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gj§ "I give theft Books
l/w tie founding of a. Gotten* oyttiif Colony"

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Gift of the
vRe\ . Heber H. Beadle
1917

HEBEE H. BEADLE.

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ft. f . - NIAON,

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ISTew fbii, Baxper £.Brirth.e

SERMONS

PREACHED AT BRIGHTON

BY THE LATE

REV. FREDERICK W. ROBERTSON,

THE INCUMBENT OF TRINITY CHAPEL.

NEW EDITION.

NEW YORK:
HARPER .St BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
FRANKLIN SQUAKE.
l874.

TO
THE CONGREGATION
WORSHIPPING IN
TRINITY CHAPEL, BRIGHTON,
From August 15, 1847, to August 15, 1853,
THESE
RECOLLECTIONS OF SERMONS
PREACHED BY THEIR LATE PASTOR
ARE DEDICATED.

PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL EDITION.

In publishing these Sermons, a few words of explana
tion are necessary.
They are not notes previously prepared, nor are they
Sermons written before delivery. They are simply "Eec-
ollections:" sometimes dictated by the Preacher himself
to the younger members of a family in which he was inter
ested, at their urgent entreaty; sometimes written out by
himself for them when they were at a distance and unable
_ to attend his ministry*
They have been carefully preserved, and are now pub
lished without corrections or additions, just as they were
found. Mr. Eobertson attached no val,ue whatever to
them, and never gave any directions concerning them.
The only Sermon which saw the light in his lifetime is
now republished in this volume, with hisown preface, ex
plaining how it was preserved, and that it was printed by
desire of his congregation.
Unfortunately, in' some instances this series is incom
plete. The fourth of the Advent Lectures f was never
written out, owing to his uncertain and suffering state of
health ; and this cause, combined with his remarkable dis
like to recalling his discourses — a peculiarity known to all
who were intimately acquainted with him — has made these
* A reference to a paragraph in his own preface to " The Israelite's Grave"
(page 235) explains this.
t The fourth and last Advent Lecture was "The Jewish;" on the text,
" He came unto his own, and his own received him not." — John i. 1 1.

vi Preface.
recollections more broken and imperfect than they would
otherwise have been.
It is not necessary to say one word in this place of the
character of Mr. Eobertsou's teaching; it is best illustrated
in the published vol umes of his Sermons ; and yet it seems
needful to say, that even these suggest but a very faint idea
of the influence that teaching exercised on all who came
within its sphere.

PREFACE TO THE FOURTH SERIES.

It is proposed shortly to issue a volume entitled " Pulpit
Notes," which will consist of the skeleton or outline which
Mr. Eobertson prepared before delivering his Sermons. In
some cases only a "line or a single word is given to indicate
a division of his subject; in others he has written out a
ivhole' thought, to be further amplified and completed in
course of preaching.
The Editor believes that such a volume will be of serv
ice in two ways — first, as offering suggestions to preachers
in the preparation or consideration of their addresses; and,
secondly, as being sufficiently complete for purposes of
home-reading where it is the custom at family prayers, or
on Sundays, to read a short discourse, occupying but a few
minutes. With reference to the first of these, it seems to be felt
very generally that the pulpit is not what it was originally
intended to be. There is a wide-spread opinion that it
was designed for the edification of the mind as well as the
heart; and it may be that one great cause of the indiffer
ence with which men are said to listen to preachers, arises
from the fact, that for the most part their addresses are far
below the intelligence of their audience, who are wearied
with the trite repetitions of platitudes that neither instruct
nor inforrm These Sermons and " Pulpit Notes" evidence
the character of a teaching, not only earnestly listened to,
but also most influential. Perhaps the contrast between

viii Preface.
these and the sermons usually preached, may suggest a
means of re-awakening an interest now almost dormant in
the minds of listeners. In this view, a volume will shortly
be issued, and if it be found successful another will be put
to press.
The Editor appends a portion of a letter from a friend ¦
on the subject of preaching, because it serves to show that
the indifference he has adverted to springs from other
causes than mere irreligiousness.
My deak  , — I think one great need in our pulpit ministrations is nat-
uralness ; by which I mean an exact recognition of the facts of our daily life.
The phrase, " the dignity of the pulpit," has given a fatally artificial charac
ter to the mass of sermons. Mr. Spurgeon and his vulgar slang is a violent
reaction from the cold unfelt conventionalities with -which men have grown
so familiar ; and his success is due to the fact that he recognizes the men
and women before him as flesh and blood— sinning, suffering, tempted, fail
ing, struggling, rising. Like all extreme reactions, it shocks a great many
by its levity, its irreverence, and its vulgarity.
But it is in this direction must como our pulpit reform. We come day after
Jay to God's house, and the most careless one of us there, is still one who, if
he could really hear a word from God to his own soul, would listen to it —
ayi and be thankful for it. No heart can tell out to another what waves of
temptation have been struggled through during the week past — with what
doubtful success. How, after the soul has been beaten down and defiled,,
with what bitter angvftsh of spirit it has awoke to a knowledge of its back-
slidings and its bondage to sin : — not to this or that sin merely, but to a gen
eral sense of sinfulness pervading the whole man, so that Redemption would
be indeed a joyful sound.
Many are miserable in their inmost hearts, who are light-hearted and gay
before the world. They feel that no heart understands theirs, or can help
them. Now, suppose the preacher goes down into the depths of his own
being, and has the courage and fidelity to carry all he finds there, first to God
in confession and prayer, and then to his flock as some part of the' general
experience of Humanity, do you not feel that he must be touching close upon
some brother-man's sorrows and wants? "Be ye as I am, for I am as ye
are." Many a weary and heavy-laden soul has taken his burden to the- Sav
iour, because he has found some man of "like passions with himself," who
has suffered as he has, and found relief. I think a bold faithful experimental
preaching rarely fails to hit some mark, and oftentimes God's Spirit witnesses
to the truth of what is said, by rousing this and that man to the feeling,

Preface. ix
"Why I, too, have been agonizing, and falling, and crying for just such help
as this. Ah, this man has indeed something to say to me."

I may be wrong in my opinion, but it is one of deep conviction, gained
long ago, that no amount of external evidence in the way of proof of the
truth of Christianity is worth any thing in the way of saving a human
suul. There is always as much to be said on one side as the other, because, just
as Archimedes could not move the earth without a fulcrum, so there must be
something taken for granted in all external evidence, which a rigid logician
might fairly demur to granting. But when, as with the Spirit of God, the
voice of a man reaches his fellow-man, telling him of his inner aspirations
and failures, his temptations, his sins, his weakness — not in generals, but in
details — of light that has come and has been extinguished ; of hopes born,
yet not nourished ; of fears which have grown stronger and stronger, and
which refuse altogether to be silent, even in the midst of the engagements or
pleasures of life — does not the man feel that here is a revelation of God's
truth as real and fresh as if he had stood in the streets of Jerusalem, and
heard the SaviourWery voice ? The man feels that, in this word, which has,
so to speak, "told him all that ever he did," there must be a divine life.
"One touch of nature makes the whole word kin."

I think that a ministry which should work mightily amongst a people
would be one in which very rarely is heard any development of the modus
operandi or "plan of salvation ;" in which proof of the divine mission of
Christ, or of God's revelation, was never attempted, but in which the great
facts themselves were set forth as the alone solution of the wants, sorrows,
and sins of the hearers ; in which the fact of Adam's fall, and any conse
quences it had on the human race, were only touched upon incidentally ;
but in which the individual man's fall was pressed home upon him from his
own certain convictions. Not because Adam fell, and the race fell in him,
but because you have fallen — therefore you need a Saviour, and divine life
and light are indispensable.
The man who quietly slumbers under Adam's sin and its tremendous con
sequences — his relation to which consequences how is it possible for a poor
uneducated person to comprehend? — may be aroused to a sense of his con
nection with the fact of a fall in himself, and a, need of such a restorer as
Christ. I ami sure I don't know whether this is orthodox or not; but I
doubt whether orthodox creeds and confessions of doctrine have ever turned
one soul from the error of his ways, or brought him in real earnest to Christ.
******** 1*

Preface.

Let us look at this boldly. Seventeen thousand pulpits echo in our land
every Sunday, to what each preacher considers the soundest form of Christ's
Gospel. Is it God's word that is preached ? Has He changed His purpose ?
Has He ceased to care for man? — and does He no longer intend that "His
word shall not return to him void?" Yet where is the divine evidence that
it is His word which is preached, as shown in hearts quickened and aroused
" about their Father's business ?"

CONTENTS.

JF frst Series.
SERMON I.
Preached April 29, 1849,
GOD'S REVELATION OP HEAVEN.
1 Cor. ii. 9,10. — "Eye hath not seen, lior
ear heard, neither have entered into the
heart of man, the things which God hath
prepared for them that love him. But
God hath revealed them unto us by his
Spirit"  '.  Page 23

SERMON II.
Preached June 6, 1849.
PARABLE OF THE SOWER.
CONFIRMATION LECTURE.
Matt. xiii. 1-9.— "The same day went Je-
sns out of the house, and sat by the sea
side. And great multitudes were gath
ered together uuto him, so that he went
into a ship, and sat ; and the whole mul
titude stood on the shore. And he spake
many things unto them in parables, say
ing, Behold, a sower went forth to sow ;
and when he sowed, some seeds fell by
the wayside, and the fowls came and de
voured them up : Some fell upon stony
places, where they had not much earth:
and forthwith they sprung up, because
they had no deepness of earth: And
when the sun was up, they were scorch
ed ; and because they had no root, they
withered away. And some fell among
thorns ; and the thorns sprung up, and
choked them : But others fell into good
ground, and brought forth fruit, some a
hundred-fold, some sixty-fold, some thir
ty-fold. Who hath ears to hear, let him
hear "  ,  33

SERMON III.
..Preached June 10, 1849.
JACOB'S WRESTLING.
CONFIRMATION LECTURE.
Gen. xxxii. 28, 29. — "And he said, Thy
name shall be called no more Jacob, but
Israel: for as a prince hast thon power
with God and with men, and hast pre-
vailed. Aud Jacob asked him, aud said,

Tell me, I pray thee, thy name. And
he said, Wherefore is it that thou dost
ask after my name? And he blessed
him there"  Page 40

SERMON IV.
Preached August 12, 1649.
CHRISTIAN PROGRESS BY OBLIVION
OF THE PAST.
Phil. iii. IS, 14.— "Brethren, I count not
myself to have apprehended : but this
one thing I do, forgetting those things
which are behind, and reaching forth
unto those, things which are before, I
press toward the mark for the prize of
the high calling of God in Christ Je
sus "  '  57

SERMON V.
Preached October 21, 1849.
TRIUMPH OVER HINDRANCES—
ZACCHEUS.
Luke xix. 8.— "And Zaccheus stood, and
said nnto the Lord ; Behold, Lord, the
half of my goods I give to the poor ; and
if I have taken any thing from any man
by false accusation, I restore him four
fold"  08

SERMON VI.
Preached October 28, 1849.
THE SHADOW AND SUBSTANCE OF
THE SABBATH.
Col. ii. 1G, 17. — " Let no man therefore
judge you in meat, or in drink, or in re
spect of a holyday, or of the new moon,
or ofthe sabbath- days: Which are a
shadow of things to come ; but the body
is of Christ"  T8

SERMON VII.
Preached November 4, 1849.
THE SYMPATHY OF CHRIST.
Heb. iv. 15, 16.—" For we have not a high-
priest which can not be touched with
the feeling of our infirmities ; but was

Xll

Contents.

in all points tempted like as we are, yet
without sin. Let us therefore come
boldly unto the throne of grace, that we
may obtain mercy, and find grace to help
in time of need"  Page SS

SERMON VIII.
Preached November 11,1849.
PHARISEES AND SADDUCEES AT
JOHN'S BAPTISM 
Matt. iii. 7. — "But when he saw many of
the Pharisees and Sadducees come to his
baptism, he said unto them, O genera
tion of vipers, who hath warned you to
flee from the wratH to come !"  99

SERMON IX.
Preached November B, 1849.
CAIAPHAS'S VIEW OP VICARIOUS
SACRIFICE.
John xi. 49-53. — "And one of them, named
Caiaphas,being the high-priestthatsatne
year, said unto them, Ye know nothing
at all, nor consider that it is expedient
„ for us, that one man should die for the
people, and that the whole'nation perish
not. And this spake he not of himself :
but being high-priest that year, he proph
esied that Jesus should die for that na
tion j and not for that nation only, but
that also he should gather together in
one the children of God that were scat
tered abroad. Then from that day forth
they took counsel together for to put him
to death"  110

SERMON X.
Preached Dccembe¥2, 1849.
REALIZING THE SECOND ADVENT.
Job xix. 25-27.—" For I know that my Re
deemer liveth, and that he shall stand
at the latter day npon the earth : And
though after my skin worms destroy this
body, yet in my flesh shall I see God:
Whom I shall see for myself, and mine
eyes shall behold, arid not another ;
though my reins be consumed within
me "  120

SERMON XI.
Preached December 6, 1849.
FIRST ADVENT LECTURE.
THE GREEK.
Ro.w. i. 14-17  " I am debtor both to the
Greeks, and to the Barbarians ; both to
the wise, and to the unwise. So, as much
as in mc is, I am ready to preach the
gospel to you that are at Rome also.
For I am not ashamed of the gospel
of Christ: for it is the power of God

unto salvation to eveiy one that believ.
eth ; to the Jew first, and also to the
Greek. For therein is the righteous
ness of God revealed from faith to faith :
as it is written, The just 'shall live by
faith"  Page 330

SERMON XII.
Preached December 13, 1849.
SECOND ADVENT LECTURE.
TUE ROMAN.
Rom. i. 14-16.— "I am debtor both to the
Greeks, and to the Barbarians; both to
the wise, and to the unwise. So, as much
as in me is, I am ready to preach thegos-
pel to yon that; are at.Rp.me also. For I
am not ashamed of tlie gospel of Christ:
for it is the power of God unto salvation
to every one that believeth ; to the Jew
first, and also to the Greek n.  131

SERMON XIII.
Preached December 20, 1849.
THIRD ADVENT LECTURE.
TUE BARBARIAN.
Acts xxviii. 1-7.— "Ahd when they were
escaped, then they knew that the island
was called Melita. - And the barbarous
people showed ns no little kindness : for
they kindled a fire, and received ns every
one, because of tbe present rain, and be
cause ofthe cold. And when Paul had
gathered a bundle of sticks, and laid them
on the fire, there came a viper out of the
heat, and, fastened oil his hand. ' And
when the barbarians saw the venomous
f>east hang on his hand, they said among
themselves, No donbt this man is a mur
derer, whom, though he hath escaped the
sea, yet vengeance sriffereth not to live.
And he shook off the beast into the fire,
and felt no harm. Howbeit they looked
when he shonldhave swollen, or fallen
down dead suddenly : bnt after they had
looked a great while, and saw no harm
come to him, they changed their minds,
and said that he was a god. In the same
quarters were possessions of the chief
man of the island, whose name was Pub-
lins; who received us, and lodged ns
three days courteously"  143

SERMON XIV.
Preached December 15, 1849.
THE PRINCIPLE OP THE SPIRITUAL
HARVEST.
Gal. vi. 7, 8 — "Be notf deceived; God is
not mocked : for whatsoever a man sow-
eth, that shall he also reap. For he that
soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap
corruption ; but he that soweth to the
Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life ever
lasting"  158

Contents.

xni

SERMON XV.
Preached December 31, 1849.
THE LONELINESS OF CHRIST.
John xvi. 31, 32.— "Jesus answered them,
Do ye now believe? Behold, the hour
cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall
be scattered, every man to Iiis own; aud
shall leave me alone: aud yet I am
not alone, because the Father is" with
me"... ;.-,.. '-...,'.:.  , ...Page 168

SERMON XVI.
Preached October 20, 1850.
THE NEW COMMANDMENT OF LOVE
TO ONE ANOTHER.
Joun xiii. 34.— "A new commandment I
give unto you, That ye love one another ;
as I havelavod yon, that ye also love one
another ".....'.....  177

SERMON XVII.
Preached June IS, 1851.
THE MESSAGE OF THE CHURCH TO
- MEN OF WEALTH.
1 Sam. xxv. 10, 11.— "And Nabal answered
David's servants, aud. said, Who is Da
vid? and who is the son of Jes'se ? there
.be many servants nowadays that break
away every nian from his master." Shall
I theu take my. bread, and my water, and
my flesh that I have killed for my shear
ers, and give it unto men, whom I know
not whence they be ?"  185

SERMON XVIII.
Preached June 22, 1851.
CHRIST'S JUDGMENT RESPECTING
INHERITANCE.
Luke xii. 13-15  "And one of the com
pany said unto him, Master, speak to
my brother, that he divide the inherit
ance with me. And he said unto him,
Man, who made me a judge or a divider
over you ? And he said nnto them, Take
heed, and beware of covetousness ; for a
man's life consisteth not in the abun
dance of the things which, he possess
ed ".. .'.  198

SERMON XIX.
FreachedJuIyl3,1851.
FREEDOM BY THE TRUTH,
Joujt viii. 32  "And ye shall know the
truth, and the truth shall make yoii
free "  209

SERMON XX.
Preached at the Autumn Abhiscb, held nt Lewes, 18^3.
THE KINGDOM OF THE TRUTH.
John xviii. 37. — " Pilate therefore said
unto him, Art thou a king theu ? Jesus
answered, Thou sayest that I am a king.
To this end was I born, and for this
cause came I into the world, that I
should bear witness unto the truth.
Every one that is of the truth heareth
my voice "  Page 210

SERMON XXI.
Preached November 7.1852.
THE SKEPTICISM OF PILATE.
John xviii. 38.— "Pilate saith unto him.
What is truth?".  22«
SERMON XXII.
Preached on the first day of Public Monming fur the
Queen Dowager, Dec. 1849.
THE ISRAELITE'S GRAVE IN A
FOREIGN LAND.
Gen. 1. 24-26. — "And Joseph said nnto his
brethren, Idie;^andGodwill snrely visit
you,- ami bring you out of this land nnto
the land which he sware to Abraham, to
to Isaac, and to Jacob. And Joseph
took au oath of the children of Israel,
saying, God will surely visit you, and ye
shall carry up my bones from hence. So
Joseph died., being a hundred and ten
years old : and-they-emh aimed him, and
he was put in a coffin in Egypt "... . 235

Secotrti SkzxUn.
SERMON I.
Proncked Jnnunry 6, 1850.
THE STAR IN THE EAST.
Matt. ii. 1, 2.— "Now when Jesus was born
in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of
Herod the king, behold, there came wise
men from tlie east to Jerusalem, saying,
Where is he that is born King of the
Jews? for we have seen his star in the
east, and are come to worship him ". 249

SERMON II.
Preached February 10, 1850.
THE HEALING OF JAIRUS'S DAUGH
TER.
Matt. ix. 23-25. — "And when Jesus came
into the ruler's house, and saw the min
strels and the people making a noise,

XIV

Contents.

he Baid unto them, Give place : for the
maid is not dead, but sleepeth. And
they laughed him to scorn. But when
the people were put forth, he went in,
and took her by the hand, and the maid
arose"  Page 257

SERMON III.
Preached March 10, 1850.
BAPTISM.
Gal. iii. 20-29.— "For ye are all the chil
dren of God by faith in Christ Jesus.
For as many of you as have been bap
tized into Christ have put on Christ.
Theft; is neither Jew nor Greek, there
is neither bond nor free, there is neither
male nor female : for ye are all one in
Christ Jesus. And if ye be Christ's,
then are ye Abraham's seed, and heirs
according to the promise "  207

SERMON IV.
Preached March 17, 1850.
BAPTISM.
1 Peteb iii. 21. — "The like figure where
unto even baptism doth also now save
ua"  277

SERMON V.
Preached October 13, 1850.
ELIJAH.
1 Kings xix. 4.— "But he himself went a
day's journey into the wilderness, and
came and sat down under ajuniper-tree :
and he requested foreJiimself that he
might die; and said, Itls enough ; now,
O Lord, take away my life ; for I am not
better than my fathers "  2S6

SERMON VI.
rveached January 12, 1851.
NOTES ON PSALM LI.
Written by David, after a double crime :—
Uriah put in the fore-front of the battle
— the wife of the murdered man taken,
etc  293

SERMON VII.
Preached March 2, 1B51.
OBEDIENCE THE ORGAN OF SPIR
ITUAL KNOWLEDGE.
JonN vii. 17. — "If any man will do his
will, he shall know of the doctrine,
whether it be of God, orwhetherl speak
of myself"  300

SERMON VIII.
Preached March SO, 1851.
RELIGIOUS DEPRESSION.
Psai-m xiii. 1-3.— "As the hart panteth
after the water brooks, so panteth my
soul after thee, O God. My soul thirst-
eth for God, for the living God : when
shall I come and appear before God ?
My tears have been my meat day and
night, while they continually say unto
me, Where is thy God ?"  Page 308

SERMON IX.
Preached April 6,1851.
FAITH OF THE CENTURION.
Matt. viii. 10.—" When Jesus heard it, he
marvelled, and said to them that follow
ed, Verily I say unto you, I have not
found so great faith, no, not in Is
rael"  313

SERMON X.
Preached July 27, 1851.
THE RESTORATION OF THE
ERRING.
Gai,. vi. 1, 2  "Brethren, if a man be over
taken in a fault, ye which are spiritual,
restore such a one in the spirit of meek
ness ; considering thyself, lest thou also
be tempted. Bear ye one another's
burdens, and so fulfill the law of
Christ "  31S

SERMON XI.
Preached Christmas Day, 18C1.
CHRIST THE SON.
Hed. i. 1,2. — "God, who at sundry times
aud in divers manners ' spake, in time
past unto the fathers by the prophets',
hath in these last days spoken unto ns
by his Sou"  327

SERMON XII.
Preached April 25, 18J2.
WORLDLINESS
1 John ii. 15-17. — "If any man love the
world, the love of the Father is not in
him. Por all that is in the world, the
lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes,
and the pride of life, is not of the Fa
ther, but is ofthe world. And the world
passeth away, and the lust thereof: but
he that doeth the will of God abideth
forever "  333

Contents.

xv

SERMON XIII.
Preached November 14, 1852
THE SYDENHAM PALACE, AND THE
RELIGIOUS NON-OBSERVANCE OF
THE SABBATH.
Rom. xiv. 5, 6. — " One man esteemeth one
day above another : another esteemeth
every day alike. Let every man be rally
persuaded in his own mind. He that
regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the
Lord; and he that regardeth not the
day, to the Lord he doth not regard it.
He that eateth, eateth to the Lord for he'
giveth God thanks ; and he that eateth
not, to the Lord he eateth not, and giyeth
God thanks".  Page 343

SERMON XIV.
Preached January 2, 1853.
THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF
JESUS.
Luke ii. 40. — "And the child grew, and
waxed strong in spirit, filled with wis
dom ; and the grace of God was upon
him "  353

SERMON XV.
Preached January 9, 1853.
CHRIST'S ESTIMATE OF. SIN.
Ldke xix. 10. — " The Son of man is come
to seek and to save that which was
lost"  363
SERMON XVI.
Preached January 16, 1853.
THE SANCTIFICATION OP CHRIST.
John xvii. 19.— "And for their sakes. I
sanctify myself, that they also might be
sanctified through the truth "  372
SERMON XVII.
Preached January 2.1, 1853.
THE FIRST MIRACLE.
I. THE GLOET OF THE VIBGIN MOT1IEE.
John ii. 11  " This beginning of miracles
did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and man
ifested forth his glory ; and his disciples
believed on him"  383

SERMON XVIII.
Preached January 30, 1S53.
THE FIRST MIRACLE.
II. THE GI.ORY OF THE DIVINE SON.
John li. 11  "This beginning of miracles
did Jesus in Caua of Galilee, and man

ifested forth his glory ; and his disciples
believed on him"  Page 393

SERMON xix.
Preached March 20, 1853.
THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
John x. 14, 15  "I am the good shepherd,
and know my sheep, and am known of
mine. As the Father knoweth me, even
so know I the Father: aud,I lay down
my life for the sheep"  404

SERMON XX.
Preached Easter Day, March 27, 1853.
THE DOUBT OP THOMAS.
John xx. 29  " Jesus saith nuto him,
Thomas, because thou hast seen me,
thou hast believed: blessed are they
that have not seen, and' yet have be
lieved "  415

SERMON XXI.
Preached May 8,1853.
THE IRREPARABLE PAST.
Mark xiv. 41, 42. — "And he cometh the
third time, and saith unto them, Sleep
on now, and take your rest : it is enough,
the hour is come ; behold the Son of man
is' betrayed into the hands of sinners.
Rise up, let us go ; lo, he that betrayeth
mc is at hand"  426

•STfifrtr Scries.
SERMON I.
Preached April 28, 1850.
THE TONGUE.
St. James iii. 5, 0  "Even. so the tongue
is a little member, aud boasteth great
things. Behold, how great a matter a
little fire kindleth I And the tongue is
a fire, a world of iniquity : so is the
tongue among our members, that it de
fileth the whole body, and setteth on
fire the course of nature; and it is set
on fire of hell"  437

SERMON II.
Preached May 5, 1850.
THE VICTORY OP FAITH.
1 JonN v. 4, 5. — " For whatsoever is born
of God overcometh the world : and this
is the victory that overcometh the world,
even our faith. Who is he that over
cometh the world, but he that believeth
that Jesus is the Son of God ?"  440

xvi

Contents.

SERMON III.
Preached Whitsunday, May 19, 180O.
THE DISPENSATION OF THE
SPIRIT.
I Cob. xii. 4.— "Now thete are diversities
of gifts, but the same Spirit "..Page 455
SERMON IV.
Preached May 26,1850.
THE TRINITY.
1 Thess. v. 23.— "And the very God of
peace sanctify you wholly ; and I pray
God your whole spirit and soul aud body
be preserved blameless unfco.the coming
of our Lord Jesus Christ "  464
SERMON v.
Preached Juno 2, 1850.
ABSOLUTION.
Luke v. 21. '-"And the scribes and the
Pharisees began to reason, sayingi
Who is this which speaketh blasphe
mies ? Who .can forgive sins, but God
alone ?"..... C". .... '. . i  476
SERMON VI.
Preached June 9, 1850.
. THE ILLUSIVENESS OF LIFE.
Heb. xi. fi-10. — " By. fiiith Abraham, when
he was called ta #o. out into a place
which he should after receive for an in
heritance, obeyed; and he went out,
not knowing whither he went. By faith
he sojourned in the land of promise, as
in a strange country, dwelling in taber
nacles wi£b "Isaac and Jacob, the heirs
with him of the same promise : for he
looked for a city which hath founda
tions, whose ¦ builder . and maker is
God"  ........:  487

SERMON VII.
Preached June 23, 1800.
THE SACRIFICE OF CHRIST.
2 Cob. v. 14, 15.— "For the love of Christ
constraineth us ; because we thus judge,
that if one died for all, then were all
dead: and that he died for all, that
they which live should not henceforth
live unto themselves, butuntohim which
died for them, and rose again "  495

SERMON VIII.
Preached June 30, 1850.
THE POWER OP SORROW.
2 Cob. vii. 9, 10.— "Now I rejoice, not that
ye were made sorry, bnt that ye sorrow

ed to repentance: for ye were made
sorry after a godly maimer, that ye
might receive damage by us in nothing.
For godly sorrow worketh repentance
to salvation not to be repented of: but
the sorrow of the world worketh
death "  Page 504

SERMON IX.
Preached August 4, 1850.
SENSUAL AND SPIRITUAL EXCITE
MENT.
Era. v. 17, 18.— " Wherefore be ye not un
wise, but understanding what the will
ofthe Lord is.: And be not drunk with
wine, wherein is excess; but be filled
with the Spirit ".  510
SERMON X.
Poached August 11, 1850.
PURITY."
Turns. i. 15.— "Unto the pure all things
are pure : but unto _them that are de
filed and. unbelieving is nothing. pure;
but even their, mind and conscience is
defiled"  510
SERMON XI.
Preached February, 9, 1851 .
UNITY AND PEACE.
Col. iii. 15.— "And let the peace of God
ru.le.in your hearts, to the which also ye
are called iu one body ; and be ye thank
ful"  522

SERMON XII.
Preached January 4, 1852.
THE: CHRISTIAN AIM AND MOTIVE.
Matt.v..48. — ''Be ye therefore perfect,
even as your Father which is in heaven-
is perfect''.  530

SERMON XIII.
Preached January 4,1852.
¦ OHRISTIAN CASUISTRY. .
1 Cob. vii. 18-34. — "Is any man called
being circumcised ? let him not become
uncircumcised.; Is any called in uucir-
cumcision? let him not be^ circumcised.
Circumcision is nothing, aud uncircum-
cision is nothing, but the keeping of the
commandments of God. Let every man
abide in the same, calling wherein he
was called. Art thou called being a
servant? care not far. it i- bnt if thou
mayest be made "free", Use it rather.
Por he that is called in the Lord, being
a servant, is the Lord's freeman : like
wise also he that is called, being free,

Contents.

xvn

/s Christ's servant Ye are bought with
a price ; be not ye the servants of men.
Brethren, let every man, wherein he is
called, therein abide with God". Page 539

SERMON XIV.
Preached January 11, 1852.
MARRIAGE AND CELIBACY.
1 Con. vii. 29-31  "But this I say, breth
ren, the time is short : it remaiueth, that
both they that have wives be as though
they had none; and they that, weep, as
though they wept not ; and they that re
joice, as though they rejoiced not; and
they that bny, as though they possessed
not; and they that use this world, as
not abusing it : for the fashion of this
world passeth away "  547

SERMON XV.
Preached January II, 1852.
THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH A FAM
ILY.
Eph. iii. 14,15. — "Our Lord Jesns Christ,
of whom the whole family in heaven
aiid earth is named"  555
SERMON XVI.
Preached January 25, 1832.
THE LAW OF CHRISTIAN CON
SCIENCE.
1 Cob. viii.- 7-13.—" Howbeit there is not
in every man that knowledge : for some
with conscience of the idol unto this
hour eat it as a, thing offered unto an
idol; and their conscience being weak
is defiled. But meat commendeth us
not to God: for neither, if we eat, are
we the better; neither, if we eat not,
are we the worse. But take heed lest
by any means this liberty of yours be
come a stumbling-block to them that
are weak. .For if any man see thee
which hast knowledge sit at meat in
the idol's temple, shall not the con
science of him which is weak be' em
boldened to eat those things which are
offered to idols ; aud through thy knowl
edge shall- the weak brother perish, for
whom Christ died ? But when ye sin so
against the brethren, and woundr-their
weak conscience, ye sin against Christ.
Wherefore, if'meat makepniy brother to
offend, I will eat np/Hesh while the
world standeth, lest-l make my brother
to offend "  565

SERMON XVII.
Preached May 16, 1852.
VICTORY OVER DEATH.
1 Cob. xv. 53, 57.— "The sting of death is
sin; and the strength of sin is the law.

But thanks be to God, which giveth us
the victory through our Lord JesuB
Christ "  Page 570

SERMON XVIII.
Preached June 20, 1852.
MAN'S GREATNESS AND GOD'S
GREATNESS.
Iba. Ivii. 15.— " For thus saith the high and
lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose
name is Holy; I dwell in the high and
holy place, with him also that is of a
contrite and humble spirit "  5SS

SERMON XIX.
Preached June 27, 1852.
THE LAWFUL AND UNLAWFUL USE
OP LAW.
A FRAGMENT.
1 Tim. 1. 8  " But we know that the law
is good, if a man use it lawfully ". . . 60S

SERMON XX.
Preached February 21, 1853.
THE PRODIGAL AND HIS BROTHER.
Luke xv. 31, 32.— "And he said nnto him,
Son, thou art ever with me, and all that
I have is thine. It was meet that we
should make merry, and be glad: for
this thy brother was dead, and is alive
again ; and was lost, and is found". 603

SERMON XXI.
Preached May 15, i"853.
JOHN'S REBUKE OF HEROD.
Luke iii. 19, 20  "But Herod the tetrarch,
being reproved by him for Herodias,
his brother Philip's wife, and for all the
evils which Herod had done, added yet
this above all, that he shut np John in
prison"  614

JFouttf) Serfes.
SERMON I.
Preached January, 1848.
• THE CHARACTER OF ELI.
1 Sam. iii. 1. — "And the child Samuel min
istered unto the Lord before Eli. And
the word of the Lord was precious in
those days ; there was no open vis- ,
ion"..:  020

XV1J1

Contents.

SERMON II.
Preached March, 1848.
THE APPOINTMENT OF THE FIRST
KING IN ISRAEL.
1 Sam. xii. 1. — "Aud Samuel said unto all
Israel, Behold, I have hearkened unto
your voice in all that ye said unto me, and
have made a king over you".. .Page 03S

SERMON III.
PRAYER.
Matt. xxvi. 39.— "And he went a little
further, aud fell on his face, aud prayed,
saying, O my Father, if it be possible,
let this cup pass from me :, nevertheless,
not as I will, but as thou wilt "..... 644

SERMON IV.
Preached January 25, 1652.
PERVERSION, AS SHOWN IN BA
LAAM'S CHARACTER
Numh. xxii. 34, 35. — "And Balaam said
unto the angel of the Lord, I have
sinned ; for I knew not that thou stood-
est in the way against me : now there
fore, if it displease thee, I will get me
back again. And the angel ofthe Lord
said unto Balaam, Go with the men :
bnt only the word that I shall speak
nnto thee, that thou shalt speak. So
Balaam went with the princes of Ba-
lak"  C51

SERMON v.
Preached February 1, 1852.
SELFISHNESS, AS SHOWN IN BA
LAAM'S CHARACTER.
NrjMB. xxiii. 10. — "Who can count the
dnst of Jacob, and the number of the
fourth part of Israel ? Let me die the
death of the righteous, and let my last
end be like his !"  657

SERMON VI.
Preached December 28, 1851.
THE TRANSITORINESS OF LIFE.
Psai.m xc. 12. — " So teach us to number
onr days, that we may apply our hearts
unto wisdom "  603

SERMON VII.
Preached July-7, 1850.
VIEWS OF DEATH.
.Eoot.es. ii. 15, 16— "Then said I in my
heart, As it happeneth to the fool, soft

happeneth even to me ; and why was 1
then more wise? Then I said in my
heart, that this also is vanity. For there
is no remembrance of the wise more
than of the fool forever; seeing that
which now is in the days to come shall
all be forgotten. And how dieth the
wise man ? as the fool "  Page 670

SERMON VIII.
Preached December 12, 1852.
WAITING FOR THE SECOND AD
VENT.
2 Thess. iii. 5. — "And the Lord direct your
hearts into the love of God, and into the
patient waiting for Christ "  674

SERMON IX.
Preached November 18, 1849.
THE SINLESSNESS OP CHRIST.
1 John iii. 4, 5.—" Whosoever committeth
sin transgresseth also the law: for sin
is the transgression ofthe law. ¦ And ye
know that he was manifested to take
nway our sins ; and in him is no
sin"  080

SERMON X.
Preached November 9, 1851.
CHRIST'S WAY OP DEALING WITH
SIN.
Mark ii. 8-11.— "And immediately, when
Jesus perceived in his spirit that they
so reasoned within themselves, he said
nnto them, Why reason ye these things
in your hearts? Whether is it easier
to say to the sick of the palsy, Thy sins
be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise,' and
take up thy bed, and walk? But that
ye may know that the Son of man hath
power ou earth to forgive sins, (he saith
to the sick ofthe palsy,) I say unto thee,
Arise, and take up thy bed, and go thy
way into thine house "  690

SERMON XI.
Preached June 6, 1852.
REGENERATION.
JonN iii. 5-7. — " Jesus answered, Verily,
verily, I say unto thee. Except a man be
born of water and of the Spirit, he can
not enter into the kingdom of God.
That which is born ofthe flesh is flesh ;
and that which is born ofthe Spirit is
spirit. Marvel not that I said unto thee,
Yc must lie born again "  097

Contents.

xix

SERMON XII.
Preached July 4, 1852.
AN ELECTION SERMON.
Acts i. 23-20. — "And they appointed two,
Joseph called Barsabas, who was sur
named Justus, and Matthias. And they
prayed, and said, Thou, Lord, which
knowest the hearts of all men, shew
whether of these two thou hast chosen,
that he may take part of this ministry
and apostleship, from which Judas by
transgression fell, that he might go to
his own place. And they gave forth
their lots ; aud the lot fell upon Mat
thias; and he was numbered with the
eleven apostles "  Page 704

SERMON XIII.
Preached November 24, 1850.
ISAAC BLESSING HIS SONS.
Gen. xxvii. 1-4. — "And it came to pass,
that when Isaac was old, and his eyes
were dim, so that he could not see, he
called Esau his eldest son, and said
unto him, My son: and he said unto
him, Behold, here am I. And he said,
Behold now, I am old, I know not the
day of my death: Now therefore take,
I pray thee, thy weapons, thy quiver
and thy bow, and go out to the field,
and take me some venison ; and make
me savory meat, such as I love, and bring
it to me, that I may eat ; that my soul
may bless thee before I die ".  710

SERMON XIV.
Preached April, 1849.
SALVATION OUT OF THE VISIBLE
CHURCH.
Aotb ix. 36. — "Now there was at Joppa a
certain disciple named Tabitha, which
by interpretation is called Dorcas: this
woman was full of good works and
almsdeeds which she did," etc
Aots x. L— "There was a certain man in
Caesarea called Cornelius, a centurion of
the band called the Italian band,"
etc.  710

SERMON XV.
Preached 1649.
THE WORD AND THE WORLD.
Acts xix. 1, 2.— "And it came to pass, that
while Apollos was at Corinth, Paul hav
ing passed through, the upper coasts
came to Ephesus; and finding certain
disciples, he said unto them, Have ye
received the Holy Ghost since ye be
lieved? And they said unto him, We
have not so much as heard whether
there be any Holy Ghost," etc  724

SERMON XVI.
Preached June 24, 1649.
SOLOMON'S RESTORATION.
Neii. xiii. 20.— "Did not Solomon king of
Israel sin by these things? yet among
many nations was there no king like him,
who was beloved of his God ". . Page 735

SERMON XVII.
Preached June ], 1651.
JOSEPH'S FORGIVENESS OF HIS
BRETHREN.
Gen. 1. 15-21.— "And when Joseph's breth
ren saw that their father was dead, they
said, Joseph will peradventure hate ns,
and will certainly requite us all the evil
which we did unto him. And they sent
a messenger unto Joseph, saying, Thy
father did command before he died, pay
ing, So shall ye say unto Joseph, For
give, I pray thee now, the trespass of
thy brethren, and their sin; for they
did unto thee evil: aud now, we pray
thee, forgive the trespass of the serv
ants of the God of thy father. And Jo
seph wept when they spake unto him.
And his brethren also went and fell
down before his face; and they said,
Behold, we be thy servants. And Jo
seph said unto them, Fear not: for am
I in the place of God? But as for you,
ye thought evil against me; but God
meant it unto good, to bring to pass, aa
it is this day, to save much people alive.
Now therefore fear ye not: I will nour
ish you, and your little ones. Aud he
comforted them, and spake kindly nnto
them "  745

SERMON XVIIT.
Pleached November 15 ISI9.
A THANKSGIVING DAY AFTER
CHOLERA.
John v. 14, 15. — "Afterward Jesus findeth
him in the temple, and said unto him,
Behold, thou art made whole: sin no
more, lest a worse thing come unto thee.
The man departed, and told the Jews
that it was Jesus, which had made him
whole"  752

SERMON XIX.
Preached August 8, 1852.
CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP.
Mat., iii. 16.— "Then they that feared the
Lord spake often one to another: and
the Lord hearkened, and heard it, and
a bonk of remembrance was written be
fore him for them that feared the Lord,
and that thought upon his name " , - 761

XX

Contents.

SERMON XX:
Preached February 2, 1851.
RECONCILIATION BY CHRIST.
Coloss. i. 21  "And yon, that were some
time alienated and enemies in your mind
by wicked works, yet now hath he rec
onciled "  Page 760

SERMON xxi.
Preached March 13, 1853.
THE PRE-EMINENCE OF CHARITY.
1 Petee iv. 8. — "And above all things
have fervent charity among yourselves :
for charity shall cover the multitude of
sins"  770

SERMON XXII.
Preached January 8, 1849.
THE UNJUST STEWARD.
Luke xvi. 8, 9  "And the lord commend
ed the unjust steward because he had
done wisely : for the' children of this
world are in their generation wiser than
the children of light. And I say unto
you, Make to yourselves friends of the
mammon of unrighteousness ; that,
when ye fail, they may receive you into
everlasting habitations "  7S7

SERMON XXIII.
Preached February 16, 1851.
THE ORPHANAGE OF MOSES.
A SERMON rREAOHED ON BEHALF OF TUE
ORPHAN SOCIETY.
Exon. ii. 0-9. — "Audwhenlthe had opened
it, she saw the child: and, behold, the
babe wept. Aud she had compassion
on him, and said, This is one of the
Hebrews' children. Then said. his sis
ter to Pharaoh's daughter, .Shall I go
and call to thee a nurse of the Hebrew
women, that she may nurse the child
for thee ? And Pharaoh's daughter said
to her, Go. ' Aud the 'maid .went and
called the child's mother. And Pha
raoh's daughter' said unto her, Take
* this child away, and -nnrse it for me,
and I will give thee thy wages. And
the woman took the child, and nursed
it"  794

SERMON XXIV.
Preached December, 1847.
CHRISTIANITY AND HINDOOISM.
AN ADVENT LECTURE.
Deut. vi. 4, 5.—" Hear, O Israel : The Lord
our God is one Lord : And thon shalt

love the Lord thy God with all thine
heart, aud with all thy soul, and with
all thy might"  .:  Page SOI

SERMON XXV.
Preached January 13, 1850.
REST.
Matt. xi. 2S,29. — "Come unto me, all ye
that labor. and are heavy laden, and I
will give yon rest. Take my yoke upon
yon, and learn Df me ; for I nm meek
and lowly in heart: and ye shall find
rest unto yom' souls "  806

SERMON xxvi.
THE HUMANE SOCIETY.
A SERMON PREACHED ON ITS UEIIALF.
Mark v. 35-43. — " While he yet spake,
there pame from the rujer ofthe syna
gogue's house certain which said, Thy
daughter is dead ; why iroublisst thou
the Master any further? As Boon as
Jesus heard the word that Was spoken,
he saith unto the-' ruler 'of the syna
gogue, Be not afraid, only believe. And
he suffered no man to follow him, save
Peter; and Jaines, and John the brother
of James. And he cometh to the house
df the ruler of the synagogue, and seeth
the tumult, and them that wept and
wailed greatly. And when he was come
in, he saith unto them, Why make ye
this ado, and weep? the damsel is not
dead, but sleepeth. Aud they laughed
him to scorn. But when he had put
them all out, he taketh the father and
mother ofthe damsel,- aud them that
were with him, and entereth in where
the damsel was lying. . And he took the
damsel by the hand, and said unto her,
Talitha enmi; which is, being inter
preted, Damsel, (I Say nnto thee,) arise.
And straightway the damsel arose, and
walked ; for she was'of the age of twelve-
years. And they were astonished with
a great astonishment. Aud he charged
them straitly that no man should know
it; and commanded that something
Bhoukl be given her to eat "  S13

SERMON XXVII.
Preoched December 1, 1850.
THREE TIMES IN A NATION'S HIS
TORY.
Luke xix. 41^4.— "And when he was come
near, he beheld the city, and wept over
it, saying, If thou hadst known, even
thou, at least in this thy day, the things
which belong unto thy peace ! but now
they are hid from thine eyes. For the
days shall come upon thee, that thine
enemies shall cast a trench about thee,
and compass thee round, and keep thee
in on every side, and shah lay thee even

Contents.

xxi

with the ground, and thy children within
thee; and they shall not leave in thee
one stone upon another; because thou
knewest not the time of thy visita
tion"  Page 81S

SERMON XXVIII.
Preached December 8, 1850.
INSPIRATION.
Rom. xv. 1-4. — "We theu that are strong
ought to bear the infirmities of the
weak, and not to please ourselves. Let
. every one of us please his neighbor for
bis good to edification. For even Christ
pleased not himself; but, as it is writ

ten, The reproaches of them that re
proached thee fell on me. For whatso
ever things were written aforetime were
written for our learning, that we through
patience and comfort of the Scriptures
might have hope "  Page 825

SERMON XXIX.
Preached Good Friday, 1851
THE LAST UTTERANCES OF CHRIST.
John xix. 30 — " When Jesus therefore
had received the vinegar, he said. It is
finished: and he bowed his head, and
gave up the ghost"  832

SERMONS

J"tr0t Serie©.
i.
GOD'S KEVELATION OF HEAVEN.
" Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of
man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him. But God
hath revealed them unto us by his Spirit." — 1 Cor. ii. 9, 10.
The preaching of the Apostle Paul was rejected by num
bers in the cultivated town of Corinth. It was not wise
enough, nor eloquent enough : — nor was it sustained by mir
acles. The man of taste found it barbarous : the Jew miss
ed the signs and wonders which he looked for in a new dis
pensation : and the rhetorician missed the convincing argu
ments ofthe schools. To all which the Apostle was content-
to reply, that his judges were incompetent to try the ques
tion. The princes of this world might judge in a matter of
politics : the leaders in the world of literature were qualified
to pronounce on a point of taste : the counsellors of this
world- to weigh an amount of evidence. But in matters
spiritual, they were as unfit to judge, as a man without ear
is to decide respecting harmony ; or a. man judging alone by
sensation, to supersede the higher truth of science by an ap
peal to his own estimate of appearances. The world, to
sense, seems stationary. To the eye of reason it moves
with lightning speed, and the cultivation of reason alone can
qualify for an opinion on the matter. The judgment ofthe
senses is worth nothing in such matters. For every kind ot
truth a special capacity or preparation is indispensable.
For a revelation of spiritual facts two things are needed :
— First, a Divine Truth ; next, a spirit which can receive it.
Therefore .the Apostle's whole defense resolved itself into
this : The natural man receiveth not the thino-s which are of

24 God's Revelation of Heaven.
the Spirit of God. The world by wisdom knew not God.
And his vindication of his teaching was : These Revealed
Truths can not be seen by the eye, heard by the ear, nor
guessed by the heart ; they are visible, audible, imaginable,
only to the spirit. By the spiritually prepared, they are
recognized as beautiful, though they be folly to all the world
besides, as his Master had said before him, " Wisdom is justi
fied by her children." In whatever type of life she might be
exhibited, whether in the austere Man of the Desert, or in
the higher type ofthe social life of Christ, the Children of
Wisdom recognized, her lineaments, justified and loved her —
She was felt by them.
Two things are contained in this verse : —
I. The inability ot the lower parts of human nature — the
natural man — to apprehend the higher truths.
II. The nature and laws of Revelation.
I. By the natural man is meant the lower faculties ot man ;
and it is said of these that they can not discover spiritual
truth. 1. Eternal truth is not perceived through sensation. " Eye
hath not seen the things which God hath prepared for them
that love Him."
There is a life of mere sensation. The degree of its -enjoy-*
ment depends upon fineness of organization. The pleasures
of sense arise from the vibration of a nerve, or the thrilling
of a muscle — nothing higher.
The highest pleasure of sensation conies through the «ye.
She ranks above all the rest of the sens'es in dignity. He
whose eye is so refined by discipline that he can repose with
pleasure upon the serene outline of beautiful form-, has reach
ed the purest of the sensational raptures.
Now, the Corinthians could appreciate this. Theirs was
the laud of beauty. They read the Apostle's letter, sur
rounded by the purest conceptions of Art. In the orders of
architecture, the most richly graceful of all columnar forms
receivei? it's name from Corinth. And yet it was to these
men, living in the very midst of the chastely beautiful, upon
whom the Apostle emphatically urged — "Eye hath not seen
the things which God hath prepared for them that love
Let us not depreciate what God has given. There is a
rapture in gazing on this wondrous world. There is a joy
in contemplating the manifold forms in which the All Beau-
ful has concealed His essence— the Living Garment in which
the Invisible has robed His mysterious loveliness. In every

Gods Revelation of Heaven. 25
aspect of Nature there is joy ; whether it be the purity of
virgin morning, or the sombre gray of a day of clouds, or the
solemn pomp and majesty of night ; whether it be the chaste
lines ofthe crystal, or the waving outline of distant hills,
tremulously visible through dim vapors ; the minute petals
of the fringed daisy, or the overhanging form of mysterious
forests. It is a pure delight to see.
But all this is bounded. The eye can only reach the finite
Beautiful. It does not scan " the King in his beauty, nor
the land that is very- far off." The Kingdom, but not the
King — something measured by inches, yards, and miles — not
the land which is very far off in the Infinite.
Again, it is perishable beauty — a sight to sadden rather
than delight. Even while you gaze, and feel how fair it is,
joy_ mingles with melancholy, from a consciousness that it
all is fading : — it is the transient — not the Eternal Loveliness
for which our spirits pant.
Therefore, when He came into this world, who was the
Truth and the Life, in the body which God had prepared for
Him, He came not in the glory of form : He was " a root out
of a dry ground : He had no form nor comeliness ;" when
they saw Him, "there was no beauty that they should desire
Him." The eye did not behold, even in Christ, the things
which God had prepared.
Now observe, this is an Eternal Truth ; true at all times: —
true now and forever. In the quotation of this verse, a false •
impression is often evident. It is quoted as if the Apostle
by " the things prepared" meant heaven, and the glories of
a world which is to1 be visible hereafter, but is at present un
seen. This is manifestly alien from his purpose. The world
of which he speaks is not a future, but a present revelation.
God hath revealed it. He speaks not of something to be
manifested hereafter, but of something already shown, only
not to eye nor ear. The distinction lies between a kingdom
which is appreciable by the senses, and another whose facts
and truths are seen and heard only by the spirit. Never yet
hath the eye seen the Truths of God — but then never shall
it see them. In heaven this shall be as true as now. Shape
and color give them not. God will never be visible — nor
Will His blessedness. He has no form. The pure in heart
will see Him, but never with the eye; only in the same way,
but in a different degree, that they see Him now. In the an
ticipated vision of the Eternal, what do you expect to see ?
A shape? Hues?' You will never behold God. Eye hath
not seen, and never shall see in finite form, the Infinite One,
nor the Infinite of feeling or of Truth.
2

26 God s Revelation of Heaven.
Again — no scientific analysis can discover the truths of
God. Science can not give a Revelation. Science proceeds
upon observation. It submits every thing to the experience
of the senses. Its law, expounded by its great lawgiver, is,
that if you would ascertain its truth you must see, feel, taste.
Experiment is the test of truth. Now, you can not, by
searching, find out the Almighty to perfection, nor a single
one of the blessed Truths He has to communicate.
Men have tried to demonstrate Eternal Life from an ex
animation of the structure of the body. One fancies he has
discovered the seat of life in the pineal gland — another in
the convolution of a nerve — and thence each infers the con
tinuance of the mystic principle supposed to be discovered
there. But a third comes, and sees in it all nothing really
immaterial: organization, cerebration, but not Thought or
Mind separable from these ; nothing that must necessarily
subsist after the organism has been destroyed.
Men have supposed they discovered the law of Deity writ
ten on the anatomical phenomena of disease. They have ex
hibited the brain inflamed by intoxication, and the structure
obliterated by excess. Theyhave shown in the disordered
frame the inevitable penalty of transgression. ¦" -But if a man,
startled by all this, gives up this sin, has he from this selfish
prudence learned the law of Duty? The penalties of
wrong-doing, doubtless: but not the sanction of Right and
Wrong written on the conscience, of which penalties are; only
the enforcements. He has indisputable, evidence that it is
expedient not' to commit excesses ; but you can not manu
facture a conscience out of expediency : tbe voice of con
science says not, It is better not do so, but " Thou shalt.
not." No : it is in vain that we ransack the world for probable
evidences of God and hypotheses of his existence. It is idle
to look into the materialism of man for the Revelation of his
immortality ; or to examine the morbid anatomy of the body
to find the rule of Right. If a man go to the .eternal world
with convictions of Eternity, the Resurrection,; God, already
in his spirit,, he will find abundant corrobqrations of that
which he already believes. But if God's existence be not
thrilling every fibre of his heart, if the Immortal be not air
ready in him as the proof of the Resurrection, if the law of
Duty be not stamped upon his soul as an Eternal" Truth, un
questionable, -a thing that must be obeyed,. quite separately
from all considerations of punishment or impunity, science
will never reveal these — observation pries in vain — the phy
sician comes away from the laboratory an infidel. Eye hath

Gods Revelation of Heaven. 2 7
not seen tlie truths which are clear enough to Love and to
the Spirit.
2. Eternal truth is not reached by hearsay — "Ear hath
not heard the tilings which God hath prepared for them that
love Him."
No revelation can be adequately given by the address of
man to man, whether by writing or orally, qven if he be put
in possession of the Truth itself. For all such revelation
must be made through words : and words are but counters
— the coins of intellectual exchange. There is as little re
semblance between the silver coin and the bread it pur
chases, as between the word and the thing it stands for.
Looking at the coin, the form of the loaf does not suggest
itself. Listening to the word, you do not perceive the idea
for which it stands, unless you are already in possession of
it. Speak of ice. to an inhabitant of the torrid zone, the
word does not give him an idea, or if it does, it must be a
false one. Talk of bltfeness to one who can not distinguish
colors, what can your most eloquent description present to
him resembling the truth of your sensation ? Similarly in
matters spiritual, no verbal revelation can give a single sim
ple idea. For instance, what means justice to the unjust —
or, purity to the man whose heart is steeped in licentious
ness ? What does infinitude mean to a being who has never
stirred from infancy beyond a cell, never seen the sky, or the
sea, or any of those occasions of thought which, leaving
vagueness on the mind, suggest the idea of the illimitable ?
It means, explain it as you will, nothing to him but a room :
vastly larger than his own,. but still a room, terminated by a
wall. Talk of God to a thousand ears, each has his own dif
ferent conception. Each man in this congregation has a
God before him at this moment, who is, according to his
own attainment in goodness, more or less limited and im
perfect. The sensual man hears of God, and understands
one thing. The pure man hears, and conceives another
thing. Whether you speak in metaphysical or metaphorical
language, in the purest words of inspiration, or the grossest
images of materialism, the conceptions conveyed by the same
word are essentially different, according to the soul which
receives them.
So that apostles themselves, and prophets, speaking to the
ear, can not reveal truth to the soul — no, not if God Himself
were to touch their lips with fire. A verbal revelation is
only a revelation to the ear.
Now see What a hearsay religion is. There are men who
believe on authority. Their minister believes all this Chris-

28 God s Revelation of Heaven.
tianity true : therefore so do they. He calls this doctrine es
sential : they echo it. Some thousands of years ago, men
communed with God : they have heard this and are content
it should be so. They have heard with the hearing of the
ear, that God is love — that the ways of holiness are ways
of pleasantness, and all her paths' peace. But a hearsay be
lief saves not. The Corinthian philosophers heard Paul, the
Pharisees heard Christ. How much did the ear convey"?
To thousands exactly nothing. He alone believes truth who
feels it. He alone has a religion whose soul knows by expe
rience that to serve God and know Him is the richest treas
ure. And unless Truth come to you, not in word only, but
in power besides — authoritative because true, not true because
authoritative — there has been no real revelation made to you
from God.
3. Truth is not discoverable by the heart — "neither have
entered into the heart of man the things which God hath
prepared for them that love Him."
The heart — two things we refer to this source : tlie power
of imagining, and the power of loving.
Imagination is distinct from the mere dry faculty of rea
soning. Imagination is creative — it is an immediate intui
tion; not a logical analysis — we call it popularly a kind of
inspiration. Now imagination is a power of the heart.:
Great thoughts originate from a large heart : a man must
have a heart, or he never could create.
It is a grand thing, when in the stillness of the soul,
thought bursts into flame, and the intuitive vision comes like
an inspiration ; when breathing thoughts clothe themselves
in burning woras, winged as it were with lightning ; or when
a great law of the universe reveals itself to the mind of
Genius, and where all was darkness, his single word bids
Light be, and all is order where chaos and confusion were be
fore. Or when the truths of human nature shape themselves
forth in the creative fancies of one like the myriad-minded
poet, and you "recognize the rare power of heart which sym
pathizes with, and can reproduce all that is found in man.
But all this is nothing more than what the material man
can achieve. The most ethereal creations of fantastic fancy
were shaped by a mind that could read the life of Christ,
and then blaspheme the Adorable. The truest utterances,
and some of the deepest ever spoken, revealing the unrest
and the agony that lie hid in the heart of man, came from
one whose life was from first to last selfish. The highest
astronomer of this age, before whose clear eye Creation lay
revealed in all its perfect order, was one whose spirit refused

Gods Revelation of Heaven. 29
to recognize the Cause of causes. The mighty heart of
Genius had failed to reach the things which God imparts to
a humble spirit.
There is more in the heart of man — it has the power of
affection. The highest moment known on earth by the
merely natural, is that in which tha mysterious union of
heart with heart is felt. Call it friendship— love — what you
will, that mystic blending of two souls in one, when self is
lost and found again in the being of another, when, as it
were, moving about in the darkness and loneliness of exist
ence, we suddenly come in contact with something, and we
find that spirit has touched spirit. This is the purest,
serenest ecstasy of the merely human — more blessed than
any sight that can be presented to the eye, or any sound
that can be given to the ear: more sublime than, the sub-
limest dream ever conceived by genius in its most gifted
hour, when the freest way was given to the shaping spirit of
imagination. - This has entered into the heart of man, yet this is of the
lower still. It attains not to the things prepared by God,
it dimly shadows them. Human love is but the faint type
of that surpassing blessedness which belongs to those who
love God,
II. We pass, therefore, to the nature and laws of Revela
tion. First, Revelation is made by a Spirit to a spirit — " God
hath revealed them to us by His Spirit." Christ is the voice
of God without the man — the Spirit is the voice of God with
in the man. The highest revelation is not made by Christ,
but comes directly from the universal Mind to our minds.
Therefore, Christ said Himself, " He, the Spirit, shall take of
mine and shall show it unto you." And therefore it is writ
ten here — "The Spirit searches all things, yea, the deep
things of God."
Now the Spirit of God lies touching, as it were, the soul
of man — ever around and near. On the outside of earth
man stands with the boundless heaven above him: nothing
between him and space — space around him and above him
— the confines of the sky touching him. So is the spirit of
man to the Spirit of the Ever Near. They mingle. In every
man this is true. The .spiritual in him, by which he might
become a recipient of God, may be dulled, deadened by a
life of sense, but in this world never lost. All men are not
spiritual men, but all have spiritual sensibilities which might
awake. All that is wanted is to become conscious of the

30 Gods Revelation of Heaven.
nearness of God. God has placed men here to feel after
Him if haply they may find Him, albeit He be not far from
any one of them. Our souls float in the immeasurable ocean
of Spirit. God lies around us : at any moment we might be
conscious of the contact.
The condition upon which this self-revelation of the Spirit
is made to man is love. These things are "prepared for
them that love Him," or, which is the same thing, revealed
to those who have the mind of Christ.
Let us look into this word love. Love to man may mean
several things. It may mean love to his person, which is
very different from himself, or it may mean simply pity.
Love to God can only mean one thing: God is a Character..
To love God is to love His character. For instance — God
is Purity. And to be pure in thought and look ; to turn
away from unhallowed books and conversation, to abhor the
moment in which we have not been pure, is to love God.
God is love — and to love men till private attachments
have expanded into a philanthropy which embraces all — at
last even the evil and enemies, with compassion — that is to
love God. God is truth. To be true, to hate every form
of falsehood, to live a brave, true, real life, that is to love
God. God is Infinite ; and to love the boundless, reaching
on from grace to grace, adding charity to faith, and rising
upward ever to see the Ideal still above us, and to die with
it unattained, aiming insatiably to be perfect even as the
Father is perfect, that is love to God.
This love is manifested in obedience; love is the life of
which obedience is the form. " He that hath my command
ments and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me  He
that loveth me not keepeth not my sayings." Now here
can be no mistake. Nothing can be love to God which does
not shape itself into obedience. We remember the anecdote
of the Roman commander who forbade an engagement with
the enemy, and the first transgressor against whose prohibi
tion was his own son. He accepted the challenge of the
leader of the other host, met, slew, spoiled him, and then in tri
umphant feeling carried the spoils to his father's tent. But
the Roman father refused to recognize the instinct which
prompted this as deserving of the name of love ; disobedience
contradicted it, and deserved death : — weak sentiment, what
was it worth ?
So with God : strong feelings, warm expressions, varied in
ternal experience co-existing with disobedience, God counts
not as love. Mere weak feeling may not usurp that sacred
name.

God s Revelation of Heaven. 31
To this love, adoring and obedient, God reveals His truth
— for such as love it is prepared : or rather, by the well-
known Hebrew inversion, such are prepared for it. Love is
the condition without which revelation does not take place.
As in the natural, so in the spiritual world : By compliance
with the laws of the universe, we put ourselves in possession
of its blessings. Obey the laws of health, and you obtain
health: temperance, sufficiency of light and air, and exercise,
these are the conditions of health. Arm yourselves with the
laws of nature, and you may call down the lightning from the
sky: surround yourself with glass, and the lightning may
play innocuously a few inches from you; it can not touch
you ; you may defy it ; you have obeyed the conditions of
nature, and nature is on your side against it.
In the same way^ there are conditions in the world of
Spirit, by compliance with which God's Spirit comes into
the soul with all its revelations, as surely as lightning from
the sky, and as invariably : — such conditions as these : " The
secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him." "No man
hath seen God at any time." " If we love one another, God
dwelleth in us." " With this man will I dwell, even with him
that is of a meek and contrite spirit." "If any man will do
His will, he shall know of the doctrine " — reverence, love,
meekness, contrition, obedience — these conditions having
taken place, God enters into the soul, whispers His secret, be
comes visible, imparts knowledge and conviction.
Now these laws are universal and invariable : they are
subject to no caprice. There is no favorite child of nature
who may hold the fire-ball in the hollow of his hand and
trifle -with it without being burnt; — there is no selected
child of grace who can live an irregular life without unrest ;
or be proud, and at the same time have peace ; or indolent,
and receive fresh inspiration ; or remain unloving and cold,
and yet see and hear and feel the things which God hath
prepared for them that love Him.
Therefore the apostle preached the Cross to men who felt,
and to men who felt not, the Revelation contained in it.
The Cross is humbleness, love, self-surrender — these the
apostle preached. To conquer the world by loving it— to
be blest by ceasing the pursuit of happiness, and sacrificing
life instead of finding it — to make a hard lot easy by submit
ting to it : this was his divine philosophy of life. And the,
princes, of this world, amidst scoffs and laughter, replied, Is
that all? Nothing to dazzle — nothing to captivate. But
the disciples of the inward life recognized the Divine Truth
which this doctrine of the Cross contained. The humble of

32 God s Revelation of Heaven.
heart and the loving felt that in this lay the mystery of life,
of themselves, and of God, all revealed and plain. It was
God's own wisdom, felt by those who had the mind of
Christ. The application of all this is very easy : Love God, and
He will dwell "with you. Obey God, and He will reveal the
truths of His deepest teaching to your soul. Not perhaps :
— as surely as the laws of the spiritual world are irreversi
ble, are these things prepared for obedient love. An inspira
tion as true, as real, and as certain as that which ever prophet
or apostle reached, is yours, if you will have it so.
And if obedience were entire and love were perfect, then
would the revelation of the Spirit to the soul of man be per
fect too. There would be trust expelling care, and enabling
a man to repose ; there would be a love which would cast
out fear ; there would be a sympathy with the mighty All
of God. Selfishness would pass, isolation would be felt no
longer ; the tide of the universal and eternal Life would
come with- mighty pulsations throbbing through the soul.
To such a man it would not matter where he was, nor what :
to live or die would be alike. If he lived, he Would live
unto the Lord ; if he died, he would die to the Lord. Tlie
bed of down surrounded by friends, or the martyr's stake
girt round with curses — what matter which? Stephen,
dragged, hurried, driven to death, felt the glory of God
streaming on his face : when the shades of faintness were
gathering round his eyes, and the world was fading away
into indistinctness, " the things prepared " were given him.
His spirit saw what " eye had never seen." The later martyr
bathes his fingefs in the flames, and while the flesh shrivels
and the bones are cindered, says, in unfeigned sincerity, that
he is lying on a bed of roses. It would matter little what
he was — the ruler of a kingdom, or a tailor grimed with the
smoke and dust of a workshop. To a soul filled with God,
the difference between these two is inappreciable — .as if, from
a distant star, you were to look down upon a palace and a
hovel, both dwindled into distance, and were to smile at the
thought of calling one large and the other small.
No matter to such a man what he saw or what he heard;
for every sight would be resplendent with beauty, and every
sound would echo harmony; things common would become
transfigured, as when the ecstatic state of the inward soul
reflected a radiant cloud from the form of Christ. The
human would become divine, Life — even the meanest —
noble. _ In the hue of every violet there would be a glimpse
of Divine affection, and a dream of Heaven. The forest

Parable of the Sower. 33
would blaze with Deity, as it did to the eye of Moses. The
creations of genius would breathe less of earth and more of
Heaven. Human love itself would burn with a clearer and
intenser flame, rising from the altar of self-sacrifice.
These are " the things which God hath prepared for them
that love Him." Compared with these, what are loveliness
— the eloquent utterances of man — the conceptions of the
hoart of Genius? What are they all to the serene stillness
of a spirit lost in love : the full deep rapture of a soul int<
which the Spirit' of God is pouring itself in a mighty tide of
Revelation ?

II.
PARABLE OF THE SOWER.
"The same day went Jesus out of the house, and sat by the sea-side.
And great multitudes were gathered together unto him, so that he went into
a ship, ahd sat ; and the whole multitude stood on the shore. And he spake
many things unto them in parables, saying, Behold, a sower went forth to sow ;
and when he sowed, some seeds fell by the way-side, and the fowls came and
devoured them up : Some fell upon stony places, where they had not much
earth :" arid forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth :
And when the sun was up, they were scorched ; and because they had no
root, they withered away. And some fell among thorns ; and the thorns
sprung up, and choked them : But others fell into good ground, and brought
forth fruit, some a -hundred-fold, some sixty-fold, some thirty-fold. Wlie
hath ears to hear, let him hear.";— Matt. xiii. 1-9.
Before the reception of the Lord's Supper on Sunday
next, I have been anxious to address you once more, my
young friends, in order to carry on the thoughts, and, if pos
sible, deepen the impressions of Tuesday last. During the
last few weeks you have been subjected to much that is
exciting ; and in proportion to the advantage is the danger
of that excitement. A great part ofthe value ofthe rite of
Confirmation consists in its being a season of excitement or
impression. . The value of excitement is, that it breaks up
the old mechanical life which has become routine. It stirs
> the stagnancy of our existence, and causes the stream of life
to flow more fresh and clear. The danger of excitement is
the probability of reaction. The heart, like the body and
the mind, can not be long exposed to extreme tension with
out giving way afterwards. Strong impressions are suc
ceeded by corresponding listlessness. Your work, to which
you have- so long looked forward, is done. The profession
has been made, and now left suddenly, as it were, with noth-
2*

34 Parable of the Sower.
ing before you, and apparently no answer to the question,
What are we to do now ? Insensibly you will feel that all is
over, and the void within your hearts will be inevitably
filled, unless there be great vigilance, by a very different
class of excitements. This danger will be incurred most by
precisely those who felt most deeply the services of the past
week. The parable I have selected dwells upon such a class of
dangers. No one who felt, or even thought, could view the scene of
Tuesday last without emotion. Six or seven hundred young
persons solemnly pledged themselves to renounce evil in
themselves and in the world, aud to become disciples of the
Cross. The very color of their garments, typical of purity,
seemed to suggest -the hope and the expectation that the
clay might come when they shall be found. clothed with that
inward righteousness of which their dress was but a symbol,
when " they shall walk with Him in white, for they are wor
thy." As yet fresh in feeling, as yet untainted by open sin,
who could see them without hoping that ?
My young friends, experience forces us to correct that
sanguine anticipation. Of the seven hundred who were
earnest then, it were an appalling question to ask how many
will have retained their earnestness six months hence, and
how much of all that which seemed so real will be recognized
as pure, true gold at the last Great Day. Soon some will
have lost their innocence, and some will have become frivolous
and artificial, and the world will have got its cold, deaden
ing hand on some. Who shall dare to guess in how many
the best raised hopes will be utterly disappointed ?
Now the question which presents itself is, How comes so
much promise to end in failure? Ai:d to this the parable of
the sower returns a reply.
Three causes are conceivable : It in'ght be the will, or, if
you venture so to call it, the fault of Him who gave the
truth ; or it might be some inherent impotency in the truth
itself; or, lastly, the fault might lie solely in the soil of the
heart. This parable assures us that the fault does not lie in God,
the sower. God does not predestinate men to fail. That is
strikingly told in the history of Judas — " From a ministry
and apostleship Judas fell, that he might go to his own
place." The ministry and apostleship were that to which
God had destined him. To work out that was the destiny
appointed to him, as truly as to any of the other apostles.
He was called, elected to that. But when he refused to ex-

Parable of the Sower. 35
ecute that mission, the very circumstances which, by God's
decree, were leading him to blessedness, hurried him to ruin.
Circumstances prepared by Eternal Love, became the desti
ny which conducted him to everlasting doom. He was a
predestined man — crushed by his fate. But he went to his
" own place." He had shaped his own destiny. So the ship
is wrecked by the winds and waves — hurried to its fate.
But the winds and waves were in truth its best friends.
Rightly guided, it would have made use of them to reach
the port ; wrongly steered, they became the destiny which
drove it on the rocks. Failure — the wreck of life — is not to
be impiously traced to the will of God. " God will have all
men to be saved, and come to a knowledge of the truth."
God willeth not the death of a sinner.
Nor, again, can we find the cause in any impotency of
truth : — an impotency, doubtless, there is somewhere. The
old thinkers accounted for it by the depravity of Matter.
God can do any thing, they said. Being good, God would
do all good. It' he do not, it is because ofthe materials He
has to deal with. Matter thwarts Him : Spirit is pure, but
Matter is essentially evil and unspiritual : the body is cor
rupt. Against this doctrine St. Paul argues in the text,
" For we that are in this tabernacle do groan, being bur
dened: not for that we would be unclothed, but clothed
upon, that mortality might be swallowed up of life." —
2 Cor. v. 4.
The true account is this : God has created in man a will
which has become a cause. " God can do any thing ?" I
know not that. God can not deny himself; God can not do
wrong ; God can not create a number less than one ; God
can not make a contradiction true. It is a contradiction to
let man be free, and force him to do right. God has per
formed this marvel, of creating a being with free-will, inde
pendent, so to speak, of Himself — a real cause in His uni
verse. To say that He has created such a one, is to say that
He has given him the power to fail. Without free-will there
could be no human goodness. It is wise, therefore, and good
in God, to give birth to free-will. But once acknowledge
free-will in man, and the origin of evil does not lie-in God.
And this leads us to the remaining cause of failure which
is conceivable. In our own free-will — in the grand and fear
ful power we have to ruin ourselves — lies the real and only
religious solution of the mystery. In the soil of the heart is
found all the nutriment of spiritual life, and all the nutriment
of the weeds and poisons which destroy spiritual life. And
it is this which makes Christian character, when complete, a

3 6 Parable of the Sower.
thing so inestimably precious. There are things precious,
not from the materials of which they are made, but from the
risk and difficulty of bringing them to perfection. The
speculum of the largest telescope foils the optician's skill in
casting. Too much or too little heat — the interposition of a
grain of sand, a slight alteration in the temperature of the
weather, and all goes to pieces — it must be recast. Therefore,
when successfully finished, it is a matter for almost the con
gratulation of a country. Rarer, and more difficult still
than the costliest part of the most delicate of instruments,
is the completion of Christian character. Only let there
come the heat of persecution, or the cold of human deser
tion, a little of the world's dust, and the rare and costly
thing is cracked, and becomes a failure.
In this parable are given to us the causes of failure, and
the requirements which are necessary in order to enable im
pressions to become permanent.
I. The causes of failure.
1. The first of these is want of spiritual perception. Some
of the seed fell by the way-side. There are persons whose
religion is all outside ; it never penetrates beyond the intel
lect. Duty is recognized in word, not felt. They are reg
ular at church, understand the Catechism and Articles; con
sider the Church a most venerable institution, have a respect
for religion, but it never stirs the deeps of their being.
They feel nothing in it beyond a safeguard for the decencies
and respectabilities of social life; valuable, as parliaments
and magistrate^ are valuable, but by no means the one aw
ful question which fills the soul with fearful grandeur.
Truth of life is subject to failure in such hearts in two
ways : — By being trodden down : wheat dropped by a harvest-
cart upon a road lies outside. There comes a passenger's
foot, and crushes some of it ; then wheels come by — the
wheel of traffic and the wheel of pleasure — crushing it grain
by grain. It is " trodden down."
The fate of religion is easily understood from the parallel
fate of a single sermon. Scarcely has its last tone vibrated
on the ear, when a fresh impression is given by the music
which dismisses the congregation. That is succeeded by an
other impression, as your friend puts his arm in yours and
talks of some other matter, irrelevant, obliterating any slight
seriousness which the sermon produced. Another, and an
other, and another— and the word is trodden down. Ob-.
serve, there is nothing wrong in these impressions. The
farmer's cart which crushes the grain by the wav-sidc'is roll-

Parable of the Sower. 37
ing by on -rightful business, and the stage and the pedestrian
are in their place; simply the seed is not. It is not tlie
wrongness of the impressions which treads religion down,
but only this, that outside religion yields in turn to other
outside impressions which are stronger.
Again, conceptions of religious life, which are only concep
tions outward, having no lodgment in the heart, disappear.
Fowls of the air came and devoured the seed. Have you
ever seen grain scattered on the road? The sparrow from
the housetop, and the chickens from the barn rush in, and
within a minute after it has been scattered not the shadow
of a grain is left. This is the picture, not of thought crushed
by degrees, but of thought dissipated, and no man can tell
when or how it went. Swiftly do these winged thoughts
come, when we pray, or read, or listen ; in our inattentive,
sauntering, way-side. hours : and before we can be upon our
guard, the very trace of holier purposes has disappeared. In
our purest moods, when we kneel to pray, or gather round
the altar, down into the very Holy of holies sweep these
foul birds of the air, villain fancies, demon thoughts. The
germ of life, the small seed of impression, is gone — where,
you know not. But it is gone. Inattentiveness of spirit,
produced by want of spiritual interest, is the first cause of
disappointment. 2. A" second cause of failure is want of depth in character. '
Some fell on stony ground. Stony ground means often the
soil with which many loose stones are intermixed ; but that
is not the stony ground meant "here :• this stony ground is the
thin layer of earth upon a bed of rock. Shallow soil is like
superficial character. You meet with such persons in life.
There is nothing deep about them ; all they do and all they
have is on the surface. The superficial servant's • work is
done, but lazily, partially — not thoroughly. The superficial
workman's labor will not bear looking into — but it bears a
showy outside. The very dress of such persons betrays the
slatternly, incomplete character of their minds. When re
ligion comes in contact with persons of this stamp, it shares
the fate of every thing else. It is taken up in a superficial
way. There is deep knowledge of human nature and exquisite
fidelity to truth in the single touch by which the impression
of religion on them is described. The seed sprang up quick
ly, and then withered away as quickly, because it had no
depth of root. There is a quick, easily-moved susceptibility
that rapidly exhibits the slightest breath of those emotions
which play upon the surface ofthe soul, and then as rapidly

38 Parable of the Sower.
passes off. In such persons words are ever at command — ¦
voluble and impassioned words. Tears flow readily. The
expressive features exhibit every passing shade of thought.
Every thought and every feeling plays upon the surface ; ev
ery thing that is sown springs up at once with vehement veg
etation. But slightness and inconstancy go together with
violence. " Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth
speaketh." True ; but also out of the emptiness of the heart
the mouth can speak even more volubly. He who can always
find the word which is appropriate and adequate to his emo
tions is not the man whose emotions are deepest: warmth
of feeling is one thing, permanence is another. On Tuesday
last, they who went to the table most moved and touched
were not necessarily those who raised in a wise observer's
breast the strongest hope of persistence in the life of Christ.
Rather those who were calm ahd subdued : that which
springs up quickly often does so merely from this, that it has
no depth of earth to give it room to strike its roots down and
deep. A young man of this stamp came to Christ, running, kneel
ing, full of warm expressions, engaging gestures, and profess
ed admiration, worshipping and saying, " Good Master !"
Lovable and interesting as such always are, Jesus loved him.
But his religion lay all upon the surface, withered away when
' the depth of its meaning was explored. The test of self-sac
rifice was applied to his apparent love. He was ready for
any thing. Well, " Go, sell that thou hast," "and he went
away sorrowful, for he had' great possessions." It had
sprung up quickjly ; but it withered because it had no root.
And that is another stroke of truth in the delineation of
this character. Not wealth nor comfort is the bane of its
religion ; but " when tribulation or persecution ariseth be
cause of the word, by-and-by they are offended." A pleas
ant, sunny religion would be the life to suit them. "They
receive the word with joy." So long as they have happiness
they can love God, feel very grateful, and expand with gen
erous emotions. But when God speaks as he spoke to "Job
out of the whirlwind, and the sun is swept from the face of
their heaven, and the sharp Cross is the only object left in
the dreary landscape, and the world blames, and friends
wound the wounded with cold speech and hollow common
places, what is there in superficial religion to keep the heart
in its place, and vigorous still ?
Another point. Not without significance is it represented
that the superficial character is connected with the hard
heart. Beneath the light thin surface of easily-stirred dust

Parable 'of the Sower. 39
lies the bed of rock. The shallow ground was stony ground.
And it is among the? children of light enjoyment and unset
tled life that we must look for stony heartlessness : not in the
world of business — not among the poor, crushed to the earth
by privation and suffering. These harden the character, but
often leave the heart soft. If you wish to know what hol-
lowness and heartlessness are, you must seek for them in the
world of light, elegant, superficial fashion — where frivolity
has turned the heart into a rockbed of selfishness. Say what
men will ofthe heartlessness of trade, it is nothing compared
with the heartlessness of fashion. Say what they will of the
atheism of science, it is nothing to the atheism of that round
of pleasure in which many a heart lives : dead while it lives.
3. Once more, impressions come to nothing when the mind
is subjected to dissipating influences,, and yields to them.
" Some fell among thorns."
There is nutriment enough in the ground for thorns, and
enough for wheat ; but not enough, in any ground, for both
wheat and thorns. The agriculturist thins his nursery-
ground, and the farmer weeds his field, and the gardener re
moves the superfluous grapes for that very reason, in order
that the dissipated sap may be concentrated in a few plants
vigorously. So in the same way the heart has a certain power of lov
ing. But love, dissipated on many objects, concentrates it
self on none. God or the world — not both. " No man can
serve two masters." "If any man love the world, the love
ofthe Father is not in him." He that has learned many ac
complishments or sciences, generally knows none thoroughly.
Multifariousness of knowledge is commonly opposed to
depth, variety of affections is generally not found with in
tensity. Two classes of dissipating influences distract such minds.
"The cares of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches,
choke the word." The cares of this world — its petty trifling
distractions — not wrong in themselves — simply dissipating
— filling the heart with paltry solicitudes and mean anxieties
— wearing. Martha was " cumbered with much serving."
Her household and her domestic duties, real duties, divided
her heart with Christ. The time of danger, therefore, is
when life expands into new situations and larger spheres,
bringing with them new cares. It is not in the earlier stages
of existence that these distractions are felt. Thorns sprang
up and choked the wheat as they grew together. You see
a religious man taking up a new pursuit with eagerness.
At first no danger is suspected. But it is a distraction —

40 Parable of the Sower.
something that distracts or divides ; he has become dissipate
ed, and by-and-by you remark that his aest is gone ; he is no
longer the man he was. He talks as before, but the life is
gone from what he says : his energies are frittered. The
Word is " choked."
Again, the deceitfulness of riches dissipate. _ True as al
ways to nature, never exaggerating, never one-sided : Christ
does not say that such religion brings forth no fruit, but
only that it brings none to perfection. A fanatic bans all
wealth and ail worldly care as the department of the devil :
Christ says, " How hardly shall they that trust in riches en
ter into the kingdom of heaven." He does not say the di
vided heart has no religion, but that it is a dwarfed, stunted,
feeble religion. Many such a Christian do you find among
the rich and the titled, who, as a less encumbered man;
might have been a resolute soldier of the Cross ; but he is
Only now a realization of the old Pagan fable — a spiritual
giant buried under a mountain of gold. Oh! many, many
such we meet in our higher classes, pining with a nameless
want, pressed by a heavy sense of the weariness of exist
ence, strehgthless in the midst of affluence, and incapable
even of tasting the profusion of comfort which is heaped
around them.
There is a way God their Father has of dealing with such
which is no pleasant thing to bear. In agriculture it is call
ed weeding. In gardening it is done by pruning. It is the
cutting off the over-luxuriant- shoots, in order to call back
the. wandering juices into the healthier and • more . living,
parts. In religjon it is described thus : " Every branch that
beareth fruit he purgeth." .... Lot had such a danger,
and was subjected to such a treatment. A quarrel had aris
en between Abraham's herdsmen and his. It was necessary
to part. Abraham," in that noble way of his, gave him the
choice of the country when they separated. Either hand
for Abraham — either the right hand or the left :— what,
cared the Pilgrim of the Invisible for fertile lands or rugged
sands? Lot chose wisely, as they of the world speak.
Well, if this world be all — he got a rich soil — became a
prince, had: kings for his society and neighbors. It was
nothing to Lot that " the men of the land were sinners be
fore the Lord exceedingly" — enough that it was well-water?
ed everywhere. But his wife, became enervated by volup
tuousness, and his children tainted with ineradicable corrup:
tion — the moral miasma ofthe society wherein he had made
his home. Two warnings God gave him: first, his home
and property were spoiled by the enemy ;- then came the fire

Parable of the Sower. 4 1
from heaven ; and lie fled from the cities ofthe plain a'ruin-
t\l man. His wife looked back with lingering regret upon
the splendid home of her luxury and voluptuousness, and
was overwhelmed in the encrusting salt : his children car
ried with them into a new world the plague-spot of that
profligacy which, had been the child of affluence and idle
ness ; and the spirit of that rain of fire — of the buried Cities
of the Plain — rose agajn in the darkest of the crimes which
the Old Testament records, to poison the new society at its
very fountain. And so the old man stood at last upon the
brink of the grave, a blackened ruin scathed by lightning,
over the grave of his wife, and the shame of his family —
saved, but only " so as by fire."
It is a painful .thing, that weeding work. " Every branch
in me that beareth fruit, He purgeth it, that it may bring
forth more fruit." The keen edge of God's pruning-knife
cuts sheer through. No weak tenderness stops Him whose
love seeks goodness, not comfort, for His servants. A man's
distractions are in his wealth — and perhaps fire or failure
make him bankrupt : what he feels is God's sharp knife;
Pleasure has dissipated his heart, and a stricken frame for
bids his enjoying pleasure — shattered nerves and broken
health wear out the Life of life. Or perhaps it comes in a
sharper, sadder form; the shaft of death -goes home ; there
is heard- the wail of danger in his household. And then,
when sickness has passed on to hopelessness, and hopeless
ness has passed on to death, the crushed man goes ipto the
chamber of the dead; and there, when he shuts down the
lid upon the coffin of his wife, or the coffin of his child, his
heart begins to tell him the meaning of all this. Thorns
had been growing in his heart, and the sharp knife has been
at work making room — but by an awful desolation — tearing
up and cutting down, that the life of God in the soul may
not be choked.
II. For the permanence of religious impressions this para
ble suggests three requirements : "They on the good ground
are they which, in an honest and good heart, having heard
the word keep it, and bring forth fruit with patience."
1, "An honest and good heart;" Earnestness: that is,
sincerity of purpose. Now, sincerity is reckoned by an ex
aggeration, sometimes, the only virtue. So that a man be
sincere, they say, it matters little what he thinks or what he
is ; but in truth is the basis of all goodness ; without which
goodness of any kind is impossible. There are faults more
heinous, but none more ruinous, than insincerity. Subtle

42 Parable of the Sower.
minds, which have no broad, firm footing in reality, lose
every thing by degrees, and may be transformed into any
shape of evil ; may become guilty of any thing, and excuse
it to themselves. To this sincerity is given, in the parable,
success : a harvest thirty-fold, sixty-fold, a hundred-fold.
This earnestness is the first requisite for real success in
every thing. Do you wish to become rich ? You may be
come rich : that is, if you desire it in no half-way, but thor
oughly. A miser sacrifices all to this single passion ; hoards
farthings, and dies possessed of wealth. Do you wish to
master any science or accomplishment? Give yourself to it,
and it lies beneath your feet. Time and pains will dd any
thing. This world is given as the prize for the men in ear
nest ; and that which is true of this world is truer still of the
world to come. " The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence,
and the violent take it by force." Only there is this differ
ence : In the pursuit of wealth, knowledge, or reputation,
circumstances have power to mar the wisest schemes. The
hoard of years may be lost in a single night. The wisdom
hived up by a whole life may perish when some fever impairs
memory. But in the kingdom of Christ, where inward char
acter is the prize, no chance can rob earnestness of its exactly
proportioned due of success. " Whatsoever a man soweth,
that shall he also reap." There is no blight, nor mildew, nor
scorching sun, nor rain-deluge, which can turn that harvest
into a failure. "Lay not up for yourselves treasures on
earth." .... Sow for time, and probably you will succeed
in time. Sow the seeds of life — humbleness, pure-hearted-
ness, love; and, in the long eternity which lies before the
soul, every minutest grain will come up again with an in
crease of thirty, sixty, or a hundred-fold.
2. Meditation is a second requisite for permanence. They
heep the word which they have heard.
Now, meditation is often confounded with something which
only partially resembles it. Sometimes we sit in a kind of day
dream, the mind expatiating far away into vacancy, whilst
minutes and hours slip by, almost unmarked, in mere vacuity.
This is not meditation, but reverie — a state to which the soul
resigns itself in pure passivity. When the soul is absent
and dreaming, let no man think that that is spiritual medita
tion, or any thing that is spiritual.
^Meditation is partly a passive, partly an active state.
Whoever has pondered long over a plan which he is anxious
to accomplish, without distinctly seeing at first the way,
knows what meditation is. The subject itself presents itself
in leisure moments spontaneously : but then all this sets the

Parable of the Sower. 43
mind at work — contriving, imagining, rejecting, modifying
It is in this way that one of the greatest of English engineers,
a man uncouth and unaccustomed to regular discipline of
mind, -is said to have accomplished his most marvellous tri
umphs. ' He threw bridges over almost impracticable tor
rents, and pierced the eternal mountains for his viaducts.
Sometimes a difficulty brought all the work to a pause : then
he would shut himself up in his room, eat nothing, speak to
no one, abandon himself intensely to the contemplation of
sthat on which his heart was set; and at the end' of two or
three days; would come forth serene and calm, walk to the
spot, and quietly give orders which seemed the result of su
perhuman intuition. This was meditation.
Again, he knows what it is, who has ever earnestly and
sincerely. loved one living human being. The image of his
friend rises unbidden by day and night, stands before his soul
in the street and in the field, comes athwart his every
thought, and mixes its presence with his every plan. So far
all is passive. But besides this he jflans and contrives for
that other's happiness, tries to devise what would give pleas
ure, examines his own conduct and conversation, to avoid
that which can by any possibility give pain. This is medi
tation. So, too, is meditation on religious truths carried on. If it
first be loved, it will recur spontaneously to the heart.
But then it is dwelt on till it receives innumerable applica
tions — is again and again brought up to the sun and tried in
various lights, and so incorporates itself with the realities of
practical existence.
Meditation is done in silence. By it we renounce our nar
row individuality, and expatiate into that which is infinite.
Only in the sacredness of inward silence does the soul truly
meet the secret, hiding God. The strength of resolve, which
afterwards shapes life and mixes itself with action, is the fruit
of those sacred, solitary moments. There is a divine depth in
silence. We meet God alone.
For this reason, I urged it upon so many of you to spend
the hour previous to your Confirmation separate from friends,
from books, from every thing human, and to force yourselves
into the Awful Presence.
Have we never felt how human presence, if frivolous, in
such moments frivolizes the soul, and how impossible it is to
come in contact with any thoughts which are sublime, or
drink in one inspiration which is from Heaven, without de
grading it, even though surrounded by all that would natu
rally suggest tender and awful feeling, when such are by ?

