Fantasy Football Challenge - Football Fanatics Library

Fantasy Football Challenge - Library of Books for Football Fanatics

Fantasy Football Challenge presents
Men of the Bible

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some stupendous fault--some mistake, some folly, or some sin--that has given him an unenviable immortality. Mention his name, and the huge blot by which his memory is besmirched starts up before the mind in all its hideousness. Take Cain, for example. He occupies the foremost rank as regards fame; his name is one of the first that children learn to lisp; and yet what do we know about him? Very little indeed; our knowledge, in fact, is limited to a single act--an act which is the most horrible of human crimes. His name is suggestive only of violence, murder, the shedding of innocent blood--the foulest deeds that man can possibly commit. Or take Judas Iscariot. We know more particulars about him--we know that he was one of the original apostles, that he managed their common fund, that he posed as a strict economist, and above all, that he was a consummate hypocrite. Yet when we mention his name, we call up the remembrance of only one vile deed, one treacherous act--an act that has made his name a curse and a byword throughout the ages. The same remark is applicable to Demas. His name is familiar enough, but the story of his life is almost unknown. Paul refers to him more than once as a fellow-labourer, which shows that for a time at least he was an exemplary Christian. But he failed in the hour of trial--failed through being dominated by an inordinate love of the world--and his memory survives, therefore, as a representative of that worldly-mindedness which leads to apostasy. The tone in which the great apostle mentions Demas, in his second letter to Timothy, is very touching. "_Demas_," saith he, "_has forsaken me, having loved the present world_" (2 Tim. iv. 16). We might have expected him to give vent to his feelings in bitter invective--as is customary in such cases--and to denounce the cowardliness of this desertion in language aflame with indignation. It would have been no more than justice to the offender, and it might have deterred others from stumbling in the same way. But no, he does nothing of the kind; his words contain nothing more than the brief, deep, pathetic groan of a wounded heart. He had probably built many hopes upon Demas, and not without reason. In his arduous labours among the Gentiles he had found him an efficient helper, and many were the hours of sweet communion he had spent with him and others, in discussing the triumphs of the Gospel. And he was confident that now in his bonds, waiting the pleasure of the Roman tyrant, he would have derived comfort from his companionship and encouragement from his faithfulness. But alas! these bright hopes had been cruelly shattered; for in the hour of his greatest need Demas had abandoned him. The apostle was too grieved to use harsh language--too grieved, not only at his own disappointment, but also when he thought of Demas's own future. Unconsciously, in this unostentatious exercise of self-restraint, he has left us an impressive lesson in Christian charity, and has shown us the way in which those who fall away from their steadfastness ought to be treated. How many of those hapless delinquents might have been reclaimed, had the high, noble, generous spirit which animated the apostle been manifested towards them by those whose confidence they had betrayed, it is impossible to tell; but it is certain that not a few. The question that presents itself here is this: In what light are we to regard Demas's character? Was he a cool, calculating, determined apostate; or did he simply give way to weakness? There is an essential difference between the two cases, and they ought to be judged accordingly. There are men who through sheer perversity renounce their faith, and are not ashamed to vilify the religion which they once professed. They are generally embodiments of irreverence, who glory in their atheism, and talk of infidelity as if it were a cardinal virtue. Whenever there is foul work to be done, they are almost always to the fore; whenever holy things are to be held up to ridicule, they are the men to do it. These are deliberate apostates; men who with their eyes open prefer darkness to light, who of set purpose deny the truth and embrace error. Happily the world contains but few such. To the honour of human nature, fallen though it be, it may be said that it instinctively recoils from such characters with a sense of horror. We do not think for a moment that Demas belonged to this class, though the terms in which he is sometimes spoken of might lead one to suppose so. There are others who fall away through weakness. They find themselves in circumstances for which they are not prepared--circumstances by which their faith is sorely tried--and, lacking that strength of conviction, which alone can give stability, they recede from the position which they took up with so much apparent enthusiasm. Theirs is not that deep spiritual experience which makes its possessor count suffering as a privilege and martyrdom as a crown. They rejoice for a season in Christ and His salvation, but "_they have no root in themselves_," so that "_when tribulation or persecution ariseth because of the word, by and by they are offended_." We are inclined to think that Demas belonged to this class. The apostle was now overwhelmed by calamities. His career as a messenger of the Cross had been ruthlessly cut short. There were unmistakable signs of a coming storm, when he, and possibly those around him, would be tortured and slain, to gratify the bloodthirstiness of the Roman emperor. He seems to be fully cognisant of this, for he says, "_I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand_." It is probable, therefore, that Demas feared lest by continuing with the apostle he might share his dreadful fate. He pictured himself being carried away in chains by the brutal soldiery, as he had seen many others, to the great amphitheatre, to be thrown into the arena, and there to be drawn limb from limb by ferocious beasts, for the amusement of the frivolous thousands who gloated on such scenes. The bare thought of it made him tremble. He "_loved the present world_"; to him life was too precious, too full of delightful possibilities, to be thrown away in the prime of manhood--to be thrown away especially in this awful fashion. Visions of former

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