THE DISCONTENT OF THE FORTUNATE.

"And the young man saith unto Jesus, What lack I yet?”

M

MATTHEW Xix, 20.

Y subject this morning is social discontent. Not as that word is so frequently used, the discontent of the poor, or of the working people; but rather another form of social discontent to which I give the name, The Discontent of the Fortunate. It may seem to us at first a strange use of words to couple discontent with good fortune; and yet we generally find, I think, that underneath all the good fortune of this world there is working all the while a discontent; and not simply the dissatisfaction which every one feels, which all must feel because we have not yet attained the perfect. Every one is dissatisfied who is living. All must be dissatisfied who will grow. But the discontent of the fortunate is something more than this. It is the cry of the social sentiment.

The young man in the gospel who came running to Jesus by the way and fell down before him, worshipping him, is the type of the discontent of the fortunate. He had all, seemingly. He had youth with all its freshness and receptivity, hope and expectation; he had health, too, and he had great wealth. His cattle were feeding upon the grassy meadows of Edom in sight, and his noble house, for he was what might be called a Duke

of Edom, was to be seen crowning the beautiful hill overlooking the lake of Galilee. He must have had friends, because wealth, when it is connected with health and youth, always brings friends. He had more than that--character; for he could say what few have said, that he had kept the laws of righteousness from his youth up. His lips had been sullied by no lie; he was pure in heart; he had honored his father and mother; and, as he thought, he had loved his neighbor as himself. At any rate there was an attractive personality; and so, in addition to youth and health and wealth he had character. He had, too, a certain pleasing manner, a grace of person which makes what we call charm-attractiveness, because, looking upon him, Jesus loved him. We all know there are those whose beauty of face, whose grace of manner, whose sweetness of word, whose humility of demeanor attract us toward them. We call their manner grace or charm. And so we have here what would seem to satisfy any one; and if there is anything which could make any one happy it would seem to be youth, health, wealth, friends, character and grace of life and manner.

And yet what a pathetic cry this young man puts up: I want life; I want eternal life-not existence prolonged a hundred years or a hundred and fifty. It was not the fear of death that was before him; it was rather that the cup of life which he lifted to drink was like stale, warm water. It did not satisfy him. It was as if the food that he ate was not seasoned to his taste and was insipid. Something was lacking that should give a quality to his life, not prolongation of years, but quality of existence.

And what a pathetic cry this is, "What lack I yet?" And if we had heard him we might have said: Why, young friend of ours, what can you lack? You have

life and you have youth, and there is not a single burden, it would seem, resting upon your spirit; you can sleep at night, and there is no aching head; you have not the burden of care with regard to support; you have friends, you have wealth, and you have all that wealth can buy. And you have character-no regrets, no remorse eating into your soul. And you have charm, so that every one who looks at you loves you. What can you lack? But still he puts up his cry, "What lack I yet?" And we seem to hear him repeat it wherever he goes-What lack I yet? And as I hear it, it seems to me like the starling that Sterne heard in Paris, which had been brought from England, crying in its gilded cage, "I can't get out! I can't get out!" and that was all its cry. Up and down the little Paris street it sounded, greeting him who came, and sending its word after him who passed, "I can't get out!"

So this fortunate young man kept saying, "I lack, I lack! What lack I yet?" What did he lack? Can you tell me what it was that was wanting to make him a happy man? Jesus knew what he lacked, and said to him, "Go sell what thou hast and give to the poor, and come and follow me, and thou shalt have life." Now,. what was this lack? Evidently what Jesus was telling him was the thing Jesus thought he lacked. It was not that he should give to the poor. It was not that he should sell what he had and become poor. It was not that. It was a lack of touch with his fellow men. He lacked the exercise of sympathy with suffering; he lacked the eye that was wet with pity for want; he lacked the common experiences of fellowship with humanity; he lacked the knowledge of his fellow men; he lacked the touch of hand with hand in friendship, which wealth could not buy; he lacked human fellowship. That is what he lacked-the touch of the heart to the human heart. For we are born for each other,

and not each one for himself; born to clasp hands in united effort; born to join voices in some great shout of triumph, in some deep amen; born to struggle together, suffer defeat together; born to conquer together; born to be together and not separate. Here in all his splendor of life this young man was isolated, shut up within himself. His castle was a prison, a gilded cage, but a cage. He was starving to death for social sympathy.

He lacked the touch of heart to heart-the claims of the social sentiment. He never knew what it was to meet a man as true men may meet. Men who met him paid deference to his wealth and place and power. And so he was starving for human sympathy and human fellowship. His was the home-sickness of humanity which is shut in from touch and sympathy with other men. And now Jesus says, "These are chains about you. If you want to be free, break them.” You are starving to death. It is not enough to have simply that which the eye sees. If you are blind you are starving for that which comes through the eye. If you are deaf, you are hungering and starving for melody. If you are rich and have not friendship, you are starving through loneliness. A man may suffer want in diverse ways, and not alone through want of food. This man was starving to death, with youth, friendship, health, wealth, charm of grace and manner, and comfortable surroundings; he was starving to death for want of the common experiences that come to us through touching our fellow men.

That is what I mean, then, by the discontent of the fortunate the craving for human society, the hungering for sympathy; the demand within ourselves that we meet on common planes of life, so that man may meet man, hand clasp hand, voices join, tears flow