44 Parable of the Sower.
It is not the number of books you read, nor the variety of <
sermons which you hear, nor the amount of religious conver
sation in which you mix; but it is the frequency and the
earnestness with Which you meditate on these things, till the
truth which may be in them becomes your own, and part of
your own being, that insures your spiritual growth.
3. The third requisite is endurance. " They bring forth
fruit with patience." Patience is of two kinds. There is an
active, and there is a passive endurance. The former -is a
masculine, the latter for: the most part a feminine, virtue.
Female patience is exhibited chiefly in fortitude — in bearing
pain and sorrow meekly without complaining. In the old
Hebrew life, female endurance shines almost as brightly as in
any life which Christianity itself can mould. Hannah, under
the provocations and taunts of her rival, answering not again
her husband's rebuke, humbly replying to Eli's unjust blame,
is true to the type of womanly endurance. For the type of
man's endurance you may look to the patience of the early
Christians under persecution. They came away. from the San
hedrim to endure aud bear; but it was to bear as conquerors
rushing on to victory, preaching the truth with all boldness,
and defying the power ofthe united world to silence them.
These two diverse qualities are joined in One, and only One of
woman bofn, in perfection. One there was in whom human na
ture was exhibited in all its elements symmetrically complete-
One in whom, as I lately said, there met all that was manliest
and all that was most womanly. His endurance of pain and
grief wais that of the woman rather than the man. A tender
spirit dissolving into tears, meeting the dark hour not with
the stern defiarfce of the man and the 'stoic, but with gentle
ness, and trust, and love, and shrinking, like a woman. But
when it came to the question in Pilate's judgment-hall," or the
mockeries of Herod's men of war, or the discussion with the
Pharisees, or the exposure of the hollow falsehoods by which
social, domestic,. and religious life were sapped, the woman
has disappeared, and the hardy resolution, of the man, with
more than manly daring, is found in her stead. Thisis the
"patience" for us to cultivate: To bear and to. persevere.
However dark and profitless, however painful and weary ex
istence may have become, however any man like Elijah may
be tempted to cast himself beneath the juniper-tree and say,
"It is enough : now, O Lord !" life is not done, and our Chris:
tian character is not won, so long as God has any thing left
for us to suffer, or any thing left for. us to do.
_ Patience, however, has another meaning. It is the oppo
site of that impatience which can not wait. This is one of

Parable of the Sower. 45
the difficulties of spiritual life. We are disappointed if the
harvest do not come at once.
Last Tuesday, doubtless, you thought that all was done,
and that there would be no more falling back.
Alas ! a little experience will correct that. If the hus
bandman, disappointed at the delay which ensues before the
blade breaks the soil, wei-e to rake away the earth to exam
ine if germination were going on, he would have a poor har
vest. He must have " long patience, till he receive the early
and the latter rain." The winter frost must mellow the seed
lying in the genial bosom of the earth : the rains of spring
must swell it, and the suns of summer mature it. So with
you. It is the work of a long life to become a Christian.
Many, oh, many a time are we tempted to say, " I make no
progress at all. It is only failure after failure. Nothing
grows." Now look at the sea when the flood is coming in.
Go and stand by the sea-beach, and you will think that the
ceaseless flux and reflux is but retrogression equal to the ad
vance. But look again in an hour's time, and the whole
ocean has advanced. Every advance has been beyond the
last, and every retrograde movement has been an impercep
tible-trifle less than the last. This is progress : to be esti
mated at the end of hours, not minutes. And this is Chris
tian progress. Many a fluctuation — many a backward mo
tion with a ' rush at times so vehement that all seems lost ;
but if the eternal work be real, every failure has been a real
gain, and the next does not carry us so far back as we were
before. Every advance is a real gain, and part of it is never
lost. Both when we advance and when we fail, we gain.
We are nearer to God than we were. The flood of spirit-
life has carried us up higher on the everlasting shores, where
the waves of life beat no more, and its fluctuations end, and
all is safe at last. " This is the faith and patience of the
saints." >
It is because of the second of these requirements, medita
tion, that I am anxious we should meet on Sunday next for
an early Communion at eight o'clock. I desire that the can
didates may have a more solemn and definite Communion
of their own, with few others present except their own rela
tions and friends. In silence and quietness, we will meet
together then; Before the world has put on its full robe of
light, and before the busy gay crowd have begun to throng
our streets— before the distractions ofthe day begin, we will
consecrate the early freshness of our souls — untrodden, un-
hardened, undissipated — to God. We will meet in the sim
plicity of brotherhood and sisterhood. We will have Com-

46 Jacob's Wrestling.
munion in a sacred meal, which shall exhibit as nearly aa
may be the idea of family affection. Ye that are beginning
life, and we who know something of it — ye that offer your
selves for the first" time at that table, and we who,. after sad
experience and repeated failure, still desire again to renew
our aspirations and our vows to Him — we will come and
breathe together that prayer which I commended to. you at
your Confirmation — "Our Father, which art in heaven, lead
us. not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

III.
JACOB'S WRESTLING.
" And he said, Thy name shall be called no more Jacob, but Israel : for as
a prince hast thou power with God and with men, and hast prevailed. And
Jacob asked him, and said, Tell me, I pray thee, thy name. And he said,
Wherefore is it that thou dost ask after my name ? And he blessed him
there."— Gen. xxxii. 28, 29.
The complexion of this story is peculiarly Jewish, lt
contains three points which are specially interesting to every
Jew in a national point of view. It explained to him why,
he was called Israelite. It traces the origin , of his own
name, Israelite, to a distant ancestor, who had signally ex
hibited religious strength, and been, in the language of those
times, a wrestler with God, from whence he had obtained
the name Israel. It casts much deep and curious interest
round an otherwise insignificant village, Peniel, where this
transaction had taken place, and which derived its name
from it, Peniel, the face of God. And, besides, it explained
the origin of a singular custom j which might seem a super
stitious one, of not suffering a particular muscle to be eaten,
and regarding it with a kind of religious awe, as the part in
which Jacob was said by tradition to have been injured, by
the_ earnest tension of his frame during this struggle. So far
all is Jewish, narrow, merely of local interest. Besides this,
much of the story is evidently mythical.
It is clear at once that it belongs to that earlier period
of literature when traditions were preserved in a poetical
shape, adapted to the rude conceptions of the day, but en
shrining an inner and a deeper truth. To disengage this
truth from the form in which it is encased is the duty of
the expositor. J
Now, putting aside the form of this narrative, and looking

Jacob's Wrestling. 47
into the heart and meaning of it, it will become apparent
that we have no longer any thing infantine, or Jewish, or of
limited interest, but a wide truth, wide as human nature ; and
that there is before us the record of an -inward spiritual
struggle, as real now in the nineteenth century as then : as
real in every earnest man as it was in the history of Jacob.
We take these points :
I. The nameless secret of existence.
II. The revelation of that secret to the soul.
The circumstances which preceded this event were these :
more than twenty years before, Jacob had been guilty of a
deliberate sin. fie had deceived his father; he had over
reached his free-spirited, impetuous, open-hearted brother
Esau. Never, during all those twenty years, had he seen
the man whom he had injured. But now, on the point of
returning to his native country, news was brought to him of
his brother's approach, which made a meeting inevitable.
Jacob made all his dispositions and arrangements to pre
pare for the worst. He sent over the brook Jabbok first
the part of his family whom he valued least, and who would
be the first to meet Esau ; then those whom he loved most,
that, in the event of danger, they might have the greatest
facility in escaping ; then Jaceb was left alone, in the still
dark night. It was one of those moments in existence when
a crisis is before us, to which great and pregnant issues are
linked — when all has been done that foresight can devise,
and the hour of action being past, the instant of reaction has
come. Then the soul is left passive and helpless, gazing face
to face upon the anticipated, and dreadful moment which is
slowly moving on. It is in these hours that, having gone
through in imagination the whole circle of resources and
found them nothing, and ourselves powerless, as in the hands
of a Destiny, there comes a strange and nameless dread, a
horrible feeling of insecurity, which gives the consciousness
of a want, and forces US' to feel out into the abyss for some
thing that is mightier than flesh and blood to lean upon.
Then, therefore, it was that there came the moment of a
conflict within the soul of Jacob, so terrible and so violent
that it seemed an actual struggle with a living man. In the
darkness he had heard a voice, and came in contact with a
Form, and felt a Presence, the reality of which, there was no
mistaking. Now, to the unscientific mind, that which is
real seems to be. necessarily material too. What wonder
if, to the unscientific mind of Jacob, this conflict, so real,
and attended in his person with such tangible results,

48 Jacob's Wrestling.
seemed all human and material — a conflict with a tangi
ble antagonist ? What wonder if tradition preserved it in
such a form ? Suppose we admit that the Being whose
awful presence Jacob felt had no form which could be grap
pled by a human hand, is it less real for that ? Are there no
realities but those which the hand can touch and the eye see?
Jacob in that hour felt the dark secret and mystery of ex
istence. Upon this I shall make three remarks.
1. The first. has reference to the contrast observable be
tween this and a former revelation made to Jacob's soul.
This was not the first time it had found itself face to face
with God. Twenty years before, he had seen in vision a
ladder reared against the sky, and angels ascending and de
scending on it. Exceedingly remarkable. Immediately
after his transgression, when leaving his father's home, a ban
ished man, to be a wanderer for many years, this first meet
ing took place. Fresh from his sin, God met him in tender
ness and forgiveness. He saw the token which told him that1
all communication between heaven and earth was not sever
ed. The way was clear and unimpeded still. Messages of
reciprocated love might pass between the Father and His
sinful child, as the angels in the dream ascended and de
scended on the visionary ladder. The possibility of saintliness
was not forfeited. All that the vision taught him. Then
took place that touching covenant, in which Jacob bound
himself to serve gratefully his father's God, and vowed the
vow of a consecrated heart to Him. All that was now past.
After twenty years God met him again ; but this second in
tercourse was of a very different character. It was no lon
ger God the Forgiver, God the Protector, God the covenant
ing Love, that met Jacob ; but God the Awful, the Unnam-
able, whose breath blasts, at whose touch the flesh of the
mortal shrinks and shrivels up. This is exactly the reverse
of what might have been anticipated. You would have ex
pected the darker vision of experience to come first. First
the storm-struggle ofthe soul; then the vision of peace. It
was exactly the reverse.
Yet all this, tried by experience, is a most true and living
account. _ The awful feelings about Life and God are not
those which characterize' our earlier years. It is quite natu
ral that in the first espousals of the soul in its freshness to
God, bright and hopeful feelings should be the predominant
or the only ones. Joy marks, and ought to mark, early re
ligion. Nay, by God's merciful arrangement, even sin is not
that crushing thing in early life which it sometimes become,*

Jacob's Wrestling. 49
in later years, when we mourn not so much a calculable
number of sinful acts, as a deep pervading sinfulness. Re
morse does not corrode with its evil power then. Forgiveness
is not only granted, but consciously and joyfully felt. It is
as life matures, that the weight of life, the burden of this un
intelligible world, and the mystery of the hidden God, are
felt. A vast amount of insincerity is produced by mistaking
this. We expect in the religion of the child the experience
which can only be true in the religion of .the man. Wo
force into their lips the language which describes the wrest
ling of the soul with God. It is twenty years too soon. God,
in His awfulness, the thought of mystery which scathes the
soul, how can they know tliat yet before they have got the
thews and sinews of the man's heart to master such a
thought ? They know nothing yet — they ought to know
nothing yet of God but as the Father who is around their
beds — they ought to see nothing yet but Heaven, and angels
ascending and descending.
This morning, my young brethren, you presented your
selves at the communion-table for the first time. Some of
you, we trust, were conscious of meeting God. Only let us
not confound the dates of Christian experience. If you did,
it was not as Jacob met God on this occasion, but rather as
he met Him on the earlier one. It were only a miserable
forcing of insincerity upon you to require that this solemn,
fearful sensation of his should be yours. Rather, we trust,
you felt God present as the Lord of Love. A ladder was
raised for you to heaven. Oh, we trust that the feeling in
some cases at least was this— as of angels ascending and de
scending upon a child of God.
2. Again I remark, that the end and aim of Jacob's strug
gle was to know the name of God. " Tell me, I pray thee,
thy name." A very unimportant desire at first sight. For
what signifies a name ? In these days, when names are only
epithets, it signifies nothing. " Jehovah, Jove, or Lord," as
the " Universal Prayer " insinuates, are all the same. Now,
to assert that it matters not whether God be called Jehovah,
Jove, or Lord, is true, if it mean this, that a devout and ear
nest heart is accepted, by God, let the name be what it will
by which He is addressed. But if it mean that Jove and Je
hovah express the same Being — that the character of Him
whom the Pagan worshipped was the same as the character
of Him whom Israel adored under the name of Jehovah—
that they refer to the same group of ideas, or that (jthoayi
names are but names, then we must look much deeper.
3

50 Jacob's Wrestling.
In the Hebrew history are discernible three periods -dis
tinctly marked, in which names and words bore very differ
ent characters. These three, it has been observed by acute
philologists, correspond to the periods in which the nation
bore the three different appellations of Hebrews, Israelites,
Jews. In the first of these periods names meant truths, and words
were the symbols of realities. The characteristics Of the
names given then were simplicity and sincerity. They were
drawn from a few simple sources: either from some charac
teristic of the individual, as Jacob, The Supplanter, or Moses,
Brawn from the Water; or from the idea of family, as Ben
jamin, The Son of my Eight Hand; or from the conception
ofthe tribe or nation, then gradually consolidating itself; or,
lastly, from the religious idea of God. But in this case not
the highest notion of God — not Jah or Jehovah, but simply
the earlier and simpler idea of Deity: El— Israel, The Prince
of El; Peniel, The Face of El.
In these days names were real, but the conceptions they
contained were not the loftiest.
The second period begins about the time of the departure
from Egypt, and it is characterized by unabated simplicity,
with the addition of sublimer thought and feeling more in
tensely religious. The heart of the nation was big with
mighty and new religious truth — and the feelings with which
the national heart was swelling found vent in the. names
which were given abundantly. God, under His name Jah,
the noblest assemblage of spiritual truths yet conceived, be
came the adjunct to names of places and persons. Oshea's
name is changea into Je-hoshua.
Observe, moreover, that in. this period there was no fas
tidious, over-refined chariness in the use of that name. Men
conscious of deep and real reverence are not fearful of the
appearance of irreverence. The word became a common
word, as it always may, so long as it i&.felt, and awe is real.
A mighty cedar was called a cedar of Jehovah, a lofty mount
ain, a mountain of Jehovah. Human beauty even was praised-
by such an epithet. Moses was divinely fair, beautiful to
God. The Eternal name became an adjunct. No beauty-^
no greatness — no goodness, was conceivable, except as ema
nating from Him: therefore His name was freely but most
devoutly used.
Like the earlier period, in this too, words- mean realities;
but, unlike the earlier period, they are impregnated with
deeper religious thought.
The third period was at its zenith in the time of Christ :

Jacob's Wrestling. 51
words had lost their meaning, and shared the hollow, unreal
state of all things. A man's name might be Judas, and still
he might be a traitor. A man might be called Pharisee — ex
clusively religious — and yet the name might only cover the
hollowness of hypocrisy ; or he might be called most noble
Festus, and be the meanest tyrant that ever sat upon a pro
consular chair. This is the period in which every keen and
wise observer knows that the decay of national religious feel
ing has begun. That decay in the meaning of words, that
lowering of the standard of the ideas for which they stand,
is a certain mark of this. The debasement of a language is
a sure mark of the debasement of a nation. The insincerity
of a language is a proof of the insincerity of a nation : for a
time comes in the history of a nation when words no longer
stand for things ; when names are given for the sake of an
euphonious sound ; and when titles are but the epithets of
unmeaning courtesy : — a time when Majesty — Defender of
the Faith — Most Noble — Worshipful, and Honorable — not
only mean nothing, but do not flush the cheek with the
shame of convicted falsehood when they are worn as empty
ornaments. The name of God shares this fate. A nation may reach
the state in which the Eternal Name can be used td point
a sentence, or adorn a familiar conversation, and no longer
shock the ear with the sound of blasphemy, because in good
truth the name no longer stands for the highest, but for a
meaner conception, an idol of the debased mind. For exam
ple, in a foreign language, the language of a light and irre
ligious people, the Eternal Name can be used as a light ex
pletive and conversational ejaculation, and not shock any
religious sensibility. You could not do that in English. It
would sound like a blasphemy to say, in light talk, My God !
or Good God ! Your flesh would creep at hearing it. But
in that language the word has lost its sacredness, because it
has lost its meaning. It means no more than Jove or Baal.
It means a being whose existence has become a nursery fable.
No marvel that we are taught' to pray, "Hallowed be Thy
name." We can not pray a deeper prayer for our country
than to say, Never may that name in English stand for a
lower idea than it stands for now. There is a solemn power
in words, because words are the expression of character.
"By thy word's. thou shalt be justified, and by thy words
thou shalt be condemned."
Yet in this period, exactly in proportion as the solemnity
of the idea was gone, reverence "was scrupulously paid to the
¦corpse-like word which remained and had once inclosed it._

52 Jacob's Wrestling.
In that hollow, artificial age, the Jew would wipe his pen
before he ventured to write the name— he would leave out
the vowels ofthe sacred Jehovah, and substitute those ot the
less sacred Elohim. In that kind of age, too, men bow to
the name of Jesus often just in that proportion in which they
have ceased to recognize His true grandeur and majesty of
character. In such an age it would be indeed preposterous to spend
the strength upon an«inquiry such as this: "Tell me Thy
Name?" Jehovah, Jove, or Lord — what matter? But Jacob
did not live in this third period, when names meant nothing,
nor did he live in the second, when words contained the deep
est truth the nation is ever destined to receive. But he lived
in the first age, when men are sincere, and truthful, and ear
nest, and names exhibit character. To tell Jacob the name
of God was to reveal to him what God is and who.
3. I observe a third thing. This desire of Jacob was not
the one we should naturally have expected on such an occa
sion. He is alone — his past fault is coming retributively on
a guilty conscience — he dreads the meeting with his brother.
His soul is agonized with that, and that we naturally expect
will be the subject and the burden of his prayer. No siich
thing 1 Not a word about Esau — not a word about person
al danger at all. All that is banished completely for the
time, and deeper thoughts are grappling with his soul:
To get safe through to-morrow ? No, no, _ no ! To be
blessed by God— to know Him, and what He is — -that is the
battle of Jacob's soul from sunset till the dawn of day.
And this is^ our struggle — the struggle. Let any true
man go down into the deeps of his own being, and answer
us — what is the cry that comes from the most real part of
his nature ? Is it the cry for daily bread ? Jacob asked for
that in his first communing with God — preservation, safety.
Is it even this — to be forgiven our sins ? Jacob had a sin to
be forgiven, and in that most solemn moment of his exist
ence he did not say a syllable about it. Or is it this —
"Hallowed be thy name?" ' No, my brethren. Out of our
frail and yet sublime humanity, the demand that rises in the
earthlier hours of our religion may be this — Save my soul;
but in the most unearthly moments it is this — " Tell me thy
Name." We move through a world of mystery; and the
deepest question is, What is the being that is " ever near,
sometimes felt, never seen — That which has haunted us
from childhood with a dream of something surpassingly fair,
which has never yet been realized — That which sweeps
through the soul at times as a desolation, like the blast

Jacob's Wrestli?ig. 53.
from the wings of the Angel of Death, leaving us stricken
and silent in our loneliness — That which has touched us in
' our tenderest point, and the flesh has quivered with agony,
and our mortal affections have shrivelled up with pain —
That which comes to us in aspirations of nobleness, and con
ceptions of superhuman excellence ? Shall we say It or He ?
Wh.at is It? Who is He? Those anticipations of Immor
tality and God — what are they ? Are they the mere throb-
bings of my own heart, heard and mistaken for a living
something beside me ? Are they the sound of my own
wishes, echoing through the vast void of nothingness? or
shall I call them God, Father, Spirit, Love ? A living Be
ing within me or outside me ? Tell me Thy Name, thou
awful mystery of Loveliness ! This is the struggle of all
earnest life.
We come now to
ll. The revelation ofthe mystery.
1. It was revealed by awe. Very significantly are we
told, that the Divine antagonist seemed, as it were, anxious
to depart as the day was about to dawn, and that Jacob
held Him more convulsively fast, as if aware that the day
light was likely to rob ,him of his anticipated blessing, in
which there seems concealed a very deep truth. God is ap
proached more nearly in that which is indefinite than in
that which is definite and distinct. He is felt in awe, and
wonder, and worship, rather than in clear conceptions.
There is a sense in which darkness has more of God than
light has. He dwells in the thick darkness. Moments of
tender, vague mystery often bring distinctly the feeling of
His presence. When day breaks and distinctness comes,
tbe Divine has evaporated from the soul like morning dew.
In sorrow, haunted by uncertain presentiments, we feel the
Infinite around us. The gloom disperses, the world's joy
comes again, and it seems as if God were gone— the Being
who had. touched us , with a withering hand, and wrestled
with us, yet whose presence, even when most terrible, was
more blessed than His absence. It is true, even literally,
that the darkness reveals God. Every morning God draws
the curtain of the garish light across His eternity, and we
lose the Infinite. We look down on earth instead of up to
heaven, on a narrower and more contracted spectacle — that
which is examined by the microscope when the telescope is
laid aside — smallness, instead of vastness. "Man goeth
forth unt,o his work and to his labor till the evening ;" and
in the dust and pettiness of life we seem to cease to behold

54 Jacob's Wrestling,
Him: then at night He undraws the curtain again, and we
see how much of God and eternity the bright distinct, day
has hidden from us. Yes, in solitary, silent, vague darkness,
the Awful One is near..
This morning, young brethren, we endeavored to act on
this belief; we met in stillness, before the full broad glare of
day had rested on our world. Your first Communion im
plored His blessing in the earlier hour which seems so pecu
liarly His. Before the dull, and deadening, and earthward
influences of the world had dried up the dew of fresh morn
ing feeling, you tried to fortify your souls with a sense of
His presence. This night, before to-morrow's light shall
dawn, pray that He will not depart until He has left upon
your hearts the blessing of a strength7 which shall be yours
through the garish day, and through dry, scorching life, even
to the close of your days.
2. Again, this revelation was made in an unsyllabled
blessing. Jacob requested two things. He asked for a
blessing and he prayed to know, the name of God. God
gave him the blessing. " He blessed him there," but refused
to tell His name. " Wherefore dost thou ask after my
name ?"
In this, too, seems to lie a most important truth. : Names
have a power, a strange power, of hiding God. Speech- has
been bitterly defined as the art of hiding thought. Well,
that sarcastic definition has in it a truth. The Eternal
Word is the Revealer of God's thought, and every true word
of man is originally the expression of a thought; but by de
grees the word hides the thought. Language, is valuable
for the things f>f this life ; but for the things of the other
world, it is an encumbrance almost as much as an assistance. ,
Words often hide from us our ignorance of even earthly
truth. The child asks for information, and we satiate his
curiosity with words. Who does not know how we satisfy
ourselves with the name of some strange bird or plant, or the
name of some new law in nature ? It is a mystery perplex
ing us before. We get the name, and fancy we understand
something more than we did before, but, in truth, we are
more hopelessly ignorant ; for before we felt there was a
something we had not attained, and so we inquired and
searched : now, we fancy we possess it, because we have got
the name by which it is known, and the word covers over the
abyss of our ignorance. If Jacob had got a word, that word
might have satisfied him. He would have said, Now I un
derstand God, and know all about Him.
Besides, names and words soon lose their meaning. In

Jacob's Wrestling. 55
the process of years and centuries the meaning dies off them
like the sunlight from the hills. The hills are there — the
color and life are gone. The words of that creed, for exam
ple, which we read last Sunday (the Athanasian), were living
words a few centuries ago. They have changed their mean
ing, and are, to ninety-nine out of every hundred, only dead
words. Yet men tenaciously hold to the expressions of
which they do not understand the meaning, and which have
a very different meaning now from what they had once —
Person, Procession, Substance : and they are almost worse
with them than without them— for they conceal their igno--
ranee, and place a barrier against the earnestness of inquiry.
We repeat the creed by rote, but the profound truths of Be
ing which the creed contains^ how many of us understand ?
All this affords an instructive lesson to parents and to
teachers. In the education of a pupil or a child, the wise
way is to deal with him as God dealt with his pupil, the
child-man Jacob : for before the teaching of God, the wisest
•man, what is he but a child ? God's plan was not to give
names and words, but truths of feeling. That night, in that
strange scene, He impressed on Jacob's soul a religious awe
which was hereafter to develop, not a set of formal expres
sions, which would have satisfied with husks the cravings of
the intellect and shut up the soul. Jacob felt the Infinite,
who was more truly felt when least named. Words would
have reduced that to the Finite : for; oh, to know all about
God is one thing — to know the living God is another. Our
rule seems to be this : Let a child's religion be expansive —
capable of expansion — as little systematic as possible : let it
lie upon the heart like the light loose soil, which can be
broken through as the heart bursts into, fuller life. If it be
trodden down hard and stiff in formularies, it is more than
probable that the whole must be burst through, and broken
violently, and thrown off altogether, when the soul requires
room to germinate. '
And in this way, my young brethren, I have tried to deal
with you. Not in creeds, nor even in the stiffness of the
catechism, has truth been put before you. Rather has it
been trusted to the impulses of the heart — on which, we
believe, God works more efficaciously than we can do. A
few simple truths : and then these have been left to work,
and germinate, and swell. Baptism reveals to you this truth
for the heart, that God is your Father, and that Christ has
encouraged you to live as your Father's children. It has re
vealed that name which Jacob knew not — Love. Confirma
tion has told you another truth, that of self-dedication to

56 Jacob's Wrestling.
Him. Heaven is the service of God. The highest blessed
ness of life is powers and self consecrated to His will. _ These
are the germs of truth ; but it would have been miserable
self-delusion, and most pernicious teaching, to have aimed at
exhausting truth, or systematizing it. We are jealous of over-
systematic teaching. God's love to you— the sacrifice of
your lives to God — but the meaning of that? Oh, a long,
long life will not exhaust the meaning — the Name of God.
Feel him more and more — all else is but empty words.
Lastly, the effect of this revelation was to change Jacob's
character. His name was changed from Jacob to Israel,
because himself was an altered man. Hitherto there had
been something subtle in his character — a certain cunning
and craft — a want of breadth, as if he had no firm footing
upon reality. The forgiveness of God twenty years before
had not altered this. He remained Jacob, the subtle sup-
planter still. For, indeed, a man whose religion is chiefly
the sense of forgiveness, does not thereby rise into integrity
or firmness of character — a certain tenderness of character
may very easily go along with' a great deal of subtlety.
Jacob was tender and devout, and grateful for God's pardon,
and only half honest still. But this half-insincere man is
brought into contact with the awful God, and his subtlety
falls from him. He becomes real at once. Every insincere
habit of mind shrivels in the face of God. One clear, true
riance into the depths of Being, and the whole man is altered.
The name changes because the character is changed. No
longer Jacob, The Supplanter, but Israel, The Prince of God—
the champion of the Lord, _who had fought with God and
conquered; and* who, henceforth, will fight for God, and be
His true, loyal soldier: a larger, more unselfish name — a
larger and more unselfish man— honest and true at last.
No man becomes honest till he has got face to face with
God. There is a certain insincerity about us all— a some
thing dramatic. One of those dreadful moments Avhicn
throw us upon ourselves, and strip off the hollowness ot our
outside show, must come before the insincere is true.
And again, young brethren, such a moment, at least of
truthfulness, ought to have been this morning. Let the old
pass. Let the name of the world pass into the Christian
name. Baptism and Confirmation, the one gives, and the
other reminds us of the giving of a better name and a truer.
Henceforth be men. Lose the natural frailty, whatever it is.
See God, and you will lose it.
To conclude, here is a question for each man separately—
What is the name of your God ? Not in the sense of this

Christian Progress by Oblivion of the Past. 5 7
age, but in the sense of Jacob's age. What is the Name of
the Deity you worship? In the present modern sense of
Name, by which nothing more than epithet is meant, of
course the reply is easy. The Name of yours is the God of
Christian worship — the Threefold One — the Author of Exist
ence, manifested in Divine Humanity, commingling with us
as pure Spirit — the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. That, of
course, you say is the name of your God. Now, put away
names — give words to the winds. What do you adore in
your heart of hearts ? What is the name oftenest on your
lips in your unfettered, spontaneous moments ? If we over
heard your secret thoughts, who and what is it which is to
you the greatest and the best that you would desire to real
ize? The character ofthe rich man, or the successful, or the
admired ? Would the worst misery which could happen to
you be the wreck of property — the worst shame, not to have
done wrong, but to have sunk in the estimation of society ?
Then in the classifications of earth, which separate men into
Jews, Christians, Mohammedans, you may rank as a worship
per of the Christian's God. But in the nomenclature of
Heaven, where names can not stand for things, God sees you
as an idolator — your highest is not His highest. The Name
that is above every name is not the description of your God.
For life and death we have made our choice. The life of
Christ — the life of Truth and Love ; and if it must be, as the
result of that, the Cross of Christ, with the obloquy and
shame that wait on truth — that is the name before which we
bow. In this world " there are gods many, and lords
many : but to us there is but one Lord, the Father of our
Lord Jesus Christ."

IV.
CHRISTIAN PROGRESS BY OBLIVION OF
THE PAST.
" Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended : but this one thing I
do ; forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those
things which are before, I press towards the mark fpr the prize of the'high
calling of God in Christ Jesus. " — Bhil. iii. 13, 14.
The first thing which strikes us on reading these verses
is, that the Apostle Paul places himself on a level with the
persons whom he addresses. He speaks to them as frail,
weak men, and he gives them in himself a specimen of what
3*

58 Christian Progress by Oblivion ofthe Past.
frailty and weakness can achieve in the strength of Christ.
And it is for this reason that the passage before us is one of
the most encouraging in all the writings of St. Paul. For
there is one aspect in which the apostle is presented to us,
which is perhaps a depressing one. When we look at his al
most superhuman career, reverence and admiration we must
feel ; but so far does he seem removed from ordinary life that
imitation appears out of the question. Let us select but two
instances of this discouraging aspect of the apostle's life.
Most of us know the feeling of unaccountable depression
which rests upon us when we find ourselves alone in a foreign
town, with its tide of population ebbing and flowing past us,
a mass of human life, in which we ourselves are nothing.
But that was St. Paul's daily existence. He had consecrated
himself to an almost perpetual exile. He had. given up the
endearments of domestic life forever. Home, in this world,
St. Paul had none. With a capacity for' the tenderest feel
ings of our nature, he had chosen for his lot the task of living
among strangers, and as soon as they ceased to be strangers,
quitting them again. He went. on month by month, attach
ing congregations to himself, and month by month dooming
himself to severance. And yet I know not that we read of
one single trace of depression or discouragement suffered to
rest on the apostle's mind. He seems to have been ever fresh
and sanguine, the salient energy of his soul rising above the
need of all human sympathy. It is the magnificent spectacle
of missionary life, with more than missionary loneliness.
There is something almost. awful in the thought of a man
¦who was so thoroughly in the next World that he needed not
the consolations of this world. And yet, observe, there is
nothing encouraging for us in this. It is very grand to look
upon, very commanding, very full of awe ; but it is so much
above us, so little like any thing human that we know of,
that we content ourselves with .gazing on him as on the glid
ing swallow's flight, which we wonder at, but never think of
imitating.- Now let us look at one other feature in St. Paul's character
— his superiority to those temptations which are potent with
ordinary men. We say nothing of his being above the love
of money, of his indifference to a life of comfort and personal
indulgence. Those temptations only assail the lower part of
our nature, and it is not saintliness to be above these : com
mon excellence is impossible otherwise. But when we come
to look for those temptations which master the higher and
the nobler roan— ambition, jealousy, pride— it is not that we
see them conquered by the .apostle ; they scarcely seem to

Christian Progress by Oblivion of the Past. 5 9
have even lodged in his bosom at all. It was open to the
apostle, if he had ¦ felt the ambition, to make for himself a
name, to become the leader of a party in Corinth and in the
world. And yet remember we not how sternly he put down
the thought, and how he labored to merge his individuality in
the cause, and make himself an equal of inferior men?
" Who then is Paul, and who is Apollos, but ministers, serv
ants, by whom ye believed ?"
Again, in respect of jealousy. Jealousy seems almost in
separable from human love. It is but the other side of love,
the shadow cast by the light when the darker body inter
venes. There came to him in prison that most cutting of all
news to a minister's heart, that others were trying to sup
plant him in the affections of his converts. But his was that
lofty love which cares less for reciprocation than for the well-
being ofthe objects loved. The rival teachers were teach-
' ing from emulation ; still they could not but bless by preach
ing Christ to his disciples. " What then ? Notwithstanding
every way, whether in pretense or in truth, Christ is preach
ed; and I therein do rejoice, yea, and will rejoice." There
is not a trace of jealousy in these words.
- Once more : Degrading things were laid to his charge.
The most liberal-minded of mankind was charged with big
otry. The most generous of men was suspected of avarice.
If ever pride were venial, it had been then. Yet read through
the whole ofthe Second Epistle to the Corinthians, and say
if one spark of pride be visible. He might have shut himself
up in high and dignified silence. He might have refused to
¦condescend to solicit a renewal of the love which had once
grown cold ; and yet we look in vain for the symptoms of
offended pride. Take this one passage as a specimen: "Be
hold, this third time I am willing to come unto you ; . . . .
and I. will very gladly spend and be spent for you, though
the' mo.re abundantly I love you, the less I am beloved."
In this there is very little encouragement. A man so
thoroughly above human resentment, human passions, human
weakness, does not seem to us an example. The nearer Hu
manity approaches a perfect standard, the less does.it com
mand our sympathy. A man must be weak before we can
feel encouraged to attempt what he has done. It is not the
Redeemer's sinlessness, nor His unconquerable fidelity to
duty, nor His superhuman nobleness, that win our desire to
imitate. Rather His tears at the grave of friendship, .His
shrinking from the sharpness of death, and the feeling, of hu
man doubt which -swept across His soul like a desolation.
These make Him one of us; and therefore our example.;

60 Christian Progress by Oblivion of the Past.
And it is on this account that this passage seems to us so
full of encouragement. It is the precious picture of a frail
and struggling apostle — precious both to the man and to the
minister. To the man, because it tells him that what he feels
St. Paul felt, imperfect, feeble, far from what he would wish
to be; yet with sanguine hope, expecting progress in the
saintly life. Precious to the minister, because it tells him
that his very weakness may be subservient to a people's
strength. Not in his ti'anscendent gifts — not in his saintly
endowments — not even in his apostolic devotedness, is St.
Paul so close to our hearts, as when he makes himself one
with us, and says, " Brethren, I count not myself to have ap
prehended." And we know not how otherwise any minister could hope
to do good when he addresses men who are infinitely his su
periors in almost every thing. We know not how else he
could urge on to a sanctity which he has not himself attained :
we know not how he could dare to speak severely of weak-
• nesses by which he himself is overpowered, and passions of
which he feels in himself all the terrible tyranny, if it were
not that he expects to have tacitly understood that in his
own case which the apostle urged in every form of expres
sion : Brethren, be as I am, for I am as ye are— struggling,
baffled, but panting for emancipation.
We confine ourselves to two subjects:
I. The apostle's object in this life.
II. The means which he used for attaining it.
I. The apostie's object or. aim in this life was " perfection."
In the verse before — "Not as though I had already attained,
either were already perfect." — Perfection was his unreached
mark. , -
And less than this no Christian can aim at. There are
given to us " exceeding great and precious promises," that by
means of these we might be partakers of the Divine Nature.
Not merely to be equal to the standard of our day, nor even
to surpass it. Not to be superior to the men amongst whom
we live. ~ Not to forgive those who have little to be forgiven.
Not to love our friends, but to be the children of our Father
— to be pure even as Christ is pure — to be "perfect even as
our Father which is in heaven is perfect."
It is easily perceivable why this perfection is unattainable
in this life. Faultlessness is conceivable, being merely the
negation of evil. But perfection is positive, the attainment
of all conceivable excellence. It is long as eternity— expan
sive as God. Perfection is our mark: yet never will the

Christian Progress by Oblivion of the Past. 6i,
aim be so true and steady as to strike the golden centre.
Perfection of character, yet, even to the dying hour, it will
be but this, "I count not myself to have apprehended."
Christian life is like those questions in mathematics which
never, can be exactly answered. All you can attain is an ap
proximation to the truth. You may labor on for years and
never reach it ; yet your labor is not in vain. Every figure
you add makes the fraction nearer than the last to the million-
millionth ; and so it is with holiness. Christ is our mark —
the perfect standard of God in Christ. But be as holy as
you will, there is a step nearer, and another, and another, and
so infinitely on.
To this object the apostle gave himself with singleness of
aim. " This one thing I do." The life of man is a va
grant, changeful desultoriness ; like that of children sporting
on an enamelled meadow, chasing now a painted butterfly,
which loses its charm by being caught — now a wreath of
mist, which falls damp upon the hand with disappointment —
now a feather of thistle-down, which is crushed in the grasp.
In the midst of all this fickleness, St. Paul had found a pur
pose to which he gave the undivided energy of his soul.
" This one thing I do — I press towards the mark."
This is intelligible enough in the case of a minister; for
whether he be in the pulpit or beside a sick man's bed — or
furnishing his mind in the study, evidently and unmistakably
it is his profession to be doing only one thing. But in the
manifold life of the man of the world and business, it is not
so easy to understand how this can be carried out. To an
swer this, we observe there is a difference between doing and
being. Perfection is being, not doing; it is not to effect an
act, but to achieve a character. If the aim of life were to do
something, then, as in an earthly business, except in doing
this one thing the business would be at a stand-still. The
student is not doing the one thing of student life when he
has ceased to think or read. The laborer leaves his work
undone when the spade is not in his hand, and he sits beneath
the hedge to rest. But in Christian life, every moment and
every act is an opportunity for doing the one thing, of be
coming Christ-like. Every day is full of a most impressive
experience. Every temptation to evil temper which can as
sail us to-day will be an opportunity to decide the question
whether we shall gain the calmness and the rest of Christ, or
whether we shall be tossed by tlie restlessness and agitation
ofthe world. Nay, the very vicissitudes ofthe seasons, day
and night, heat and cold, affecting us variably, and producing
exhilaration or depression, are so contrived as to conduce to-

62 Christian Progress by Oblivion of the Past.
wards the being which we become, and decide whether we
shall be masters of ourselves, or whether we shall be swept at
the mercy of accident and circumstance, miserably suscepti
ble of merely outward influences. Infinite as are the vari
eties of life, so manifold are the paths to saintly character ;
and he who has not found out how directly or indirectly to
make every thing converge towards his soul's sanctification,
has as yet missed the meaning of this life.
In pressing towards this " mark," the apostle attained a
prize ; and here I offer an observation, which is not one of
mere subtlety of refinement, but deeply practical. The mark
was perfection of character, the prize was blessedness. But
the apostle did not aim at the prize of blessedness, he aimed
at the mark of perfectness. In becoming, perfect he attained
happiness, but his primary aim was not happiness.
We may understand this by an illustration. In student-
life there are those who seek knowledge for its own sake, and
there are those who seek it for the sake of the prize, and the
honor, and the subsequent success in life that knowledge
brings. To those who seek knowledge for its own sake the
labor is. itself reward. Attainment is the highest reward.
Doubtless the prize stimulates exertion ; encourages and
•forms a part of the motive, but only a subordinate one : and
knowledge would still have " a price above rubies," if there
were no prize at all. They who seek knowledge for the sake
of a prize are not genuine lovers of knowledge — they only
love the rewards of knowledge : had it no honor or substan1
tial advantage connected with it, they would be indolent. ¦
Applying thig to our subject, I say this is a spurious good?
ness which is good for the sake of reward. The child that
speaks truth for the sake ofthe praise of truth, is not truth
ful. The man who is honest because honesty is tbe best pol
icy, has not integrity in his heart. He who endeavors to be
humble, and holy, and perfect, in order to win heaven, has
only a counterfeit religion. God for His own sake — Good
ness because it is good — Truth because it is lovely — this
is the Christian's aim. The prize is only an incentive; insep
arable from success, but not the aim itself.
With this limitation, however, we remark that it is a Chris
tian duty to dwell much more on the thought of future bless
edness than most men do. If ever the apostle's step began
to flag, the radiant diadem before him gave new vigor to his
heart, and we know how at the close of his career the vision
became more vivid and more entrancing. " Henceforth there
is laid up for me a crown of glory !" It is our privilege, if
we are on our way to God, to keep steadily, before us the

Christian Progress by Oblivion ofthe Past. 63
thought of home. Make it a matter of habit. Force your
self at night, alone, in the midst ofthe world's bright sights,
to pause to think of the heaven which is yours. Let it calm
you and ennoble you, and give you cheerfulness to endure,
It was so that Moses was enabled to live amongst all the fas
cinations of his courtly life, with a heart unseduced from his
laborious destiny. By faith ..." esteeming the reproach of
Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt." Why?
" For he had respect nnto the recompense of the reward." It
was so that our Master strengthened his human soul for its
sharp earthly endurance. "For the joy that was set before
him, He endured the- cross, despising the shame." If we
would become heavenly-minded, we must let the imagination
realize the blessedness to which we are moving on. Let us
think much of rest-— the rest which is not of indolence, but of
powers in perfect' equilibrium. The rest which is deep as
summer midnight,' yet full of life and force as summer sun
shine, the sabbath of eternity. Let us think of the love of
God, which we shall ;feel in its full tide upon our souls. Let
us think of that marvellous career of sublime occupation
which shall belong to the spirits of just men made perfect ;
when we shall fill a higher place in God's universe, and more
consciously, and with more distinct insight, co-operate with
God in the rule over His Creation. "I press towards the
mark — for the prize."
II. We, pass to' our second topic. The 'means which St.
Paul found available for the attainment of Divine and per
fect character. His great principle was to " forget the things
which were behind, and to reach forward to the things which
were before." -The wisdom of a- divine life lies hid in this
principle. I shall endeavor to expand the sentiment to make
it intelligible.. .
What are the things behind, which are to be forgotten ?
. 1. If we would progress in Christian life, we must forget
the days ; of innocence .that lie behind us. Let not this be
misunderstood. Innocent, literally, no man ever is. We
come into the world with tendencies to evil; but there was
a time in our lives when those were only tendencies. A
proneness to sin we had ; but we had not yet sinned. The
moment had not' yet arrived when that cloud settles down
upon the heart; which in all of after-life is never entirely re
moved: the sense of guilt, the anguish of lost innocence, the
restless feeling of a heart no longer pure. Popularly, we call
that innocence ; ' and when men become bitterly aware that
early innocence of heart is gone, they feel as. if all were lost,

64 Christian Progress by Oblivion ofthe Past.
and so look back to what they reckon holier days with a pe
culiar fondness of regret. I -believe there is much that is
merely feeble and sentimental in this regret. Our early in
nocence is nothing more than ignorance of evil. Christian
life is not a retaining of that ignorance of evil, nor even a re
turning of it again. We lose our mere negative sinlessness.
We put on a firm manly holiness. Human innocence is not
to know evil ; Christian saintliness is to know evil and good,
and prefer good. It is possible for a parent, with over-fas
tidious refinement, to prolong the duration of this innocence
unnaturally. He may lock up his library, and prevent the
entrance to forbidden books ; he may exercise a jealous cen
sorship over every book and every companion that comes into
the house ; he may remove the public journal from the table,
lest an eye may chance to rest upon the contaminating por
tion of its pages ; but he has only put off the evil hour. He
has. sent into the world a young man of eighteen or twenty,
ignorant of evil as a child, but not innocent as an angel who
abhors the evil. No ; wo can not get back our past igno
rance, neither is it desirable we should. No sane mind wish
es for that which is impossible. And it is no more to be re
gretted than the blossom is to be regretted when fruit is
hardening in its place; no more to be regretted than the
slender gracefulness of the sapling, when you have got in
stead the woody fibre of the heart of oak of which the ship
is made ; no more to be regretted than the green blade when
the ear has come instead, bending down in yellow ripeness.
Our innocence is gone, withered with the business-like con
tact with the great world. It is one ofthe things behind.
Forget it. It was worth very little. And now for some
thing of a texture more firm, more enduring. We will not
mourn over the loss of simplicity, if we have got instead
souls indurated by experience, disciplined, even by fall, to
refuse the evil and to choose the good.
2. In the next place, it is wise to forget our days of youth.
Up to. a certain period of life it is the tendency of man to
look forward. There is a marvellous prodigality with which
we throw away our present happiness when we are young,
which belongs to those who feel that they are "rich in happi
ness, and never expect to be bankrupts. It almost seems
one of, the signatures of our immortality that we squander
time as if there were a dim consciousness that we are in pos
session of an eternity of it ; but as we arrive at middle age,
it is the tendency of man to look back.
To a man of middle life, existence is no longer a dream,
but a reality. He has not much more new to look forward

Christian Progress by Oblivion of the Past. 65
to, for the character Of his life is generally fixed by that
time. His profession, his home, his occupations, will be for
the most part what they are now. He will make few new
acquaintances — no new friends. It is the solemn thought
connected with middle age that life's last business is begun
in earnest ; and it is then, midway between the cradle and
the grave, that a man begins to look back and marvel with a
kind of remorseful feeling that he let the days of youth go by
so half enjoyed. It is the pensive autumn feeling — it is the
sensation of half sadness that we experience when the long
est day of the year is past, and every day that follows is
shorter, and the lights fainter, and the feebler shadows tell
that nature is hastening with gigantic footsteps to her win
ter grave. So does man look back upon his youth. When
the first gray hairs become visible — when the unwelcome
truth fastens itself upon the mind that a man is no. longer
going up the hill, but down, and that the sun is already west
ering, he looks back on things behind. Now this is a nat
ural feeling, but is it the high Christian tone of feeling ? In
the spirit of this verse, we may assuredly answer, No. We
who have an inheritance incorruptible and undefiled, and
that fadeth not away, what have we to do with things past ?
When we were children, we thought as children. But now
there lies before us manhood, with its earnest work ; and
then old age, and then the grave, and then home.
And so manhood in the Christian life is a better thing
than boyhood, because it is a riper thing ; and old age ought
to be a brighter, and a calmer, and a more serene thing than
manhood. There is a second youth for man, better and holi
er than his first, if he will look on and not back. There is a
peculiar simplicity of heart and a touching singleness'of pur
pose in Christian old age, which has ripened gradually and
not fitfully. It is then that to the wisdom of the serpent is
added the harmlessness of the dove ; it is then that to the
firmness of manhood is joined almost the gentleness of wom
anhood; it is then that the somewhat austere and sour char
acter of growing strength, moral and intellectual, mellows
into the rich ripeness of an old age made sweet and tolerant
by experience ; it is then that man returns to first principles.
There comes a love more pure and deep than the boy could
ever feel ; there comes a conviction, with a strength beyond
that which the boy could never know, that the earliest lesson
of life is infinite, Christ is all.
3. Again, it is wise to forget past errors. There is a kind
of temperament which, when indulged, greatly hinders growth
in real godliness. It is that rueful, repentant, self-accusing

66 Christian Progress by Oblivion of the Past.\
temper which is always looking back, and microscopically ob
serving how that which is done might have been better done.
Something of this we ought to have. A Christian ought to
feel always that he has partially failed, but that ought not
to be the only feeling. Faith ought ever to be a sanguine,
cheerful thing ; and perhaps in practical life we could not
give a better account Of faith than by saying that it- is,
amidst much failure, having the heart to try again. Our
best deeds are marked by imperfection ; but if they really
were our best, " forget the things that are behind "—we shall
do better next time.
Under this head Ave include all those mistakes which be
long to our circumstances. We can all look back to past life
and see mistakes that have been made, to a certain extent
perhaps, irreparable ones. We can see where our education
was fatally misdirected. The profession chosen for you per
haps was not the fittest, or you are out of place, and many
things might have been better ordered. Now on this apos
tolic principle it is wise to forget all that. It is not by re
gretting what is irreparable that true work is to be* done,
but by making the best of what we are. It is not by com
plaining that we have not the right tools, but by using well
the tools we have. What we are, and where we are, is God's
providential arrangement — God's doing, though it may be
man's misdoing ; and the manly and the wise way is to look
your disadvantages in the face, and see what can be made out
of them. Life, like war, is a series of mistakes, and he is not
the best Christian nor the best general who-makes the few
est false steps. Poor mediocrity may secure that ; but he
is the best who wins the most splendid victories by the re
trieval of mistakes. Forget mistakes : organize victory out
of mistakes.
Finally, past guilt lies behind us, and is well forgotten,
There is a way in which even sin may be banished from the
memory. If a man looks forward to the evil he is going to
commit, and satisfies himself that it is inevitable, and so
treats it lightly, he is acting as a fatalist. But if a man par
tially does this, looking backward, feeling that sin when it
is past has become part of the history of God's universe, and
is not to be wept over forever, he only does that which the
Giver ofthe Gospel permits him to do. Bad as-the results
have been in the world of making light of sin, those of brood
ing over it too much have been worse. Remorse has done
more harm than even hardihood. It was remorse which
fixed Judas in an unalterable destiny ; it was remorse which
filled the monasteries for ages with men and women whose

Christian Progress by Oblivion of the Past. 67
lives became useless to their fellow-creatures ; it is remorse
which so remembers by-gone faults as to paralyze the ener
gies for doing Christ's work ; for when you break a Chris
tian's spirit, it is all over with progress. Oh, we want every
thing that is hopeful and encouraging for our work, for God
knows it is not an easy one. And therefore it is that the
Gosoel comes to the guiltiest of us all at the very outset with
the inspiring news of pardon. You remember how Christ
treated sin. Sin of oppression and hypocrisy indignantly,
but sin of frailty — " ' Hath no man condemned thee"?' ' No
man, Lord.' ' Neither do I condemn thee ; go, and sin no
more.' " As if he would bid us think more of what we may
be than*of what we have been.
There was the wisdom of life in the proverb with which
the widow of Tekoah pleaded for the restoration of Absalom
from banishment before David. Absalom had slain his
brother Amnon. Well, Amnon was dead before his time ;
but the severity of revenge could never bring him back
again. " We must all die," said the wise woman, " and are
as water spilt upon the ground, which can not be gathered
up again." Christian brethren, do not stop too long to weep
over spilt water. Forget your guilt, and wait to see what
eternity has to say to it. You have other work to do now.
So let us work out the spirit of the apostle's plan. Inno
cence, youth, success, error, guilt — let us forget them all.
Not backward are our glances bent,
But onward to our Father's home.
. In conclusion, remember Christian progress is only possi
ble in Christ. It is a very lofty thing to be a Christian ; for
a Christian is a man who is restoring God's likeness to his
character ; and therefore the apostle calls it here a high call
ing. High as heaven is" the calling wherewith we are called.
But this very height makes it seem impracticable. It is nat
ural to say, All that was well enough for one so transcend-
ently gifted as Paul to hope for : but I am no gifted man ;
I have no iron strength of mind ; I have no sanguine hope
fulness of character; I am disposed to look on the dark side
of things ; I am undetermined, weak, vacillating ; and then
I have a whole army of passions and follies to contend with.
We have to remind such men of one thing they have forgot
ten. It is the high calling* of God, if you will ; but it is the
high calling of God in Christ Jesus; What the world calls
virtue is a name and a dream without Christ. The founda
tion of all human excellence- must be laid deep in the blood
of the Redeemer's cros,s, and in the power of His Resurrec-

68 Triumph over Hindrances.
tion. First let a man know that all his past is wrong and
sinful ; then let him fix his eye on the love of God in Christ
loving him — even him, the guilty one. Is there no strength
in that — no power in the knowledge that all that is gone by
is gone, and that a fresh, clear future is open ? It is not the
progress of virtue that God asks for, but progress in saintli-
ness, empowered by hope and love.
Lastly, let each man put this question to himself, " Dare
I look on?" With an earnest Christian, it is "reaching
forth to those things which are before." Progress ever.
And then just as we go to rest in this world tired, and wake
up fresh and vigorous in the morning, so does 'the Christian
go to sleep in the world's night, weary with the work of
life, and then on the resurrection-day he wakes in his second
and his brighter morning. It is well for a believer to look
on. Dare you? Remember, out of Christ, it is not wisdom,
but madness to look on. You must look back, for the long
est and the best day is either past or passing. It will be
winter soon — desolate, uncheered, hopeless, winter — old age,
with its dreariness and its disappointments, and its queru
lous broken-heartedness ; and there is no second spring for
you— no resurrection-morning of blessedness to dawn on the
darkness of your grave. God has only one method of salva
tion, the Cross of Christ. God can have only one ; for the
Cross of Christ means death to evil, life to good. There is
no other way to salvation but that ; for. that in itself is, and
alone is, salvation. Out of Christ, therefore, it is woe to the
man who reaches forth to the things which are before. To
such I say ; My unhappy brethren, Omnipotence itself can
not change the darkness of your destiny.

V.
TRIUMPH OVER HINDRANCES— ZACCHEUS.
"And Zaccheus stood, and said unto the Lord ; Behold, Lord, the half of
my goods I give to the poor ; and if I have taken any thing from any man
by false accusation, I restore him fourfold."— Luke xix. 8.
There are persons to whom a religious life seems smooth
and easy. Gifted by God constitutionally with a freedom
from those inclinations which in other men are tyrannous
and irresistible, endued with those aspirations which other
men seem to lack, it appears as if they were born saints.

Triumph over Hindrances. 69
There are others to whom it is all a trial — a whole world
of passions keep up strife within. The name of the spirit
which possesses them is Legion. It is a hard fight from
the cradle to the grave — up-hill work — toil all the way;
and at the last it seems as if they had only just kept their
ground. There are circumstances which seem as if intended as a
very hot-bed for the culture of religious principle, in which
the difficulty appears to be to escape being religious.
There are others in which religious life seems impossible.
For the soul, tested by temptation, is like iron tried by
weights. No iron bar is absolutely infrangible. Its
strength is tested by the weight which it will bear without
breaking. No soul is absolutely impeccable. It seems as if
all we can dare to ask even of the holiest is how much temp
tation he can bear without giving wray. There are societies
amidst which some are forced to dwell daily, in which the
very idea of Christian rest is negatived. There are occupa
tions in which purity of heart can scarcely be conceived.
There are temptations to which some are subjected in a long
series, in which to have stood upright would have demand
ed not a man's but an angel's strength.
Here are two cases : one in which temperament and cir
cumstances are favorable to religion ; another in which both
are adverse. If life were always the brighter side of these
pictures, the need of Christian instruction and Christian
casuistry — i. e.,the direction for conduct under various sup-
posable cases, would be superseded. The end of the institu
tion of a Church would be gone; for the Church exists for
the purposes of mutual sympathy and mutual support. But
the fact is, life is for the most part a path of varied trial.
How to lead the life divine, surrounded by temptations
from within and from without — how to breathe freely the
atmosphere of heaven, while the feet yet touch earth —
how to lead the life of Christ, who shrunk from no scene
of trying duty, and took the temptations of man's life as
they came — or how even to lead the ordinary saintly life,
winning experience from fall, and permanent strength out
of momentary weakness, and victory out of defeat, this is
the problem.
The possibility of such a life, is guaranteed by the history
of Zaccheus. Zaccheus was tempted much, and yet Zacche--
us contrived to.be a servant of Christ. If we wanted a mot
to to prefix to this story, Ave should append this: The suc
cessful pursuit of religion under difficulties.
These, then, are the two branches of our thoughts to-day :

70 Triumph over Hindrances.
I. The hindrances to a religious life.
II. The Christian triumph over difficulties.
I. The hindrances of Zaccheus were twofold : partly cir
cumstantial — partly personal. Partly circumstantial, arising
from his riches and his profession of a publican.
Now the publican's profession exposed him to temptations
in these three ways. First of all, in the way of opportunity.
A publican was a gatherer of the Roman public imposts*.
Not, however, as now, when all is fixed, and the Government
pays the gatherer of the taxes. The Roman publican paid
so much to the Government for the privilege of collecting
them, and then indemnified himself, and appropriated what
overplus he could, from the taxes which he gathered. There
was, therefore, eA'idently a temptation to overcharge, and a
temptation to oppress. To overcharge, because the only re
dress the payer of the taxes had was an appeal to law, in
which his chance was small before a tribunal Avhere the
judge was a Roman, and the accuser an official of the Ro
man Government. A temptation to oppress, because the
threat of law was nearly certain to extort a bribe. Be
sides this, most of us must have remarked that a certain
harshness of manner is contracted by those who have the
rule over the poor. They come in contact with human souls
only in the way of business. They have to do with their ig
norance, their stupidity, their attempts to deceive ; and hence
the tend erest-hearted men become impatient aud apparently
unfeeling. Hard men, knowing that redress is difficult, be
come harder still, and exercise their authority with the' inso
lence of office ; so that, when to the insolence of office and
the likelihood of impunity there was superadded the pecu
niary advantage annexed to a tyrannical extortion, any one
may understand how great the publican's temptation was.
Another temptation was presented : to live satisfied Avitli
a low morality. The standard of right and wrong is eternal
in the heavens — unchangeably one and the same. But here
on earth it is perpetually variable — it is one in one age or
nation, another in another. Every profession has its conven
tional morality, current nowhere else. That which is per
mitted by the peculiar standard of truth acknowledged at
the bar is falsehood among plain men ; that which would be
reckoned in the army purity and tenderness would be else
where licentiousness and cruelty. There is a parliamentary
honor quite distinct from honor between man and man.
Trade has its honesty, Avhich rightly named is fraud. And
in all these cases the temptation is to live content Avtth the

Triumph over Hindrances. 7 1
standard of a man's oavu profession or society ;-and this is
the real difference between the worldly man and the reli"-
ious man. He is the worldling avIio lives beloAv that stand
ard, or no higher ; he is the servant of God who lives above
his age. But you will perceive that amongst publicans a
very little would count much — that Avhich would be laxity
to a Jew and shame to a Pharisee, might be reckoned very
strict morality among the Publicans.
Again, Zaccheus Avas tempted to that hardness in evil
which comes from having no character to support. But the
extent to which sin hardens depends partly on the estimate
taken of it by society. The falsehood of Abraham, the guilt
and violence of David, Avere very different in their effect on
character in an age Avhen truth and purity and gentleness
Avere scarcely recognized, from what they would be now.
Then Abraham and David had not so sinned against their
consciences as a man avouIcL sin now in doing the same acts,
because their consciences were less enlightened. A man might
be a slave-trader in the Western hemisphere, and in other re
spects a humane, upright, honorable man. In the last cen
tury, the holy Newton of Olney trafficked in slaves after be
coming religious. A man who had dealings in this way in
this country could not remain upright and honorable, even if
it were conceivable that he began as such ; because he would
either conceal from the world his share in the traffic, and so,
doing it secretly, would become a hypocrite, or else he must
cover his wickedness by effrontery, doing it in defiance of
public shame, and so getting seared in conscience. Because.
in the one case, the sin remaining sin, yet countenanced by
society, does not degrade the man nor injure his conscience
even to the same extent to which it would ruin the other,
whose conscience must become seared by defiance of public
shame. It is scarcely possible to unite together the idea of
an executioner of public justice and a humble, holy man.
And yet assuredly, not from any thing that there is unlaw
ful in the office ; an executioner's trade is as lawful as a sol
dier's, A soldier is placed there by his country to slay his
country's enemies, and a doomster is placed there to slay
the transgressors of his country's laws. Wherein lies the dif
ference which leaves the one a man of honor, and almost ne
cessitates the other to be taken from the rank of reprobates,
or else gradually to become such ? Simply the difference of
public opinion — public scorn. Once there was no shame in
the office ofthe executioner, and the judge of Israel, with his
own hands, hewed Agag to pieces before the Lord in Gilgal.
Phineas executed summary and sanguinary vengeance, and

72 Triumph over Hindrances.
his name has been preserved in a hymn by his country's
gratitude. The whole congregation became executioners in
the case of blasphemy, and no abandonment was the result.
But the voice of public opinion pronouncing an office or a
man scandalous, either finds or else makes them what it has
pronounced them. The executioner is or becomes an out
cast, because reckoned such. _ .
More vile and more degraded than even the executioner's
office with us Avas the office of publican among the Jews. A
penitent publican could not go to the house of God without
the risk of hearing muttered near him the sanctimonious
thanksgiving of Pharisaism : " God, I thank Thee that I am
not as "this publican." A publican, even though high in of
fice, and rich besides, could not receive into his house a teach
er of religion Avithout being saluted by the murmurs ofthe
crowd, as in this case : " He is gone to eat with a man that
is a sinner." A sinner ! The proof of that ? The only proof
was that he Avas a publican. There are men and women in
this congregation who have committed sins that never have
been published to the world; and therefore, though they be
still untouched by the love of God, they have_ never sunk
down to degradation ; whereas the very same sins, branded
Avith public shame, have sunk others not worse than them
down to the lowest infamy. There is no principle in educa
tion and in life more sure than this — to stigmatize is to ruin ;
to take away character is to take away all. There is no
power committed to man, capable of use and abuse, more cert
tain and more awful than this : " Whose soever sins ye remit,
they are remitted unto them." , > .
This, then, Vas a temptation arising out of Zaccheus's cir
cumstances — to become quite hardened by having no char
acter to support.
The personal hindrance to a religious life lay in the rec
ollection of past guilt. Zaccheus had done wrong, and
no four-fold restitution Avill undo that Avhere only remorse
exists. i ¦
There is a difference between remorse and penitence. Re
morse is the consciousness of wrong-doing Avith no. sense of
love. Penitence is that same consciousness, with the feeling
of tenderness and gratefulness added.
And pernicious as have been the consequences of self-right
eousness, more destructive still have been the consequences
of remorse. If self-righteousness has slain its thousands, re
morse has slain its tens of thousands ; for, indisputably; self-
righteousness secures a man from degradation. Have you
never wondered at the sure walk of those persons Avho, to trust

Triumph over Hindrances. 73
to their own estimate of themselves, are always right ? They
never sin, their children are better brought up than any other
children, their conduct is irreproachable. Pride saves them
from a fall. That element of self-respect, healthful always, is
their safeguard. Yes, the Pharisee was right. He is not an
extortioner, nor unjust, and he is regular in his payments and
his duties. That was self-righteousness: it kept him from
saintliness, but it saved him from degradation too. Remorse,
on the contrary, crushes. If a man lose the Avorld's respect,
he can retreat back upon the consciousness of the God with
in. But if a man lose his own respect, he sinks down and
clown, and deeper yet, until he can get it back again by feel
ing that he is sublimely loved, and he dares at last to respect
that Avhich God vouchsafes to care for. Remorse, is like the
clog of an insoluble debt. The debtor is proverbially ex
travagant — one more, and one more expense. What can it
matter when the great bankruptcy is near ? And so, in the
same way one sin, and one more. Why not? AArhy should
he pause when all is hopeless? what is one added to that
which is already infinite ?
Past guilt becomes a hindrance too in another way — it
makes fresh sin easier. Let any one, out of a series of trans
gressions, compare the character of the first and the last.
The first time there was the shudder and the horror, andthe
violent struggle, and the feeling of impossibility. I can not
— can not do that. The second time there was faint reluc
tance, made more faint by the recollection of the facility and
the pleasantness of the first transgression, and the last time
there is neither shudder nor reluctance, but the eager plunge
down the precipice on thev brink of which he trembled once.
All this was against Zaccheus. A publican had lost self-re
spect} and sin Avas therefore easy.
II. Pass we on to the triumph over difficulties. In this
there is man's part, and God's part.
Man's part in Zaccheus's case was exhibited in the discov
ery of expedients. The Redeemer came to Jericho, and Zac
cheus desired to see that blessed countenance, whose very
looks, he was told, shed peace upon restless spirits and fever
ed hearts. But Zaccheus was small of stature, and a crowd
surrounded him. Therefore he ran before, and climbed up
into a sycamore-tree. You must not look on this as a mere
act of curiosity. They who thronged the steps of Jesus were
a crowd formed of different materials from the crowd which
would have been found in the amphitheatre. He was there
as a religious teacher or prophet ; and they Avho took pains to
4

74 Triumph over Hindrances.
see Him, at least Avere the men who looked for salvation in
Israel. This, therefore, was a religious act.
We have heard of the " pursuit of knowledge under diffi
culties." The shepherd, with no apparatus besides his thread
and beads, has lain oh his back, on the starry night, mapped
the heavens, and unconsciously become a distinguished as
tronomer. The peasant-boy, with no tools but his rude knife,
and a visit noAV and then to the neighboring town, has begun
his scientific education by producing a watch that would
mark the time. The blind man, trampling upon impossibili
ties, has explored the economy of the bee-hive, and, more
Avondrous still, lectured on the laAvs of light. The timid
stammerer, with pebbles in his mouth, and the roar of the sea-
surge in his ear, has attained correctest elocution, and sway
ed as one man the changeful tides of the mighty masses of
the Athenian democracy. All these Avere expedients. It is
thus in the life religious.. No man ever trod exactly the
path that others trod before him. There is no exact chart
laid down for the voyage. The rocks and quicksands are
shifting. He who enters upon the ocean of existence arches
his sails to an untried breeze. He is "the first that ever
burst into that lonely sea." ' Every life is a new life. Ev
ery day is a new day — like nothing that ever went before,
or ean ever follow after. No books — no systems — no fore
cast — set of rules, can provide for all cases ; every case is a
new case. And just as in any earthly enterprize, the. conduct
of a campaign, or the building of a bridge, unforeseen diffi
culties and unexpected disasters must be met by that inex
haustible fertility of invention which belongs to those who do
not live to G8d second-hand. We must live to God first:
hand. If we are in earnest, as Zaccheus was, we must invent
peculiar means of getting over peculiar difficulties.
There are times when the truest courage is shown in re
treating from a temptation. There are times Avhen, not be
ing on a level with other men in qualifications of temper,
mind, character, we must compensate by inventions and
Christian expedients. You must climb over the crowd of
difficulties which stand betAveen your soul and Christ— you
must " run before " an d forecast trials, and get into the syca
more solitude. Without a living life like this, you will never
get a glimpse of the King in his beauty ; you will never see
Him. You will be just on the point of seeing Him, and yet
be shut out by some unexpected hindrance.
Observe again, an illustration of this : Zaccheus's habit of
restoration. " Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to
the poor; and if I have taken any thing from any man by

Triumph over Hindrances. 75
false accusation, I restore him fourfold." There are two ways
of interpreting this ; it may have reference to the future. It
commonly is so interpreted. It is supposed that, touched by
the love of Christ, Zaccheus proclaimed this as his resolve — I
hereby promise to give the half of my goods to the poor.
But it is likely that this interpretation has been put upon it
in order to make it square Avith the evangelical order of emo
tions — grace first, liberality after. The interpretation seems
rather put on the passage than found there. The word is
not future, but singular : Behold, Lord, I give. And it seems
more natural to take it as a statement of the habit of Zac-
cheus's previous life. If so, then all is plain. This man, so
maligned, had been leading a righteous life after all, accord
ing to the Mosaic standard. On the day of defense he stands
forward and vindicates himself from the aspersion. " These
are my habits." And the Son of Man vindicates him before
all. Yes, publican as he is, he too is a " son of Abraham."
Here, then, were expedients by which he overcame the hin
drances of his position. The tendency to the hardness and
selfishness of riches he checked by a rule of giving half away.
The tendency to extortion he met by fastening on himself
the recollection, that when the hot moment of temptation
had passed away, he would be severely dealt with before the
tribunal of his own conscience, and unrelentingly sentenced
to restore fourfold.
God's part in this triumph over difficulties is exhibited in
the address of Jesus : " Zaccheus, make haste and come
down ; for to-day I must abide at thy house."
Two things we note here : Invitation and Sympathy. In
vitation— " come down." Say what Ave will of Zaccheus
seeking Jesus, the truth is, Jesus was seeking Zaccheus.
For what other reason but the Avill of God had Jesus come
to Jericho but to seek Zaccheus and such as he? Long
years Zaccheus had been living in only a dim consciousness
of being a servant of God and goodness. At last the Saviour
is born into the world — appears in Judea — comes to Jericho,
Zaccheus's town — passes doWn Zaccheus's street, and by
Zaccheus's house, and up to Zaccheus's person. What is all
this but seeking — what the Bible calls election ? Now there
is a specimen in this of the ways of God with men in this
world. We do not seek God — God seeks us. There is a
Spirit pervading time and space who seeks the souls of men.
At last the seeking becomes reciprocal — the Divine Presence
is felt afar, and the soul begins to turn towards it. Then
when we begin to seek God, we become conscious that God
is seeking us. It is at that period that Ave distinguish the

7 6 Triumph over Hindrances.
voice of personal invitation — " Zaccheus !" It is then that
the Eternal Presence makes its abode with us, and the hour
of unutterable joy begins, when the banquet of Divine Love
is spread within the soul, and the Son of God abides there as
at a feast. "Behold, I stand at the door and knock : If any
man hear my voice, I will come in and sup with him, and he
Avith me."
This is Divine Grace. We are saved by grace, not will.
"It is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but
of God that showeth mercy." In the matter of man's salva
tion God is first. He comes to us self-invited — He names us
by name — He isolates us from the crowd, and sheds, upon us
the sense of personal recognition — He pronounces the bene
diction, till we feel that there is a mysterious blessing on our
house, and on our meal, and on our heart. " This day'is sal
vation come to this house, forasmuch as he also is a son of
Abraham." Lastly, the Divine part was done in Sympathy. By sym
pathy we commonly mean little more than condolence. If
the tear start readily at the voice of grief, and the purse-
strings open at the accents of distress, we talk of a man's
having great sympathy. To weep with those who weep : —
common sympathy does not mean much more.
The sympathy of Christ was something different from this.
Sympathy to this extent, no doubt, Zaccheus could already
command. If Zaccheus were sick, even a Pharisee would
have giTOn him medicine. If Zaccheus had been in need,' a
Jew would not have scrupled to bestow an alms. If Zac
cheus had been bereaved, many even of that crowd that mur
mured Avhen tftey saw him treated by Christ like a son of
Abraham, Avould have given to his sorrow the tribute of a
sigh. The sympathy of Jesus was fellow-feeling for all that is hu
man. He did not condole with Zaccheus upon his trials —
He did not talk to him " about his soul " — He did not preach
to him about his sins — He did not force his way into his house
to lecture him — He simply said, "I will abide at thy house:"
thereby identifying himself Avith a publican: thereby ac-
knoAvledging a publican for a brother. Zaccheus a publican ?
Zaccheus a sinner ? Yes ; but Zaccheus is a man. His heart
throbs at cutting words. He has a sense of human honor.
He feels the burning shame of the world's disgrace. Lost?
Yes :-^but the Son of Man, with the blood of the human race .
in His veins, is a Brother to the lost.
It is in this entire and perfect sympathy with all Humani
ty that the heart of Jesus differs from every other heart that

Triumph over Hindrances. 77
is found among the sons of men. And it is this — oh, it is
this, which is the chief blessedness of having such a Saviour.
If you are poor you can only get a miserable sympathy from
the rich ; with the best intentions they can not understand
you. Their sympathy is awkward. If you are in pain, it is
only a factitious and constrained sympathy you get from
those in health — feelings forced, adopted kindly, but imper
fect still. They sit beside you, when the regular condolence
is done, conversing on topics with each other that jar upon
the ear. They sympathize ? Miserable comforters are they
all. If you are miserable, and tell out your grief, you have
the shame of feeling that you Avere not understood ; and that
you have bared your inner self to a rude gaze. If you are in
doubt, you can not tell your doubts to religious people ; no,
not even to the ministers of Christ — for they have no place
for doubts in their largest system. They ask, What right
have you to doubt? They suspect your character." They
shake the head ; and whisper it about gravely, that you read
strange books — that you are verging on infidelity. If you
are depressed with guilt, to whom shall you tell out your
tale of shame ? The confessional, with its innumerable evils,
and yet indisputably soothing power, is passed away ; and
there is nothing to supply its place. You can not speak to
your brother man, for you injure him by doing so, or else
Aveaken yourself. You can not tell it to society, for society
judges in the gross, by general rules, and can not Jake into
account the delicate differencesof transgression. It banishes
the frail penitent, and does homage to the daring hard trans
gressor. Then it is that, repulsed on all sides and lonely, we turn
to Him whose mighty Heart understands and feels all.
"Lord, to whom shall. we go? Thou hast the words of
eternal life." And then it is that, exactly like Zaccheus,
misunderstood, suspected by the world, suspected by our
Own hearts — the very voice of God apparently against us —
isolated and apart, we speak to Him from the loneliness of
tlie sycamore-tree, heart to heart, and pulse to pulse.
" Lord, Thou knoAvest all things :" Thou knowest my se
cret charities, and my untold self-denials. " Thou knowest
that I love thee."
Remark, in conclusion, the power of this sympathy on
Zaccheus's character. Salvation that day came to Zaccheus's
house. What brought it ? What touched him ? Of course^
"the gospel." Yes; but what is the gospel? What. was
his gospel? Speculations or revelations concerning the Di
vine Nature ? — the scheme of the atonement ? — or of the in-

78 The Shadow and Substance of the Sabbath.
carnation ? — or baptismal regeneration ? Nay, but the Di
vine sympathy of the Divinest Man. The personal love of
God, manifested in the face of Jesus Christ. The floodgates
of his soul were opened, and the whole force that was in the
man flowed forth. Whichever Way you take that expres
sion, " Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the
poor :" If it referred to the future, then, touched by unex
pected sympathy, finding himself no longer an outcast, he
made that resolve in gratefulness. If to the past, then, still
touched by sympathy, he who had never tried to vindicate
himself before the world, was softened to .tell out the tale, of
his secret munificence. This is what I have been doing all
the time they slandered me, and none but God knew it. -
It required something to make a man like that talk of
things which he had not suffered his own left hand to know,
before a scorning world. But, anyhow, it was the manifest
ed Fellowship of the Son of Man Avhich brought salvation to
that house.
* Learn this : When we live the gospel so, and preach the
gospel so, sinners will be brought to God. We know not
yet the gospel poAver ; for Avho trusts, as Jesus did, all to
that? Who ventures, as He did, upon the power of Love,
in sanguine hopefulness of the most irreclaimable ? who
makes that, the divine humility of Christ, " the gospel ?"
More than by eloquence, more than by accurate doctrine,
more than by ecclesiastical order, more than by any doc
trine trusted to by the most earnest and holy men, shall Ave
and others, sinful rebels, outcasts, be won to Christ by that
central truth »f all the Gospel — the entireness of the Redeem
er's sympathy. In other words, the Love of Jesus.

VI.

THE SHADOW AND SUBSTANCE OF THE
SABBATH.
"Let no man, therefore, judge you in meat, or in drink, or in respect of a
holyday, or of the new moon, or of the sabbath-days : which are a shadow of
things to come; but the body is of Christ." — Col. ii. 16, 17.
No sophistry of criticism can explain away the obvious
meaning of these words. The apostle speaks of certain in
stitutions as Jewish : shadowy : typical : and among these
we are surprised to find the sabbath-days. It has been con
tended that there is here no allusion to the seventh day of

The Shadow- and Substance ofthe Sabbath. 79
rest, but only to certain Jewish holydays, not of Divine in
stitution. But, in the first place, the " holydays " have been
already named in the same verse; in the next Ave are con
vinced that no plain man, reading this verse for the first
time, without a doctrine to support, would have put such an
interpretation upon the word : and we may be sure that St.
Paul would never have risked so certain a misconstruction
of his words by the use of an ambiguous phrase. This,
then, is the first thing we lay down — a very simple postu
late, one would think — when the apostle, says the sabbath-
days? he means the sabbath-days.
Peculiar difficulties attend the discussion ofthe subject of
the sabbath. If Ave take the strict and ultra ground of sab
bath, observance, basing it on the rigorous requirements of
the fourth commandment, we take ground which is not true ;
and all untruth, whether it be an over-statement or a half-
truth, recoils upon itself. If we impose on men a burden
Avhich can not be borne, and demand a strictness which, pos
sible in theory, is impossible in practice, men recoil ; Ave have
asked too much, and they give us nothing — the result is an
open, wanton, and sarcastic desecration ofthe Day of Rest.
If, on the other hand, we state the truth, that the sabbath
is obsolete — a shadow, which has passed — without modifica
tion or explanations, evidently there is a danger no less per
ilous. It is true to spiritual, false to unspiritual men ; and a
wjde door is opened for abuse. And to recklessly loosen the
hold of a nation on the sanctity of the Lord's day would be
most mischievous — to do so willfully would be an act almost
diabolical. For if we must choose between Puritan OA-er-
precision on the one hand, and on the other that laxity
which, in many parts of the Continent, has marked the day
from other days only by more riotous worldliness, and a more
entire abandonment of the whole community to amusement,
no Christian would hesitate: no English Christian, at least;
to whom that day is halloAved by all that is endearing in
early associations, and who feels hoAV much it is the very
bulwark of his country's moral purity.,
Here, however, as in other cases, it is the half-truth which
is dangerous— the other half is the corrective; the Avhole
truth alone is safe. If we say the sabbath is shadow, this is
only half the truth. The apostle adds, "the body is of
Christ." There is, then, in the sabbath that which is shadowy and
that which is substantial; that which is transient and that
Avhich is permanent ; that which is temporal and typical,
and that Avhich is eternal. The shadow and the body.

80 The Shadow and Substance of the Sabbath.
Hence, a very natural and simple division of our subject
suggests itself.
I. The transient shadow of the sabbath Avhich has passed
away. n. The permanent substance which can not pass.
I. The transient shadoAV which has passed away.
The history of the sabbath-day is this. It was given by
Moses to the Israelites, partly as a sign between God and
them, marking them off from all other nations by its observ
ance ; partly as commemorative of their deliverance from
Egypt. And the reason why the seventh day was fixed on, '
rather than the sixth or eighth was, that on that day God
rested from His labor. The soul of man Avas to form itself
on the model of the Spirit of God.- It is not said, that God
at the creation gave the sabbath to man, but that God rest
ed at the close of the six days of creation : whereupon he
had blessed and sanctified the seventh day to the Israelites.
This is stated in the fourth commandment, and also in Gen. i.,
which was written for the Israelites ; and the history of crea
tion naturally and appropriately introduces the reason and
the sanction of their day of rest.
Nor is there in the Old Testament a single trace of the
observance of the sabbath before the time of Moses. After
the Deluge, it is not mentioned in the covenant made with
Noah. The first account of it occurs after the Israelites had
left Egypt ; and the fourth commandment consolidates it
into a law, and explains the principle and sanctions of the
institution. The observance of one day in seven, therefore,
is purely JeAvish. The Jewish obligation to observe it rest
ed on the enactment given by Moses.
The spirit of its observance, too, is Jewish, and not Chris
tian. There is a difference between the spirit of Judaism
and that of Christianity. The spirit" of Judaism is separa
tion — that of Christianity is permeation. To separate the
evil from the good was the aim and work of Judaism : — to
sever one nation from all other nations ; certain meats from
other meat ; certain days from other days. Sanctify means
to set apart. The very essence of the idea of Hebrew holi
ness lay in sanctification in the sense of separation. On the
contrary, Christianity is permeation — it permeates all evil
Avith good — it aims at overcoming evil by good — it desires
to transfuse the spirit ofthe day of rest into all other days,
and to spread the holiness of one nation over all the world.
To saturate life Avith God, and the world with Heaven, that
is the genius of Christianity.

The Shadow and Substance of the Sabbath. 81
Accordingly, the observance of the sabbath Avas entirely
in the Jewish spirit. No fire was permitted to be made on
pain of death : Exod. xxxv. 3. No food was to be prepared :
xvi. 5, 23. No buying nor selling : Nehern. x. 31. So rigor
ously was all this carried out, that a man gathering sticks
was arraigned before the congregation, and sentenced to
death by Moses.
This is Jewish, typical, shadowy ; — it is all to pass away.
Much already has passed: even those who believe our
Lord's day to be the descendant of the sabbath admit this.
The day is changed. The first day of the week has taken
the place of the seventh. The computation of hours is al
tered. The Jews reckoned from sunset to sunset — modern
Christians reckon from midnight to midnight. The spirit
of its observance, too, is altered. No one contends now for
JeAvish strictness in its details.
Noav observe, all this implies the abrogation of a great
deal more — nay, of the Avhole Jewish sabbath itself. We
have altered the day — the computation of the hours — the
mode of observance : What remains to keep ? Absolutely
nothing of the literal portion except one day in seven : and
that is abrogated, if the rest be abrogated. For by what
right do we say that the order ofthe day, Avhether it be the
first or the seventh, is a matter of indifference, because only
formal, but that the proportion of days, one in seven, instead
of one in eight or nine, is moral and unalterable ? On Avhat
intelligible principle do we produce the fourth command
ment as binding upon Christians, and abrogate so important
a clause of it as, " In it thou shalt do no manner of work ?"
On what self-evident ground is it shown that the Jew might
not light a fire, but the Christian may ; yet that if the postal
arrangements of a country permit the delivery of a letter, it
is an infraction of the sabbath ?
Unquestionably on no scriptural authority. Let those
who demand a strict observance of the letter of scripture re
member that the Jewish sabbath is distinctly enforced in
the Bible, and nowhere in the Bible repealed. You have
changed the seventh day to the first on no clear scriptural
permission. ' Two or three passages tell us that, after the
Resurrection, the apostles were found together on the first
day of the week (which, by-the-way, may have been Satur
day evening after sunset). But it is concluded that there
fore probably the change was apostolic. You have only a
probability to go on — and that probability, except with the
aid of tradition, infinitesimally small — for the abrogation of
a single iota ofthe Jewish fourth commandment.
4*

82 The Shadow and Substance of the Sabbath.
It will be said, however, that works of necessity and works
of mercy are excepted by Christ's example.
Tell us, then, ye who are servants of the letter, and yet do
not scruple to use a carriage to convey you to some church
where a favorite minister is heard, is that a spiritual necessi
ty or a spiritual luxury ? Part of the Sunday meal of all of
you is the result of a servant's work. Tell us, then, ye ac
curate logicians, who say that nothing escapes the rigor of
the prohibition which is not necessary or merciful, is a hot
repast a. work of necessity or a work of mercy ? Oh ! it
rouses in every true soul a deep and earnest indignation to
hear men who drive their cattle to church on Sundays, be
cause they are too emasculated to trudge through cold and
rain on foot,, invoke the severity of an insulted Law of the
Decalogue on those Avho provide facilities of movement, for
such as can not afford the luxury of a carriage. What
think you, would He' who blighted the Pharisees with such
burning words, have said, had He been present by, while
men, whose servants clean their houses, and prepare their
meals, and harness their horses, stand up to denounce the
service on some railway by which. the poor are helped to
health and enjoyment ? Hired service for the rich is a ne
cessity — hired service for the poor is a desecration of the
sabbath ! It is right that a thousand should toil for the few
in private ! It is past" bearing in a Christian country that a
few should toil for thousands on the sabbath-day !
There is only this alternative : if the fourth command
ment be binding still, that clause is unrepealed — " no man
ner of work ;"»and so, too, is that other important. part, the
sanctification of the seventh day and not the first. If the
fourth commandment be not binding in these points,' then
there is nothing left but the broad, comprehensive ground
taken by the apostle. The whole sabbath is a shadow of
things to come. In consistency, either hold that none ofthe
formal part is abrogated, or else all. The whole of the let
ter of the commandment is moral, or else none.
II. There is, however, in the sabbath a substance, a per
manent something — " a body " — which can not pass away.
" The body is of Christ;" the spirit of Christ is the fulfill
ment ofthe law. To have the spirit of Christ is to have ful
filled the law. Let us hear the mind of Christ in this mas
ter. " The sabbath was made for man, not man for the sab
bath." In that principle, rightly, understood, lies the clue
for the unravelling of the whole matter. The religionists
of that day maintained that the necessities of man's nature

The Shadow and Substance of the Sabbath. 83
must give Avay to the rigor of the enactment : — He taught
that the enactment must yield to man's necessities. They
said that the sabbath was written in the book of the Law ;
He said that it was written on man's nature, and that the
law Avas merely meant to be in accordance with that nature.
They based the obligation to observe the sabbath on the sa
credness of an enactment; He on the sacredness of the na
ture of man.'
An illustration will help us to perceive the difference be
tween these two views. A wise physician prescribes a regi
men of diet to a palate which has become diseased : he fixes
what shall be eaten, the quantity, the hours, and number of
times. On what does the obligation to obey rest ? On the
arbitrary authority of the physician ? or on the nature with
which that prescription is in accordance ? When soundness
and health are restored, the prescription falls into disuse :
but the nature remains unalterable, which has made some
things nutritious, others unwholesome, and excess forever
pernicious. Thus the spirit of the prescription may be still
in force when the prescriptive authority is repealed.
So Moses prescribed the sabbath to a nation spiritually
diseased. He gave the regimen of rest to men who did not
feel the need of spiritual rest. He fenced round his rule
with precise regulations of details — one day in seven, no
work, no fire, no traffic. On what does the obligation to
obey it rest ? On the authority of the rule ? or on the ne
cessities of that nature for which the rule was divinely
adapted? Was man made for the sabbath, to obey it as a
slave ? or, Was the sabbath made for man ? And when
spiritual health has been restored, the Law regulating the
details of rest may become obsolete; but the nature which
demands rest never can be reversed.
Observe, now, that this is a far grander, safer, and more
permanent basis on which to rest the sabbath than the mere
enactment. For if you allege the fourth commandment as
your authority, straightway you are met by the objection
" no manner of work." Who gave you leave to alter that ?
And if you reply, works of necessity and works of mercy I
may do, for Christ excepted these from the stringency of the
rule, again the rejoinder comes, is there one in ten of the
things that all Christians permit as lawful really a matter
of necessity ?
Whereas, if the sabbath rest on the needs of human na
ture, and we accept His decision that the sabbath was made
for man, then you have an eternal ground to rest on from
which vou can not be shaken. A son of man mav be lord

F<

84 The Shadow and Substance of the Sabbath.
of the sabbath-day, but he is not lord of his OAvn nature.
He can not make one hair Avhite or black. You may abro
gate the formal rule, but you can not abrogate the needs of
your own soul Eternal as the constitution of the soul of
man is the necessity for the existence of a day of rest.
Further still, on this ground alone can you find an impreg
nable defense of the proportion, one day in seven : — on the
other ground it is unsafe. Having altered the seventh to
the first, I know not why one in seven might not be altered
to one in ten. The thing, however, has been tried ; and by
the necessities of human nature the change has been found
ernicious. One day in ten, prescribed by revolutionary
'ranee, was actually pronounced by physiologists insuffi
cient. So that we begin to find that, in a deeper sense
than we at first suspected, " the sabbath was made for man."
Even in the contrivance of one day in seven, it was arranged
by unerring wisdom. Just because the sabbath was made for
man, and not because man was ordained $0 keep the sabbath-
day, you can not tamper even with the iota, one day in seven.
That necessity on which the observance leans is the need
of rest. It is the deepest want in the soul of man. If you
take off covering after covering of the nature which wraps
him round, till you come to the central heart of hearts, deep
lodged there you find the requirement of repose. All men
do not hanker after pleasure — all men do not crave intel
lectual food. But all men long for rest ; the most restless
that ever pursued a turbulent career on earth did by that
career only testify to the need of the soul within. They
craved for something vyhich was not given : there was a
thirst which was not slaked : that very restlessness be
tokened that — restless because not at rest. It is this need
which sometimes makes the quiet of the grave an object of
such deep desire. " There the wicked cease from troubling,
and there the weary are at rest." It is this which creates
the chief desirableness of heaven : " There remaineth a rest
for the people of God." And it is this which, consciously or
unconsciously, is the real wish that lies at the bottom of all
others. _ Oh ! for tranquillity of heart — heaven's profound
silence in the soul, " a meek and quiet spirit, which in the
sight of God is of great price !"
The rest needed by man is tAvofold. Physical repose of
the body — a need .which he shares with the animals through
the lower nature which he has in common Avith them.
" Thou shalt do no Avork, nor thy cattle," — so far man's
sabbath-need places him only on a level with the ox and
with the ass.

The Shadow and Substance of the Sabbath. 85
But, besides this, the rest demanded is a repose of spirit.
Between these two kinds of rest there is a vefy important
difference. Bodily repose is simply inaction : the rest of the
soul is exercise, not torpor. To do nothing is physical rest
— to be engaged in full activity is the rest of the soul.
In that hour, which of all the twenty-four is most emblem
atical of heaven, and suggestive of repose, the eventide, in
Avhich instinctively Isaac went into the fields to meditate —
when the work of the- day is done, when the mind has ceased
its tension, when the passions are lulled to rest in spite of
themselves, by the spell of the quiet star-lit sky— it is then,
amidst the silence of the lull of all the lower parts of our
nature, that the soul comes forth to do its work. Then the
peculiar, strange work of the soul, which the intellect can
not do — meditation, begins. Awe, and worship, and wonder
are in full exercise. ; and Love begins then in its purest form
of mystic adoration and pervasive and undefined tenderness
— separate from all that is coarse and earthly — swelling as
if it Avould embrace the All in its desire to bless, and lose it
self in the sea of the love of God. This is the rest of the
soul — the exercise and play of all the nobler powers.
Two things are suggested by this thought.
First, the mode of the observance of the day of rest. It
has become lately a subject of very considerable attention.
Physiologists have demonstrated the necessity of cessation
from toil : they have urged the impossibility of perpetual oc
cupation without end. Pictures, Avith much pathos in them,
have been placed before us, describing the hard fate of those
on whom no Sabbath dawns. It has been demanded as a
right, entreated as a mercy, on behalf of the laboring man,
that he should have one day in seven for. recreation of his
bodily energies.- All well and true. But there is a great
deal more than this. He who confines his conception of the
need of rest to that, has left man on a level with the brutes.
Let a man take merely lax and liberal notions o;f the fourth
commandment — let him give his household and dependents
immunity from toil, and Avish for himself and them no more —
he will find that there is a something wanting still. Experi
ence tells us, after a trial, that those Sundays are the hap
piest, the purest, the most rich in blessing, in which the
spiritual part has been most attended to — those in which the
business letter was put aside till evening, and the profane
. literature not opened, and the ordinary occupations entirely
suspended — those in which, as in the temple of Solomon,
the sound of the earthly hammer has not been heard in the -
temple of the soul : for this isrin fact, the very distinction he-

86 The Shadow and Substance of the Sabbath.
tween the spirit of the Jewish sabbath and the spirit of the
Christian Lord's dav. The one is chiefly for the body—
" Thou shalt do no manner of work." The other is princi
pally for the soul—" I was in the spirit on the Lord's day."
The other truth suggested by that fact, that the repose of
the soul is exercise, not rest, is, that it conveys an intimation
of man's immortality. It is only when all the rest of our hu
man nature is calmed that the spirit comes forth in full ener
gy: all the rest tires, the spirit never tires. Humbleness,
awe, adoration, love, these have in them no weariness : so
that when this frame shall be dissolved into the dust of the
earth, and the mind, which is merely fitted for this time-
Avorld, learning by experience, shall have been superseded,
then, in the opening out of an endless career of love, the
spirit will enter upon that sabbath of which all earthly sab
baths are but the shadow — the sabbath of eternity, the im
mortal rest of its Father's home.
Two observations, in concluding.
1. When is a son of man lord of the sabbath-day ? To
whom may the sabbath safely become a shadow ? I reply,
he that has the mind of Christ may exercise discretionary
lordship over the sabbath-day. He who is in possession of
the substance may let the shadow go. A man in health has
done Avith the prescriptions ofthe physician. But for an un-
spiritual man to regulate his hours and amount of rest by.-his
desires, is just as preposterous as for an unhealthy man to
rule his appetites by his sensations. Win the mind Of Christ ;
be like Him; and then, in the reality of rest in God, the sab
bath form offcrest will be superseded. Remain apart from
Christ, and then you are under the law again ; the ' fourth
commandment is as necessary for you as it was for the Is
raelite — the prescriptive regimen which may discipline your
soul to a sounder state. It is at his peril that the worldly
man departs from the rule of the day of rest. Nothing can
make us free from the law but the Spirit.
2. The rule pronounced by the apostle is a rule of liberty,
and at the same time a rule of charity : " Let no man judge
you in respect of the sabbath-days." It is very difficult to
discuss this question of the sabbath. Heat, vehemence, acri
mony, are substituted for argument. When you calmly ask
to investigate the subject, men apply epithets, and call them
reasons : they stigmatize you as a breaker of the sabbath,
pronounce you "dangerous," with sundry warnings against
you in private, and pregnant hints in public.
The apostle urges charity : " One man esteemeth one day
above another : another man esteemeth every day alike." . . .

