Exodus 21

Bored Ears

I love my master... I will not go out free. Exodus 21:5.

In country places you may have noticed sheep or cattle marked on the fleece with marks or letters showing to whom they belonged. In countries where men were kept as slaves something like this has been done even to them. They were branded with hot irons so that if they ran away they might easily be caught and given back to their owners. They could never hope to escape, because they were marked for life.

Among the people of Israel, in ancient times, a man who was free-born might become a slave for a time and then be released. If he had run into debt and was unable to pay it, or if he had committed a crime against someone, he might have to go and work as a slave till he had done work enough to pay his debt, or had atoned for his crime.

But he could not be kept a slave for ever. Every seventh year, which was called the year of Jubilee, such slaves must be allowed “to go out free for nothing.” But it sometimes happened that the man who was a slave had grown fond of his master. When the year of Jubilee came he did not wish to go and leave what was now a home to him, he wished to stay.

So there was a law which enabled him to stay if he liked.

But he had to go through a certain ceremony. His master took him to the judges, and when the slave had said before them that he did not wish to be free, his master led him up to the door or doorpost. The slave's ear was laid against the post and the owner took an awl and pushed the sharp point through the ear into the wood. After that he could never leave his owner again. He had made his choice, and the mark in his ear was the token of it. He was a member of the household as long as he lived.

But there was now a difference in the man's feeling toward his work. It is one thing to do a piece of work because you are compelled to do it, and quite another to do it because you choose. It is liking the work that makes labor light. Above all, it is love for those for whom you work. It was only love for his master that would induce the slave to give up his freedom and serve him for ever.

1. Yes, there are just two things which make work easy. The first is love of the work Listen to this story.

It was an Autumn afternoon, and the leaves red and gold and lemon-colored were falling thick on the garden paths and on the lawns. The gardener was busy tying up some chrysanthemums, and the gardener's boy was still busier, standing with his hands in his pockets watching his father.

“See here, Sonny!” said the gardener. “Get a move on, and rake up these leaves!”

“Not me!” politely replied the boy, lounging against a wall. “I'm about as tired as they make 'em. And besides, I've got a skinned heel.”

“After you have raked up the leaves,” went on the gardener, taking no notice of the boy's remarks, “you can make a bonfire of them, and jump over it.”

“Hooray!” cried the boy, beginning to shout and leap. “Where's that old rake?”

You see the bonfire and the blaze and the jumping made all the difference.

2. The second thing that makes work easy is love for the person for whom you work. You know that at school. You know how much keener you are to learn your lessons for the teacher you love. To please that teacher you will work twice as hard as you would if you didn't care for her.

Let me tell you another story. It is a war story, but not a story of a war you remember. It is a story of the war that took place when your great (or great, great) grandfather and grandmother were about the age you are now. History books call it the Crimean War. It was a terrible war, and what made it most terrible was that there were no fine hospitals such as we have now, and no white-aproned nurses to attend properly to the wounded.

One woman in England couldn't bear to think of all this misery. She managed to get permission to go to the war area, and she took bandages and dressings and food for the poor wounded fellows. She worked as perhaps no woman since has worked to bring comfort and ease and healing to the soldiers.

You know her name. She died not so long ago, an old, old lady. Her real name was Florence Nightingale, but those who were her patients, and who loved her very shadow, called her “the Lady of the Lamp.” If you want to know why, ask father or mother when you go home.

And now, here comes the point of my story. She did not fight her brave battle against disease and death quite alone. She had several helpers, and I want to tell you of one.

His name was Stafford O'Brien. He was a splendid young fellow who was a tremendous favorite with his friends in London. He was leading a life of ease and comfort, but he left London's gaieties and pleasures and went out to the war-stricken Crimea. He slaved there day and night for months and months, doing anything and everything, finding and carrying and serving for love and admiration of the noble woman who was doing such noble work. His London friends would have been astonished could they have seen him sometimes. But he was only too proud to do his trying work. To him it was an honor and a privilege because it was dictated by love.

Boys and girls, we must get a little of Stafford O'Brien's spirit, a little of the spirit of the slave with the bored ear, if we wish to serve God and man. We must love our fellow-men before we can serve them truly. And we must love God first of all. That will make work for others a joy and pleasure. Why? Because we shall know that when we are serving them we are most really serving God.