildering variety of answers as he goes to the countless sects, or reads the history of man's religious development. But the greatest answer ever put in words is the ideal held up by the prophet Micah some twenty-eight centuries ago, "What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?" That puts aside all substitutes, costly or cheap, venerable or new, and insists on the one kind of religion that can satisfy God, or for that matter, the human heart itself.

Measure yourself by that standard, and how tall and well developed is your religious life? Is it easy to be always just? To deal fairly with all people, and all situations? To be square in every word, and act, and transaction? How many people have you known that were never unjust? How many men and women went through the excitement of the late political campaign without being unfair? How many church members can defend their own beliefs without being unfair to the beliefs of others?

Even if that test could be met, how about the second? To love kindness! That means more than simply being kind—though that means a great deal. It expresses the spirit that lies in that beautiful word "loving-kindness." Do you love to be kind? Is kindness the natural expression of your inmost nature? Nor can we rest content with either one of these without the other. No degree of strict justice can make up for lack of kindness. No warmth of love can suffice if one is unjust. Justice without kindness, kindness without justice, each has ruined many a child in many a home. There is one more element in true religion: "to walk humbly with thy God." How many of us know God so that we can call Him "my" God? How many of us know how to walk with Him, where to find Him, how to keep near to Him? Do you not know people who walk proudly with God? This is the sort of threefold religion that pleases God and commends itself to men.

We have a noble example of its power and beauty in the life of our nation. . . . Abraham Lincoln! One instinctively turns to him as a true example of the noble ideal voiced in this saying. How unalterably just, honest, and fair he was! How unquenchably kind! And how humbly, quietly, he walked with the God he knew! This is religion, as nothing else is. If our churches were full of that sort of religion, they would be far more attractive, more compelling. This is religion both at its highest and at its simplest, to be just and kind, and to walk humbly with God.

[Dr. Charles Brown, in the British Weekly, London, England]

Mercy is a great Bible word. No one can define it. Shakespeare tries. He says:

It has many applications. Forgiving your enemy; loosing your debtor, staggering under his load, from his bond; leniency in your judgment of defaulters, making allowances as you may; benevolence which rescues distressed or suffering and wronged people as the good Samaritan "shewed mercy" on the man who had been half killed by thieves. We all shudder at the man who "has no mercy," no bowels of compassion, as our fathers used to say.

And where does this exalted notion of mercy come from? It is a commonplace to us, but the Baals and Molochs, the gods of the heathen world, knew nothing of it. We may say that when the revelation came to Moses that the Lord was merciful and gracious, it was as daybreak to his soul and to the world.

Like a river of water of life it runs through the Old Testament; I do not know of any word more frequently used in connection with God there than this word "mercy" and its cognates. And it was revealed not merely that men might be rid of the haunting fear that pursued and enslaved their souls, but that they might imitate it. Here it is, "Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful."

[Editorial in the Frederick Leader, Oklahoma]

The world needs to know more of the simplicity of the truth that Jesus taught, and to follow more closely the beauty of his life. It has its religious thinking too much clogged up with theories, its love too greatly adulterated with jealousies, its activities too heavily handicapped with rivalries.

The Master made it plain that if we would receive the kingdom of heaven, which he brought, it must be as little children, and after the manner of his own living. What the world needs most is to adapt his teachings and example to its daily living. Therein lies the solution of every problem—the salvation from every evil.