The Shadow and Substance ofthe Sabbath. 87
" He that regardeth the day, regardeth it to the Lord ; and
he that regardeth not the day, to the Lord he regardeth
it not." Carry out that spirit. In the detail of this question
there is abundant difficulty. It is a question of degree.
Some work must be done on the sabbath-day : — some must
sacrifice their rest to the rest of others; "for all human life is
sacrifice, voluntary or involuntary.
Again, that which is rest to one man is not rest to another.
To require the illiterate man to read his Bible for some hours
would impose a toil upon him, though it might be a relaxa
tion to you. To the laboring man a larger proportion of the
day must be given to the recreation of his physical nature
than is necessary for the man of leisure, to whom the spirit
ual observance of the day is easy, and seems all. Let us
learn large, charitable considerateness. Let not the poor
man sneer at his richer neighbor, if, in the exercise of his
Christian liberty, he uses his horses to convey him to church
and not to the mere drive of pleasure ; but then, in fairness,
let not the rich man be shocked and scandalized if the over-
Avearied shopkeeper and artisan breathe the fresh air of heav
en with their families in the country. "The sabbath was
made for man." Be generous, consistent, large-minded. A
man may hold stiff, precise Jewish notions on this subject,
but do not stigmatize that man as a formalist. Another may
hold large, Paul-like views of the abrogation of the fourth
commandment, and yet he may be sincerely and zealously
anxious for the hallowing of the day in his household and
through his country. Do not call that man a sabbath-break
er. Remember, the Pharisees called the Son of God a sab
bath-breaker. They kept the law of the sabbath, they broke
the law of love. Which was the worst to break ? which was
the higher law to keep ? Take care lest, in the zeal Avhich
seems to you to be for Christ, ye be found indulging their
spirit, and not His.

88 The Sympathy of Christ.

VII.
THE SYMPATHY OF CHRIST.
"For we have not a high-priest which can not be touched with the feeling
of our infirmities ; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without
sin. Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may ob
tain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need." — Heb. iv. 15, 16.
According to these verses, the priesthood of Jesus Christ
is based upon the perfection of His humanity. Because
tempted in all points like as we are, therefore He can show
mercy, and grant help. Whatever destroys the conception
of His humanity does in that same degree overthrow the no
tion of His priesthood.
Our subject is the Priestly Sympathies of Christ. But we
make three preliminary observations.
The perfection of Christ's humanity implies that He was
possessed of a- human soul as well as a human body. There
Avas a view held in early times, and condemned by the
Church as a heresy, according to which the body of Christ
Avas an external framework animated by Deity, as our bodies
are animated by our souls. What the soul is to us, Deity
Avas to Christ. His body was flesh, blood, bones — moved,
guided, ruled by indwelling Divinity.
But you perceive at once that this destroys the notion of
complete humanity. It is not this tabernacle of material ele
ments which constitutes our humanity : you can not take
that pale corpse from which life has fled, and- call that man.
And if Deity were to take up that form and make it its
abode, that would not be a union of the Divine and Human.
It would only be the union of Deity with certain materials
that might have passed into man, or into an animal or an
herb. "Humanity implies a body and a soul.
Accordingly, in the life of Christ we find two distinct
classes of feeling. When He hungered in the wilderness —
Avhen He thirsted on the cross — when He Avas weary by the
Avell at Sychar — He experienced sensations which belong to
the bodily department of human nature. But when out of
tAvelve.He selected one to be His bosom friend — when He
looked round upon the crowd in anger — when the tears
streamed down His cheeks at Bethany — and Avhen He recoil
ed from the thought of approaching dissolution : — these —

The Sympathy of Christ. 89
grief, friendship, fear — Avere not the sensations of the body,
much less were they the attributes of Godhead. They were
the affections of an acutely sensitive human soul, alive to all
the tenderness, and hopes, and anguish with Avhich human
life is filled, qualifying Him to be tempted in all points like as
we are.
The second thought Avhich presents itself is, that the Re
deemer not only was, but is man. He was tempted in all
points like us. He is a high-priest Avhich can be touched.
Our conceptions on this subject, from being vague, are often
very erroneous. It is fancied that in the history of Jesus's
existence, once, for a limited period and for definite purposes,
He took part in frail humanity ; but that when that purpose
was accomplished, the Man forever perished, and the Spirit
reascended, to unite again with pure unmixed Deity. But
Scripture has taken peculiar pains to give assurance of the
continuance of His humanity. It has carefully recorded His
resurrection. After that He passed through space from spot
to spot : when He was in one place He was not in another.
His body was sustained by the ordinary aliments — broiled
fish and honeycomb. The prints of suffering were on Him.
His recognitions were human still. Thomas and Peter were
especially reminded of incidents before His death, and con
nected Avith His living interests. To Thomas He says —
" Reach hither thy hand." To Peter — " Lovest thou me ?"
¦ And this typifies to us a very grand and important truth.
It is this, if I may venture so to express myself — the truth of
the human heart of God. We think of God as a Spirit, in
finitely removed from and unlike the creatures He has made.
But the truth is, man resembles God : all spirits, all minds,
are of the same family. The Father bears a likeness to the
Son whom He has created. The mind of God is similar to
the mind of man. Love does not mean one thing in man, and
another thing in God. Holiness, justice, pity, tenderness —
these are in the Eternal the same in kind which they are in
the finite being. The present manhood of Christ conveys
this deeply important truth, that the Divine heart is human
in its sympathies.
The third observation upon these verses is, that there is a
connection between Avhat Jesus was and what Jesus is. He
can be touched now, because-YLe was tempted then. The in
cidents and the feelings of that part x>f the existence which
is gone have not passed away without results which are deep
ly entwined Avith His present being. His past experience has
left certain effects durable in His nature as it is now. It has
endued Him Avith certain qualifications and certain suscepti-

90 The Sympathy of Christ.
bilities, which He would not have had but for that experi
ence. Just as the results remained upon His body, the prints
of the nails in His palms, and the spear-gash in His side, so
do the results remain upon His soul, enduing Him with a cer
tain susceptibility, for " He can be touched with the feeling of
our infirmities ;" with certain qualifications, for " He is able
to show mercy, and to impart grace to help in time of need."
To turn now to the subject itself. It has two branches*
I. The Redeemer's preparation for His priesthood.
II. The Redeemer's priestly qualifications.
I. His preparation. The preparation consisted in being
tempted. But here a difficulty arises. Temptation, as ap
plied to a Being perfectly free from tendencies to evil, is not
easy to understand. See what the difficulty is. Temptation
has two senses: It means test or probation; it means also
trial, involving the idea of pain or danger. A common acid
applied to gold tests it, but there is no risk or danger to the
most delicate golden ornament. There is one acid, and only
one, which tries it, as well as tests it. The same acid applied
to a shell endangers the delicacy of its surface. A weight
hung from a bar of iron only tests its strength ; the same,
depending from a human arm, is a trial, involving, it may be,
the risk of pain or fracture. , Now trial placed before a sin
less being is intelligible enough in the sense of probation — it
is a test of excellence : but it is not easy to see hoAv it can be
temptation in the sense of pain, if there be no inclination to
do wrong.
However,«6cripture plainly asserts this as the character of
Christ's temptation. Not merely test, but trial.
First, you have passages declaring the immaculate nature
of His mind — as here, " without sin." Again, He was " holy,
harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners." And again, "The
prince of this world cometh, and hath nothing in Me." The
spirit of evil found nothing which it could claim as its own in
Christ. It was the meeting of two elements which will not
amalgamate. _ Oil and water could as easily blend, as the
mind of Christ with evil. Temptation glanced from His
heart as the steel point does from the surface of the diamond.
It was not that evil propensities were kept under by the pow
er of the Spirit in Him : — He had no evil propensities at all.
Obedience Avas natural to Him.
But then Ave find another class of passages such as this :
" He suffered, being tempted." There was not merely test in
the temptation, but there was also painfulness in the victory.
How could this be without any tendency to evil.?

The Sympathy of Christ. 91
To answer this, let us analyze sin. In every act of sin
there are tAVO distinct steps : There is the rising of a desire
which is natural, and, being natural, is not wrong : there is
the indulgence of that desire in forbidden circumstances ; and
that is sin. Let injury, for example, be inflicted, and resent
ment will arise. It must arise spontaneously. It is as im
possible for injustice to be done, and resentment not to fol
low, as it is for the flesh not to quiver on the application of
intense torture. Resentment is but the sense of injustice,
made more vivid by its being brought home to ourselves;
resentment is beyond our control, so far. There is no sin in
this : but let resentment rest there ; let it pass into, not jus
tice, but revenge ; let it smoulder in vindictive feeling till it
becomes retaliation, and then a natural feeling has grown
into a transgression. You have the distinction between these
two things clearly marked in Scripture. " Be ye angry " —
here is the alloAvance for the human, " and sin not " — here is
the point where resentment passes into retaliation.
Again, tSke the natural sensation of hunger. Let a man
have been without food : let the gratification present itself,
and the natural desire will arise involuntarily. It will arise
just as certainly in a forbidden as in a permitted circum
stance. It will arise whether what he looks on be the bread
of another or his own. And it is not here, in the sensation
of hunger, that the guilt lies. But it lies in the willful grat
ification of it after it is knovvn to be forbidden.
This was literally one of the cases in which Christ was
tried. The wish for food was in His nature in the wilderness.
The A-ery mode of gratifying it was presented to His imagina
tion, by using Divine power in an unlaAvful way. And had He
so been constituted that the lower wish was superior to the
higher will, there would have been an act of sin ; had the
two been nearly balanced, so that the conflict hung in doubt,
there would have been a tendency to sin : what we call a sin
ful nature. But it was in the entire and perfect subjugation
of desire to the Avill of right that a sinless nature was ex
hibited. Here then is the nature of sin. Sin is not the possession of
desires, but the having them in uncontrolled ascendency over
the higher nature. Sinfulness does not consist in having
strong desires or passions : in the strongest and highest na
tures, all, including the desires, is strong. Sin is not a real
thing. It is rather the absence of a something, the will to do
right. It is not a disease or taint, an actual substance pro
jected into the constitution. It'is the absence of the spirit
which orders and harmonizes the whole; so that Avhat we

92 The Sympathy of Christ.
mean when we say the natural man must sin inevitably, is
this, that he has strong natural appetites, and that he has no
bias from above to counteract those appetites : exactly as if
a ship were deserted by the crew, and left on the bosom of
the Atlantic with every sail set and the wind blowing. No
one forces her to destruction, yet on the rocks she will, surely
u-o, just because there is no pilot at the helm. Such is the
state of ordinary men. Temptation leads to fall. The gusts
of instincts, Avhich rightly guided would have carried safely
into port, dash them on the rocks. No one forces them to
sin ; but the spirit-pilot has left the helm. — [Fallen Nature.]
Sin, therefore, is not in the appetites, but in the absence of
a controlling will.
Now contrast this state with the state of Christ. There
Avere in Him all the natural appetites of mind and body.
Relaxation and friendship were dear to Him — so were sun
light and life. Hunger, pain, death — He could feel all, and
shrunk from'them. Conceive, then, a case in which the grat
ification of any one of these inclinations was Inconsistent
with His Father's will. At one moment it was unlawful to
eat, though hungry : and without one tendency to disobey^
did fasting cease to be severe ? It was demanded that he
should endure anguish ; and willingly as He subdued Him
self, did pain cease to be pain ? Could the spirit of obedi
ence reverse eA'ery feeling in human nature ? When the
brave man gives his shattered arm to the surgeon's knife,
will may prevent even the quiver of an eyelid, but no will
and no courage can reverse his sensations, or prevent the op
eration froin, inflicting pain. When the heart is raw, and
smarting from recent bereavement, let there be the deepest
and most reverential submission to the highest Will, is it
possible not to Avince? Can any cant demand for submission
extort the profession that pain is pleasure ?
It seems to have been in this Avay that the temptation of
Christ caused suffering. He suffered from the force of de
sire. Though there was no hesitation whether to obey or
not", no strife in the will, in the act of mastery there was
pain. .There was self-denial — there was obedience at the
expense of tortured natural feeling. He shrunk from St.
Peter's suggestion of escape from ignominy as from a thing
which did not shake His determination, but made Him feel,
in the idea of bright life, vividly the cost of His resolve.
" Get thee behind me, tempter, for thou art an offense," In
the garden, unswervingly, " Not as I will, but as Thou wilt."
There was no reluctance in the will. But was there no
struggling — no shudder in the imvard sensations — no re-

The Sympathy of Christ. 93
membrance that the Cross was sharp— no recollection of the
family at Bethany,' and the pleasant walk, and the dear com
panionship which He Avas about to leave ? "My soul is ex
ceeding sdrroAvful to die." ....
So that in every one of these cases — not by the reluctancy
of a sinful sensation, but by the quivering and the anguish
of natural feeling when it is trampled upon by lofty will —
Jesus suffered, being tempted. He was " tempted like as Ave
are." Remember this. For the way in which some speak
ofthe sinlessness of Jesus reduces all His suffering to phys
ical pain,, destroys the reality of temptation, reduces that
glorious heart to a pretense, and converts the whole of His
history into a mere fictitious drama, in which scenes of trial
were only represented, not really felt. Remember that, " in
all points," the Redeemer's soul Avas tempted.
II. The second point we take is the Redeemer's priesthood.
Priesthood is that office by Avhich He is the medium of
union between man and God. The capacity for this has
been indelibly engraven on His nature by His experience
here. All this capacity is based on His sympathy : He can
be " touched with the feeling of our infirmities."
Till we have reflected on it, Ave are scarcely aware how
much the sum of human happiness in the world is indebted
to . this one feeling — sympathy. We get cheerfulness and
vigor, we scarcely know how or when, from mere associa
tion with our fellow-men ; and from the looks reflected on
us of gladness and employment, we Catch inspiration and
power to go on, from human presence and from cheerful
looks. The workman works with added energy from having
others by. The full family circle has a strength and a life
peculiarly its own. The substantial good and the effectual
relief which men extend to one another is trifling. It is not
by these, but by something far less costly, that the work is
done. God has insured it by a much more simple machinery.
He has given to the weakest and the poorest, power to con
tribute, largely to the common stock of gladness. The
child's smile and laugh are mighty powers in this world.
When bereavement has left you desolate, Avhat substantial
benefit is there which makes condolence acceptable ? It
can not replace the loved ones you have lost. It can bestow
upon you nothing permanent. But a warm hand, has
touched yours, and its thrill told you that there was a liv
ing response there to your emotion. One look, one human
sigh has done more for you than the costliest present could
convey.

94 The Sympathy of Christ.
And it is for want of remarking this that the effect of
public charity falls often so far short of the expectations of
those who give. The springs of men's generosity are dried
up by hearing ofthe repining, and the envy, and the discon
tent which have been sown by the general collection and the
provision establishment, among cottages where all was har
mony before. The famine and the pestilence are met by
abundant liberality; and the apparent return for this is riot
and sedition. But the secret lies all in this. It is not in
channels such as these that the heart's gratitude can flow.
Love is not bought by money, but by love. There has been
all the machinery of a public distribution : but there has
been no exhibition of individual, personal interest. The
rich man Avho goes to his poor brother's cottage, and without
affectation of humility, naturally, and with the respect which
man owes to man, enters into his circumstances, inquiring
about his distresses, and hears his homely tale, has done
more to establish an interchange of kindly feeling than he
could have secured by the costliest present by itself. Pub
lic donations have their value : and their uses. Poor-laws
keep human beings from starvation: but in the point of
eliciting gratitude, all these fail. Man has not been brought
into contact close enough with man for this. They do not
work by sympathy.
Again, when the electric touch of sympathetic feeling has
gone among a mass of men, it communicates itself, and is
reflected back from every individual in the crowd, with a
force exactly proportioned'to their numbers. The speech or
sermon read before the limited circle of a family, and the
same discourse uttered before closely crowded hundreds, are
two different things. There is strange power even in the
mere presence of a common crowd, exciting almost uncon
trollable emotion.
It is on record that the hard heart of an Oriental conquer
or was unmanned by the sight of a dense mass of living mil
lions engaged in one enterprise. He accounted for it by say
ing that it suggested to him that Avithin a single century
not one of those millions Avould be alive. But the hard
hearted bosom of the tyrant mistook its own emotions ; his
tears came from, no such far-fetched inference of reflection :
they rose spontaneously, as they will rise in a dense crowd,
you can not tell why. It is the thrilling thought of numbers
engaged in the same object. It 'is the idea of our own feel
ings reciprocated back to Us, and reflected from many hearts.
It is the mighty presence of life.
And again, it seems partly to avail itself of this tendency

The Sympathy of Christ. 95
within us that such stress is laid on the injunction of united
prayer. Private devotion is essential to the spiritual life —
without it there is no life. But it can not replace united
prayer, for the two things have different aims. Solitary
prayer is feeble in comparison Avith that which rises before
the throne echoed by the hearts of hundreds, and strength
ened by the feeling that other aspirations are mingling with
our own. And whether it be the chanted litany, or the
more simply read service, or the anthem producing one emo
tion at the same moment in many bosoms, the value and the
poAver of public prayer seem chiefly to depend on this mys
terious affection of our nature — sympathy.
And noAV, having endeavored to illustrate this power of
sympathy, it is for us to remember that of this in its fullness
He is susceptible. There is a vague way of speaking of the
Atonement Avhich does not realize the tender, affectionate,
personal love by which that daily, hourly reconciliation is
effected. The sympathy of Christ was not merely love of
men in masses: He loved the masses, but he loved them
because made up of individuals. He " had compassion on
the multitude ;" but He had also discriminating, special ten-
(ferness for erring Peter and erring Thomas. He felt for the
despised lonely Zaccheus in his sycamore-tree. He compas
sionated the discomfort of His disciples. He mixed His
tears with the stifled sobs . by the grave of Lazarus. He
called the abashed children to His side. Amongst the num
bers, as He walked, He detected the individual touch of
faith. " Master, the multitude throng thee, and sayest thou,
Who touched me?" — " Somebody hath touched me."
Observe how he is touched by our infirmities — with a sep
arate, special, discriminating love. There is not a single
throb, in a single human bosom, that does not thrill at once
Avith more than electric speed up to the mighty heart of God.
You have not shed a tear or sighed a sigh that did not
come back to you exalted and purified by having passed
through the Eternal bosom.
The priestly powers conveyed by this faculty of sympa
thizing, according to the text are two : the power of. mercy,-
and the power of having grace to help. " Therefore " — be
cause He can be touched — " let us come boldly," expecting
mercy — and grace.
1. We may boldly expect mercy from Him who has learned
to sympathize. He learned sympathy by being tempted :
but it is by being tempted, yet without sin, that He is spe
cially able to show mercy.
There are two who are unfit for showing mercy : He who

96 The Sympathy of Christ.
has never been tried; and he who, having been tempted, has
fallen under temptation. The young, untempted, and up
right, are often severe judges. They are for sanguinary pun
ishment : they are for expelling offenders from the bosom
of society. The old, on the contrary, who have fallen much,
are lenient ; but it is a leniency which often talks thus : Men
must be men — a young man must sow his wild oats and re
form. So young ardent Saul, untried by doubt, persecuted the
Christians with severity; and Saul the king, on the contrary,
having fallen himself, weakly permitted Agag to escape pun
ishment. David, again, when his OAvn sin was narrated to
him under another name, was unrelenting in his indignation :
" The man that hath done this thing shall surely die."
None of these were qualified for showing mercy aright.
Noav this qualification "Avithout sin" is very remarkable;
for it is the one Ave often least should think of. Unthinking
ly Ave should say that to have erred would make a man leni
ent : it is not so.
That truth is taught with deep significance in one of the
incidents of the Redeemer's life. There stood in His preg-
ence a tempted woman, covered with the confusion of recent
conviction. And there stood beside her the sanctimonious
religionists of that day, Avaiting like hell-hounds to be let
loose upon their prey. Calm words came from the lips of
Him "who spake as man never spake," and whose heart
felt as man never felt. " He that is without sin among you
let him first cast a stone." A memorable lesson of eternal
truth. Sinners are not fit to judge of sin : their justice is re
venge — their mercy is feebleness. He alone can judge of
sin — he alone can attemper the sense of what is due to the
offended law with the remembrance of that which is due to
human frailty — he alone is fit for showing manly mercy, who
has, like his Master, felt the poAver of temptation in its
might, and come scathless through the trial. "In all points
tempted — yet without sin /" therefore, to Him you may
"boldly go to find mercy."
2. The other priestly power is the grace of showing " help
in time of need."
We must not make too much of sympathy, as mere feeling.
We do in things spiritual as we do with hot-house plants.
The feeble exotic, beautiful to look at, but useless, has costly
sums spent on it. The hardy oak, a nation's strength, is per
mitted to grow, scarcely observed, in the fence and copses.
We prize feeling and praise its possessor. But feeling is
only a sickly exotic in itself — a passive quality, having in it

The Sympathy of Christ. 97
nothing moral, no temptation and no victory. A man is no
more a good man for having feeling, than he is for having a
delicate ear for music, or a far-seeing optic nerve. The Son
of man had feeling — He could be " touched." The tear
would start from His eyes at the sight of human sorrow.
But that sympathy was no exotic in His soul, beautiful to
look at, too delicate for use. Feeling with Him led to this,
" He went about doing good." Sympathy with Him was this,
" Grace to help in time of need."
And this is the blessing of the thought of Divine sympa
thy. By the sympathy of man, after all, the Avound is not
healed ; it is only stanched for a time. , It can make the tear
flow less bitterly : it can not dry it up. So far as permanent
good goes, Avho has not felt the deep truth which Job taught
his friends — " Miserable comforters are ye all ?"
The sympathy of the Divine Human! He knoAvs what
strength is needed. He gives grace to help ; and when the
world, with its thousand forms of temptation, seems to whis
per to us as to Esau, Sell me thy birthright, the other voice
speaks, Shall I barter blessedness for happiness — the inward
peace for the outward thrill — the benediction of my Father
for a mess of pottage ? There are moments Avhen Ave seem
to tread above this earth, superior to its allurements, able to
do without its kindness, firmly bracing ourselves to do our
work as He did His. Those moments are not the sunshine
of life. They did not come when the world would have said
that all round you Avas glad: but it Avas Avhen outAvard
trials had shaken the soul to its very centre, then there came
from Him "grace to help in time of need."
1. He who would sympathize must be content to be tried
and tempted. There is a hard and boisterous rudeness in
our hearts by nature which requires to be softened down.
We pass by suffering gayly, carelessly, not in cruelty, but
unfeelingly, just because Ave do not knoAV what suffering is.
We wound men by our looks and our abrupt expressions
Avithout intending it, because we have not been taught the
delicacy, and the tact, and the gentleness which can only be
learnt by the wounding of our OAvn sensibilities. There is a
haughty feeling in uprightness Avhich has never been on the
verge of fall that requires humbling. There is an inability
to enter into difficulties of thought which marks the mind to
which all things have been presented superficially, and
Avhich has never experienced the horror of feeling the ice of
doubt crashing beneath the feet.
Therefore, if you aspire to be a son of consolation — if you
would partake of the priestly gift of sympathy — if you
5

98 The Sympathy of Christ.
would pour something beyond commonplace consolation
into a tempted heart— if you would pass through the inter
course of daily life with the delicate tact which never in
flicts pain— if to that most acute of human ailments, mental
doubt, you are ever to give effectual succor, you must be
content to pay the price of the costly education. Like Him,
you must suffer — being tempted.
Bnt remember, it is being tempted in all points, yet with
out sin, that makes sympathy real, manly, perfect, instead of
a mere sentimental tenderness. Sin will teach you to feel
for trials. It will not enable you to judge them, to be mer
ciful to them, nor to help them in time of need with any cer
tainty. Lastly, it is this same human sympathy which qualifies
Christ for judgment. It is written that the Father hath
committed all judgment to Him, because He is the Son of
Man. The sympathy of Christ extends to the frailties of
human nature, not to its hardened guilt : He is " touched
with the feeling of our infirmities." There is nothing in His
bosom Avhich can harmonize with malice ; He can not feel
for envy; He has no fellow-feeling for cruelty — oppression
— hypocrisy ; bitter censorious judgments. Remember, He
could look round about Him with anger. The sympathy of
Christ is a comforting subject. It is, besides, a tremendous
subject ; for on sympathy the awards of heaven and hell are
built. "Except a man be born again" — not he shaU not,
but — " he can not enter into heaven." There is nothing in
him which has affinity to any thing in the Judge's_ bosom.
A sympathy for that which is pure implies a repulsion of
that, which is impure. Hatred of evil is in proportion to the
strength of love for good. To love good intensely is to hate
evil intensely. It was in strict accordance with the laws of
sympathy that He blighted Pharisaism in such ungentle
words as these : " Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers ! hoAV
can ye escape the damnation of hell?" Win the mind of
Christ now — or else His sympathy for human nature will
not save you from, but only insure, the recoil of abhorrence
at the last — " Depart from me ! I never knew you."

Pharisees and Sadducees at John's Baptism. 99

VIII.
THE PHARISEES AND SADDUCEES AT JOHN'S
BAPTISM.
" But when he saw many of the Pharisees and Sadducees come to his bap
tism, he said unto them, O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee
from the wrath to come 1 " — Matt. iii. 7.
It seems that the Baptist's ministry "had been attended
with almost incredible success, as if the population of the
country had been roused in mass by the tidings of his doc
trine. "Then went out to him Jerusalem, and all Judea,
and all the region round about Jordan, and Avere baptized
by him in Jordan, confessing their sins."
The success of his ministry was tested by the numbers
that he baptized. Not so a modern ministry. Ministerial
success is not shown now by the numbers who listen. Not
mere impression, but altered character, marks success. Not
by startling nor by electrifying congregations, but by turn
ing men from darkness unto light, from the power of Satan
unto God, is the work done. With John, however, it was
different. He was on earth to do a special work — the work'
of the axe, not the trowel ; to throAV down^ not to build ; to
startle, not to instruct ; and therefore his baptism was sim
ply symbolized by water, the washing aAvay of the past :
whereas that of Christ was symbolized by fire, the touching
of the life and heart with the living flame of a heavenlier
life. Whoever, therefore, came to John for baptism, possess
ed conviction of the truth of that which John taught, and
thereby so far tested the fidelity and success of his ministry.
Bearing, then, in mind, that coming to John's baptism was
the seal of his success, and that his baptism contained, in
symbolical form, the whole substance of his teaching, these
are the two topics of the text :
I. Tlie meaning wrapped up in John's message.
II. The Baptist's astonishment at his own success.
I. The meaning of John's message. His baptism implied
to those who came to put themselves under its protection
that they were in danger, for it Avas connected Avith the
warning, " Flee from the wrath to come !"

ioo Pharisees and Sadducees at John's Baptism.
Future retribution has become to us a kind of figment.
Hell is in the world of shadoAvs. The tone in which educa
ted men speak of it still, is often only that good-humored
condescension which makes allowance for childish supersti
tion. Part of this incredulity arises from the confessedly sym
bolical intimations of Scripture on the subject. We read
of the fire and the worm — of spirits being salted with fire —
of a lake of fire and brimstone. All this tells solely of phys
ical suffering. And accordingly, for centuries this was the
predominant conception of Christendom on the subject.
Scarcely any other element was admitted. Whoever has
seen those paintings on which the master-spirits in Art have
thrown down the conceptions of their age, will remember
that hideous demons, distorted countenances, and waves of
flame represent the whole idea. And in that immortal work
in which he Avho sang of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven has
embodied the belief of his day, still the same fact prevails.
You read of the victims, of unchaste life hurried on the dark
whirlwind forever; ofthe heretics in their coffins of intense
fire, and of the guilty spirits who are plunged deep down in
" thick-ribbed ice." But in those harrowing pictures which
his genius has painted with such vividness, there is not one
idea of mental suffering embodied. It is all bodily — awful, in
tolerable torture. Now all this Ave believe no longer. The
circles of hell and the mountain of purgatory are as fabulous
to us as the Tartarus .of the heathens. Singular that in an
age in which the chief aim of science appears to be to get rid
of physical paijp. and discomfort, as if these were the worst
evils conceivable, the idea of a bodily hell should be just the
one at which we have learnt to smile. But with the form,
Ave have also dispossessed ourselves of belief in the reality
of retribution at all.
Now Scripture language is symbolical. There is no salt,
no worm, no fire to torture. I say%not that a diseased soul
may not form for itself a tenement hereafter, as here, pecu
liarly fitted to be the avenue of suffering ; but unquestiona
bly we pan not build upon these expressions a material hell.
Hell is the infinite terror of the soul, whatever that may
be. To one man it is pain. Rid him of that, he can bear all
degradation. _ To another it is public shame. Save him from
that, and he will creep and crawl before you to submit to any
reptile meanness. "Honor me noAV, I pray thee, before the
people," cries Saul, till Samuel turns from the abject thing in
scorn. To others, the infinite terror is that compared with
which all these Avould be a bed of roses. It is the hell of

Pharisees and Sadducees at John's Baptism, i oi
having done wrong — the hell of having had a spirit from
God, pure, with high aspirations, and to be conscious of hav
ing dulled its delicacy and degraded its desires — the hell -of
having quenched a light brighter than the sun's — of having
done to another an injury that through time and through
eternity never can be undone — infinite, maddening remorse
— the hell of knowing that every chance of excellence, and
every opportunity of good, has been lost forever. This is the
infinite terror; this is wrath to come.
You doubt that? Have you ever marked that striking
fact, the connection of the successive stages of the soul?
How sin can change the countenance, undermine the health,
produce restlessness ? Think you the grave will end all that
— that by some magic change the moral being shall be bur
ied there, and the soul rise again so changed in every feeling
that the very identity of being would be lost, and it would
amount to the creation of a new soul ? Say you that God is
love ? Oh, but look round this world. The aspect of things
is stern— very stern. If they be ruled by love, it is a love
which does not shrink from human agony. There is a law
of infinite mercy here, but there is a law of boundless rigor
too. Sin, and you will suffer — that law is not reversed. The
young, and the gentle, and the tender, are inexorably sub
jected to it. We would shield them if we could, but there is
that which says they shall not be shielded. They shall weep,
and fade, and taste of mortal anguish, even as others. Carry
that out into the next Avorld, and you have " wrath to come."
John's baptism, besides, implied the importance of confes
sion. "They were baptized, .... confessing their sins."
On the eve of a promised neAv life, they were required to ac
knowledge the iniquity of their past life. In the cure of our
spiritual maladies there is a wondrous efficacy, to use a home
ly phrase, in making a " clean breast." There is something
strengthening, something soothing, and at the same time
something humbling, in acknowledging that we have done
wrong. There is" a pride in us which can not bear pity.
There is a diseased sensitiveness which shrinks from the
smart of acknowledgment ; and yet that smart must be borne
before we can be truly soothed. When was it that the
younger son in the pal-able received the ring, and the robe,
and the banquet, which represent the rapture of the sense
of being forgiven ? When he had fortitude enough to go
back, mile by mile, step by step, every inch of the way he
had gone wrong, had borne unflinchingly the sneer of his fa
ther's domestics, and, worse than all, the sarcasms of his im
maculate brother, and manfully said out, "Father, I have

102 Pharisees and Sadducees at Johris Baptism.
sinned against heaven and before thee." When, was it that
the publican Avent down justified to his house — when he said,
even before a supercilious Pharisee, " God be merciful to me
a sinner ?" When did the royal delinquent hear the words,
" The Lord hath also put away thy sin ?" When he gave
the sacrifice of his lips—" I have sinned before the Lord."
And when did the Church of Ephesus rise into the bright
est model of a perfect church that has yet been exhibited on
earth ? After her converts had publicly come forward, burnt
those manuscripts which were called " Ephesian letters " to
the value of 50,000 pieces of silver, " confessed and showed
their deeds."
There is a profound truth in the popular anxiety that a
murderer should confess before he dies. It. is an instinctive
feeling that a true death is better than a false life — that to
die with unacknowledged guilt is a kind of lie. To acknowl
edge his sin is to put it from him — to abjure it — to refuse to
acknowledge it as part of himself— to separate it from him —
to say, I will keep it as mine no more : then it is gone. Who
here has a secret of guilt lying like lead upon his heart ? As
he values serenity of soul, let that secret be made known.
And if there be one to-day who is impressed or touched by
all this, let him beware how he procrastinates that which
was done when John baptized. The iron that once was cool
ed may never be warmed again — the heart that once had its
flood-gates open, and has delayed to pour out the stagnation
of its wretchedness, may be closed forever.
Once more, John's baptism implied the necessity of a re
newal of heart. .We lose part ofthe significance of that cer
emony from its transplantation away from a climate in which
it was natural and appropriate.
Ablution in the East is almost a religious duty : the dust
and heat weigh upon the spirits and heart like a load ; the
removal is refreshment and happiness. And it was impossi
ble to see that significant act — in which the convert went
doAvn into the water, travel-worn and soiled with dust, disap
peared for one moment, and then emerged pure and fresh —
without feeling that the symbol answered to, and interpreted
a strong craving of the human heart. It is the desire to wash
away that which is past and evil. We would fain go to an
other country and begin life afresh. We look upon the grave
almost with complacency, from the fancy that there we shall
lie down to sleep and Avake fresh and new. It Avas this same
longing that expressed itself in heathenism by the fabled
river of forgetfulness, of which the dead must drink before
they can enter into rest.

Pharisees and Sadducees at John s Baptism. 103
Now to that craving John gave reality and meaning when
he said, "Behold the Lamb of God !" For else that craving
is but. a sick fond wish. Had John merely said, " Flee from
the wrath to come 1" he would have filled man's life with the
terrors of anticipated hell. Had he only said, " My baptism
implies that ye must be pure," he would have crushed men's
hearts with the feeling of impossibility ; for excellence without
Christ is but a dream. He gave meaning and promise to all
when he said, " Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away
the sins ofthe world."
Sin-laden and guilty men — the end of all the Christian min
istry is to say that out with power, " Behold the Lamb of
God !" Divine life and death ! to have had one glimpse of
which, with its ennobling impulses, it were worth while to
have endured a life of suffering. When we believe that the
sacrifice of that Lamb meant love to us, our hearts are light
ened of their load : the past becomes as nothing, and life be
gins afresh. Christ is the river of forgetfulness in which by
gone guilt is overwhelmed.
II. The Baptist's astonishment at his own success. It was
a singular scene which was exhibited in those days on the
banks of Jordan. There was a crowd of human beings, each
having a history of his own, — men who have long mouldered
in earth's dust, but who were living then in fresh and vigor
ous existence. Think of it. Busy life was moving there —
beings who had their hopes and fears about time and eter
nity, to whom life was dear as it is to us at this day. They
had come to be cured of that worst of human maladies, the
aching of a hollow heart ; and a single mortified man was
bending over them, whose countenance bore all that peculiar
aspect of saintliness which comes from spare diet and austere
habits, and all that unruffled composure which comes from
lonely communings with God : — a solitary man, who had led
a hermit's life, but was possessed of rare sagacity in worldly
matters ; — for, hermit as he was, John took no half-views of
men and things : there was nothing morbid in his view of
life; there was sound common sense in the advice he gave
the different classes which came to him. "Repent," with
him, did not mean, Come with me into the Avilderness to live
away from the world,, but it meant this : Go back to the
world, and live above it, each doing his work in an unworld
ly spirit. It was a strange spectacle, men ofthe world com
ing with implicit reverence to learn the; duties of active life
from a man whose world Avas the desert, and who knew noth
ing of active life except by hearsay.

104 Pharisees and Sadducees at John's Baptism.
Now what was the secret of this power by which he chained
the hearts of men as by a spell ?
One point in the secret of this success was a thing which
we see every day. Men of thought and quiet contemplation
exercise a wonderful influence over men of action. We ad
mire that which we are not ourselves. The man of business
owns the control of the man of religious thoughtfulness.
Like coalesces in this world with unlike. The strong and
the weak, the contemplative and the active, bind themselves
together. They are necessary for each other. The active
soldiers and the scheming publicans came to the lonely, as
cetic John to hear something of that still, inner life, of which
their own career could tell them nothing.
A second cause of this success appears to have been that
it was a ministry of terror. Fear has a peculiar fascination.
As children love the tale of the supernatural which yet makes
them shudder, so do men, as it would seem, find a delight in
the pictures of eternal woe which terrify them — partly from
the pleasure which there is in vivid emotions, and partly, per
haps, from a kind of feeling of expiation in the horror which
is experienced. You could not go among the dullest set of
rustics and preach graphically and terribly of hell-fire Avith-
out insuring a large audience. The preaching of John in
this respect differed from the tone of Christ's. Christ taught
much that God is love. He spoke a great deal of the Fa
ther Avhich is in heaven. He instructed in those parables
which required thoughtful attention, exercise of mind, and a
gently sensitive conscience. He spoke didactic, calm dis
courses, very engaging, but with little excitement in them :
such discourses as the Sermon on the Mount, respecting
goodness, purity, duties ; which assuredly, if any one were
to venture so to speak before a modern congregation, would
be stigmatized as a moral essay. Accordingly His success
was much less marked than that of John's. No crowds were
baptized as His followers : one hundred and twenty, in an
upper chamber, appear to have been the fruits of his life-
Avork. To teach so, is assuredly not the way to make strong
impressions ; but it is the way to work deeply, gloriously —
for eternity. How many of John's terrified Pharisees and
Sadducees, suppose we, retained the impression six months ?
What is your religion ? Excitability, romance, impression,
fear ? Remember, excitement has its uses, impression has its
value. John, in all circumstances of his appearance and style
of teaching, impressed by exciteme'nt. Excitement, warmed
feelings, make the first actings of religious life and the break
ing of inveterate habits easier. But excitement and impret-

Pharisees and Sadducees at John's Baptism. 105
sion are not religion. Neither can you trust to the alarm
produced by the thought of eternal retribution. Ye that
have been impressed, beware hoAV you let those impressions
die away. Die they will, and must : we can not live in ex
citement forever ; but beware of their leaving behind them
nothing except a languid, jaded heart. If God ever gave you
the excitements of religion, breaking in upon your monotony,
t.i John's teaching broke in upon that of Jerusalem, take care.
There is no restoring of elasticity to the spring that has been
overbent. Let impression pass on at once to acting.
We have another cause to assign for John's success. Men
felt that he was real. Reality is the secret of all success.
Religion in Jerusalem had long become a thing of forms.
Men had settled into a routine of externals, as if all religion
centred in these. Decencies and proprieties formed the sub
stance of human life. And here was a man in God's world
once more who felt that religion is an everlasting reality.
Here was a man once more to tell the world that life is
sliding into the abyss — that all we see is but a shadow — that
the invisible Life within is the only real life. Here was a
man who could feel the splendors of God shining into his
soUl in the desert without the aid of forms. His locust-food,
his hair-garment, his indifference to earthly comforts, spoke
out once more that one at least could make it a conviction
to live and die upon, that man does not live on bread alone,
but on the Living Word Avhich proceedeth out of the mouth
of God. And when that crowd dispersed at sunset, and John
was left alone in the tAvilight, with the infinite of darkness
deepening round him, and the roll- of Jordan by his side, re
flecting the chaste, clear stars, there was something there
higher than Pharisaic forms to speak to him : there was
heaven and eternity to force him to be real. This life was
s-wiftly passing. What is it to a man living like John but a
show and a dream? He was homeless upon earth. Well,
but beyond — beyond — in the blue eternities above, there Avas
the prophet's home. He had cut himself off from the solaces
of life. He was to make an enemy of the man of honor, Her
od. He had made an enemy of the man of religion, the Phar
isee. But he Avas passing into that country where it matters
little whether a man has been clothed in finest linen or in
coarsest camel's hair : that still country, where the struggle-
storm of life is over, and such as John find their rest at last
in the home of God, which is reserved for the true and brave.
If perpetual familiarity with such thoughts as these can not
make a man real, there is nothing in this Avorld that can.
And now look at this man, so disciplined. Life to John
5*

106 Pharisees and Sadducees at John's Baptism.
was a reality. The citizens of Jerusalem could not go to
him, as they might have gone to the schools of their rabbis,
for learned subtleties, or to the groves of Athenian literature
for melting imagery. Speech falls from him sharp — rugged
—cutting : — a word, and no more. " Repent !" — " wrath to
come." "The axe is laid at the root of the trees." "Fruit
less trees will be cast into the fire." He spoke as men speak
when they are in earnest, simply and abruptly, as if the
graces of oratory were out of place. And then, that life of
his ! The world could understand it. There was written on
it, in letters that needed no magnifying-glass to read, " Not
of this world."
It is, after all, this which tells — the reality of umvorldli-
ness. The world is looking on to see what religious people
mean. It has a most profound contempt for unreality. Such a
man as John comes before them. Well, we understand that :
— we do not like him: get him out of the way, and kill him
if he interferes with us — but it is genuine. They then turn
and see other men drawing ingenious distinctions between
one kind of amusement and another — indulging themselves
on the sabbath-day and condemning others who do similar
things, and calling that unworldliness. They see that a
religious man has a shrewd eye to his interests — is quick at
making a bargain — captivated by show and ostentation —
affects" titled society. The world, is very keen-sighted: it
looks through the excitement of your religious meetings,
quietly watches the rest of your scandal, scans your, con
sciousness, and the question which the world keeps putting
pertinaciously is^Are these men in earnest ? Is it any mar
vel if Christian unreality is the subject of scoffs and bitter
irony ?
Let men see that you are real— '-inconsistent, it may be,
sinful : oh, full of sin, impetuous, hasty, perhaps stern — John
was. But compel them to feel that you are in earnest.
This is the secret of influence.
So much, then, for the causes of success. Now let us an
alyze that success a little more closely, by considering the
classes of men on whom that influence told.
First of all, we read of soldiers, publicans, and the poor
people, coming to John for advice, and with the acknowl
edgment of guilt, and we do not read that their arrival
excited the smallest emotion of astonishment in John's
bosom. The wonder Avas not there. No wonder that the
poor, whose lot in this World is hard, should look wistfully
for another. No wonder that soldiers, with their prompt
habits of obedience and their perpetual opportunities of self

Pharisees and Sadducees at John's Baptism. 107
devotion, should recognize Avith reverence the type of heroic
life which John presented. No Avonder that the guilty pub
licans should come for purification of heart. For is it not
true that the world's outcasts may be led by their very sin
to Christ ? It is no wonder to see a saddened sinner seeking
in the disappointment and weariness of solitary age that
which he rejected in the heat of youth. Why, even the
Avorld is not astonished when it sees the sinner become the
saint. Of course, the world has its own sarcastic account to
give. Dissipation leads to weariness, and weariness to sati
ety, and satiety to devotion, and so your great sinner be
comes a great saint, and serves God Avhen all his emotions
are exhausted. Be it so. He who knew our nature well,
knew that marvellous revolutions go on in the soul of a man
Avhom the world counts lost. In our wildest Avanderings
there is sometimes a love, strong as a father's, tender as a
mother's, Avatching over us, and bringing back the erring
child again. Know you not the law of Nature ? Have you
never seen how out of chaos and ferment Nature brings
order again — life out of death, beauty out of corruption ?
Such, gainsay it who will, often is the history of the rise of
saintliness and purity out of a disappointed, bruised, and
penitent spirit. When the life-hopes have become a wreck
— when the cravings of the heart for keen excitement have
been ministered to so abundantly as to leave nothing but
loathing and self-reproach behind — when innocence of heart
is gone — yes, even then — scoff Avho Avill — the voice of Him
is heard, who so dearly purchased the right to say it : " Come
unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will
give you rest."
John was not surprised that such came to him, owning
the power of life-giving truth.
But among those who came, there were tAvo classes Avho
did move him to marvel. The first was the moral, self-satis
fied formalist. The second Avas the calm, metaphysical,
reasoning infidel. When he saw the Pharisees and. Saddu
cees coming, he said : " Who hath Avarned you P" Now who
were these llien ?
The Pharisees were men who rested satisfied Avith the
outward. The form of religion, Avhich varies in all ages, that
they wanted to stereotype. The inner heart of religion —
the unchangeable — justice, mercy, truth — that they could not
feel. They had got their two schools of orthodoxy — the
school of Shammai and the school of Hillel ; and, under the
orthodoxy of these popular idols of the day, they were con
tent to lose their oAvn power of independent thought : souls

108 Pharisees and Sadducees at John's Baptism.
that had shrunk aAvay from all goodness and nobleness, and
Avithered into the mummy of a soul. They could jangle
about the breadth of a phylactery ; they could discuss, as if
it were a matter of life and death, ecclesiastical questions
about tithe; they could decide' to a furlong the length of
journey allowable on the sabbath-day ; but they could not
look Avith mercy upon a broken heart pouring itself out to
God in His temple, nor suffer a hungry man to rub an ear
of corn on the Sabbath, nor cover the shame of a tempted
sister or an erring brother. Men without souls, from Avhose
narroAV hearts the grandeur of everlasting truth was shut out.
There Avas another class in Israel as different from the
Pharisees as man can be from man. The Sadducees could
not be satisfied with the creed of Pharisaism, and had begun
to cross-examine its pretensions. They felt that the thing
which stood before them there, challenging the exclusive
name of religion, Avith its washing of cups, its fastings, its
parchment texts, this had nothing in it of the Eternal and
the Infinite. This comes not from the Almighty God, and so
from doubt they passed on to denial. The usual order had
taken place. The reaction from superstition is infidelity.
The reaction from ultra-strictness is laxity. The reaction
from Pharisaism was the Sadducee. And the Sadducee, with
a dreadful daring, had had the firmness to say : " Well then,
there is no life to come. That is settled. I have looked
into the abyss without trembling. There is no phantom
there. There is neither angel, spirit, nor life to come. And
this glorious thing, man, Avith his deep thoughts, and his
great, unsatisfied heart, his sorrows and his loves, godlike
and immortal as he seems, is but dust animated for a time,
passing into the nothingness out of Avhich he came." That
cold and hopeless creed was the creed of Sadduceeism. Hu
man souls were trying to live on that, and find it enough.
And the strange thing was that these men, so positive in
their creed, so distinct in their denial, so intolerant of the
very name of future existence, croAvded to John to make
those confessions, and promise that new life, which were
meet for men who desired to flee from the Avrath to come.
Wrath to come! What had the infidel to do Avith that?
Repentance unto life ! Why should the denier of life listen
to that ? - Fruits meet for repentance ! What had the form
alist to do with that rebuke, whose life was already all that
could be needed ? " O generation of vipers," said the proph
et, in astonishment, "who hath warned you to flee from the
Avrath to come ?"
I deduce, from those facts which astonished John, two

Pharisees and Sadducees at John's Baptism. 1 09
truths. Formalism, even morality, will not satisfy the con
science of man. Infidelity will not give rest to his troubled
spirit. It is a pregnant lesson, if we will only read it thought
fully, to consider those tAvo classes going up for baptism.
That heart of man which the moralist tells us is so pure and
excellent, the light of day has shone into it, and behold, in
the moralist's self, it is not pure, but polluted and miserable :
else, what has that Pharisee to do Avith the symbol of new
life which he has gone to John to use ? That clear, unbiased
intellect with which the skeptic reached his conclusions, be
hold it is not clear nor unbiased ! It has been warped by
an evil life. His heart is restless, and dark, and desolate ;
else, why is that Sadducee trembling on Jordan's brink?
There is a something which they Avant, both Pharisee and
Sadducee, and they come to see if baptism will give it them.
Strangely moved indeed must those men have been — ay,
shaken to the inmost soul — before they could so contradict
their oAvn profession as to acknowledge that there was a
hollowness in their hearts. We almost fancy we can stand
at .the water's edge and hear the confession which was wrung
from their lips, hot-burning and choked with sobs, during the
single hour in which reality had forced itself upon their
souls: — "It is a lie ! — we are not happy — we are miserable
— Prophet of the Invisible ! what hast thou got to tell us of
that awful other world ?"
For when man comes to front the everlasting God, and
look the splendor of His judgments in the face, personal in
tegrity, the dream of spotlessness and innocence, vanish into
thin , air : your decencies, and your church-goings, and your
regularities, and your attachment to a correct school and
party, your gospel formulas of sound doctrine — what is all
that, in front of the blaze of the wrath to come ?
And skepticism too, how philosophical and manly soeA'er
it may appear, will it rock the conscience with an everlast
ing lullaby ? Will it make, with all its reasonings, the tooth
of the worm less sharp, and the fire less fierce that smoulders
inwardly ? Let but the plain, true man speak. We ask
from him no rhetoric. We require no eloquence. Let him
but say, in his earnestness, Repent — or — Wrath to come, and
then what has infidelity to fall back upon ?
There is rest in this world nowhere except in Christ the
manifested love of God. Trust in excellence, and the better
you become, the keener is the feeling of deficiency. Wrap
up all in doubt, and there is a stern voice that Avill thunder
at last out ofthe wilderness upon your dream.
A heart reneAved — a loving heart — a penitent and humble

i io Caiaphas' s View of Vicarious Sacrifice.
heart — a heart broken and contrite, purified by love — that
and only that is the rest of man. Spotlessness may do for
angels, repentance unto life is the highest that belongs to
man.

IX.
CAIAPHAS'S VIEW OF VICARIOUS SACRIFICE.
"And one of them, named Caiaphas, being the high-priest that same
year, said unto them, Ye know nothing at all, nor consider . that it is expe
dient for us, that one man should die for the people, and that the whole,na-
tion perish not. And this spake he not of himself: but being high-priest
that year, he prophesied that Jesus should die for that nation ; and not for
that nation only, but that also he should gather together in one the children
of God that were scattered abroad. Then from that day forth they took
counsel together to put him to death." — John xi. 49-53.
0>r this occasion, the first resolution passed the Jewish
Sanhedrim to compass the death of Jesus. The immediate
occasion of their meeting was the fame of the resurrection of
Lazarus. There were many causes which made the Saviour
obnoxious to the priests and Pharisees. If that teaching
were once received, their reign was over : a teaching which
abolished the pretensions of a priesthood, by making every
man his own priest, to offer spiritual sacrifices to God —
which identified religion with Goodness: — making spiritual
excellence, not ritual' regularity, the righteousness which
God accepts — Afhich brought God within the reach of1 the
sinner and the fallen — which simplified the whole matter by
making religion a thing of the heart, and not of rabbinical
learning or theology : — such teaching swept away all the ex
clusive pretensions of Pharisaism, made the life which they
had been building up with so much toil for years time
wasted, and reduced their whole existence to a lie.
This was the ground of their hatred to the Son of Man.
But this was not the ground which they put forward. He
Avas tried chiefly on the charge of treason against the Em
peror; and the argument by which the mind of the judge
Avas principally swayed was, " If thou let this man go, thou
art not Caesar's friend." The present passage contains the
first trace of the adoption of that ground. " If we let him
alone, the Romans will come and take away both our place
and nation."
Be it observed, then, the real ground of opposition was
hatred of the light. The ostensible ground was patriotism,

Caiaphas 's View of Vicarious Sacrifice. 1 1 1
public zeal, loyalty, far-sighted policy ; and such is life. The
motive on AArhicha deed of sin is done is not the motive
which a man alloAvs to others, or whispers to himself. Listen
to the criminal receiving sentence, and the cause of condem
nation's not the enormity of the crime, but the injustice of
the country's law. Hear the man of disorderly life, whom
society has expelled from her bosom, and the cause of the
expulsion is not his profligacy, but the false slander which
has misrepresented him. Take his own account of the
matter, and he is innocent — injured — pure. For there are
names so tender, and so full of fond endearment, with which
this world sugars over its dark guilt towards God, with a
crust of superficial whiteness, that the sin on which eighteen
centuries have looked back appalled was, to the doers of
that sin, nothing atrocious, but respectable, defensible, nay
even, under the circumstances, necessary.
The judgment of one of these righteous murderers was
given in remarkable terms. Apparently there Avere some in
the council, such men as Nicodemus, who could not acquiesce
in the view given of the matter. Doubtless they alleged the
unfairness of the .proceeding, and the innocence of the ac
cused ; upon which Caiaphas, replied, " Ye knoAV nothing at
all, nor consider that it is expedient that one man die for the
people, and that the whole nation perish not." The remark
able point in this judgment is, that it contained the very cen
tral doctrine of Christianity : unconsciously, Caiaphas had
uttered the profoundest of all truths, the necessity of the
innocent suffering for the guilty. He had stated it in the
very words which St. John could have himself adopted. But
they meant one thing in the lips of holy Love, and quite an
other thing in the lips of tyrannical Policy. Yet St. John,
contemplating that sentence years after, could not but feel
.that there was something in the words deeper than met the
ear — a truth almost inspired, which he did not hesitate to
call prophetic. " Being high-priest that year, he prophesied."
We must not, therefore, call this merely a singular coinci
dence. It Avas the same truth viewed from different sides :
the side of Caiaphas, and the side of John ; the side of the
world, and the side of God. That truth was the vicarious
sacrifice of Christ.
And there are tAVO ways in which you may contemplate
that sacrifice. Seen from the world's point of view, it is
unjust, gross, cruel. Seen as John saw it, and as God looks
at it, it was the sublimest of all truths ; one which so entwines
itself with our religious consciousness, that you might as soon
tear from us our very being, as our convictions ofthe reality

112 Caiaphas' s View of Vicarious Sacrifice.
of Christ's atonement. Our subject, then, is the vicarious
sacrifice of Christ. The words of Caiaphas contain a formal
falsehood and a material truth : the outward statement, and
an inspired or prophetic inward verity — so that the subject
branches into two topics :
I. The human form, in which the Avords are false.
II. The divine principle or spirit, in Avhich they are true.
I. The human form, in which the words are false.
Vicarious means in the stead of. When the Pope calls
himself the vicar of Christ, he means that he is empowered
in the stead of Christ to absolve, decree, etc. When Ave
speak of vicarious suffering, we mean that suffering which is
endured in another's stead, and not as the sufferer's own
desert. 1. The first falsity in the human statement of that truth of
vicarious sacrifice is its injustice. Some one said the accused
is innocent. The reply was, Better that one should die than
many. " It is expedient for us, that one man should die for
the people, and that the whole nation perish not." It was
simply Avith Caiaphas a question of numbers : the unjust ex
pediency of wresting the law a little to do much apparent
good. The reply to that was plain. Expediency can not
obliterate right and wrong. Expediency may choose the
best possible when the conceivable best is not attainable ;
but in right and wrong there is "no better and best. Thou
shalt not do Avrong. Thou must not : you may not tell a lie
to save life. Better that the whole JeAvish nation should per
ish, than that a Jewish legislature should steep its hand in
the blood of one innocent. It is not expedient to do injustice.
There are cases in Avhich it is expedient to choose the sac
rifice of one instead of that of many. When a whole army
or regiment has mutinied, the commander, instead of general
butchery, may select a few to perish as examples to the rest.
There is nothing here unjust. The many escape, but the few
who. die deserve to die. But no principle could justify a
commander in selecting an innocent man, condemning him
by unjust sentence, and affecting to believe that he was
guilty, while the transgressors escaped, and learned the
enormity of their transgressions by seeing execution done
upon the guiltless. No principle can justify-^nothing can
do more than palliate the conduct of the ship's crew upon
the raft who slay one of their number to support their exist
ence on his flesh. No man would justify the parent, pursued
in his chariot by wolves over Siberian snows, who throws out
one of his children to the pack, that the rest may escipe

Caiaphas' s View of Vicarious Sacrifice. 1 1 3
while their fangs are buried in their victim. You feel at
once expediency has no place here. Life is a trifle compared
Avith law. Better that all should perish by a visitation of
God, than that they should be Saved by one murder.
I do not deny that this aspect has been given to the sacri
fice of Christ. It has been represented as if the majesty of
law demanded a victim : and, so as it glutted its insatiate
thirst, one victim would do as well as another — the purer
and the more innocent the better. It has been exhibited as
if Eternal Love resolved in fury to strike, and so as He had
His blow, it mattered not whether it fell on the Avhole Avorld,
or on the precious head of His own chosen Son.
Unitarianism has represented the Scriptural view in this
Avay, or, rather perhaps, we should say, it has been so repre
sented to Unitarians — and, from a view so horrible, no won
der if Unitarianism has recoiled. But it is not our fault if
some blind defenders of the truth have converted the self-de
votion of love into a Brahminical sacrifice. If the work of
redemption be defended by parallels drawn from the most
atrocious records and principles of heathenism, let not the
fault be laid upon the Bible. We disclaim that as well as
they. It makes God a Caiaphas. lt makes Him adopt the
Avords of Caiaphas in the sense of Caiaphas. It represents
Him in terms Avhich better describe the ungoverned rage of
Saul, missing his stroke at David, who has offended, and in
disappointed fury dashing his javelin at his oAvn son Jon
athan. You must not represent the Atonement as dependent on
the justice of unrighteous expediency.
2. This side of viewing the truth was the side of selfish
ness. It was not even the calm resolve of men balancing
whether it be better for one to die or many, but whether it
is better that He or we should perish. It is conceivable in
the case supposed above, that a parent in the horrible di
lemma should be enough bewildered to resolve to sacrifice
one rather than lose all ; but it is not conceivable that the
doubt in his mind should be this — Shall I and the rest per
ish or this one ? — yet this was the spirit in which the party
of Caiaphas spoke. "The Romans Avill come and take away
our place and our nation."
And this spirit, too, is in human nature. The records of
antiquity are full of it. If a fleet could not sail, it was as
sumed that the deities were offended. The purest and tsn-
derest maiden of the royal household was selected to bleed
upon the altar : and when the sharp knife passed to her in
nocent heart, this was the feeling in the bosoms of those

114 Caiaphas' s View of Vicarious Sacrifice.
stern and unrelenting warriors — of the blood and of the
stock of Caiaphas — Better she should suffer than we.
This may be the way in Avhich the .Sacrifice of Christ is re
garded by us. There is a kind of acquiescence in the Atone
ment which is purely selfish. The more bloody the repre
sentation of the character of God, the greater, of course, the
satisfaction in feeling sheltered from it. The more wrath in
stead of love is believed to be the Divine name, the more
may a man find joy in believing that he is safe. It is the
feeling of the Siberian story: the innocent has glutted the
wolves, and we may pursue our journey in safety. Christ
has suffered, and I am safe. He bore the agony — I take the
reward : I may now live with impunity : and, of course, it is
very easy to call acquiescence in that arrangement humility,
and to take credit for the abnegation of self-righteousness :
but whoever can acquiesce in that thought chiefly in refer
ence to personal safety, and, without desiring to share the
Redeemer's cross, aspire to enjoy the comforts and the bene
fits of the Redeemer's sacrifice, has but something of the
spirit of Caiaphas after all, the spirit which contentedly sac
rifices another for self — selfishness assuming the form of wis
dom. II. We pass to the prophetic or hidden spirit in which
these words are true.
I observe, first, that vicarious sacrifice is the Law of Be
ing. It is a mysterious and fearful thing to observe how all
God's universe is built upon this law, how it penetrates and
pervades all Nature, so that if it were to cease, Nature Avould
cease to exist. Hearken to the Saviour himself expounding
this principle : "Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground
and die, it abideth alone : but if it die, it bringeth forth much
fruit." We are justified, therefore, in assuming the Law of
Nature to be the Law of His own Sacrifice, for He himself
represents it as the parallel.
Now observe this world of God's. The mountain-rock
must have its surface rusted into putrescence and become
dead soil before the herb can grow. The destruction of the
mineral is the life of the vegetable. Again the same process
begins. The " corn of wheat dies," and out of death more
abundant life is born. Out of the soil in Avhich deciduous
leaves are buried, the young tree shoots vigorously, and
strikes its roots deep down into the realm of decay and
death. Upon the life of the vegetable world, the myriad
forms of higher life sustain themselves— still the same law :
the sacrifice of life to give life. Farther still : have we

Caiaphas' s View of Vicarious Sacrifice. 1 1 5
never pondered over that mystery of nature — the dove
struck down by. the hawk — the deer trembling beneath the
stroke of the lion — the winged fish falling into the jaws of
the dolphin ? It is the solemn law of vicarious sacrifice
again. And as often as man sees his table covered with the
flesh of animals slain, does he behold, whether he think of it
or not, the deep mystery and law of being. They have sur
rendered their innocent lives that he may live.
Nay, farther still : it is as impossible for man to live as it
is for man to be redeemed, except through A'icarious suffer
ing. The anguish of the mother is the condition of the
child's life. His very being has its roots in the law of sacri
fice ; and from his birth onAvard, instinctively this becomes
the law which rules his existence. There is no blessing
which was ever enjoyed , by man which did not come
through this. There was never a country cleared for civili
zation, and purified of its swamps and forests, but the first
settlers paid the penalty of that Avhich their successors en
joy. There never was a victory won, but the conquerors
Avho took possession of the conquest passed over the bodies
of the noblest slain, who died that they might win.
Now observe, all this is the law obeyed, either uncon
sciously or else instinctively. But in the redemption of our
humanity, a moment comes, when that law is recognized as
the Avill of God adopted consciously, and voluntarily obeyed
as the law of man's existence. Then it is that man's true
nobleness, his only possible blessedness, and his redemption
from blind instincts and mere selfishness, begin. You may
evade that law — you may succeed in living as Caiaphas did,
sacrificing others instead of yourself— and men will call you
Avise, and prudent, and respectable. But you are only a
Caiaphas : redeemed you are not. Your proper humanity
has not begun.
The highest Man recognized that law, and joyfully em
braced it as the law of His existence. It was the conscious
ness of His surrender to that as God's will, and the voluntari
ness of the act, Avhich made it sacrifice. Hear Him : " No
man taketh my life from me. I have power to lay it down,
and I have poAver to take it up again." " This command
ment have I received from my Father." Had he been by
the wiles of Caiaphas simply surprised and dragged strug
gling and reluctant to doom, He Avould have been a victim,
but not a sacrifice; He would have been an object of our
compassion, but by no means of our admiring wonder. It
was the foresight of all. the result of His opposition to the
world's sin, and His steady uncompromising battle against

1 1 6 Caiaphas' s View of Vicarious Sacrifice.
it notwithstanding, in every one of its fonns, knowing that
He must be its victim at the last, which prevented His death
from being merely the death of a lamb slain unconsciously on
Jewish altars, and elevated it to the dignity of a true and
proper sacrifice.
We go beyond this, however. It was not merely a sacri
fice, it was a sacrifice for sin. " His soul was made an offer
ing for sin." Neither was it only a sacrifice for sin — it was
a "sacrifice for the world's sin. In the text, " that Jesus
should die for that nation ; and not for that nation only, but
that also He should gather together in one the children of
God that were scattered abroad."
Two ideas are necessary to be distinctly apprehended by
us in order to understand that : the first is the notion of
punishment, the second is the idea of the Avorld's sin.
By punishment is simply meant the penalty annexed to
transgression of a laAv. Punishment is of two kinds : the
penalty which folloAvs ignorant transgression, and the chas
tisement Avhich ensues upon willful disobedience. The first
of these is called imputed guilt, the second is actual guilt.
By imputed guilt is meant, in theological language, that a
person is treated as if he were guilty : if, for example, you ap
proach too near the whirling wheel of steam machinery, the
mutilation which follows is the punishment of temerity. If
the traveller ignorantly lays his hand on the cockatrice's
den, the throb of the envenomed fang is the punishment of
his ignorance. He has broken a law of nature, and tbe guilt
of the infection is imputed to him ; there is penalty, but there
is none ofthe ahastisement which follows sin. His conscience
is not made miserable. He only suffers.
Farther, according to the constitution of this world, it is
not only our own transgressions of ignorance, but besides,
the faults of others, which bring pain and sorrow on us. The
man of irritable and miserably nervous temperament owes
that often to a father's intemperance. Many a man has to
struggle all his life with the penury which he reaps as the
harvest of a distant ancestor's extravagance. In the strictest
sense of the word, these are punishments — the consequences
annexed to transgression : and, in the language of theology,
they are called imputed guilt. But there is an all-important
distinction between them and the chastisements of personal
iniquity.- If a man suffer ill health or poverty as the results
of his own misconduct, his conscience forces him to refer this
to the wrath of God. He is reaping as he had sown, and
the miseries of conscious fault are added to his penalty.
But if such things come as the penalty of the wrong of oth

Caiaphas' s View of Vicarious Sacrifice. 1 1 7
ers, then, philosophically though you may call them punish
ment, in the popular sense of the word they are no punish
ments at all, but rather corrective discipline, nay, even rich
est blessings, if they are received from a Father's hand, and
transmuted by humbleness into the means of spiritual
growth. Apply all this to the sacrifice of Christ. Let no man say
that Christ bore the wrath of God. Let no man say that
God was angry with His Son. We are sometimes told of a
mysterious anguish which Christ endured, the consequence
of Divine wrath, the sufferings of a heart laden Avith the
conscience ofthe world's transgressions which He was bear
ing as if they were His own sins. Do not add to the Bible
what is not in the Bible. The Redeemer's conscience was
not bewildered to feel that as His own which was not His
own. He suffered no wrath of God. Twice came the voice
from heaven, " This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well
pleased." There was seen an angel strengthening Him.
Nay, even to the last, never did the consciousness of purity
and the Father's love forsake Him. "Father, into Thy
hands I commend my spirit."
Christ came into collision with the world's evil, and He
bore the penalty of that daring. He approached the Avhirl-
ing wheel, and was torn in pieces. He laid His hand upon
the cockatrice's den, and its fangs pierced Him. It is the
law which gOArerns the conflict with evil. It can be only
crushed by suffering from it  The Son of man Avho
puts His naked foot on the serpent's head, crushes it : but
the fang goes into His heel.
The Redeemer bore imputed sin. He bore the penalty of
others' sin. He was punished. Did He bear the anger of
the Most High ? Was His the hell of an accusing con
science ? — In the name of Him who is God, not Caiaphas,
never. Something more, however, is necessary to complete
our notion of punishment. It is a right estimate of law.
We are apt to think of punishment as something quite arbi
trary, which can be remitted- or changed at will. Hence we
almost always connect it with the idea of Avrath; hence, the
heathen tried to bribe and coax their deities to spare ; and
hence the sacrifice of Christ comes to be looked upon in the
light of a sagacious or ingenious contrivance, a mere
"scheme" of redemption.
Now remember, what law is. The moral laws of this uni
verse are as immutable as God Himself. Law is the Being
of God. God can not alter those laAvs : He can not make
wron"- richt. Ho can not make truth falsehood, nor false-

1 1 8 Caiaphas1 s View of Vicarious Sacrifice.
hood truth. He can not make sin blessed, nor annex hell to
innocence. Law moves on its majestic course irresistible.
If His chosen Son violates law, and throws Himself from the
pinnacle, He dies. If you resist a law of the universe in its
eternal march, the universe crushes you, that is all. Consid
er what law is, and then the idea of bloody vengeance passes
away altogether from the sacrifice. It is not "an eye for an
eye," and " a tooth for a tooth," in the sanguinary spirit of
the old retaliatory legislation. It is the eternal impossibility
of violating that laAV ofthe universe whereby- penalty is an
nexed to transgressidn, and mu,*t fall, either laden with curse
or rich in blessing.
The second idea which it behooves us to master is that of
the world's sin. The Apostle John always viewed sin as a
great connected principle — One; a single world-spirit — ex
actly as the electricity with which the universe is charged is
indivisible, imponderable, one, so that you can not sepa
rate it fi;om the great ocean of fluid. The electric spark
that slumbers in the dew-drop is part of the flood whieh
struck the oak. Had that spark not been there, it could be
demonstrated that the whole previous constitution of the
universe might have been different, and the oak not have
been struck.
Let us possess ourselves of this view of sin, for it is the
true one. Separate acts of sin are but manifestations of one
great principle. It was thus that the Saviour looked on the
sins of His day. The Jews of that age' had had no hand in
the murder of Abel or Zacharias, but they were of kindred
spirit with the men who slew them. Condemning their
murderers, they imitated their act. In that imitation they
" allowed the deeds of their fathers ;" they shared in the
guilt of the act which had been consummated, because they
had the spirit Avhich led to it. "The blood of them all shall
come on this generation." It was so, too, that Stephen look
ed on the .act of his assassins. When God's glory streamed
upon his face, he felt that the transaction going on then was
not simply the violence of a mob in an obscure corner of the
world, it was an outbreak of the great principle of evil. He
saw in their act the resurrection of the spirit of those who
had " resisted the Holy Ghost" in their day, slain the proph
ets, opposed Moses, crucified " the just one," and felt that
their genuine descendants were now opposing themselves to
the form in which Truth and Goodness were appearing in
his day.
It is in this way only that you will be able, with any reali
ty of feeling, to enter into the truth that " your sins nailed

Caiaphas' s View of Vicarious Sacrifice. 119
Him to the cross ;" that " the Lord hath laid on Him the in
iquity of us all ;" that He died " not for that nation only,
but that also He should gather together in one the children
of God that were scattered abroad." If, for instance, indis
putable evidence be given ofthe saintliness of a man whose
creed and views are not yours, and rather than admit that
good in him is good, you invent all manner of possible mo
tives to discredit his excellence, then let the thought arise,
This is the resurrection of the spirit Avhich was rampant in
the days of Jesus ; the spirit of those who saw the purest
goodness, and rather than acknowledge it to be good, prefer
red to account for it as a diabolical poAver. Say to .yourself,
I am verging on the spirit of the sin that was unpardonable,
I am crucifying the Son of God afresh.
If in society you hear the homage unrebuked — Honor to
the rich man's splendid offering, instead of glory to the wid
ow's humble mite — if you see the weak and defenseless pun
ished severely for the sins Avhich the great and strong do un-
blushingly, and even with the connivance and admiration of
society — if you find sins of frailty placed on the same level
with sins of pride and presumption — or if you find guilt of
any kind palliated instead of mourned, then let the dreadful
thought arise in the fullness of its meaning — I alloAV the deeds
of those days — His blood shall come upon this generation.
My sin and your sin, the sin of all, bears the guilt of the Re
deemer's sacrifice. It icas vicarious — He suffered for what
He never did; " Not for that nation only, but that also He
should gather together in one the children of God that were
scattered abroad."
To conclude: estimate rightly the death of Christ. ItAvas
not simply the world's example — it Avas the Avorld's Sacrifice.
He died not merely as a martyr to the truth. His death is
the world's life. Ask ye what life is ? Life is not exemption
from penalty.. Salvation is not escape from suffering and
punishment. The Redeemer suffered punishment, but the Re
deemer's soul had blessedness in the very midst of punish
ment. Life is elevation of soul — nobleness— Divine charac
ter. The spirit of Caiaphas was death : to receive all, and
give nothing— to sacrifice others to himself. The spirit of
Christ was life: to give and not receive — to be sacrificed,
and not to sacrifice. Hear Him again: "He that loseth his
life, the same shall find it." That is life : the spirit of losing
all for love's sake. That, is the soul's life -which alone is
blessedness and heaven. By realizing that ideal of humani
ty, Christ furnished the life which we appropriate to our
selves only when we enter into His spirit.

120 Realizing the Second Advent.
Listen: Only by renouncing sin is His death to sin yours
— only by quitting it are you free from the guilt of His blood
— only by voluntary acceptance of the laAV of the Cross, self-
surrender to the Avill of God, and self-devotion to the good
of others as the laAV of your being, do you enter into that
present and future heaven Avhich is the purchase of His vica
rious sacrifice.

X.
REALIZING THE SECOND ADVENT.
" For I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the lat
ter day upon the earth : And. though after my skin worms destroy this body,
yet in my flesh shall I see God : "Whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes
shall behold, and not another; though my reins be consumed within me." —
Job xix. 25-27.
The hardest, the severest, the last lesson which man has
to learu upon this earth, is submission to the will of God. It
is the hardest lessdn, because to our blinded eye-sight it often
seems a cruel will. It is a severe lesson, because it can be
only taught by the blighting of much that had been most
dear. It is the last lesson, because when a man has learned
that, he is fit to be transplanted from a world of willfulness
to a world in which one will alone is loved, and only one is
done. All that saintly experience ever had to teach resolves
itself into this, the lesson how to say affectionately, "Not as
I will, but as Thou wilt." Slowly and stubbornly our hearts
acquiesce in that. The holiest in this congregation, so far as
he has mastered the lesson, will acknowledge that many a
sore and angry feeling against his God had to be subdued,
many a dream of earthly brightness broken, and many a
burning throb stilled in a proud, resentful heart, before he
was willing to suffer God to be sovereign in His own world,
and do with him and his as seemed to Him best.
The earliest record that we have of this struggle in the
human bosom is found in the Book of Job. It is the most
ancient statement Ave have of. the perplexities and miseries
of life, so graphic, so true to nature, that it proclaims at once
that what we are reading, is drawn not from romance but
life. It has been said that religious experience is but the fic
titious creation of a polished age, when fanciful feelings are
called into existence by hearts bent o<*ck in reflex anil mor
bid action on themselves. We Live an answer to that in
this book. Religion is no morbid fancy. In the rough, rude

Realizing the Second Advent. 1 2 1
ages when Job lived, when men did not dwell on their feel
ings as in later centuries, the heart-work of religion was
manifestly the same earnest, passionate thing that it is now.
The heart's misgivings were the same beneath the tent of an
Arabian Emir which they are beneath the roof of a modern
Christian. Blow after blow fell on the Oriental chieftain.
One day he Avas a father — a prince — the lord of many A'as-
sals and many flocks, aud buoyant in one of the best of bless
ings, health ; the next, he was a childless, blighted, ruined
man. And then it was that there came from Job's lips those
yearnings for the quiet of the grave which are so touching,
so real ; and, considering that some of the strongest of the
elect of God have yielded to them for a moment, Ave might
almost say, so pardonable: "I should"have been at rest —
where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at
rest. There the prisoners rest together : they hear not the
voice of the oppressor. Wherefore is light given unto him
that is in misery, and life unto the bitter of soul — which
long for death, but it cometh not, and dig for it more than
for hid treasures — which rejoice exceedingly and are glad
when they can find the grave ?"
What is the Book of Job but the record of an earnest soul's
perplexities ? The double difficulty of life solved there, the
existence of moral evil— the question whether suffering is a
mark of Avrath or not. What falls from Job's lips is the
musing of a man half-stunned, half-surprised, looking out
upon the darkness of life, and asking sorrowfully why are
these things so ? And all that falls from his friends' lips is
the common-place remarks of men upon what is inscrutable —
maxims learned second-hand by rote and not by heart, frag
ments of deep truths, but truths misapplied, distorted, torn
out of all connection of time and place, so as to become ac
tual falsehoods : only blistering a raw wound.
It was from these aAvkward admonitions that Job appealed
in the text. He appealed from the tribunal of man's opinion
to a tribunal where sincerity shall be cleared and vindicated.
He appealed from a world of confusion, where all the foun
dations of the earth are out of course, to a world where all
shall be set right. He appealed from the dark dealings of a
God whose way it is to hide Himself, to a God who shall
stand upon this earth in the clear radiance of a love on
Avhich suspicion's self can not rest a doubt. It was faith
straining through the mist, and discerning the firm land that
is beyond. " I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He
shall stand at the latter day upon the earth." We take tAvo
points :

122 Realizing the Second Advent
I. The certainty of God's interference in the affairs of this
Avorld. II. The means of realizing that interference.
God's interference, again, is contemplated in this passage
in a twofold aspect : A present superintendence — "I know
that my Redeemer liveth." A future, personal, visible inter
ference—" He shall stand at the latter day upon the earth."
I. His present superintendence.
1. The first truth contained in that is God's personal ex
istence. It is not chance, nor fate, which sits at the wheel
of this world's revolutions. It was no fortuitous concourse of
atoms which massed themselves into a world of beauty. It
was no accidental train of circumstances which has brought
the human race to their present state. It was a living God.
And it is just so far as this is the conviction, of every day,
and every hour, and every minute — "My Redeemer liveth " —
that one man deserves to be called more religious than anoth
er. To be religious is to feel that God is the Ever.Near. It
is to go through life with this thought coming instinctively
and unbidden, "Thou, God, seest me." A life of religion is
a life of faith : and faith is that strange faculty by which man
feqls the presence of the invisible ; exactly as some animals
have the power of seeing in the dark. That is the difference
between the Christian and the world.
Most men know nothing beyond what they see. This love
ly world is all in all to them : its outer beauty, not its hidden
loveliness. Prosperity — struggle— sadness — it is all the same.
They struggle through it all alone, and when old age comes,
and the companions of early days are gone, they feel that they
are solitary. In all this strange, deep world they never meet,
or but for a moment, the Spirit of it all, who stands at their
very side. And it is exactly the opposite of this that makes
a Christian. Move Avhere he will, there is a Thought and a
Presence which he can not put aside. He is haun.ted forever
by the Eternal Mind. God looks out upon him from the clear
sky, and through the thick darkness — is present in the rain
drop that trickles down the branches, and in the ternpest that
crashes down the forest. A living Redeemer stands beside
him — goes with him — talks Avith him, as a man with his friend.
The emphatic description of a life of spirituality is : " Enoch
walked with God:" and it seems to be one reason why a
manifestation of God was given us in the flesh, that this liv-
ingness of God might be more distinctly felt by us.
We must not throw into these words of Job a meaning
Avhich Job had not. Reading these verses, some have dis-

Realizing the Second Advent. 123
covered in them all the Christian doctrine of the Second Ad
vent — of a Resurrection — of the Humanity of Christ. This
is simply an anachronism. Job was an Arabian Emir, not a
Christian. All that Job meant by these words was, that he
knew he had a vindicator in God above : that though his
friends had the best of it then, and though worms were prey
ing on his flesh, yet at last God Himself would interfere to
prove his innocence. But God has given to us, for our faith
to rest on, something more distinct and tangible than He
gave to Job. There has been One on earth through whose
lips God's voice spoke, and from whose character was reflect
ed the character of God. A living Person manifesting Deity.
It is all this added meaning gained from Christ with which
we use these words: "I know that my Redeemer liveth."
But we must remember that all that Avas not revealed to Job.
2. The second truth implied in the personal existence of a
Redeemer is sympathy. It was the keenest part of Job's
trial that no heart beat pulse to pulse with his. His friends
misunderstood him ; and his wife, in a moment of atheistic
bitterness, in the spirit of our own infidel poet, " Let no man
say that God in mercy gave that stroke," addressed him thus :
" Curse God and die." In the midst of this, it seems to have
risen upon his heart with a strange power to soothe, that he
was not alone : gall and bitterness were distilling from the
lips of man, and molten lead was dropping from the hand of
God. . But there was a great difference between the two in
flictions: Men Avere doing their work, unknowing of the pain
they gave : God Avas meting out His in the scales of a most
exquisite compassion, not one drop too much, and every drop
that fell had a meaning of love in it. " Affliction," said the
tried man, " cometh not out ofthe dust, neither doth trouble
spring out of the ground " — superintending all this, " I know
that my Redeemer liveth."
And here there is one word full of meaning, from which Ave
collect the truth of sympathy. It is* that little word of ap
propriation, " my " Redeemer. Power is shown by God's at
tention to the vast ; sympathy by His condescension to the
small. It is not the thought of heaven's sympathy by which
we are impressed, when we gaze through the telescope on the
mighty world of space, and gain an idea of what is meant by
infinite. Majesty and power are there, but. the A'ery vastness
excludes the. thought of sympathy. It is when Ave look into
the world of insignificance which the microscope reveals, and
find that God has gorgeously painted the atoms of Creation,
and exquisitely, furnished forth all that belongs to minutest
life,'that Ave feel that God sympathizes and individualizes.

124 Realizing the Second Advent.
When we are told that God is the Redeemer of the world,
we know that love dwells in the bosom of the Most High ;
but if we want to know that God feels for us individually
and separately, we must learn by heart this syllable of en
dearment, "My Redeemer." Child of God, if you would
have your thought of God something beyond a cold feeling
of His presence, let faith appropriate Christ. You are as much
the object of God's solicitude as if none lived but yourself.
He has counted the hairs of your head. In Old Testament
language, "He has put your tears into His bottle." He has
numbered your sighs and your smiles. He has interpreted
the desires for which you have not found a name nor an ut
terance yourself. If you have not learned to say, "My Re
deemer," then just so far as there is any thing tender or affec
tionate in your disposition, you will tread the path' of your
pilgrimage with a darkened and a lonely heart ; and when
the day of trouble comes, there will be none of that triumph
ant elasticity Avhich enabled Job to look down, as from a
rock, upon the surges Avhich were curling their crests of fury
at his feet, but .could only reach his bosom with their spent
spray. 3. The third thing implied in the present superintendence
is God's vindication of Avrongs. The word translated here
Redeemer is one of quite peculiar signification. In all the
early stages of society the redress of wrongs is not a public,
but a private act. It Avas then as now— blood for blood.
But the executioner ofthe law was invested with something
of a sacred character. Now he is the mere creature of a
country's laAV, tiien he was the delegated hand of God ; for
the next of kin to the murdered man stood forward solemnly
in God's name as the champion of the defenseless, the goel, or
Avenger of Blood. Goel is the word here: so that, trans
lated into the language of those far-back days, Job Avas pro
fessing his conviction that there was a champion or an
Avenger, who would one day do battle for his wrongs.
It is a fearful amount of this kind of work which is in ar
rear for the Avenger to execute, accumulating century by
century, and year by year. From the days of Cain and. Abel
there have been ever tAvo classes: the oppressor and the op
pressed; the gentle humble ones who refuse to right them
selves, and the unscrupulous who force them aside. The
Church has ever had the world against it. . The world struck
its first deadly blow by the. hand of Cain, and it has been
striking ever since: from the battle-field, and the martyr's
stake, and the dungeons of. the Inquisition, and the prisons
of the. lordly tyrant, the blood of the innocent has cried for:

Realizing the Second Advent. 125
Vengeance. By taunt and sneer, the Avorld has had her tri
umph. And the servants of the Meekest haye only had this
to cheer them, " I know that my Redeemer liveth."
There is a persecution sharper than that of the axe. There
is an iron that goes into the heart deeper than' the knife.
Cruel sneers, and sarcasms, and pitiless judgments, and cold-
hearted calumnies. — these are persecution. There is the ty
rant of the nursery, and the play-ground, and the domestic
circle, as well as of the judgment-hall. " Better were it,"
said the Redeemer, " for that man if a millstone had been
hanged about his neck." Did you ever do that ? Did you
ever pour bitterness into a heart that God was bruising, by a
cold laugh, or a sneer, or a galling suspicion — into a sister's
heart, or a friend's, or even a stranger's ? — Remember — Avhen
you sent them, as Job's friends sent him, to pour out their
griefs alone before their Father, your name Avent up to the
Avenger's ears, mingled Avith the cries of His own elect.
There is a second mode in which God interferes in this
world's affairs. There is a present superintendence perceived
by faith ? but there is a future redress which will be made
manifest to sight. "He shall stand at the latter day upon
the earth." I shall see Him.
First of all, there wilLbe a visible, personal interference.
All that Job meant was in the case of his own wrongs. But
if we use those words, we must apply them in a higher sense.
The Second Advent of Christ is supposed by some to mean
an appearance of Jesus in the flesh to reign and triumph vis
ibly. Others who feel that the visual perception of His form
would be a small blessing, and that the highest and truest
presence is always spiritual and realized by the Spirit, believe
that His advent will be a coming in power. We will not
dispute : controversy whets the intellect, and only, star ATes, or,
worse, poisons the heart. We will take what is certain.
Every signal manifestation of the right, and vindication of
the truth in judgment, is called in Scripture a coming of the
Son of Man. A personal advent of the Redeemer is one
which can be perceived by foes as well as recognized by
friends. The destruction of Jerusalem, recognized by the
heathen themselves as judgment, is called in the Bible a com
ing of Christ. In the Deluge, in the destruction of the cities
of the plain, in the confusion of tongues, God is said to have
come down to visit the earth. There are two classes, then,
who shall see that sight. Men like Job, who feel that their
Redeemer liveth; and men like Balaam, from. whose lips
words of truth, terrible to him, came : " I shall see Him, but
not now ; I shall behold Him, but not nigh." " Every eye

126 Realizing the Second Advent.
shall see Him-." Tern will see the triumph of the right — the
destruction of the wrong. The awful question is, As Balaam
— or as Job ?
Besides:this, it will be unexpected : every judgment com
ing of Christ is as the springing of a mine. There is a mo
ment of deep suspense after the match has been applied to
the fuse which is to fire the train. Men stand at a distance,
and hold their breath. There is nothing seen but a thin,
small column of white smoke, rising fainter and fainter, till it
seems to die away.' Then men breathe again; and the inex
perienced soldier would approach the place thinking that the
thing has been a failure. It is only faith in the experience of
the commander, or the veterans, which keeps men from hur
rying to the spot again — till just when expectation has be
gun to die away, the low, deep thunder sends up the column
of earth majestically to heaven, and all that was on it comes
crushing down again in its far circle, shattered and blacken
ed with the blast.
It is so with the world. By God's word the world is doom
ed. The moment of suspense is past : the first centuries, in
which men expected the convulsion to take place at once;
for even apostles were looking for it in their lifetime. We
have fallen upon days of skepticism. There are "no signs of
ruin yet. We tread upon it like a solid thing fortified by its
adamantine hills forever. There is nothing against that but
a few words in a printed book. But the world is mined : and
the spark has fallen ; and just at the moment when serenity
is at its height, " the heaven shall pass away with a great
noise, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat," and the
feet of the Avenger shall stand on the earth.
II. The means of realizing this interference.
There is a difference between knowing a thing and realiz
ing it. When a poor man becomes suddenly the possessor of
a fortune or of dignity, it is some time before the thing be
comes so natural to him that he can act in his new sphere
like his proper self: it is all strangeness at first. When the
criminal hears the death-sentence in the dock, his cheeks are
tearless. He hears the words, but scarcely understands that
they have any thing to do with him. He has not realized
that it is he himself that has to die. When bereavement
comes, it is not at the moment when the breath leaves the
body that Ave feel what has been lost : we know, but yet Ave
must have it in detail : see the empty chair, and the clothes
that Avill never be worn again, and perceive day after day
pass, and he comes not : then we realize.

Realizing the Second Advent. 127
Job knew that God Avas the vindicator of wrongs — that he
said. But why did he go on repeating in every possible form
the same thing : " I shall see God — see him for myself— mine
eyes shall behold Him — yes, mine and not another's ?" It
would seem as if he Avere doing what a man does when he
repeats over and over to himself a thing which he can not
picture out in its reality. It was true : but it was strange,
and shadowy, and unfamiliar.
It is no matter of uncertainty to any one of us whether he
himself shall die. He knoAvs it. Every time the funeral bell
tolls, the thought in some shape suggests itself, I am a mor
tal, dying, man. That is knowing it. Which of us has real
ized it ? Who can shut his eyes, and bring it before him as a
reality, that the day will come when the hearse will stand at
the door for him, and that all this bright world will be going
on without him; and that th.e very flesh which now Avalks
about so complacently, will have the coffin-lid shut down
upon it, and he left to darkness, and loneliness, and silence,
and the worm ? Or take a case still more closely suggested
by the text — out of the graA'e we must arise again — long after
all that is young, and strong, and beautiful before me shall
have mouldered into forgetfulness. Earth shall hear her
Master's voice breaking the long silence ofthe centuries, and
our dust shall hear it, and stand up among the myriads that
are moving on to judgment. Each man in his OAvn proper
identity, his very self, must see God, and be seen by Him —
looking out on the strange neAV scene, and doomed to be an
actor in it for all eternity. We all know that — on Avhich of
our hearts is it stamped, not as a doctrine to be proved by
texts, but as one of those things which must be hereafter, and
in sight of which we are to live now ?
There are two ways suggested to us by this passage for
realizing these things. The first of these is meditation. No
man forgets what the mind has dwelt long on. It is not by
a passing glance that things become riveted in the memory.
It is by forcing the memory to call them up again and again
in leisure hours. It is in the power of meditation to bring
danger in its reality so vividly before the imagination that
the whole frame can start instinctively as if the blow were
falling, or as if the precipice were near. It is in the, power
of meditation so to engrave scenes of loveliness on a painter's
eye that he. transfers to the canvas a vivid picture that was
real to him before it was real to others. It is in the power
of meditation so to abstract the soul from all that is passing
before the bodily eye, that the tongue shall absently speak
out the words Avith Avhich the heart was full, not knowing

128 Realizing the Second Advent.
that others are standing by. It seems to have been this that
Job was doing — he was realizing by meditation. You can
scarcely read over these words without fancying them the
syllables of a man who was thinking aloud.
It is like a soliloquy rather than a conversation. "I shall
see him." Myself. Not another. My own eyes.
This is what we want. It is good for a man to get alone,
and then in silence think upon his own death, and feel how
time is hurrying him along : that a little while ago, and he
was not — a little while still, and he will be no more. It is
good to take the Bible in his hands, and read those passages
at this season ofthe year which speak of the Coming arid the
End of all, till from the printed syllables there seems to come
out something that has life, and form, and substance in it,
and all things that are passing in the world group themselves
in preparation for that, and melt into its outline. Let us try
to live with these things in vieAV. God our Friend-r-Christ
our living Redeemer; our sympathizing Brother; our con
quering Champion : the triumph of truth, the end of wrong.
We shall live upon realities then : and this world will fade
away into that Avhich Ave knoAV it is, but yet can not realizo
— afi appearance, and a shadow.
Lastly, God insures that His children shall realize all this
by affliction. Job had admitted these things before, but this
time he spoke from the ashes on which he Avas Avrithing.
And if ever a man is sincere, it is when he is in pain. If
ever that superficial covering of conventionalities falls from
the soul, which gathers round it as the cuticle does upon the
body, and the rust upon the metal, it is when men are suffer
ing. There are many things which nothing but soitoav can
teach us. Sorrow is the great teacher. Sorrow, is the real-
izer. It is a strange and touching thing to hear the young
speak truths which are not yet within the limits of their ex
perience : to listen while they say that life is sorrowful, that
friends are treacherous, that . there is quiet in . the grave.
When we are boys we adopt the phrases that we hear. : In a
kind of prodigal excess of happiness, Ave say that the world is
a dream, and life a nothings — that eternity lasts forever, and
that all here is disappointment. But there comes a day of
sharpness, when we find to our surprise that what we said
had a meaning in it, and Ave are startled. That is the senti-
mentalism of youth passing into reality. In the lips, of the
young such phrases are only sentimentalities. .- What . we
mean by sentimentalism is that state in which a man speaks
things deep and true, not because he feels them strongly, but
because he perceives that they are beautiful, and that it is

Realizing the Second Advent. 129
touching and fine to say them — things which he fain icould
feel, and fancies that he does feel. Therefore, when all is
well, Avhen friends abound, and health is strong, and the com
forts of life are around us, religion becomes faint and shad
owy. Religious phraseology passes into cant — the gay, and
light, and trifling use the same Avords as the holiest ; till the
earnest man, who feels what the world is sentimentalizing
r.'.iout, shuts up his heart, and either coins other phrases or
else keeps silence.
And then it is that if God would rescue a man from that
unreal world of names and mere knoAvledge, He does what he
did with Job — He strips him of his flocks, and his herds, and
his wealth ; or else, what is the equivalent, of the power of
enjoying them — the desire of his eyes falls from him at a
stroke. Things become real then. Trial brings man face to
face with God — God and he touch ; and the flimsy veil of
bright cloud that hung betAveen him and the sky is bloAvn
away : he feels that he is standing outside the earth with
nothing between him and the Eternal Infinite. Oh, there is
something in the sick-bed, and the aching heart, and the rest
lessness and the languor of shattered health, and the sorrow
of affections withered, and the stream of life poisoned at its
fountain, and the cold, lonely feeling of utter rawness of heart
Avhich is felt when God strikes home in earnest, that forces a
man to feel what is real and what is not.
This is the blessing of affliction to those Avho will lie still
and not struggle in a cowardly or a resentful way. It is
God speaking to Job out of the whirlwind, and saying, In
the sunshine and the warmth you can not meet Me : but in
the hurricane and the darkness, when Avave after Avave has
swept doAvn and across the soul, you shall see My form, and
hear My voice, and know that your Redeemer liveth.'
6*

130 First Advent Lecture.

XI.
FIRST ADVENT LECTURE.
THE GRECIAN.
' ' I am debtor both to the Greeks, and to the Barbarians ; both to the wise,
and to the unwise. So, as much as in me is, I am l'eady to preach the gos-
pel to you that are at Rome also. For I am not ashamed of the gospel of
Christ : for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth ;
to the Jew first, and also to the Greek. For therein is the righteousness of
God ' revealed from faith to faith : as it is written, The just shall live by
faith."— Rom. i. 14-17.
The season of Advent commemorates three facts. 1.
That the Lord has come. 2. That He is perpetually coming.
3. That He, will yet come in greater glory than has yet ap
peared. And these are the three Advents : The first in the
flesh, which is past ; the second in the spirit ; the third, His
judgment advent.
The first occupies our attention in these lectures,
We live surrounded by Christian institutions ; breathe an
atmosphere saturated by Christianity. It is exceedingly
difficult even to imagine another state of things. In the en
joyment of domestic purity, it is difficult to conceive the de
basing effects of polygamy ; in the midst of political liber
ty, to conceive of the blighting power df slavery; in scien
tific progress, to imagine mental stagnation ; in religious lib
erty and free goodness, to fancy the reign of superstition.
Yet to realize the blessings of health we must sit by the
sick-bed ; to feel what light is we must descend into the
mine and see the emaciated forms Avhich dwindle away in
darkness ; to know what the blessing of sunshine is, go down
into the valleys where stunted vegetation and dim vapors
tell of a scene on which the sun scarcely shines two hours in
the day. And to know what we have from Christianity, it
is well to cast the eyes sometimes over the darkness from
Avhich the Advent of Christ redeemed us.
There are four departments of human nature spoken of in
these verses on which the light shined. The apostle felt that
the Gospel was the power of God unto salvation to the
Greeks, the Romans, the Barbarians, and the Jews. In the
present lecture we consider Christianity presented to the
Grecian character, and superseding the Grecian religion.

The Grecian. 131
Four characteristics marked Grecian life and Grecian
religion : Restlessness, worldliness, the worship of the beau
tiful, the worship of the human.
I. Restlessness. Polytheism divided the contemplation
over many objects : and as the outward objects were mani
fold, so was there a want of unity in the inward life. The
Grecian mind was distracted by variety. He was to obtain
wisdom from one Deity : eloquence from that Mercurius for
Avhom Paul was taken ; purity from Diana for whom Ephe
sus Avas zealous ; protection for his family or country from
the respective tutelary deities ; success by a prayer to For
tune. Hence dissipation of mind — that fickleness for which the
Greeks were famous — and the restless love of novelty Avhich
made Athens a place of literary and social gossip — " some
new thing." All stability of character rests on the contem
plation of changeless unity.
, So in modern science, which is eminently Christian, having
exchanged the bold theorizing of ancient times for the pa-
tiehthumble willingness to be taught by the facts of nature,
and performing its wonders by exact imitation of them — on
the Christian principle — the Son of man can do nothing of
Himself but what He seeth the Father do.
And all the results of science have been to simplify and
trace back the manifold to unity. Ancient science was only
a number of insulated facts and discordant laws ; modern
science has gradually ranged these under fewer and ever
feAver laws. It is ever tending towards unity of law.
For example, gravitation. The planet's motion, and the
motion of the atom of water that dashes tumultuously, and
as it seems lawlessly, down the foam ofthe cataract; the
floating of the cork, the sinking of the stone, the rise of the
balloon, and the curved flight of the arrow, are all brought
under one single law, diverse and opposite as they seem.
Hence science is calm and dignified, reposing upon uniform
fact. The philosopher's very look tells of repose, resting, as
he does, on a few changeless principles.
So also in religion. Christianity proclaimed " One God
and one Mediator between God and Man, the man Christ
Jesus." Observe the effect in the case of tAvo apostles. St.
Paul's view of the Gospel contemplated it as an eternal
divine purpose. His Gospel, the salvation of the Gentiles,
was the eternal purpose which had been hidden from ages
and generations. His own personal election was part of an
eternal counsel. All the children of God had been predesti-

1 32 First Advent Lecture.
nated before the creation " unto the adoption of children by
Jesus Christ to Himself." Noav see the effect on character.
First, on veracity — 2 Cor. i. 1 8, etc. He contemplated the
changeless " yea " of God ; His OAvn yea became fixed as
God's — changeless, and calmly unalterable.
Again in orthodoxy — "Jesus Christ, the same yesterday,
to-day, and forever." " Be not carried about by divers and
strange doctrines." Truth is one, error manifold — many
opinions, yet there can be but one faith. See how calm and
full of rest all this spirit is.
Now consider St. John. His view of the Gospel recog
nized it rather as the manifestation of love than the carry
ing out ofthe unity of an everlasting purpose. If you view
the world as the Grepk did, all is so various that you must
either refer it to various deities, or to different modes of the
same Deity. To-day you are happy — God is pleased : to
morrow miserable — God is angry. But St. John referred
these all to unity of character — " God is Love." Pain and
pleasure, the sigh and smile, the sunshine and the storm, nay,
hell itself, to him were but the results of eternal love.
Hence came deep calm — the repose which we are toiling
all our lives to find, and which the Greek never found.
II. Woiidliness. There are men and nations to whom
this world seems given as their province, as if they had no
aspiration above it. If ever there Avas a nation Avho under
stood the science of living, it Avas the Grecian. They had
organized social and domestic life; filled existence with
comforts ; knew Iioav to extract from every thing its great
est measure of enjoyment. This Avoiid Avas their home ; this
visible world was the object of their worship. Not like the
Orientals, who called all materialism bad, and whose highest
object was to escape from it, "to be unclothed, not clothed
upon," as St. Paul phrases it. The Greeks looked Upon this
Avorld. in its fallen state, and pronounced it all " very good."
The results were threefold.
1. Disappointment. Lying on the infinite bosom of Na
ture, the Greek Avas yet unsatisfied. And there is an insa
tiable desire above all external forms and objects in man —
all men — which they can never satisfy. Hence his craving
too, like others, was from time to time, " Who will show us
any good ?" This dissatisfaction is exhibited in the parable
ofthe prodigal, who is but the symbol of erring humanity.
Away from his father's home, the famine . came, and he fed
on husks. Famine and husks are the Avorld's unsatisfactori-
ness. A husk is a thing that seems full — is re.illy hollow — ¦

The Grecian. 133
which stays the appetite for a time, but will not support the
life. And such is this world — leaving a hollowness at heart,
staying our craving but for a time. " He that dririketh of
this water shall thirst again." And the worldly man is try
ing to satiate his immortal hunger upon husks.
3; Degradation. Religion- aims at an ideal life above this
actual one — to found a divine polity — a kingdom of God — a
church of the best. And the life of Avorldliness pronounces
this world to be all. This is to be adorned and beautified.
Life as it is. Had you asked the Greek his highest wish, he
would have replied, "This world, if it could only last — I ask
no more." Immortal youth — and this bright existence.
This is to feed on husks, but husks which the swine did eat.
No degradation to the swine, for it is their nature ; but
degradation to man to rest in the outward, visible, and pres
ent, for the bosom of God is his home. The Greek, therefore,
might be, in his own language, " a reasoning animal," but
not one of the children of heaven.
3. Disbelief in immortality. The more the Greek attached
himself to this world, the more the Avorld unseen became a
dim world of shades. The earlier traditions of the deep-
thinking Orientals, which his forefathers brought from Asia,
died sloAvly away, and any one who reminded him of them
Avas received as one would now be who were to speak of pur
gatory. The cultivated Athenians were for the most part skep
tics in the time of Christ. Accordingly, when Paul preach
ed at Athens the resurrection ofthe dead, they "mocked."
This bright world Avas all. Its revels, its dances, its the
atrical exhibitions, its races, its baths, and academic groves,
where literary leisure luxuriated, these Avere blessedness,
and the Greek's hell Avas death. Their poets speak pathet
ically of the misery of the wrench from all that is dear and
bright. The dreadfulness of death is one of the most re
markable things that meet us in those ancient writings.
And these men were startled by seeing a new sect rise up
to Avhom death was nothing — who almost courted it. - They
heard an apostle say at Miletus, " None of these things move
me; neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I might
finish my course with joy." For the cross of Christ had
crucified in their hearts : the Grecian's world. To them life
was honor, integrity, truth ; that is the soul: to this -all
other was to be sacrificed. This was the proper self, which
could only die by sin, by denying its own existence. The
rise of the higher life had made this life nothing, "and de
livered those who, through fear of death, Avere all their life
time subject unto bondage."

1 34 First Advent Lecture.
Appeal to the worldly-minded. Melancholy spectacle !
Men aud women shutting out the idea of death, the courte
sies of society concealing from them the mention of their
age, by all false appliances of dress, etc., etc., and staying the
appearance of the hand of time. You must die. The day
will come, and the coffin. Life in God alone robs that
thought of dreadfulness : when the resurrection being begun
within, you can look upon the decay of the outward man,
and feel, I am not dying.
III. The Avorship of the beautiful. The Greek saAV this
Avorld almost only on its side of beauty. His name for it was
Cosmos, divine order or regularity. He looked at actions in
the same Avay. One and the same adjective expressed the
noble and the beautiful. If he wanted to express a perfect
man, he called him a musical or harmonious man.
What was the consequence ? Religion degenerated into
the arts. All the immortal poAvers of man were thrown upon
the production of a work of the imagination. The artist who
had achieved a beautiful statue was almost worshipped ; the
poet Avho had produced a noble poem was the prophet of the
nation ; the man who gave the richest strains of melody was
half divine. This was their inspiration. The arts became
religion, and religion ended in the arts.
Hence, necessarily, sensuality became religious, because all
feelings produced by these arts, chiefly the voluptuous ones,
were authorized by religion. There is a peculiar danger in
refinement of sensuous enjoyments. Coarse pleasures dis
gust, and pass for what they are ; but who does not know
that the real danger and triumph of voluptuousness are
when it approaches the soul. veiled under the drapery of ele
gance ? They fancied themselves above the. gross , multi
tude : but their sensuality, disguised even from themselves,
was sensuality strll — ay, and at times even, in certain festi
vals, broke out into gross and unmistakable licentiousness.
And hence the greatest of the Greeks, in his imaginary re
public, banished from that perfect state all the strains, wbich
were soft and enfeebling: — all the poems that represented any
deeds of deities unworthy of the Divine— all the statues
which could suggest one single feeling . of impurity. Him
self a worshipper of the purest beautiful, it was yet given to
his all but inspired heart to detect, the lurking danger before
which Greece was destined to fall — the approach of sensuali
ty through the worship of the graceful and the refined.
There is this danger now. Men are awakened from coarse
rude life to the desire of something deeper ; and the god or

The Grecian. 135
spirit of this world can subtly turn that aside into channels
Avhich shall effectually enfeeble and. ruin the soul. Refine
ment — melting imagery — dim religious light ; all the witch
ery of form and color — music — architecture; all these, even
colored with the hues of religion, producing feelings either
religious or quasi-religious, may yet do the world's work.
For all attempt to impress the heart through the senses, " to
make perfect through the flesh," is fraught with that danger
beneath which Greece sunk. There is a self-deception in
those feelings — the thrill, and the sense of mystery, and the
luxury of contemplation, and the impressions on the senses :
all these lie very close to voluptuousness — enfeeblement of
heart — yea, even impurity.
This, too, is the ruinous effect of an education of accom
plishments. The education of the taste, and the cultivation
of the feelings in undue proportion, destroy the masculine
tone of mind. An education chiefly romantic or poetical, not
balanced by hard practical life, is simply the ruin of the
soul. If any one ever felt the beauty of this world, it was He.
The beauty of the lily nestling in the grass — He felt it all ;
but the beauty which He exhibited in life was the stern, love
liness of moral action. The King in His Beauty " had no
form or comeliness ;" it Avas the beauty of obedience, of noble
deeds, of unconquerable fidelity, of unswerving truth, of Di
vine self-devotion. The Cross ! the Cross J We must have
something of iron and hardness in our characters. The Cross
tells us that is the true Beautiful which is Divine : an in
ward, not an outward beauty, which rejects and turns stern
ly away from the meretricious forms of the outward world,
which have a corrupting or debilitating tendency.
IV. The worship of humanity. The Greek had strong hu
man feelings and sympathies. He projected his own self on
nature ; humanized it ; gave a human feeling to clouds, for
ests, rivers, seas.
In this he was a step above other idolatries. The Hindoo,
for instance, worshipped monstrous emblems of physical pow
er. Might — gigantic masses— hundred-handed deities, scarce
ly human, you find in Hindostan. In Egypt, again, life was the
thing, sacred. Hence all that had life was in a way divine —
the sacred ibis, crocodile, bull, cat, snake. All that produced
and all that ended life. Hence death too was sacred. The
Egyptian lived in the contemplation of death. His coffin
was made in his lifetime ; his ancestors embalmed ; the sa
cred animals preserved in myriad heaps through generations

1 36 First Advent Lecture.
in mummy pits. The sovereign's tomb was built to last for,
not centuries, but thousands of years.
The Greek was above this. ' It was not merely power, but
human power ; not merely beauty, but human beauty ; not
merely life, but human life, which was the object of his pro-
foundest veneration. ¦ His effort therefore was, in his concep
tion of his god, to realize a beautiful human being. And not
the animal beauty of the human only, but the intelligence
which informs and shines through beauty. All his life he
Avas moulding into shape visions of earth — a glorious human
being. Light under the conditions of humanity ; the " sun
in human limbs arrayed" was the central object of Grecian
worship. Much in this had a germ of truth — more Avas false. This
principle, Avhich is true, Avas evidently stated : The Divine,
under the limitations of humanity, is the only worship of
Avhich man is capable. Demonstrably, for man can not con
ceive that which is not in his own mind. He may worship
Avhat is below himself, or that which is in himself resembling
God ; but attributes of which from his own nature he has no
conception, he clearly can not adore.
The only question therefore is, What he shall reckon di
vine, and in alliance-Avith God ? If power, then he worships
as the Hindoo ; if life, then as the Egyptian ; if physical and
intellectual beauty, then as the Greek.
Observe, they Avanted some living image of God contain
ing something more truly divine to supplant their own. For
still, in spite of their versatile and multifarious conceptions,
the illimitable Unknown remained, to which an altar stood in
Athens. They' wanted humanity in its glory — they asked
for a Son of Man.
Christ is Deity under the limitations of humanity. But
there is presented in Christ for Avorship, not power, nor beau
ty, nor physical life, but the moral image of- God's perfec
tions. Through the heart, and mind, and character of Jesus
it was that the Divinest streamed. Divine character, that
Avas given in Christ to worship.
Another error. The Greek Avorshipped -all that was in
man. Every feeling had its beauty and its divine origin:
Hence thieving had its patron deity, and treachery, and cun
ning; and lust had its temple erected for abominable wor
ship. All that was human had its sanction in the example
of some god. ''¦'-- '¦
Christ corrects this. Not all that is human is divine.
There is a part of our nature kindred with God : the strength
ening of that, by mixture with God's spirit, is our true and

Second Advent Lecture. 137
proper humanity — regeneration of soul. There is another
part whereby Ave are related to the brutes : our animal pro
pensities, our loAver inclinations, our corrupted Avill. And
Avhoever lives in that, and strengthens that, sinks not to the
level of the brutes, but beloAV them, to the level of the de
mons : for he uses an immortal spirit to degrade himself :
and the immortal joined with evil, as the life to the body, is
demoniacal. In conclusion, remark, In all this system one thing was
wanting^the sense of sin. The Greek worshipped the beau
tiful, adored the human, deified the world : of course this wor
ship found no place for sin. The Greek Avould not have spok
en to you of sin : he would have told you of departure from
a right line ; want of moral harmony ; discord Avithin : he
would have said that the music of your soul was out of tune.
Christ came to convince the Avorld of sin. And after Him
began to brood upon the hearts of Christendom that deep
cloud that rests upon the conscience which has been called
into vitality of action and susceptibility.
For this Greece had no remedy. The universe has no rem
edy but one. " There is no prescription for the sickness ofthe
heart, but that which is Avritten in the Redeemer's blood.

XII.
SECOND ADVENT LECTURE.
THE ROMAN.
" I am debtor both to the Greeks, and to the Barbarians ; both to the wise,
and to the unwise. So, as much as in me is, I am ready to preach the gos
pel to you that are at Rome also. For I am not ashanied of the gospel of
Christ : . for it is the power of Gad unto salvation to every one that believeth ; ¦
to the Jew first, arid also to the Greek."— Rom. i. 14-16.
The Advent of Christ is the gulf which separates ancient
from modern history. The dates b.c. and a.d. are not arbi
trary but real division. His coming is the crisis ofthe world's
history. It was the moment from whence light streamed into
the realms of darkness, and life descended into the regions of
the grave. - It was the new birth of worn-out Humanity.
Last Thursday we considered the effects of this Advent on
Greece. We found the central principle of Grecian life to be
worldliness. The Greek saw, sought, and worshipped, noth
ing higher than this life, bnt only this life itself. Hence

138 - Second Advent Lecture.
Greek religion degenerated into mere taste, Avhich is percep
tion (of ¦ the beautiful. The result on character was three-fold :
Restlessness, which sent the Greek through this Avorld with
his great human heart unsatisfied, fickle in disposition, and
ever inquiring, with insatiable curiosity, after some new
thing. Licentiousness ; for whosoever attaches his heart to
the outAvard beauty, without worshipping chiefly in it that
moral beauty of which all else is but the type and suggestion,
necessarily, slowly, it may be, but inevitably, sinks down and
down into the deepest abyss of sensual existence. Lastly,
unbelief. The Greek, seeing principally this world, lost his
hold upon the next. , For the law of faith is, that a man can
only believe what is already in his spirit. He believes as he
is. The Apostle Paul writes in astonishment to these Greeks
(of Corinth), "How say some among you there is no resurrec
tion of the dead ?" But the thing was explicable. Paul was
" dying daily." The outward life decayed ; the inner grew
and lived with more vitality every day. He felt the life to
come in which he believed. But the Corinthians, leading an
easy, luxurious life, how could it be a reality to them? How
could they, believe in : immortality, in whom the immortal
scarcely stirred, or only feebly ? To these the apostle felt
bound to preach the living Gospel. " I am debtor to the
Greeks." - To-day, we turn to the Roman nation, its religion, and its
life. At the time of which the New Testament speaks, Greece
had been nearly a century and a half a province of Rome.
In the language of Daniel, the kingdom of brass had given
way to the kingdom of iron. The physical might of Rome
had subdued Greece, but the mind of Greece had mastered
Rome. The Greeks became the teachers of their conquerors.
The deities of Greece were incorporated into the national
faith of Rome. Greek literature became the education of the
Roman youth. Greek philosophy was almost the only phi
losophy the Roman knew. Rome adopted Grecian arts, and
was insensibly moulded by contact with Grecian life. So
that the world, in name and government was Roman, but in
feeling and civilization Greek.
If, therefore, we would understand Roman life, we must
contemplate it at an earlier period, when it was free from
Greek influence, and purely exhibited its own idiosyncracies.
The nation which we contemplate to-day was a noble one
— humanly, one of the noblest that the world has seen.
Next to the Jewish, the very highest. We may judge from
the fact of St. Paul's twice claiming his Roman citizenship,
and feeling the indignation of a Roman citizen at the indig-

The Roman, 139
nity of chastisement. And this too in an age Avhen the name
had lostits brightness — when a luxurious, wealthy Greek could
purchase his freedom. Claudius Lysias bought it " with a
large sum of money." And yet we may conceive what it
had.beenonce, when even the faint lustre of its. earlier dignity
could inspire a foreigner, and that foreigner a Jew, and that
Jew a Christian, with such respect.
At the outset, then, Ave have a rare and high-minded peo
ple and their life, to think of. They who have imbibed the
spirit of its writers from their youth can neither spealc nor
think of it without enthusiasm. Scarcely can Ave forbear it
even in the pulpit. Nor is this an unchristian feeling, earth
ly, to be checked ; for in order to elevate Christianity, it is
not necessary to vilify heathenism. To exalt revelation, we
need not. try to show that natural religion has no truths.
To exhibit- the blessings ofthe Advent, it is not needful to
demonstrate that man was brutalized without it. It is a
poor, cowardly system which can only rise Joy the degrada
tion of all others. Whatever is true belongs to the kingdom
of the truth. The purer the creed, the higher the character,
the nobler the men who, without revelation, signally failed at
last, the more absolute is the necessity of a Redeemer, and
the more are we constrained to refer gratefully all blessings
to His Advent.
We take three points : the public and private life of Rome,
and its moral and inevitable decay at last.
I. The public life of Rome.
First, I notice the spirit of its religion. The very word
shows what that was. Religion, a Roman word, means ob
ligation, a binding power. Very different from the corre
sponding Greek expression, which implies worship by a sen
suous ceremonial (threskeia).
The Roman began, like the Jew, from law. He started
from the idea of duty. But there was an important differ
ence. The Jew was taught duty or obedience to the -law of
a personal, holy God. The Roman obeyed, as his Etruscan
ancestors taught him, a fate or will, and with very different
results* .But. at present we only observe the lofty character
ofthe early religion which resulted from such a starting-point.
The early history of Rome is wrapped in fable ; but the
fable itself is worth much, as preserving the spirit of the old
life when it does not preserve the facts. Accordingly; the
tradition taught that the building of Rome was donein obe
dience to the intimations of the will of Heaven. It was re
built in a site selected not by human prudence, but by a voice

140 Second Advent Lecture.
divinely guided. Its first great legislator (Numa) is repre
sented as giving laws, not from a human heart, but after se
cret communion Avith the superhuman. It was the belief of
Roman writers that the early faith taught access to God only
through the mind ; that therefore no images, but only tem
ples, were found in Rome during the first two centuries of
her existence. No bloody sacrifices defiled the city. War
itself Avas a religious act ; solemnly declared by a minister of
religion casting a spear into the enemy's territory. Nay, we
even find something in spirit resembling the Jewish sabbath ;
the "command that during the rites of religion no traffic
should go on, nor workman's hammer break the consecrated
silence^ but that men should devoutly contemplate God.
Here was a high, earnest, severe religion.
Now this resulted in government, as its highest earthly ex
pression. Duty — and therefore laAV on earth — as a copy of
the will of Heaven. Different nations seem, consciously or
unconsciously ,dgstined by God to achieve different missions.
The Jew had the highest: to reveal to the world holiness.
The Oriental stands as a witness to the reality of the Invisi
ble above the Visible. The Greek reminded the world of
eternal beauty ; and the destiny of the Roman seems to have
been to stamp upon the minds of mankind the ideas of laAV,
government, order.
Beauty was not the object of the Roman contemplation,
nor worship ; nor Avas harmony. The taste for them might
be taught, superinduced, but it was not natural. It was not
indigenous to the soil of his nature. Hence; Avhen Greece was
reduced to a Roman province, in 146 B.C., the Roman soldiers
took the noblest specimens of Grecian painting and converted
them into gambling-tables.
You may distinguish the difference of the two characters
from the relics which they have left behind them. The Greek
produced a statue or a temple, the expression of a sentiment.
The Roman, standing upon visible fact, dealing with the prac
tical, and living in the actual life of men, has (eft behind him
works of public usefulness : noble roads which intersect em
pires, mighty aqueducts, bridges, enormous excavations for
draining cities at which we stand astonished ; and, above all,
that system of law, the slow result of ages of experience,
which has so largely entered into the modern! jurisprudence
of most European nations.
One of their own writers has distinctly recognized this
destiny. "It is for others to work brass into : breathing
shape — others may be more eloquent — or describe the
circling movements of the heavens, and tell the rising of

The Roman. 141
the stars. Thy work, O . Roman 1 is to rule the nations :
these be thine acts : to impose. the conditions of the;w,orld's
peace, to show mercy to the fallen, and to crush, the .proud."
In : accordance with this, it is' a chara'cteristicrfact-.that
Ave find the institutions of Rome referred to inspiration.. Not
a decalogue of private duties, but a code of municipal -laws.
And, turning to the page of Scripture, Avhenever the Roman
comes prominently forward, we always find him the organ
of law, the instrument of public rule and order. Pilate has
no idea of condemning unjustly: "Why, what evil hath He
done ?" But he yields at the mention of the source of law,
the emperor. The Apostle . Paul appeals to Csssar, and
even a corrupt Festus respects the appeal: "Unto Csesar
shalt thou go." Nor could even the prisoner's innocence
reverse his own appeal : " This man might have been set at
liberty if he had not appealed unto Csesar." The tumult at
Ephesus is stilled by a hint of Roman interference : " We
are in danger of being called in question for this day's
uproar." When the angry crowd at Athens, and the equally
angry mob of the Sanhedrim, was about to destroy Paul,
again the Roman, Claudius Lysias, comes " with an army,
and rescues him."
It Avas always the same thing. The Roman seems almost
to have existed to exhibit on earth a copy; of the Divine
order of the universe, the laAV of the heavenly hierarchies.
II. Private life.
We observe the sanctity of the domestic ties. Very
touching are all the well-known anecdotes : that, for in
stance, of the noble Roman matron, who felt, all spotless as
she was, life-dishonored, and died by her own hand. The
sacredness of home was expressed strongly by the idea of
two guardian deities (Lares and Penates) who watched over
it. A Roman's own fireside and hearth-stone were almost the
most sacred spots on earth. There was no battle-cry that
came so to his heart as that, " For the altar and the hearth."
Hoav firmly this was rooted in the nation's heart is plain
from the tradition, that for 170 years no separation took
place by law between those Avho had once been united in
wedlock. There is deep importance in this remark, for it was to this
that Rome owed her greatness. The whole fabric of the
Commonwealth rose out of the. Family. The family ivas
the nucleus round which all the rest agglomerated. First,
the famiLy; then the clan, made up of the family and its
dependents or clients; then the tribe; lastly, the nation.

142 Second Advent Lecture.
And so the noble structure of the Roman Commonwealth
arose, compacted and mortised together, but resting on the
foundation of the hearth-stone.
Very different is it in the East. A nation there is a col
lection of units, held together by a government. There is
a principle of cohesion in them, but only such cohesion as
belongs to the column of sand, supported by the whirlwind :
when the blast ceases, the atoms fall asunder. When the
chief is slain or murdered, the nation is in anarchy — the
family does not exist. Polygamy and infanticide, the bane
of domestic life, are the destruction, too, of national existence.
There is a solemn lesson in this. Moral decay in the
family is the invariable prelude to public corruption. It is
a false distinction which we make between public integrity ,
and private honor. The man whom you can not' admit into
your family, whose morals are corrupt, can not be a pure
statesman. Whoever studies history will be profoundly
convinced that a nation stands or falls with the sanctity of
its domestic ties. Rome mixed with Greece, and learned
her morals. The Goth was at her gates ; but she fell not
till she was corrupted and tainted at the heart. The domes
tic corruption preceded the political. When there was no
longer purity on her hearth-stones, nor integrity in her Sen
ate, then, and not till then, her death-knell was rung.
We will bless God for our English home's. Partly the
result of our religion ; partly the result of the climate which
God has given us, according to the laAV of compensation by
which physical evil is repaid by moral blessing ; so that, its
gloom and ' darkness making life more necessarily spent
within doors than it is among Continental nations, our life is
domestic, and theirs is social. When England shall learn
domestic maxims from strangers, as Rome from Greece, her
ruin is accomplished. And this blessing, too, comes from
Christ — who presided at the marriage-feast at Cana, who
found a home in the family of Nazareth,- and consecrated the
hearth-stone with everlasting inviolability.
Let us break up this private life into particulars.
1. We find manly courage. This too is preserved in a
word. Virtue is a Roman word — manhood, courage ; for
courage, manhood, virtue were one word. Words are fossil
thoughts: you trace the ancient feeling in that word — you
trace it, too, in the corruption of the word. Among the
degenerate descendants of the Romans, virtue no longer
means manhood; it is simply dilettantism. The decay of
life exhibits itself in the debasement even of words.
We dwell on this courage, because it was not merely

' The Roman. 143
animal daring. Like every thing Roman, it was connected
with religion. It was duty, obedience to will, self-surrender
to the public good. The Roman legions subdued the world ;
but it was not their discipline alone, nor their strength, nor
their brute daring. It Avas rather, far, their moral force —
a nation whose legendary and historical heroes could thrust
their hand into the flame, and see it consumed without a
nerve shrinking ; or come from captivity on parole, advise
their countrymen against peace, and then go back to torture
and certain death: or devote themselves by solemn self-
sacrifice (like the Decii), who could bid sublime defiance
to pain and count dishonor the only evil. The world must
boAv before such men; for unconsciously, here was a form
of the spirit of the Cross — self-surrender, unconquerable
fidelity to duty, sacrifice for others. And so far as Rome
had in her that spirit, and so long as she had it, her career
Avas the career of all those who in any form, even the low
est, take, up the Cross : she Avent forth conquering and to
conquer. 2. Deep as Roman greatness was rooted in the courage
of her men, it Avas rooted deeper still in the honor of her,
Avoinen. I take one significant fact, Avhich exhibits national
feeling. There was a fire in Rome called eternal, forever
replenished! It was the type and symbol of the duration
of the Republic. This fire was tended by the Vestals — a
beautifully significant institution. It implied that the dura
tion of Rome was co-extensive Avith the preservation, of her
purity- of morals. So long as the dignity of her matrons
and her virgins remained unsullied, so long she would last.
No longer. Female chastity guarded the Eternal City.
Here we observe something anticipative of Christianity.
In the earlier ages after the Advent there were divine honors
paid to the Queen of Heaven, and the land was covered over
Avith houses set apart for celibacy. Of course, rude and
gross, minds can find plenty to sneer at in that institution,
and doubtless the form of the truth was mistaken enough, as
all mere. forms of doctrine are. But the heart. of truth which
lay beneath all that superstition was a precious, one. It was
this. . So long as purity of heart, delicacy of feeling, chastity
of life, are found in a nation, so long that nation is great— no
longer. Personal purity is the divinest thing in man and
woman. It is the most sacred truth which the Church of
Christ, is commissioned to exhibit and proclaim. . .
Upon these virtues I observe : The Roman was conspicu
ous for the virtues of this earth — honor, fidelity, courage,
chastity, all manliness; yet the apostle felt that he had a

144 Second Advent Lecture.
Gospel to preach to them that were in Rome also. Moral
virtues are not religious graces. There are tAvo classes of
excellence. There are men Avhose lives are full of moral
principle, and there are others Avhose feelings are strongly
devotional. And, strange to say, each of these is found at
times disjoined from the other. Men of almost spotless
earthly honor, Avho scarcely seem to know what reverence
for things heavenly and devout aspirations towards Gpd
mean ; men who have the religious instinct, pray with fer
vor, kindle with spiritual raptures, and yet are impure in
their feelings, and fail in matters of common truth and
honesty. Each of these is but a half man, dwarfed and
stunted in his spiritual growth. The " perfect man in Christ
Jesus," who has grown to the " measure of the stature of the
fullness of Christ," is he Avho has united these two- things :
Avho, to the high Roman virtues Avhich adorn this earth,
has added the sublimer feelings Avhich are the investiture of
Heaven: in whom "justice, mercy, truth" are but the body
of which the soul is faith and love.
Yet observe, these are moral virtues, and morality is not
religion. Still, beware of depreciating them. Beware of
talking contemptuously of " mere morality." If we must
choose betAveen two things which ought never to be divided,
moral principle and religious sentiment, there is no question
which most constitutes the character " which is not far from
the kingdom of heaven." Devout feelings are common
enough in childhood, religious emotions, religious warmth,
instances of which are retailed by the happy parent ; com
mon enough, too, in grown men and women — but listen —
those devout reelings, separate from high principle, do not
save from immorality : nay, I do believe, are the very step
ping-stone towards it. When the sensual is confounded
with and mistaken for the spiritual; and merely 'devout
warmth is the rich, rank soil of heart in which moral evil
most surely and most rankly grows — you will not easily
build Roman virtues upon that. But high principle, which
is, in other words, the- baptism of John, is the very basis on
Avhich is most naturally raised the superstructure of religious
faith. Happy, thrice happy he Avho begins with the law and
ends with the gospel.
III. The decline of Roman life.
1. First came corruption of the moral character. The
Roman worldliness was of a kind far higher than the Gre
cian. In his way the Roman really had the world's good at
heart. There was a something invisible at which he aimed :

The Roman. 145
invisible justice, invisible order, invisible right. Still it was
only the law on earth — the Avell-being of this existence. And
whatever is only of this earth is destined to decay. The
soul of the Roman, bent on this Avorld's affairs, became secu
larized, then animalized, and so at last, when there was little
left to do, pleasure became his aim, as it had been the Gre
cian's. Then came ruin swiftly. When the emperors lived
for their elaborately contrived life of luxury, Avhen the Roman
soldier left his country's battles to be fought by mercenaries,
the doom of Rome was sealed. Yet, because it was a nobler
Avorldliness, less sensual and less selfish, the struggle Avith de
cay was more protracted than in Greece. Lofty spirits rose
to stem the tide of corruption, and the death-throes of Rome
were long and terrible. She ran a mighty career of a thou
sand years. ?
2. Skepticism and superstition went hand in hand. An
example of the former Ave have in Pilate's question, " What
is truth ?" An example of the latter in the superstitious
belief of the inhabitants of Lystra that Paul and Barnabas
Avere " gods conic to them in the likeness of men." And this
probably was a tolerably accurate picture of the state of
Roman feeling. The lower classes sunk in a debased super
stition — the educated classes, too intellectual to belieA'e in it,
and yet having nothing better to put in its stead. Or per
haps there was also a superstition which is only another
name for skepticism : infidelity trembling at itself, shrinking
from its OAvn shadoAV. There is a fearful question for which
the soul must find an answer — the mystery of its own being
and destinies. Men looked into their own souls, and, listen
ing, heard only an aAvful silence there. No response came
from the Avorld without. Philosophy had none to give.
And then men, terrified at the progress of infidelity, more
than half distrusting their own tendencies, took refuge in
adding superstition to superstition. They brought in the
gods of Greece, and Egypt, and the East : as if multiplying
the objects of reverence strengthened the spirit of reverence
in the soul ; as if every new sacredness. was a barrier be
tween them and the dreadful abyss of uncertainty into which
they did not dare to look.
This is as true now as then. Superstition is the refuge of
a skeptical spirit, Avhich has a heart too devout to dare to be
skeptical. Men tremble at new theories, new views, the
spread of. infidelity, and they think to fortify themselves
against these by 'multiplying the sanctities which they rever
ence. But all this will not do. Superstition can not do the
work of faith, and give repose or peace. It is not by multi-
1

146 Second Advent Lecture.
plying ceremonies — it is not by speaking of holy things with
low, bated breath — it is not by entrenching the soul behind
the infallibility of a church, or the infallibility of the words
and sentences of a book — it is not by shutting out inquiry,
and resenting every investigation as profane, that you can
arrest the progress of infidelity. Faith, not superstition, is
the remedy.
There is a grand fearlessness in faith. He who in his
heart of hearts reverences the good, the true, the holy — that
is, reverences God — does not tremble at the apparent success
ofattacks upon the outworks of his faith. They may shake
those Avho rested on those outworks — they do not move him
whose soul reposes on the truth itself. He needs no props
or crutches to support his faith. He .does not need to multi
ply the objects of his awe in order to keep dreadful doubt
away. Founded on a Rock, Faith can afford to gaze undis
mayed at the approaches of Infidelity.
3. In Rome religion degenerated into allegiance to the
State. In Greece, as it has been truly said, it ended in taste.
In Rome it closed Avith the worship of the emperor. Noth
ing shoAVS the contrast between Greek and Roman feeling
more strongly than this. In Greece the poet became the
prophet, and the artist Avas the man divinely inspired. In
Rome the deification of the emperor, as the symbol of gov
ernment, Avas the point tOAvards which, unsuspected, but by
a sure and inevitable consecutiveness, the national feeling for
ages had been tending.
And the distinction between the Christian and the Roman
tone of feeling is no less strikingly contrasted in the very
same allegiance. Sacrament, perhaps, is the highest Avord of
symbolical life in both. It is a Roman word. In Rome it
meant an oath of allegiance to the Senate arid Roman people.
Nothing higher the Roman knew. In the Christian Church
it is also the oath of highest fidelity ; but its import there is
this : " Here we offer and present unto thee, 0 Lord, our
selves, our souls and bodies, to be a living sacrifice."
In this contrast of the sacramental vows, as I have re
marked before, were perceptible the different tendencies of
the tAvo starting-points of revealed religion and Roman.
Judaism began from law or obligation to a holy person.
Roman religion began from obedience to a mere will. Ju
daism ended in Christianity, whose central principle is joy
ful surrender to One whose name is Love. The religion of
Rome ended, among the nobler, as Cato and the Antonines,
in the fatalism of a sublime but loveless stoicism, Avhose es
sential spirit is submission to a destiny ; among the ordinary

The Roman. 147
men, in mere zeal for the state, more or less earthly. It stiff
ened into stoicism, or degenerated in public spirit.
4. The last step wc notice is the decline of religion into ex
pediency. It is a startling thing to see men protecting popu
lar superstitions which they despise ; taking part with solemn
gravity in mummeries which in their heart they laugh at.
Yet such, we are told, was the state of things in Rome. It
is a trite and often quoted observation of a great Roman,
that one minister of religion could scarcely meet another
AA'ithout a smile upon his countenance, indicating conscious
ness of a solemn mockery. And an instance of this, I believe,
we have in the Acts of the Apostles. The town-clerk or mag
istrate of Ephesus stilled the populace by a kind of accom
modation to their prejudices much in the same way in which
a nurse would soothe a passionate child. Apparently, as we
are told, he belonged to the friends of Paul ; and we can
scarcely forbear a smile at the solemn gravity Avith which he
assures the people that there could be no doubt that the im
age fell down from Jupiter : no question throughout all Asia
and the world about the greatness of the " great goddess
Diana." For there were cultivated minds which had apprehended
some of the truths of Christianity — philosophers who were
enlightened far beyond their age. But a line of martyred
philosophers had made them cautious. They made a com
promise. They enjoyed their own light, kept silence, and
left the rest in darkness. The result was. destruction of their
own moral being ; for the laAV of truth is that it can not be
shut up without becoming a dead thing, and mortifying the
Avhole nature. Not the truth which a man knows, but that
Avhich he says and lives, becomes the soul's life. Truth can not
bless except when it is lived for, proclaimed and suffered for.
This was the plan of the enlightened Avhen the Saviour
came. And this is the lowest step of a nation's fall, when
the few who know the truth refuse to publish it; when gov
ernments patronize superstition as a mere engine for govern
ing; when the ministers of religion only half believe the
dogmas. which they teach, dare not even say to one another
Avhat they feel and what they doubt ; when they dare not be
true to their convictions for fear of an Ephesian mob.
Therefore it Avas necessary that One should come into the
Avorld who should be true— '-the truest of all that are Avoman-
born; Avhose life was truth; who from everlasting had been
the truth. It Avas necessary that He should come to preach
the Gospel to the poor, to dare to say to the people some
truths which the. philosophers dared not say, and other truths

148 Third Advent Lecture.
of which no philosopher had ever dreamed. The penalty of
that true life was the sacrifice which is the world's Atone
ment. 1 Men saw the Mortal die. But others saw the Im
mortal rise to take His place at the right hand of Power :
and the Spirit which has been streaming out ever since from
that hfe and death is the world's present Light, and shall be
its everlasting Life.

XIII.
THIRD ADVENT LECTURE.
THE BARBARIAN.
"And when they were escaped, then they knew that the island was called
Melita. And the barbarous people showed us no little kindness : for they .
kindled a fire, and received us every one, because of the present rain, and
because of the cold. And when Paul had gathered a bundle of sticks, and
laid them on the fire, there came a viper out of the heat, and fastened on his
hand. And when the barbarians saw the venomous beast hang on his hand,
they said among themselves, No doubt this man is a murderer, whom, though
he hath escaped the sea, yet vengeance suffereth not to live. And he ehooK
off the beast into the fire, and felt no harm. Howbeit they looked when he
should have swollen, or fallen down dead suddenly : but after they had
looked a great while, and saw no harm come to him, they changed their
minds, and said that he was a god. In the same quarters were possessions
of the chief man of the island, whose name was Publius ; who received us,
and lodged us three days courteously." — Acts xxviii. 1-7.
Op the four divisions ofthe world at the time ofthe Ad
vent, two hav# already been reviewed. The Greek, seeing
the right only on its side of beauty, ended in mere intellect
ual refinement. The artist took the place of God, and genius
stood for inspiration. The Roman's destiny was different.
His Avas not the kingdom of burnished brass, but the king
dom of iron. He set out with the great idea of duty and
law: exhibited in consequence the austere simplicity of pure
domestic life, in public affairs government and order : stamp
ing upon the world the great idea of obedience to law. In
the decline of Rome the results of this were manifest. After
a mighty career of a thousand years Rome had run out her
course. Among the loftier minds who stood out protesting
against her corruption, and daring in a corrupted age to be
lieve in the superiority of right to enjoyment,' grand con
tempt for pleasure, sublime defiances of pain told out the
dying agonies of the iron kingdom, worthy of the heart of
steel Avhich beat beneath the Roman's robe. This was stoi-

The Barbarian: 149
cism : the Grecian philosophy which took deepest root, as
might have been expected, in the soil of Roman thought.
Stoicism Avas submission to a destiny : : hard, rigid, loveless
submission. Its language was Must. It must be, and man's
highest manliness is to submit to the inevitable. It is right
because it must be so. Besides these higher ones, there were
others who carried out the idea of duty in quite another di
rection. With the mass of the nation, reverence for law
passed into homage to the symbol of law — loyalty to the
Government; its highest expression being the sacramental
homage to the nation's authority. So that, as I have alreadj
said, the Roman spirit stiffened into stoicism, and degener
ated into worship of the emperor. This Avas not accidental,
it was the inevitable result of the idea. It might have taken
half the time, or ten times as long ; but at last the germ
must have ripened into that fruit and no other. The Roman
began Avith obedience to will.
Law, meaning obedience to a holy God, passes by a nat
ural transition into the Gospel : that is, reverential duty to a
person becomes the obedience of love at last, which obeys
because the beautifulness of obedience is perceived. The
Jew began in severity, ended in beauty. The Roman began
in severity, ended in rigidity, or else relaxation. To him the
Advent came proclaiming the Lord of love instead of the co
ercive necessity of a lifeless fate.
To the Greek worshipper of beauty, the Advent came with
an announcement of an inner beauty. . He who was to them,
and all such, " a Root out of a dry ground, with no form or
comeliness," with nothing to captivate a, refined taste, or
gratify an elegant sensibility, lived a life which Avas divine
and beautiful. His religion, as contrasted with the Grecian,
supplementing it, and confirming in it what was true, " was
the Avorship of the Lord in the beauty of holiness."
The third department is the necessity of the Advent for
the Barbarian world.
By Barbarian was meant any religion but the Roman or
the Greek — a contemptuous term, the spirit of which is com
mon enough in all ages. Just as now every narrow sect
monopolizes God, claims for itself an exclusive heaven, con
temptuously looks on all the rest of mankind as sitting in
outer darkness, and complacently consigns myriads whom
God has made to His uncovenanted mercies, that is, to prob
able destruction, so, in ancient times, the JeAV scornfully des
ignated all nations but his own as Gentiles; and the Roman
and Greek, each retaliating in his Avay, treated all nations
but his own under the common epithet of Barbarians.

1 50 Third Advent Lecture.
We shall confine ourselves to-day to a single case of bar
barian life. We shall not enter into the religion of our own
ancestors, the Celts and Teutonic nations, who were barbari
ans then, nor that of the Scythians or the Africans. One in
stance will be sufficient.
Twice in his recorded history St. Paul came in contact
with barbarians — twice he was counted as a god. Once
among the semi-barbarians of Lycaonia, at Lystra — once here
at Melita.
There is a little uncertainty about the identification of this
Melita. It was a name shared by two islands^— Malta, and
Melida in the Adriatic. But it seems to be established be
yond all reasonable doubt that it was on Malta, not on Me
lida, that St. Paul was wrecked. The chief objection to this
view is, that immediately before the wreck we are told —
chap, xxvii. 21 — that they were " driven up and down in
Adria." But this is satisfactorily answered by the fact that
the name Adriatic was applied often loosely to all the sea
round Sicily. Two great arguments in favor of Malta then
remain : After leaving the island, the apostle touched at Sy
racuse, and so went on to Rhegium and Puteoli. This is the
natural direction from Malta to Rome, but not from Melida.
Then besides, " barbarians " will not apply to the inhabitants
of Melida. They were Greeks : whereas the natives of Mal-
ta, living under Roman government, were originally Cartha
ginians, who had been themselves a Phoenician colony. The
epithet is perfectly correct as applied to them.
It is the Carthaginian or Phoenician religion, then, which
moulded the barbarian life, that we examine to-day. We
take three points.
I. Barbarian virtues,
H Barbarian idea of retribution.
ni. Barbarian conception of Deity.
I. Barbarian virtues. Two errors have been held on the
subject of natural goodness. The first, that of those who
deny to fallen man any goodness at all, and refuse to admit
even kindliness of feeling. In the language of a celebrated
and popular expounder of this view, " man in his natural
state is one-half beast and one-half devil." This is the effect
of a system. No man in his heart believes that. No moth
er ever gazed upon her child, baptized or unbaptized, and
thought so. Men are better than their creed. Their hearts
are more than a match for their false theological system.
Beneath the black skin of the African there runs a blood as
warm as that which is in the blue A-eins of the Chiistian.

The Barbarian. 151
Among the civilized heathen, the instinctive feelings are as
kindly and as exquisitely delicate as they were ever found
in the bosom of the baptized. Accordingly, we find here
these natural barbarian virtues of hospitality and sympathy.
The shipwrecked mariners, wet and cold, were received in
Melita with a warm, compassionate welcome. The people of
the island did not say, "Depart in peace, be ye warmed and
filled." They gave them those things which were necessary
for the body. And a Christian contemplating this, gave this
distinct testimony, " The barbarous people showed us no lit
tle kindness."
The second error is the opposite one of placing too high a
value on these natural virtues. There is a class of writers
who talk much of early unsophisticated times. They tell of
the days " when wild in woods the noble savage ran." They
speak of pastoral simplicity, and the reverence and piety of
mountain life. According to them, civilization is the great
corrupter. But the truth is, the natural good feelings of hu
man nature are only instincts: no more moral than a long
sight or a. delicate sense of hearing. The keen feelings of
the child are no guaranty of future principle — perhaps rath
er the reverse. The profuse hospitality of the mountaineer,
who rarely sees strangers, arid to whom gold is little worth,
becomes shrewd and selfish calculation so soon as temptation
from passing traffic is placed in his way. You may travel
among savages Avho treat you, as a stranger, with courtesy,
but yet feed on the flesh of their enemies. And these Meli-
tans, who " showed no little kindness ", to the wrecked crew,
belonged to a stock who, in the most civilized days of Car
thage, offered human sacrifice, and after every successful battle
Avith the Romans burnt the chief prisoners alive as a thank-
offering to Heaven. If Ave trace them still farther back, we
find their Phoenician ancestors in the _01d Testament tainted
Avith the same practice, and the Hebrews themselves imbib
ing it from them, so as to be perpetually arraigned by their
prophets on the charge of making; their sons and daughters
"pass through the fire to -Baal."- They could be kind to
strangers, and cruel to enemies.
The Advent of Christ brought a neAV spirit into the world.
"A new commandment give I unto you, that ye loAre one an
other." That was not the new part. The Melitans would not
have disagreed with that. ... " As I have loved you, that
ye love one another." "As I have loved you," .... that
makes all new. So also 1 John ii. 7, 8. The ." old command
ment " was old enough. Barbarians felt in their hearts. But
the same commandment Avith " true light " shining on it was
different indeed.

1 52 Third Advent Lecture.
" Love your neighbor, hate your enemy." Carthaginians
obeyed that. Hear the law of love expounded by Himself:
"But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that
curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them
which despitefully use you and persecute you. For if ye
love them Avhich love you, what do ye more than others?
Do not even . . . (the barbarians) . . . the same ?" This is
Christianity — that is, the mind of Christ.
Remark, too, the principle on which this is taught. " That
ye may be the children of your Father Avhich is in heaven :
for He maketh His sun to rise on the evil and on the good,
and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust." Not upon
merely personal authority ; not by a law graven on stone,
nor even printed in a book, to be referred to, chapter and
verse ; but on the principle of the imitation of God. His
heart interpreted the universe — He read its " open secret,"
Avhich is open to all who have the heart to feel it, secret to
all others. A secret, according to Him, to be gathered from
the rain as it fell on the just and the unjust, from the dew
of heaven, from the lily, and from the fowls of the air, from
the wheat, from every law and every atom. This was His
revelation. He revealed God. He spelled for us the mean
ing of all this perplexing, unintelligible world. He pro
claimed its hidden meaning to be Love. So He converted
rude barbarian . instincts into Christian graces — by expand
ing their sphere and purifying them of selfishness — causing
them to be regulated by principle, and elevating them into
a conscious imitation of God in His revealed character.
II. The Barbarian idea of retribution.
The Apostle Paul was one of those who are formed to be
the leaders of the world. Foremost in persecution, foremost
in Christianity (" nothing behind the chiefest apostles ") fore
most in the shipwreck, his voice the calmest, his heart the
stoutest, his advice the wisest in the tumult; foremost, too,
when all was over, not as a prisoner, but actively engaged
for the general good, it is Paul who is gathering the sticks
to make the fire. From those sticks a viper sprung and fas
tened on his hand, and the first impression of the barbarians
was, "No doubt this man is a murderer, whom, though he
hath escaped the sea, yet vengeance suffereth not to live."
This is the very basis of all natural religion — the idea of
the connection between guilt and retribution. In some
form or other it underlies all mythologies. The sleepless,
never-dying avengers of Avrong — the Nemesis who presides
over retribution — the vengeance which suffereth not the

The Barbarian. 153
murderer to live — the Avhips and scorpions of the Furies —
it seems the first instinct of religion.
In the Barbarian conception of it, however, there was
something gross, corporeal, and dangerous ; because they
misinterpreted natural laAvs into vengeance. Yet there is a
proneness in man to judge so. We expect that nature "will
execute the chastisements of the spiritual world. Hence all
mture becomes to the imagination leagued against the
transgressor. The stars in their courses fight against Sisera ;
the wall of Siloam falls on guilty men ; the sea will not carry
the criminal, nor the plank bear him — the viper stings —
every thing is a minister of wrath. On this conviction na
tions constructed their trial by ordeal. The guilty man's
sword would fail in the duel, and the foot would strike and
be burnt by the hot ploughshare. Some idea of this sort
lurks in all our minds. We picture to ourselves the spectres
ofthe past haunting the nightly bed of the tyrant. We take
for granted that there is an avenger making life miserable.
But experience corrects all this. The tyrant's sleep is
often as sweet and sound as the infant's. The sea will
wreck an apostle, and bear a murderer triumphantly. The
viper stings the innocent turf- cutter. The fang of evil
pierces the heel of the noblest as he treads it doAvn. It is
the poetry of man's heart, not the reality of the universe,
which speaks of the vengeance which pursues guilt with un
relenting steps to slay ; only in poetry is this form of jus
tice found ; only in poetry does the fire refuse to burn the
innocent; only in poetry can Purity lay her hand on the
fawning lion's mane. If we ask where these Melitans got
their idea of retribution, the reply is, out of their own
hearts. They felt the eternal connection between wrong
doing and penalty. The penalty they would have executed
on murder, was death. They naturally threw this idea of
theirs into the character of God, and blended together what
was theirs and what is His. This is valuable as a proof of
the instinctive testimony of man's heart to the realities of
retribution. It is utterly worthless as a testimony to the
form in which retributive justice works, because it is not
borne out by the facts of life.
Again, that "notion was false, in that it expected vengeance
forflagrant crime only. " This man is a murderer." There
is a common and superstitious feeling now to that effect,
" Murder will out :" as if God had set a black mark on mur
der — as if, because it is unlikely to escape detection in a
country where every man's hand is against the murderer,
impunity was not common enough in countries Avhere hu-

1 54 Third Advent Lecture.
man life is held cheap. The truth is, we think much of
crime, little of sin. There is many a murderer executed
whose heart is pure and whose life is white, compared with
those of many a man who lives a respectable and even hon
ored life. David Avas a murderer. The Pharisees had com
mitted no crime, but their heart was rotten at the core.
There was in it the sin which has no forgiveness. It is not
a Christian but a Barbarian estimate, which ranks crime
above sin, and takes murder for the chief of sins marked out
for Heaven's vengeance.
As information increased, this idea of retribution disap
pears. Natural laws are understood, and retribution van
ishes. Then often comes Epicureanism or Atheism. "All
things come alike to all : there is one end to the righteous
and to the sinner ; to the clean and to the unclean : to him
that sacrifice th, and to him that sacrificeth not." This is the
feeling of the voluptuary of Ecclesiastes. If so, then the in
ference suggests itself to Epicurean indolence; — " Let us eat
and drink" — it is all the same. Or the skeptical feeling
comes thus : " Verily I have cleansed my heart in vain, and
washed my hands in innocency." For assuredly there is no
vengeance such as this which suffers not the murderer to
live, but arms the powers of nature against him< Therefore
why do right instead of wrong ?
Thus the idea of retribution is gone for those who see no
deeper than the outward chance of penalty.
The Advent of Christ brought deeper and truer vieAvs.
It taught what sin is, and what suffering is. It showed the
Innocent on the Gross bearing the penalty of the world's sin,
but Himself still the Son of God, with whom the Father was
not angry, but "well pleased."
The penal agonies of sin are chiefly those which are exe
cuted within. "Vengeance," said the Melitans, " suffereth
not the murderer to live." " Whosoever slayeth Cain," said
God, "vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold." Cain,
the murderer, lives — Christ, the holy, dies. Cain is to us
the dread type of hell. To live ! that is hell, to live when
you fain would die. There is such a thing as being salted
Avith fire, a never annihilating but still consuming, torture.
You may escape the viper and the wreck. You may by
prudence make this world painless, more or less. You can
not escape yourself. Go where you will, you carry with
you a soul degraded, its power lost, its finer sensibilities de
stroyed. Worse than the viper's tooth is the punishment
of no longer striving after goodness, or aspiring after the life
of God. Just as the man can not see through the glass on

The Barbarian. 155
which he breathes, sin darkens the windows of the soul.
You can not look out even to know the glories of the fair
world from which your soul excludes itself. There is no
punishment equal to the punishment of being base. To sink
from sin to sin, from infamy to infamy, that is the fearful
retribution which is executed in the spiritual world. You
are safe, go where you will, from, the viper : as safe as if
you were the holiest of God's children. The fang is in your
soul. ni. The Barbarian conception of Deity.
When the viper fell off, and Paul was left uninjured, they
changed their mind and said that he was a god.
Observe first, this implied a certain advance in religious
notions. There is a stage of worship prior to that of man-
worship. Man finds himself helpless among the powers of
nature, and worships the forces themselves which he finds
around him. This takes different forms. The highest is the
worship of that host of heaven from which Job professed
himself to be free. With some it is the adoration of lifeless
things : the oak Avhich has been made sacred by the light
ning-stroke ; the " meteoric stone " Avhich fell down from
Jupiter. So the Israelites adored the brazen serpent, with
which power had once been in connection. Evidently there
can be no holy influence in this. Men worship them by fear,
fortify themselves by charms and incantations : do not try
to please God by being holy, but defend themselves from
danger by jugglery. The Christians of the early ages car
ried about bits of consecrated bread to protect themselves
from shipwreck.
Besides this, men have worshipped brute life — some ani
mal, exhibiting a limited, quality, Which is yet reckoned a
type ofthe Divine. The hawk-eyed deities of Egypt, for in
stance, implied omnisoience. Beast-worship Avas that of
Egypt. Israel learned it there, and in an early stage of their
history imitated the highest form Avhich they knew, that of
Apis, in their golden calf
It is quite clear that the Melitans Avere in a stage beyond
this. It is a step when men rise from the worship of lifeless
things to that of animals — another when they rise to Avorship
human qualities ; for they are nearest the Divine. Perhaps
a step higher still, when, like the early Romans, they wor
ship a principle like Destiny, separate from all shape. They
were in the stage of Avorshipping what is human.
2. But in this worship of the human we have to distinguish
that it Avas the adoration of the marvellous, not the rever-

1 5 6 Third Advent Lecture.
erice for the good. It was not Paul's character to which
they yielded homage. It was only to the wonderful mys
tery of, as they supposed, miraculous escape. So, too, at
Lystra. It was the miracle which they chiefly saw.
All that would pass away when they knew that he was a
man of like passions with themselves, or Avhen they were in
formed that it was a providential escape which might have
happened to any ordinary man. When the savage sees the
flash of European fire-arms he kneels as to a god ; but when
he has learned its use, his new religion is gone. When the
Americans first saw the winged ships of Spain, they thought
that the deities spoke in thunder; but when they discovered
the secret of their humanity, the worship ceased. And thus
science is every day converting the religion of mere wonder
into Atheism. The mere worship of the mysterious has but
a limited existence. As you teach laws, you undermine that
religion. ' Men cease to tremble. The Laplander would no
longer be awed by the eclipse if he knew how to calculate it
with unerring accuracy. The savage's dread of lightning as
the bolt of God, is over when he sees the philosopher draAv
it from the clouds, and experimentalize on it in his laboratory.
The awe created by a pestilence is passed, when it is found
to be strictly under the guidance of natural laws. And the
Romanist, or the semi-Romanist, whose religion is chiefly a
sense of the mysterious, the solemn, and the awful, and
Avhose flesh creeps Avhen he sees a miracle in the consecration
ofthe sacraments, ends, as is Avell known, in infidelity, when
enlightenment and reason have struck the ground of false
reverence from beneath his feet.
It is upon this indisputable basis that the mightiest sys
tem of modern Atheism has been built. The great founder
of that system divides all human history into three periods.
The first, in ' which the Supernatural is believed in; and a
personal agent is believed in as the cause of all phenomena.
The second, in which metaphysical abstractions are assumed
as Causes. The third, the Positive stage, in Avhich nothing
is expected but the knowledge of sequences by experience ;
the Absolute, that lies beneath all phenomena, being forever
unknowable, and a God, if there be a God, undiscoverable by
the intellect of man.
This conclusion is irrefragable. Granted that the only ba
sis of religion is awe, a Avorship of the marvellous, then ver
ily, there remains nothing for the human race to end in but
blank and ghastly Atheism.
Therefore has the Redeemer's Advent taught a deeper truth
to man. The Apostle Paul spoke almost slightingly ofthe

The Barbarian.

157

marvellous. " Covet earnestly the best gifts : yet shoAv I
unto you a more excellent way. Though I speak with the
tongues of men and angels, and have-not love, I am become
as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal." Love is diviner
than all wondrous powers.
So, too, the Son of God came into this world, depreciating
the merely mysterious. "An evil and adulterous genera
tion seeketh after a sign. No sign shall be given to it."
"Except ye see signs and wonders, ye will not believe."
Nay, His own miracles themselves, so far as the merely avoii-
drous in them was concerned, He was willing, on one occa
sion at least, to place on the same level with the real or sup
posed ones of exorcists among themselves. ' " If I by Beel
zebub cast out devils, by whom do your sons cast them out ?"
It Avas not the power, nor the supernatural in them, which
proved them divine. It was their peculiar character — their
benevolence, their goodness, their love — which manifested
Deity. Herein lies the vast fallacy oi the French skeptic. The
worship of the merely Supernatural must, as science pro
gresses, legitimately end in Atheism. Yes, all science re
moves the Cause of causes farther and farther back from hu
man ken, so that the baffled intellect is compelled to confess
at last Ave can not find it. But "the world by wisdom knew
not God." There is a power in the soul, quite separate from
the intellect, which sweeps away or recognizes the marvel
lous, by which God is felt. Faith stands serenely far above
the reach of the atheism of science. It does not rest on the
wonderful, but on the eterrial wisdom and goodness of God.
The revelation of the Son was to proclaim a Father, not a
mystery. No science can sweep away the everlasting love
which the heart feels, and which the intellect does not even
pretend to judge or recognize. And he is safe from the in
evitable decay, which attends the mere Barbarian Avorship,
who has felt that as faith is the strongest power in the mind
of man, so is love the divinest principle in the bosom of God :
in other words, he who adores God as known in Christ, rath
er than trembles before the Unknown — Avhose homage is
vielded to Divine Character rather than to Divine Power.

158 The Principle of the Spiritual Harvest.

XIV.
THE PRINCIPLE OF THE SPIRITUAL HARVEST.
"Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth,
that shall he also reap. For he that, soweth to his flesh shall of the flesh reap
corruption ; but he that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life ever
lasting." — Gal. vi. 7, 8.
There is a close analogy between the world of nature
and the world of spirit. They bear the impress of the same
hand ; and hence the principles of nature and its laws are
the types and shadows of the Invisible. Just as two books,
though on different subjects, proceeding from the same pen,
manifest indications of the thought of one mind, so the
worlds, visible and invisible, are two books written by the
same finger, and governed by the same idea. Or rather,
they are but one book, separated into two only. by the nar
row range of our ken. For it is impossible to study the uni
verse at all without perceiving that it is one system. Be
gin Avith what science you will, as soon as you get beyond
the rudiments, you are constrained to associate it with an
other. :
You can not study agriculture long without finding that
it absorbs into itself meteorology and chemistry : sciences
run into one another till you get'the " connection of the sci
ences;" and you1 begin to learn that one Divine idea con
nects the whole in one system of perfect order.
It was upon this principle that Christ taught. Truths
come forth from His lips, not stated simply on authority, but
based on the analogy of the universe. His human mind, in
perfect harmony with the Divine mind with which it is mix
ed, discerned the connection of things, and read the Eternal
Will in the simplest laws of nature. For instance, if it were
a question whether God would give His Spirit to them tfiat
asked, it was not replied to by a truth revealed on His au
thority ; the answer was derived from facts lying open to all
men's observation. " Behold the fowls ofthe air" — " behold
the lilies of the field " — learn from them the answer to your
question. A principle was there. God supplies the wants
which He has created. He feeds the ravens — He clothes the
lilies — He will fged with His Spirit the craving spirits of His
children.

The Principle of the Spiritual Harvest, 1 59
• It was on this principle of analogy that St. Paul taught in
this text. He tells us that there is a laAV in nature accord
ing to which success is proportioned to the labor spent upon
the work. In kind and in degree, success is attained in
kind ; for example, he who has sown his field with beech-
mast does not receive a plantation of oaks ; a literary educa
tion is not the road to distinction in arms, but to success in
letters ; years spent on agriculture do not qualify a man to
be an orator, but they make him a skillful farmer. Success,
again, is proportioned to labor in degree, because, ordinarily,
as is the amount of seed sown, so is the harvest : he who
studies much will know more than he who studies little. In
almost all departments it is " the diligent hand which mak-
eth rich."
The keen eye of Paul discerned this principle reaching far
beyond what is seen, into the spiritual realm which is un
seen. As tare-seed comes up tares, and wheat-seed wheat ;
and as the crop in both cases is in proportion to two condi
tions, the labor and the quantity committed to the ground
— so in things spiritual, too, whatsoever a man soweth, that
shall he also reap. Not something else, but " that." The
proportion holds in kind — it holds, too, in degree, in spiritual
things as in natural. " He which soweth sparingly shall
reap also sparingly ; and he which soweth bountifully shall
reap also bountifully." If we could understand and rightly
expound that principle, we should be saved from much of the
disappointment and surprise which come from extravagant
and unreasonable expectations. I shall try first to elucidate
the principle Avhich these verses contain, and then examine
the two branches ofthe principle.
I. The principle is this, " God is not mocked : for whatso.
ever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."
There are two kinds of good possible to men : one enjoyed
by our animal being, the other felt and appreciated by our
spirits. Every man understands more or less the difference
befween these two : between prosperity and well-doing — be
tween indulgence and nobleness — between comfort and in
ward peace — between pleasure and striving after perfection
— between happiness and blessedness. These are two kinds
of harvest, and the labor necessary for them respectively is
of very different kinds. The labor which procures the har
vest ofthe one has no tendency to secure the other.
We will not depreciate the advantages of this world. It
is foolish and unreal to do so. Comfort, affluence, success,
freedom from care, rank, station — these are in their real way

i 60 The Principle of the Spiritual Harvest.
goods ; only the labor bestowed upon them does not procure
one single blessing that is spiritual. ¦
On the other hand, the seed which is sown for a spiritual
harvest has no tendency whatever to procure temporal well-
being. -Let us see what are the laws of the sowing and reap
ing in this department. Christ has declared them : " Bless
ed are the pure in heart : for they shall see God." " Bless
ed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness : for
they shall be filled " (with righteousness). " Blessed are they
that mourn : for they shall be comforted." You observe,
the beatific vision of the Almighty — fullness of righteous
ness — divine comfort. There is nothing earthly here — it is,
spiritual results for spiritual labor. It is not said that the
pure in heart shall be made rich ; nor that they who hunger
after goodness shall be filled with bread ; nor that they who
mourn shall rise in life and obtain distinction. Each depart
ment has its own appropriate harvest — reserved exclusively
to its' own method of sowing.
Every thing in this world has its price, and the price buys
that, not something else. Every harvest demands its own
preparation,' and that preparation will not produce another
sort of harvest. Thus, for example, you can not have at
once the soldier's renown and the quiet of a recluse's life.
The soldier pays his price for his glory— soavs and reaps.
His price is risk of life and limb, nights spent on the hard
ground, a weather-beaten constitution. If you will not pay
that price, you can not have what he has — military reputa
tion. You can not enjoy the statesman's influence together
Avith freedom from public notoriety. If you sensitively
shrink from that, you must give up influence; or else pay
his price — the price of a thorny pillow, unrest, the chance of
being to-day a nation's idol, to-morrow the people's execra
tion. You can not have the store of information possessed
by the student, and enjoy robust health : pay his price, and
you have his reward. His price is an emaciated frame, a de
bilitated constitution, a transparent hand, and the rose taken
out of the sunken cheek. To expect these opposite things :
a soldier's glory and quiet, a statesman's renown and peace,
the student's prize and rude health, would be to mock God,
to reap what has not been sowed. ¦ '
Now the mistakes riieri make, arid the extravagant expec
tations in which they indulge, are these : they sow for earth,
and expect to Aviri spiritual blessings, or they sow to the
Spirit, and then Avdnder that they have not a harvest of the
good things of earth. In each case they complain, What
have I done to be treated so ?

The Principle of the Spiritual Harvest. 161
The unreasonableness of all this appears the moment we
have understood the conditions contained in this principle,
" Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."
It is a common thing to hear sentimental wonderings
about the unfairness of the distribution of things here. The
unprincipled get on in life, the saints are kept back. The
riches and rewards of life fall to the lot ofthe undeserving.
The rich man has his good things, and Lazarus his evil things.
Whereupon it is taken for granted that there must be a fu
ture life to make this fair : that if there were none, the con
stitution of this world would be unjust. That is, that be
cause a man who has sown to the Spirit does not reap to the
flesh here, he will hereafter ; that the meed of well-doing
must be somewhere in the universe the same kind of recom
pense which the rewards of the unprincipled were here —
comfort, abundance, physical enjoyment — or else all is wrong.
But if you look into it, the balance is perfectly adjusted
even here. God has made his world much better than you
and I could make it. Every thing reaps its own harvest, ev
ery act has its own reward. And before you covet the en
joyment which another possesses, you must first calculate the
cost at which it was procured.
For instance, the religious tradesman complains that his
honesty is a hindrance to his success : that the tide of cus
tom pours into the doors of his less scrupulous neighbors in
the same street, while he himself waits for hours idle. My
brother, do you think that God is going to reward honor, in
tegrity, high-mindedness, with this world's coin ? Do you
fancy that He will pay spiritual excellence with plenty of
custom? Now, consider the price that man has paid for his
success. Perhaps mental degradation and inward dishonor.
His advertisements are all deceptive ; his treatment of his
workmen tyrannical ; his cheap prices made possible by in
ferior articles. Sow that man's seed, and you will reap that
man's harvest. Cheat, lie, advertise, be unscrupulous in your
assertions, custom will come to you. But if the price is too
dear, let him have his harvest, and take yours; yours is
a clear conscience, a pure mind, rectitude within and with
out. Will you part with that for his ? Then Avhy do you
complain? He has paid his price, you do not choose to
pay it.
Again, it is not an uncommon thing to see a man rise from
insignificance to sudden wealth by speculation. Within the
last ten or twenty years England has gazed on many such a
phenomenon. In this case, as in spiritual things, the law seems
to hold: He that hath, to him shall be given. Tens of thou-

1 62 The Principle of the Spiritual Harvest,
sands soon increase and multiply to hundreds of thousands.
His doors are besieged by the rich and great. Royalty ban
quets at his table,.and nobles court his alliance. Whereupon
some simple Christian is inclined to complain : " How strange
that so much prosperity should be the lot of mere clever
ness !",
Well, are these really God's chief blessings ? Is it for such
as these you serve Him ? And would these indeed' satisfy
your soul ? Would you have God reward his saintliest with
these gauds and gewgaws — all this trash — rank, and wealth,
and equipages, and plate, and courtship from the needy
great ? Call you that the heaven of the holy ? Compute
now what was paid for that? The price that merchant-
prince paid, perhaps with the blood of his own soul, was
shame and guilt. The price he is paying now is perpetual
dread of detection ; or worse still, the hardness which can
laugh at detection ; or one deep lower yet, the low and grov
elling soul which can be satisfied with these things as a
paradise, and ask no higher. He has reaped enjoyment —
yes, and he has sown, too, the seed of infamy.
It is all fair. Count the cost. "He that saveth his life
shall lose it." Save your life if you like, but do not complain
if you lose your nobler life — yourself: win the whole world,
but remember you do it by losing your own soul. Every sin
must be paid for ; every sensual indulgence is a harvest, the
price for Avhich is so much ruin for the soul. " God is not
mocked". Once. more, religious men in every profession are surprised
to find that many of its avenues are closed to them. The
conscientious churchman complains that his delicate scruples
or his bold truthfulness stand in the way of his preferment ;
while another man, who conquers his scruples or softens the
eye of truth, rises, and sits down a mitred peer in Parliament.
The honorable lawyer feels that his practice is limited, while
the unprincipled practitioner receives all he loses; and. the
Christian physician feels sore and sad at perceiving that char
latanism succeeds in winning employment ; or, if not char
latanism, at least that affability and courtly manners take the
place that is due to superior knowledge.
Let such men take comfort, and judge fairly. Popularity
is one of the things of an earthly harvest for which quite
earthly qualifications are required. I say not alAvaysdishon-
orable qualifications, but a certain flexibility of disposition ;
a certain courtly willingness to sink obnoxious truths, and
adapt ourselves to the prejudices of the minds of others ; a
certain adroitness at catching the tone of those with whom

The Principle of the Spiritual Harvest. 163
we are. Without some of these things no man can be popu
lar in any profession.
But you have resolved to be a liver — a doer — a champion
of the truth. Your ambition is to be pure in the last re
cesses of the mind. You have your reAvard : a soul upright
and manly — a fearless bearing, that dreads to look no man in
the face— a willingness to let men search you through and
through, and defy them to see any difference between what
you seem and what you are. Noav, your price : your price is
dislike. The price of being true is the Cross. The warrior
of the truth must not expect success. What have you to do
with popularity ? Sow for it, and you will have it. But if
you wish for it, or wish for peace, you have mistaken your
calling ; you must not be a teacher of the truth ; you must
not cut prejudice against the grain : you must leave medical,
legal, theological truth, to harder and nobler men, who are
willing to take the martyr's cross, and win the martyr's
crown. This is the mistake men make. They expect both har
vests, paying only one price. They would be blessed with
goodness and prosperity at once. They would have that on
which they bestowed no labor. They take sinful pleasure,
and think it very hard that they must pay for it in agony,
and worse than agony, souls deteriorated. They would
monopolize heaven in their souls, and the world's prizes at
the same time. This is to expect to come back, like Joseph's
brethren from the land of. plenty, with the corn in their sacks,
and the money returned, too, in their sacks' mouths. No, no ;
it will not do. "Be not deceived; God is not mocked."
Reap what you have sown. If you sow the wind, do not
complain if your harvest is the whirlwind. If you sow to the
Spirit, be content with a spiritual reward : invisible — within :
"more life and higher life."
II. Next, the two branches of the application of this
principle. First : He that soAveth to the flesh, shall of the flesh reap
corruption. There are two kinds of life : one of the flesh,
another of the spirit. Amidst the animal and selfish desires
of our nature there is a voice which clearly speaks of duty,
right, perfection. This is the Spirit of Deity in man ; it is
the life of God in the soul. This is the evidence of our
divine parentage.
But there is a double temptation to live the other life
instead of this. First, the desires of our animal nature are
keener than those of our spiritual. The cry of Passion is

1 64 The Principle of the Spiritual Harvest.
louder than the calm voice of Duty. Next, the reward in
the case of our sensitive nature is given sooner. It takes
less time to amass a fortune than to become heavenly-
minded. It costs less to indulge an appetite than, it does
to gain the peace of lulled passion. And hence, Avhen men
feel that for the spiritual blessing, the bread must be cast
upon the Waters which shall not be found until after many
days (skepticism whispers " never !"), it is quite intelligible
Avhy they choose the visible and palpable, instead of the
invisible advantage, and plan for an immediate harvest
rather than a distant one.
The other life is that of the flesh. The "flesh" includes
all the desires of our unrenewed nature — the harmless as
Avell as sinful. Any labor, therefore, Avhich is bounded by
present well-being is sowing to the flesh — whether it be the
gratification of an immediate impulse, or the long-contrived
plan reaching forward over many years. Sowing to the
flesh includes, therefore,
1. Those Avho live in open riot. He sows to the flesh
who pampers its unruly animal appetites. Do not think
that I speak contemptuously of our animal nature, as if it
were not human and sacred. The lowest feelings of our
nature become sublime by being made the instruments of
our nobler emotions. . Love, self-command, will elevate them
all ; and to ennoble and purify, not to crush them, is the
long, slow work of Christian life. Christ, says St. Paul, is
the Saviour of the body. But if, instead of subduing these
to the life of the Spirit, a man gives to them the rein and
even the spur, the result is not difficult to foresee. There
are men who do this. They " make provision for the flesh,
to fulfill the lusts thereof." They whet the appetites by
indulgence. They Avhip the jaded senses to their work.
Whatever the constitutional bias may be, anger, intemper
ance, epicurism, indolence, desires, there are societies, con
versations, scenes, Avhich supply fuel for the flame, as well
as opposite ones which cut off the nutriment. To indulge
in these, knowing the result, is to foster the desire Avhich
brings forth the sin which ends in death. This is "soAving
to the flesh."
If there be one to whom these words which I have used,
veiled in the proprieties due to delicate - reserve, are not
without meaning, from this sentence of God's word let him
learn his doom. He is looking forward to a harvest wherein
he may reap the fruit of his present anticipations. And he
shall reap it. He shall have his indulgence, he shall enjoy
his guilty rapture, he shall have his unhallowed triumph ;

The Principle of the Spiritual Harvest. 165
and the boon companions of his pleasures Bhall award him
the meed of their applause. He has sown the seed, and in
fair requital he shall have his harvest. It is all fair. He
shall erijoy. But tarry a while : the law hath yet another
hold upon him. This deep law of the whole, universe goes
farther. He has sown to the flesh, and of the flesh he has
x-eaped pleasure ; he has sown to the flesh, and of the flesh
he shall reap corruption. That is, in his case, the ruin of
the soul. It is an awful thing to see a soul in ruins : like a
temple which once was fair and noble, but now lies over
thrown, matted with ivy, weeds, and tangled briers, among
which things noisoipe crawl and live. He shall reap the
harvest of disappointment — the harvest of bitter, useless
remorse. The crime of sense is avenged by sense, which
wears by time. He shall have the worm that gnaws, and
the fire that is not quenched. He shall reap the fruit of
long-indulged desires, Avhich have become tyrannous at last,
and constitute him his own tormentor. His harvest is a
soul in flames, and the tongue that no drop can cool. Pas
sions that burn, and appetites that crave, Avhen the poAver
of enjoyment is gone. He has soAved to the flesh. " God is
not mocked." The man reaps.
2. There is a less gross way of soAving to the flesh. There
are men of sagacity and judgment in the affairs of this life
Avhose penetration is almost intuitive in all things where the
step in question involves success or failure here. They are
those who are called in the parable the children of this
world, wise in their generation. They moralize and specu
late about eternity, but do not plan for it. There is no seed
soAvn for an invisible harA^est. If they think they have
sown for such a harvest,' they might test themselves by the
question, What would they lose if there were to be no eter
nity? For the children of God, so far as earth is concerned,
"If in this life only they have hope in Christ, then are they
of all men most miserable." But they — these sagacious,
prudent men of this world — they haA'e their reward. * What
have they ventured, given up, sacrificed; which is all lost
forever, if this world be all ? What have they buried like
seed in the ground, lost forever, if there be no eternity?
Now we do not say these men are absolutely wicked.
We distinguish between- their soAving to the flesh, and the
sowing of those profligates last spoken of. All we say is,
there is " corruption" written on their harvest. It was for
earth, and with earth.it perishes. It may be the labor of
the statesman, planning, like the Roman of old, the govern
ment and order of the kingdoms of the earth; or that ofthe

1 66 The Principle of the Spiritual Harvest.
astronomer,- weighing suns, prescribing rules of return to
comets, and dealing with things above earth in space, but
unspiritual still ; or that of the son of a humbler laborious-
ness, whose work is merely to provide for • a family : or,
lastly, the narrower range of the man of pleasure, whose
chief care is where he shall spend the next season, in what
metropolis, or which watering-place, or how best enjoy the
next entertainment.
All these are objects more or less harmless. But they
end. The pyramid crumbles into dust at last. The mighty
empire of the efernal city breaks into fragments which dis
appear. The sowers for earth have their harvest here : Suc
cess in their schemes — quiet intellectual enjoyments — exemp
tion from pain and loss — the fruits of worldly-wise sagacity.
And that is all. " When the breath goeth forth, they return
to their dust, and all their thoughts perish." The grave is
not to them the gate of paradise, but simply the impressive
mockery which the hand of death writes upon that body for
which they lived, and with which all is gone. They reap
corruption, for all they have toiled for decays !
Ye that lead the life of respectable worldliness, let these
considerations arrest your indifference to the Gospel. You
have sown for earth. Well. And then — what? Hear the
Gospel, which tells of a Saviour whose sacrifice is the world's
life — whose death is the laAV of life; from whose resurrection
streams a Spirit which can change carnal into spiritual men —
whose whole existence, reflecting God, was the utterance of
the Divine truth and rule of heavenly life, the blessedness of
giving. To live so, and to believe so, is to sow to the Spirit.
Lastly, soAving^ to , the Spirit. "He that soweth to the
Spirit, shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting."
What is meant by sowing to the Spirit here is plain. " Let
us not be weary in well-doing," says the apostle directly after :
" for in due season we shall reap if we faint not." Well-do
ing : not faith, but works of goodness, Avere the sowing that
he spoke of.
There is proclaimed here the. rewardableness of works. So
in many other passages : " Abounding in the work ofthe Lord,
forasmuch as ye know that, your labor is not in vain in the
Lord." " Laying up a good foundation for the time to come,"
Avas the reason alleged for charging rich men to be willing to
give ; and so all through. . There is an irreversible principle.
The amount of harvest is proportioned to the seed sown ex
actly. There are degrees of glory. The man ; who gives out
of his abundance has one blessing. She who gives the mite,
all she had, even all her living,- has another, quite different.

The Principle of the Spiritual Harvest. 167
The rectitude of this principle, and Avhat it is, will be plainer
from the following considerations :
1. The harvest is life eternal. But eternal life here does
not simply mean a life that lasts forever. That is the destiny
of the soul — all souls, bad as well as good. But the bad do
not enter into this "eternal life." It is not simply the dura
tion, but the quality ofthe life which constitutes its charac
ter of eternal. A spirit may live forever, yet not enter into
this. And a man may live but for five minutes the life of
Divine benevolence, or desire for perfectness : in those five
minutes he has entered into the life which is eternal — never
fluctuates, but is the same unalterably, forever in the life of
God. Tais is the reward.
2. The reward is not arbitrary, but natural. God's re-
Avards and God's punishments are all natural. Distinguish
between arbitrary and natural. Death is an arbitrary pun
ishment for forgery : it might be changed for transportation.
It is not naturally connected. It depends upon the Avill of
the law-maker. But trembling nerves are the direct and nat
ural results of intemperance. They are, in the order of na
ture, the results of wrong-doing. The man reaps what he has
sown. Siiriilarly in rewards. If God gave riches in return
for humbleness, that would be an arbitrary connection. He
did give such a reward to Solomon. But when He gives life
eternal, meaning by life eternal not duration of existence but
heavenly quality of existence, as explained already, it is all
natural. The seed sown in the ground contains in itself the
future harvest. The harvest is but the development of the
germ of life in the seed. A holy act strengthens the inward
holiness. It is a seed of life growing into more life. "What
soever a man soweth, that shall he reap." He that sows
much, thereby becomes more conformed to God than he was
before — in heart and spirit. That is his reward and harvest.
And just as among the apostles there was one whose spirit,
attuned to love, made him emphatically the disciple whom
Jesus loved, so shall there be some who, by previous disci
pline ;of the Holy Ghost, shall have more of His mind, and
understand more of His love, and drink deeper of His joy
than others— they that have sowed bountifully.
Every act done in Christ receives its exact and appropriate
reward. They that are meek shall inherit the earth. They
that are pure shall see God.- They that suffer shall reign
with Him. They that turn many to righteousness shall shine
as the stars forever. They that receive a righteous man in
the name of a righteous man— that is, because he is a right
eous man — shall receive a righteous man's reward. Even the

1 68 The Loneliness of Christ.
cup of cold water, given in the name of Christ, shall not lose
its reward.-
It will be therefore seen at once, reward is not the result
of merit. It is, in the order of grace, the natural consequence
of well-doing. It is life becoming more life. It is the soul
developing itself. It is the Holy Spirit of God in man making
itself more felt, and mingling more and more with his soul,
felt more consciously Avith an ever-increasing heaven. You
reap what you sow — not something else, but that. An act
of love makes the soul more loving. A deed of humbleness
deepens humbleness. The thing reaped is the very thing
sown, multiplied a hundred-fold. You have sown a seed of
life, you reap life everlasting.

XV.
THE LONELINESS OF CHRIST.
"Jesus answered them, Do ye now believe? Behold, the hour cometh,
yea, is now come, that ye shall be scattered, eveiy man to his own, and shall
leave me alone : and vet I am not alone, because the Father is with me." —
John xvi. 31, 32.
There are two kinds of solitude : the first consisting of
insulation in space, the other of isolation of the spirit. The
first is simply separation by distance. When we are seen,
touched, heard by none, we are said to be alone. And all
hearts respond $o the truth of that saying, This is not soli
tude; for sympathy can people our solitude with a croAvd.
The fisherman on the ocean alone at night is not alone when
he remembers the earnest longings which are arising up to
heaven at home for his safety ; the traveller is not alone Avhen
the faces which will greet him on his arrival seem to beam
upon him as he trudges on; the solitary student is not alone.
when he feels that human hearts will respond to the truths
which he is preparing to address to them.
The other is loneliness of soul. There are times when
hands touch ours, but only send, an icy' chill of unsympa
thizing indifference to the heart : when eyes gaze into ours,
but with a glazed look which can uot read into the bottom
of oiyr souls — when words pass from our lips, but only come
back as an echo reverberated . without . replying . through a
dreary solitude — when the multitude throng and press us, and
we can not say, as Christ said, " Somebody hath touched me :"

The Loneliness of Christ. 1 69
for the contact has been not between soul and soul, but only
between form and form.
And there are two kinds .of men who feel this last solitude
in different ways. The first are the men of self-reliance :
self-dependent — who ask no counsel, and crave no sympathy
— who act and resolve alone — who can go sternly through
duty, and scarcely shrink, let what will be crushed in them.
Such men command respect ; for whoever respects himself
constrains the reverence of others. They are invaluable in
all those professions of life in which sensitive feeling would
be a superfluity ; they make iron commanders ; surgeons
Avho do not shrink ; and statesmen who do not flinch from
their purpose for the dread of unpopularity. But mere self-
dependence is weakness, and the conflict is terrible when a
human sense of weakness is felt by such men.
Jacob was alone when he slept in his way to Padan-aram,
the first night that he Avas away from his father's roof, with
the world before him, and all the old associations broken up,
and Elijah was alone in the wilderness Avhen the court had
deserted him, and he said, " They have digged down Thine
altars, and slain Thy prophets with the SAvord : and I, even
I, only am left, and they seek my life to take it away."
But the loneliness of the tender Jacob was very different
from that ofthe stern Elijah. To Jacob the sympathy he
yearned for was realized in the form of a simple dream. A
ladder raised from earth to heaven figured the possibility of
communion between the spirit of man and the Spirit of God.
In Elijah's case, the storm, and the earthquake, and the fire
did their convulsing Avork in the soul, before a still, small
voice told him that he was not alone. In such a spirit the
sense of weakness comes with a burst of agony, and the
dreadful conviction of being alone manifests itself Avith a
rending of the heart of rock. It is only so that such souls
can be taught that the Father is with them, and that they
are not alone.
There is another class of men Avho live in sympathy.
These are affectionate minds which tremble at the thought
of being alone : not from want of courage, nor from weak
ness of intellect- conies their dependence upon others, but
from the intensity of their affections. It is the trembling
spirit of humanity in them. They want not aid, nor even
countenance, but only sympathy. And the trial comes to
them not in the shape of fierce struggle, but of chill and ut
ter loneliness, Avhen they are called upon to perform a duty
on which the world looks coldly, or to embrace a truth which
has not found lodgment yet in tlie breasts of other"!.
8

1 70 The Loneliness of Christ.
It is to this latter and not to the former class that we
must look if we would understand the spirit in which the
words of the text were pronounced. The deep humanity of
the soul of Christ was gifted with those finer sensibilities of
affectionate nature Avhich stand in need of sympathy. He
not only gave sympathy, but wanted it tod, from others.
He who selected the gentle John to be his friend— who found
solace in female sympathy, attended by the women Avho
ministered to him out of their substance — Avho in the trial-
hour could not bear even to pray Avithout the human pres
ence — which is the pledge and reminder of God's presence —
had nothing in Him of the hard, merely self-dependent
character. Even this verse testifies to the same fact. A
stern spirit never could have said, " I am not alone ; the Fa
ther is with Me ;" never Avould have felt the loneliness which
needed the balancing truth. These words tell of a struggle
— an inAvard reasoning — a difficulty and a reply — a sense of
solitude — "I shall be alone ;" and an immediate correction
of that, " not alone — the Father is with Me."
There is no thought connected with the life of Christ more
touching, none that seems so peculiarly to characterize His
spirit, than the solitariness in which He lived. . Those who
understood Him best only half understood Him. Those
who knew Him best scarcely could be said to know Him.
On this occasion the disciples thought — Now we do under
stand — noAv we believe. The lonely spirit answered, " Do
ye noAv believe? Behold, the hour cometh that ye shall be
scattered, every man to his own, and shall leave Me alone."
Very impressive is that trait in His history. He was in
this world alone*
I. First, then, we meditate on the loneliness of Christ.
II. On the temper of His solitude.
1. The loneliness of Christ was caused by the Divine ele
vation of His character. His infinite superiority severed
Him from sympathy; His exquisite affectionateness made
that want of sympathy a keen trial.
There is a second-rate greatness which the world can com
prehend. , If we take two who are brought into direct con
trast by Christ Himself, the one the type of human, the oth
er that of Divine excellence, the. Son of Man and .John the
Baptist, this becomes clearly manifest. John's life had a
certain rude, rugged goodness, on Avhich was written, in
characters which required no magnifying-glass to i-ead, spir
itual excellence. The world, on the whole, accepted him.
Pharisees and Sadducees went to his baptism. The people

The -Loneliness of Christ. 171
idolized him as a prophet; and if he had not chanced to
cross the path of a weak prince and a revengeful woman, we
can see no reason why John might not have finished his
course with joy, recognized as irreproachable. If we in
quire why it was that the world accepted John and rejected
Christ, one reply appears to be that the life of the one was
finitely simple and one-sided, that of the other divinely com
plex. In physical nature, the naturalist finds no difficulty in com
prehending the simple structure of the loAvest organizations
of animal life, where one uniform texture and one organ per
forming the office of brain and heart and lungs, at once leave
little to perplex. But when he comes to study the complex
anatomy of man, he has the labor of a lifetime before him.
It is not difficult to master the constitution of a single coun
try ; but when you try to understand the universe, you find
infinite appearances of contradiction : law opposed by law —
motion balanced by motion — happiness blended with misery :
and the power to elicit a divine order and unity out of this
complex variety is given to only a few of the gifted of the
race. That which the structure of man is to the structure
of the limpet — that which the universe is to a single coun
try—the complex and boundless soul of Christ Avas to the
souls of other men.
Therefore, to the superficial observer, His life was a mass
df inconsistencies and contradictions. All thought them
selves qualified to point out the discrepancies. The Phari
sees could not comprehend how a holy teacher could eat with
publicans and sinners. His own brethren could not recon
cile His assumption of a public office with the privacy Avhich
He aimed at keeping. " If thou doest these things, show
thyself to the world." Some thought He was " a good
man," others said, "Nay, but He deceiveth the people."
And hence it Avas that He lived to see all that -acceptance
which had marked the earlier stage of His career, as for in
stance at Capernaum, melt away. First the Pharisees took
the alarm ; then the Sadducees ; then the political party of
the Herodians ; then the people. That Avas the most terrible
of all : for the enmity of the upper classes is impotent ; but
when that cry of brute force is stirred from the deeps of so
ciety, as deaf to the voice of reason as the ocean in its
strength churned into raving foam by the winds, the heart
of mere earthly oak quails before that. The apostles, at all
events, did quail. One denied, another betrayed, all desert
ed. They " Avere scattered, each to" his oAvn :" and the Truth
Himself Avas left alone in Pilate's judgment-hall.

1 72 The Loneliness of Christ.
Now learn from this a very important distinction. To
feel solitary is no uncommon thing. To complain of being
alone, without sympathy and misunderstood, is general
enough. In every place, in many a family, these victims of
diseased sensibility are to be found, and they might find a
weakening satisfaction in observing a parallel between their
own feelings and those of Jesus. But before that parallel is
assumed, be very sure that it is, as in His case, the elevation
of your character which severs you from your species. The
world has small sympathy for Divine goodness ; but it also
has little for a great many other qualities which are disagree
able to it. You meet with no response — you are passed by
— find yourself unpopular — meet with little communion.
Well; is that because you are above the world, nobler, de
vising and executing grand plans which they can not com
prehend — vindicating tke wronged, proclaiming and living
on great principles — offending it by the saintliness of your
purity, and the unworldliness of your aspirations ? Then
yours is the loneliness of Christ. Or is it that you are
Avrapped up in self — cold, disobliging, sentimental, indifferent
about the Avelfare of others, and very much astonished that
they are not deeply interested in you ? You must not use
these words of Christ. They have nothing to do with you.
Let us look at one or two of the occasions on which this
loneliness was felt.
The first time was when He was but tAvelve years old,
Avhen His parents found Him in the temple, hearing the
doctors and asking them questions. High thoughts were in
the child's soul : expanding vieAvs of life ; larger views of
duty and His owi destiny.
There is a moment in every true life — to some it comes
very early — when the old routine of duty is not large enough
— Avhen the parental roof seems too low, because the Infinite
above is arching over the soul — when the old formulas in
creeds, catechisms, and articles seem to be narrow, and they
must either be thrown aside, or else transformed into living
and breathing realities — Avhen the earthly father's authority
is being superseded by the claims of a Father in heaven.
That is a lonely, lonely moment, when the young soul first
feels God ; when this earth is recognized as an " awful place,
yea, the very gate of heaven;" when the dream-ladder is
seen planted against the skies, and we wake, and the dream
haunts us as a sublime reality.
You may detect the approach of that moment in the
young man or the young woman by the awakened spirit of
inquiry : by a certain restlessness of look, and an eager ear-

The Loneliness of Christ. 1 73
nestness of tone — by the devouring study of all kinds of books
— by the Avaning of your own influence, while the inquirer
is asking the truth of the doctors and teachers in the Arast
temple of the Avorld — by a certain opinionativeness, which is
austere and disagreeable enough ; but the austerest moment
ofthe fruit's taste is that in which it is passing from green
ness into ripeness. If you wait in patience, the sour will
become sweet. Rightly looked at, that opinionativeness is
more truly anguish: the fearful solitude of feeling the inse
curity of all that is human ; the discovery that life is real,
and many forms of social and religious . existence hollow.
The old moorings are torn away, and the soul is drifting,
drifting, drifting, very often without compass, except the
guidance of an unseen hand, into the Arast infinite of God.
Then come the lonely words, and no AVonder, "Hoav is it
that ye sought me ? Wist ye not that I must be about my
Father's business ?"
2. That solitude was felt by Christ in trial. In the des
ert, in Pilate's judgment-hall, in the garden, He was alone —
and alone must every son of man meet his triaUiour. The
individuality of the soul necessitates that. Each man is a
new soul in this world ; untried, with a boundless possible
before him. No one can predict what he may become, pre
scribe his duties, or mark out his obligations. Each man's
own nature has its OAvn peculiar rules ; and he must take up
his life-plan alone, and persevere in it in a perfect privacy
with which no stranger intermeddleth. Each, man's tempta
tions are made up of a host of peculiarities, internal and ex
ternal, which no other mind can measure. You are tried
alone — alone you pass into the desert — alone you must bear
and conquer in the agony — alone you must be sifted by the
world. There are moments known only to a man's own self,
when he sits by the poisoned springs of" existence " yearning
for a morrow Avhich shall free him from the strife." And
there are trials more terrible than that. Not when vicious
inclinations are opposed to holy, but when virtue conflicts
with virtue, is the real rending of the soul in tAvain. A
temptation in which the lower nature struggles for mastery
can be met by the whole united force of the spirit. But it
is when obedience to a heavenly Father, can be only paid by
disobedience to an earthly one ; or fidelity to duty can be
only kepf by infidelity to some entangling engagement ; or
the straight path must be taken over the misery of others ;
or the counsel of the affectionate friend must be met with a
" Get thee behind me, Satan," oh, it is then, when human ad
vice is unavailable, that the soul feels what it is to be alone.

1 74 The Loneliness of Christ.
Once more — the Redeemer's soul was alone in dying.
The hour had come — they Avere all gone, and He was, as He
predicted, left alone. All that is human drops from us in
that hour. Human faces flit and fade, and the sounds of
the world become confused. " I shall die alone " — yes, and
alone you live. The philosopher tells us that no atom in
creation touches another atom — they only approach within a
certain distance ; then the attraction ceases, and an invisible
something repels — they only seem to touch. No soul touches
another soul except at one or two points ; and those chiefly
external — a fearful and a lonely thought, but one of the
truest of life. Death only realizes that which has been the fact
all along. In the central deeps of our being Ave are alone.
II. The spirit or temper of that solitude.
1. Observe its grandeur. I am alone, yet not alone.
There is a feeble and sentimental Avay in Avhich we speak of
the Man of Sorrows. We turn to the cross, and the agony,
and the loneliness, to touch the softer feelings, to arouse
compassion. You degrade that loneliness by your compas
sion. Compassion ! compassion for Him ! Adore if you
Avill — respect and reverence that sublime solitariness Avith
which none but the Father was—but no pity ; let it draw
out the firmer and manlier graces of the soul. Even tender
sympathy seems out of place.
For even in human things, the strength that is in a man
can be only learnt when he is thrown upon his own resources
and left alone. What a man can do in conjunction Avith oth
ers does not test the man. Tell us what he can do alone.
It is one thing to flefend the truth when you know that your
audience are already prepossessed, and that every argument
will meet a willing response ; and it is another thing to hold
the truth Avhen truth must be supported, if at all, alone — met
by cold looks and unsympathizing suspicion. It is one thing
to rush on to danger with the shouts and the sympathy of
numbers ; it is another thing when the lonely chieftain of
the sinking ship sees the last boatful disengage itself, and
folds his arms to go down into the majesty of darkness,
crushed, but not subdued.
Such and greater far was the strength and majesty of the
Saviour's solitariness. It was not the trial of the lonely!her-
mit. There is a certain gentle and pleasing melancholy in
the life which is lived alone. But there are the forms of na
ture to speak to him, and he has not the positive opposition
of mankind if he has the absence of actual sympathy. It is
a. solemn thing, doubtless, to be apart from men, and to feel

The Loneliness of Christ. 1 75
eternity rushing by like an arrowy river. But the solitude
of Christ Avas the solitude of a crowd. In that single human
bosom' dwelt the thought which Avas to be the germ ofthe
world's life : a thought unshared, misunderstood, or rejected.
Can you not feel the grandeur of those words, when the Man
reposing on His solitary strength, felt the last shadow of per
fect isolation pass across His soul : "My God, my God, Avhy
hast Thou forsaken me ?"
Next, learn from these words self-reliance. " Ye shall
leave me alone." Alone, then, the Son of man was content
to be. He threAV Himself on His OAvn solitary thought ; did
not go down to meet the Avorld, but waited, though it might
be for ages, till the world should come round to Him. He
appealed to the future ; did not aim at seeming consistent ;
left His contradictions unexplained ; " I came from the Fa
ther, I leave the world, and go to the Father." " Now,"
said they, " thou speakest no proverb " — that is, enigma.
But many a- hard and enigmatical saying before He had
spoken, and He left them all. A thread runs through all
true acts, stringing them together into one harmonious
chain; but it is not for the Son of God to be anxious to
prove their consistency with each other.
This is self-reliance — to repose calmly on the thought
which is deepest in our bosoms, and be unmoved if the
world Avill not accept it yet. To live on your own convic
tions against the world is to overcome the Avorld ; to believe
that what is truest in you is true for all ; to abide by that,
and not be over-anxious to be heard or understood, or sym
pathized with, certain that at last all must acknowledge the
same, and that while you stand firm, the world will come
round to you, that is independence. It is not difficult to get
away into retirement, and there live upon your own convic
tions ; nor is it difficult to mix with men, and folloAy their
convictions ; but to enter into the world, and there live out
firmly and fearlessly according to your own conscience, that
is Christian greatness.
There is a cowardice in this age Avhich is not Christian.
We shrink from the consequences of truth. We look round
and cling dependently. We ask what men Avill think — Avhat
others will say — whether they Avill not stare in astonishment.
Perhaps they will ; but he Avho is calculating that, Avill ac
complish nothing in this life. The Father — the Father Avho
is Avith us and in us — what does He think ? God's work can
not be done without a spirit of independence. A man is got
some way in the Christian life when he has learned to say
humbly and yet majestically, " I dare to be alone."

i 76 The Loneliness of Christ.
Lastly, remark the humility of this loneliness. Had the
Son of man simply saidj I can be alone, He would have said
no more than any proud, self-relying man can say. But
when he added, " because the Father is with me," that inde
pendence assumed another character, and self-reliance be
came only another form of reliance upon God. Distinguish
between genuine and spurious . humility. There is a false
humility Avhich says, " It is my own poor thought, and I
must not trust it. I must distrust my own -reason and judg
ment, because they are my own. I must ndt accept the dic
tates of my OAvn conscience, for it is not riiy own, and is not
trust in self the great fault of our fallen nature ?"
Very Avell. Now remember something else. There is a
Spirit Avhich beareth witness with our spirits ; there is a God
Avho " is not far from any one of us ;" there is a " Light
Avhich lighteth every man which cometh into the world." Do
not be unnaturally humble. The thought of your mind, per
chance, is the thought of God. To refuse to follow that may
be to disoAvn God. To take the judgment and conscience of
other men to live by, where is the humility of that ? From
whence did their conscience and judgment come? Was the
fountain from Avhich they drew exhausted for you ? If they
refuse like you to rely on their own conscience, and you rely
upon it, how are you sure that it is more the mind; of God
than your own which you have refused to hear.?-.
Look at it in another way. The charm of.the words of
great men — those grand sayings which are recognized as true
as soon as heard — is this, that you recognize them as wisdom
which has passed across your own mind. You feel that they
are your own thoughts come back to you, else you would
not at once admit them : " All that floated across me before,
only I could not say it, and did not feel confident enough to
assert it, or had not conviction enough io put it into words."
Yes, God spoke to you what He did to them : only they be
lieved it, said it, trusted the Word within them, and you did
not. Be sure that often when you say, " It is only my own
poor thought, and I am alone," the real correcting thought is
this, " Alone, but the Father is with me ;" therefore I can
live that lonely conviction.
There is no danger in this, whatever timid minds may
think — no danger of mistake, if the character be a true one.
For we are not left in uncertainty in this matter. It is given
us to know our base from our noble hours — to distinguish
between the voice which is from above, and that which
speaks from below, out of the abyss of our animal and selfish
nature. Samuel could distinguish between the impulse,

The New Commandment, Etc. 177
quite a human one, which would have made him select Eliab
out of Jesse's sons, and the deeper judgment by Avhich " the
Lord said, Look not on his countenance, nor on the height
of his stature, for I have refused him." Doubtless deep
truth of character is required for this ; for the whispering
A-oices get mixed together, and we dare not abide by our
own thoughts, because Ave think them our own, and not
Cod's ; and this because we only now and then endeavor to
know in earnest. It is only given to the habitually true to
know the difference. He knew it, because all His blessed
life long He could say, "My judgment is just, because I seek
not my own will, but the will of Him which sent me."
The practical result and inference of all this is a very sim
ple, but a very deep one — the deepest of existence. Let life
be a life of faith. Do not go timorously about, inquiring
Avhat others think, what others believe, and what others say.
It seems the easiest, it is the most difficult thing in life, to do
this—believe in God. God is near you. Throw yourself
fearlessly upon Him. Trembling mortal, there is an unknown
might within your soul which will wake when you command
it. The day may come when all that is human, man and
woman, will fall off from you, as they did from Him. Let
His strength be yours. Be independent of them all now.
The Father is with you. Look to Him, and He Avill save you.

XVI.
THE NEW COMMANDMENT OF LOVE TO ONE
ANOTHER.
"A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another ; as I
have loved you, that ye also -love one another." — John xiii. 34.
These words derive impressiveness from having been spok
en immediately before the last Supper, and on the eve of
the great Sacrifice : the commandment of love issued appro
priately at the time of the Feast of Love, and not long before
the great Act of Love. For the love of Christ was no fine
saying: it cost Him His life to say these words Avith mean
ing, " As I have loved you."
There is a difficulty in the attempt to grasp the meaning
of this command, arising from the fact that words change
their meaning. . Our Lord, affixed a new significance to the
word love : it had been in use, of course, before, but the new
sense in which He used it made it a new word.

1 78 The New Commandment of
His law is not adequately l-epresented by the word love:
because love is, by conventional usage, appropriated to one
species of human affection, which, in the commoner men, is .
the most selfish of all our feelings ; and in the best is too ex
clusive and individual to represent that charity which is uni
versal. ••Nor is charity a perfect symbol of His meaning ; for chari
ty, by use, is identified with another form of love which is but
a portion of it, almsgiving ; and too saturated with that
meaning to be entirely disengaged from it, even when we
use it most accurately.
Benevolence or philanthropy, in derivation, come nearer to
the idea ; but yet you feel at once that these words fall
short ; they are too tame and cold ; too merely passive, as
states of feeling rather than forms of life.
We have no sufficient word. There is therefore no help
for it, but patiently to strive to master the meaning of this
mighty wor<l love, in the only light that is left us — the light
of the Saviour's life: "As I have loved you :" that alone ex
pounds it. We will dispossess our minds of all preconceived
notions ; remove all Ioav associations, all partial and conven
tional ones. If we would understand this law, it must be
ever a " new " commandment, ever receiving fresh light and
meaning from His life.
Take, I. The novelty of the law — " That ye love one an
other." H. The spirit or measure of it — " As I have loved you."
L Its novelty. A "new commandment," yet that law
was old. See 1 John ii. 7, 8. It was new as an historical fact.
We talk of the apostolic mission as a matter of course ; we
say that the apostles were ordered to go and plant churches,
and so we dismiss the great fact. But we forget that the
command was rather the result of a spirit working from Avith-
in, than of an injunction working from 'without. That spirit
was love. .
And Avhen that new spirit Avas in the world, see how
straightway it created a new thing. Men before that "had
travelled into foreign countries : the naturalist to collect
specimens; the historian to accumulate facts; the philoso
pher to hive up wisdom, or else he had staid in his cell or
grove to paint beautiful pictures of love. But the spectacle
of an Apostle Paul crossing oceans— not to conquer kingdoms
— not to hive up knowledge, but to impart life — not to accu
mulate stores for self, but to give, and to spend himself —
was new in the history of the Avorld. The celestial fire had

Love to one Another. 1 79
touched the hearts of men, and their hearts flamed ; and it
caught, and spread, and Avould not stop. On they Avent, that
glorious band of brothers, in their strange enterprise, over
oceans, and through forests, penetrating into the dungeon,
and to the throne — to the hut of the savage feeding on hu
man flesh, and to the shore lined with the skin-clad inhabit
ants of these far isles of Britain. Read the account given
by Tertullian of the marvellous rapidity With which the
Christians increased, and you are reminded of one of those
vast armies of ants which moves across a country in irresisti
ble myriads, drowned by thousands in rivers, cut off by fire,
consumed by man and beast, and yet fresh howles succeeding
interminably to supply their place.
A neAv voice was heard : a neAV yearning upon earth ; man
pining at being severed from his brother, and longing to
burst the false distinctions Avhich had kept the best hearts
from each other so long — an infant cry of life — the cry ofthe
young Church of God. And all this from Judea — the nar-
roAvest, most bigoted, most intolerant nation on the face of
the earth.
Now I say that this Avas historically a new thing.
2. It was neAV in extent. It was, in literal Ayords, an old
commandment given before both to Jew and Gentile. To
the Jew, as, for instance, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as
thyself: I am the Lord." To the Gentile, in the recognition
which was so often made of the beauty of the laAV in its par
tial application, as in the case of friendship, patriotism, domes
tic attachment, and so on.
But the difference lay in the extent in Avhich these words
"one another" were understood. By them, or rather by
" neighbor," the Jew meant his countrymen ; and narrowed
that down again to his friends among his countrymen — so
that the well-known Rabbinical gloss upon these words, cur
rent in the days of Christ, Avas, " Thou shalt love thy neigh
bor and hate thine enemy." And Avhat the Gentile under
stood by the extent of the law of love, we may learn from
the well-known words of their best and wisest, who thanked
heaven that he was born a man, and not a brute — a Greek,
and not a barbarian: as if to be a barbarian were identical
Avith being a brute.
Now listen to Christ's exposition of the word neighbor.
"Ye have heard that it was said, Thou shalt love thy neigh
bor and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your
enemies." And he went ,farther : as a specimen of a neigh
bor, he specially selected one of that nation whom, as a theo
logian and a patriot, every Jew had been taught to hate.

180 The New Commandment of
And just as the application of electricity to the innumerable
wants of human life and to new ends is reckoned a new dis
covery and invention of modern times (though the fact has
been familiar for ages to the Indian child in the forest of
the Far West, and applied by him for ages to his childish
sports), so the extension of this grand principle of Love to
all the possible cases of life, and to all possible persons —
even though the principle was known and applied long be
fore, in love to friends, country, and relations — is truly and
properly " a new commandment," a discovery, a gospel, a
revelation. 3. It Avas now in being made the central principle of a
system. Never had obedience before been trusted to a prin
ciple : it had always been hedged round by a law. The
religion of Christ is not a law, but a spirit ; not a creed, but
a lite. To the one motive of love, God has intrusted the
whole work of winning the souls of His redeemed. The heart
of man was made for love — pants and pines for it : only in the
love of Christ, and not in restrictions, can his soul expand.
Now it Avas reserved for One to pierce, with the glance of in
tuition, down into the springs of human action, and to pro
claim the simplicity of its machinery. " Love," said the
apostle after Him, " Love is the fulfilling of the law."
We are told that in the new commandment the old per
ishes : that under the law of love, man is free from the law
of works. Let us see how.
Take any commandment — for example, the sixth, the sev
enth, the eighth. I may abstain from murder and theft, de
terred by law ; because law has annexed to them certain
penalties. But L^may also rise into the spirit of charity.-
then .1 am free from the laAV ; the law was not made for a
righteous man : the law no more binds or restrains me, now
that I love my neighbor, than the dike built to keep in the
sea at high tide restrains it Avhen that sea has sunk to low-
water mark.
Or the seventh. You may keep that law from dread of
discovery, or you may learn a higher love : and then you can
not injure a human soul ; you can not degrade a human
spirit. Charity has made the old commandment superfluous.
In the strong language of St, John, you can not sin, because
you are born of God.
It was the proclamation of this, the great living principle
of human obedience, not with the pedantry of a philosopher,
nor the exaggeration of an orator, but in the simple reality
of life, which made this commandment of Christ a hew com
mand ment.

Love to one Another. 181
II. The spirit or measure of the law — "as I have loved
you." Broadly, the love of Christ, was the spirit of giving all He
had to give. " Greater love hath no man than this, that a
man lay down his life for his friend." Christ's love was not
a sentiment ; it was a self-giving. To that His adversaries
bore testimony: "He saved others; himself He can not
save." Often as Ave have read these words, did it ever strike
us, and if not, does it not bring a flash of surprise when we
perceive it, that these words, meant as taunt, were really the
noblest panegyric, a testimony higher and more adequate far
than even that of the centurion ? " He saved others ; him
self He can not save." The first clause contained the answer
to the second — " Himself He can not save !" How could He,
having saved others? How can any keep what he gives?
How can any live for self, when He is living for others ?
Unconsciously, those enemies were enunciating the very
principle, of Christianity, the grand law of all existence, that
only by losing self you can save others ; that only by giving
life you can bless. Love gives itself. The mother spends
herself in -giving "life to her child; the soldier dies for his
country; nay, even the artist produces nothing destined for
immortality, nothing that will live, except so- far as> he has
forgotten himself, and merged his very being in his work.
" He saved others ; himself He can not save." That was
the love of Christ. Now to descend to particulars.
That spirit of self-giving manifests itself in the shape of
considerate kindliness; Take three cases : First, that in
which he fed the people with bread. " I have compassion
on the multitude, because they continue .with me now three
days, and have nothing to eat." There was a tenderness
which, not absorbed in his own great designs, considered a
number of small particulars of their state, imagined, provided,
and this for the satisfaction ofthe lowest wants. Again, to
the disciples : " Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place,
and rest awhile." He would not overwork them in the sub-
limest service. He did not grudge from duty their interval
of relaxation; He even tenderly enforced it. Lastly, His
dying words : " Behold thy mother ! Woman, behold thy
son!" Short sentences.. He was too exhausted to say
more. But in that hour of death-torture, He could think of
her desolate state when he was gone, and with delicate,
thoughtful attention provide for her well-being.
There are people who would do great acts ; but because
they Wait for great opportunities, life passes, and the acts of
love are not done at all. Observe, this considerateness of

1 82 The New Commandment of
Christ was shown in little things. And such are the parts
of human life. Opportunities for doing greatly seldom occur ;
life is made up of infinitesimals. If you compute the sum of
happiness in any given day, you Avill find that it was com
posed of small attentions, kind looks, which made the heart
swell, and stirred into health that sour, rancid film of misan
thropy which is apt to coagulate on the stream of our inward
life, as surely as we live in heart apart from our fellow-crea
tures. Doubtless the memory of each one of us will furnish him
Avith the picture of some member of a family whose very
presence seemed to shed happiness : a daughter, perhaps,
Avhose light step, even in the distance, irradiated every one's
countenance. What was the secret of such a one's power ?
what had she done ? Absolutely nothing ; but radiant
smiles, beaming good-humor, the tact of divining Avhat every
one felt and every one Avanted, told that she had got out of
self and learned to think for others ; so that at one time it
showed itself in deprecating the quarrel which lowering
brows and raised tones already showed to be impending, by
sweet words ; at another, by smoothing an invalid's pillow ;
at another, by soothing a sobbing child ; at another, by hu
moring* and softening a father who had returned weary and
ill-tempered from the irritating cares of business. None but
she saAV those things. None but a loving heart could see
them. That was the secret of her heavenly power.
Call you those things homely trifles, too homely for a ser
mon ? By reference to the character of Christ, they rise into
something quite sublime. For that is loving as He loved.
And remark, too^these trifles prepared for larger deeds. The
one who will be found in trial capable of great acts of love,
is ever the one who is always doing considerate small ones.
The soul which poured itself out to death upon the cross for
the human race, Avas the Spirit of Him who thought of the
wants of the people, contrived for the rest of Jhe disciples,
and was thoughtful for a mother.
Once again — it was a love never foiled by the unworthiness
of those on whom it had been once bestowed. It was a love
which faults, desertion, denial, unfaithfulness could not chill,
even though they wrung His heart. He had chosen ahd He
trusted. Even in ordinary manhood, that is a finely-temper
ed heart, one of no ordinary mould, which can say, " It ever
Avas my way, and shall be still, when I do trust a man, to
trust him wholly."
And yet there Avas every thing to shake His trust in hu
manity. The Pharisees called him Good Master, and were

Love to one Another. 183
circumventing Him all the while. The people shouted ho-
sannas, and three days afterwards were shrieking for His
blood. One disciple who had dipped in the same dish, and
been trusted with His inmost counsels, deceived and betrayed
Him; another was ashamed of Him; three fell asleep while
He was preparing for death ; all forsook Him. Yet nothing
is more surprising than that unshaken, I had well-nigh said
obstinate, trust with which He clung to His hopes of our
nature, and believed in the face of demonstration.
As we mix in life, there comes, especially to sensitive na
tures, a temptation to distrust.' In young life we throAV our
selves with unbounded and glorious confidence on such as
we think well of — an error soon corrected : for we soon find
out — too soon — that men and women are not what they
seem. Then comes disappointment ; and the danger is a re
action of desolating and universal mistrust. For if we look
on the doings of man with a merely worldly eye, and pierce
below the surface of character, we are apt to feel bitter scorn
and disgust for our fellow-creatures. We have lived to see
human hollowness; the ashes ofthe Dead Sea shore; the
falseness of what seemed so fair; the mouldering beneath
the whited sepulchre : and no wonder if we are tempted to
think " friendship all a cheat — smiles hypocrisy — words de
ceit ;" and they who are what is called knowing in life con
tract by degrees, as the result of their experience, a hollow
distrust df men, and learn to sneer at apparently good mo
tives — that demoniacal sneer which we haAre seen, ay, per
haps felt, curling the lip at times, " Doth Job serve God for
naught?" The only preservation from this withering of the heart is
love. Love is its own perennial fount of strength. The
strength of affection is a proof not ofthe worthiness ofthe
object, but of the largeness of the soul which loves. < Love
descends, not ascends. The might of a river depends :not on
the quality of the. soil through which it passes, but on the in-
exhaustibleness and depth ofthe spring from which it pro
ceeds. The greater mind cleaves to the smaller with more
force than the other to it. A parent loves the child more
than the child the parent ; and partly because the parent's
heart is larger, not because the child is Avorthier. The Sav
iour loved His disciples infinitely more than His disciples
loved Him, because His heart was infinitely larger. Love
trusts on — ever hopes and expects better things ; and this, a
trust springing from itself and. out of its own deeps alone.
And more than this. It is this trusting love that makes
men Avhat they are trusted to be — so realizing itself. Would

1 84 The New Commandment, Etc.
you . make men trustworthy ? Trust them. Would you
make them true ? Believe them. This was the real force
of that sublime battle-cry which no Englishman hears with
out emotion. When the crews ofthe fleet of Britain knew
that they were expected to do their duty, they did their duty.
They felt, in that spirit-stirring sentence, that they were
trusted; and the simultaneous cheer that rose from every
ship was a forerunner of victory — the battle was half-won al
ready. They went to serve a country which expected from
them great things, and they did great things. Those preg
nant words raised an enthusiasm for the chieftain who had
thrown himself upon his men in trust, which a double line of
hostile ships could not appall, nor decks drenched in blood
extinguish. And it is on this principle that Christ wins the hearts of
His redeemed. He trusted the doubting Thomas, and Thom
as arose with a faith worthy " of his Lord and his God." He
would not suffer even the lie of Peter to shake His convic
tion that Peter might love him yet, and Peter answered no
bly to that sublime forgiveness. His last prayer was in ex
tenuation and hope for the race who had rejected Him, and
the kingdoms of the world are become His own. He has
loved us, God knows why — I do not — and we, all unworthy
though Ave be, respond faintly to that love, and try to be
what He would have us.
Therefore come Avhat may, hold fast to love. Though men
should rend your heart, let them not embitter or harden it.
We Avin by tenderness, we conquer by forgiveness. Oh,
strive to enter into something of that large celestial charity
which is meek, enduring, unretaliating, and which even the'
overbearing world can not withstand forever. Learn the
new commandment of the Son of God. Not to love merely,
but. to love as He loved. Go forth in this spirit to your life-
duties : go forth, children of the Cross, to carry every thing
before you, and win victories for God by the conquering
poAver of a love like His.

The Message ofthe Church to Men of Wealth. 185

XVII.
THE MESSAGE OF THE CHURCH TO MEN OF
WEALTH.
"And Nabal answered David's servants, and said, Who is David? and
who is the son of Jesse 7 There be many servants nowadays that break
away every man from his master. Shall I then take my bread, and my
water, and my flesh that I have killed for my shearers, and give it unto men,
whom I know not whence they be ?" — 1 Sam. xxv. 10, 11.
I have selected this passage for our subject this evening,
because it is, one ofthe earliest cases recorded in the Bible
in which the interests of the employer and the employed,
the man of wealth and the man of work, stood, or seemed to
stand, in antagonism to each other.
It was a period in which an old system of things was
breaking up, and the new one was not yet established. The
patriarchal relationship of tutelage and dependence was
gone, and monarchy was not yet in firm existence. Saul
was on the throne but his rule was irregular and disputed.
Many things were slowly growing up into custom which had
not yet the force of law ; and the first steps by which cus
tom passes into laAV from precedent to precedent are often
steps at every one of which struggle and resistance must
take place.
The history of the chapter is briefly this : Nabal, the
Avealthy sheep-master, fed his flocks in the pastures of Car-
mel. David was leader of a band of men who got their liv
ing by. the sword on the same hills : outlaws, whose excesses
he in some degree restrained, and over whom he retained a
leader's influence. A rude irregular honor was not unknoAvn
among those fierce men. They honorably abstained from
injuring Nabal's flocks. They did more: they protected
them frorn all harm against the marauders of the neighbor
hood. By the confession of Nabal's own herdsmen, "they
Avere a wall unto them both by night and day, all the time
they were with them keeping their flocks."
And thus a kind of right grew up : irregular enough, but
sufficient to establish a claim on Nabal for remuneration of
these services ; a new claim, not admitted by him : reckoned
by him an exaction, which could be enforced by no law ;

1 86 The Message of the Church
only by that law Avhich is above all statute-law, deciding ac
cording to emergencies — an indefinable instinctive sense of
fairness and justice. But as there was no law, and each man
was to himself a law, and the sole arbiter of his own rights,
what help was there but that disputes should rise between
the wealthy proprietors and their self-constituted champions,
with exaction and-tyranny on the one side, churlishness and
parsimony on the other? Hence a fruitful and ever-fresh
source of struggle : the one class struggling to take as much,
and the other to give as little as possible. In modern lan
guage, the Rights of Labor were in conflict with the Rights
of Property.
The story proceeds thus : David presented a demand, mod
erate and courteous enough (vs. 6, 7, 8). It was refused by
Nabal, and added to the refusal were those insulting taunts
of low birth and outcast condition which are worse than
injury, and sting, making men's blood run fire. One court
of appeal Avas left. There remained nothing but the trial by
force. " Gird ye on," said David, " every man his sword."
Now observe the fearful, hopeless character. of this strug
gle. The. question had come to this: whether David, with
his ferocious and needy six hundred mountaineers, united by
the sense of wrong, or Nabal, with his well-fed and trained
hirelings, bound by interest and not by love to his cause,
were stronger ? Which was the more powerful — want whet
ted by insult, or selfishness pampered by abundance ; they
Avho wished to keep by force, or they who Avished to take ?
An awful and uncertain spectacle, but the spectacle which is
exhibited in every country where rights are keenly felt, and
duties lightly regarded — where insolent demand is met by in
sulting defiance. Wherever classes are held apart by rivalry
and selfishness, instead of drawn together by the law of love
— Avherever there has not been established a kingdom of
heaven, but only a kingdom of the worlds-there exist the
forces of inevitable collision.
I. The- causes of this false social state.
II. The message of the Church to' the man of wealth.
I. False basis on which social superiority was held to rest.
Throughout Nabal's conduct Avas built upon the assump
tion of his OAvn superiority. He was a man of wealth. Da
vid was dependent on his own daily efforts. Was not that
enough to settle the question of superiority and inferiority ?
It was enough on both sides for a long time, till the falsehood
of the assumption became palpable and intolerable. But pal
pable and intolerable it did become at last.

To Men of Wealth. 187
A social falsehood will be borne long, even Avith consider
able inconvenience, until it forces" itself obtrusively on men's
attention, and can be endured no longer. The exact point
at which this social falsehood, that wealth constitutes supe
riority, and has a right to the subordination of inferiors, be
comes intolerable, varies according to several circumstances.
The evils of poverty are comparative — they depend on cli
mate. In warm climates, where little food, no fuel, and scan
ty shelter are required, the sting is scarcely felt till poverty
becomes starvation. They depend on contrast. Far above
the point where poverty becomes actual famine, it may be
come unbearable if contrasted strongly with the unnecessary
luxury .and abundance enjoyed by the classes above. Where
all suffer equally, as men and officers suffer in an Arctic voy
age, men bear hardship with cheerfulness : but where the suf
fering weighs heavily on some, and the luxury of enjoyment
is out of all proportion monopolized by a few, the point of
reaction is reached long before penury has become actual
want : or again, when wealth or rank assumes an insulting,
domineering character — when contemptuous names for the
poor are invented, and become current among the more un
feeling of a wealthy class — then the falsehood of superiority
can be tolerated no longer : for we do not envy honors which
are meekly borne, nor wealth which is unostentatious.
Now it was this which brought matters to a crisis. David
had borne poverty long — nay, he and his men had long en
dured the contrast between their own cavern-homes and beds
upon the rock, and Nabal's comforts. But when Nabal add
ed to this those pungent biting sneers which sink into poor
men's hearts and rankle — which are not forgotten, but come
out fresh in the day of retribution — " Who is David ? and
Avho is the son of Jesse ? There be many servants nowadays
that break away every man from his master," then David
began to measure himself with Nabal; not a wiser man — nor
a better — nor even a stronger. Who is this Nabal ? Intel
lectually, a fool; morally, a profligate, drowning reason in
excess of wine at the annual sheep-shearing ; a tyrant over
his slaves— overbearing to men who only ask of him their
rights. Then rose the question which Nabal had better not
have forced men to answer for themselves. By what right
does this possessor of wealth lord it over men who are infe
rior in no one particular ?
Now- observe two things.
1. "An'apparent inconsistency in DaAdd's conduct. David
had received injury after injury "from Saul, and had only for
given. One injury from Nabal, and David is striding over

1 88 The Message of the Church
the hills to revenge his Avrong with naked steel. Hoav came
this reverence and irreverence to mix together ?
We reply. Saul had a claim of authority on David's al
legiance ; Nabal only one of rank. BetAveen these the Bible
makes a vast difference. It says, The powers which be are
ordained of God. But upper and lower, as belonging to dif
ference in property, are fictitious terms: true, if character
corresponds with titular superiority; false, if it does. not.
And such was the difference manifested in the life of the Son
of God. To lawful authority, whether Roman, Jewish, or
even priestly, He paid deference ; but to the titled, mark of
conventional distinction, none. Rabbi, Rabbi, was no Divine
authority. It was not power, a delegated attribute. of, God —
it Avas only a name. In Saul, therefore, David reverenced
one his superior in authority ; but in Nabal he only had be
fore him one surpassing him in Avealth. And David refused,
somewhat too rudely, to acknowledge the bad, great man as
his superior : would pay him no reverence, respect, or alle
giance Avhatever. Let us mark that distinction well, so often
confused — kings, masters, parents : here is a power ordained
of God. Honor it. But Avealth, name, title, distinctions,
always fictitious, often false and vicious, if you can claim
homage for these separate from worth, you confound two
things essentially different. Try that by the test of His life.
Name the text where Christ claimed reverence for wealth
or -rank. On the Mount did the Son of Man bow the knee
to the majesty of wealth and wrong, or was His Sonship
shown in this, that He would not bow down to that as if of
God? 2. This great •falsehood respecting superior and inferior
rested on a truth. There had been a superiority in the
wealthy class once. In the patriarchal system wealth and
rule had gone together. The father of the family and tribe
was the one in whom proprietorship was centred; but the
patriarchal system had passed away. Men like Nabal suc
ceeded to the patriarch's wealth, and expected the subordi
nation which had been yielded to patriarchal character and
position ; and this when every particular of relationship Avas
altered. Once the patriarch was the protector of his depend
ents. Now David's class was independent, and the protect
ors, rather than the protected: at all events, able to. defend
themselves. Once the rich man was ruler in virtue of pa
ternal relationship. Now wealth was severed from rule, and
relationship: a man might be rich, yet neither a ruler, nor a
protector, nor a kinsman. And the fallacy of Nabal's expec
tation consisted in this, that he demanded for wealth that

To Men of Wealth. 1 89
reverence which had once been due to men who happened to
be wealthy.
It is a fallacy in , which we are perpetually entangled.
We expect reverence for that which was once a symbol of
what was reverenced, but is reverenced no longer. Here in
England it is common to complain that there is no longer any
respect of inferiors towards superiors — that servants were
once devoted and grateful, tenants submissive, subjects en
thusiastically loyal. But we forget that servants were once
protected by their masters, and tenants safe from wrong
only through the guardianship of their powerful lords ; that
thence a personal gratitude grew up ; that now they are pro
tected by the law from wrong by a different social system
altogether ; and that the' individual bond of gratitude sub
sists" no longer. We expect that to masters and employers
the same reverence and devotedness shall be rendered which
were due to, them under other circumstances, and for differ
ent reasons ; as if wealth and rank had ever been the claim to
reverence; and not merely the accidents and accompaniments
ofthe claim — as if any thing less sacred than holy ties could
purchase sacred feelings — as if the homage of free manhood
could be due to gold and name — as if to the mere Nabal-fool
who is labelled as worth so much, and whose signature car
ries with it so much coin, the holiest and most ennobling
sensations of the soul, reverence and loyalty, were due by
God's appointment. :
No. That patriarchal system has passed forever. No
sentimental wailings for the past, no fond regrets for the
virtues of a by-gone age, no melancholy, poetical, retrospect
ive antiquarianism can restore it. In Church and State the
past is past : and you can no more bring back the blind
reverence, than the rude virtues of those days. The day has
come in which, if feudal loyalty or patriarchal reverence are
to be comirianded, they must be Avon by patriarchal virtues
or feudal real superiorities.
II. Cause of this unhealthy social state : A false concep
tion respecting rights.
It would be unjust to'Nabal to represent this as an act of
willful oppression and conscious injustice. He did what ap
peared to him fair between man and man. He paid his
laborers. Why should he pay any thing beyond stipulated
wages ?
David's demand appeared an extravagant and; insolent
one, provoking unfeigned astonishment and indignation. It
was an invasion of his rights. It was a dictation with* re-

1 90 The Message of the Church
spect to the employment of that which was his own. "Shall
I then take my bread, and my water, and my flesh that I
have killed for my shearers, and give.it unto men whom I
know not Avhence they be ?"
Recollect, too, there was something to be said for Nabal.
This view of the irresponsible right of property was not his
invention. It was the view probably entertained by all his
class. It had descended to him from his parents. 'They
were prescriptive and admitted rights on which he stood:
And however false or unjust a prescriptive right may be,
however baseless when examined, there is much excuse, for
those who have inherited and not invented it ; for it is hard
to see through the falsehood of any system by which Ave
profit, and which is upheld by general consent, especially
when good men too uphold it. Rare indeed is that pure-
heartedness which sees with eagle glance through conven
tionalisms. This is a wrong, and I and my own class are
the doers of it.
On the other hand, David and his needy followers Avere
not slow to perceive that they had their rights over that
property of Nabal's.
Men on whom wrongs press are the first to feel them, and
their cries of pain and indignation are the appointed means
of God to direct to their wrongs the attention of society.
Very often the fierce and maddened . shriek of suffering is
the'first intimation that a wrong exists at all.
There was no law in Israel to establish David's claims.
This guardianship of Nabal's .flocks, was partly a self-consti
tuted thing. No bargain had been made, no sum of reward
expressly stipulated. But there is a law besides and above
all written law, which gives to written laws their authority,
and from Avhich so often as they diverge, it is woe to the
framers of the laAV : for their law must perish," and the
Eternal Law unseen will get itself acknowledged as a truth
from heaven or a truth from hell — a truth begirt with fire
and sword, if they will not read it except so.
In point of fact, David had a right to a share of Nabal's
profits. The harvest Avas in part David's harvest, for with
out David it never could have been reaped. The sheep were
in part David's sheep, for without David not a sheep would
have been spared by the marauders of the hills. Not a
sheaf of corn was carried to Nabal's barn, nor a night passed
in repose by Nabal's shepherds, but Avhat told of the share
of David in the saving of that sheaf, and the procurement of
that repose (not the less real because it was past and un
seen). The right which the soldier has by law to his pay,

To Men of Wealth. 191
was the right which David had by unwritten law — a right
resting on the fact that his services were indispensable for
the harvest.
Here, theu, is one of the earliest instances of the Rights
of Labor coming into collision with the Rights of. Property :
rights shadowy, undefined, perpetually shifting their bound
aries, varying with eA'ery case, altering with every age, in
capable of being adjusted except rudely by law, and leaving
always something which the most subtle and elaborate law
can not define, and Avhich in any moment may grow up into
a Avrong. Now when it comes to this, Rights against Rights, there
is no determination of the question but by overwhelming
numbers or blood. David's remedy was1 a short, sharp, de
cisive one. "Gird ye on every man his sword." And it is
difficult, for the sake of humanity, to say to which side in
such a quarrel we should wish well. If the rich man succeed
in civil war, he will bind the chain of degradation more se
verely and more surely for years, or ages, on the crushed serf.
If the champions of popular rights succeed by the sword,
you may then await in awe the reign of tyranny, licentious
ness,! and lawlessness. For the victory of the lawless, with
the. memory of past wrongs to avenge, is almost more san
guinary than the victory of those who have had power long,
and whose power had been defied.-
We find another cause in circumstances. Want and un
just exclusion precipitated David and his men into this re
bellion. It is common enough to lay too much weight on
circumstances. Nothing can be more false than the popular
theory that ameliorated outward condition is the panacea for
the evils of society. The Gospel principle begins from with
in, and works outward. • ¦
The world's principle begins Avith the outward condition,
and expects to influence inwardly. To expect that by chang
ing the world without, in order to suit the world within, by
taking away all difficulties and removing all temptations, in
stead of hardening the man within against the force of out
ward temptation — to adapt the lot to the man, instead of
moulding the spirit to the lot, is to reverse the Gospel method
of procedure. Nevertheless, even that favorite speculation
of theorists, that perfect circumstances will produce perfect
character, contains a truth. Circumstances of outward con
dition are- not the sole efficients in the production of charac
ter, but they are efficients which must not be ignored. Fa
vorable condition will not produce excellence, but the want
of it often hinders excellence. It is true that A'ice leads to

192 The Message of the Church
poverty : all the moralizers tell us that, but it is also true
that poverty leads to vice.
There are some in this world to whom, speaking humanly,
social injustice and social inequalities have made goodness
impossible. Take, for instance, the case of these bandits on
Mount Carmel. Some of them were outlaAved by their own
crimes, but others doubtless by debts not willfully contracted
— one at least, David, by a most unjust and unrighteous per
secution. And these men, excluded, needy, exasperated by a
sense of wrong, untaught outcasts, could you gravely expect
from them obedience, patience, meekness, religious resigna
tion ? Yes, my brethren, that is exactly the marvellous im
possibility people do most inconsistently expect ; and there
are no bounds to their astonishment if they do not get what
they expect: Superhuman honesty from starving men, to
whom life by hopelessness has become a gambler's desperate
chance ! chivalrous loyalty and high forbearance from crea
tures to whom the order of society has presented itself only
as an unjust system of partiality ! We forget that forbearance
and obedience are the very last and highest lessons learned by
the spirit in its most careful training. By those unhallowed
conventionalisms through which we, like heathens, and not
like Christians, crush the small offender and court the great
one — that damnable cowardice by which we banish the se
duced and half admire the seducer — by which, in defiance of
all manliness and all generosity, we punish the weak and
tempted, and let the tempter go free : — by all these we make
men and women outcasts, and then expect from them the
sublimest graces of reverence and resignation !
II. The message ofthe Church to the man of wealth.
The message of the Church contains those principles of
life which, "carried out, would, and hereafter will, realize the
Divine Order of Society. The revealed Message does not
create the facts of our humanity — it simply makes them
known. The Gospel did not make God our Father, it au
thoritatively reveals that He is so. It did not create a neAV
duty of loving one another, it revealed the old duty which
existed from eternity, and must exist as long as humanity is
humanity. It was no " new commandment," but an old com
mandment which had been heard from the beginning.
The Church of God is that living body of men who are
called by Him out of the world, not to be the inventors of a
new social system, but to exhibit in the world by word and
life, chiefly by life, what Humanity is, was, and will be, in
the idea of God. Now so far as the social economy is con-

To Men of Wealth. 193
cerned, the revelations of the Church will coincide Avith the
discoveries of a Scientific Political Economy. Political
Economy discovers slowly the facts of the immutable laws
of social well-being. But the living principles of those laws,
Avhich cause them td be obeyed, Christianity has revealed to
loving hearts long before. The Spirit discovers them to the
spirit. For instance, Political Economy, gazing on such a
fact, as this of civil Avar, would arrive at the_same principles
which the Church arrives at. She too would say, Not self
ishness, but love. Only that she arrives at these principles
by experience, not intuition — by terrible lessons, not revela
tion — by revolutions, wars, and famines, not by spiritual im
pulses of charity.
And so because these principles were eternally true in hu
manity, Ave find in the conduct of Abigail towards David in
this early age, not explicitly, but implicity, the very princi
ples which the Church of Christ has given to the world ; and
more — the very principles which a sound political economy
Avould sanction. In her reply to DaA'id we haA-e the antici
pation by a loving heart of those duties which selfish pru
dence must have taught at last.
1. The spiritual dignity of man as man. Recollect David
Avas the poor man, but Abigail, the high-born lady, admits
his worth : "The Lord will certainly make my lord a sure
house ; because my lord fighteth the battles of the Lord, and
evil hath not been found in thee all thy days." Here is a
truth revealed to that age. Nabal's day, and the day of such
as Nabal, is past ; another power is rising above the horizon.
David's cause is God's cause. Worth does not mean Avhat a
man is Avorth — you must find some better definition than
that. Now this is the very truth revealed in the Incarnation.
David, Israel's model king, the king by the grace of God, not
by the conventional rules of human choice — is a shepherd's
son. Christ, the King who is to reign over our regenerated
humanity, is humbly born — the poor Avoman's Son. That is
the Church's message to the man of wealth, and a message
which it seems has to be learned afresh in every age. It was
new to, Nabal. It was new to the men of the age of Christ.
In His day they were offended in Him, because He was hum
bly born. "Is not this the carpenter's son?" It is the of
fense now. They Avho retain those superstitious ideas of the
eternal superiority of rank and wealth have the first princi
ples of the Gospel yet to learn. How can they believe in the
Son of Mary? They may honor Him with the lip, they deny
him in His brethren. Whoever helps to keep alive that an-

1 94 The Message of the Church
cient lie of upper and lower, resting the distinction not on
official authority or personal worth, but on Avealth and title,
is doing his part to hinder the establishment of the Redeem
er's kingdom.
Now the Church of Christ proclaims that truth in baptism.
She speaks of a kingdom here in which all are, as spirits,
equal. She reveals a fact. She does not affect to create the
fact. She says — not hypothetically, " This child muy be the
child of God if prevenieut grace has taken place, or if here
after he shall have certain feelings and experiences ;" nor,
" Hereby I create this child magically by supernatural power
in one moment what it was not a moment before :" but she
says, authoritatively, " I pronounce this child the child of
God: the brother of Christ the First-born — the Son of Him
who has taught us by His Son to call Him our Father, not
my Father. - Whatever that child may become hereafter in
fact, he is now, by right of creation and redemption, the child
of God. Rich or poor, titled or untitled, he shares the spirit
ual nature ofthe second Adam — the Lord from heaven."
2. The second truth expressed by Abigail Avas the law of
Sacrifice. She did not heal the grievance with smooth Avords.
Starving men" are not to be pacified by professions of good-
Avill. She brought her two hundred loaves, and her two
skins of wine, her five sheep ready dressed, etc. A princely
provision !
You might have said this was waste — half would have
been enough. But the truth is, liberality is a most real econ
omy. She could not stand there calculating the smallest pos
sible expense at which the affront might be wiped out. True
economy is to pay liberally and fairly for faithful service.
The largest charity is the best economy. Nabal had had a
faithful servant. He should have counted no expense too
great to retain his services, instead of cheapening and de
preciating them. But Ave wrong Abigail if we call this econ
omy or calculation. In fact, had it been done on economical
principles, it Avould have failed. Ten times this sum from
Nabal would not have arrested revenge. For Nabal it was
too late. Concessions extracted by fear only provoke ex
action further. Th.e poor know well what is given because
it must be given, and what is conceded from a sense of jus
tice. They feel only what is real. David's meii and David
felt that these were not the gifts of a sordid calculation, but
the offerings of a generous heart. And it won them — their
gratitude — their enthusiasm — their unfeigned homage.
This is the attractive power of that great laAV, whose hio-h-
est expression Avas the Cross, " I, if I be lifted up, Avill draw

To Men of Wealth. 1 95
all men unto Me." Say Avhat you will, it is not interest, but
the sight of noble qualities and true sacrifice, which com
mands the devotion of the world. Yea, even the bandit and
the outcast will bend before that as before a Divine thing. In
one form or another, it draAvs all men, it commands all men.
Now this the Church proclaims as part of its special mes
sage to the rich. It says that the Divine Death Avas a Sac-
lifice. It declares that death to be the law of every life
which is to be like His. It says that the laAV, Avhich alone
can interpret the mystery of life, is the self-sacrifice of Christ.
It proclaims the laAV of His life to have been this : "For their
sakes I devote (sanctify) Myself, that they also may be de
voted through the truth."
In other words, the self-sacrifice of the Redeemer was to
be the living principle and laAV of the self-devotion of His
people. It asserts that to be the principle which alone can
make any human life a true life. " I fill up that Avhich is be
hind of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh, for His body's
sake, which is the Church." We have petrified that sacrifice
into a dead theological dogma, about the exact efficacy of
which we dispute metaphysically, and charge each other with
heresy. That Atonement will become a living fact only
when' we humbly recognize in it the eternal fact that sacri
fice is the law of life. The very mockers at the crucifixion
unwittingly declared the principle : " He saved others : him
self He can not save." Of course — how could He save him
self who had to save others? Ydu can only save others
Avhen you have ceased to think of saving your own soul;
you can only truly bless when you have done with the pur
suit of personal happiness. Did you ever hear of a soldier
who saved his country by making it his chief work to secure
himself? And was the Captain of our salvation to become
the Saviour by contravening that universal law of sacrifice,
or by obeying it ?
Brother men, the early Church gave expression to that
principle of sacrifice in a very touching way. They had all
things in common. " Neither said any of them that aught
of thethings which he possessed Avas his own." They failed,
not because they declared that, but because men began to
think that the duty of sharing was compulsory. They pro
claimed principles which were unnatural, inasmuch as they
set aside all personal feelings, which are part of our nature
too. They virtually compelled private property to cease,
because he who. retained private property when all were
giving up was degraded, and hence became a hypocrite and
liar,like Ananias.

196 The Message of the Church
But let us not lose the truth which they expressed in an
exaggerated way: "Neither said any of them that aught of
the things which he possessed was "his own." Property is
sacred. It is private property ; if it were not, it could not
be sacrificed. If it Avere to be shared equally by the idle
and the industrious, there could be no love in giving. Prop
erty is the rich man's own. * Nabal is right in saying,_My
bread — my water — my flesh. But there is a higher right
which says, It is not yours. And that voice speaks to every
rich man in one way or another, according as he is selfish or
unselfish : coming as a voice of terror or a voice of blessing.
It came to Nabal with a double curse, turning his heart into
stone with the vision of the danger and the armed ranks of
David's avengers, and laying on David's soul the sin of in:
tended murder. It came to the heart of Abigail with a
double blessing : blessing her who gave and him Avho took.
To the spirit of the Cross alone we look as the remedy for
social evils. When the people of this great country, espe
cially the rich, shall have been touched with the spirit of
the Cross to a largeness of sacrifice of Avhich they have not
dreamed as yet, there will be au atonement between the
Rights of Labor and the Rights of Property.
3. The last part of the Church's message to the man of
wealth touches the matter of rightful influence.
Very remarkable is the demeanor of David toAvards Nabal,
as contrasted with his demeanor toAvards Abigail. In the
one case, defiance, and a haughty self-assertion of equality ; in
the other, deference, respect, and the most eloquent bene
diction. It Avas not therefore against the Avealthy class, but
against individiJals of the class, that the Avrath of these men
burned. See, then, the folly and the falsehood of the sentimental
regret that there is no longer any reverence felt towards
superiors. There is reverence to superiors, if only it can be
shown that they are superiors. Reverence is deeply rooted
in the heart of humanity — you can not tear it out. Civilizar
tion— ^science — progress — only change its direction : they do
not weaken its force. If it no longer bows before crucifixes
and candles, priests and relics, it is not extinguished towards
what is truly, sacred and what is priestly in man. The
fiercest, revolt against false authority is only a step towards
submission to rightful authority. Emancipation from false
lords only sets the heart free to honor true ones. The free-
born David will not do homage to Nabal. Well, now go
and mourn over the degenerate age which no longer feels
respect for that Avhich is above it. But behold — David has

To Men of Wealth. 197
found a something nobler than himself. Feminine charity —
sacrifice and justice — and in gratitude and profoundest
respect he bows to that. The state of society which is
coming is not one of protection and dependence, nor one
of mysterious authority, and blind obedience to it, nor one
in Avhich any class shall be privileged by Divine right, and
another remain in perpetual tutelage ; but it is one in Avhich
unselfish services and personal qualities will command, by
Divine right, gratitude and admiration, and secure a true
aud spiritual leadership.
Oh, let not the rich misread the signs of the times, or mis
take their brethren : they have less and less respect for ti
tles, and riches, for vestments and ecclesiastical pretensions,
but they have a real respect lor superior knowledge and su
perior goodness : they listen like children to those whom
they believe to know a subject better than themselves. Let
those Avho knoAV it say whether there is not something inex
pressibly touching and even humbling in the large, hearty,
manly, English reverence and love which the working-men
shoAv toAvards those who love and serve them truly, and
save them from themselves and from doing wrong. See hoAv
David's feelings gush forth : " Blessed be the Lord God of
Israel which sent thee this day to meet me : and blessed be
thy advice, and blessed be thou Avhich hast kept me this day
from coming to shed blood, and from avenging myself with
mine own hand."
The rich and the great may have that love if they will.
To conclude. Doubtless David was wrong : he had no
right even to redress wrongs thus ; patience was his divinely
appointed duty; and doubtless in such circumstances we
should be very ready to preach submission and to blame
David. Alas ! we, the clergy of the Church of England^
-have been only too ready to do this : for three long centu
ries we have taught submission to the powers that be, as if
that Avere the only text in Scripture bearing on the relations
between the ruler and the ruled. Rarely have we dared to
demand ofthe powers that be, justice ; of the wealthy man
and the titled, duties. We have produced folios of slavish
flattery upon the Divine Right of Power.- Shame on us !
Ave have not denounced the wrongs done to weakness : and
yet for One text in the Bible which requires submission and
patience from the poor, you will find a hundred which de-
- nounce the vices of the rich — in the Avritings of the noble
old Jewish prophets, that, and almost that only — that, in the
Old Testament, with a deep roll of words that sound like Si
nai thunders : and that in the New Testament in words less

198 Christ 's Judgment Respecting Inheritance.
impassioned and more calmly terrible from the apostles and
their Master : and woe to us in the great day of God, if we
have been the sycophants of the rich instead ofthe redressers
of the poor man's wrongs — woe to us if we have been tutor
ing David into respect to his superior, Nabal, and forgotten
that David's cause, not Nabal's, is the cause of God.

XVIII.
CHRIST'S JUDGMENT RESPECTING INHERIT
ANCE.*
"'And one of the company said unto him, Master, speak to my brother,
that he divide the inheritance with me. And he said unto him, Man, who
made me a judge or a divider over you ? And he said unto them, Take
heed, and beware of covetousness : for a man's life consisteth not in the
abundance ofthe things which he possesseth." — Luke xii. 13-15.
The Son of God was misunderstood and misinterpreted in
His day. With this fact Ave are familiar ; but we are not at
all familiar with the consideration that it was very natural
that He should be so mistaken.
He went about Galilee and Judea proclaiming the down
fall of every injustice, the exposure and confutation of every
lie. He denounced the lawyers who refused education to
the people, in order that they might retain the key of knowl
edge in their own hands. He reiterated Woe ! Avoe ! woe !
to the Scribes and Pharisees, who revered the past, while
systematically persecuting every neAV prophet and every
brave man Avho rose up to vindicate the spirit of the past
against the institutions of the past. He spoke parables
which bore hard on the men of wealth : that, for instance,
of the rich man who was clothed in purple ahd fine linen,
and fared sumptuously every day, who died, and in hell lift
up his eyes, being in torments — that of the wealthy proprie
tor who prospered in the world ; who pulled down his barns
to build greater; who all the Avhile was in the sight of God
a fool ; who in front of judgment and eternity was found un
ready. He stripped the. so-called religious party of that day
of their respectability, convicted them, to their own astonish
ment, of hypocrisy, and called them " whited sepulchres." ¦
* This Sermon was preached the Sunday after that on which ' ' The Mes
sage of the Church to Men of Wealth " was preached, and it was intended as
a further illustration of that subject.

Christ's Judgment Respecting Inheritance. 199
He said God Avas against them ; that Jerusalem's day was
come, and that she must fall.
And now consider candidly :— suppose that all this had
taken place in this country ; that an unknoAvn stranger,
Avith no ordination, with no visible authority, basing his au
thority upon his truth, and his agreement with the mind of
God the Father, had appeared in this England, uttering half
the severe things He spoke against the selfishness of wealth,
against ecclesiastical authorities, against the clergy, against
the popular religious party — suppose that such an one should
say that our Avhole social life is corrupt and false — suppose
that instead of " thou blind Pharisee," the word had been
" thou blind Churchman !"
Should we have fallen at the feet of such an one. and said,
Lo ! this is a message from Almighty God, and He who
brings it is a Son of God ; perhaps what He says Himself,
His only Son — God— of God ? Or should we riot have rath
er said, This is dangerous teaching, and revolutionary in its
tendencies, and He who teaches it is an incendiary — a mad,
democratical, dangerous fanatic ?
That was exactly what they did say of your Redeemer in
His day ; nor does it seem at all wonderful that they did.
The sober, respectable inhabitants of Jerusalem, very
comfortable themselves, and utterly unable to conceive
why things should not go on as they had been going on
for a hundred years — not; smarting from the misery and the
mofll degradation of the lazars with whom He associated,
and under whose burdens his loving spirit groaned — thought
it excessively dangerous to risk the subversion of their quiet
enjoyment by such outcries. They said, prudent men ! " If
He is permitted to go on this Avay, the Romans Avill come
and take away our place and nation." The priests and Phar
isees, against whom He had specially spoken, Avere fiercer
still. They felt there was no time to be lost.
But still more, His oavii friends and followers misunder
stood Him.
They heard him speak of a kingdom of justice and right
eousness in which every man should receive the due reward
of his deeds. They heard Him say that this kingdom was
not far off, but actually among them, hindered only by their
sins and dullness from immediate appearance. Men's souls
Avere stirred and agitated. They were ripe for any thing,
and any spark would have produced explosion. ;They
thought the next call would be to take the matter into their
OAvn hands.
Accordingly, on one occasion, St. John and St. James asked

200 Christ's Judgment Respecting Inheritance.
permission to call doAvn fire from heaven upon a village of
the Samaritans which Avould not receive their message.
On another occasion, on a single figurative mention of a
sword, they began to gird themselves for the struggle :
" Lord," said one, " behold here are two swords." Again, as
soon as He entered Jerusalem for the last time, the populace
heralded His way with shouts, thinking that the long-delay
ed hour of retribution was come at last. They saw the Con
queror before them who was to vindicate their wrongs. In
imagination they already felt their feet upon the necks of
their enemies.
And because their hopes Avere disappointed, and He was
not the demagogue they Avanted, therefore they turned
against Him. Not the Pharisees only, but the people whom
He had come to save — the outcast, and the publican, and the
slave, and the maid-servant; they whose cause He had so
often pleaded, and whose emancipation He had prepared.
It Avas the people who cried, " Crucify Hirn, crucify Him !"
This will become intelligible to us if Ave can get at the
spirit of this passage.
Among those who heard Him lay down the laws of the
kingdom of God — justice, fairness, charity — there Avas one
Avho had been defrauded, as it seems, by his brother of his
just share ofthe patrimony. He thought that the One who
stood before him was exactly what he Avanted : a redresser
of wrongs — a champion of the oppressed — a divider and ar
biter between factions — a referee of lawsuits — one who
would spend His life in the unerring decision of all misun
derstandings. To his astonishment, the Son of Man refused to interfere in
his quarrel, or take part in it at all. " Man, Avho made me a
judge or a divider between you ?"
We ask attention to two things.
I. The Saviour's refusal to interfere.
II. The source to which He traced the appeal for interfer
ence. I. The Saviour's refusal to interfere.
1. He implied that it was not His part to interfere. " Who
made me a judge or a divider?"
It is a common saying that religion has nothing to do with
politics, and particularly there is a strong feeling current
against all interference with politics by the ministers of re
ligion. This notion rests on a basis which is partly wrong,
partly right.
To say that religion has nothing-.to do Avith politics is to

Christ 's Judgment Respecting Inheritance. 2 o 1
assert that which is simply false. It Avere as Avise to say
that the atmosphere has nothing to do with the principles of
architecture. Directly, nothing — indirectly, much. Some
kinds of stone are so friable, that though they will last for
centuries in a dry climate, they Avill crumble away in a few
years in a damp one. There are some temperatures in which
a form of building is indispensable which in another would
ba unbearable. The shape of doors, windows, apartments,
all depend upon the air that is to be admitted or excluded.
Nay, it is for the very sake of procuring a habitable atmos
phere within certain limits that architecture exists at all.
The atmospheric laws are distinct from the laws of architect
ure ; but there is not an architectural question into which
.atmospheric considerations do not enter as conditions ofthe
question. That which the air is to architecture, religion is to politics.
It is the vital air of every question. Directly, it determines
nothing^indirectly, it conditions every problem that can
arise. The kingdoms of this world must become the king
doms of our Lord and of His Christ. Hoav, if His Spirit is
not to mingle with political and social truths ?
Nevertheless, in the popular idea that religion as such
must not be mixed with politics, there is a profound truth.
Here, for instance, the Saviour will not meddle Avith the
question. He stands aloof, sublime and dignified. It was
no part of His to take from the oppressor and give to the
oppressed, much less to encourage the oppressed. to take
from the oppressor himself. It was His part to forbid op
pression. It was a judge's part to decide what oppression was.
It Avas not His office to determine the boundaries of civil
right, nor to lay down the rules of the descent of property.
Of course there was a spiritual and moral principle involved
in this question. But He would not suffer His sublime mis
sion to degenerate into the mere task of deciding casuistry.
He asserted principles of love, unselfishness, order, which
would decide all questions ; but the questions themselves
He would not decide. He would lay down the great politic
al principle, " Render unto Csesar the things that be Caesar's,
and unto God the things which are God's;" but He Avould
not determine whether this particular tax was due to Csesar
or not.
So, too, He would say, justice, like mercy and truth, is one
of the weightier matters of the laAV ; but he would not decide
whether in this definite case this or that brother had justice
on his side. It was for themsehres to determine that, and in
that determination lay their responsibility. 9*

202 Christ's Judgment Respecting Inheritance.
And thus religion deals with men, not cases : with human
hearts, not casuistry.
Christianity determines general principles, out of which,
no doubt, the best government would surely spring : but
what the best government is it does not determine— whether
monarchy or a republic, an aristocracy or a democracy.
It lays down a great social law : " Masters, give unto your
servants that which is just and equal." But it is not its part
to declare how much is just and equal. It has no fixed
scale of wages according to which masters must give. That
it leaves to each master and each age of society.
It binds up men in a holy brotherhood. But what are the
best institutions' and surest means for arriving at this broth
erhood it has not said. In particular, it has not pronounced
whether competition or co-operation will secure it.
And hence it comes to pass that Christianity is the eternal
religion, which can never become obsolete. If it sets itself
to determine the temporary and the local, the justice of this
tax, or the exact wrongs of that conventional maxim, it
Avould.soon become obsolete: it would be the religion of one
century, not of all. As it is, it commits itself to nothing ex
cept eternal principles.
It is not sent into this world to establish monarchy, or se
cure the franchise — to establish socialism, or to frown it into
annihilation — but to establish a charity, and a moderation,
and a sense of duty, and a love of right, which will modify
human life according to any circumstances that can possibly
arise. 2. In this refusal, again, it was implied that His kingdom
was one founded*on spiritual disposition, not one of outward
law and jurisprudence.
That this lawsuit should have been decided by the broth
ers themselves, in love, with mutual fairness, would have
been much — that it should be determined by authoritative
arbitration, was, spiritually speaking, nothing. The right
disposition of their hearts, and the right division of their
property thence resulting, was Christ's kingdom. The ap
portionment of their property by another's division had
nothing to do Avith His kingdom.
Suppose that both were wrong : one oppressive, the other
covetous. Then, that the oppressor should become gener
ous, and the covetous liberal, Avere a great gain. But to
take from one selfish brother in order to give to another self
ish brother, what spiritual gain Avould there have been in
this? Suppose, again, that the retainer of the inheritance Avas in

Christ's Judgment Respecting Inheritance. 203
the wrong, and that the petitioner had justice on his side —
that he was a humble, meek man, and his petition only one
of right. Well, to take the property from the unjust and
give it to Christ's servant, might be, and Avas, the duty of a
judge; but it Avas not Christ's part, nor any gain to the
cause of Christ. He does not reward His servants with in
heritances, with lands, houses, gold. The kingdom of God is
not meat and drink, but righteousness, and peace, and joy in
the Holy Ghost. Christ triumphs by wrongs meekly borne,
even more than by wrongs legally righted. What we call
poetical justice is not His kingdom.
To apply this to the question of the day. The great prob
lem which lies before Europe for solution is, or will be, this :
Whether" the present possessors ofthe soil have an exclusive
light to do what they Avill with their own, or whether a
larger claim may be put in by the workman for a share of
the profits ? Whether Capital has hitherto given to Labor
its just part, or not ? Labor is at present making an appeal,
like that of this petitioner, to the Church, to the Bible, to
God. "-Master, speak unto my brother, that he divide the
inheritance with me."
Noav in the mere setting of that question to rest, Chris
tianity is not interested. : That landlords should become
more liberal, and employers more merciful : that tenants
should be more honorable, and workmen more unselfish ;
that Avould be indeed aglorious thing — -a triumph of Christ's
cause ; and any arrangement of the inheritance thence, result
ing would be a real coming of the kingdom of God. But
whether the soil of the country and its capital shall remain
the property of the rich, or become more aA-ailable for the
poor, the rich and the poor remaining as selfish as before —
Avhether the selfish rich shall be able to keep, or the selfish
poor to take, is a matter, religiously speaking, of profound
indifference. Which of the brothers shall have the inherit
ance, the monopolist or the covetous ? Either — neither —
Avhd cares? Fifty years hence .Avhat will it matter ? But
a hundred thousand, years hence it will matter whether
they settled the question by mutual generosity and forbear
ance. 3.' I remark a third thing. He refused to be the friend of
one, because He was the, friend of both. He never was the
champion of a class, because He was the champion of hu
manity. We may take for granted that the petitioner was
an injured man — one, at all events, whothought himself in
jured; and Christ had Often taught the spirit which . would
have made his brother right him, but He refused to take his

204 Christ 's Judgment Respecting Inheritance.
part against his brother, just because he was his brother— •¦
Christ's servant, and one of God's family, as well as he.
And this Avas His spirit ahvays. The Pharisees thought
to commit Him to a side when they asked whether it Avas
lawful to give tribute to Caesar or not. But He would take
no side as the Christ : neither the part of the Government
against the tax-payers, nor the part ofthe tax-payers against
the Government.
Now it is a common thing to hear of the rights of man—.
a glorious and a true saying, but, as commonly used, the^ex:-
pression only means the rights of a section or class. of men.
And it is very worthy of remark, that in these social quar
rels both sides appeal to Christ and to the Bible as the
champions of their rights, precisely in the same way in
which this man appealed to Him. One class appeal to the
Bible, as if it were the great Arbiter which decrees that the
poor shall be humble and the subject submissive; and the
other class appeal to the same book triumphantly, as if it
Avere exclusively on their side, its peculiar blessedness con
sisting in this, that it commands the. rich to divide the inher
itance, and the ruler, to impose nothing that is unjust.
In either of these cases Christianity is degraded, and the
Bible misused. They are not, as they have been made, oh,
shame ! for centuries, the servile defenders of i-ank and
wealth, nor are they the pliant advocates of discontent and
rebellion. The Bible takes neither the part of the poor
against the rich exclusively, nor that of the rich against the
poor ; . and this because it proclaims a real, deep, true, and
not a revolutionary brotherhood.
The brotherhood of which we hear so much is often only a
one-sided brotherhood. It demands that the rich shall treat
the poor as brothers. It has a right to do so. It is a brave
and a just demand ; but it forgets that the obligation is mu
tual; that in spite of his many faults, the rich man is the
poor man's brother, and that the poor man is bound to rec
ognize him and feel for him as a brother.
It requires that every candid allowance shall be made for
the_ vices of the poorer classes, in virtue of the circumstances
which, so to speak, seem to make such vices inevitable : for
their harlotry, their drunkenness, their uncleanness, their in
subordination. Let it enforce that demand; it may and
must do it in the name of Christ. He was mercifully and
mournfully _ gentle to those Avho through terrible temptation
and social injustice had sunk, and sunk into misery at least
as much as into sin. But then, let it not be forgotten that
some sympathy must be also due on the same score of eir

Christ's Judgment Respecting Inheritance. 205
cumstarices to the rich man. Wealth has its temptations, so
has power. The vices ofthe rich are his forgetfulness of re
sponsibility, his indolence, his extravagance, his ignorance of
Avretchedness. These must be looked upon, not certainly
Avith weak excuses, but with . a brother's eye by the poor
man, if he will assert a brotherhood. It is not just to attrib
ute all to circumstances in the one case, and nothing in the
other. It is not brotherhood to say that the laborer does
Avrong because he is tempted, and the man of wealth because
he is intrinsically bad.
II. The source to which he traced this appeal for a di
vision. Now it is almost certain that the reflection which ?arose
to the lips of Christ is not the one which would have pre
sented itself to us under similar circumstances. We should
probably have sneered at the state of the law in Avhich a
lawsuit could obtain no prompt decision, and injury get no
redress : or we should have remarked upon the evils of the
system of primogeniture, and asked whether it were just
that one brother should have all, and the others none : or
we might, perhaps, have denounced the injustice of permit
ting privileged classes at all.
He did nothing of this kind. He did not sneer at the law,
nor inveigh against the system, nor denounce the privileged
classes. He went deeper : to the very root of the matter.
"Take heed and beware of covetousness." It was covet-
ousness which caused the unjust brother to withhold: it
was covetousness which made the defrauded brother indig
nantly complain to a stranger. It is covetousness winch is
at the' bottom of all lawsuits, all social grievances, all polit
ical factions. So St. James traces the genealogy. "From
whence come wars and fightings among you? Come they
not hence, even from your lusts which reign in your flesh ?"
Covetousness — the covetousness of all : of the oppressed
as well as of the oppressor ; for the cry " Divide " has its
root in covetousness just as truly as " I will not." There
are no innocent classes : no devils who oppress, and angels
who are oppressed. The guilt of a false social state must
be equally divided.
We will consider somewhat more deeply this covetousness.
In the original the word is a very expressive one. It means
the desire of having more — not of having more because
there is not enough, but simply a craving after more. More
when a man has not enough. More when he has. More,
more, ever more. Give, give. Divide, divide.

206 Christ's Judgment Respecting Inheritance.
This craving is not universal. Individuals and whole
nations are without it. There are some nations, the con
dition of whose further civilization is, that the desire of
accumulation be increased. They are too indolent or too
unambitious to be covetous. Energy is aAvakened when
wants are immediate, pressing, present ; but ceases with the
gratification. There are other nations in whioh the craving is excessive,
even to disease. Pre-eminent among these is England. This
desire of accumulation is the source of all our greatness, and
all our baseness. It is at once our glory and our shame. It
is the cause of our commerce, of our navy, of our military
triumphs, of our enormous wealth, and our marvellous inven
tions! And it is the cause of our factions and animosities,
of our squalid pauperism, and the worse than heathen deg
radation of the masses of our population.
That which makes this the more marvellous is, that of all
the nations on the earth, none are so incapable of enjoyment
as we. God has not given to us that delicate development
which He has given to other races. Our sense of harmony
is dull and rare, our perception of beauty is not keen. An
English holiday is rude and boisterous : if protracted, it
ends in ennui and self-dissatisfaction. We can not enjoy.
Work, the law of human nature, is the very need of an Eng
lish nature. . That cold shade of Puritanism which passed
over us, sullenly eclipsing all grace and enjoyment, was but
the shadow of our own melancholy, unenjoying, national
character. And yet we go on. accumulating as if we could enjoy more
by Having more. To quit the class in which they are and
rise into that above, is the yearly, daily, hourly effort of
millions in this land. And this were well if this word
" above " implied a reality : if it meant higher intellectually,
morally, or even physically. But the truth is, it is only
higher fictitiously. The middle classes already have every
real enjoyhient which the wealthiest can have. The only
thing they have not is the ostentation ofthe means of enjoy
ment.-. More would enable them to multiply equipages,
houses, books. It could not enable them to enjoy them more.
Thus, then, we have reached the root of the matter. Our
national craving is, in the proper meaning of the term, cov
etousness. Not the desire of enjoying more, but the desire
of having more. And if there be a country, a society, a
people to whom this warning is specially applicable, that
country is : England, that society our own, that people are
we. " Take heed and beware of coA'etousness."

Christ's Judgment Respecting Inheritance. 207
The true remedy for this covetousness He then proceeds
to give. "A man's life corisisteth not in the abundance of
the things which he possesseth."
Now observe the distinction between His view and the
Avorld's view of humanity. To the question, What is a man
worth ? the world replies by enumerating what he has. In
reply to the same question, the Son of Man replies by esti
mating what he is; Not what he has, but what he is, that,
through time and through eternity, is his real and proper
life. He declared the presence of the soul: He announced
the dignity of the spiritual man ; He revealed the being that
we are. Not that which is supported by meat and drink,
but that whose very life is in truth, integrity, honor, purity.
" Skin for skin " was the satanic version of this matter ; " All
that a man hath will he give for his life." " What shall it
profit a man," was the Saviour's announcement, " if he shall
gain the whole Avorld and lose his own soul?"
For the oppressed and the defrauded this was the true
consolation and compensation — the true consolation. This
man had lost so much loss. Well, hoAV is he consoled ? By
the thought of retaliation — by the promise of revenge — by
the assurance that he shall have what he ought by right to
have? Nay, but thus — as it were: Thou hast lost so much,
but thyself remains. " A man's life consisteth not in the
abundance of the things which he possesseth."
Most assuredly Christianity proclaims laws Avhich will
eventually give to each man his rights. I do not deny this.
But I say that the hope of these rights is not the message,
nor the promise, nor the consolation of Christianity. Rather
they consist in the assertion ofthe true life, instead of all
other hopes : of the substitution of blessedness which is in-
Avard character, for happiness which is outward satisfaction
of desire ; for the broken-hearted, the peace which the Avorld
can not give ; for the poor, the life which destitution can not
take away ; for the persecuted, the thought that they are the
children of their Father which is in heaven.
A very striking instance of this is found in the consolation
offered by St. Paul to slaves. How did he reconcile them to
their lot? By promising that Christianity would produce
the abolition of the slave-trade ? No ; though this was to be
effected by Christianity : but by assuring them that, though
slaves, they might be inly free — Christ's freedmen. "Art
thou called, being a slave ? Care not for it."
This, too, was the real compensation offered by Christiani
ty for injuries.
The other brother had the inheritance ; and to win the in-

208 Christ's Judgment Respecting Inheritance.
herifance he had laid upon his soul the guilt of injustice.
His. advantage-was the property: the price he paid for that
advantage was a hard heart. The injured brother had no
inhefitanee, but instead he had, or might have had, inndcence,
and. the conscious joy of knowing that he wasnot the injurer.
Herein lay the balance.
Now. there is great inconsistency between the complaints
and claims that are commonly made on these subjects.
There are outcries against the insolence of power and the
hard-hearted selfishness of wealth. Only too often these cries
have a foundation of justice. But be it remembered that
these are precisely the cost at which the advantages, such as
they are, are purchased. The price which the man in au
thority has paid for power is the temptation to be insolent.
He has yielded to the temptation, and bought his advantage
dear. The price which the rich man pays for his' wealth is
the temptation to be selfish. They have paid in spirituals for
what they have gained in temporals.
Now, if you are crying for a share in that wealth, and a
participation in that power, you must be content to run the
risk of becoming as hard and selfish and overbearing as the
man whom you denounce. Blame their sins if you will, or
despise their advantages ; but do not think that you can
covet their advantages, and keep clear of their temptations.
God is on the side of the poor, and the persecuted, and the
mourners — a -light in darkness, and a life in death ; but the
poverty, and the persecution, and the darkness are the conr
dition on which they feel God's presence. They must not
expect to have the enjoyment of wealth and the spiritual
blessings annejded to poverty at the same time.
If you will be rich, you must be content to pay the price
of falling into temptation, and a snare, and many foolish and
hurtful lusts, which drown men in perdition ; and if that
price be too high to pay, then you must be content with the
quiet valleys of existence, where alone it is well with us :
kept out ofthe inheritance, but having instead God for your
portion — your all-sufficient and everlasting portion — peace,
and quietness, and rest with Christ.

Freedom by the Truth. 209

xix.
FREEDOM BY THE TRUTH.
"And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."— •-
John "viii. 32.
If these words were the only record we possessed of the
Saviour's teaching, it may be that they Avould be insufficient
to prove His personal Deity, but they would be enough to
demonstrate the Divine character of His mission.
Observe the greatness of the aim, and the wisdom of the
means. The aim was to make all men free. He saw around Him
servitude in every form — man in slavery to man, and race to
race: His own countrymen in bondage to the Romans —
slaves both of Jewish and Roman masters, frightfully op
pressed : men trembling before priestcraft : and those who
were politically and. ecclesiastically free,. in worse bondage
still — the rich and rulers slaves to their own passions.
Conscious of His inward Deity and of His Father's inten
tions, He, without hurry, without the excitement which
would mark the mere earthly liberator, calmly said, " Ye
shall be free."
See, next, the peculiar wisdom of the means.
The craving for liberty was not new — it lies deep in human
nature. . Nor was the promise of satisfying it neAV. Em
pirics, charlatans, demagogues, and men Avho were not char
latans nor demagogues, had promised in vain.
1. First, they had tried by force. Wherever force has
been used on the side of freedom, Ave honor it ; the names
which we pronounce in boyhood Avith enthusiasm are those
of the liberators of nations and the vindicators of liberty.
Israel had had such : Joshua — the Judges — Judas Macca-
bseus. Had the Son of God willed so to come, even on hu
man data the success Avas certain. I waive the truth of His
inward Deity, of His miraculous power, of His power to sum
mon to His Avill more than twelve legions of angels. I only
notice noAV that men's hearts were full of Him: ripe for re
volt : and that at a single word of His, thrice three hundred
thousand swords would have started from their scabbards.
But had He so come, one nation might have gained liberty —

210 Freedom by the Truth.
not the race of man : moreover, the liberty would only have
been independence of a foreign conqueror. Therefore as a
conquering king He did not come.
2. Again, it might have been attempted by legislative en
actment. Perhaps only once has this be.en done successfully,
and by a single effort. When the names of conquerors shall
have been forgotten, and modern civilization shall have be
come obsolete — when England's shall be ancient history, one
act of hers will be remembered as a record of her greatness,
that Act by which in costly sacrifice she emancipated her
slaves. But one thing England could not do. She could give free
dom — she could not fit for freedom — she could not make it
lasting. The stroke of a monarch's pen will do the one, the
discipline of ages is needed for the other. Give to-morrow a
constitution to some feeble Eastern nation, or a horde of sav
ages, and in half a century they will be subjected again.
Therefore the Son of Man did not come to free the world by
legislation. 3. It might be done by civilization. Civilization does free
— intellect equalizes. Every step of civilization is a victory
over some lower instinct. But civilization contains within
itself the elements of "a fresh servitude. Man conquers the
powers of nature, and becomes in turn their slave. The
workman is in bondage to the machinery which does his
will : his hours, his wages, his personal habits determined by
it. The rich man fills his house with luxuries, and can not do
without them. A highly civilized community is a very
spectacle of servitude. Man is there a slave to dress, to
hours, to manners, to conventions, to etiquette. Things con
trived to make his life more easy become his masters.
Therefore Jesus did not talk of the progress of the species
nor the growth of civilization, He did not trust the world's
hope of liberty to a right division of property. But he freed
the inner man, that so the outer might become free too.
" Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you
free." I. The truth that liberates.
II. The liberty which truth gives.
The truth which Christ taught was chiefly on these three
points : God — man— immortality.
First, God. Blot out the thought of God, a living person,
and life becomes mean, existence unmeaning, the universe
dark, and resolve is left without a stay, aspiration and duty
without a support.

Freedom by the Truth. 2 1 1
The Son exhibited God as love : and so that fearful bond-
age of the mind to the necessity of fate Avas broken. A liv
ing Lord had made the world, and its dark and unintelligible
mystery meant good, not evil. He manifested Him as a
Spirit ; and if so, the only worship that could please Him
must be a spirit's worship. • Not by sacrifices is God pleased,
nor by droned litanies and liturgies, nor by fawning and flat
tery, nor is his wrath bought off by blood. Thus was the
chain of superstition rent asunder ; for superstition is Avrong
views of God, exaggerated or inadequate, and wrong concep
tions ofthe way to please Him.
And so when the woman of Samaria brought the conver
sation to that old ecclesiastical question about consecrated
buildings, whether on Mount Gerizim or on Mount Moriah
God was the more acceptably adored, He cut the whole
conversation short by the enunciation of a single truth :
" God is a Spirit, and they that worship Him must Avorship
Him in spirit and in truth."
2. Truth respecting man.
We are a mystery to ourselves. Go to any place where
nations have brought together their Avealth and their inven
tions, and before the victories of mind you stand in rever
ence. Then stop to look at the passing crowds who have
attained that civilization. Think of their low aims, their
mean lives, their conformation only a little higher than that
of brute creatures, and a painful sense of degradation steals
upon you. So great, and yet so mean ! And so of individu
als. There is not one here whose feelings have not been
deeper than we can fathom, nor one who would. venture to
tell out to his brother man the mean, base thoughts that have
crossed his heart during the last hour.' Now this riddle He
solved — He looked on man as fallen, but magnificent in his
ruin. We, catching that thought from Him, speak as He
spoke. But none that Avere born of woman ever felt this or
lived this like Him. Beneath the vilest outside He saw this :
a human soul, capable of endless growth; and thence He
treated Avith Avhat for want of a better term we may. call
respect, all who approached Him ; not because they were
titled Rabbis or rich Pharisees, but because they were men.
Here was a genu for freedom. It is not the shackle on
the wrist that constitutes the slave, but the loss of self-re
spect — to be treated as degraded till he feels degraded — to
be subjected to the lash till he believes that he deserves the
lash: arid-liberty is to suspect and yet reverence self— to
suspect the tendency which leaves us ever on the brink of
fall — to reverence that. within us which is allied to God, re-

212 Freedom by the Truth.
deemed by God the Son,- and made a temple of the Holy
Ghost. Perhaps we have seen an insect or reptile imprisoned in
Avood or stone. How it got there is unknown— how the
particles of wood in years, or of stone in ages, grew round
it, is a mystery, but not a greater mystery than the question
of how man became incarcerated in evil. At last the day of
emancipation came. The axe-stroke was given : and the
light caine in, and the warmth; and the gauze wings ex
panded, and the eye looked .bright ; and the living thing
stepped forth, and you saAV that there was not its home. Its
home was the free air of heaven.
Christ taught that truth of the human soul. It is not in
its right place. It never is in its right -place in the dark
prison-house of sin. Its home is freedom and the breath of
Good's life.
3. Truth respecting immortality.
He taught that this life is not all : that it is only a miser
able state of human infancy. He taught that in words : by
His life, and by His resurrection.
This, again, was freedom. If there be a faith that cramps
and enslaves the soul, it is the idea that this life is all. If
there be one that expands and elevates, it is the thought of
immortality : and this, observe, is something quite distinct
from the selfish desire of happiness. It is not to enjoy, but
to be, that we long for. To enter into more and higher life :
a craving which we can only part with when we sink below
humanity, and forfeit it.
This was the martyrs' strength. They were tortured, not
accepting deliverance, that they might attain a better resur
rection. In that hope, and the knowledge of that truth, they
were free from the fear of pain and death.
H The nature of the liberty which truth gives.
1. Political freedom.
It Avas our work last Sunday to show that Christianity
does not directly interfere with political questions. But we
should have only half done our work if we had not also
learned that, mediately and indirectly, it must influence '
them. Christ's Gospel did. not promise political freedom, yet
it gave it : more surely than conqueror, reformer, or patriot,
that Gospel will bring about a true liberty at last.
And this, not by theories nor by schemes of constitutions,
but by the revelation of truths. God a Spirit : man His
child, redeemed and sanctified. Before that spiritual equali
ty, all distinctions between peer and peasant, monarch and

Freedom by the Truth. 2 1 3
laborer, privileged and unprivileged, vanish. A better man,
or a wiser man than I, is in my presence, and I feel it a mock
ery to be reminded that I am, his superior in rank.
Let us hold that truth ; let us never weary of proclaiming
it ; and the truth shall make us free at last.
2. Mental independence.
Slavery is that which cramps powers. The worst slavery
is that which cramps the noblest powers. Worse, therefore,
than he who manacles the hands and feet, is he who puts
fetters on the mind, and pretends to demand that men shall
think, and believe, and feel thus and thus, because others so
believed, and thought, and felt before.
In Judea life was become a set of forms, and religion a
congeries of traditions. One living word from the lips of
Christ, and the mind of the world was free.
Later,, a mountain mass of superstition had gathered
round the Church, atom by atom, and grain by grain. Men
said that the soul was saved only by doing- and believing
what the priesthood taught. Then the heroes of the Refor
mation spoke. They said the soul of man is saved by the
grace of God : a much more credible hypothesis. Once
more the mind of the world was made free, and made free
by truth.
There is a tendency in the masses always to think — not
what is true, but— what is respectable, correct, orthodox :
we ask, is. that authorized ? It comes partly from cowardice,
partly. from indolence, from habit, from imitation, from the
uncertainty and darkness of all moral truths, and the dread
of timid minds to plunge into the investigation of them.
Now, truth knoAvn and believed respecting God and man
frees from this, by warning of individual responsibility.
But responsibility is personal. It can not be delegated to
another, and. thrown off upon a church. Before God, face
to face, each soul must stand to give account.
Do not, however, confound mental independence with men
tal pride. It may, it ought to coexist with the deepest hu
mility. For that mind alone is free which, conscious ever
of, its own feebleness, feeling hourly its own liability to err,
' turning thankfully to light from whatever side it may come,
' does, yet refuse to give up that right with which God has in
vested it of judging, or to abrogate its OAvn responsibility,
and so humbly, and. even awfully; 'resolves to have an opin
ion, a judgment, a decision of its own.
3. Superiority to temptation.
It is not enough to define the liberty Avhich Christ prom
ises as freedom from sin. Many circumstances will exempt

214 Freedom by the Truth.
from sin which do not yet confer that liberty " where the
Spirit ofthe Lord is." Childhood, paralysis, ill health, the
impotence of old age may remove the capacity and even the
desire of transgression ; but the child, the paralytic, the old
man, are not free through the truth.
Therefore, to this definition we must add, that one whom
Christ liberates is free by his own will. It is not that he
would and can not ; but that he can, and will not. Christian
liberty is right will, sustained by love, and made firm by
faith in Christ.
This may be seen by considering the opposite of liberty —
moral bondage. Go to the- intemperate man in the morn
ing, when his head aches, his hand trembles, his throat burns,
and his whole frame is relaxed and unstrung : he is ashamed,
he hates his sin, and Avould not do it. Go to him at night,
when the power of habit is on him like a spell, and he obeys
the mastery of his craving. He can use the language of
Romans vii. : " That which he would, he does not ; but the
evil that he hates, that does he." Observe, he is not in pos
session of a true self. It is not he, but sin which dwelleth in
him, that does, it. A power which is not himself, which is not
he, commands him against himself. And that is slavery.
This is a gross case, but in every more refined instance the
slavery is just as real. Wherever a man would and can not,
there is servitude. He may be unable to control his expend
iture, to rouse his indolence, to check his imagination.
Well, he is not free. He may boast, as the JeAvs did, that
he is Abraham's son, or any other great man's son — that he
belongs to a free country — that he never was in bondage to
any man, but free in the freedom of the Son he is not.
4. Superiority to fear.
Fear enslaves, courage liberates — and that always. What
ever a man intensely dreads, that brings him into bondage,
if it be above the fear of God and the reverence of duty.
The apprehension of pain, the fear of death, the dread of the
world's laugh, of poverty, or the loss of reputation; enslave
alike. From such fear Christ frees, and through the power of
the truths I have spoken of. He who lives in the habitual,
contemplation of immortality can not be in bondage to time,
or enslaved by transitory temptations. I do not say he will
not ; " he can not sin," saith the Scripture, while that faith is
living. He who feels his soul's dignity, knowing what he is
and who, redeemed by God the Son, and freed by God the
Spirit, can not cringe, nor pollute himself, nor be mean. He
who aspires to gaze undazzled on the intolerable brightness

Freedom by the Truth. 215
of that One before whom Israel veiled their faces, Avill
scarcely quail before any earthly fear.
This is not picture-painting. This is not declamation.
These are things that have been. There have been men on
this earth of God's, of Avhom it was simply true that it was
easier to turn the sun from its course than them from the
paths of honor. There have been men like John the Baptist,
Avho could speak the truth which had made their own spirits
free, with the axe above their neck. There have been men,
redeemed in their inmost being by Christ, on Avhom tyrants
and mobs have done their worst, and when, like Stephen, the
stones crashed in upon their brain, or when their flesh hissed
and crackled in the flames, were calmly superior to it all.
The power of evil had laid its shackles on the flesh, but the
mind, and the soul, and the heart were free.
We conclude with two inferences :
1. To cultivate the love of truth. I do not mean veracity :
that is another thing. Veracity is the correspondence be
tween a proposition and a man's belief. Truth is the corre
spondence ofthe proposition with fact. The love of truth is
the love of realities — the determination to rest upon facts,
and not upon semblances. Take an illustration of the way
in Avhich the habit of cultivating truth is got. Two boys see
a misshapen, hideous object in the dark. One goes up to the
cause of his terror, examines it, learns what it is ; he knoAvs
the truth, and the truth has made him free. The other leaves
it in mystery and unexplained vagueness, and is a slave for
life to superstitious and indefinite terrors. Romance, pretti-
ness, " dim religious light," awe and mystery — these are not
the atmosphere of Christ's gospel of liberty. Base the heart
on facts. The truth alone can make you free. •
2. See what a Christian is. Our society is divided into
two classes — those who are daring, inquisitive, but restrain
ed by no reverence, and kept back by little religion ; those
who may be called religious : but, with all their excellences,
we can not help feeling that the elements of their character
are feminine rather than masculine, and that they have no
grasp or manly breadth, that their hold is on feeling rather
than on truth.
Now see what a Christian is, drawn by the hand of Christ.
He is a man on whose clear and open brow God has set the
stamp of truth : one whose very eye beams bright with hon
or; in whose very look: and bearing you may see freedom,
manliness, veracity ; a brave man — a noble man — frank, gen
erous, true, with, it may be, many faults; whose freedom
may take the form of impetuosity or rashness, but the form

2 1 6 The Kingdom of the Truth.
of meanness never. Young men, if you have been deterred
from religion by its apparent feebleness and narrowness, re
member, it is a manly thing to be a Christian.

XX.
THE KINGDOM OF THE TRUTH
"Pilate therefore said unto him, Art thou a king then ? Jesus answered,
Thou sayest that I am a king. To this end was I born, and for this cause
came I into the world, that I should bear witness unto the truth. Every one
that is of the truth heareth my voice." — John xviii. 37.
The Church is the kingdom of God on earth, and the whole
fabric of the Christian .religion rests on the monarchy of
Christ. The Hebrew prisoner who stood before the Roman
judge claimed to be the King of men, and eighteen centuries
have only verified His claim. There is not a man bearing
the Christian name who does not, in one form or another, ac
knowledge Him to be the Sovereign of his soul. . The ques
tion therefore at once suggests itself — On what title does this
claim rest ?
Besides the title on which the Messiah grounded His pre
tensions to be the Ruler of a kingdom, three are conceivable:
the title of force, the title of prescriptive authority, or the ti
tle of incontrovertible'reasoning. ,
Had the Messiah founded His kingdom upon the basis of
force, he would simply have been a rival of the- Caesars. The
imperial powef of Rome rested on that principle. This was all
that Pilate meant at first by the question, "Art thou a king ?"
As a Roman, he had no other, conception sof rule. "Right
well had Rome fulfilled her mission as the iron kingdom
which was to command by strength,, and give to the world
the principles of law. But that kingdom was wasting when
these words were spoken. For seven hundred years had the
empire been building itself up. It gave way at last,,and was
crumbled into fragments by its own. ponderous massiveness.
To use the language ofthe prophet Daniel, miry clay had mix
ed with the kingdom of iron, and the softer nations which had
been absorbed into.it broke down its once invincible strength
by corrupting and enervating its citizens; the conquerors of
the world dropped the sword from a grasp grown nerveless.
The empire of strength was passing away ; for no kingdom
founded on force is destined to permanence. "They that
take the sword shall perish Avith the sword." -

The Kingdom of the Truth. 2 1 7
Before Pontius Pilate Christ distinctly disclaimed this right
of force as the foundation of his sovereignty. " If my king
dom were of this world, then would my servants fight : but
now is my kingdom not from hence."
The next conceivable basis of a universal kingdom is pre
scriptive authority. The scribes and priests who waited out
side for their victim conceived of such a kingdom. They
had indeed already an ecclesiastical kingdom which dated
back far beyond the origin of Rome. They claimed to rule
on a title such as this : " It is written." But neither on this
title did the Saviour found His claim. He spoke lightly of
institutions which were venerable from age. He contravened
opinions Avhich were gray with the hoar of ages. It may be
that at times He defended Himself on the authority of Moses,
by showing that what He taught was not in opposition to
Moses ; but it is observable that He never rested His claims
as a teacher, or as the Messiah, on that foundation. The
scribes fell back on this : " It has been said ;" or, " It is writ
ten." Christ taught, as the men of His day remarked, on an
authority very different from that ofthe scribes. Not even
on His OAvn authority : He did not claim that His Avords
should be recognized because He said them, but because they
were true. "If I say the truth, why do ye not believe me ?"
Prescription — personal authority — these were not the basis
of His kingdom.
One more possible title remains. He might have claimed
to rule over men on the ground of incontrovertible demon
stration of His principles. This was the ground taken by ev
ery philosopher who was the founder of a sect. Apparently,
after the failure of his first guess, Pilate thought in the sec
ond surmise that this Was what Jesus meant by calling Him
self a king. When he heard of a kingdom, he thought he
had before him a rival of Caesar ; but when truth was named,
he seems to have fancied that he was called to try a rival of
the philosophers — some new candidate for a system — some
new pretender of a truth Avhich was to dethrone its rival sys
tem. This seems to be implied in the bitter question, " What is
truth ?" <-For the: history of opinion in those days was like
the history of Opinion in our own — religions against religions,
philosophies; against philosophies — religion and philosophy
opposed to one another— the opinion of to-day dethroned by
the opinion of to-morrow — the heterodoxy of this age reckon
ed the orthodoxy of the succeeding one. And Pilate, feeling
the vainness and the presumption of these pretensions, having
lived to see failure after failure of systems which pretended te
10

2 1 8 The Kingdom of the Truth.
teach that which is, smiled bitterly at the enthusiast who
again asserted confidently His claims to have discovered the
undiscoverable. There broke from his lips a bitter; half-sar
castic, half-sad exclamation of hopeless skepticism, " What is
truth?" And indeed had the Redeemer claimed this — to overthrow
the doctrine of the Porch and of the Academy, and to en
throne Christianity as a philosophy of life upon their ruins,
by mere argument, that skeptical cry would haA'e been not
ill-timed. In these three ways have men attempted the propagation
of the Gospel. By force, when the Church ruled by persecu
tion — by prescriptive authority, when she claimed infallibili
ty, or any modification of infallibility in the Popery of Rome
or the Popery of the pulpit — by reasoning, in the age of
" evidences," when she only asked to have her proofs brought
forward and calmly heard, pledged herself to rule the world
by the conviction of the understanding, and laid deep and
broad the foundations of rationalism. Let us hear the claim
of the King Himself. He reste'd His royal rights on His tes
timony to the truth. " Thou sayest, for I am a King (a more
correct translation) ; to this end was I born, to bear witness
to the truth." The mode in Avhich the subjects of the king
dom were brought beneath. His sway was by assimilation.
" Every one that is of the truth, heareth My voice." These,
then, are our points :
I. The basis of the kingly rule of Christ.
H. The qualifications ofthe subjects ofthe kingdom.
I. The basis ofthe kingly rule of Christ.
Christ is a king in virtue of His being a witness to the
truth. "Thou sayest right, To this end was I born, and for
this cause came I into the world, that I should bear witness
unto the truth."
Truth is used here in a sense equivalent to reality: for
" truth " substitute reality, and it will become more intelligi
ble. For " the truth " is an ambiguous expression, limited in
its application, meaning often nothing more than a theologi
cal creed, or a feAV dogmas of a creed which this or that par
ty have agreed to call " the truth." It would- indeed fritter
down the majesty of the Redeemer's life to say tiiat He was
a witness for the truth of any number of theological dogmas.
Himself — His life — were a witness to truth in the sense of re
ality. The realities of life — the realities of the universe— to
these His every act and word bore testimony. He was as
much a witness to the truth of the purity of domestic life as

The Kingdom of the Truth. 2 1 9
to the truth of the doctrine of the Incarnation : to the truth
of goodness being identical with greatness as much as to the
doctrine 'of the Trinity — and more : His mind corresponded
with reality as the dial Avith the sun.
Again, in being a witness to reality, we are to understand
something very much deeper than the statement that He
spoke truly. There is a wide difference between truthfulness
and mere veracity. Veracity implies a correspondence be
tween Avords and thoughts : truthfulness, a correspondence
between' thoughts and realities. To be veracious, it is only
necessary that a man give utterance to his convictions; to be
true, it is needful that his convictions have affinity Avith fact.
Let us take some illustrations of this distinction. .The
prophet tells of men Avho put sweet for bitter, and bitter for
sweet : Avho call good evil; and evil good. Yet these Avere
veracious men ; for to them evil ious good, and bitter was
sweet. There was a correspondence between their opinions
and their words : this was Areracity. But there Avas no cor
respondence between their opinions and eternal fact : this
was untruthfulness. They spoke their opinions truly, but
their opinions were not true. The Pharisees in the time of
Christ were men of veracity. What they thought they said.
They thought that Christ Avas an impostor. They believed
that to tithe mint, anise, and cummin was as acceptable to
God as to be just, and merciful, and true. It was their con
viction that they were immeasurably better than publicans
and profligates : yet veracious as they were, the title perpet
ually affixed to them is, "Ye hypocrites." The life they led
being a false life, is called, in the phraseology of the Apostle
John, a lie.
If a man speak a careless slander against another, belieA'-
ing it, he has not sinned against veracity ; but the careless
ness which has led him into so grave an error effectually
bars his claim to clear truthfulness. He is a veracious wit
ness, but not a true one. Or a man may have taken up sec
ond-hand, indolently, religious views : may believe them, de
fend them vehemently, is he a man of truth ? Has he boAved
before the majesty of truth with that patient, reverential
humbleness which is the mark of those who love her?
Imagination has pictured to itself a domain in which every
one who enters should be compelled to speak only Avhat he
thought, and pleased itself by calling such domain the pal
ace of truth. A palace of veracity, if you will, but no tem
ple of the truth : a place where every one would be at liberty
to utter his oavii crude unrealities — to bring forth his delu
sions, mistakes, half-formed hasty judgments : where the de-

220 The Kingdom ofthe Truth.
praved ear would reckon discord harmony, and the depraved
eye mistake color — the depraved moral taste take Herod or
Tiberius for a king, and shout beneath the Redeemer's Cross,
" Himself He can not save." A temple of the truth ? Nay,
only a palace echoing with veracious falsehoods : a Babel
of confused sounds, in which egotism would rival egotism,
and truth would be each man's own lie. Far, far more is
implied here than that the Son of Man spoke Areraciously, in
saying that He was a witness to the truth.
Again, when it is said that He was a witness to the truth,
it is implied that His A'ery being, here, manifested to the
Avorld Divine realities. Human nature is but meant to be a
witness to the Divine ; the true humanity is a manifestation
or reflection of God. And that is Divine humanity in
Avhich the humanity is a perfect representation of the Divine.
" We behold," says the Apostle Paul, in Christ, " as in a
glass, the glory of the Lord." And, to borrow and carry on
the metaphor, the difference between Christ and other men
is this ; they are imperfect reflections, He a perfect one, of
God. There are mirrors which are concave, which magnify the
thing that they reflect : there are mirrors convex, which di
minish it. And we in like manner represent the Divine in a
false, distorted way. Fragments of truth torn out of connec
tion, snatches of harmony joined without unity. We exag*
gerate and diminish till all becomes untrue. We bring forth
our own fancies, our own idiosyncrasies, our own imagina
tions, and the image of God can be no longer recognized.
In One alone.»hais the Divine been so blended with the
human, that, as the ocean mirrors every star and every tint
of blue upon the sky, so was the earthly life of Christ the
life of God on earth.
Now, observe, that the perfection of humanity consists in
faithful imitation of, or witness borne to, the mind and life of
God. Whoever has studied and understood the life of Christ
Avill have remarked, not without surprise, that the whole
principle of His existence was the habit of unceasing imita
tion. Listen to a few instances of this.
" The Son can do nothing of Himself, but that which He
Seeth the Father do." " The words which I speak I speak
not of myself, but the Father which is with me, He doeth
the works." Do we remember the strange and startling
principle on which He defends His infraction of the literal,
legal Sabbath ? " My Father worketh hitherto, and I work."
God the Father works all the sabbath-day. So may man,
His son. Do we recollect the ground on which He enforces

The Kingdom of the Truth. 221
forgiveness of injuries ? A strange ground, surely, which
Avould never have occurred except to One whose life Avas
habitual imitation. " Love your enemies ; do good to them
that hate-you, and pray for them which despitefully use you
and persecute you : that ye may be the children of (that is,
resemble) your Father ; . . . for fie sendeth His rain upon the
just and upon the unjust."
This, then, is man's — -this was the Son of Man's relation to
the truth. Man is but a- learner — a devout recipient of a
revelation — here to listen with open ear devoutly for that
which he shall hear ; to gaze and watch for that which He
shall see. Man can do no more. He can not create truth,
he can only bear witness to it ; he has no proud right of
private judgment, he can only listen and report that which
is in the universe. If he does not repeat and witness to
that, he speaketh of his own, and forthwith ceaseth to be
true. He is a liar, and the father of it, because he creates it.
Each man in his vocation is in the world to do this : as
truly as it was said by Christ may it be said by each of us,
even by those from whose trades and professions it seems
most alien, " To this end was I born, and for this cause
came I into the world, to bear witness to the truth."
The architect is here to be a witness. He succeeds only
so far as he is a Avitness, and a true one. The lines and
curves, the acanthus on his column, the proportions, all are
successful and beautiful only so far as they are true — the
report of an eye which has Iain open to God's world. If he
build his light-house to resist the storm, the law of imitation
bids him build it after the shape of the spreading oak which
has defied the tempest. If man construct the ship Avhich is.
to cleave the waters, calculation or imitation builds it on the
model upon which the Eternal Wisdom has already , con
structed the fish's form.
The artist is a witness to the truth, or he will never attain
the beautiful. So is the agriculturist, or he will never reap
a harvest. So is the statesman, building up a nation's polity
on the principles which time has proved true, or else all his
Avork crumbles down in revolution : for national revolution
is only the Divine rejection stamped on the social falsehood
— which can not stand. In every department of life, man
must work truly — as a witness. He is born for that, noth
ing else : and nothing else can he do. Man the Son can do
nothing of Himself, but that which He seeth God the Father
do. This was the Saviour's title to be a king, and His king
dom formed itself upon this law : " Every one that is of the

222 The Kingdom of the Truth.
truth heareth my voice:" that eternal law which makes
truth assimilate all that is congenial to itself. Truth is like
life : whatever lives absorbs into itself all that is congenial.
The leaf that trembles in the wind assimilates the light of
heaven to make its color, and the sap of the parent stem,
innumerable influences from heaven, and earth, and air, to
make up its beautiful being.
So grew the Church of Christ — round Him, as a centre,
attracted by the truth : all that had in it harmony with His
Divine life and words greAV to Him (by gradual accretions) :
clung to Him as the iron to the magnet. All that were of
His Spirit believed : all that had in them the Spirit of Sacri.
fiee were attracted to His Cross. " I, if I be lifted up, will
draw all men unto me."
He taught not by elaborate trains of argument, like a
scribe or a philosopher : He uttered His truths rather as
detached intuitions, recognized by intuition, to be judged
only by being felt. For instance, " Blessed are the pure in
heart : for they shall see God." " It is more blessed to give
than to receive." "Blessed are. ye Avhen men shall revile
you, and persecute you."* Prove that — by force — by au
thority—by argument — you can not. It suffices that a man
reply, " It is not so to me : it is more blessed to receive than
it is to give." You have no reply : if he be not of the
truth, you can not make him hear Christ's voice. The truth
of Christ is true to the unselfish ; a falsehood to the selfish.
They that are of the truth, like Him, hear His voice : and if
you ask the Christian's proof of the truth of such things, he
has no other than this : It is true to me, as any other intui
tive truth is true ; equals are equal, because my mind is so
constituted that they seem so perforce. Purity is good, be
cause my heart is so made that it feels it to be good.
Brother men, the truer you are, the humbler, the nobler,
the more will you feel Christ to be your king. You may be
very little able to prove the king's Divine genealogy, or to
appreciate those claims to your allegiance which arise out
of' His eternal generation : but He will be your Sovereign
and your Lord by that affinity of character which compels
you to acknowledge His words and life to be Divine. " He
that receiveth His testimony hath set to his seal that God is
true." II. We pass to the consideration of the qualification of the
subjects of the empire of the truth. Who are they that are
of the truth.
1. The first qualification is to be true : " He that is of the

The Kingdom ofthe Truth. 223
truth heareth My voice." Truth lies in character. Christ
did not simply speak truth : He loas truth : true through
and through ; for truth is a thing, not of words, but of life
and being. None but a Spirit can be true.
For example. The friends of Job spoke words of truth.
Scarcely a maxhn/ which they uttered could be impugned:
cold, hard, theological verities : but verities out of place, in
that place cruel and untrue. Job spoke many words not
strictly accurate — hasty, impetuous, blundering, wrong ; but
the whirlwind came, and, before the voice of God, the vera
cious falsehoods were swept into endless nothingness : the
true man, wrong, perplexed -in verbal error, stood firm : he
was true though his sentences were not : turned to the truth
as the sunflower to the sun : as the darkened plant impris
oned in the vault turns towards the light, struggling to
solve the fearful enigma of his existence. Job was a servant
of the truth, being true in character.
2. The next qualification is integrity. But by integrity I
do not mean simply sincerity or honesty ; integrity rather
according to the meaning of the word as its derivation inter
prets it — entireness t— wholeness — soundness: that which
Christ means Avhen He says, " If thine eye be single [or
sound], thy whole body shall be full of light."
This integrity extends through the entireness or Avhole-
ness of the character. It is found in small matters as well
as great ; for the allegiance ofthe soul to truth is tested by
small things rather than by those which are more important.
There is many a man who would lose his life rather than
perjure himself in a court of justice, whose life is yet a tis
sue of small insincerities. We think that we hate falsehood
when we are only hating the consequences of falsehood.
We resent hypocrisy and treachery and calumny, not be
cause they are untrue, but because they harm us. We hate
the false calumny, but Ave are half pleased with the false
praise. It is evidently not the element of untruth here that
is displeasing, but the element of harmfulness. Noav he is a
man of integrity who hates untruth as untruth : Avho resents
the smooth and polished falsehood of society which does no
harm: who turns in indignation from the glittering whiten
ed lie of sepulchral Pharisaism which injures no one. Integ
rity recoils from deceptions which men would almost smile
to hear called deception. To a moral, pure mind, the arti
fices in every department of life are painful : the stained
Avood which passes for a more firm and costly material in a
building, and deceives the eye by seeming what it is not,
marble : the painting Avhich is intended to be taken for a re-

224 The Kingdom of the Truth.
ality : the gilding which is meant to pass for gold : and the
glass which is worn to look like jewels ; for there is a moral
feeling and a truthfulness in architecture, in. painting, and in
dress, as well as in the market-place, and in the senate, and
in the judgment-hall.
" These are trifles." Yes, these are trifles — but it is just
these trifles which go to the formation of character. He
that is habituated to deceptions and artificialities in trifles,
Avill try in vain to be true in matters of importance : for
truth is a thing of habit rather than of will. You can not in
any given case, by any sudden and single effort, will to be
true, if the habit of your life has been insincerity. And it is
a fearful question and a difficult one, how all these things,
the atmosphere which we breathe of our daily life, may sap
the very foundations "of the power of becoming a servant of
the truth. Life becomes fictitious : and it passes into religion,
till our very religion bases itself upon a figment too. We
are not righteous, but Ave expect God to make believe that
we are righteous, in virtue of some peculiar doctrines which
we hold; and so our very righteousness becomes the ficti
tious righteousness of the Scribes and Pharisees, instead of
the righteousness which is by faith, the righteousness of
those who are the children of the kingdom of the tyuth.
3. Once more. He alone is qualified to be the subject of
the King who does the truth. Christianity joins two things
inseparably together : acting truly, and perceiving . truly.
Every day the eternal nature of that principle becomes
more certain. If any man will do His will, he shall knoAV of
the doctrine whether it be of God.
It is a perilous thing to separate feeling from acting ; to
have learnt to feel rightly without acting rightly. It is a
danger to which in a refined and polished age, we are pecul
iarly exposed. The romance, the poem, and the sermon,
teach us how to feel. Our feelings are delicately correct.
But the danger is this : feeling is given to lead to action ;
if feeling be suffered to awake without passing into duty,
the character becomes untrue. When the emergency for
real action comes, the feeling is as usual produced : but ac
customed as it is to rise in fictitious circumstances Avithout
action, neither will it lead on to action in the real ones.
" We pity wretchedness and shun the wretched." We utter
sentiments, just, honorable, refined, lofty — but. somehoAV,
when a truth presents itself in the shape of a duty, we are
unable to perform it. And so such characters become by
degrees like the artificial pleasure-grounds of bad taste, in
which the Avaterfall does not fall, and the grotto offers only

The Kingdom ofthe Truth. 225
the refreshment of an imaginary shade, and the green hill
does not strike the skies, and the tree does not grow. Their
lives are a sugared crust of sweetness trembling over black
depths of hollowness : more truly still, " whited sepulchres "
— fair without to look upon, " within full of all uncleanness."
It is perilous, again, to separate thinking rightly from act
ing rightly. He is already half false who speculates on truth
su.d does not do it. Truth is given, not to be contemplated,
but to be done. Life is an action — not a thought. And the
penalty paid by him who speculates on truth, is that by de
grees the very truth he holds becomes to him a falsehood.
There is no truthfulness, therefore, except in the witness
borne to God by doing His will — to live the truths we hold,
or else they will be no truths at all. It was thus that He
Avitnessed to the truth. He lived it. He spoke no touching
truths for sentiment to dwell on, or thought to speculate upon.
Truth with Him was a matter of life and death. He periled
His life upon the words He said. If He Avere true, the life
of men was a painted life, and the woes He denounced un
flinchingly would fall upon the Pharisees. But if they were
true, or even strong, His portion in this life was the Cross.
Who is a true man? -He who does the truth; and never
holds a principle on which he is not prepared in any hour to
act, and in any hour to risk the consequences of holding it.
I make in conclusion one remark. The kingly character
of truth is exhibited strikingly in the calmness of the bearing
of the Son of Man before His judge. Veracity is not neces
sarily dignified. There is a vulgar effrontery — a spirit of
defiance which taunts, and braves, and challenges condemna
tion. It marks the man who is conscious of sincerity, but of
nothing higher — whose confidence is in himself and his own
honesty, and who is absorbed in the feeling, " I speak the
truth and am a martyr." Again, the man of mere veracity
is often violent, for Avhat he says rests upon his own asser
tion : and vehemence of assertion is the only addition he can
make to it. Such was the violence of Paul before Ananias.
He was indignant at the injustice of being smitten contrary
to the law ; and the powerlessness of his position, the hope
lessness of redress, joined to a conviction of' the truth of what
he said, produced that vehemence.
It has been often remarked that there is a great difference
between theological arid scientific controversy. Theologians
are proverbially vituperative : because it is a question of ve
racity: the truth of their views, their moral perceptions,
their intellectual acumen. There exists no test but argu
ment on which they can fall back. If argument fails, all fails.
10*

226 The Skepticism of Pilate.
But the man of science stands calmly on the facts ofthe uni
verse. He is based upon reality. All the opposition and
controversy in the world can not alter facts, nor prevent the
facts being manifest at last. He can be calm, because he is
a witness for the Truth.
In the same way, but in a sense far deeper and more sa
cred, the Son of Man stood calm, rooted in the Truth. There
was none of the egotism of self-conscious veracity in those
placid, confident, dignified replies. This was not the feeling
— "I hold the truth," — but "I am witness to the truth."
They might spit upon Him — kill Him — crucify Him — give
His ashes to the winds — they could not alter the Truth by
Avhich He stood. Was not that His OAvn feeling ? " Heaven
and earth shall pass aAvay, but My Avord shall not pass
away." There Avas the kingly dignity of One who, in life and
death, stood finn on truth as on a rock.
In the name of Christ, I respectfully commend these
thoughts for the special consideration of the present week,
to those who will be pledged by oath to witness to the
whole truth they know, and nothing but the truth : to those
Avho — permitted by the merciful spirit of English jurispru
dence, to watch that their client, if condemned, shall be con
demned only according to the law — are yet not justified by
the spirit of the life of Christ in falsifying or obscuring facts ;
and who, owing a high duty to a client, owe one higher to
the Truth : and lastly, to those whom the severe intellectual,
and, much more, moral training of the English bar has quali
fied for the highkoffice of disentangling truth from the mazes
of conflicting testimony.
From the trial-hour of Christ — from the Cross of the Son
of God-^-there arises the principle to Avhich all His life bore
witness, that the first lesson of Christian life is this, Be true
•—and the second this, Be true — and the third this, Be true.

XXI.
THE SKEPTICISM OF PILATE.
"Pilate saith unto him, "What is truth?" — John xviii. 38.
The lesson which we are to draw from this verse must
depend upon the view Ave take of the spirit in which the
words were spoken. Some of the best commentators con-

The Skepticism of Pilate. 227
ceive them to have been words of mockery : and such is the
freat Lord Bacon's view. " ' What is truth ?' said jesting
ilate, and Avould not wait for a reply."
In all deference to such authority, Ave can not believe that
this sentence Avas spoken in jest. In Pilate's whole conduct
there is no trace of such a tone. It betrays throughout
much of uncertainty, nothing of lightness. He was cruelly
tormented Avith the perplexity of efforts to save his prisoner.
He risked his own reputation. He pronounced Him, almost
with vehemence, to be innocent. He even felt awe, and Avas
afraid of Him. In such a frame of mind, mockery was im
possible. Let us try to compfehend the character of the man Avho
asked this question. His character will help us to judge the
tone in which he asked. And his character, the character of
his mind and life, are clear enough from the feAV things re
corded of him. He first hears what the people have to say;
then asks the opinion of the priests — then comes back to Je
sus — goes again to the priests and people — lends his ear —
listens to the ferocity on the one hand, and feels the beau
ty on the other, balancing between them; and then he be
comes bewildered, as a man of the world is apt to do who
has had no- groundwork of religious education, and hears su
perficial discussioris on religious matters, and superficial
charges, and superficial slanders, till he knows not what to
think. What could come out of such procedure ? Nothing
but that cheerlessness of soul to which certainty respecting
any thing and every thing here on earth seems unattainable.
This. is the exact mental stafe which we call skepticism.
Out of that mood, when he heard the enthusiast before him
speak of a kingdom of the truth, there broke a sad, bitter,
sarcastic sigh, "What is truth?" Whojmows any thing
about it ? Another discoverer of the undiscoverable ! Jest
ing Pilate ! with Pilate the matter was beyond a jest. It
Avas not a question put for the sake of information : for he
went immediately out, and did not stay for information. Itr
was not put for the sake of ridicule, for he went out to say,
"I find no fault in Him." Sarcasm there was perhaps: but
it was that mournful, bitter sarcasm which hides inward un
rest in sneering words: that sad irony whose very laugh
rings of inward wretchedness. We shall pursue, from this
question of Pilate, two lines of thought.
I. The causes of Pilate's skepticism.
II. The way appointed for discovering what is truth.
I. The causes — and among these I name first, indecision of

228 Tlie Skepticism of Pilate.
character. Pilate's whole behavior was a melancholy exhi
bition. He was a thing set up for the world's pity. See hoAV
he acts : he first throws the blame on the priests — and then
acknowledges that all responsibility is his own : washes his
hands before the multitude, saying, " I am innocent of the
blood of this just person. See ye to it." And then — " Know
est thou not that Zhave power to crucify thee, and power to
release thee ?" He pronounces Jesus innocent ; and then, with
wondrous inconsistency, delivers Him to be scourged : yields
Him up to be crucified, and then tries eA-ery underhand ex
pedient to save Him.
What is there in all this but vacillation of character lying
at the root of unsettledness of opirAon ? Here is a man
knowing the right and doing the wrong — not willing to do
an act of manifest inj<nstice if he can avoid it, but hesitating
to prevent it, for fear of a charge against himself— pitiably
vacillating because his hands were tied by the consciousness
of past guilt and personal danger. How could such a, man
be certain about any thing ? What could a mind, wavering,
unstable, like a feather on the wind, know or believe of solid,
stable truth, which altereth not, but remaineth like a rock
amidst the vicissitudes of the ages and the changeful fash
ions of the minds of men ? "A double-minded man is un
stable in all his ways." "He that is of the truth,- heareth
the voice of truth." To the untrue man all things are untrue.
To the vacillating man, who can not know his own mind, all
things seem alterable, changeful, unfixed ; just as to the man
tossed at sea, all things motionless in themselves seem to
move round, upward, downward, or around, according to his-
own movements.
2d. Falseness to his own convictions.
Pilate had a cqpviction that Jesus was innocent. Instead
of acting at once on that, he went and parleyed. He argued
and debated till the practical force of the conviction was un
settled. Now let us distinguish : I do not say that a man is never
to re-examine a question once settled. A great Christian
writer, whose works are very popular, has advised that when
a view has once been arrived at as true, it should be, as it
were, laid on the shelf, and neArer again looked on as an open
question : but surely this is false. A young man of twenty-
three, with such light as he has, forms his views : is he never
to have more light? Is he never to open again the questions
Avhich his immature mind has decided on once ? Is he never
in manhood, with manhood's data and manhood's experience,
to modify, or even reverse, what once seemed the very truth

The Skepticism of Pilate. 229
itself? Nay, my brethren — the weak pride of consistency,
the cowardice which dares not say I have been wrong all my
life, the false anxiety which is fostered to be true to our prin
ciples rather than to make sure that our principles are true,
all this would leave in Romanism the man who is born a Ro
manist. It is not so : the best and bravest have struggled
from error into truth : they listened to their honest doubts,
and tore up their old beliefs by the very roots.
Distinguish, however. A man may unsettle the verdict of
his intellect : it is at his peril that he tampers with the con
victions of his conscience. Every opinion and view must re
main an open question, freely to be tried with fresh light.
But there are' eternal truths of right and wrong, such as the
plain moralities and instinctive decencies of social life, upon
Avhich it is perilous to argue. There are plain cases of im
mediate duty where it is only safe to act at once.
Now Pilate was false to his conscience. His conviction was
that Jesus was innocent. It was not a matter of speculation
or probability at all, nor a matter in which fresh evidence
Avas even expected, but a case sifted and examined thorough
ly. The Pharisees are persecuting a guiltless man. His
claims to royalty are not the civil crime which they would
make out. Every charge has fallen to the ground. The
clear mind ofthe Roman procurator saw that, as in sunlight,
and he did not try to invalidate that judicial conviction. He
tried to get rid of -the clear duty which resulted from it.
Now it is a habit such as this which creates the temper of
skepticism. I address men of a speculative turn of mind. There is
boundless danger in all inquiry which is merely curious.
When a man brings a clear and practised intellect to try
questions, by the answer to Avhich he does not mean to rule
his conduct, let him not marvel if he feels, as life goes on, a
senSe of desolation ; existence a burden, and all uncertain.
It is the law of his human nature which binds him ; for truth
is for the heart rather than the intellect. If it is not done it
becomes unreal — as gloomily unreal and as dreamily impal
pable as it was to Pilate.
3d." The third cause of Pilate's skepticism was the taint of
the worldly temper of his day. Pilate had been a public
man. He knew life : had mixed much Avith the world's busi
ness, and the world's politics : had come across a multiplicity
of Opinions, and gained a smattering of them all. He knew
how many philosophies and religions pretended to an exclu
sive possession of truth, and how the pretensions of each were
overthrown by another. And his incredulity was but a spec-

230 The Skepticism of Pilate.
imen of the skepticism fashionable in his day. The polished
skepticism of a polished, educated Roman, a sagacious man
of the world, too much behind the scenes of public life to
trust professions of goodness or disinterestedness, or to be
lieve in enthusiasm and a sublime life. And bis merciful lan
guage, and his desire to save Jesus, was precisely the liberal
ism current in our days as in his — an utter disbelief in the
truths of a world unseen, but at the same time an easy, care
less toleration, a- half-benevolent, half-indolent unwillingness
to molest the poor dreamers who chose to believe in such su
perstitions. This is the superficial liberalism which is contracted in
public life. Public men contract a rapid way of discussing
and dismissing the deepest questions — never going deep —
satisfied with the brilliant flippancy which treats religious
beliefs as phases of human delusion, seeing the hollowness of
the characters around them, and believing that all is holloAV ;
and yet not without their moments of superstition, as when
Pilate was afraid, hearing of a Son of God, and connecting ut
doubtless with the heathen tales of gods who had walked
this earth in visible flesh and blood which he had laughed at,
and which he now for one moment suspected might be true ;
not without their moments of horrible insecurity, when the
question, " What is truth ?" is not a brilliant sarcasm, but a
sarcasm on themselves, on human life, on human nature,
wrung out of the loneliest and darkest bewilderment that can
agonize a human soul.
To such a character Jesus would not explain His truth.
He gave no reply : He held His peace. God's truth is too
sacred to be expounded to superficial worldliness in its tran
sient fit of earnestness.
4th. Lastly, I assign, as a cause of skepticism, that priestly
bigotry which forbids inquiry and makes doubt a crime.
The priests of that day had much to answer for. Consider
for a moment the state of things. One — of whom they only
knew that He was a man of unblemished life — came forward
to proclaim the truth. But it was new; they had never
heard such views before ; they Avere quite sure they had never
taught such, nor sanctioned such ; and so they settled that
the thing was heresy. He had no accredited ordination.
"We know that God spake to Moses: as for this fellow we
know not whence He is." Then they proceeded to bind that
decision upon others. A man was heard to say, " Why, what
evil hath he done ?" Small offense enough, but it savored
of a dangerous candor towards a suspected man ; and in the
priestly estimate, candor is the next step to heresy. "Thou

The Skepticism of Pilate. 231
wast altogether born in sin, and dost Thou teach us ? and
they cast him out of the synagogue." And so again with
Pilate : they stifled his soul's rising convictions with threats
and penalties — " If thou let this man go, thou art not Caesar's
friend." This was what they Avere always doing: they forbade all
inquiry, and made doubt of their decision a crime.
Now the results of this priestcraft were twofold. The first
result was seen in the fanaticism of the people who cried for
blood: the second, in the skepticism of Pilate. And these
are the two results Avhich come from all claims to infallibility,
and all prohibition of inquiry. They make bigots of the fee
ble-minded who can not think : qpwardly bigots, who at the
bidding of their priests or ministers swell the ferocious cry
which forces a government, or a judge, or a bishop, to perse
cute some opinion which they fear and hate ; turning private
opinion into civil crime : and they make skeptics of , the acute
intellects which, like Pilate, see through their fallacies, and
like Pilate too, dare not publish their misgivings.
And it matters not in what form that claim to infallibility
is made : whether in the clear, consistent way in which Rome
asserts it, or whether in the inconsistent way in which church
men make it for their church, or religious bodies for their
favorite opinions : wherever penalties attach to a conscien
tious conviction, be they the penalties of the rack and flame,
or the penalties of being suspected, and avoided, and slan
dered, and the slur of heresy affixed to the name, till all men
count him dangerous lest they too should be put out of the
synagogue ; and let every man who is engaged in persecuting
any opinion ponder it — these two things must follow — you
make fanatics, and you make skeptics ; believers you can not
make. Therefore do we stand by the central protest and truth of
Protestantism. There is infallibility nowhere on this earth :
not in Rome; not in councils or convocations ; not in the
Church of. England ; not in priests ; not in ourselves. The
soul is thrown in the grandeur of a sublime solitariness on
God. Woe to the* spirit that stifles its convictions when
priests threaten, and the mob which they have maddened
cries heresy, and insinuates disloyalty — " Thou art not Cae
sar's friend."
H The mode appointed for discovering the reply to the
question, " What is truth ?"
Observe — Ido not make our second division that which
might seem the natural one — Avhat truth is. I am not about

232 The Skepticism of Pilate.
to be guilty of the presumption of answering the question
which Jesus did not answer. Some persons hearing the text
might think it the duty of any man who took it as a text
to preach upon, to lay down what truth is : and if a minister
were so to treat it, he might give you the fragment of truth
which his own poor mind could grasp : and he might call it,
as the phrase is, The Truth, or The Gospel : and he might re
quire his hearers to receive it on peril of salvation. And
then he would have done as the priests did; and they who
lean on other minds would have gone away bigoted ; and
they who think would have smiled sadly, bitterly, or sarcas
tically, and gone home to doubt still more, " What is truth,
and is it to be found ?" .
No, my brethren i The truth can not be compressed into
a sermon. The reply to Pilate's question can not be con
tained in any verbal form. Think you that if Christ Himself
could have answered that question in a certain number of
sentences, He would have spent thirty years of life in wit
nessing to it ? Some men would compress into the limits of
one reply or one discourse the truth which it took Christ
thirty years to teach, and Avhich He left unfinished for the
Spirit to complete.
One word more. The truth is infinite as the firmament
above you. In childhood, both seem near and measurable;
but Avith years they grow and grow, and seem farther off,
and farther and grander, and deeper and vaster, as God Him
self; till you smLte to remember how you thought you could
touch the sky, and blush to recollect the proud and self-suf
ficient way in Avhich you used to talk of knowing or preach
ing " the truth:"
And once again: the truth is made up of principles : an in
ward life, not any mere formula of wordp. God's character
—spiritual worship-^-the Divine life in the soul. How shall
I put that into sentences ten or ten thousand ? " The words
which I speak unto you, they are truth, and they are life."
How could Pilate's question be answered except by a Life ?
The truth, then, which Pilate wanted — which you want, and
I want — is not the boundless A'erities, but truth of inward
life. Truth for me : Truth enough to guide me in this dark
ling world : enough to teach me how to live and how to die.
Now — the appointed ways to teach this Truth. They are
three : independence — humbleness — action.
First, Independence. Let no man start as if independence
savored of presumption. Protestant independence, they tell
us, is pride and self-reliance, but in truth it is nothing more
than a deep sense df personal responsibility ; a determination

The Skepticism of Pilate. 233
to trust in God rather than in man to teach: in God and
God's light in the soul. You choose a guide among preci
pices and glaciers, but you walk for yourself; you judge his
opinion, though more experienced than your own ; you over
rule it if needs be ; you use your own strength, you rely on
your own nerves. That is independence.
You select your own physician, deciding upon the respect
ive claims of men, the most ignorant of whom knows more
of the matter than you. You prudently hesitate at times to
follow the advice, of" the one you trust most, yet that is only
independence without a particle of presumption.
And so precisely in matters of religious truth. No man
cares for your health as you do ; therefore you rely blindly
upon none. No man has the keeping of your own soul, or
cares for it as you do. For yourself, therefore, you inquire
and think, and, you refuse to .delegate that work to bishop,
priest, or church. Call they that presumption? Oh, the
man who knows the awful feeling of being alone, and strug
gling for truth as for life and death, he knows the difference
betAveen independence and presumption.
Second, Humbleness. There is no infallibility in man ; if
so, none in us. We may err : that one thought is enough to
keep a man humble. There are two kinds of temper contrary
to this spirit. The first is a disputing, captious temper.
Disagreement is refreshing when two men lovingly desire to
compare their views to find out the truth. Controversy is
wretched when it is an attempt to prove one another wrong.
Therefore Christ would not argue with Pilate. Religious
controversy does only harm. It destroys the humble inquiry
after truth : it throws all the energies into an attempt to
prove ourselves right. The next temper contrary is a hope
less spirit. Pilate's question breathed of hopelessness. He
felt that Jesus was unjustly condemned, but he thought Him
in views as hopelessly wrong as the rest: all were wrong.
What Avas truth? Who knew any thing about it? He
spoke too bitterly,_too hopelessly, too disappointedly to get
an answer. In that despairing spirit no- man gets at truth :
"The meek will He guide in judgment. . . ."
Lastly, Action. This Avas Christ's rule — " If any man will
do His will. ..." A blessed rule : a plain and simple rule.
Here we are in a world of mystery, where all is difficult, and
very much dark — where a hundred jarring creeds declare
themselves to be the truth, and all are plausible. How shall
a man decide ? Let him do the right that lies before him :
much is uncertain — some things at least are clear. What
ever else may be wrong, it must be right to be pure — to be

234 The Skepticism of Pilate.
just and tender, and merciful and honest. It must be right
to love, and to deny one's self. Let him do the will of God,
and he shall know. Observe — men begin the other Avay.
They say, If I could but believe, then I Avould make my life
true : if I could but be sure what is truth, then I would set
to work to live in earnest. No : God says, Act ; make the
life true, and then you will be able to believe. Live in ear
nest, and you will know the answer to " What is truth ?"
Infer the blessedness of belief. Young men are prone to
consider skepticism a proof of strong-mindedness — a some
thing to be proud of. Let Pilate be a specimen — and a
wretched one he is. He had clear-mindedness enough to be
dissatisfied with all the views he knew: enough to see
through and scorn the squabbles and superstitions of priests
and bigots. All well; if from doubt of falsehood he had gone
on to a belief in a higher truth. But doubt, when it left him
doubting — why, he missed the noblest opportunity man ever
had — that of saving the Saviour : he became a thing for the
people to despise, and after ages to pity. And that is skep
ticism. Call you that a manly thing ?
To believe is to be happy; to doubt is to be wretched.
But I will not urge that. Seventy years — and the most fe
vered brain will be still enough. We will not say much of
the wretchedness of doubt. To believe is to be strong.
Doubt cramps energy. Belief is power. Only so far as a
man believes strongly, mightily, can he act cheerfully, or do
any thing that is worth the doing.
I speak to those who have learned to hold cheap the
threats wherewith priests and people would terrify into ac
quiescence — to those who are beyond the appeal of fear, and
can only yield, if at all, to higher motives. Young men, the
only manly thing, the only strong thing, is faith. It is not
so far as a man doubts, but so far as he believes, that he can
achieve or perfect any thing. "All things are possible to
him that believeth."

The Israelite's Grave. 235

XXII.
THE ISRAELITE'S GRAVE IN A FOREIGN LAND.*
" And Joseph said unto his brethren, I die ; and God will surely visit you,
and bring you out of this land unto the land which he sware to Abraham, to
Isaac, and to Jacob. And Joseph took an oath of the children of Israel,
saying, God will surely visit you, and ye shall carry up my bones from hence.
So Joseph died, being a hundred and ten years old : and they embalmed
him, and he was put in a coffin in Egypt." — Gen. 1. 24-26.
There is a moment when a man's life is re-lived on earth.
It is in that hour in which the coffin-lid is shut down, just
before the funeral, when earth has seen the last of him for
ever. Then the whole life is, as it were, lived over again in
the conversation which turns upon the memory of the de
parted. The history of threescore years and ten is soon re
capitulated : not, of course, the innumerable incidents and
acts which they contained, but the central governing princi
ple of the whole. Feverish curiosity sometimes spends itself
upon the last hours : and a few correct sentences, implying
faith after the orthodox phraseology, would convey to some
greater hope than a whole life breathing the Spirit of Christ
* [This sermon was formerly published by the Author in a separate form,
and the following Preface to that publication explains so well the circumstances
under which all the other sermons have been preserved, that it has been thought
best to reprint the Preface here.']
"For the publication of the commonplace observations contained in the
following pages, the commonplace excuse may, perhaps, suffice, that printing ,
was the simplest way of multiplying copies for a few friends who desired
them. Perhaps, too, the uncommonness of the occasion may justify the
writer in giving to an ephemeral discourse an existence somewhat less tran
sient than the minutes spent in listening to it.
"The sermon is published as nearly as possible as it was spoken. It was
written out concisely for a friend on the day of its delivery, with no intention
of publication. Afterwards, it seemed better to leave it in that state, with
only a few corrections, and the addition of a few sentences, than to attempt
to re-write it after an interval too great to recall what had been said. This
will account for the abruptness and want of finish which pervades the com
position. "The writer takes this opportunity of disowning certain sermons which
have been published in his name. They would not have been worth notice,
had not the innumerable blunders of thought and expression which they
contain been read and accepted by several as his. For this reason he feels
it due to himself to state that they are published without his sanction, and
against his request, and that he is not responsible for either the language or
the ideas."

236 The Israelite's Grave.
separate from such sentences. But it is not thus the Bible
speaks. It tells us very little of the closing scene, but a
great deal of the general tenor of a life. In truth, the clos
ing scene is worth very little. The felon, who, up to the last
fortnight, has shown his impenitence by the plea of not
guilty, in the short compass of that fortnight makes a con
fession, as a matter of course exhibits the externals of peni
tence, and receives the Last Supper. But it would be cre
dulity, indeed, to be easily persuaded that the eternal state
of such an one is affected by it. A life of holiness sometimes
mysteriously terminates in darkness ; but it is not the bitter
est cries of forsakenness — so often the result of physical ex
haustion — nor even blank despair, that shall shake our deep
conviction that he whose faith shone brightly through life is
now safe in the everlasting arms. The dying scene is worth
little — little, at least, to us — except so far as it is in harmo
ny Avith the rest of life.
It is for this reason that the public estimate pronounced
upon the departed is generally a fair criterion of worth.
There are, of course, exceptional cases — cases in which the
sphere of action has been too limited for the fair development
ofthe character, and nothing but the light of the judgment-
day can reveal it in its true aspect — cases in which party
spirit has defaced a name, and years are wanted to wash
away the mask of false color which has concealed the genu
ine features — cases in which the champion of truth expires
amidst the execrations of his contemporaries, and after ages
build his sepulchre. These, however, are exceptions. For
the most part, when all is over, general opinion is not far
from truth. Misrepresentation and envy have no provoca
tives left them. What the departed was is tolerably well-
known in the circle in which he moved. The epitaph may
be falsified by the partiality of relations ; but the broad judg
ment of society reverses that, rectifies it, and pronounces with
perhaps a rude, but, on the whole, fair approximation to the
truth. These remarks apply to the history of the man whose final
scene is recorded in the text. The verdict of the Egyptian
Avorld was worth much. Joseph had gone to Egypt, some
years before, a foreigner; had lived there in obscurity; had
been exposed to calumny ; by his quiet, consistent goodness,
had risen, step by step, first to respect, then to trust, com
mand, and veneration : was embalmed after death in the af
fections, as well as with the burial rights, of the Egyptians ;
and his honored form reposed at last amidst the burial-place
ofthe Pharaohs.

The Israelite's Grave. 237
In this respect the text branches into a twofold division :
The life of Joseph, and the death which was in accordance
with that life.
1. The history of Joseph, as of every man, has two sides —
its outward circumstances and its inner life.
The outward circumstances were checkered Avith misfor
tune. Severed from his home in very early years, sold into
slavery, cast into prison — at first grief seemed to have
marked him for her own. And this is human life. Part of *
its lot is misery. There are tAvo inadequate ways of ac
counting for this mystery of sorrow. One, originating in a
zeal for God's justice, represents it as invariably the chastise
ment of sin, or, at the least, as correction for fault. But,
plainly, it is not always such. Joseph's griefs were the con
sequences, not of fault, but of rectitude. The integrity
which, on some unknown occasion, made it his duty to carry
his brethren's " evil report " to their father, was the occasion
of his slavery. The purity of his life Avas the cause of his
imprisonment. Fault is only a part of the history of this
great matter of sorrow. Another theory, created by zeal for
God's love, represents sorrow as the exception, and happiness
as the rule of life. We are made for enjoyment, it is said,
and on the whole there is more enjoyment than wretched
ness. The common idea of love being that which identifies
it with a simple wish to confer happiness, no wonder that a
feeble attempt is made to vindicate God by a reduction of
the apparent amount of pain. Unquestionably, however,
love is very different from a desire to shield. from pain.
Eternal love gives to painlessness a very subordinate place
in comparison of excellence of character. It does not hesi
tate to secure man's spiritual dignity at the expense ofthe
sacrifice of his well-being.
The solution will hot do. Let us look the truth in the face.
You can not hide it from yourself. " Man is born to sorrow
as the sparks fly upward." SorroAV is not an acciderit, oc
curring now and. then, it is the very woof which is woven
into the Avarp of life. God has created the, ner ves to agonize,
and the heart to bleed ; and before a man dies, almost every
nerve has thrilled with pain,. and every affection, has been
wounded. The accourit of life:which represents it as proba
tion is inadequate: so is that which regards it chiefly as a
system of rewards and punishments. The truest account of
this. mysterious existence seems to be that it is intended for
the development of the soul's life, for which sorrow is indis
pensable. Every son of man who would attain the true end
of his being must be baptized with fire. It is the law of our

238 The Israelite's Grave.
humanity, as that of Christ, that we must be perfected
through suffering. And he Avho has not discerned the divine
sacredness of sorrow, and the profound meaning which is con
cealed in pain, has yet to learn what life is. The Cross, man
ifested as the necessity of the highest life, alone interprets it.
2. Besides this, obloquy was part of Joseph's portion.
His brethren, even his father, counted him a vain dreamer,
full of proud imaginings. He languished long in a dungeon
••Avith a stain upon his character. He was subjected to almost
all the bitterness which changes the milk of kindly feelings
into gall : to Potiphar's fickleness, to slander, to fraternal
envy, to the ingratitude of friendship in the neglect of the
chief butler, who left his prison and straightway forgot his
benefactor. Out of all which a simple lesson arises, " Cease
ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils." Yet that may
be overstated. Nothing chills the heart like universal dis
trust. Nothing freezes the genial current of the soul so
much as doubts of human nature. Human goodness is no
dream. Surely we have' met unselfishness, and love, and
honor among men. Surely we have seen, and not in dreams,
pure benevolence beaming from human countenances. Sure
ly we have met with integrity that the world's wealth could
not bribe ; and attachment which might bear the test of any
sacrifice. It is not so much the depravity as the frailty of
men, that makes it impossible to count on them. Was it not
excusable in Jacob, and even natural, if he attributed to van
ity his son's relation of the dream in which the sun, and the
moon, and the eleven stars bowed down before him? Was
it not excusaljle if Potiphar distrusted his tried servant's
Avord, when his guilt appeared so indisputably substantiated ?
Was not even the chief butler's forgetfulness intelligible,
when you remember his absorbing interest in his own dan
ger, and the multiplied duties of his office ? The world is
not to be too severely blamed if it misrepresents us. It is
hard to reach the truth — very hard to sift a slander.
Men who believe such rumors, especially in courtly life,
may be ignorant, hasty, imperfect, but are not necessarily
treacherous. Yet even while you keep this in mind, that the
heart may not be soured, remember your dearest friend
may fail you in the crisis: a truth of experience was
wrapped up in the old fable, and the thing you have fostered
in your bosom may wound you to the quick ; the one you
have trusted may beGome your accuser, and throw his own
blame, with dastard meanness, upon you. That was the ex
perience of Joseph. Was not that His fate who trusted Ju
das ? There is One, and but One, wljose love is as a rock,

The Israelite's Grave. 239
which will not fail you when you cling. It is a fearful, sol
itary feeling, that lonely truth of life ; yet not without a
certain strength and grandeur in it. The life that is the
deepest and the truest will feel most vividly both its desola
tion and its majesty. We live and die alone. God and our
OAvn souls — we fall back upon them at last. " Behold, the
hour cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be scattered,
every man to his own, and shall leave Me alone ; and yet I
am not alone, because the Father is with Me."
3. Success, besides, marked the career of Joseph. Let us
not take half views of men and things. The woof of life is
dark ; that we granted : but it is shot through a web of
brightness. Accordingly, in Joseph's case, even in his worst
days, you find a kind of balance to be weighed against his
sorroAvs. The doctrine of compensation is found through
all. Amidst the schemings of his brothers' envy he had his
father's love. In his slavery he had some recompense in
feeling that he was gradually winning his master's confi
dence. In his dungeon he possessed the consciousness of in
nocence, and the grateful respect of his fellow-prisoners.
In that beautiful hymn which some of you read last Sun
day,* you may remember that a parallel is drawn between
human life and the aspects of the Aveather. The morning
rainbow, glittering among the dangerous vapors of the west,
predicts that the day will not unclouded pass away. The
evening rainbow declares that the storms are past, and that
serene weather is setting in. Such is the life of all whom
God disciplines. The morning or the evening brightness is
the portion of a life, the rest of which is storm. Rarely are
the manful Struggles of principle in the first years of life suf
fered to be in vain. Joseph saw .the early clouds which dark
ened the morning of his existence pass away, and the rain
bow of heavenly peace arched over the calmness of his later
years. " The Lord was with Joseph, and he was a prosper
ous man." And it is for this special purpose it is written,
"AndvJpseph saw Ephraim's children of the third genera
tion; the children also of Machir, the son of Manasseh, were
brought up on Joseph's knees." Long life, and honored old
age, a quiet grave ; these were the blessings reckoned desir
able in Jewish modes of thought : and they are mentioned
as evidences of Joseph's happiness.
And this, too, is life. The sorrows of the past stand out
most vividly in our recollections, because they are the keen
est of our sensations. At the end of a long existence we
* Keble's Christian Year. Twenty-fifth Sunday after Trinity.

240 The Israelite's Grave.
should probably describe it thus : " Few and evil have the
days of" the years of thy servant been." But the innumer
able infinitesimals of happiness that from moment to moment
made life sweet and pleasant are forgotten ; and very richly
has our Father mixed the materials of these with the home
liest actions and domesticities of existence. See two men
meeting together in the streets — mere acquaintances. They
will not be five minutes together before a smile will over
spread their countenances, or a merry laugh ring of, at the
lowest, amusement. This has God done. God created the
smile and the laugh, as well as the sigh and the tear. The
aspect of this life is stern — very stern. It is a very super
ficial account of it which slurs over its grave mystery, and
refuses to hear its low, deep under-tone of anguish. But
there is enough, from hour to hour, of bright, sunny happi
ness, to remind us that its Creator's highest name is love.
Now turn to the spirit of Joseph's inner life. First of all,
that life was forgiveness. You can not but have remarked
that, conversant as his experience was with human treachery,
no expressions of bitterness escape from him. No senti
mental wailing over the cruelty of relations, the falseness of
friendship, or the ingratitude of the world ; no rancorous
outburst of misanthropy ; no sarcastic skepticism of man's
integrity or woman's honor. He meets all bravely, with
calm, meek, and dignified forbearance. If ever man had
cause for such doubts, he had ;'- yet his heart was never
soured. At last, after his fathers death, his brothers, appre
hending his resentful recollections of their, early cruelty,
come to deprgcate his revenge. Very touching is his reply.
" Fear not : for am I in the place of God ? But as for you,
ye thought evil against me; but God meant it unto good., to
bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive.
Now therefore, fear ye not: I will" nourish you and your
little ones."
This is the Christian spirit before the Christian times.
Christ was in Joseph's heart, though not definitely in Jo
seph's creed. The Eternal Word whispered in the souls of
men before it spoke articulately aloud in the Incarnation.
It was the Divine Thought before it became the Divine Ex
pression.* It was the Light that lighteth every man that
cometh into the world, before it blazed into the Day-spring
from on high which visited us. The mind of Christ, the
spirit Ofthe years yet future, blended itself with life before
He came ; for His words were the eternal verities of our hu-
* A6yoc lv6i Weroc — npofyopiitbc.

The Israelite's Grave. 241
inanity. In all ages love is the truth of life. Men can not
injure us except so far as they exasperate us to forget our
selves. No man is really dishonored except by his OAvn act.
Calumny, injustice, ingratitude — the only harm these can do
us is by making us bitter, or rancorous, or gloomy : by shut
ting our hearts or souring our affections. We rob them' of
their power if they only leave us more sweet and forgiving
. than before. And this is the only true victory. We Avin by
love. Love transmutes all curses, and forces them to rain
down in blessings. Out of the jealousy of his brothers Joseph
extracted the spirit of forgiveness. Out of Potiphar's weak
injustice, and out of the machinations of disappointed pas
sion, he created an opportunity of learning meekness. Our
enemies become unconsciously our best friends when their
slanders deepen in us heavenlier graces. Let them do their
Avorst ; they only give us the Godlike victory of forgiving
them. 2. Distinguished from the outward circumstances, Ave find
simplicity of character : partly in the willingness to acknowl
edge his shepherd-father in Egypt, where the pastoral life
was an abomination ; partly in that incidental notice which
we have of the feast at which he entertained his brethren,
Avhere the Egyptians sat at a table by themselves, and Joseph
by himself. So that, elevated as he was, his heart remained
Hebrew still. He had contracted a splendid alliance by
marrying into one of the* noblest families in Egypt, that of
Potipherah, the priest of On. And yet he had not forgotten
his country, nor sought to be naturalized there. His heart
Avas in that far land Avhere he had fed his father's flocks in
his simple, genial boyhood; the divining-cup of Egyptian
silver was on his table ; but he remembered the days Avhen
the only splendor he knew was that coat of many colors
Avhich was made for him by his father. He bore a simple,
unsophisticated heart amidst the pomp of an Egyptian court.
There is a great mistake made on the subject of simplicity.
There is one simplicity of circumstances, another simplicity
of heart. These, two must not be confounded. It is com
mon to talk of the humble poor man, and the proud rich
man. Let. not these ideas be inseparably blended together.
There is many a man Avho sits down to a meal of bread and
milk on a wooden table, whose heart is as. .proud as the proud
est whose birth is royal. There is many a one whose \*oice
is heard in the public meeting,, loudly "descanting on legal
tyranny and aristocratic, -insolence, who in his own narroAV
circle is as much a tyrant: as any oppressor who ever dis
graced the throne. And there is nuinv a man Avho sits down
11

242 The Israelite^ Grave.
to daily pomp, to whom gold and silver are but as brass and
tin, and who bears in the midst of it all a meek, simple spirit,
and a " heart refrained as a weaned child :" many a man
who lives surrounded with homage, and hearing the ap
plause and flattery of men perpetually, on whose heart these
things fall flat and dead, without raising one single emotion
of fluttered vanity.
The world can not understand this. They can not believe .
that Joseph can be humble Avhile he is conscious of such ele
vation above the crowd of men — not even ' dreaming of it.
They can not understand hoAV carelessly these outsides of
life can be worn, and how they fall off like the unregarded
and habitual dress of daily life. They can not know how the
spirit of the Cross can crucify the Avorld, make grandeur
painful, and calm the soul with a vision of the Eternal
Beauty. They can not dream how His life and death, once
felt as the grandest, write mockery on all else, and fill the
soul with an ambition which is above the world. It is not
the unjewelled finger, nor the affectation of an almost Qua
kerish simplicity of attire, nor the pedestrian mode of travel
ling, nor the scanty meal that constitute humility. It is that
simple, inner life of real greatness, which is indifferent to
magnificence, and surrounded by it all, lives far away in the
distant country of a father's home, with the Cross borne si
lently and self-sacrificingly in the heart of hearts.
3. One characteristic of Joseph's inner life remains —
benevolence. It was manifested in the generosity with
which he entertained his brethren, and in the discriminating
tenderness Avitb, which he provided his best beloved brother's
feast Avith extraordinary delicacies. These were traits of
thoughtfulness. But further still. The prophetic insight
of Joseph enabled him to foresee the approach of famine.
He took measures accordingly ; and when the famine came,
the royal storehouses were opened, and every man in Egypt,
owed his life to the benevolent providence of the Hebrew
stranger. It was productive of a great social revolution.
It brought, by degrees, all the land of Egypt into the power
ofthe Crown, so that a kind of feudal system was establish
ed, every man holding in direct tenancy from the Crown.
Hence the nation became compacted into a new unity, and
power was concentrated in the hands of government, partly
by the pecuniary revenue thus added, and partly by the
lustre of goodness which Joseph had thrown round the royal
acts. For acts like these are the real bulwarks of a throne.
One such man as Joseph does more to strengthen the CroAvn
than all the speculations, solemn or trifling, Avhich Avere ever

The Israelite's Grave. 243
written on the " Divine right of kings." There is a right
divine Avhich requires no elaborate theory to make it felt.
II. The death of Joseph was in accordance with his life.
1. The funeral Avas a homage paid to goodness. Little is
said in the text of Joseph's funeral. To know what it was,
Ave must turn to the earlier part of the chapter, where that
of Jacob is mentioned. A mourning of seventy days — a
funeral whose imposing greatness astonished the Canaanites.
They said, " This 'is a grievous mourning to the Egyptians."
Seventy days were the time, or nearly so, fixed by custom
for a royal funeral ; and Jacob was so honored, not for his
own sake, but because he was Joseph's father. We can not
suppose that Joseph's own obsequies Avere on a scale less
grand. Noav weigh what is implied in this. This Avas not the
homage paid to talent, nor to wealth, nor to birth. Joseph
was a foreign slave, raised to eminence by the simple power
of goodness. Every man in Egypt felt, at his death, that he
had lost a friend. There were thousands whose tears would
fall when they recounted the preservation of lives dear to
them in the years of famine, and felt that they owed those
lives to Joseph. Grateful Egypt fnourned the good Foreign
er ; and, for once, the honors of this world were given to the
graces of another.
2. We collect from this, besides, a hint of the resurrection
of the body. The Egyptian mode of sepulture was embalm
ing ; and the Hebrews, too, attached much importance to the
body after death. Joseph commanded his countrymen to
preserve his bones to take away with them. In this we de
tect that unmistakable human craving, not only for immor
tality, but immortality associated with a form. No doubt
the Egyptian feeling was. carried but absurdly. They tried
to redeem from the worm the very aspect that had been
worn, the very features they had loved ; and there was a
kind of feeling,' that while that mummy lasted, the man had
not yet perished from earth. They expected that, in process
of years, it would again be animated by its spirit.
Now Christianity does not disappoint, but rather meets
that feeling. It 'grants all that the materialist, and all that
the spiritualist, have a right to ask. It grants to the mate
rialist, by the doctrine of the • resurrection ofthe body, that
future life shall be associated with a material form. Leaving
untouched all the questions which may be raised about the
identity of the atoms that have been buried, it simply pro
nounces that the spirit shall have a body. It grants to the

244 The Israelite's Grave.
spiritualist all he ought to wish — that the spirit shall be free
from evil. For it is a mistake of ultra-spiritualism, to con
nect degradation with the thought of a risen body ; or to
suppose that a mind, unbound by the limitations of space, is
a more spiritual idea of resurrection than the other.
The opposite td spirituality is not materialism, but sin.
The form of matter does not degrade. For what is this
world itself but the form of Deity, whereby the manifoldness
of His mind and beauty manifests,, and wherein it clothes
itself? _ It is idle to say that spirit can exist apart from form.
We do not know that it can. Perhaps even the Eternal Him
self is more closely bound to His works than our philosophi
cal systems have conceived. Perhaps matter is only a mode
of thought. At all events, all that we know or can know of
mind, exists in union with form. The resurrection of the
body is the Christian verity, which meets and satisfies, those
cravings of the ancient Egyptian mind that expressed them
selves in the process of embalming, and the religious rev
erence felt for the very bones of the departed by the He
brews. Finally, in the last will and testament of Joseph we find
faith, fle commanded his brethren, and through them, his
nation, to carry his bones Avith them when they migrated to
Canaan. In the Epistle to the Hebrews that is reckoned an
evidence of faith. "By faith Joseph gave commandment
concerning his bones." How did he knoAV that his people
would ever quit Egypt ? We reply, by faith. Not faith in
a written word, for Joseph had no Bible ; rather, faith in that
conA'iction of hjs own heart which is itself the substantial evi
dence of faith. F°r religious faith ever dreams of something
higher, more beautiful, more perfect, than the state of things
Avith which it feels itself surrounded. Ever, a day future
lies before it : the evidence for which is its own hope.
Abraham, by that creative faith, saw the day of Christ, and
was glad: Joseph saw his family in prosperity, even in af
fluence ; but he felt that this was not their rest. A higher
life than that of affluence — a nobler destiny than that of
stagnant rest, there must be for them in the future ;. else all
the anticipations of a purer earth, and a holier world, which
imagination bodied forth within his soul, were empty dreams,
not the intuitions of God's Spirit.- It was this idea of
perfection., which was " the substance of things hoped for,"
that carried him far beyond the period of his own death,
and made him feel himself a partaker of his nation's blessed
future. And that is the evidence of immortality. When the

The Israelite's Grave. 245
coffin is lowered into the grave, and the du'ii, heavy sound of
earth falling on it is heard, there are some to Avhom that
sound seems but an echo of their Avorst anticipations ; seems
but to reverberate the idea of decay forever, in the words,
" Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." There are
others to Avhom it sounds pregnant with the expectations of
immortality, the " sure and certain hope of a resurrection to
eternal life." The difference between these two feelings is
measured by the difference of lives. They whose life is low
and earthly, how can they believe in aught beyond the grave,
when nothing of that life which is eternal has yet stirred
within them ? They who have lived as Joseph lived, just in
proportion to their purity and their unselfishness, must
believe it. They can not but believe it. The eternal exist
ence is already pulsing in their veins ; the life of trust and
high hope, and sublime longings after perfection, with -which
the decay of the frame has nothing at all to do. That is
gone — yes — but it was not that life in which they lived, and
Avhen it finished, what had that ruin to do Avith the destruc
tion of the immortal ?
For what is our proof of immortality ? Not the analogies
of nature — the resurrection of nature from 3, winter grave —
or the emancipation of the butterfly. Not even the testi
mony to the fact of risen dead ; for who does not know how
shadowy and unsubstantial these intellectual proofs become
in unspiritual frames of mind ? No ; the life of the spirit is
the evidence. Heaven begun is the living proof that makes
the heaven to come credible. " Christ in you is the hope of
glory." It is the eagle eye of faith Avhich penetrates the
grave, and sees far into the tranquil things of death. He
alone can believe in immortality who feels the resurrection in
him already.
Thereis a special application to be made of this subject to
our hearts. It is not often that the pulpit can be used for a
funeral eulogium. Where Christ is to be exalted in solitary
pre-eminence, it is but rarely that the praise of men may be
heard. -Rank, royalty itself, could not command from- the
lips of a minister ofthe King of kings one syllable of adula
tory, undeserved, or unfelt homage, But there are cases in
which to loftiness of birth is added dignity of character;
and then we gladly relax the rule, to pay a willing tribute
to the majesty, of goodness.
There is one to whom your thoughts must have reverted
often during the history which we have been going through,
suggesting a parallel, all the more delicately felt from the
absence of direct allusion. That royal lady, for whose loss

246 The Israelite's Grave.
the marvellous uniformity of the unbroken funeral hue which
pervades this congregation tells eloquently of general mourn
ing, came to this land a few years ago, like Joseph, a foreign
er — like • Joseph, the earlier years of her sojourn were spent
in comparative obscurity — like Joseph, she had her share of
calumny, though in a different form. There are many here
who can remember that in that year when our political feuds
had attained the acme of rancor, the irreverent lip of party
slander dared to breathe, its rank venom upon the name of'
one of the gentlest that ever adorned a throne. There are
some who know how that unpopularity was met: with
meekness — with Christian forgiveness — with quiet dignity —
with that composure which is the highest result and evi
dence of strength. Like Joseph, she passed through the
temptations of a court Avith unsullied spotlessness— like Jo
seph, the domestic and social relationships were sustained
Avith beautiful fidelity— like Joseph, she. lived down opposi
tion, outlived calumny — like Joseph, she used the noble in
come intrusted to her in acts of almost unexampled munifi
cence — like Joseph, her life was checkered with sorrow ; and
When the clouds of earlier difficulties had cleared away, the
rainbow sign of peace, even in the midst of broken health,
spanned the calmness of her evening years — like Joseph, she
will have a regal burial, and her ashes Avill repose with the
dust of England's princes amidst the mourning ofthe nation
in which she found a home.
The homage which is given to her is not the homage
yielded to rank or wealth or genius. There Avill be silver
on her coffin, and magnificence in the pageantry which at
tends her to the grave ;* but it is not in these that the glory
of her funeral lies. These were the privileges of the most
profligate of her ancestors as well as her. These are the
world's rewards for those whom she delights to honor. There
Avill be something in her funeral besides which these things
are mean. . There is a grandeur in a nation's tears ; and they
will be shed in unfeigned reverence over the remains of all
that was most queenly, and all that was most womanly.
No political fervor mixes with her obsequies. She stood
identified with no party politics. No peculiar religious par:
ty mourns its patroness. Of all our jarring religious sects,
in the Church and out of it, not one dares to claim her as its
own. Her spirit soared above these things. It is knoAvn
* This anticipation has not been realized. In one of the most touching
and unaffected documents that ever went right home to English hearts, the
queen of a British sovereign requested to be borne to the grave as the wife
of a sailor.

The Israelite's Grave. 247
that she scarcely recognized them. All was lost in the sub-
limer name of Christian. It is a Christian who has passed
from this earth aAvay, to take her place in the general As
sembly and Church ofthe first-born: to stand before God,
the Judge of all, among the spirits of the just made per
fect. . ¦
One word more. Honoring the Queen, profoundly rever
encing the Woman, let not contemplation stop there. Do
not bury thought in the human and finite. Mildly as her
lustre shone on earth, remember it Avas but one feeble ray of
the Light that is Uncreated. All that she had she received.
If we honor her, it is to adore Him who made her Avhat she
was. -Of His fullness she had received, and grace for grace.
What she was, she became through adoring faith in Christ.
It is an elevating thing to gaze on human excellence, be
cause through it the. Highest becomes conceivable. It is a
spirit-stirring thing to see saintly goodness asserting its ce
lestial origin by turning pale the lustre of the highest earth
ly rank; for in this universal mourning our noble country
has not bowed the knee in reverence to the majesty Avhich is
of time. Every heart in England has felt that the sovereign
Avas merged in the servant of Christ. " The King's daugh
ter was all glorious within." Hers Avas Christian goodness.
Her eyes had beheld the King in His beauty, and therefore
her life was beautiful, and feminine, and meek, and simple.
It Avas all derived beauty. She had robed herself in Christ.
" Reflecting back, as from a burnished mirror, the glory of
the Lord, she was changed into the same image, from glory
to glory, eA'en as by the Spirit ofthe Lord."*
* 2 Cor. iii. 18. This appears to be the true force and rendering of the
metaphor.

Subjoined are the directions given by her late Majesty for her own funeral. ,
The reader will be glad to have them preserved in a form less inconvenient
than the columns of a newspaper. Should he be one who feels it a relief to
miss, for once, the worn-out conventionalisms of religious expression, and
come in contact with something fresh and living, he will find more in these
quiet lines than in ten sermons ; more to make a very happy tear start ;
more of the simplicity and the beauty of the life in God ; more to cool the
feverishness of his heart, and still its worldliness into silence ; more of that
deep rest into which the meek and humble enter ; more that will make him
long to be simple, and inartificial, and real, as Christ was, desiring only, in
life, and death, and judgment, to be found in Him.

248 The Israelite's Grave.
[Copt.]
" I die in all humility, knowing well that we are all alike before the Throne
of God, and request, therefore, that my mortal remains be conveyed to the
grave without any pomp or state. They are to be moved to St. George's
Chapel, "Windsor, where I request to have as private and quiet a funeral as
possible. "I particularly desire not to be laid out in state, and the funeral to take
place by daylight, no procession, the coffin to be carried by sailors to the
chapel. "All those of my friends and relations, to a limited number, who wish to
attend, may do so. My nephew, Prince Edward of Saxe "Weimar, Lords
Howe and Denbigh, the Hon. "William Ashley, Mr. Wood, Sir Andrew
Barnard, and Sir D. Davis, with my dressers, and those of my ladies who
may wish to attend.
"I die in peace, and wish to be carried to the tomb in peace, and free
from the vanities and the pomp of this world. v
" I request not to be dissected, nor embalmed ; and desire to give as little
trouble as possible. (Signed) "Adelaide R.
"November, 1819."

SERMONS

Srconb 0 cries.

THE STAR IN THE EAST.
"Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in tbe days of Herod
the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, saying,
Where is he that is born King of the Jews ? for we have seen his star in the
oast, and are come to worship him." — Matt. ii. 1, 2.
Our subject is the Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles.
The King of the Jews has become the Sovereign of the
world : a fact, one would think, which must cause a secret
complacency in the heart of all Jews. For that Avhich is
most deeply working in modern life and thought is the mind
of Christ. His name has passed over our institutions, and
much more has His spirit penetrated into our social and do
mestic existence. In other* words, a HebreAV mind is now,
and has been for centuries, ruling Europe.
But the- Gospel which He proclaimed was not limited to
the Hebrews : it was a Gospel for the nations. By the death
of Christ, God has struck His death-blow at the root of the
hereditary principle. " We be the seed of Abraham " Avas
the proud pretension of the Israelite ; and he was told by
Christ's Gospel that spiritual dignity rests not upon spiritual
descent, but upon spiritual character. New tribes were
adopted into the Christian union, and it became clear that
there Avas no distinction of race in the spiritual family. The
Jewish rite of circumcision — a symbol of exclusiveness, cut
ting off one nation from all others — was exchanged for Bap
tism,, the symbol of universality, proclaiming the-nearness of
all to God, His paternity over the human race, and the Son-
ship of all who chose to claim their privileges.
This was a Gospel for the Avorld, and nation after nation

250 The Star in the East.
accepted it. Churches were formed ; the kingdom which is
the domain of love grew ; the Roman Empire crumbled into
fragments ; but every fragment was found pregnant with
life. It brake not as some ancient temple might break, its
broken, pieces lying in lifeless ruin, overgrown with weeds :
rather as one of those mysterious animals break, of Avhich, if
you rend them asunder, every separate portion forms itself
into a new and complete existence. Rome gave way ; but
every portion became a Christian kingdom, alive with the
mind of Christ, and developing the Christian idea after its
own peculiar nature.
The portion of Scripture selected for the text and for the
gospel of the day has an important bearing on this great
Epiphany. The " wise men " belonged to a creed of very
hoary and venerable antiquity ; a system, too, Avhich had in
it the elements of strong vitality. For seven centuries after,
the Mohammedan sword scarcely availed to extirpate it —
indeed could not. They whom the Mohammedan called fire-
worshippers clung to their creed with vigor and indestructi
ble tenacity, in spite of all his efforts.
Here then, in this act of homage to the Messiah, were the
representatives of the highest then existing influences of the
world, doing homage to the Lord of a mightier influence, and
reverently bending before the dawn of the Star of a neAV and
brighter Day. It was the first distinct turning ofthe Gen
tile mind to Christ ; the first instinctive craving after a
something higher than Gentilism could ever satisfy.
In this light our thoughts arrange themselves thus :
I. The expectation ofthe Gentiles.
II. The Manifestation or Epiphany.
I. The expectation : " Where is He that is born King of
the Jews ? for we have seen His star in the east, and are
come to worship Him."
Observe — 1. The draving for eternal life. The " wise men"
were " Magians," that is, Persian priests. The name, howev
er, was extended, to all the Eastern philosophers who profess
ed that religion, or even that philosophy. The Magians were
chiefly distinguished by being worshippers of the stars, or
students of astronomy.
Now astronomy is a science which arises from man's need
of religion ; other sciences spring out of Avants bounded by
this life. For instance, anatomy presupposes disease. There
would be no prying into our animal frame, no anatomy, were
there not a malady to stimulate the inquiry. Navigation
arises from the necessity of traA'ersing the seas to appropri-

The Star in the East. 25 1
ate the produce of other countries. Charts, and maps, and
soundings are made, because of a .felt earthly Avant. But
in astronomy the first impulse of mankind came not from
the craving of the intellect, but from the necessities of the
soul. If you search down into the constitution of your being till
you come to the lowest deep of all, underlying all other
Avauts you will find a craving for what is infinite — a some
thing that desires perfection — a wish that nothing but the
thought of that Avhich is eternal can satisfy. To the untu
tored mind nowhere was that Avant so called into conscious
ness, perhaps, as beneath the mighty skies of the East. Se
rene and beautiful are the nights in Persia, and many a wise
man in earlier days, full of deep thoughts, went out into the
fields like Isaac to meditate at eventide. God has so made
us that the very act of looking up produces in us percep
tions of the sublime. And then those skies in their calm
depths mirroring that which is boundless in space and illim
itable in time, Avith a silence profound as death and a motion
gliding on forever, as if symbolizing eternity of life, no Avon-
der if men associated with them their highest thoughts, and
conceived them to be the home of Deity — no wonder if an
Eternal Destiny seemed to sit enthroned there — no wonder
if they seemed to haAe in their mystic motion an invisible
sympathy with human life and its mysterious destinies — no
Avonder if he who could read best their laws was reckoned
best able to interpret the duties of this life, and all that con
nects man Avith that which is invisible — no wonder if, in
those devout days of young thought, science Avas only an
other name for religion, and the Priest ofthe great temple
ofthe universe was also the Priest in the temple made with
hands. .Astronomy was the religion of the world's youth.
Tho/M-agians were led by the star to Christ ; their as
tronomy was the very^athway to their Saviour.
Upon this I make one or tw6 "remarks.
1. The folly of depreciating human wisdom. Of all vani
ties, the Avorst is the vanity of ignorance. It is common
enough to hear learning decried, as it it were an "opposite of
religion. If that means that science is not religion, and that
the man Avho can calculate the motions ofthe stars may neAr-
er have bowed his soul to Christ, it contains a truth. But
if it means, as it often does, that learning is a positive incum
brance and hindrance to religion, then it is as much as to say
that the God of nature is not the God of grace; that the
more you study the Creator's works, the farther you remove
from Himself: nay, we must go farther to be consistent, and.

252 The Star in the East.
hold, as most uncultivated and rude nations do, that the
state of idiocy is nearest to that of inspiration. .
There are expressions of St. Paul often quoted as sanction
ing this idea. He tells his converts to beware " lest any man
spoil you through philosophy." Whereupon Ave take for
granted that modern philosophy is a kind of antagonist to
Christianity. This is one instance out of many of the way
in which an ambiguous word misunderstood becomes the
source of infinite error. Let us hear St. Paul. He bids Tim
othy "beware of profane and old wives' fables." He speaks
of "endless genealogies" — "worshipping of angels "— " in
truding into those things which men have not seen." This
Avas the philosophy of those days : a system of Avild fancies
spun out of the brain — somewhat like what we might now
call demonolatry: but as different from philosophy as any
two things can differ.
They forget, tooj another thing. Philosophy has become
Christian ; science has knelt to Christ. There is a deep sig
nificance in that homage of the Magians. For it in fact was
but a specimen and type of that which science has been doing
ever since. The mind of Christ has not only entered into the
Temple, and made it the house of prayer, it has entered into
the temple of science, and purified the spirit of philosophy.
This is its spirit now, as, expounded by its chief interpreter,
" Man, the interpreter of Nature, knows nothing, and can do
nothing; except that which Nature teaches him." What is
this but scienee bending before the Child, becoming childlike,
and, instead of projecting its own fancies, upon God's world,
listening reverently to hear what It has to teach him? In a
similar spirit, too,* poke the greatest of philosophers, in words
quoted in every child's book: "I am but«*a child, picking up
pebbles on the shore of the great sea of truth."
Oh, be sure all the universe tells of Christ and leads to
Christ. Rightly those ancient Magians deemed, in believing
that God was worshipped truly in that august temple. The
stars preach the mind of Christ. Not as of old, when a mys
tic star guided their feet to Bethlehem, but now, to the mind
of the astronomer, they tell of eternal order and harmony ;
they speak of changeless law, where no caprice reigns. You
may calculate the star's return : and to the day, and hour,
and minute it, will be there. This is the fidelity of God.
These mute masses obey the law impressed upon them by
their Creator's hand, unconsciously : and that law is the law
of their own nature. To understand the laws of our nature,
and consciously and reverently to obey them, that is the mind
of Christ, the sublime.st spirit ofthe Gospel.

The Star in the East. 253
I remark again — This universe may be studied in an irrev
erent spirit. _ In Dan. ii. 48, Ave find the reverence which was
paid to science. Daniel among the Chaldees was made chief
ofthe wise men ; that is, the first of the Magians: and King
Nebuchadnezzar boAved before him, with incense and obla
tions. In later days we find that spirit changed. Another
king, Herod, commands the wise men to use their science for
the purpose of letting him know where the Child was. In
earlier times they honored the priest of Nature : in later times
they made use of him.
Only by a few is science studied now in the sublime and
reverent spirit of old days. A vulgar demand for utility has
taken the place of that lowly prostration with which the
world listened to the discoveries of truth. The discovery of
some new and mighty agent, by which the east and west are
brought together in a moment, awakens chiefly the emotion
of delight in us that correspondence and travelling will be
quickened. The merchant congratulates himself upon the
speedier arrival ofthe' news which will give him the start of
his rivals, and enable him to outrace his competitors in the
competition of wealth. Yet what is this but the utilitarian
spirit of Herod, seeing nothing more solemn in a mysterious
star than the means Avherebv he might crush his supposed
rival ? ,
There is a spirit which believes that " godliness is gain,"
and aims at being godly for the sake of advantage — which is
honest, because honesty is the best policy — Avhich says, Do
right, and you will be the better, that is, the richer for it.
There is a spirit which seeks for wisdom simply as a means
to an earthly end— and that often a mean one. This is a
spirit rebuked by the nobler reverence of the earlier days of
Magianism. Knowledge for its own pure sake. God for His
own sake. Truth for the sake of truth. This was the reason
for which, in earlier days, men read the aspect of the heavens.
2. Next, in this craving of the Gentiles we meet with traces
of the yearning of the human soul for light. The Magian sys
tem was called the system of light about seven centuries be
fore Christ. A great reformer (Zoroaster) had appeared, who
either restored the system to its purity, or ereated out of it
a new system. He said that light is eternal — that the Lord
of the universe is light ; but because there was an eternal
light, there was also an eternal possibility of the absence of
light. Light and darkness, therefore, were the eternal prin
ciples of the universe— not equal principles, but one the nega
tion of the other. He taught that the soul of man needs
light — a light external to itself, as well as in itself. As tlie

254 The Star in the East.
eye can not see in darkness, and is useless, so is there a ca
pacity in the soul for light ; but it is not itself light ; it
needs the Everlasting light from outside itself.
Hence the stars became worshipped as the symbols of this
light. But by degrees these stars began to stand in the place
of the light Himself. This was the state of things in the days
of these Magians.
Magianism was now midAvay between its glory and its de
cline. For its glory we must go back to the days of Daniel,
when a monarch felt it his privilege to do honor to the priest
of Light — when that priest was the sole medium of commu
nication between Deity and man, and through him alone
"Oromasdes" made his revelations known — Avhen the law
given by the Magian, revealed by the eternal stars, was " the
law ofthe Medes and Persians which altereth not." For its
lowest degradation we must pass over about half a century
from the time we are now considering till we find ourselves
in Samaria, in the presence of Simon the Magian. He gave
himself out for the great power of God. He prostituted such
powers and kaoAvledge as he possessed to the object of mak
ing gain. Half dupe, half impostor, in him the noble system
of Light had sunk to pett-y.charlatanism : Magianism had de
generated into Magic. *"*¦">,,
Midway between these tAvo periods, 'or rather nearer to the
latter, stood the Magian of the text. There is a time in the.
history of every superstition when it is respectable^even de-~
serving reverence, when men believed it^-when it is in fact
associated with the highest feelings that are in man, and the
channel even for God's manifestation to the soul. And there
is a time when,it"uecomes less and less credible, when clearer
science is superseding its pretensions : and then is the period
in which one class of men like Simon keep up the imposture —
the priests who will. not let the old superstition die, but
go on, half impostors, half deceived by the strong delusion
Avherewith they believe their own lie — another class, like
Herod, the wise men of the world, who patronize it for their
own purposes, and make use of it as an engine of state —
another still, who turn from side to side, feeling with horror
the old, and all that they held dear, crumbling away beneath
them : the ancient lights going out, more than half suspecting
the falsehood of all the rest, and with an earnestness amount
ing almost to agony, leaving their own homes and inquiring
for fresh light.
Such was the posture of these Magians. You can not en
ter into their questions or sympathize with their wants un
less you realize all this. For that desire for light is one of

The Star in the East.

255

the nyst impassioned of our nobler natures. That noble
prayrf of the ancient world (iv II (pace kou oXeertrov), " Give
lio-hi;, and let us die:" can- we not feel it? Light — light.
Oi, if the result were the immediate realization of the old fa
ble, and the blasting of the daring spirit in the moment of
revelation of its God, yet give us light. The wish for light,
the expectation of the manifestation of God, is the- mystery
which lies beneath the history of the whole ancient world.
H The Epiphany itself.
First, they found a king. There is something very signifi
cant in the fact of that king being discovered as a child.
The royal child was the answer to their desires. There are
tAvo kinds of monarchy, rule or command. One is that of
hereditary title ; the Other is that of Divine Right. There
are kings of men's making, and kings of God's making. The
secret of that command which men obey involuntarily is sub
mission of the ruler himself to law. And this is the secret
of the royalty of the humanity of Christ. No principle
through all His life is more striking, none characterizes it so
peculiarly, as His submission to another Avill. %" I came not
to do Mine own will, but the will of Him that sent Me."
" The words which I speak, I speak not of myself." His
commands are not arbitrary. They are not laws given on
authority only, they are the eternal laws of our humanity, to
Avhich He himself submitted : obedience to which alone can
make our being attain its end. This is the secret of His king
ship — "He became obedient . . . wherefore God also hath
highly exalted Him." And this is the secret of all influence
and all command. Obedience to a law above you subjugates
minds to you who never would have yielded to mere will.
" Rule thyself, thou rulest all."
2. Next, observe the adoration of the Magians — very
touching, and full of deep truth. The wisest of the world
bending before the Child. ¦ Remember the history of Ma
gianism. It began with awe, entering into this world be-
.neath the serene skies of the East ; in wonder and Avorship.
It passed into priestcraft and skepticism. It ended in won
der and adoration as it had begun : only with a truer and
nobler meaning.
This is but a representation of human life. " Heaven lies
around us in our infancy." The child looks on this world of
God's as one, not many — all beautiful — wonderful — God's —
the creation of a Father's hand. The man dissects, breaks
it into fragments — loses love and Avorship in speculation and
reasoning — becomes more manly, more independent, and less

256 The Star in the East. \
irradiated with a sense of the presence of the Lord oral • till
at last, after many a devious wandering, if he be one ^hom
the Star of God is leading blind by a way he knows nc\he
begins to see all as one again, and God in all. Back cohes
the child-like spirit once more in the Christianity of old ag>.
We kneel before the Child — we feel that to adore is greater
than to reason — that to love, and worship, and believe, bring
the soul nearer heaven than scientific analysis. The Child is
nearer God than we.
And this, too, is one of the deep sayings of Christ — " Ex
cept ye be converted and become as little children, ye shall
in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven."
3. Lastly — In that Epiphany we have to remark the Ma
gians' joy. They had seen the star in the east. They fol
lowed it — it seemed to .go out in dim obscurity. They Avent
about inquiring : asked Herod, Avho could tell them nothing :
asked the scribes, who only gave them a vague direction.
At last the star shone out once more, clear before them in
their path. " When they saAv the star, they rejoiced with
exceeding great joy."
Perhaps tlje hearts of some of us can interpret that. There
are some who have seen the star that shone in earlier days
go. out ; quench itself in black vapors or sour smoke. There
are some who have followed many a star that turned out to
be but an ignis fatuus — one of those bright exhalations which
hover over marshes and church-yards, and only lead to the
chambers of the dead, or the cold damp pits of disappoint
ment : and oh, the blessing of " exceeding joy," after follow
ing in vain — after inquiring of the great men and learning
nothing — of the religious men and finding little — to see the
star at last resting over " the place Avhere the young Child
lies " — after groping the way alone, to see the star stand still
— to find that Religion is a thing far simpler than we thought
— that God is near us — that to kneel and adore is the noblest
posture of the soul. For, Avhoever will follow with fidelity
his own star, God will guide him aright. He spoke to the
Magians by the star ; to the shepherds by the melody of the
heavenly host ; to Joseph by a dream ; to Simeon by an in
ward revelation. "Gold, and frankincense, and myrrh" —
these, and ten times these, were poor and cheap to give for
that blessed certainty that the star of God is on before us.
Two practical hints in conclusion,
1., A hint of immortality. That star is now looking down
on the wise men's graves ; and if there be no life to come,
then this is the confusion : that mass of inert matter is pur
suing its Avay through space, and the minds that watched.it,

The Healing of Jairus's Daughter. 257
calculated its movements, were led by it through aspirinw
wishes to holy adorations ; those minds, moro precious than
a thousand stars, have dropped out of God's universe. And
then God cares for mere material masses more than for spirits,
which 'are the emanation and copy of Himself. Impossible !
" God is not the God of the dead, but of the living." God is
the Father of our spirits. Eternity and immeasurableness
belong to Thought alone. You may measure the cycles of
that star by years and miles : can you bring any measure
ment which belongs to time or space, by which you can com
pute the length or breadth or the duration of one pure
thought, one aspiration, one moment of love ? This is eter
nity. ¦ Nothing but thought can be immortal.
2. Learn, finally, the truth of the Epiphany by heart. To
the Jew it chiefly meant that the Gentile too could become
the child of God. But to us ; is that 'doctrine obsolete ?
Nay, it requires to be reiterated in this age as much as in
any other. There is a spirit in all our hearts whereby we
would monopolize God, conceiving of Him as an unapproach
able Being ; whereby we may terrify other men outside our
own pale, instead of as the Father that is near to all, whom
Ave may approach, and whom to adore is blessedness.
This is our Judaism : we do not believe in the Epiphany.
We do not believe that God isthe Father ofthe world — we do
not actually credit that He has a star for the Persian priest,
and celestial melody for the Hebrew shepherd, and an unsyl-
labled voice for all the humble and inquiring spirits in His
world. Therefore remember Christ .has broken doAvn the
middle wall of partition ; He has revealed God as Our Fa
ther ; proclaimed that there is no distinction in the spiritual
family, and established a real Brotherhood on earth.

II.
THE HEALING OF JAIRUS'S DAUGHTER.
"And when Jesus came into the ruler's house, and saw the minstrels and
the people making a noise, he said unto them, Give place : for the maid is
not, dead,, but sleepeth. , And they- laughed him to scorn. But when the
people were put forth, he went in, and took her by the hand, and the maid
arose." — Matt. ix. 23-25.
This is one of a pair of miracles, the full instruction from
neither of Avhich can be gained, unless taken in connection
with the other.

258 The Healing of Jairus's Daughter.
On His way to heal the daughter of Jairus, the Son of Man
Avas accosted by another sufferer, afflicted tAvelve years with
an issue of blood. Humanly speaking, there were many causes
which might have led to the rejection of her request. The
case of Jairus's daughter Avas urgent ; a matter of life and
death; delay might be fatal; a feAV minutes might make all the
difference between living and dying. Yet Jesus not only per
formed the miracle, but refused to perform it in a hurried
way ; paused to converse— to inquire who had touched Him —
to perfect the lesson of the whole. On his way to perform one
act of love, He turned aside to give His attention to another.
The practical lesson is this: There are many who are 60
occupied by one set of duties as to have no time for others :
someAvhose life-business is the suppression ofthe slave-trade
— the amelioration ofthe state of prisons — the reformation
of public abuses. , Right, except so far as they are monopo
lized by these, and feel themselves discharged from other ob
ligations. The minister's work is spiritual; the physician's
temporal. But if the former neglect physical needs, or the
latter shrink from spiritual opportunities on the plea that the
cure, of bodies, not of souls, is his work, so far they refuse to
imitate their Master.
He had un ear open, for every tone of wail, a heart ready
to respond to every species of need. Specially the Redeem
er of the soul, He was -yet as emphatically the " Saviour of
the body." He " taught the people," but he did not neglect
to multiply the loaves and fishes. The peculiar need of the
Avoman, the father's cry of anguish, the infant's cry of help
lessness, the AV"ail of oppression, and the shriek of pain, all
Avere heard by Him, and none were heard in vain.
Therein lies the difference between Christian love and the
impulse of mere inclination. We hear of men being " inter
ested" in a cause. It has some peculiar charm for them in
dividually : the wants of the heathen, or the destitution of
the soldier and sailor, or the conversion of the Jews — accord
ing to men's associations, or fancies, or peculiar bias — may
engage their attention and monopolize their sympathy. I
am far from saying these are wrong: I only say that so far
as they only interest, and -monopolize interest, the source
from Avhich they spring is only human, and not the highest.
The difference between such beneficence and that which is
the result of Christian love, is marked by partiality in one
case, universality in the other. LoA^e is universal. It is in
terested in all that is human : not merely in the concerns of
its own family, nation, sect, or circle of associations. Hu
manity is the sphere of its activity.

The Healing of Jairus's Daughter. 259
Here, too, we find the Son of Man the pattern of our hu
manity. His bosom Avas to mankind what the ocean is to
the world. The ocean has its own mighty tide ; but it re
ceives and responds to, in exact proportion, the tidal influ
ences of every estuary, and river, and small creek which
pours into its bosom. So it was in Christ; His bosom
heaved with the tides of our humanity ; but every separate
sorrow, pain, and joy gave its pulsation, and received back
influence from the sea of His being.
Looking at this matter someAvhat more closely, it will be
plain that the : delay Avas only apparent — seemingly there
Avas delay, and fatal delay : while He yet spake there came
news of the child's death. But just so far as the resurrec
tion ofthe dead is a mightier miracle than the healing ofthe
sick, just so far did the delay enhance and illustrate, instead
of dimming the glory of His mission.
But more definitely still. The miracles of Jesus Avere not
merely arbitrary acts : they Avere subject to the laAvs of the
spiritual world. It was, we may humbly say, impossible to
convey a spiritual blessing to one who Avas not spiritually
susceptible. A certain inward character, a certain relation
(rapport) to the Redeemer, was required to make the mercy
efficacious. Hence in one place we read, " He could not do
many miracles there because of their unbelief." And His
perpetual question Avas, " BelieA'est thou that I am able to
do this ?"
Now Jairus beheld this miracle. He saAV the woman's
modest touch approaching the hem of the Saviour's garment.
He saAv. the abashed look with which she shrunk from public
gaze and exposure. He heard the language of Omniscience,
" Somebody hath touched Me." He heard the great princi
ple enunciated, that the only touch. which reaches God is
that of faith. The multitude may throng and press ; but
heart to heart, soul to soul, mind to mind, only so do we
come in actual contact with God. And remembering this, it
is a matter not of probability but of certainty, that the soul
of Jairus was actually made more capable of a blessing than
before — that he must have walked with a more hopeful step
— that he must have heard the announcement, "Thy daugh
ter is dead," with less dismay — that the Avords, " Fear not,
only believe," must haA'e come to him with. deeper meaning,
and been received with more implicit trust than if Jesus had
not paused to heal the woman, but hurried on.
And this is the principle of the spiritual kingdom. In
matters worldly, the more occupations, duties, a man has, the
mdre certain is he of doing all imperfectly. In the things

260 The Healing of Jairus's Daughter.
of God this is reversed. The more duties you perform, the
more you are fitted for doing others : what you lose in time,
you gain in strength. You do not love God the less, but the
more, for loving man. You do not Aveaken your affection
for your family by cultivating attachments beyond its pale,
but deepen and intensify it. Respect for the alien, tender
ness for the heretic, do not interfere Avith, but rather
strengthen, attachment to your own country and your own
church. He who is most liberal in the case of a foreign
famine or a distant mission, will be found to have only learn
ed more liberal love towards the poor and the unspiritual-
ized of his own land : so false is the querulous complaint that
money is drained away by such calls, to the disadvantage of
more near and juster claims.
You do not injure one cause of mercy by turning aside to
listen to the call of another.
I. The uses of adversity. _
II. The principles of a miracle.
I. The simplest and most obvious use of sorrow is to re
mind of God. Jairus and the woman, like many others,
came to Christ from a sense of want. It Avould seem that a
certain shock is needed to bring us in contact with reality.
We are not conscious of our breathing till obstruction makes
it felt. We are not aware of the possession of a heart till
some disease, some sudden joy or sorrow, rouses it into extra
ordinary action. And we are not conscious of the mighty
cravings of our half Divine humanity ; we are not aware of
the God witlun us, till some chasm yawns which must be
filled, or till the rending asunder of our affections forces us to
become fearfully conscious of a need.
And this, too, is the reply to a rebellious question which our
hearts are putting perpetually : Why am I treated so ?
Why is my health or my child taken from me? What haArc
I done to deserve this ?. So Job passionately complained
that God,had set him up as a mark to empty His quiver on.
The reply is, that gifts are granted to elicit our affections ;
they are resumed to elicit them still more; for we never
know the value of a blessing till it is gone. Health, children
— we must lose them before we know the love which they
contain. However, Ave are not prepared to say that a charge might
not with some plausibility be- brought against the love of
God, were no intimation ever given that God means to re
sume His blessings. That man may fairly complain of his
adapted father who has been educated as his own son, and

The Healing of Jairus's Daughter. 261
after contracting habits of extravagance, looking forward to
a certain line of life, cultivating certain tastes, is informed
that he is only adopted : that he must part with these tem
porary advantages, and sink into a lower sphere. It would
be a poor excuse to say that all he had before Avas so much
gain, and unmerited. It is enough to reply that false hopes
Avere raised, and knowingly.
Nay, the laws of countries sanction this. After a certain
period, a title to property can not be interfered with : if a
right of way or road has existed, in the venerable language
of the law, after a custom " whereof the memory of man
runneth not to the contrary," no private right, however dig
nified, can overthrow the public claim. I do not say that a
bitter feeling might not have some show of justice if such
were the case with God's blessings.
But the truth is this : God confers His gifts Avith distinct
reminders that they are His. He gives us, for a- season,
spirits taken out of His universe; brings them into temporary
contact with us; and we call them father, mother, sister,
child, friend. But just as in some places, on one day in the
year the way or path is closed in order to remind the public
that they pass by sufferance and not by right, in order that
no lapse of time may establish "adverse possession," so does
God give warning to us. Every ache .and pain — every
wrinkle you see stamping itself on a parent's broAV — every
accident Avhich reveals the uncertain tenure of life and pos
sessions — every funeral-bell that tolls, are only God's re
minders that Ave are tenants at will and not by right : pen
sioners on the bounty of an hour. He is closing up the right
of way, warning fairly that what we have is lent, not given :
His, not ours. His mercies are so much gain. The resump
tion of them is no injustice. Job learned that, too, by heart,
"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away : blessed be '
the name ofthe Lord."
Again — observe the, misuse of sorrow. When Jesus came
to the house, He found the minstrels and people making a
noise. In the East, not content with natural grief, they use
artificial means to deepen and prolong it. Men and women
make it a separate profession to act as mourners, to exhibit
for hire the customary symbols and wail of grief, partly to »
soothe and partly to rivet sorrow deeply, by the expression
of it.
The South and North differ greatly from each other in
this respect. The nations of the North restrain their grief —
affect the tearless eyes and the stern look. -The expressive
South, and all the nations Avhose origin is from thence, are

262 The Healing of Jairus's Daughter.
demonstrative in grief. They beat their breasts, tear their
hair, throw dust upon their heads. It would be 'unwise
were either to blame or ridicule the other so long as each is
true to Nature. Unwise for the nations of the South to
deny the reality of the grief which is repressed and silent ;
unjust in the denizen of the North were he to scorn the
violence of Southern grief, or call its uncontrollable demon
strations unmanly. Much must be allowed for tempera
ment: These two opposite tendencies, hoAvever, indicate the two
extremes into which men may fall in this: matter of sorroAA'.
There are tAvo ways in which we may defeat the purposes of
God in grief — by forgetting it, or by over-indulging it.
The world's way is to forget. It prescribes gayety as the
remedy for woe ; banishes all objects which recall the past ;
makes it the etiquette of feeling, even amongst near relations,
to abstain from the mention of the names' of the lost ; gets
rid of the mourning weeds as soon as possible — the worst of
all remedies for grief. Sorrow, the discipline ofthe Cross, is
the school for all that is highest in us. Self-knoAvledge, true
poAver, all that dignifies humanity, are precluded the moment
you try to merely banish grief. It is a touching truth that
the Saviour refused the anodyne on the cross that would
have deadened pain. He would not steep his senses in ob
livion. He would not suffer one drop to trickle doAvn the
side of His Father's cup of anguish untasted.
The other way is to nurse sorrow : nay, even our best af
fections may tempt us to this. It seems treason to those we
have loved tft be happy now. We sit beneath the cypress ;
we school ourselves to gloom. Romance magnifies the fidel
ity ofthe broken heart : Ave refuse to be comforted.
Now, generally speaking, all this must be done by effort.
For God has so constituted both our hearts and the world,
that it is hard to prolong grief beyond a time. Say Avhat
we will, the heart has in it a surprising, nay, a startling
elasticity. It can not sustain unalterable melancholy ; and
beside our very pathway plants grow, healing and full of
balm. It is a sullen heart that can withstand the slow but
sure influences ofthe morning sun, the summer sky, the. trees
and flowers, and the soothing poAver of human sympathy.
We are meant to sorrow, "but not as those .without
hope." The rule seems to consist in being simply natural.
The. great thing which Christ did was to call men back to
simplicity and nature — not to perverted, but original nature.
He counted it no derogation of His manhood to be seen to
weep ; he thought it no shame to mingle with merry crowds ;

The Healing of Jairus's Daughter. 263
He opened His heart wide to all the genial and all the mourn
ful impressions of this manifold life of ours. And this is
what we have to do ; be natural. Let God, that is, let the
influences of God, freely play unthwarted upon the soul.
Let there be no unnatural repression, no control of feeling
by mere effort. Let there be no artificial and prolonged
grief, no "minstrels making a noise." Let great Nature
have her way ; or, rather, feel that you are in a Father's
Avorld, and live in it with Him, frankly, in a free, fearless,
childlike, and natural spirit. Then grief will do its Avork
healthily. The heart will bleed, and stanch Avhen it has bled
enough. Do not stop the bleeding ; but, also, do not open
the wound afresh.
II. We come to the principles on Avhich a miracle rests.
1. I observe that the perception of it Avas confined to a
few. Peter, James, John, and the parents of the child were
the only persons present. The rest were excluded. To
behold wonders, certain inward qualifications, a certain state
of heart, a certain susceptibility are required. Those who
were shut out were rendered incapable by disqualifications.
Absence of spiritual susceptibility in the ease of those who
" laughed Him to scorn " — unbelief, in those who came with
courteous skepticism, saying, " Trouble not the Master ;" in
other Avords, He is not master Of impossibilities— unreality
in the professional mourners— the most helpless of all dis
qualifications. Their whole life was acting : they had caught
the tone of condolence and sympathy as a trick. Before
minds such as these the wonders of creation may be spread
in vain. Grief and joy alike are poAverless to break through
the crust of artificial semblance which envelops them. Such
beings see no miracles. They gaze on all with dead, dim
eyes— wrapped in conventionalisms, their life a drama in
Avhich they are" but actors, modulating their tones and simu
lating feelings according to a received standard. Hoav can
such be ever Avitnesses of the supernatural, or enter into the
presence' of the wonderful ?
Two classes alone were admitted. They who, like Peter,
James, and John, lived the life of courage, moral purity, and
love, and they who, like the parents, had had the film re
moved from their eyes by grief. : For there is a way which
God has,- of forcing the . spiritual upon ; men's attention.
When you shut down the lid upon the coffin of a child,, or
one as: dearly, loved, there is an awful Avant, a horrible, sense
of insecurity, which sweeps away the glittering mist of time
from the edge of the abyss, and you gaze on the phantom

264 The Healing of Jairus's Daughter.
Avonders of the unseen. Yes, real anguish qualifies for an
entrance into the solemn chamber where all is miracle.
In another way, and for. another reason, the numbers of
those Avho witness a miracle must be limited. Jairus had
his daughter restored to life : the woman was miraculously
healed. But if every anxious parent and every sick sufferer
could have the wonder repeated in his or her case, the won
der itself would cease. This is the preposterousness of the
skeptic's demand — Let me see a miracle, on an appointed day
and hour, and I will believe. Let us examine this.-
A miracle is commonly defined to be a contravention of
the laws of, nature. More properly speaking, it is only a
higher operation of those same laws in a form hitherto un
seen. A miracle is perhaps no more a suspension or contra
diction of the laws of nature than a hurricane or a thunder
storm. They who first travelled to tropical latitudes came
back with anecdotes of supernatural convulsions of the ele
ments. In truth, it was only that they had never personally
witnessed such<effects ; but the hurricane Avhich swept the
waves flat, and the lightning which illuminated all the heav
en, or played upon the bayonets or masts in lambent flames,
were but effects of the very same laws of electricity and me
teorology which were in operation at home.
A miracle is perhaps no more in contravention of the laws
of the universe, than the direct interposition of a whole na
tion in cases of emergency to uphold what is right in oppo
sition to what is established, is an opposition to the laws of
the realm. For instance, the whole people of Israel reversed
the unjust decree of Saul which had sentenced Jonathan to
death. Burlaw is the expression only of a people's will.
Ordinarily we see that expression mediately made through
judges, office-bearers, kings : and so long as we see it in this
mediate form, we' are by habit satisfied that all is legal.
There are cases, however, in which, not an indirect, but a
direct expression of a nation's will is demanded. Extraordi
nary cases: and because extraordinary, they who can only
see what is legal in what is customary, conventional, and in
the routine of written precedents, get bewildered, and reck
on the anomalous act illegal or rebellious. In reality, it is
only the source of earthly law, the nation, pronouncing the
law without the intervention of the subordinate agents.
This will help us to understand the nature of q, miracle.
What we call laws are simply the subordinate expressions of
a will. There must be a Avill before there can be a law.
Certain -antecedents are followed by certain' consequents.
When Ave see this succession, we are satisfied, and call it nat-

The Healing of Jairus's Daughter. 265
ural. But there are emergencies in which it may be neces
sary for the will to assert itself, and become not the mediate,
but the immediate antecedent to the consequent. No sub
ordinate agent interposes ; simply the first cause comes in
contact Avith a result. The audible expression of will is fol
lowed immediately by something which is generally pre
ceded by' some lower antecedent which we call a cause. In
this case, you will observe, there has been no contravention
of the laws of nature, there has only been an immediate
connection between the first cause and the last result. A
miracle is the manifestation to man of the voluntariness of
power. Now, bearing this in mind, let it be supposed that every
one had a right to demand a miracle — that the occurrence
of miracles was unlimited — that as often as you had an ache,
or trembled for the loss of a relation, you had but to pray,
and receive your wish.
Clearly in this case, first of all, the constitution of the uni
verse would be reversed. The will of man Avould be substi
tuted for the will of God. Caprice and chance would regu
late all : God Avould be dethroned ; God Avould be degraded
to the rank of one of those beings of supernatural power with
- whom Eastern romance abounds, Avho are subordinated by a
spell to the Avill of a mortal, who is armed Avith their powers
and uses them as vassals' ; God would be merely the genius
Avho Avould be chained by the spell of prayer to obey the be
hests: of man. Man would arm himself Avith the powers of
Deity, and God Avould be his slave.
Further still : This unlimited extension of miracles would
annihilate miracles themselves. For suppose that miracles
were universal— that prayer was directly followed by a re
ply — that we could all heal the sick and raise the dead — this
then Avould become the common order of things. It would
be what we now call nature. It would cease to be extraor
dinary, and the infidel would be as unsatisfied as ever. He
would see only the antecedent, prayer, and the invariable
consequent, a reply to prayer ; exactly Avhat he sees now in
the process of causation. And then, just as iioav, he would
say, What more do you want? These are Jthe laws of the
universe : Why interpose the complex and cumbrous ma
chinery of a God, the awkward hypothesis of a will, to ac
count for laws ?
Miracles, then, are necessarily limited. The non-limita
tion of miracles Avould annihilate the miraculous.
Lastly ; it is the intention of a miracle to manifest the Di
vine in the common and ordinary. 12

266 The Healing of Jairus's Daughter.
For instance, in a boat on the Sea of Tiberias the Redeem
er rose and rebuked the storm. Was that miracle merely a
proof of His divine mission ? Are we merely to gather from
it that then and there on a certain day, in a certain obscure
corner of the world, Divine power was at work ? It is con
ceivable that a man might credit that miracle — that he
might be exceedingly indignant with the rationalist who re
solves it into a natural phenomenon — and it is conceivable
that that very man might tremble in a storm. To what
purpose is that miracle announced to him ? He believes in
God existing in the past, but not in the present ; he believes
in a Divine presence in the supernatural, but discredits it in
the natural ; he recognizes God in the marvellous, but does
not feel Him in the wonderful of every day : but unless it
has taught him that the waves and winds now are in the
hollow of the hand of God, the miracle has lost its mean
ing. * Here again, as in many other cases, Christ healed sickness
and raised the dead to life. Are we merely to insert this
among the " Evidences of Christianity," and then, with law
yer-like sagacity, having laid down the rules of evidence,
say to the infidel, " Behold our credentials ; we call upon
you to believe our Christianity ?" This were a poor reason
to account for the putting forth of Almighty Power. More
truly and more deeply, these miracles were vivid manifesta
tions to the senses that Christ is the Saviour of the body —
that now, as then, the issues of life and death are in His
hands — that our daily existence is a perpetual miracle. The
extraordinary was simply a manifestation of God's power in
the ordinary.* Nay, the ordinary marvels are greater than
the extraordinary, for these are subordinate to them ; mere
ly indications and handmaids guiding us to. perceive and
recognize a constant Presence, and reminding us that in
everyday existence the miraculous and the Godlike rule us.

Baptism. 267

m.
BAPTISM.
"For ye are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus. For as
many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ. . There
is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male
nor female : for ye are all one in Christ Jesus. And if ye be Christ's, then
are ye Abraham's seed, and heirs according to the promise." — Gal. iii. 26-29.
Whekevek opposite vieVs are held with warmth by re
ligious-minded men, we may take for granted that there is
some higher truth which embraces both. All high truth is
the union of two contradictories. Thus predestination and
free-will are opposites : and the truth does not lie between
these two, but in a higher reconciling truth which leaves
both true. So with the opposing views of baptism. Men of
equal spirituality are ready to sacrifice all to assert, or to
deny, the doctrine of baptismal regeneration. And the truth,
I believe,'will be found, not in some middle, moderate, timid
doctrine which skillfully avoids extremes, but'in a truth
larger than either of these opposite views, which is the basis
of ..both, and which really is that for which each party tena
ciously clings to its OAvn view as to a matter of life and
death. The present occasion* only requires us to examine three
views. I. That of Rome.
II. That of modern Calvinism.
in. That of (as I believe) Scripture and the Church of Eng
land. I. The doctrine of Rome respecting baptism. We. will
take her own authorities.
1. "If any one say that the sin of Adam . .... is taken
away, either by the powers of human nature or by any other
remedy than the merit of the One Mediator, our Lord Jesus
Christ, . . . . or denies that the merit of Jesus Christ, duly
conferred by the sacrament of baptism in the church form, is
applied to adults as well as to children — let him be accursed."
— Sess. v. 4.
"If any one deny that the, imputation of original sin is re-
* The recent decision on the Gorham case"- of the Privy Council.

268 Baptism.
mitted by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, which is con
ferred in baptism, or even asserts that the whole of that
which has the true and proper character of sin, is not taken
away, but only not imputed — let him be accursed." — Sess.
v. 5.
" If any one say that grace is not given by sacraments of
this kind ahvays and to all, so far as God's part is concerned,
but only at times, and to some, although they be duly re
ceived — let him be accursed."
" If any one say that by the sacraments of the New Cove
nant themselves, grace is not conferred by the efficacy of the
rite (opus operatum), but that faith alone is sufficient for ob
taining grace — let him be accursed." ,
" If any one say that in three sacraments, i. c, baptism, con
firmation, and orders, a character is not impressed upon the
soul, i. e., a certain spiritual and indelible mark (for which
reason they can not be repeated) — let him be accursed." —
Sess. vii. cap. 1-9.
"By baptism, putting on Christ, we are made a new crea
tion in" Him, obtaining plenary. and entire remission of all
sins." It is scarcely possible to misrepresent the doctrine so plain
ly propounded. Christ's merits are instrumentally applied,
by baptism; original sin is removed by a change of nature ;
a new character is imparted to the soul ; ii germinal principle
or seed of life is miraculously given ; and all this in virtue not
of any condition in the recipient, nor of any condition at all
except that of the due performance ofthe rite.
This view is hlld, with varieties and modifications of many
kinds, by an increasingly large number of the members of
the Church of Fngland ; but we do not concern ourselves
Avith these timid modifications, Avhich painfully attempt to
draAv some subtle hair's-breadth distinction between them
selves and the above doctrine. The true, honest, and only
honest representation of this view is that put forward undis-
guisedly by Rome.
When it is objected to the Romanist that there is no evi
dence in the' life of the baptized child different from that.
given by the unbaptized sufficient to make credible a change
so enormous," he replies, as in the case ofthe other sacrament,
The miracle is invisible. You can not see the bread and wine
become flesh and blood; but the flesh and blood are there,
Avhether you see them or not. You can not see the effects.
of regeneration, but they are there, hidden, whether visible
to you or not. In other words, Christ has declared that it is
Avith every one born of the Spirit as with the wind, "Thou

Baptism. 269
hearest the sound thereof." But the Romanist distinctly
holds that you can not hear the sound — that the wind hath
blown, but there is no sound — that the Spirit hath descended,
and there are no. fruits Avhereby the tree is known.
In examining this view, at the outset we deprecate those
vituperative and ferocious expressions which are used so
commonly against the Church of Rome — unbecoming in pri
vate conversation, disgraceful on the platform, they are still
-more unpardonable in the pulpit. I am not advocating that
feeble softness of mind which can not speak strongly because
it can not feel strongly. I know the value, and in their
place, the need of strong Avords. I know that the Redeemer
used them: stronger and keener never fell from the lips of
man. I am aware that our Reformers used coarse and ve
hement language; but we do not imbibe the Reformers'
spirit by the mere adoption of the Reformers' . language ;
nay, paradoxical as it may seem, the use of their language
even proves a degeneracy from their spirit. ..You will find
harsh and gross expressions enough, in the Homilies, but re
member that when they spoke thus, Rome was in the as
cendency. She had the power of fire and sword ; and the
men who spoke so were candidates for martyrdom, by the
expressions that they used. Every one might be called
upon by fire' and steel to prove the quality of what was in
him, and account for the high pretension of his words. I
grant the grossness. But when they spoke of the harlotries
of Rome,, and spoke of her adulteries, and fornications, and
lies which she had put in full cup to the lip of nations, it was
the sublime defiance of free-hearted men against oppression
in high places, and falsehood dominant. But now, when
Rome is no longer dominant, and the only persecutions that
Ave hear of are the petty persecutions of Protestants among
themselves, to use language such as this is not the spirit of a
daring Reformer, but only the. pusillanimous shriek of a cru
el cowardice which keeps down the enemy Avhose rising it is
afraid of.
We will do justice to this doctrine of Rome. It has this
merit at least, that it recogijizes the character of a church :
it admits it to be a society, and not an association. An as
sociation, is an arbitrary union. Men form associations for
temporary reasons ; and, arbitrarily made, they can be arbi
trarily dissolved. Society, on the contrary, is made, not by
will,- but facts. Brotherhood, sonship, families, nations are
nature's work : real facts. Rome acknowledges this. It per
mits no arbitrary drawing of the lines of that which calls it
self the Church. A large, broad, mighty field : the Christian

270 Baptism.
world: all baptized: nay, expressly, even those who are
baptized by heretics. It shares the spirit, instead of mo
nopolizing it.
Practically, therefore, in the matter of education, we should
teach children on the basis on which Rome Avorks. We say
as Rome says, You are the child of God : baptism declares
you such. Rome says as Paul says, " As many of you as are
baptized into Christ have put on Christ."
Consequently, we distinguish between this doctrine as
held by spiritual and as held -by unspiritual men. Spiritu
ality often neutralizes error in vieAVS. Men are often better
than their creeds. The Calvinist ought to be an Antinomi-
au — he is not. So, in holy-minded men, this doctrine of bap
tismal regeneration loses its perniciousness— nay, even be
comes, in erroneous form, a precious, blessed truth.
It is quite another thing, however, held by unspiritual
men. Our objections to this doctrine are,
1. Because it assumes baptism to be not the testimony to
a fact, but the fact itself. Baptism proclaims the child of
God.-- The Romanist says it creates him. Then and there a
mysterious change takes place, inward, spiritual, effected by
an external rite. This makes baptism not a sacrament, but
an event.
2. Because it is materialism of the grossest kind. * The or
der of Christian life is from within to that which is without
— from the ' spiritual truth to the material expression of it.
The Roman order is from the outward to the creation of the
inward. This is magic. The Jewish Cabalists believed that
the pronunciation^of certain magical words engraved on the
Seal of Solomon would perform marvels. The whole Eastern
Avorld fancied that such spells could transform one being
into another — a brute into a man, or a man into a brute.
Books containing such trash were burnt at Ephesus in the
dawn of Christianity. But here, in the midday of Chris
tianity, we have belief in such spells,'given, it is true that it
is said, by God, whereby the demoniacal nature can be exor
cised, the Divine implanted in its stead, and the evil heart
transformed unconsciously into a pure Spirit.
Now this is degrading God. Observe the results: A child
is to be baptized on a given day; but when that: day ar
rives the child is unwell, and the ceremony must be post-
' poned another week or month. Again a delay takes place
— the day is damp or cold. At last the time arrives ; the
service is read ; it may require, if read slowly, five minutes
more than ordinarily. Then and there, when that reading is
slowly accomplished, the mystery is achieved. And all this

Baptism. 2 7 1
time, while the child is ill, while the weather is bad, while
the reader procrastinates — I say it solemnly — the Eternal
Spirit who rules this universe must wait patiently, and come
down, obedient to a mortal's spell, at the very second that it
suits his convenience. God must wait attendance on the ca
price of a careless parent, ten thousand accidents, nay, the
leisure of an indolent or an immoral priest. Will you dare
insult the Majesty on high by. such a mockery as this result ?
3. We object, because this view makes Christian life a
struggle for something that is lost, instead of a progress to
something that lies before. Let no one fancy that Rome's
doctrine on this matter makes salvation an easy thing. The
Spirit of God is given — the germ is implanted ; but it may
be crushed, injured, destroyed. And her doctrine is, that
venial sins after baptism are removed by absolutions and at
tendance on the ordinances : whereas for mortal sins there is
— not no hope — but no certainty ever after until the judg
ment-day. Vicious men may make light of such teaching,
and get periodic peace, from absolution, to go and sin again ;
but to a spiritual Romanist this doctrine is no encourage
ment for laxity. Now observe, after sin life becomes the ef
fort to get back to where you were years ago. It is the sad
longing glance at the Eden from which you have been ex
pelled, which is guarded now by a fiery sword in this world
forever. And, therefore, whoever is familiar with the writ
ings of some of the earliest leaders of the present movement
Romeward, writings that rank among the most touching and
beautiful of English compositions, will remember the marked
tone of sadness which pervades them— their high, sad long
ings after the baptismal purity that is gone — their mournful
contemplations of a soul that once glistened with baptismal
deAV, now " seamed and scarred " with the indelible marks of
sin. The true Christian life is ever onward, full of trust and
hope : a life wherein even past sin is no bar to saintliness,
bnt the step by which you ascend to higher vantage-ground
of holiness. The " indelible grace of baptism," how can it
teach that ?
II. The second view is that held by Avhat we, for the sake
of ay.oiding personalities, call modern Calvinism. It draws
a distinction between the visible and the invisible Church.
It holds that baptism admits all into the former, but into the
latter only a special feAV. Baptismal regeneration as applied
to the first, is merely a change of state — though what is
meant by a change of state it were hard to say, or to deter-

272 Baptism.
mine wherein an unbaptized person admitted to all the
ordinances would differ in state from a person baptized.
The real benefit of baptism, however, only belongs to the
elect. With respect to others, to predicate of them regen
eration in the highest sense, is at best an ecclesiastical fic
tion, said " in the judgment of charity."
This view maintains that you are not God's child until
you' become such consciously. Not until evidence of a re
generate life is given — not until signs of a converted soul
are shown, is it right to speak of being God's child, except
in this judgment of charity. Noav we remark,
1. This judgment of charity ends at the baptismal font.
It is never heard of in after-life. It is like the charitable
judgment of the English law, Avhich presumes, or is said to
presume, a man innocent till proved guilty : valuable enough
as a legal fiction; nevertheless, it does not prevent a man
barring his windows, guarding his purse, keenly watching
against the dealings of those around him who are presumed
innocent. Similarly, the so-called "judgment of charity"
terminates with infancy. They who speak of the Church's
language, in which children are called children of God, as
being quite right, but only in "the judgment of charity,"
are exactly the persons who do not in after-life charitably
presume that all their neighbors are Christians. " He is not
a Christian." " She is one Of the world," or " one of the
unregenerate." Such is the language applied to those who
are in baptism reckoned children of God. They could not
consistently apply to all adults the language applied in this
text: "As many^pf you as have been baptized into Christ,
have put on Christ. Ye are all the children of God by faith
in Christ Jesus."
2. Next, I observe that this view is identical with the
Roman one in this respect, that it creates the fact instead of
testifying to it. Only, instead of baptism, it substitutes
certain views, feelings, and impressions, and asserts that
these make the man into a child of God. The Romanist says
baptism, the Calvinist says faith, makes that true which was
not true before. It is not a fact that God is that person's
Father till in the one case baptism, in the other faith, have
made him such.
3. Observe the pernicious results of this teaching in the
matter of education. Here, again, I draw the distinction
between the practical consequences which legitimately ought
to be, and those which actually are deduced from it. Hap
pily men are better than their views. Hear the man speak
ing out of his theological system, and then hear him speak-

Baptism. 273
ing out of the abundance of his heart. Hear the religious
mother when the system is in view, and all are indiscrimi
nately, except a certain feAv, corrupt, vile, with nothing good
in them, heirs of ruin. But hear her talk unguardedly of
her own children. They have the frailties, weaknesses,
common faults of childhood; but they have no vice in them :
there is nothing base or degraded in her children ! When
.t'.ie embraces of her child are round her neck, it will require
more eloquence than you possess to convince her that she is
nursing a little demon in her lap. The heart of the mother
is more than a match for the creed of the Calvinist.
There are some, however, Avho do not shrink from con
sistency, and develop their doctrine in all its consequences.
The children follow out their instructions with fearful fidelity.
Taught that they are not the children of God till certain
feelings have been developed in them, they become by de
grees bewildered, or else lose their footing on reality. They
hear of certain mystic joys and sorrows ; and unless they
fictitiously adopt the language they hear, they are painfully
conscious that they knoAV nothing of them as yet. They
hear of a depression for sin Avhich they certainly have never
experienced — a joy in God,' making His service and His
house the gate of heaven ; and they know that it is excess
ively irksome to them — a confidence, trust, and assurance
of which they know nothing — till they take for granted
Avhat has been told them, that they are not God's children.
Taught that they are as yet of the world, they, live as the
Avorld ; they carry out their education, which has dealt Avith
them as children of the devil, to be converted ; and children
of the devil they become.
Of these tAvo views, the last is by far the most certain to
undermine Christianity in every Protestant country. The
first- at least assumes God's badge to be an universal one,
and in education is so far right, practically: only Avrong in
the decision of the "question how the child Avas created a
child of God. But the second assumes a false, partial, party
badge; — election, views, feelings. No wonder that the chil
dren Of such religionists proverbially turn out ill.
III. We pass to the doctrine of the Bible and (I believe)
of the Church of England.
Christ came to reveal a name— the Father. He abolished
the exclusive " my," and He taught us to pray, '' our Father."
"He proclaimed God the Father — man the Son : revealed that
the' Son of Man is also the Son of God. Man, as man, God's
child. He came to redeem the Avorld from that ignorance
12*

274 Baptism.
of the relationship which had left them in heart aliens and
unregenerate. Human nature, therefore, became, viewed in
Christ, a holy thing and divine. The revelation is a com
mon humanity^ sanctified in God. The appearance of the
Son of God is the sanctification of the human race.
The development of this startled men. Sons of God !
Yes; ye Jews have monopolized it too long. Is that Samar
itan, heretic and alien, a child of God ? Yes. The Samar
itan, but not these outcasts of society ? Yes, these outcasts
of society. He went into the publican's house and proclaim
ed that " he too was a son of Abraham." He suffered the
sinful penitent to flood His feet with tears. He saw there
the Eternal Light unquenched — the eye, long dimmed and
darkened, which yet still could read the Eternal Mind. She,
too, is God's erring, but forgiven, beloved, and " much-loving "
child. One step farther. He will not dare to say — the Gen
tiles ? — the Gentiles who bow doAvn to stocks and stones ?
Yes, the Gentiles too. He spake to them a parable. He
told of a younger son who had lived long away from his
father's home. But his forgetfulness of his father could not
abrogate the fact of his being his son, and as soon as he rec
ognized the relationship, all the blessings of it were his own.
Now this is the revelation. Man is God's child, and the
sin of the man consists in perpetually Jiving as if it were
false. It is the sin of the heathen, and what is your mission
to him but to tell him that he is God's child, and not living
up to his privilege ? It is the sin of the baptized Christian —
waiting for feelings for a claim on God. It was the false life
Avhich the Jews h9d led : precisely this, that they Were liv
ing coerced by law. Christ had come to redeem them from
the law, that they might receive the adoption of sons. But
they were sons already, if they only knew it. "Because ye
are sons, God hath sent forth the Spirit of His Son into' your
hearts, whereby ye cry Abba, Father." To be a son of God
is one thing ; to know that you are, and call Him Father, is
another — and that is regeneration.
Now there was wanted a permanent and authoritative
pledge, revealing and confirming this : for, to mankind in
the mass, invisible truths become real only when they have
been made visible. All spiritual facts must have an existence
in form for the human mind to rest on. This pledge is bap
tism. Baptism is a visible witness to the world of that
which the world is forever forgetting. A common humanity
united in God. Baptism authoritatively reveals and pledges
to the individual that which is true of the race. Baptism
takes the child and addresses it by name : Paul — no longer

Baptism. 275
Saul — you are a child of God. Remember it henceforth.
It is now revealed to you, and recognized by you ; and to
recognize God as the Father is to be regenerate. You, Paul,
are now regenerate ; you will have foes to fight — the world,
the flesh, and the devil : but remember, they only keep you
out of an inheritance which is your own — not an inheritance
Avhich ,you have to win by some new feeling or merit in
yourself. It is yours ; you are the child of God — you are
a member of Christ — you are an inheritor of the kingdom of
heaven. Observe then — baptism does not create a child of God. It
authoritatively declares him so. It does not make the fact,
it only reveals it. If baptism made it a fact then and there
for the first time, baptism would be magic. Nay, faith does
not create a child of God anymore than baptism, nor does
it make a fact. It only appropriates that which is a fact al
ready. For otherwise see what inextricable confusion you
fall into. You ask a man to believe, and thereby be created
a child of God. Believe what — that God is his Father ?
But God is not his Father. He is not a child of God, you
say, till he believes. Then you ask him to believe a lie.
Herein lies the error, in basis identical, of the Romanist
and the Calvinist. Faith is to one what baptism is to the
other, the creator of a fact ; whereas they both rest upon a
fact, which is a fact whether they exist or not — before they
exist ; nay, without whose preAdous existence both of them
are unmeaning and false.
The Catechism, however, says : In baptism .... I was
made a child of God. Yes, coronation makes a sovereign ;
but, paradoxical as it may seem, it can only make one a
sovereign who is a sovereign already. Crown a pretender,
that coronation will not create the king. Coronation is the
authoritative act of the nation declaring a fact which was
fact before. And ever after coronation is the event to which
all dates back, and the crown is the expression used for all
royal acts : the croAvn pardons, the prerogatives of the
crown, etc.
Similarly with baptism. <. Baptism makes a child of God in
the sense in which coronation makes a king. And baptism
naturally stands in Scripture for the title of regeneration and
the moment of it. Only what coronation is in an earthly Avay,
an authoritative manifestation of an invisible earthly truth,
baptism is in a heavenly way: God's authoritative declara
tion in material form of a spiritual reality. In other words,
no bare sign, but a Divine sacrament.
Now for the blessings of this vieAv.

276 Baptism,
1. It prevents exclusiveness and spiritual pride, and all
condemnation and contempt of others ; for it admits those
who have no. spiritual capacity or consciousness to be God's*1
children. It proclaims a kingdom, not for a few favorites,
but for mankind. It protests against the idea that sonship
depends on feelings. It asserts it as a broad, grand, uni-
Arersal, blessed fact. It bids you pray with a meaning of
added majesty in the words, Our Father.
Take care. Do not say of others that they are unregener
ate, of the Avorld. Do not make a distinction within the
Church of Christians and not-Christians. If you do, what do
you more than the Pharisees of old ? That wretched beggar
that holds his hat at the crossing of the street is God's child
as well as you, if. he only knew it. You know it — he does
not : that is the difference. But the immortal is in him too,
and the Eternal Word speaks in him. That daughter of dis
sipation Avhom you despise, spending night after night in
frivolity, she too has a Father in heaven. " My Father and
your Father, my God and your God." She has forgotten
Him, and, like the prodigal, is trying to live on the husks of
the Avorld— the empty husks Avhich will not satisfy — the de
grading husks which the swine did eat. But whether she
will or not, her baptism is valid, and proclaims a fact — which
may be, alas ! the worse for her, if she will not have it the
better. 2. This doctrine protests against the notion of our being
separate units in the Divine life. The Church of Calvinism
is merely a collection of atoms, a sand-heap piled together,
Avith no cohesion*among themselves, or a mass of steel filings
cleaving separately to a magnet, but not to each other.
Baptism proclaims a church. Humanity joined in Christ to
God. Do not say, that the separating work of baptism,
drawing a distinction between the Church and the world,
negatives this. Do not say, that because the Church is sep
arated from the world, therefore the Avorld are not God's
children. Rather that very separation proves it. You bap
tize a separate body, in order to realize that which is true of
the collective race, as in this text, " There is neither JeAv nor
Greek." In all things it is the same. If you Avould sanctify
all time, you set apart a sabbath — not to shoAv that other
days are not intended to be sacred, but for the very purpose
of making them sacred. If you Avould have a " nation of
priests," you set apart a priesthood ; not as if the priestly
functions of instruction and assisting to approach God were
exclusively in that body, but in order, by concentration, to
bring out to greater perfection the priestly character which

Baptism. 277
is shared by the Avhole, and then thereby make the whole
more truly " priests to God to offer spiritual sacrifices." In
the same way, if God would baptize humanity, He baptizes
a separate Church, in order that that Church may baptize
the race. The Church is God's ideal of humanity realized.
Lastly, This doctrine of baptism sanctifies materialism.
The Romanist Avas feeling his Avay to a great fact when he
said that there are other things of sacramental efficacy be
sides these two^-Baptism and the Supper of the Lord. The
things of earth are pledges and sacraments of things in heav
en. It is not for nothing that God has selected for His sac
raments the commonest of all acts — a meal, and the most
abundant of all materials — Avater, Think you that He
means to say that only through two channels His Spirit
streams into the soul ? Or is it not much more in unison
Avith His dealings to say that these tAvo are set apart to sig
nify to us the sacramental character of all nature ? Just as
a miracle was intended not to reveal God Avorking there, at
that death-bed and in that storm, but to call attention to His
presence in every death and every storm. Go out at this
spring season of the year ; see the mighty preparations for
life that Nature is making ; feel the swelling sense of grate
fulness, and the pervasive expanding consciousness of love
for all Being ; and then say, whether this whole form which
we call nature is not the great Sacrament of God, the rev- '
elation of His existence, and the channel of His communica
tions to the spirit ?

IV.
BAPTISM.
"The like figure whereunto " even baptism doth also now save us." — 1
Peter iii. 21.
Last Sunday we considered the subject of baptism in ref
erence to the Romish and modern Calvinistic views. The
truth seemed to lie not in a middle course between the two
extremes, but in a truth deeper than either of them. For
there are various modifications of the Romish view which
soften down its repulsive features. There are some who hold
that the guilt of original sin is pardoned, but the tendencies
of ah evil nature remain; others who attribute a milder
meaning to " regeneration," understanding by it a change of
state instead of a change of nature ; others Avho acknowledge

278 Baptism.
a certain mysterious benefit imparted by baptism, but decline
determining how much grace is given, or what the exact na
ture ofthe blessing is; others Avho acknowledge that it is in
certain cases the moment when regeneration takes place, but
hold that it is conditional, occurring sometimes, not always,
and following upon the condition of what they call " preven-
ient grace." We do not touch upon these views. They are
simply modifications of the Romish view, and as such, more
offensive than the view itself; for they contain that Avhich is
most objectionable in it, and special evils of their own besides.
We admitted the merits of the two vieAVS. We are grate
ful to the Romanist for the testimony which he bears to the
truth of the extent of Christ's salvation — for the privilege
which he gives of calling all the baptized, children of God —
for the protest which his doctrine makes against all party
monopoly of God- — for the protest against ultra-spiritualism,
in acknowledging that material things are the types and
channels of the Almighty Presence.
We are grateful to the Calvinist for his strong protest
against formalism — for his assertion of the necessity of' an in
ward change — for the distinction which he has drawn be
tween being in the state of sons, and having the nature of
sons of God.
The error in these two systems, contrary as they are, ap
peared to us to be identically one and the same — that of pre
tending to create a fact instead of witnessing to it. The Cal
vinist maintains that on a certain day and hour, under the
ministry of the Word, under the preaching of some one Avho
" proclaims the Gqspel," he was born again, and God became •
his Father ; and the Romanist declares that on a certain day,
at a certain moment by an earthly clock, by the hands of a
priest apostolically ordained, the evil nature was expelled
from him, and a new fact in the world was created — he at
tained the right of calling God his Father.
Now if baptism makes God our Father, baptism is incan
tation ; if faith makes him so, faith rests upon a falsehood.
For the Romanist does no more than the red Indian and
the black negro pretend to do — exorcise the devil, and infuse
God. The only question then becomes, Which is the. true
enchanter, and which is the impostor? for the juggler does,
by the power of imagination, often cure the sick man ; but
the mysterious effects of baptism never are visible, and never
can be tested in this world.
On the other hand, faith would rest upon a falsehood : for
if faith is to give the right of calling God a Father, how can
you believe that Avhich is not true the very moment before

Baptism. 279
belief? God is- not your Father. If you believe He is, your
belief is false.
The truth which underlies these two views, on which all
that is true in them rests, and in Avhich all that is false is ab
sorbed, is the paternityof God. This is the revelation of the
Redeemer. This is authoritatively declared by baptism, ap
propriated personally by faith, but a truth independent both
of baptism and faith — Avhich would still be true if there were
neither a baptism nor a faith in the world. They are the
witnesses of the fact — not the creators of it.
Here, however, two difficulties arise. If this be so, do we
not make light of Original Sin ? And do Ave not reduce bap
tism into a superfluous ceremony ?
Before we enter upon these questions, I must vindicate my
self from the appearance of presumption. Where the wisest
and holiest have held opposite views, it seems immodest to
speak Avith unfaltering certainty and decisive tone. Hesita
tion, guarded statements, caution, it would seem, would be
far more in place. Now, to speak decidedly, is not, necessa
rily, to speak presumptuously. • There are questions involv
ing great research, and questions relating to truths beyond
our ken, where guarded and uncertain tones are only a duty.
There are others where the decision has become conviction,
a kind of intuition, the result of years of thought, which has
been the day. to. a man's darkness, "the fountain-light of all
his seeing," which has interpreted him to himself, made all
clear where all was perplexed before, been the key to the rid
dle of truths that seemed contradictory, become part of his
very being, and for which more than once he has held him
self cheerfully prepared to sacrifice all that is commonly held
dear. With respect to convictions such as these, of course,
the arguments by Avhich they are enforced may be faulty, the
illustrations inadequate, the power of making them intelligi
ble very feeble.; nay, the views themselves may be wrong;
but to pretend to speak with hesitation and uncertainty re
specting such convictions Avould be not modesty, but affec
tation. For let. us- remember in what spirit we are to enter on this
inquiry. Not in the spirit of mere cautious orthodoxy, en
deavoring to find a safe mean between tAvo extremes— in
quiring what is the vieAV held by the sound, and judicious,
and respectable men, who were never found guilty of any en
thusiasm, and under the shelter of whose opinion we may be
secure from the charge of any thing unsound ; nor in the
spirit of the lawyer, patiently examining documents, Aveigh-
in<r evidence, and deciding Avhether upon sufficient testimony

280 Baptism.
there is such a thing as "prevenient grace" or not; norj
once more, in the spirit of superstition. The . superstitious
mother of the lower classes baptizes her child in all haste be
cause she belieyes it has a mystic influence on its health, or
because. she fancies that it confers the name without which it
would not be summoned at the day of judgment. And the
superstitious mother of the upper classes baptizes her child
too in all haste, because, though she does not precisely know
Avhat the mystic effect of baptism is, she thinks it best to be
on the safer side, lest her child should die, and its eternity
should be decided by the omission. And we go to preach to
the heathen while there are men and Avomen in our Christian
England so bewildered with systems and sermons, so pro
foundly in the dark respecting the Father of our Lord Jesus
Christ, so utterly unable to repose in eternal love and justice,
that they must guard their child from Him by a ceremony,
and have the shadow of a shade of doubt Avhether or not, for
omission of theirs, that child's Creator and Father may curse
its soul for all eternity !
We are to enter upon this question as a real one of life
and death— as men Avho feel in their bosoms sin and death,
and who want to determine no theological nicety, but this :
Whether we have a right to claim to- be sons of God or not ?
And if so, on what grounds? ,In virtue of a ceremony, or in
virtue of a certain set of feelings ?, Or in virtue of an eternal
fact — the fact of God's paternity ?
I reply to tAVO objections.
I. The apparent denial of original sin.
II. The apparent result that baptism is nothing'.
I. The text selected is a strong and distinct one. It. j>ro-
claims the value of baptism. " Baptism saves us." But it
declares that it can only be said figuratively : " The like fig
ure whereunto even baptism doth also noAv save us."
Now the first reply I make is, that in truth the Romish
view seems to make lighter of original sin than this. Me-
thinks original sin must be a trifling thing if a little water
and a few human words can do away with it. A trifling
thing if, after it is done away, there is no distinguishable dif-
ference between the baptized and unbaptized ; if the unbap
tized Quaker is just as likely to exhibit the fruits of goodness
as the baptized son of the Church of England. We have got
out of the land of reality into the domain of figments and
speculations. A fictitious guilt is done away with by a fic
titious pardon, neither the appearance nor the disappearance
being visible.

Baptism. 281
Original sin is an awful fact. It is not the guilt of an an
cestor imputed to an innocent descendant, but it is the ten
dencies of that ancestor living in his offspring and incurring
guilt. Original sin can be forgiven only so far as original
sin is removed. It is not Adam's, it is yours; and it must
cease to be yours, or else Avhat is " taking away original sin ?"
Now he who Avould deny original sin must contradict all
experience in the transmission of qualities. The very hound
transmits his peculiarities learnt by education, and the Span
ish horse his paces, taught by art, to his offspring, as a part
of their nature. If it were not so in man, there could be no
history of man as a species; — no tracing out the tendencies
of a race or nation — nothing but the unconnected repetitions
of isolated individuals and their lives. It is plain that the
first man must have exerted on his race an influence quite
peculiar— that his acts must have biased their acts. And
this bias or tendency is what we call original sin.
Now original sin is just this denial of God's paternity, re
fusing to live as His children, and saying we are not His chil
dren. To live as His child is tha true life— to live as not His
child is the false life. What was the Jews' crime ? Was it
not this : " He came unto His own, and His own received
him not :" that they were His oavO, and in act denied it, pre
ferring to the claim of spiritual relationship, the claim of
union by circumcision or hereditary descent ? What was the
crime of the Gentiles?- Was it not this: that "Avhen they
knew .God, they glorified Him not as God, neither were
thankful?" For Avhat Avere they to be thankful ? For being
His enemies? Were they not His "children, His sheep of
another fold? Was not the Avhole falsehood of their life the
worship of demons and nothings instead of Him ? Did not
the parable represent them as the younger son — a wanderer
from home, but still, a son ?
From this state Christ redeemed.. He revealed God not
as the mechanic of the universe, not the judge, but as the
Father, and as the Spirit Avho is in man, " lighting every man,"
moving in man his infinite desires and infinite affections.
This was the revelation. The reception of that revelation is
regeneration. " He came unto His own, and His OAvn received
Him not; but to as many as received Him to them gave He
poAver to become the sons of God,- even to as many as be
lieved on His name." They were His own, yet they wanted
power to become His own.
DraAV a distinction, therefore, between being the child of
God and realizing it. The fact is one thing ; the feeling of
the fact, and the life which results from that feeling, is anoth-

282 Baptism.
er. Redemption is the taking of us out of the life of false
hood into the life 01 truth and fact. " Of Hisown will begat
He us by the word of truth." But, remember, it is a truth ;
true whether you believe it or not ; true Avhether you are
baptized or not.
There are two ways in which that revelation may be ac
cepted. 1. By a public recognition called baptism. 2. By
faith. In two ways, therefore, may it be said that man is
saved. " We are saved by faith." But it is also true, figu
ratively, "Baptism saves us."
H. If baptism is only the public recognition and symbol
of a fact, is not baptism degraded and made superfluous ?
1. Baptism is given as a something to rest upon; nay, as a
something without which redemption would soon become
unreal — which converts a doctrine into a reality — -which re
alizes visibly what is invisible.
For our nature is such, that immaterial truths are unreal
to us until they are embodied in material form. Form al
most gives them reality and being. For instance, time is an
eternal fact. But time only exists to our conceptions as an
actuality by measurements of materialism. When God cre
ated the sun, and moon, and stars, to serve for " signs and for
seasons, and for days and years," He was actually, so far as
man was concerned, creating time. Our minds would be
only floating in an eternal Now, if it were not for symbolical
successions which represent the processes of thought. The
clock in the house is almost a fresh creation. It realizes.
The gliding heavngns, and the seasons, and the ticking clock —
Avhat is time to us without them ? Nothing.
God's character, again, nay, God Himself, to us would be
nothing if it were not for the creation, which is the great
symbol and. sacrament of His presence. If there were no
light, no sunshine, no sea, no national and domestic life, no
material witness of His being, God would be to us as good
as lost. The Creation gives us God : forever real in Himself,
by Creation He becomes a fact to us.
It is in virtue, again, of this necessity in man for an out
ward symbol to realize an invisible idea, that a bit of torn
and blackened rag hanging from a fortress or the taffrail of
a ship, is a kind of life to iron-hearted men. Why is it that
in the heat of battle there is one spot where the sabres flash
most rapidly, and the pistols' ring is quicker, and men and
officers close in most densely/and all are gathered round one
man, round whose body that tattered silk is wound, and held
Avith the tenacity of a death-struggle? Are they only chil-

Baptism. 283
dren fighting for a bit of rag? That flag is every thing to
them: their, regiment, their country, their honor, their life;
yet it is only a symbol ! Are symbols nothing ?
In the same way, baptism is a fact for man to, rest upon,
a doctrine realized to flesh and blood. A something in eter
nity which has no place in time brought down to such time
expressions as "then. and there."
2. Again, baptism is the token of a church : the token of
an universal church. Observe the importance of its bein"-
the sacrament of an' universal church instead ofthe symbol
of a sect. Not episcopacy, not justification by faith, nor any
party badge, but " one baptism." How blessed, on the
strength of this, to be able to say to the baptized dissenter,
You are my brother : you anathematize my church — link
Popery and Prelacy together — malign me; but the same
sign is on our broAV, and the same Father was named over
our baptism. Or to say to a baptized Romanist, You are my
brother too — in doctrinal error perhaps — in error of life it
may be too : but my brother-^our enemies the same — our
struggle the same — our hopes and warfare the very same.
Or to the very outcast, And you, my poor degraded friend,
are my brother still — sunk, oblivious of your high calling;
but still, whatever keeps you away from heaven keeps you
from your own. You may live the false life till it is too
late : but still, you only exclude yourself from your home.
Of course this is very offensive. What ! the Romanist my
brother ! the synagogue of Satan the house of God ! the
Spirit of God dwelling with the Church of Rome ! the be
liever in transubstantiation my brother, and God's child!
Yes, even so ; and it is just your forgetfulness of what bap
tism is and means, that accounts for that indignation of
yours. ' Do you remember what the elder brother in the par
able was doing ? He Avent away sulky and gloomy, because
one not half so good as himself was recognized as his father's
child. 3. Baptism is seen to be no mere superfluity when you re
member that it is an authoritative symbol. Draw the dis
tinction between an arbitrary symbol and an authoritative
one — for this difference is every thing.
I take once again the illustration of the coronation act.
Coronation places the crown on the brow of one who is sov
ereign. It does not make the fact, it witnesses it. Is cor
onation" therefore nothing? An arbitrary symbolical act
agreed on by a few friends of the sovereign would be noth
ing ; but an act which is the solemn ratification of a country
is every thing. It realizes a fact scarcely till then felt to be

284 Baptism.
real. Yet the fact was fact before — otherwise the coronation
would be invalid. Even when the third William was crown
ed, there Avas the symbol of a previous fact — the nation's de
cree that he should be king : and accordingly, ever after, all
is dated back to that. You talk of crown-prerogatives. Yon
say in your loyalty you " would bow to the crown, though it
hung upon a bush." Yet it is only a symbol ! You only
say it "in a figure." But that figure contains within it the
royalty of England. r
In a figure, the Bible speaks of baptism as you speak of
coronation, as identical with that which it proclaims. It
calls it regeneration. It says baptism saves. A "grand fig
ure, because it rests upon eternal fact. Call you that noth
ing ? - , •
We look to the Bible to corroborate this. In the Acts of
the Apostles Cornelius is baptized. On what grounds ? To
manufacture him into a child of God, or because he was the
child of God ? Did his baptism create the fact, or was the
fact prior to his baptism, and the ground on which his bap
tism was valid ? The history is this : St. Peter could not be
lieve that a Gentile could be a child of God. But miracu
lous phenomena manifested to his astonishment that this Gen
tile actually wow God's child — whereupon the argument of
Peter was very natural. He has the Spirit, therefore baptism
is superfluous. Nay, he has the Spirit, therefore give him the
symbol ofthe Spirit. Let it be revealed to others what he is.
He is heir to the inheritance, therefore give him the title-
deeds. . He is of royal lineage — put the crown upon his head.
He is a child of God — baptize him. "Who shall forbid wa
ter, seeing the^ have received the Holy Ghost as well as
Ave?" One illustration more from the marriage ceremony ; . and I
select this for two reasons : because it is the type in Scrip
ture of the union betAveen Christ and his Church, and because
the Church of Rome has called it a sacrament:
A deep truth is in that error. Rome calls it a sacrament,
because it is the authoritative symbol of an invisible fact.
That invisible fact is the agreement of two human beings to
be one. We deny it to be a sacrament, because, though it is
the symbol of an invisible fact, it is not the symbol of a spir
itual fact, nor an eternal fact : no spiritual truth, but only a
changeful human covenant.
Now observe the difference betAveen an arbitrary or con
ventional, and an authoritatiA'e ceremony of marriage-union.
There are conventional acknowledgments of that agreement,
ceremonies peculiar to certain districts, private pledges, be-

Baptism. 285
trothals. In the sight of God those ate valid ; they can not
be lightly broken without sin. You can not in the courts of
heaven distinguish between an oath to God and a word
pledged to man. He said, "Let your yea be yea, and your
nay, nay." Such an engagement can not be infringed with
out penalty — the penalty of frivolized hearts, and that habit
of changef ulness of attachment which is the worst of penal
ties. But now, additional to that, will any one say that the
marriage ceremony is superfluous — that the ring he gives his
wife is nothing ? It is every thing. It is the authoritative
ratification by a country and before God of that which be
fore was for all purposes of earth unreal. Authoritative —
therein lies the difference. Just in that authoritativeness
lies the question whether the ceremony is nothing or every
thing. And yet remember, the ceremony itself does not pretend
to create the fact. It only claims to realize the fact. It ad
mits the fact as existing previously. It bases itself upon a
fact. Forasmuch as two persons have consented together,
and forasmuch as a token and pledge of that in the shape
of a ring has been given, therefore, only therefore, the ap
pointed minister pronounces that they are Avhat betrothal
had made them already in the sight of God.
' Exactly so, the authoritativeness is the all in all which
converts baptism from a mere ceremony into a sacrament.
Baptism is not merely a conventional arrangement, exceed
ingly convenient, agreed on by men to remind themselves
and one another that they are God's children, but valid as a
legal, eternal truth, a condensed, embodied fact.
Is this making baptism nothing ? • I should rather say
baptism is every thing. Baptism saves us.
One word now practically. I address myself to any one
who is conscious of fault, sin-laden, struggling with the ter
rible question whether he has a right to claim God as his Fa
ther or not, bewildered on the one side by Romanism, on the
other by Calvinism. My brother, let not either of these rob
you of your privileges. Let not Rome' send you to the fear
ful questioning as to whether the mystic seed infused at a
certain moment by an act of man remains in you still, or
whether it has been so impaired by sin that henceforth there
is nothing but penance, tears, and uncertainty until the grave.
Let' not Calvinism send you with terrible self-inspection to
the more dreadful task of searching your own soul for the
Avarrant of your redemption, and deciding whether you have
or have not the feelings and the faith which give you a
right to be one of God's elect. Better make up your mind

286 Elijah,
at once you have not ; you have no feelings that entitle you
to. that. Take your stand upon the broader, sublimer basis
of God's paternity. , God created the world-^God redeemed
the world. Baptism proclaims separately, personally, by
name, to you — God created you, God redeemed you. Bap
tism is- your warrant, you are His child. And now, because
you are His child, live as a child of God ; be redeemed from
the life of evil, which is false to your nature, into the life of
light and goodness, which is the truth of your being. Scorn
all that is mean ; hate all that is false ; struggle with all that
is impure. Love whatsoever " things are true, whatsoever
things are just, whatsoever things are honest,- whatsoever
things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report,"
certain that God is on your side, and that whatever keeps
you from Him, keeps you from your own Father. Live the
simple, lofty life which befits an heir of immortality.

V.
ELIJAH.
"But he himself went a day's journey into the wilderneiSS, and came and
sat down under a juniper-tree: and he requested foT himself that. he might
die ; and said, It is enough ; , now, O Lord, take away my life ; for I am not
better than my fathers." — 1 Kings xix. 4.
It has been observed of the holy men of Scripture that
their most signaltfailures took place in those, points1 of char
acter for which they, were remarkable in excellence. Moses
was the meekest of men, but it was Moses who "spake un
advisedly with his lips." St. John was the apostle of chari
ty ; yet he is the very type to us of religious intolerance, in
his desire to call doAvn fire from heaA'en. St. Peter is pro
verbially the apostle of impetuous intrepidity, yet twice he
proved a craven. If there were -any thing:for which Elijah is
remarkable, we should say it was superiority to human weak
ness.- Like the Baptist, he dared to: arraign and rebuke his
sovereign :, like the commander who cuts down the bridge
behind him, leaving himself no alternative but death or, vic
tory, he taunted his adversaiies the priests of Baal, on Mount
Carmel, making them gnash their teeth and cut themselves
with knives, but at the same time insuring; for himself a. ter
rible end, in case of failure, from his exasperated foes. And
again, in his last hour, when he was on his way to a strange
and unprecedented departure from this world — when the

Elijah. 287
whirlwind and flame-chariot were ready, he asked for no hu
man companionship. The bravest men are pardoned if one
lingering feeling of human weakness clings to them at the
last, and they desire a human eye resting on them — a human
hand in theirs — a human presence with them. But Elijah
would have rejected all. In harmony with the rest of his
lonely severe character, he desired to meet his Creator
alone. Now it was this man — so stern, so iron, so independ
ent, so above all human weakness — of whom it was record
ed that in his trial-hour he gave way to a fit of petulance and
querulous despondency to which there is scarcely found a
parallel. .Religious despondency, therefore, is our subject.
L The causes of Elijah's despondency.
H God's treatment of it.
The causes of Elijah's despondency.
1. Relaxation of physical strength.
On the reception of Jezebel's message, Elijah flies for his
life — toils on the whole day — sits down under a juniper-tree,
faint, hungry, and travel-worn ; the gale of an Oriental even
ing, damp and heavy with languid sweetness, breathing on
his face. The prophet and the man give way. He longs to
die : you can not mistake the presence of causes in part
purely physical.
We are fearfully and wonderfully made. Of that consti
tution, which in our ignorance we call union of soul and body,
we know little respecting what is cause and What is effect.
We would fain believe that the mind has power over the
body, but it is just as true that the body rules the mind.
Causes apparently the most trivial : a heated room — want of
exercise — a sunless day — a northern aspect — will make all
the difference. between happiness and unhappiness, between
faith and doubt, between courage and indecision. To our
fancy there is something humiliating, in being thus at the
mercy of our animal organism. We would fain find nobler
causes for our emotions. We talk of the hiding of God's
countenance, and the fiery darts of Satan. But the picture
given here is true. The body is the channel of our noblest
emotions as well as our sublimest sorrows.
Two practical results follow.- First, instead of vilifying
the body, complaining that our nobler part, is chained down
to a base partner, it is worth recollecting that the body too
is the gift of God, in its way Divine — "the temple ofthe
Holy Ghost ;" and that to keep the body in temperance, so
berness, and.-chastity, to guard it from pernicious influence,
and to obey the laws of health, are just as much religious as

288 Elijah.
they are moral duties ; just as much obligatory on the Chris
tian as they are on a member of a Sanitary Committee.
Next, there are persons melancholy by constitution, in whom
the tendency is incurable ; you can not exorcise the phantom
of despondency. But it is something to know that it is a
phantom, and not to treat it as a reality — something taught
by Elijah's history, if we only.learn from it to be patient, and
Avait humbly the time and good pleasure of God.
2. Want of sympathy.
" I, even I only, am left." Lay the stress on only. The
loneliness of his position was shocking to Elijah. Surprising
this : for Elijah Avanted no sympathy in a far harder trial on
Mount Carmel. It Avas in a tone of triumph that he pro
claimed that he was the single, solitary prophet of the Lord,
while Baal's prophets were four hundred and fifty men.
Observe, however, the difference. There was in that case
an opposition Avhich could be grappled with : here there was
nothing against which mere manhood Avas availing. The
excitement was passed, the chivalrous look of the thing
gone. To die as a martyr, yes, that were easy, in grand fail
ure ; but to die as a felon — to be hunted, caught, taken back
to an ignominious death — flesh and blood, recoiled from that.
And Elijah began to feel that popularity is not love. The
Avorld will support you when you have constrained its votes
by a manifestation of power, and shrink from you when pow
er and greatness are no longer on your side. " I: even J
only, am left."
This trial is most distinctly realized by men of Elijah's
stamp and placed under Elijah's circumstances. It is the
penalty paid Ijy superior mental and moral qualities, that
such men must make up their minds to live without sympa
thy. Their feelings will be misunderstood, and their proj
ects uncomprehended. They must be content to live atone.
It is sad to hear such'appeal from' the present to the judg
ment ofthe future. Poor consolation! Elijah has ".been
judged at that bar. We are his posterity : our reverence
this day is the judgment of posterity on him. But to Elijah
what is that now? Elijah is "in that quiet country where
the voice of praise and the voice of blame are alike unheard.
Elijah lived and died alone; once only the bitterness of it
found expression. But what is posthumous justice to the
heart that ached then ?
What greater minds like Elijah's have felt intensely, all
we have felt in our own degree. Not one of us but what
has felt his heart aching for want of sympathy. We have
had our lonely hours, our days of disappointment, and our

Elijah. 289
moments of hopelessness — times when our highest feelings
have beeii misunderstood, and our purest met with ridicule.
Days when our heavy secret was lying unshared, like ice
upon the heart. And then the spirit gives way : we have
wished that all were over — that we could lie down tired,
and rest like the children, from life — that the hour was come
Avhen we could put down the extinguisher on the lamp, and
feel the last grand rush of darkness on the spirit.
Now, the final cause of this capacity for depression, the
reason for which it is granted us, is that it may make God
necessary. In such moments it is felt that sympathy be
yond human is needful. Alone, the world against him, Eli
jah turns to God. "It is enough: now, 0 Lord."
. 3. Want of occupation.
As long as Elijah had a prophet's work to do, severe as
that work was, all Avent on healthily; but his occupation
Avas gone. To-morrow and the day after, what has he left
on earth to do ? The misery of having nothing to do pro
ceeds from causes voluntary or involuntary in their nature.
Multitudes of our race, by circumstances over Avhich they
have no control — in single life or widowhood — in straitened
circumstances — are compelled to endure lonely days, and
still more lonely nights and evenings. They who have felt
the hours hang so heavy can comprehend part of Elijah's
sadness. This misery, however, is sometimes voluntarily incurred.
In artificial civilization certain persons exempt themselves
from the necessity of work. They eat the bread which has
been procured by the sweat of the broAV of others — they
skim the surface of the thought which has been ploughed by
the SAveat of the brain of others. They are reckoned the fa
vored ones of fortune, and envied. Are they blessed? The
law of life is, in the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat bread.
No man can evade that law with impunity. Like all God's
laws, it is its own executioner. It has strange penalties an
nexed to it : Avould you know them ? Go to the park, or the
esplanade, or the solitude after the night of dissipation, and
read the penalties of being useless, in the sad, jaded, listless-
countenances — nay, in the very trifles Avhich must be con
trived to create excitement artificially. Yet these very eyes
could, dull as they are, beam Avith intelligence : on many of
those brows is stamped the mark of possible nobility. The
fact is, that the capacity of ennui is one of the signatures of
man's immortality. It is his very greatness which makes in
action misery. If God had made us only to be insects, with
no nobler care incumbent on us than the preservation of our
13

2 90 Elijah.
lives, or the pursuit of happiness, we might be content to
flutter from sweetness to sweetness, and from bud to flower.
But if men with souls live only to eat and drink and be
amused, is it any Avonder if life be darkened Avith despond
ency? 4. Disappointment in the expectation of success.
On Carmel the great object for which Elijah had lived
seemed on the point of being realized. Baal's prophets were
slain — Jehovah acknowledged with one voice — false worship
put down. Elijah's life-aim, the transformation of Israel into
a kingdom of God, was all but accomplished. In a single
day all this bright picture was annihilated.
Man is to desire success, but success rarely comes. The
wisest has written upon life its sad epitaph — " All is vanity,"
i. e., nothingness.
The tradesman sees the noble fortune for which he lived,
every coin of which is the representative of so much time
and labor spent, squandered by a spendthrift son. The
purest statesmen find themselves at last neglected, and re
warded by defeat. Almost never can a man look back on
life and say that its anticipations have been realized. For
the most part life is disappointment, and the moments in
which this is keenly realized are moments like this of
Elijah's. II. God's treatment of it.
1. First He recruited His servant's exhausted strength.
Read the history. Miraculous meals are given — then Elijah
sleeps, wakes, and eats : on the strength of that goes forty
days' journey. #In other words, like a wise physician, God
administers food, rest, and exercise, and then, and not till
then, proceeds to expostulate ; for before, Elijah's mind was
unfit for reasoning.
Persons come to the ministers of God in seasons of de
spondency ; they -pervert with marvellous ingenuity all the
consolation Avhich is given them, turning wholesome food
into poison; Then we begin to perceive the wisdom of
God's simple homely treatment of Elijah, and discover that
there are spiritual cases Avhich are cases for the physician
rather than the divine.
2. Next Jehovah calmed his stormy mind by the healing
influences of Nature. He commanded the hurricane to
sweep the sky, and the earthquake to shake the ground.
He lighted up the heavens till they were one mass' of fire.
All this expressed and reflected Elijah's. feelings. The mode
in which Nature soothes us is by finding meeter and no-

Elijah. 291
bier utterance for our feelings than Ave can find in words —
by expressing and exalting them. In expression there is re
lief. Elijah's spirit rose with the spirit of the storm. Stern,
wild defiance — strange joy — all by turns were imaged there.
Observe, " God was not in the wind," nor in the fire, nor in
the earthquake. It was Elijah's stormy self reflected in the
moods of the tempest, and giving them their character.
Then came a calmer hour. Elijah rose in reverence — felt
tenderer sensations in his bosom. He opened his heart to
gentler influences, till at last out of the manifold voices of
Nature there seemed to speak, not the stormy passions of
the man, but the "still small voice" ofthe harmony and the
peace of God.
There are some spirits which must go through a discipline
analogous to that sustained by Elijah. The storm-struggle
must precede the still small voice. There are minds Avhich
must be convulsed with doubt before they can repose in
faith. There are hearts which must be broken with disap
pointment before they can rise into hope. There are dispo
sitions which, like Job, must have all things taken from them
before they can find all things again in God. Blessed is the
man who, when the tempest has spent its fury, recognizes his
Father's voice in its under-tone, and bares his head and bows
his knee, as Elijah did. To such spirits, generally those of a
stern rugged cast, it seems as if God had said, "In the still
sunshine and ordinary ways of life you can not meet Me, but
like Job, in the desolation of the tempest, you shall see My
form, and hear My voice, and know that your Redeemer
liveth." 3. Besides, God made him feel the earnestness of life.
What doest thou here, Elijah ? Life is for doing. A proph
et's life for nobler doing — and the prophet Avas not doing,
but moaning.
Such a voice repeats itself to all of us, rousing us from our
lethargy, or our despondency, or our protracted leisure,
" What doest thou here ?" here in this short life. There is
work to be done — evil put down — God's Church purified —
good men encouraged — doubting men directed — a country
to be saved — time going — life a dream— eternity long — one
chance, and but one forever. What doest thou here ?
Then he went on farther : "Arise, go on thy way." That
speaks to us : on thy way. Be up and doing ; fill up every
hour, leaving no crevice or craving for a remorse, or a re
pentance to creep through afterwards. Let not the mind
brood on self; save it from speculation, from those stagnant
moments in Avhich the awful teachings of the spirit grope

292 Elijah.
into the unfathomable unknown, and the heart torments it
self with 1 questions which are insoluble except to an active
life. For the awful Future becomes intelligible only in the
light of a felt and active Present. Go, return on thy way if
thou art desponding — on thy way ; health of spirit will re- '
turn. 4. He completed the cure by the assurance of victory.
" Yet have I left me seAren thousand in Israel who have not
bowed the knee to Baal." So, then, Elijah's life had been no
failure after all. Seven thousand at least in Israel had been
braced and encouraged by his example, and silently blessed
him, perhaps, for the. courage which they felt. In God's
world for those that are in earnest there is no failure. No
work truly ^done — no word earnestly spoken — no sacrifice
freely made, was ever made in vain. Never did the cup of
cold water given for Christ's sake lose its reward.
We turn naturally from this scene to a still darker hour
and more august agony. If ever failure seemed to rest on a
noble life, it was when the Son of Man, deserted by His
friends, heard the cry which proclaimed that the Pharisees
had successfully drawn the net round their Divine victim.
Yet from that very hour of defeat and death there went
forth the world's life — from that very moment of apparent
failure there proceeded forth into the ages -the spirit of the
conquering Cross. Surely if the Cross says any thing, it
says that apparent defeat is real victory, and that there is a
heaven for. those who have nobly and truly failed on earth.
Distinguish, therefore, between the real and the apparent.
Elijah's apparent success was in the shouts of Mount Carmel.
His real success Avas in the unostentatious, unsurmised obe
dience of the seven thousand who had taken his God for
their God.
This is a lesson for all : for teachers who lay their heads
doAvn at night sickening over their thankless task. Remem
ber the power of indirect influences : those which distill from
a life, not from a sudden, brilliant effort. The former never
fail, the latter often. There is good done of which we can
never predicate the when or where. Not in the flushing of
a pupil's cheek, or the glistening of an attentive eye ; not in
the shining results of an examination does your real success
lie. It lies in that invisible influence on character which He
alone can read who counted the seven thousand nameless
ones in Israel.
For ministers, again — what is ministerial success ? Crowd
ed churches — full aisles — attentive congregations — the ap
proval of the religious world — much impression produced ?

Notes on Psalm LI. 293
Elijah thought so; and when he found out his mistake, and
discovered that the applause on Carmel subsided into hide
ous stillness, his heart well-nigh broke with disappointment.
Ministerial success lies in altered lives and obedient humble
hearts : unseen Avork recognized in the judgment-day.
What is a public man's success? That which can be
measured by feast-days and the number of journals which
espouse his cause? Deeper, deeper far must he work Avho
Avorks for eternity. In the eye of that, nothing stands but
gold — real work : all else perishes.
Get below appearances, below glitter and show. Plant
your foot upon reality. Not in the jubilee of the myriads
on Carmel, but in the humble silence of the hearts of the
seven thousand, lay the proof that Elijah had not lived in
vain.

VI.
NOTES ON PSALM LI.

Written by David after a double crime : — Uriah put in the forefront of the
battle — the wife of the murdered man taken, etc.
A daekeb guilt you will scarcely find — kingly power
abused — worst passions yielded to. Yet this psalm breathes
from a spirit touched with the finest sensibilities of spiritual
feeling. Two sides of our mysterious twofold being here. Some
thing in us near to hell : something strangely near to God.
" Half beast— half devil ?" No : rather half diabolical— half
divine : half demon — half God. This man mixing with the
Avorld's sins in such sort that we shudder. But he draws
near the Majesty of God, and becomes softened, purified,
melted. It is good to observe this, that we rightly estimate : gen
erously of fallen humanity, moderately of highest saintship.
In our best estate and in our purest moments there is a
something of the devil in us which, if it could be known,
would make men shrink from us. The germs of the worst
crimes are in us all. In our deepest degradation there re
mains something sacred, undefiled, the pledge and gift of our
better nature : a germ of indestructible life, like the grains of
wheat among the cerements of a mummy surviving through
three thousand years, Avhich may be planted, and live, and
crow again.

294 Notes on Psalm LI.
It is this truth of human feeling which makes the Psalms,
more than any other portion of the Old Testament, the link
of union betAveen distant ages. The historical books need a
rich store of knowledge before they can be a modern book
of life, but the Psalms are the records, of individual experi
ence. Personal religion is the same in all ages. The deeps
of our humanity remain unruffled by the storms of ages which
change the surface. This psalm, written three thousand years
ago, might have been written yesterday : describes the vicis
situdes of spiritual life in an Englishman as truly as of a Jew.
" Not of an age, but for all time."
I. Scripture estimate of sin. *
H. Spiritual restoration.
I. Scripture estimate of sin.
1. Personal accountability. " My sin " — strange, but true.
It is hard to believe the sin we do our OAvn. One lays the
blame on circumstances ; another on those who tempted ; a
third on Adam, Satan, or his OAvn nature, as if it were not
himself. " The fathers have eaten a sour grape, and the chil
dren's teeth are set on edge."
In this psalm there is no such self-exculpation. Personal
accountability is recognized throughout. No source of evil
suggested or conceived but his own guilty will — no shifting
of responsibility — no pleading of a passionate nature, or of
royal exposure as peculiar. " I have sinned." " I acknowl
edge my transgression : my sin is ever before me."
One passage only seems at first to breathe a different tone :
" In sin did my mother conceive me." By some interpreted
as referring to hereditary sin : alleged as a proof of the doc
trine of transmitted guilt, as if David traced the cause of his
act to his maternal character.
True as the doctrine is that physical and moral qualities
are transmissible, you do not find that doctrine here. ¦¦ It is not
in excuse, but in exaggeration of his fault that David speaks.
He lays on himself the blame of a tainted nature, instead of
that of a single fault: not a murder only; but of a murderous
nature. "Conceived in sin." From his first moments up till
then, he saw sin — sin — sin : nothing but sin.
Learn the individual character of sin — its personal origin,
and personal identity. There can be no transference of it.
It is individual and incommunicable. My sin can not be
your sin, nor yours mine.
Conscience, when it is healthy, ever speaks thus: "my
transgression." It was not the guilt of them that tempted.
you — they have theirs ; but each as a separate agent, his

Notes on Psalm LI 295
own degree of guilt. ' Yours is your own ; the violation of
your own and not another's sense of duty ; solitary, awful,
unshared, adhering to you alone of all the spirits of the
universe. Perilous to refer the evil in us to any source out of and be
yond ourselves. In this Avay penitence becomes impossible :
fictitious. 2. Estimated as hateful to God. " Against thee, thee only,
have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight ; that thou
mightest be justified Avhen thou speakest, and be clear when
thou judgest." The simple judgment of the conscience. But
another estimate, born of the intellect, comes in collision with
this religion and bewilders it. Look over life, and you will
find it hard to believe that sin is against God ; that it is not
rather for Him.
Undeniable, that out of evil comes good — that evil is the
resistance in battle, with which good is created and becomes
possible. Physical evil, for exanirjle, hunger, an evil, is the
parent of industry, human works, all that man has done : it
beautifies life. The storm-fire burns up the forest, and slays
man and beast, but purifies the air of contagion. Lately,
the tragic death of eleven fishermen elicited the sympathy
and charities of thousands.
Even moral evil is also generative of good. Peter's cow
ardice enabled him to be a comforter : " when he was con
verted, to strengthen his brethren." David's crime was a
vantage-ground, from which he rose through penitence near
er to God. Through it this psalm has blessed ages. But if
the sin had not been done !
Noav, contemplating this, we begin to perceive that evil is
God's instrument. "If evil be in the city, the Lord hath
done it." Then the contemplative intellectualist looks over
this scene of things, and complacently approves of evil as
God's contrivance as much as good is — a temporary necessi
ty, worthy of His wisdom to create. And then, can He truly
hate that which He has made ? Can His agent be his enemy ?
Is it not short-sightedness to be angry with it ? Not the an
tagonist of God surely, but His creature and faithful servant
this evil. Sin can not be " against God."
Thus arises a horrible contradiction betAveen the instincts
of the conscience and the judgment of the understanding.
Judas must have been, says the intellect, God's agent as
much as Paul. " Why doth He yet find fault? ,for who had
resisted His will ? Do not evil men perform His will ? . Why
should I blame sin in another or myself, seeing it is neces
sary ? Why not say at once, crime and virtue are the same ?"

296 Notes on Psalm LI.
Thoughts such as these, at some time or another, I doubt
not haunt and perplex us all. Conscience is overborne by
the intellect. Some time during every life the impossibility
of reconciling these two verdicts is felt, and the perplexity
confuses action. Men sin with a secret peradventure behind.
" Perhaps evil is not so bad, after all — perhaps good — who
knows?" Remember, therefore, in matters practical, conscience, not
intellect, is our guide. Unsophisticated conscience ever
speaks this language of the Bible. •
We can not help believing' that our sentiments towards
right and wrong are a reflection of God's. That we call just
and true, Ave can not but think is just and true in His sight.
That which seems base and vile to us, we are compelled to
think is so to Him — and this in proportion as we act up to
duty. In that proportion we feel that His sentiments coin
cide with ours.
In such moments when the God within us speaks most per
emptorily and distinctly, we feel that the language of this
psalm is true, and that no other language expresses the truth.
Sin is not for God — can not be, but " against God." An op
position to His will, a contradiction to His nature, not a co
incidence with it. He abhors it — will banish it, and annihi
late it.
In these days, when French sentimentalism, theological
dreams, and political speculations are unsettling the old
landmarks with fearful rapidity, if we do not hold fast, and
that simply, and firmly, that first principle, that right is right,
and wrong wrong,»all our moral judgments will become con
fused, and the penitence of the noblest hearts an absurdity.
For Avhat can be more absurd than knowingly to reproach
ourselves for that which God intended ?
3. Sin estimated as separation from God. Two' views of
sin : The first reckoning it evil, because consequences of pain
are annexed ; the second evil, because a contradiction of our
own nature and God's will.
In this psalm the first is ignored ; the second, implied
throughout. " Take not thy Holy Spirit from me ;" " Have
mercy upon me," does not mean, Save me from torture.
You can not read the psalm and think so. It is not the
trembling of a craven spirit in anticipation of torture, but
the agonies of a noble one in the horror of being evil.
If the first view were true, then — if God were by an act of
will to reverse the consequences, and annex pain to goodness
and joy to crime — to lie and injure would become duty as
much as before they Avere sins. But penalties do not change

Notes on Psalm LI. 297
good into evil. Good is forever good; evil forever evil.
God Himself could not alter that by a command. Eternal
hell could not make truth wrong, nor everlasting pleasure en
noble sensuality.
Do you fancy that men like David, shuddering in sight of
evil, dreaded a material hell ? I venture to say, into true
penitence the idea of punishment never enters. If it did, it
Av ould be almost a relief; but oh ! those moments in which
a selfish act has appeared more hideous than any pain which
the fancy of a Dante could devise ! when the idea of the
strife of self-will in battle with the loving will of God pro
longed forever has painted itself to the imagination as the
real infinite hell ! when self-concentration and the extinc
tion of love in the soul has been felt as the real damnation of
the devil-nature !
Aud recollect how sparingly Christianity appeals to the
prudential motives. Use them it does, because they are mo
tives, but rarely. Retribution is a truth ; and Christianity,
true to nature, warns of retribution. But, except to rouse
men sunk in forgetfulness, or faltering with truth, it almost
never appeals to it : and neATer, with the hope of eliciting
from such motives as the hope of heaven or the fear of hell,
high goodness.
¦ To do good for reward, the Son of Man declares to be the
sinner's religion. " If ye lend to them who lend to you, Avhat
thank have ye?" and He distinctly proclaims that alone to
be spiritually good, " the righteousness of God," Avhich " does
good, hoping for nothing in return ;" adding, as the only
motive, " that ye may be the children of (i. e., resemble) your
"Father which is in heaven : for He maketh His sun to shine
on the evil and the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on
the unjust."
H Restoration.
First step, sacrifice of a broken spirit.
Observe the accurate and even Christian perception of the
real meaning of sacrifice by the ancient spiritually-minded
JeAvs. Sacrifice has its origin in two feelings : one human, one .di.
vine or inspired.
True feeling : something to be given to God : surrendered :
that God must be Avorshipped with our best.
Human : added to this, mixed up with it, is the' fancy that
this sacrifice pleases God because ofthe loss or pain which it
inflicts. Then men attribute to God their own revengeful
feelings ; think that the philosophy of sacrifice consists in the
13*

298 Notes on Psalm LI.
necessity of punishing : call it justice to let the Woav fall
someAvhere — no matter where: blood must flow. Hence
heathen sacrifices were offered to appease the Deity, to buy
off His wrath — the purer the offering the better :— to glut
Hisfury. Instances illustrating the feeling: Iphigenia; Zaleu-
cus ; two eyes given to the law : barbarian rude notions of
justness mixed up with a father's instincts. Polycrates and
Amasis ; seal sacrificed to avert the anger of heaven — sup
posed to be jealous of mortal prosperity. These notions
were mixed with Judaism: nay, are mixed up now with
Christian conceptions of Christ's sacrifice.
Jewish sacrifices therefore presented two thoughts — to the
spiritual, true notions ; to the unspiritual, false ; and express
ed 'these feelings for each. But men like David felt that
what lay beneath all sacrifice as its ground and meaning was
surrender to God's will — that a man's best is himself — and
to sacrifice this is the true sacrifice. By degrees they came
to see that the sacrifice was but a form — typical ; and that it
might be'superseded.
Compare this psalm with Psalm L.
They were taught this chiefly through sin and suffering.
Conscience, truly wounded,' could not be appeased by these
sacrifices which were offered year by year continually. The
selfish coward, who saw in sin nothing terrible but the pen
alty, could be satisfied of course. Believing that the animal
bore his punishment, he had nothing more to dread. But
they who felt sin to be estrangement from God, who Avere
not thinking of punishment, what relief could be given to
them by being told that the penalty of their sins Avas borne
by another being ? They felt that only by surrender to God
could conscience be at rest.
Learn then — God does not Avish pain, but goodness ; not
suffering, but you — yourself — your heart.
Even in the sacrifice of Christ, God wished only this. It
Avas precious not because it was pain, but because the pain,
the blood, the death Avere the last and highest evidence of
entire surrender. Satisfaction? Yes, the blood of Christ
satisfied. Why ? Because God can glut His A'engeance in
innocent blood more sweetly than in guilty? Because, like
the barbarian Zaleucus, so long as the whole penalty is paid,
He careS not by whom ? Or was it because for the first time
He saw human nature a copy of the DiA'ine nature — the Avill
of Man the Son perfectly coincident with the will of God the
Father — the love of duty for the first time exhibited by man
— obedience entire, " unto death, even the death ofthe cross?"
Was not that the sacrifice which He saw in His beloved Son

Notes on Psalm LI. 299-
wherewith He Avas well pleased ? Was not that the sacrifice
of Him Avho, through the Eternal Spirit, offered Himself with
out spot to God : the sacrifice once offered which hath per
fected forever them that are sanctified ?
2. Last step, spirit of liberty. " Thy free spirit " — literal
ly, princely. But the translation is right. A princely is a
free spirit — unconstrained. Hence St. James calls it " the
royal law of liberty."
Two classes of motiA-es may guide to acts of seeming
goodness: 1. Prudential; 2. Generous.
The agent of the temperance society appeals to prudential
motives Avhen he demonstrates the evils of intoxication ; en
lists the aid of anatomy ; contrasts the domestic happiness
and circumstantial comfort ofthe temperate home with that
of the intemperate. An appeal to the desire of happiness and
fear of misery. A motive, doubtless, and of unquestionable
potency. All I say is, that from this class of motives comes
nothing of the highest stamp.
Prudential motives will move me : but compare the rush
of population from east to west for gold with a similar rush
in the time of the Crusades. A dream — a fancy; but an
appeal to generous and unselfish emotions — to enthusiasm
Avhich has in it no reflex consideration of personal greed :
in the one case, simply a transfer of population, with vices
and habits unchanged ; in the other, a sacrifice of home,
country, all.
Tell men that salvation is personal happiness, and damna
tion personal misery, and that goodness consists in seeking
the one and avoiding the other, and you will get religionists :
but poor, stunted, dwarfish — asking, Avith painful self-con
sciousness, Am I saved ? Am I lost ? Prudential considera
tions, about a distant happiness, conflicting Avith passionate
impulses to secure a near and present one : men moving in
shackles. — " letting I dare not wait upon I would."
Tell men that God is love : that right is right, and wrong
wrong : let them cease to admire philanthropy, and begin
to love men : cease to pant for heaven, and begin to love
God : then the spirit of liberty begins.
When fear has done its work — whose office is not to create
holiness but to arrest conscience — and self-abasement has
set in in earnest, then the free Spirit of God begins to
breathe upon the soul like a gale from a healthier climate,
refreshing it with a more generous and a purer love. Pru
dence is no longer left in painful and hopeless struggle with
desire: love bursts the shackles ofthe soul, and we are free.

300 Obedience the Organ of Spiritual Knowledge.

VII.
OBEDIENCE THE ORGAN OF SPIRITUAL
KNOWLEDGE.
ASSIZE SERMON.
"If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be
of God, or whether I speak of myself." — John vii. 17.
The first thing we have to do is to put ourselves in pos
session of the history of these words.
Jesus taught in the Temple during the Feast of Taber
nacles. The Jews marvelled at His spiritual wisdom. The
cause of Avonder was the want of scholastic education:
"How knoweth this man letters, never having learned?"
They had* no conception of any source of wisdom beyond
learning. He Himself gave a different account of the matter. " My
doctrine is not mine, but His that sent me." And how He
came possessed of it, speaking humanly, He taught (chap. v.
30): "My judgment is just, because I seek not mine OAvn
will, but the will ofthe Father which hath sent me."
That principle Avhereby He attained spiritual judgment
or wisdom, He extends to all. "If any man will do His
will, he shall kn%w of the doctrine, whether it be of God,
or whether I speak of myself." Here, then, manifestly, there
are two opinions respecting the origin of spiritual knowledge :
1. The popular one of the JeAvs, relying on a cultivated
understanding. 2. The principle of Christ, which relied on trained affec
tions, and habits of obedience.
What is truth ? Study, said the Jews. Act, said Christ,
and you shall know. A very precious principle to hold by
in these days, and a very pregnant one of thought to us,
who during the next few days must be engaged in the con
templation of crime, and to whom the question Avill suggest
itself, how can men's lives be made true ?
Religious controversy is fast settling into a conflict be
tween two great extreme parties — those who believe every
thing, and those who believe nothing : the disciples of credu
lity, and the disciples of skepticism.
The first rely on authority. Foremost among these, and

Obedience the Organ of Spiritual Knowledge. 30 1
the only self-consistent ones, are the adherents ofthe Church
of Rome ; and into this body, by logical consistency, ought
to merge all — Dissenters, Churchmen, Bible Christians ; all
who receive their opinions because their sect, their church,
or their documents assert them, not because they are true
eternally in themselves.
The second class rely solely on a cultivated understand
ing. This is the root principle of Rationalism. Enlighten,
they say, and sin will disappear. Enlighten, and we shall*
know all that can be knoAvn of God. Sin is an error of the
understanding, not a crime of the will. Illuminate the un
derstanding, show man that sin is folly, and sin will disap
pear. Political economy will teach public virtue; knoAvl-
edge of anatomy will arrest the indulgence of the passions.
ShoAv the drunkard the inflamed tissues of the brain, and he
will be sobered by fear and reason.
Only enlighten fully, and spiritual truths will be tested.
When the anatomist shall have hit on a right methdd of dis
section, and appropriated sensation to this filament of the
brain,- and the religious sentiment to that fibre, Ave shall
know whether there be a soul or not, and whether conscious
ness will survive physical dissolution. When the chemist
shall have discovered the principle of life, and found cause
behind cause, we shall knoAv whether the last cause of all is
a personal will or a lifeless force.
Concerning whom I only remark noAV, that these disciples
of skepticism easily become disciples of credulity. It is in
structive to see how they who sneer at Christian mysteries
as Old wives' fables, bow in abject reverence before Egyp
tian .mysteries of three thousand years' antiquity ; and hoAV
they who have cast off a God believe in the veriest im
posture, and have blind faith in the most vulgar juggling.
Skepticism and credulity meet. Nor is it difficult to ex
plain. Distrusting every, thing, they doubt their own con
clusions and their own mental powers ; and that for which
they can not account presents itself to them as supernatural
and mysterious. Wonder makes them more credulous than
those they sneer at.
In opposition Jo both these systems stands the Christian
ity of Christ.
1. Christ never taught on personal authority. " My doc
trine is not mine." He taught " not as the scribes." They
dogmatized : " because it was Avritten " — stickled for max
ims, and lost principles. His authority was the authority of
truth, not of personality : He commanded men to believe,
not because He said it, but He said it because it Avas true.

302 Obedience the Organ of Spiritual Knowledge.
Hence John xii. 47, 48, " If any man hear my Avords, and be
lieve not, I judge him not : the Avord that I have spoken,
the same shall judge him in the last day."
2. He never taught that cultivation ofthe understanding
would do all, but exactly the reverse. And so taught His
apostles. St. Paul taught, "The world by wisdom knew
not God." His Master said not that clear intellect will give
you a right heart, but that a right heart and a pure life will
clarify the intellect. Not, become a man of letters and learn
ing, and you will attain spiritual freedom : but, Do rightly,
and you will judge justly : obey, and you will know. " My
judgment is just, because I seek not mine own will but the
Avill of the Father which sent me." - " If any man will do His
will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or
Avhether I speak of myself."
I. The knowledge of the truth, or Christian knoAvledge.
II. The condition on which it is attainable.
I. Christian knowledge — "he shall know." Its object —
" the doctrine." Its degree — certainty — " shall know."
Doctrine is now, in our modern times, a word of limited
meaning ; being simply opposed to practical. For instance,
the Sermon on the Mount would be called practical : St.
Paul's Epistles doctrinal. But in Scripture, doctrine means
broadly, teaching : any thing that is taught is doctrine.
Christ's doctrine embraces the whole range of His teaching
— every principle and every precept. Let us select three
-departments of "doctrine" in which the principle ofthe text
Avill be found true — " If any man will do His will, he shall
knoAV of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I
speak of myself."
1. It holds good in speculative truth. If any man will do
God's will, he shall knoAV what is truth and what is error.
Let us see how willfulness and selfishness hinder impartial
ity. How comes it that men are almost always sure to ar
rive at the conclusions reached by their own party ? Surely
because fear, interest, vanity, or the desire of being reckoned
sound and judicious, or party spirit, bias them. Personal
prospects, personal antipathies, these determine most men's
creed. How will you remove this hindrance ? By increased
cultivation of mind ? Why, the Romanist is as accomplished
as the Protestant, and learning is found in the Church and
out of it. You are not sure that high mental cultivation will
lead a man either to Protestantism or to the Church of Eng
land. _ Surely, then, by removing self-will, and so only, can
the hindrance to right opinions be removed. Take away the

Obedience the Organ of Spiritual Knowledge. 303
last trace of interested, feeling, and the way is cleared for
men to come to an approximation towards unity, even in
judgment on points speculative; and so he that will do
God's will shall know of the doctrine.
2. In practical truths the principle is true. It is more
true to say that our opinions depend upon our lives and
habits, than to say that our lives depend upon our opinions,
which is only now and then true. The fact is, men think in
a certain mode on these matters because their life is of a
certain character, and their opinions are only invented after
wards as a defense for their life.
For instance, St. Paul speaks of a maxim among the Co
rinthians, " Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."
They excused their voluptuousness on the ground of its con
sistency with their skeptical creed. Life was short. Death
came to-morrow. There was no hereafter. Therefore it was
quite consistent to live for pleasure. But who does not see
that the creed Avas the result, and not the cause ofthe life?
Who does not see that first they ate and drank, and then be
lieved to-morrow we die ? " Getting and spending, we lay
Avaste our powers." Eating and drinking, we lose sight of
the life to come. When the immortal is overborne and
smothered in the life of the flesh, how can men believe in
life to come ? Then disbelieving, they mistook the cause for
the effect. . Their moral habits and creed were in perfect con
sistency : yet it was the life that formed the creed, not the
creed that formed the life. Because they were sensualists,
immortality had become incredible.
Again, slavery is defended philosophically by some. The
negro, on his skull and skeleton, they say, has God's intention
of his servitude Avritten : he is the inferior animal, therefore
it is right to enslave him. Did this doctrine precede the
slave-trade ? Did man arrive at it, and then in consequence,
conscientiously proceed with human traffic? Or was it in
vented to defend a practice existing already — the offspring
of self-interest ? Did not men first make slaves, and then
search about for reasons to make their conduct plausible to
themselves ?
So, too, a belief in predestination is sometimes alleged in
excuse of crime. ' But a man who suffers his will to be over
powered, naturally comes to believe that he is the sport of
fate : feeling powerless, he believes that God's decree, has
made him so. But let him but put forth one act of loving
will, and then, as the nightmare of a dream is annihilated by
an effort, so the incubus of a belief in tyrannous destiny is
dissipated the moment a m.an Avills to do the will of God.

304 Obedience the Organ of Spiritual Knowledge.
Observe, how he knoAvs the doctrine, directly he does the
will. There is another thing said respecting this knowledge ot
truth. It respects the degree of certainty — " he shall know,"
not he shall have an opinion. There is a wide distinction
between supposing and knowings — between fancy and con
viction — between opinion and belief. Whatever rests on au--
thority remains only supposition. You have an opinion
when you know what others think. You know Avhen you
feel. In matters practical you know only so far as you can
do. Read a work on the " Evidences of Christianity," and
it may become highly probable that Christianity, etc., are
true. That is an opinion. Feel God, do His will, till the
Absolute Imperative within you speaks as with a living
voice, Thou shalt, and thou shalt not; and then you. do not
think, you know that there is a God. That is a conviction
and a belief.
Have we never seen hoAV a child, simple and near to God,
cuts asunder a web of sophistry with a single direct ques
tion — how, before its steady look and simple argument, some
fashionable utterer of a com'entional falsehood has been
abashed? — how a believing Christian scatters the forces of
skepticism, as a morning ray, touching the mist on the
mountain side, makes it vanish into thin air? And there
are few more glorious moments of our humanity than those
in Avhich faith does battle against intellectual proof: when,
for example, after reading a skeptical book, or hearing a
cold-blooded materialist's demonstration in which God, the
soul, and life to come, are proved impossible, up rises the
heart in all the giant might of its immortality to do battle
with the understanding, and with the simple argument, " I
feel them in my best and highest moments to be true," anni
hilates the sophistries of logic.
These moments of profound faith do not come once for
all: they vary with the degree 'and habit of obedience.
There is a plant which blossoms once in a hundred years.
Like it, the soul blossoms only now and then in a space of
years; but these moments are the glory and the heavenly
glimpses of our purest humanity.
H The condition on which knOAvledge of truth is attain
able. " If any man will do His will, he shall know of the
doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself."
This universe is governed by laws. At the bottom of ev
ery thing here there is a law. Things are in this way and
not that : we call that a law or condition. All departments

Obedience the Organ of Spiritual Knowledge. 305
have their own laws. By submission to them, you make
them your own. Obey the laws of the body — such laAvs as
say, Be temperate and chaste : or of the mind — such laws as
say, Fix the attention, strengthen by exercise ; and then their
prizes are yours — health, strength, pliability of muscle, tena-
ciousness of memory, nimbleness of imagination, etc. Obey
the laws of your spiritual being, and it has its prizes too.
For instance, the condition or law of a peaceful life is sub
mission to the law of meekness: "Blessed are the meek, for-
they shall inherit the earth." The condition -of the Beatific
vision is a pure heart and life: "Blessed are the pure in
heart, for they shall see God." To the impure, God is sim
ply invisible. The condition annexed to a sense of God's
presence — in other words, that without which a sense of
God's presence can not be — is obedience to the laAvs of love :
" If we love one another, God dwelleth in ns, and His love is
perfected in us." The condition of spiritual wisdom and cer
tainty in truth is obedience to the will of God, surrender of
private will : "If any man will do His will, he shall know of
the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of
myself." In every department of knowledge, therefore, there is an
appointed " organ," or instrument for discovery of its specific
truth, and for appropriating its specific blessings. In the
world of sense, the empirical intellect: in that world the
Baconian philosopher is supreme. His Novum Organon is
experience : he knoAvs by experiment of touch, sight, sound,
etc. The religious man may not contravene his assertions :
he is lord in his own province. But in the spiritual world,
the " organ " of the scientific man — sensible experience — is
powerless. If the chemist, geologist, physiologist come back
from their spheres and say, we find in the laAvs of affinity, in
the deposits of past ages, in the structure of the human
frame, no trace nor token of a God, I simply reply, I never
expected you would. Obedience and self-surrender is the
sole organ by Avhich we gain a knowledge of that which can
not be seen nor felt. "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard,
neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which
God hath prepared for them that love him." And just as by
copying perpetually a master-painter's works we get at last
an instinctive and infallible power of recognizing his touch,
so by copying and doing' God's Avill we recognize what is
His: we know of the teaching whether it be of God, or
Avhether it be an arbitrary invention of a human self.
2.1 Observe the universality ofthe law. "If any man will
do His will, he shall knoAV of the doctrine, whether it be of

306 Obedience the Organ of Spiritual Knowledge.
God, or whether I speak of myself." The laAV Avas true of
the man Christ Jesus Himself. He tells us it is true of all
other men.
In God's universe there are no favorites of heaven who
may transgress the laws of the universe with impunity —
none who can take fire in the hand and not be burnt — no
enemies of heaven who, if they sow corn, will reap nothing
but tares. The law is just and true to all : " Whatsoever a
man soweth, that shall he also reap."
In God's spiritual universe there are no favorites of heaven
Avho can attain knowledge and spiritual wisdom apart from
pbedience. There are none reprobate by an eternal decree,
who can surrender self, and in all things submit to God, and
yet fail of spiritual convictions. It is not therefore a rare,
partial condescension of God, arbitrary and causeless, which
gives knowledge of the truth to some, and shuts it out from
others, but a vast, universal, glorious law. The light light-
eth every man that cometh into the world. " If any man
will do His will, he shall know."
See the beauty of this Divine arrangement. If the cer
tainty of truth depended upon the proof of miracles, prophe
cy, or the discoveries of science, then truth would be in the
reach chiefly of those who can weigh evidence, investigate
history, and languages, study by experiment; whereas as it
is, "The meek will He guide in judgment, and the meek will
He teach His way." " Thus saith the high and lofty One
"ihat inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy ; I dwell in the
high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and
humble spirit." The humblest and the weakest may knoAV
more of God, of^moral evil and of good, by a single act of
charity, or a prayer of self-surrender, than all the sages can
teach : ay, or all the theologians can dogmatize upon.
They know nothing, perhaps, these humble ones, of the evi
dences, but they are sure that Christ is their Redeemer.
They can not tell what " matter " is, but they know that they
are spirits. They know nothing of the " argument from de
sign," but they feel God. The truths of God are spiritually
discerned by them. They have never learned letters, but
they have reached the Truth of Life.
3. Annexed to this condition, or a part of it, is earnestness.
"If any man will do His will." Now that word " will" is
not the will- of the future tense, but will meaning volition :
if any man wills, resolves, has the mind to do the will of
God. So then it is not a chance fitful obedience that leads
us to the truth, nor an obedience paid while happiness lasts
and no longer, but an obedience rendered in entireness and

Obedience the Organ of Spiritual Knowledge. 307
in earnest. It is not Avritten, " If any man does His will,"
but if any man has the spirit and desire. If we are in ear
nest, we shall persevere like the Syrophenician woman, even
though the ear of the universe seem deaf, and Christ Himself
appear to bid us back. If we are not in earnest, difficulties
will discourage us. Because will is wanting, we shall be
asking still in ignorance and doubt, What is truth ?
All this will seem to many people time misspent. They go
to church because it is the custom, and all Christians believe
it is the established religion. But there are hours, and they
come to us all at some period of life or other, when the hand
of Mystery seems to lie heavy on the soul — when some life-
shock scatters existence, leaves it a blank and dreary waste
henceforth forever, and there appears nothing of hope in all
the expanse which stretches out, except that merciful gate of
death which opens at the end — hours when the sense of mis
placed or ill-requited affection, the feeling of personal worth-
lessness, the uncertainty and meanness of all human aims, and
the doubt of all human goodness, unfix the soul from all its
old moorings, and leave it drifting, drifting over the vast in
finitude, with an awful sense of solitariness. Then the man
Avhose faith rested on outward authority and not on inAvard
life, will find it give way : the authority of the priest, the au
thority of the Church, or merely the authority of a document
proved by miracles and backed, by prophecy, the soul — con
scious life hereafter — God — will be an aAvful desolate Perhaps.
Well in such moments you doubt all — whether Christianity
be true : whether Christ was man, or God, or a beautiful fable.
You ask bitterly, like Pontius Pilate, What is truth ? In
such an hour what remains? I reply, obedience. Leave
those thoughts for the present. Act — be merciful and gentle
— honest ; force yourself to abound in little services ; try to
do good to others; be true to the duty that you know.
That must be right, whatever else is uncertain. And by all
the laws of the human heart, by the word of God, you shall
not be left to doubt. Do that much of the will of God which
is plain to you, and "You shall know of the doctrine, wheth
er it be of God."

308 Religious Depression.

VIII.
RELIGIOUS DEPRESSION.
"As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so panteth my soul after
thee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God : when shall I
come and appear before God ? My tears have been my meat day and night,
while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God?" — Psalm xiii. 1-3.
The value of the public reading of the Psalms in our serv
ice is, that they express for us indirectly those 'deeper feel
ings which there would be a sense of indelicacy in express
ing directly.
Example of Joseph: asking after his father, arid blessing
his brothers, as it were, under the personality of another.
There are feelings of which we do not speak to each oth
er ; they are too sacred and too delicate. Such are most of
our feelings to God. If we do speak of them, they lose" their
fragrance : become coarse: nay, there is even a sense of in
delicacy and exposure.
Noav the Psalms afford precisely the right relief for this
feeling : wrapped up in the forms of poetry, metaphor, etc.,
that which might seem exaggerated is excused by those who
do not feel it ; while they who do can read them, applying
them, without the suspicion of uttering their own feelings.
Hence their soothing power, and hence, while other portions
of Scripture may become obsolete, they remain the most pre
cious parts of th* Old Testament. For the heart of man is
the same in all ages.
This forty-second Psalm contains the utterance of a sor
row of which men rarely speak. There is a grief Avorse than
lack of bread or loss of friends. Men in former times called
it spiritual desertion. But at times the "utterances of this
solitary grief are, as it were, overheard, as in this Psalm.
Read verses 6, 1. And in a more august agony, "My God,
my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?"
I. Causes of David's despondency.
II. The consolation.
I. Causes of David's despondency.
1. The thirst for God. "My soul thirsteth for God, for
the living God : when shall I come and appear before God ?"
There is a desire in the human heart best described as the

Religious Depression. 309
cravings of infinitude We are so made that nothing which
has limits satisfies. Hence the sense of freedom and relief
which comes from all that suggests the idea of boundless
ness : the deep sky, the dark night, the endless circle, the il
limitable ocean.
Hence, too, our dissatisfaction with all that is or can be
done. There never was the beauty yet than which we could
not conceive something more beautiful. None so good as to
be faultless in our eyes. No deed done by us, but we feel
we have it in us to do a better. The heavens are not clean
in our sight, and the angels are charged with folly.
Therefore to never rest is the price paid for our greatness.
Could we rest, we must becorne smaller in soul. Whoever
is satisfied with what , he does has reached his culminating
point : he will progress no more. Man's destiny is to be not
dissatisfied, but forever unsatisfied.
Infinite goodness — a beauty beyond what eye hath seen
or heart imagined, a justice which shall have no flaAV, and a
righteousness which shall have no blemish — to crave for
that, is to be " athirst for God."
2. The temporary loss of the sense of God's personality.
" My soul is athirst for the living God."
Let us search our own experience. What. we Avant is, we
shall find — not infinitude, but a boundless One; not to feel
that love is the law of this universe, but to feel One whose
name is love.
For else, if in this Avorld of order there be no One in whdse
bosom that order is centred, and of whose Being it is the ex
pression ; in this world of manifold contrivance, no personal
affection which gave to the skies their trembling tenderness,
and to the snow its purity, then order, affection, contrivance,
Avisdom, are only horrible abstractions, and we are in the
dreary universe alone.
Foremost in the declaration of this truth was the JeAvish
religion. It proclaimed — not "Let us meditate on the
Adorable Light, it shall guide our intellects " — which is the
most sacred verse of the Hindoo sacred books — but "Thus
saith the Lord, I am, that I am." . In that word "I am" is
declared personality ; and it contains, too, in the expression,
" Thus saith," the real idea of a revelation, viz., the volunta
ry approach of the Creator to the creature.
Accordingly, these Jewish Psalms are remarkable for that
personal tenderness towards God — those outbursts of pas
sionate individual attachment which are in every page. A
person, asking and giving heart for heart — inspiring love, be
cause feeling it — that was the Israelite's Jehovah.

310 Religious Depression.
Now distinguish this from the God df the philosopher and
the God of the mere theologian.
The God of the mere theologian is scarcely a living God —
He did live ; but for some eighteen hundred years we are
credibly informed that no trace of His life has been seen.
The canon is closed. The proofs that He was are in the
things that He has made, and the books of men to whom He
spake ; but He inspires and works wonders no more. Ac
cording to the theologians, He gives us proofs of design in
stead of God — doctrines instead ofthe life indeed.
Different, too, from the God of the philosopher. The
tendency of philosophy has been to throw back the personal
Being farther and still farther from the time Avhen every
branch and stream was believed a living power, to the pe
riod when "principles" were substituted for this belief;
then " laws ;" and the philosopher's God is a law into Avhich
all other laAvs are resolvable.
Quite differently tothis speaks the Bible of God. Not as a
law, but as the life of all that is — the Being Avho feels, and is
felt— is loved, and loves again — feels my heart throb into His
— counts the hairs of my head : feeds the ravens and clothes
the lilies : hears my prayers, and interprets them through a
Spirit which has affinity Avith my spirit.
It is a dark moment when the sense of that personality is
lost : more terrible than the doubt of immortality. For of
the tAVO — eternity without a personal God, or God for seven
ty years without immortality — no one after David's heart
would hesitate, " Give me God for life, to know and be
known by Him." No thought is more hideous than that of
an eternity without Him. " My soul is athirst for God."
The desire for immortality is second to the desire for God.
3. The taunts of scoffers. "As the hart panteth after the
Avater-brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God." Noav
the hart here spoken of is the hart hunted, at bay, the big
tears rolling from his eyes, and the moisture standing black
upon his side. Let us see what the persecution Avas. " Where
is now thy God ?" (ver. 3). This is ever the way in religious
perplexity: the unsympathizing world taunts or misunder
stands. In spiritual grief they ask, Why is he not like oth
ers ? In bereavement they call your deep sorrow unbelief.
In misfortune they comfort you, like Job's friends, by calling
it a visitation. Or like the barbarians at Melita when the
viper fastened on Paul's hand, no doubt they call you an in
fidel, though your soul be crying after God. Specially in
that dark and awful hour, when He called on God, " Eloi,
Eloi," they said, " Let be : let us see whether Elias will como
to save Him."

Religious Depression. 3 1 1
Now this is sharp'to bear. It is easy to say Christian for
titude should be superior to it ; but in darkness to have no
sympathy ; when the soul gropes for God, to have the hand
of man relax its grasp ! Forest-flies, small as they are, drive
the noble Avar-horse mad : therefore David says, "As a sword
in my bones, mine enemies reproach me : while they say
daily unto me, Where is thy God?" (ver. 10). Now, ob
serve, this feeling of forsakenness is no proof of being forsak
en. Mourning after an absent God is an evidence of love as
strong as rejoicing in a present one. Nay, further, a man
may be more decisively the servant of God and goodness
Avhile doubting.His existence, and in the anguish of his soul
crying for light, than while resting in a common creed, and
coldly serving Him. There has been One at least whose ap
parent forsakenness and whose seeming doubt bears the
stamp of the majesty of faith. " My God, my God, why
hast thou forsaken me ?"
II. David's consolation.
1. And first, in hope (see verse 5) : distinguish between the
feelings of faith that God is present, and the hope of faith
that He will be so.
There are times when a dense cloud veils the sunlight:
you can not see the sun, nor feel him. Sensitive tempera
ments feel depression, and that unaccountably and irresisti
bly. No effort can make you feel. Then you hope. Be
hind the cloud the sun is ; from thence he will come ; the
day drags through, the darkest and longest night ends at
last. Thus we bear the darkness and the otherwise intolera
ble cold, and many a sleepless night. It does not shine now,
but it will.
So too, spiritually. There are hours in Avhich physical de
rangement darkens the windows of the soul ; days in which '
shattered nerves make life simply endurance; months and
years in which intellectual difficulties, pressing for solution,
shut out God. Then faith must be replaced by hope.
" What I do thou knowest not now ; but thou shalt know
hereafter." " Clouds and darkness are round about Him : but
righteousness and truth are the habitation of His throne."
"My soul, hope thou in God : for I shall yet praise Him, who
is the health of my countenance and my God."
2. This hope was in God.
The mistake we make is to look for a source of comfort in
ourselves : self-contemplation, instead of gazing upon God.
In other words, Ave look for comfort precisely Avhere comfort
never can be.

3 1 2 Religious Depression.
For first, it is impossible to derive consolation from our
own feelings, because of their mutability: to-day Ave are
well, and our spiritual experience, partaking of these circum
stances, is bright; but to-morrow some outward circum
stances change — the sun does not shine, or the wind is chill,
and we are low, gloomy, and sad. Then if our hopes were
unreasonably elevated, they will now be unreasonably de
pressed ; and so our experience becomes flux and reflux, ebb
and flow ; like the sea, that emblem of instability.
Next, it is impossible to get comfort from our own acts ;
for though acts are the test of character, yet in a low state
no man can judge justly of his own acts. They assume a
darkness of hue which is reflected on them by the eye that
contemplates them. It Avould be well for all men to remem
ber that sinners can not judge of sin — least of all, can we es
timate our own sin.
Besides, we lose time in remorse. I have sinned ; well, by
the grace of God I must endeavor to do better for the future.
But if I mourn for it overmuch all to-day, refusing to be com
forted, to-morrow I shall have to mourn the Avasted to-day;
and that again will be the subject of another fit of remorse.
In the wilderness, had the children of Israel, instead of
gazing on the serpent, looked down on their own wounds to
Avatch the process of the granulation of the flesh, and see how
deep the wound was, and. whether it was healing slowly or
fast, cure would have been impossible : their only chance was
to look off the wounds. Just so, when giving up this hope
less and sickening work of self-inspection, and turning, from
ourselves in Christian self-oblivion, we gaze en God, then first
the chance of consolation dawns.
He is not Effected by our mutability ; our changes do not
alter Him. When we are restless, He remains serene and
calm; when we are low, selfish, mean, or dispirited, He is
still the unalterable I AM. The same yesterday, to-day, and
forever, in whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turn
ing. What God is in Himself, not what we may chance to>
feel Him in this or that moment to be, that is our hope.
"My soul, hope thou in God."

Faith of the Centurion. 3 1 3

IX.
FAITH OF THE CENTURION.
"When Jesus heard it, he marvelled, and said to them that followed,
•Verily I say unto you, I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel." —
Matt. viii. 10.
That upon which the Son of God fastened as worthy of
admiration was not the centurion's benevolence, nor his per
severance, but his faith. And so speaks the Avhole New Tes
tament, giving a special dignity to faith. By faith we are
justified. By faith man removes mountains of difficulty.
The Divinest attribute in the heart of God is love, and the
mightiest, because the most human, principle in the breast
of man is faith. Love is heaven, faith is that which appro
priates heaven.
Faith is a theological term rarely used in other matters.
Hence its meaning is obscured. But faith is no strange, new,
peculiar power, supernaturally infused by Christianity, but
the same principle by which we live from day to day — one
of the commonest in our daily life.
We trust our senses, and that though they often deceive
us. We trust men ; a battle must often be risked on the in
telligence of a spy. A merchant commits his ships, with all
his fortunes on board, to a hired captain, whose temptations
are enormous. Without this principle society could not hold
together for a day. It would be a mere sand-heap.
Such, too,.is religious faith ; we trust on probabilities ; and'
this though probabilities often are against us. We can not
prove God's existence. The balance of probabilities, scien
tifically speaking, are nearly equal for a living person or a
lifeless cause : immortality, etc., in the same way. But faith
throws its own convictions into the scale and decides the pre
ponderance. Faith, then, is that which, when probabilities are equal,
ventures on God's side, and on the side of right, on the guar
anty of a something within which makes the thing seem to
be true because it is loved.
It is so defined by St. Paul: "Faith is the substance of
things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen." The hope
is the ground for faith to rest on We consider,
14

314 Faith of the Centurion.
I. The faith which was commended.
II. The causes ofthe commendation.
I. The faith which Avas commended.
First evidence of its existence, his tenderness to his serv
ant. Of course this good act might have existed separate from
religion. Romans were benevolent to their domestics ages be
fore the law had been enacted regulating the relationship be
tween patron and client. .
But we are forbidden to view it so, when we remember
that he was a proselyte. Morality is not religion, but it is
ennobled and made more delicate by religion.
Hoav? By instinct you may be kind to dependents. But
if it be only by instinct, it is but the same kind of tenderness
you show to your hound or horse. Disbelief in God, and
right, and immortality, degrades the man you are kind to, to
the level of the beast you feel for. Both are mortal, and for
both your kindness is finite and poor.
But the moment faith comes, dealing as it does with things
infinite, it throws something of its own infinitude on the per
sons loved by the man of faith, upon his affections and his
acts : it raises them. ,
Consequently you find the 'centurion "building, syna
gogues," " caring for our (i. e., the Jewish) nation," as the
repository of the truth — tending his servants. And this
last, observe, approximated his moral goodness to the Chris
tian standard ! for therein does Christianity differ from mere
religiousness, that it is not a worship of the high, but a
lifting up of the low — not hero-worship, but Divine condes
scension. Thus, then, was his kindness an evidence of his faith.
Second proof. His humility : " Lord, I am not worthy that
thou shouldest come under my roof."
Now Christ does not call this humility, though it was hu
mility. He says, I have not found so great faith. Let us
see why. How is humbleness the result of, or rather identi
cal with, faith? ,
Faith is trust. Trust is dependence on another ; the spirit
which is opposite to independence or trust in self. Hence
where the spirit of proud independence is, faith is not.
Now observe how this differs from our ordinary and mod
ern modes of thinking. The first thing taught a young man
is that he must be independent. Quite right, in the Christian
sense of the word, to owe no man any thing, : to resolve to
get his own living, and not be beholden to charity, which*fos-

Faith of the Centurion. 3 1 5
ters idleness : to depend on his own exertions, and not on
patronage or connection. But what is commonly meant by
independence is to, rejoice at being bound by no ties to other
human beings— to OAve no allegiance to any will except our
oavu — to be isolated and unconnected by any feeling of inter
communion or dependence ; a spirit, whose very life is jeal
ousy and suspicion : which in politics is revolutionary, and in
religion atheism. This is the opposite of Christianity, and
the opposite of the Christian freedom whose name it usurps.
For true freedom is to.be emancipated from all false lords, in •
order to owe allegiance to all true lords — to be free from the
slavery of all lusts, so as voluntarily to serve God and right.
Faith alone frees. -
And this was the freedom of the centurion : that he chose
his master. He was not fawning on the emperor at Rome,
nor courting the immoral ruler at Caasarea who had titles
and places to give away, but he bent in lowliest homage of
heart before the Holy One. His freedom was the freedom
of uncoerced and voluntary dependence — the freedom and
humility of faith.
3. His belief in an invisible, living Will. "Speak the
word only." Remark how different, this is from a reliance
on the influence of the senses. He asked not the presence
of Christ, but simply an exertion of His will. He looked
not like a physician to the operation of unerring laws, or the
result ofthe contact of matter with matter. He .believed in
Him who is the life indeed. He felt that the Cause of causes
is a person. Hence he could trust the Living Will out of
sight. This is the highest form of faith.
Here, however, I observe — the centurion learned this
through his own profession. " I am a man under authority,
having soldiers under me." The argument ran thus. I by
the command of will, obtain the obedience of my dependents.
Thou by will the obedience of Thine: sickness and health
are Thy servants. Evidently he looked upon this universe
Avith a soldier's eye : he could not look otherwise. To him
this world was a mighty camp of living forces in which au
thority Avas paramount. Trained in obedience to military
law, accustomed to render prompt submission to those above
him, and to extract it from those below him, he read law
everywhere ; and laAV to him meant nothing, unless it meant
the expression of a personal will. It Avas this training
through which faith took its form. , .
The Apostle Paul tells, us that the invisible things; of ; God
from the creation of the world are clearly seen ; and, we may
add, from every part of the creation of the world, " The heav-

316 Faith of the Centurion.
ens declare the glory of God ;" but so also does the butter
cup and the raindrop.
The invisible things of God from life are clearly seen—
and, we may add, from every department of life. There is
no profession, no trade, no human occupation which does not
in its OAvn way educate for God.
The soldier, through law, reads a personal will ; and he
might from the same profession, in the unity of an army,
made a living and organized unity by the variety of its parts,
have read the principle of God's and the Church's unity,
through the opportunities that profession affords for self-
control, for generous deeds. When the Gospel was first an
nounced on earth, it was proclaimed to the shepherds and
Magians in a manner appropriate to their modes of life.
Shepherds, like sailors, are accustomed to hear a supernat
ural poAver in the sounds of the air, in the moaning of the
night-winds, in the sighing of the storm ; to see a more than
mortal life in the clouds that wreathe around the headland.
Such men, brought up among the sights and sounds of na
ture, are proverbially superstitious. No Avonder, therefore,
that the intimation came to them, as it were, on the winds in
the melodies of the air : " a multitude of the heavenly host
praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and
on earth peace, good-will toward men."
But the Magians being astrologers, accustomed to read
the secrets of life and death in the clear star-lit skies of
Persia, are conducted by a meteoric star.
Each in his own way ; each in his own profession ; each
through that little spot of the universe given to him. For
not only is God everywhere, but all of God is in every point.
Not His wisdom here, and His goodness there : the Avhole
truth may be read, if we had eyes, and heart, and time
enough, in the laAvs of a daisy's growth. God's beauty, His
love, His unity : nay, if you observe hoAV each atom exists
not for itself- alone, but for the sake of every other atom in
the universe, in that atom or daisy you may read the law of
the Cross itself. The crawling of a spider before noAv has
taught perseverance, and led to a croAvn. The little moss,
brought close to a traveller's eye in an African desert, Avho
had lain down to die, roused him to faith in that love which
had so curiously arranged the minute fibre's of a thing so
small, to be seen once and but once by a human eye, and
carried him in the strength of that heavenly repast, like Eli
jah of old, a journey of forty days and forty nights, to the
sources of the Nile ; yet who could have suspected divinity
in a spider, or theology in a moss ?

Faith of the Centurion. 317
II. The causes of Christ's astonishment.
The reasons why he marvelled may be reduced under two
heads. 1. The centurion Avas a Gentile; therefore unlikely to
know revealed truth.
2. A soldier, and therefore exposed to a recklessness, and
idleness, and sensuality which are the temptations of that
profession. But he turned his loss to glorious gain.
The Saviour's comment, therefore, contained the advan
tage of disadvantages, and the disadvantage of advantages.
The former, " Many shall come from the east and the west,
and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in
the kingdom of heaven ;" the latter, " The children of the
kingdom shall be cast out into outer darkness ; there shall
be weeping and gnashing of teeth."
There are spirits Avhich are crushed by difficulties, Avhile
others would gain strength from them. The greatest men
have been those who have cut their way to success through
difficulties. And such have been the greatest triumphs of
art and science : such, too, of religion. Moses, Elijah, Abra
ham, the Baptist, the giants of both Testaments, were not
men nurtured in the hot-house of religious advantages.
Many a man would have done good if he had not a super
abundance of the means of doing it. Many a spiritual giant
is buried under mountains of gold.
Understand, therefore, the real amount of advantage
Avhich there is in religious privileges. Necessary especially
for the feeble, as crutches are necessary ; but, like crutches,
they often enfeeble the strong. For every advantage which
facilitates performance and supersedes toil, a corresponding
price is paid in loss. Civilization gives us -telescopes and
microscopes ; bu^ it takes away the unerring acuteness with
which the savage reads the track of man and beast upon the
ground at his feet : it gives us scientific surgery, and impairs
the health which made surgery superfluous.
So, ask you where the place of religious fnight is ? Not
the place of religious privileges — not where prayers are
daily, and sacraments monthly — not where sermons are so
abundant as-to pall upon the pampered taste, but on the hill
side with the Covenanter ; in thq wilderness with John the
Baptist ; in our own dependencies where the liturgy is rarely
heard, and Christian friends meet at the end of months: —
there amidst manifold disadvantages, when the soul is throAvn
upon itself, a few kindred spirits, and God, grow up -those
heroes of faith, like the centurion, whose firm conviction wins
admiration even from the Son of God Himself.

318 The Restoration of the Erring.
Lastly, see how this incident testifies to the. perfect hu
manity of Christ. The Saviour " marvelled :" — that wonder
was no fictitious semblance of admiration. It was a real gen
uine wonder. He had not expected to find such faith. The
Son of God increased in wisdom as' well as stature. He knew
more "at thirty than at twenty. There were things He. knew
at twenty which He had not known before. In the last year
of His life He, went to the fig-tree expecting to find fruit, and
Avas disappointed. In all matters of eternal truth, principles
Avhich are not measured by more or less true, His knowledge
Avas absolute; but it would seem that in matters of earthly
fact which are modified by time and space,. His knowledge
was, like ours, more or less dependent upon experience. -
Now we forget this; we are shocked at the thought ofthe
partial ignorance of Christ, as if it were irreverence to -think
it; we shrink from believing that He really felt the force of
temptation, or that the forsakenness on the Cross and the
momentary doubt have parallels in our human life.: In other
words, we make that Divine Life a mere mimic representa
tion of griefs that were not real, and surprises that were
feigned, and sorrows that were theatrical,
• But thus: we lose the Saviour. For it is well to know that
He Avas divine ; but if we lose that truth, we should still
have a God in heaven. But if there has been on this earth
no real, perfect human life, no love that never cooled, no faith
that never failed, which may shine as a loadstar across, the
darkness of our experience, a light to light amidst all convic
tions of our own meanness and all suspicions of others' little-
nessrwhy, we may have a religion, but we have not a Christi
anity. For if weglose Him as a Brother, we can not feel Him
as a Saviour.

X.
THE RESTORATION OF THE ERRING.
"Brethren, if a man be overtaken in afault, ye which are spiritual, restore
such a one in the spirit of meekness ; considering thyself, lest thou also be
tempted. . Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ." —
Gal. vi. 1, 2. '
It Avould be a blessed thing for our Christian society if Ave
could contemplate sin from the same point of view from
Avhich Christ and His apostles saw it. But in this matter
society is ever oscillating between two extremes — undue lax
ity and undue severity.

The Restoration of the Erring. 3 1 9
In one age of the Church — the days of Donatism, for in
stance — men refuse the grace of repentance to those who have
erred : holding that baptismal privileges once forfeited can
not be got back; that for a single distinct lapse there is no
restoration. In another age, the Church, having found out its error, and
discovered the danger of setting up an impossible standard,
begins to confer periodical absolutions and plenary indul
gences, until, sin, easily forgiven, is as easily committed.
And so too with societies and legislatures. In one period
Puritanism is dominant and morals severe. There are no
small faults. The statute-book is defiled with the red mark
of blood, set opposite innumerable misdemeanors. In an
age still earlier the destruction of a wild animal is punished
like the murder of a man. Then in another period we have
such a medley of sentiments' and sickliness that Ave have lost
all our bearings, and can not tell What is vice and.Avhat is
goodness. Charity and toleration degenerate into that feeble
dreaminess which refuses to be roused by stern views of life.
This contrast, too, may exist in the same age, nay, in the
same individual. One man gifted with talent, or privileged
by rank, outrages all decency: the world smiles, calls it
eccentricity, forgives, and is very merciful and tolerant.
Then some one unshielded by these advantages, endorsed
neither by wealth nor. birth, sins — not to one-tenth, nor one-
ten-thousandth part of the same extent: society is seized
Avith a.virtuous indignation, rises up in wrath, asks what is
to become of the morals of the community if these things
are committed, and protects its proprieties by a rigorous
exclusion of the offender, cutting off the bridge behind him
against his return forever. ¦
Now the Divine character of the New Testament is shown
in nothing more signally than in the stable ground from
Avhich it views this matter, in comparison with the shifting
and uncertain standing-point from whence the world sees it.
It says, never retracting nor- bating, " The wages of sin is
death." It speaks sternly, with no weak sentiment, " Go, sin
no more, lest a worse thing happen unto thee." But then
it accepts every excuse, 'admits every palliation : looks upon
this world of temptation and these frail human hearts of ours,
not from the cell of a monk or the study of a recluse, but in
a large, real way ; accepts the existence of sin as a fact, with
out affecting to be shocked or startled ; assumes that it must
needs be that offenses come, and deals with them in a large
noble way, as the results of a disease which must be met
-^which should be, and which can be, cured.

320 The Restoration of the Erring.
I. The Christian view of other men's sin.
II. The Christian power of restoration.
I. The first thing noticeable in the apostle's view of sin
is, that he looks upon it as if it might be sometimes the
, result of a surprise. "Ha man be overtaken in a fault."
In the original it is anticipated, taken suddenly in front. As
if circumstances had been beforehand with the man : as if
sin, supposed to be left far behind, had on a sudden got in
front, tripped him up, or led him into ambush.
All sins are not of this character. There are some which
are in accordance with the general bent of our disposition,
and the, opportunity of committing them was only the first
occasion for manifesting what was in the heart : so that if
they had not been committed then, they probably, would or
must have been at some other time; and looking back to
them we have no right to lay the blame on circumstances —
we are to accept the penalty as a severe warning, meant to
show what was in our hearts.
There are other sins of a different character. It seems
as if it were not in us to commit them. They were, so to
speak, unnatural to us : you were going quietly on your
way, thinking no evil, suddenly temptation, for Avhich you
Avere not prepared, presented itself, and before you knew
where you were, you were in the dust, fallen.
As, for instance, when a question is suddenly put to a
man which never ought to have been put, touching, a secret
of his own or another's. Had he the presence of .'mind or
adroitness, he might turn it aside, or refuse to reply. But
being unprepared and accosted suddenly, he says hastily
that which is irreconcilable with strict truth ; then, to sub
stantiate and make it look probable, misrepresents or invents
something else ; and so he has woven round himself a mesh
which will entangle his conscience through many a Aveary
day and many a sleepless night.
It is shocking, doubtless, to alloAV ourselves even to admit
that this is possible; yet no one knowing human nature
from men, and not from books, will deny that this might
befall even a brave and true man. St. Peter Avas both ; yet
this was his history. In a crowd, suddenly, the question was
put directly,*" This man also Avas with Jesus of Nazareth."
Then came a prevarication— a lie; and yet another. This
was a sin of surprise. He was overtaken in a fault.
Every one of us admits the truth of this in his OAvn case.
Looking back to past life, he feels that the errors which
have most terribly determined his destiny AA'ere the result

The Restoration of the Erring. 321
of mistake. Inexperience, a hasty promise, excess of trust,
incaution, nay, even a generous devotion, have been fear
fully, and, as it seems to us, inadequately chastised. There
may be some undue tenderness to ourselves when we thus
palliate the past : still, a great part of such extenuation is
only justice.
Now the Bible simply requires that we should judge
others by the same rule by which we judge ourselves. The
law of Christ demands that what we plead in our OAvn case,
we should admit in the case of others. Believe that in this
or that case which you judge so harshly, the heart, in its
deeps, did not consent to sin, nor by preference love what is
hateful; simply admit that such an one may have been
overtaken in a fault. This is the large law of charity.
1. Again, the apostle considers fault as that which has
left a burden on the erring spirit. "Bear ye one another's
burdens." For Ave can not say to the laAvs of God, I was overtaken.
We live under stern and unrelenting laws, which permit no
excuse, and never heard of a surprise. They never send a
man who has failed once back to try - a second chance.
There is no room for a mistake ; you play against them for
your life ; and they exact the penalty inexorably, " Every
man must bear his OAvn burden." Every laAV has its own
appropriate penalty ; and the wond-Si- of it is, that often the
severest penalty seems set against the smallest transgression.
We suffer more for our vices than our crimes ; Ave pay-dearer
for our imprudences than even for our deliberate wickedness.
Let us examine this a little more closely. One burden
laid on fault is that chain of entanglement Avhich seems to
drag down to fresh sins. One step necessitates many others.
One fault leads to another, and crime to crime. The soul
gravitates dowmvard beneath its burden. It Avas profound
knowledge indeed which prophetically refused to limit Peter's
sin to once. " Verily I say unto thee .... thou shalt deny
Me thrice."
We will try to describe that sense of burden. A fault
has the power sometimes of distorting life till all seems
hideous and unnatural. A man who has left his proper
nature, and seems compelled to say and do things unnatural
and in false show, who has thus become untrue to himself,
to him life and the whole universe becomes untrue. He can
grasp nothing ; he does not stand on fact ; he is living as in
a dream — himself a dream. All is ghastly, unreal, spectral.
A burden is on him as of a nightmare. He moves about in
nothingness and shadows, as if he were not. His own exist-
14*

322 The Restoration of the Erring,
ence swiftly passing might seem a phantom life, were it not
for the corroding pang of anguish in his soul,- for that at
least is real !
2. Add to this, the burden of the heart weighing on
itself. It has been truly said that the human heart is like the
millstone, which, if there be wheat beneath it, will grind to
purposes, of health ; if not,' will grind still; at the will ofthe
Avild wind, but on itself! So does the heart wear out itself
against its own thought. One fixed idea — one remembrance,
and no other — one stationary, wearing anguish. This is
remorse, passing into despair ; itself the goad to fresh and
wilder crimes.
The worst of such a burden is that it keeps doAvn the soul
from good. Many an ethereal spirit, which might have
climbed. the heights of holiness, and breathed the rare and
difficult air of the mountain-top, where the heavenliest spir
ituality alone can live, is weighed down by such a burden
to the level of the lowest. If you know such an one, mark
his history; without restoration, his career is done. That
soul will not grow henceforth.
3. The burden of a secret.
Some here know the weight of an uncommunicated sin.
They know hoAV it lies like ice upon the heart. They knoAV
how dreadful a. thing Hie sense of hypocrisy is; the knowl
edge of inward depravity, while all without looks pure as
snow to men.
How heavy this weight may be; we gather from these
indications. First, from this. strange, psychological fact. A
man with a guilty secret will tell out the tale of his crimes
as under the personality of another ; a mysterious necessity
Seems to force him to give it utterance— '-as in the old fkble
of him Avho breathed out his weighty secret to the reeds. A
remarkable instance of this is afforded in the case of that
murderer, who, from the richness of -his gifts and the enor
mity of his crime, is almost a historical personage, who,
having become a teacher of youth, was in the habit 6f nar
rating to his pupils the anecdote of his crime with all the
circumstantial particularity of fact, but all the while under
the guise of a pretended dream. Such men tread forever
on the very verge of a confession: they seem to take a fear
ful pleasure; in talking, of their guilt, as if the heart could
not bear its OAvn burden, but must give it outness.
Again, is it evidenced by the attempt to get relief in pro
fuse and general acknowledgments of guilt. They adopt
the language of religion; they call themselves "vile dust

The Restoration of the Erring. 323
and miserable sinners." The world takes generally what
they mean particularly. But they get no relief, they only
deceive themselves; for they have turned the truth itself
into a falsehood, using true words which they know convey
a false impression, and getting praise for humility instead of
punishment for guilt. They have Used all the effort, and
suffered all the pang which it would have cost them to get
real relief, and they have not got it; and, the- burden unac
knowledged remains a burden still.
s The third indication we have of the heaviness of this bur
den is the commonness of the longing for confession, None
but a minister of the Gospel can estimate this : he only who,
looking round his congregation, can point to person after
person whose wild tale of guilt or sorrow he is cognizant of
¦ — who can remember how often similar griefs were trem
bling upon lips which did not Unburden themselves — whose
heart being the receptacle ofthe anguish of many, can judge
Avhat is in human hearts : he alone can estimate how much
there is of sin and crime lying with the weight and agony
of concealment on the Spirits of our brethren.
The fourth 'burden is an intuitive consciousness ofthe hid
den sins of others' hearts.
To two states of soul it is given to detect the presence of
evil : states the opposite of each other — innocence and guilt.
It was predicted of the Saviour while yet a child, that by
Him the thoughts of many hearts should be revealed ; the
fulfillment of this was the history of His life. He went
through the world, by His innate purity detecting the pres
ence of evil, zs. He detected the touch of her who touched
His garment in the crowd. 1
Men,- supposed spotless before, fell down before Him,
crying, " Depart from me,' for I am a sinful man, O Lord!"
This, in a lower degree, is true of all innocence : you would
think that one who can deeply read the human heart and
track' its Avindings must be himself deeply experienced in
evil. But it is not so — at least not always. Purity can
detect the presence of the evil which it does not understand :
just as the dove which has never seen a hawk trembles at
its presence ; and just as a horse rears uneasily when the
wild- beast unknown and new to it is near, so innocence
understands, yet understands not the meaning of the unholy
look, the guilty tone, the sinful manner. It shudders and
shrinks from it by a power given to it, like that which God
has conferred on the unreasoning mimosa. Sin gives the
same power, but differently. Innocence apprehends the ap
proach of evil by the instinctive tact of contrast ; guilt, by

324 The Restoration of the Erring.
the instinctive consciousness of similarity. It is the pro
found truth contained in the history of the Fall. The eyes
are opened ; the knowledge of good and evil has come.
The soul knows its own nakedness, but it knows also the
nakedness of all other souls which have sinned after the si
militude of its own sin.
Very marvellous is that test-power of guilt : it is vain to
think of eluding its fine capacity of penetration. Intimations
of evil are perceived and noted, when to other eyes all seems
pure. The dropping of an eye, the shunning of a subject,
the tremulousness of a tone, the peculiarity of a subterfuge,
will tell the tale. " These are tendencies like mine, and here
is a spirit conscious as my own is conscious."
This dreadful burden the Scriptures call the knowledge
of good and evil : can we not all remember the salient sense
of happiness which we had when all was innocent — when
crime was the tale of some far, distant hemisphere, and the
guilt we heard of was not suspected, in the hearts ofthe beings
around us? and can we not recollect, too, how by our own
sin, or the cognizance of others' sin, there came a something
which hung the heavens with shame and guilt, and . all
around seemed laden with evil ? This is the worst burden
that comes from transgression : loss of faith in human good
ness ; the being sentenced to go through life haunted with a
presence from which we can not escape. ; the presence of
evil in the hearts of all that we approach.
II. The Christian power of restoration : " Ye which are
spiritual, restore such an one."
First, then, restoration is possible. That is a Christian
fact. Moralists Irave taught us what sin is ; they have ex
plained how it twines itself into habit ; they have shown us
its ineffaceable character. It was reserved for Christianity
to speak of restoration. Christ, and Christ only, has revealed
that he who has erred may be restored, and made pure and
clean and whole again.
Next, however, observe that this restoration is accomplished
by men. Causatively, of course, and immediately, restoration
is the work of Christ and of God the Spirit. Mediately and
instrumentally, it is the work of men. "Brethren,  re
store such an one." God has given to man the power of
elevating his brother man. He has conferred on His Church
the power of the keys to bind and loose, " Whosesoever siny/
ye remit, they are remitted ; and whosesoever sins ye retain,
they are retained." It is therefore in the power of man, by
his conduct, to restore his brother, or to hinder bis restora-

The Restoration of the Erring. 325
tion. He may loose him from his sins, or retain their power
upon his soul.
Noav the Avords of the text confine us to two modes in
which this is done : by sympathy and by forgiveness. " Bear
ye one another's burdens."
By sympathy. We Protestants have one unvarying sneer
ready for the system of the Romish confessional. They con
fess, we say, for the sake of absolution, that absolved they
may sin again. A shallow, superficial sneer, as all sneers
are. In that craving of the heart which gives the system of
the confessional its dangerous power, there is something far
more profound than any sneer can fathom. It is not the
desire to sin again that makes men long to unburden their
conscience, but it is the yearning to be true, which lies at
the bottom, even of the most depraved hearts, to appear
Avhat they are, and to lead a false life no longer ; and besides
this,it is the desire of sympathy. For this comes out of that
dreadful sense of loneliness which is the result of sinning ; —
the heart severed from God, feels severed from all other
hearts : goes alone as if it had neither part nor lot with other
men ; itself a shadow among shadows. And its craving is
for sympathy : it wants some human heart to know what it
feels. Thousands upon thousands of laden hearts around us
are crying, Come and bear my burden with me ; and observe
here, the apostle says, " Bear ye one another's burdens."
Nor let the priest bear the burdens of all: that were most
unjust. Why should the priest's heart be the common re
ceptacle of all the crimes and wickedness of a congregation ?
" Bear ye one another's burdens."
Again, by forgiveness. There is a truth in the doctrine
of absolution. God has given to man the power to absolve
his brother, and so restore him to himself. The forgiveness
of man is an echo and an earnest of God's forgiveness. He
Avhom society has restored realizes the possibility of restora
tion to God's favor. Even the mercifulness of one good
man sounds like a voice of pardon from heaven: just as the
power and the exclusion of men sound like a knell of hope
lessness, and do actually bind the sin upon the soul. The
man whom society will not forgive nor restore is driven into
recklessness. This is the true Christian doctrine of absolu
tion, as expounded by the Apostle Paul, 2 Cor. ii. 7-10 : the
degrading power of severity, the restoring power of pardon,
vested in the Christian community, the voice of the miiiister
being but their voice.
Now, then, let us inquire into the Christianity of our so
ciety. Restoration is the essential work of Christianity

320 The Restoration of the Erring.
The Gospel is the declaration of God's sympathy and God's
pardon. In these two particulars, then, what is our right to
be called a Christian community ?
Suppose that a man is overtaken in a fault. What does
he, or what shall he do ? Shall he retain it unacknowledged',
or go through life a false man? God forbid. Shall he then
acknowledge it to his brethren, that they by sympathy and
merciful caution, may restore him? Well, but is it not cer
tain that- it is exactly from those to" whom the name of
" brethren" most peculiarly belongs that he will not receive
assistance ? Can a man in mental doubt go to the members
ofthe same religious communion? Does he not know that
they precisely- are the ones who will frown upon his doubts,
and proclaim his sins? Will' a clergyman unburden, his
mind- to his - brethren in the ministry ? Are they not in their
official rigor the least capable of largely understanding him ?
If a woman be overtaken in a fault, will she tell it to a sis
ter-woman ? Or does she not feel instinctively that her sis
ter-woman is ever the most harsfy the mostr severe, and the
most ferocious judge? -
Well, you sneer at the confessional; you complain that
mistaken ministers of the Church of England are restoring it
amongst us. But who are they that are forcing on the con
fessional? who drive laden and broken hearts to pour out
their long pent-up sorrows into arty ear that will receive
them? I say it is we : we by our uncharitableness ; we by
our want of sympathy and unmerciful behavior ; we by the
unchristian way in which we break down the bridge behind
the penitent, and say, "On, on in sin — there is no returning."
Finally, the apostle tells us the spirit in which this is to
be done, and assigns a motive for the doing it. The mode
is, "in the spirit of meekness." For Satan can not cast out
Satan. Sin can not drive out- sin. For instance, my anger
can not drive out another man's covetousness ; my petulance
or sneer can not expel another's extravagance. The, meek
ness of Christ alone has power. The charity which desires
another's goodness above his well-being, that alone succeeds
in the work of restorations
The motive is, " considering thyself, lest thou also be
tempted." For sin is the result of inclination or weakness,
combined with opportunity. It is therefore in a degree the
offspring of circumstances. Go to the hulks, the jail; the
penitentiary, the penal colony, statistics will almost mark
out for you beforehand the classes which have furnished the
inmates, and the exact proportion ofthe delinquency of each
class. You Avill not find the Avealthy there, nor the noble.,

. Christ the Son. 327
nor those guarded by the fences of s'ocial life, but the poor,
and the uneducated, and the: frail, and the defenseless. Can
you gravely: surmise that this regular tabulation depends
upon the superiorvirtue of one class compared with others ?
Or must you admit that :the majority at least of those who
have not fallen are safe because they were ndt tempted?
Well, then, when St. Paul says, " considering thyself, lest
thou also be tempted," it is as if he had written, Proud Phar
isee of a man, complacent in thine integrity^ who thankest
God that thou art " not as other men are, extortioners,
unjust, or as this publican," hast thou gone through the ter
rible ordeal and come off with unscathed virtue? Or art
thou in all these points simply untried ? Proud Pharisee of
a Avoman, Avho passest by an erring sister with a haughty
look of conscious superiority, dost thou knoAV Avhat tempta
tion is, with strong feeling and mastering opportunity?
Shall the rich-cut crystal which stands on the table of the
wealthy man, protected from dust and injury, boast that it
has escaped the flaws, and the cracks, and the fractures
which the earthen jar has sustained, exposed and subjected
to rough and general uses ? Oh man or woman ! thou who
Avouldst be a Pharisee, consider, oh consider thyself, lest
thou also be tempted.

XI.
CHRIST THE SON.

" God, who at sundry times and in divers manners spake in time past unto
the .fathers by, the prophets, hath in these last days spoken unto us by his
Son."— Heb. i. 1, 2.
Two critical remarks.
1. " Sundry times " — more literally, sundry portions — sec
tions, not of time, but of the matter of the revelation. God
gave His revelation in parts, piecemeal, as you teach a child
to spell a word — letter by letter, syllable by syllable — ad
ding all at last together. God had a Word to spell — His OAvn
name. By degrees He did it. At last it came entire. The
Word was made flesh.
2. " His Son," more correctly, " a Son " — for this is the
very argument. Not that God now spoke by Christ, but
that Avhereas once He spoke by prophets, noAV He spoke by
a Son. The filial dispensation was the last.
This epistle Avas addressed to Christians on the verge of

328 Christ the Son.
apostasy. See those passages : " It is impossible for those
who were once enlightened, and have tasted ofthe heavenly
gift, and were made partakers of the Holy Ghost, and have
tasted the good word of God, and the powers of the world
to come, if they shall fall away, to renew them" again unto re
pentance ; seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of God
afresh, and put Him to an open shame." " Cast not away
your confidence." " We are made partakers of Christ, if we
hold the- beginning of our confidence steadfast unto the end."
Observe what the danger was. Christianity had disap
pointed them — they had not found in it the rest they antici
pated. They looked back to the Judaism they had left, and
saw a splendid temple-service, a line of priests, a visible tem
ple witnessing of God's presence, a religion which was un
questionably fertile in prophets and martyrs. They saw
these pretensions and Avavered.
But this was all on the eve of dissolution. The Jewish
earth and heavens, i. e., the Jewish Commonwealth and
Church, were doomed and about to pass away. The writer ¦
of this epistle felt that their hour was come ;* and if their re
ligion rested on nothing better than this, he knew that in
the crash religion itself Avould go. To return to Judaism
was to go down to atheism and despair.
Reason alleged — they had contented themselves with a
superficial view of Christianity ; they had not seen how it
Avas interAvoven with all their own history, and hoAV it alone
explained that history.
Therefore in this epistle the Avriter labors to show that
Christianity was the fulfillment of the idea latent in Judaism :
that from the earliest times, and in every institution, it was
implied. In the monarchy, in prophets, in sabbath-days, in
psalms, in the priesthood, and in 'temple-services, Christianity
lay concealed ; and the dispensation of a Son Avas the realiza
tion of what else Avas shadow. He therefore alone who ad
hered to Christ was the true Jew, and to apostatize from
Christianity was really to apostatize from true Judaism.
I am to show, then, that the manifestation of God through
a Son Avas implied, not realized, in the earlier dispensation.
" Sundry portions " of this truth are instanced in the epis
tle. The mediatorial dispensation of Moses — the gift of
Canaan — the Sabbath, etc. At present I select these:
I. The preparatory Dispensation.
II. The filial and final Dispensation.
I. It was implied, not fulfilled in the kingly office. Three
* See chap. xii. 2G, 27.

Christ the Son. 329
Psalms are quoted, all referring to kingship. In tlie' 2d
Psalm it was plain that a true idea of a king was only fulfill
ed in one who'was a son of God. The Jewish king was king
only so far as he held from God : as His image, the repre
sentative of the Fountain of law and majesty. To Him God
hath said, " Thou art my son, this day have I begotten thee."
The 45th Psalm is a bridal hymn, composed on the marriage
of a Jewish king. Startling language is addressed to him.
He is called God — Lord. " Thy throne, O God, is for ever
and ever." The bride is invited to Worship him as it were a
God : " He is thy Lord, and worship thou Him." No one is
surprised at this who remembers that Moses was said to be
made a God to Aaron. Yet it is startling, almost blasphem
ous, unless there be a deeper meaning implied — the divine
character of the real king.
In the 110th Psalm a new idea is added. The trae king
must be a priest. " Thou art a priest forever, after the or
der of Melchizedek. This was addressed to the Jewish king ;
but it implied that the ideal king, of which he Avas for the
time the representative, more or less truly, is one who at the
same time sustains the highest religious character, and the
highest executive authority.
Again, David was emphatically the type of the JeAvish re
gal idea. David is scarcely a personage, so entirely does he
pass in Jewish forms of thought into an ideal sovereign —
" the sure mercies of David." David is the name, therefore,
for the David which was to be. Noav David was a wander
er, kingly still, rulipg men and gaining adherents by force of
inward royalty. Thus in the Jewish mind the kingly office
disengaged itself from outward pomp and hereditary right
as mere accidents., and became a personal reality. The king
was an idea.
Further still. The epistle extends this idea to man. The
psalm had ascribed (Ps. viii. 6) kingly qualities and rule to
manhood — rule over the creation. Thus the idea of a king
belonged properly to humanity ; to the Jewish king as the
representative of humanity.
Yet even in collective humanity the royal character is not
realized. " We see not," says the epistle, " all things as yet
put under him " — man.
Collect, then, these notions. The true king of men is a
Son of God : one who is to his fellow-men, God and Lord, as
the Jewish bride Avas to feel her royal husband to be to her
— one who is a priest — one who may be poor and exiled, yet
not less royal.
Say, then, Avhence is this idea fulfilled by Judaism? To

330 Christ the Son.
which of the Jewish kings can it be applied, except with in
finite exaggeration ? To David ? • Why, the Redeemer
shows the insuperable difficulty of this. " How then doth
David in Spirit call him," i. e., the king of whom he Avas
writing, "Lord, saying, the Lord said unto my Lord, sit thou
on my right hand, until I make thy enemies thy footstool?"
David writing of himself, yet speaks there in the third per
son, projecting himself outward as an object of contempla
tion, an idea.
Is it fulfilled in the human race ? " We see not yet all
things put under him." Then the writer goes on : " But we
see .Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels for
the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honor; that
He by the grace of God should taste death for every man."
In Jesus of "Nazareth alone all these fragments, these sundry
portions of the revealed idea of royalty met.
II. Christianity was implied in the race of prophets.
The second class of quotations refer to the- prophets' life
and history (Heb. ii. 11-14; Psalm xxii. 22; Psalm xviii. 2;
Isaiah xii. 2 ; Isaiah viii. 18). Remember what the prophets
were. They were not merely predictors of the future.
Nothing destroys the true conception of the prophets' office
more than those popular books in which their mission is cer
tified by curious coincidences. For example, if it is predict
ed that Babylon shall be a desolation, the haunt of wild
beasts, etc., then some traveller has seen a lion standing on
Birs Nimroud ; or if the fisherman is to dry his nets on Tyre,
simply expressingH>its destruction thereby, the commentator
is not easy till he finds that a net has been actually seen dry
ing on a rock. But this is to degrade the prophetic office to
a level with Egyptian palmistry : to make the prophet like
an astrologer, or a gypsy fortune-teller^-bne who Can pre
dict destinies and draw horoscopes. But, in truth, the first
office of the prophet Avas with the present. He read eternal
principles beneath the present and the transitory, and in
doing this, of course, he prophesied the future ; for p, princi
ple true to-day is true forever. But this was, so to speak,
an accident of his office, not its essential feature. If, for
instance, he read in the voluptuousness of Babylon the se
cret of Babylon's decay, he also read by anticipation the
doom of Corinth, of London, of all cities in Babylon's
state; or if Jerusalem's fall was predicted, in it all such
judgment comings were foreseen; and the language' is true
of the fall of the world : as truly, or more so, than that of
Jerusalem. A philosopher saying in the present tense the

Christ the Son. 331
laAV by which comets move, predicts all possible cometary
movements. -
Now the prophet's life; almost more than his words, was
predictive; Thewriter of this epistle lays down a great prin
ciple respecting the prophet: ^' Both he that sanctifieth and
theywho are sanctified are all of one." It was the very
condition of his inspiration that he should be one with the
people. So far from making him superhuman, it made him
more man. He felt with more exquisite sensitiveness all that
belongs to man, else he could not have been a prophet. His
insight into things was the result of that very weakness, sen
sitiveness; and susceptibility so tremhlingly alive. He burned
with their thoughts, and expressed them. He was obliged
by the very sensitiveness of his humanity to have a more
entire dependence and a more perfect sympathy than other
men. _ The sanctifying prophet was one with those whom he
sanctified. Hence he uses those expressions quoted from
Isaiah and the Psalms above.
He was more man, just because more divine — more a son
of man, because more a son of God. He was peculiarly the
Suffering Israelite : His countenance marred more than the
sons of men. Hence Ave are told the prophets searched
" what, 6r what manner of time, the Spirit of Christ which
was in them did signify, when it testified beforehand the
sufferings of Christ, and the glory that should folio av."
Observe, it was a spirit in them, their own lives witnessing
mysteriously of what the perfect Humanity must be suf
fering. Thus, especially, the 53d chapter of Isaiah was Spoken orig
inally of the Jewish nation— of' the prophet as peculiarly the
Israelite ; and it is no wonder the eunuch asked Philip in per
plexity, " Of whom doth the prophet say this — of himself or
some other man ?". The truth is, he said it of himself, but
prophetically of Humanity ; true of him, most true of the
highest Humanity. Here, then, was a new " portion" of the
revelation. The prophet rebuked the king, often opposed
the priest, but was one with the people. " He that sancti
fieth and they Avho are sanctified are all of one."
If, then, One had come claiming to be the Prophet of the
race, arid was a sufferer, claiming to be the Son of God, and
yet peculiarly man ;_the son of man : the son of man just be
cause the Son of God : more Divine, because more human :
then this Avas only what the whole race of Jewish prophets
should have prepared them for. God had spoken by the
prophets. That God had now spoken by a Son in whom the
idea of the true prophet Avas realized in its entireness.

332 Christ the Son.
III. The priesthood continued this idea latent. The writer
of this epistle saw three elements in the priestly idea : 1. That
he should be ordained for men in things pertaining to God ;
2. That he should offer gifts and sacrifices; 3. That he should
be called by God, not be a mere self-asserter.
1. Ordained for men. Remark here the true idea con
tained in Judaism, and its difference from the heathen no
tions. In Heathenism the priest was of a different race — sep
arate from his fellows. In Judaism he was ordained for men ;
their representative ; constituted in their behalf. , The Jew
ish priest represented the holiness of the nation ; he went into
the Holy of Holies, showing it. But this great idea was only
implied, not fulfilled in the Jewish priest. He was only by a
fiction the representative of holiness. Holy he Avas not. He
only entered into a fictitious Holy of Holies. If the idea
Avere to be ever real, it must be in One who should be act
ually what the Jewish priest, was by a figment, and Avho
should carry our humanity into the real Holy of Holies — the
presence of God ; thus becoming our Invisible and Eternal
Priest. Next it was implied that his call must be Divine. But in
the 110th Psalm a higher call is intimated than that Divine
call which Avas made to the Aaronic priesthood by a regular
succession, or, as it is called in the epistle, " the law of a car
nal commandment." Melchizedek's call is spoken of. The
king is called a priest after his order. Not a derived or he
reditary priesthood ; not one transmissible, beginning and
ending in himself (Heb. vii. 1-3), but a priesthood, in other
words, of character, of inward right : a call internal, hence
more Divine ; or, as the writer calls it, a priest " after the
power of an endless life." This was the idea for which the
Jewish psalms themselves ought to have prepared the JeAV.
Again, the priests offered gifts and sacrifices. Distinguish :
Gifts were thank-offerings ; first-fruits of- harvest, vintage,
etc., a man's best ; testimonies of infinite gratefulness, aud
expressions of it. But sacrifices were different : they implied
a sense of un worthiness: that sense which conflicts Avith the
idea of any right to offer gifts.
Now the Jewish Scriptures themselves had explained this
subject, and this instinctive feeling of unAvorthiness for which
sacrifice found an expression. Prophets and psalmists had
felt that no sacrifice was perfect which did not reach the con
science (Ps. Ii. 16, 17), for instance; also Heb. x. 8-12. No
language could more clearly show that the spiritual Jew dis
cerned that entire surrender to the Divine Will is the only
perfect sacrifice, the ground of all sacrifices, and that which

Worldliness. 333
alone imparts to it a significance. Not the mere sacrifice of
victims. ... " Then said I, Lo, I come to do Thy Avill, O
God." That is the sacrifice which God wills.
I say it firmly — all other notions of sacrifice are false.
Whatsoever introduces the conception of vindictiveness or
retaliation — whatever speaks of appeasing fury — Avhatever
estimates the value ofthe Saviour's sacrifice by the "penalty
paid" — Avhatever differs from these notions of sacrifice con
tained in psalms and prophets — is borrowed from the bloody
shambles of Heathenism, and not from Jewish altars.
This alone makes the worshipper perfect as pertaining to
the conscience. He who can offer it in its entireness, He
alone is the world's Atonement ; He in whose heart the Law
was, and who alone of all mankind was content to do it, His
sacrifice alone can be the sacrifice all-sufficient in the Father's
sight as the proper sacrifice of humanity : He who through
the Eternal Spirit offered Himself Avithout spot to God, He
alone can give the Spirit Avhich enables us to present our
bodies a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God. He is
the only High-priest of the universe.

XII.
WORLDLINESS.
"If any man love the world, tbe love of the Father is not in him. "For
all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the
pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. And the world passeth
away, and the lust thereof: but he that doeth the will of God abideth for
ever." — 1 John ii. 15-17.
Religion differs from morality in the value which it
places on the affections. Morality requires that an act be
done on principle. Religion goes deeper, and inquires into
the state of the heart. The Church of Ephesus was unsus
pected in her orthodoxy, and unblemished in her zeal : but to
the ear of him who saw the apocalyptic vision, a voice spake,
" I have somewhat against thee in that thou hast left thy
first love."
In the eye of Christianity he is a Christian Avho loves the
Father. He who loves the world may be in his way a good
man, respecting whose eternal destiny we pronounce no
opinion : but one of the children of the kingdom he is not.
Noav the boundary-lines of this love of the world, or
Avorldliness, are exceedingly difficult to define. Bigotry pro-

334 Worldliness.
nounces many things wrong whidi are harmless : laxity per
mits many which are by no means innocent : and it is a
question perpetually put, a question miserably perplexing to
those whose religion consists more in avoiding that which is
wrong than in seeking that which is right, What is world
liness ?
To that question we desire to find to-day. an answer in the
text ; premising this, that our object is to put ourselves in
possession 'of principles. For otherwise we shall only deal
with this matter as empirics ; condemning this and approving
that by opinion, but on no certain and intelligible ground :
we shall but float on the unstable sea of opinion. -.
We confine ourselves to two points.
I. The nature ofthe forbidden Avorld.
II. The reason for which it is 'forbidden.
I. The nature of the forbidden world. The first idea sug
gested by " the world " is this green earth, with, its days and
nights, its seasons, its hills and its. valleys, its clouds and
brightness. This is not the world the love of which is pro?
hibited ; for to forbid the love of this would be to forbid the
love of God.
There are three ways in which we learn to know Him.
First, by the working of our minds : love, justice, tender
ness. If we would know what "they mean in God, we must
gain the conception from their existence in ourselves. But
inasmuch as humanity is imperfect in us, if we were to learn
of God only from His image in ourselves, Ave should run the
risk of calling the evil good, and the imperfect divine.
Therefore He has giv^n us, besides this, the representation of
Himself in Christ, where is found the meeting-point of the
Divine and the human, and in whose. life the character of
Deity is reflected as completely as the sun is seen in the
depth of the Still, untroubled lake.
But there is: a third Avay in which we attain the idea of
God. This world is but manifested Deity — God shown to
eye, and ear, and sense. This strange -phenomenon of a
world, what is it ? All we, know of it— all we know of mat
ter — is, that it is an assemblage of powers which. produce in
us certain sensations ; but what those powers are in them
selves we know not. The sensation of color, form, weight,
we have; but what it is which gives those sensations-^-in
the language of the schools,, what is the substratum which
supports the accidents or qualities of Being — we can not tell.
Speculative Philosophy replies, It is but our own selves be
coming conscious of themselves. We, in our own being, are

Worldliness. 335
the cause 01 all phenomena. Positive Philosophy replies,
What the Being of the world is we can not tell, we only
know what it seems to us. Phenomena. — appearance — be
yond this we can not reach. Being itself is — and forever
must be, unknowable. Religion replies, That something is
God.. The world is but manifested Deity. That which lies
beneath the surface of all appearance, the cause of all mani
festation, is God. So that to forbid the love of all this
world is to forbid the love of that by which God is known
to us. The sounds and sights of this lovely world are but
the drapery of the robe in which the Invisible has clothed
Himself Does a man ask what this Avorld is, and why man
is placed in it ? It was that the invisible things of Him from
the creation of the world might be clearly seen. Have we
ever stood beneath the solemn vault of heaven when the
stars were looking down in their silent splendor, and not felt
an overpoAvering sense of His eternity ? When the white
lightning has quivered in the sky, has that told us: nothing
of power, or only something of electricity? Rocks and
mountains, are they here to give us the idea of material mass-
iveness, or to reveal the conception of the Strength of Israel?
When we take up the page of past history, and read that
wrong never prospered long, but that nations have drunk
one -after another the cup of terrible retribution, can we dis
miss all that as the philosophy of history, or shall Ave say
that through blood, and war, and desolation we trace the
footsteps of: a presiding God, and find evidence that there
sits at the helm of this world's affairs a strict, and rigorous,
and most terrible justice? To the eye that can see, to the
heart that is not paralyzed, God is here. The warnings
which the Bible utters against the.things'of this Avorld bring
no charge, against the glorious world itself. The world is
the glass through which we see the .Maker. But what men
do is this: They put the.dulLquicksilver, of their own.selfish-
ness behind the glass,- and so it becomes not the transparent
medium through which God shines, but the dead opaque
which reflects back themselves. . Instead of lying with open
eye and heart to receive, we project ourselves upon, the world
and give. So it gives us back our own false feelings and na
ture. Therefore it brings forth thorns and thistles; there
fore it grows weeds — weeds to us; therefore the . lightning
burns with wrath, and the thunder mutters vengeance, j By
all which it comes to pass that the very manifestation of God
has transformed itself :^-the lust of the: flesh, and the.lust of
the eye, and. the pride of life; and all that is in the world is
no longer of the Father, but is ofthe world,

336 Worldliness.
¦ By the world again is sometimes meant the men that are
in the world. And thus the command would run, Love not
men, but love God. It has been so read. The Pharisees
read it so of old. The property which natural affection de
manded for the support of parents, upon that they wrote
" Corban," a gift for God, and robbed men that they might
give to God. Yet no less than this is done whenever human
affection is called idolatry. , As if God were jealous of our
love in the human sense of jealousy ; as if we could love God
the more by loving man the less ; as if it were not by loving
our brother Avhom Ave have seen, that we approximate to
wards' the love of God whom we have not seen. This is but
the cloak for narrowness of heart. Men of withered affec
tions excuse their lovelessness by talking largely of the affec
tion due to God. Yet, like the Pharisees, the love on which
Corban is written is never given to God, but really retained
for self.
No, let a man love his, neighbor as himself. Let him love
his brother, sister, wife, with all the intensity of his heart's
affection. This is not St. John's forbidden world.
By the world is often understood the worldly occupation,
trade or profession which a man exercises. And according
ly, it is no uncommon thing to hear this spoken of as some
thing which, if not actually anti-religious, is, so far as it goes,
time taken away from the religious life. But when the man
from whom the legion had been expelled asked Jesus for the
precepts of a religious existence, the reply sent him back to
nhome. His former worldliness had consisted in doing his world
ly duties ill — his future 'religiousness Avas to consistin doing
those same duties better. A man's profession or trade is not
only not incompatible Avith religion (provided it be a laAvful
one), it is his religion. And this is true even of those call
ings which at first sightappear to have in them something
hard to reconcile with religiousness. For instance, the pro
fession of a lawyer. He is a worldling in it if he use it for
some personal greed, or degrade it by chicanery. But in it
self it is an occupation which sifts right from wrong ; which,
in the entangled web of human life, unwinds the meshes of
error. He is by profession enlisted on the side of the right
— directly connected with God, the central point of 'justice
and truth. A nobler occupation need no man desire than to
be a fellow-worker with God. Or take the soldier's trade — -
in this world generally a trade of blood, and revenge, and
idle licentiousness. Rightly understood, what is it ? A sol
dier's whole life, whether he will or not, is an enunciation' of
the greatest of religious truths, the voluntary sacrifice of

Worldliness. 337
one for the sake of many. In the detail of his existence, how
abundant are the ppportunities.for the voluntary recognition
of this. Opportunities such as that Avhen the three strong
men brake through the lines of the enemy to obtain the wa
ter for their sovereign's thirst — opportunities as when that
same heroic sovereign poured the untasted Avater on the
ground, and refused to drink because it was his soldiers' lives
— he could not drink at such a price. Earnestness in a law
ful calling is not worldliness. A profession is the sphere of
our activity. There is something sacred in work. To work
in the appointed sphere is to be religious — as religious as to
pray. This is not the forbidden world.
Now to define what worldliness is. Remark, first, that it
is determined by the spirit of a life, not the objects with which
the life is conversant. It is not'the "flesh," nor the "eye,"
nor " life," Avhich are forbidden, but it is the " lust of the
flesh," and the " lust of the eye," and the "pride of life." ¦. It
is not this earth, nor the men Avho inhabit it, nor the sphere
of our legitimate activity, that we may not love, but the way
in which the love is given which constitutes worldliness.
Look into this a little closer. The lust ofthe flesh. Here is
affection for the outward : pleasure, that which affects the
senses only : the flesh, that enjoyment which comes from the
emotions of an hour, be it coarse or be it refined. The pleas
ure of wine or the pleasure of music, so far as it is only a
movement of the flesh. Again, the lust ofthe eye. Here is
affection for the transient, for the eye can only gaze on form
and color — and these are things that do not last. Once
more — the pride of life. Here is affection for the unreal.
Men's opinion— the estimate which depends upon wealth,
rank, circumstances.
Worldliness then consists in these three things : Attach
ment to the outward — attachment to the transitory — attach
ment to the unreal: in opposition to love for the inward, the
eternal, the true : and the; one of these affections is necessari
ly expelled by the other. If a man love the world, the love
of the Father is not in him. - But let a man once feel the
power ofthe kingdom that is within, and then the love fades
of that emotion whose life consists only in the thrill of a
nerve, or the vivid sensation of a feeling : he loses his happi
ness, and wins his blessedness. Let a man get but one glimpse
ofthe King in His beauty, and then the forms and shapes of
things here are to him but the, types of an invisible. loveli
ness : types which he is content should, break and fade. Let
but a man feel truth— that goodness is greatness— that there
is no other greatness — and r then the degrading reverence
15

338 Worldliness.
with, which the titled- of this world bow before wealth, and
the ostentation with which the rich of this world profess
fheir famiUarity with title : all the pride of life, what as it to
him ? The love of the inward — everlasting, real — the love,
that is, of the Father, annihilates the love of the world.
II. We pass to the reasons for which the love of the world
is forbidden.
The first reason assigned is, that the love of the world is
incompatible with the love of God. If any man love the
world, the love of the Father is not in him. Now what we
observe in this is, that St. John takes it for granted that we
must love something. If not the love of the Father, then of
necessity the love of the world. Love misplaced, or love
rightly placed — you have your choice 'between these two :
you have not your choice between loving God or nothing.
No man is sufficient for himself. Every man must go out of
himself for enjoyment. Something in this universe besides
himself there must be to bind the affections of every man.
There is that within us which compels Us to attach ourselves
to something outward. The choice is not this : love, or be
without love. You can not give the pent-up steam its choice
of moving or not moving. It. must move one way or the
other : the right way or the wrong way. Direct it rightly,
and its energy rolls the engine-wheels, smoothly on their
track : block up its passage, and it bounds away, a thing of
madness and ruin. Stop it you can not ; it "will rather burst.
So it is with our hearts. There is a pent-up energy of love,
gigantic for gob* or evil. Its right. Avay is in the direction
of our Eternal Father ; and then, let it boil and pant as it
will, the course of the man is. smooth. Expel the love of
God from the bosom — what then ? Will the passion that is
within cease to burn ? Nay. Tie the man down — let there
be no outlet for his affections — let him attach hirnself to noth
ing, and become a loveless spirit in this universe, and then
there is what we call a broken heart : the steam "bursts the
machinery that contains it. Or else let him take his course,
unfettered and free, and then we have the riot of worldliness
— a man with strong affections thrown off. the line; tearing
himself tp pieces, and carrying desolation along with him.
Let us comprehend our own nature, ourselves, and our des
tinies. God is our rest, the only one that can quench the
fever of our desire. God in Christ is What we want. When
men quit that, so that " the love of the Father is not in them,"
then they must perforce turn aside : the nobler heart to break
with disappointment — the meaner heart to love the Avorld

Worldliness. 339
instead, arid sate and satisfy itself, as best it may, on things
that perish in the using. Herein lies the secret of our being,
in this world of the affections. This explains why our no
blest feelings lie so close to our basest — why the noblest so
easily metamorphose themselves into the basest. The heart
which was made large enough for God Avastes itself upon the
world. The second reason which the apostle gives for not squan
dering affection on the world is its transitoriness. Now this
transitoriness exists in two shapes. It is transitory in itself
— the.Avorld passeth away. It is transitory in its power of
exciting desire — the lust thereof passeth away.
It is a twice-told tale that the world is passing aAvay from
us, and there is very little new to be said on the subject.
God has written it on every page of His creation that there
is nothing here which lasts. Our affections change. The
friendships of the man are not the friendships of the boy.
Our very selves are altering. The basis of our being may
remain, but our views, tastes, feelings are no more our former
Self than the oak is the acorn. The very face of the visible
world is altering around us : we have the gray mouldering
ruins to tell of what was once. Our laborers strike their
ploughshares against the foundations of "buildings which
once echoed to human mirth — skeletons of men, to whom
life once was dear — urns and coins that remind the antiqua
rian of a magnificent empire. To-day the shot ofthe enemy
defaces and blackens monuments and venerable temples
which remind the Christian that into the deep silence of
eternity the Roman world, which was in its vigor in the
days of John, has passed away. And so things are going.
It is a work of weaving and unweaving. All passes. Names
that the world heard once in thunder are scarcely heard at
the end of centuries : good or bad, they pass. A feAV years
ago, and we were not. A few centuries farther, and Ave
reach the age of beings of almost another race. Nimrod
was the conqueror and scourge of his far-back age. Tubal
Cain gave to the world the iron which was the foundation
of every triumph of men over nature. We have their
names now. But the philologist is uncertain whether the
name of the first is real or mythical, and the traveller exca
vates the sand-mounds of Nineveh to wonder over the rec
ords which he can not decipher. Tyrant and benefactor,
both are gona And so all things are moving on to the last
fire which shall wrap the world in conflagration, and make
all that has been the recollection of a dream. This is the
history of the Avorld, and all that is in it. It passes while Ave

340 Worldliness.
look at it. Like as when you watch the melting tints of the
evening sky — purple-crimson, gorgeous gold, a feAV pulsa
tions of quivering light, and it is' all gone : " We are such
stuff as dreams are made of."
The other aspect of this transitoriness is, that the lust of
the world passeth away. By which the apostle seems to re
mind us of that solemn truth that, fast as the world is fleet
ing from us, faster still does the taste for its enjoyments fleet ;
fast as the brilliancy fades from earthly things, faster still
does the eye become wearied of straining itself upon them.
Now there is one way in which this takes place — by a man
becoming satiated with the world. There is something in
earthly rapture which cloys. And Avhen Ave drink deep of
pleasure, there is left behind something of that loathing
which folloAvs a repast on sweets. When a boy sets out in
life, it is all fresh — freshness in feeling — zest in his enjoy
ment — purity in his heart. Cherish that, my young breth
ren, while you can ; lose it, and it never comes again. It is
not an easy thing to cherish it, for it demands restraint in
pleasure, and no young heart loves that. Religion has only
calm, sober, perhaps monotonous pleasures to offer at first.
The deep rapture of enjoyment comes in after-life. And
that will not satisfy the young heart. Men will know what
pleasure is, and they drink deep. ¦ Keen delight — feverish
enjoyment — that is what you long for: and these emotions
lose their delicacy and their relish, and will only come at the
bidding of gross excitements. The ecstasy which once rose
to the sight of the rainbow in the sky, or the bright brook,
or the fresh morfring, comes languidly at last only in the
crowded midnight room, or the excitement of commercial
speculation, or beside the gaming-table, or amidst the fever
of politics. It is a spectacle for men and angels, when a
man has become old in feeling and worn-out before his time.
Know we none such among our own acquaintance ? Have
the young, never seen those aged ones who stand:, amongst
them in their pleasures, almost as if to warn them of what
they themselves must come to at last? Have "they never
marked the dull and sated look that they cast;- upon the
whole scene, as upon a thing Avhich they would fain enjoy
. and can not? KnoAV you what" you have been looking on?
A sated worldling — one to whom pleasure was rapture once,
as it is to you now. Thirty years more, that look and that
place will be yours : and that is the way the world rewards
its veterans; it chains them to it after the "lust of the
world " has passed away.
Or this may be done by a discovery of the unsatisfactori-

Worldliness. 341
ness of the world. That is a discovery not made by every
man. But there are some at least who have learned it bit
terly, and that without the aid of Christ. Some there are
Avho Avould not live over this past life again even if it were
possible. Some there are Avho would gladly have done Avith
the whole thing at once, and exchange — oh ! how joyfully —
the garment for the shroud. And some there are who cling
to life, not because life is dear, but because the future is
dark, and they tremble somewhat at the thought of entering
it. Clinging to life is no proof that a man is still longing
for the world. We often cling to life the more tenaciously
as years go on. The deeper the tree has struck its roots into
the ground, the less willing is it to be rooted up. But there
is many a one who so hangs on just' because he has not the
desperate hardihood to quit it, nor faith enough to be " will
ing to depart." The world and he have understood each
other ; he has seen through it ; he has ceased to hope any
thing from. it. The love of the Father is not in him, but
" the lust of the world " has passed away. -
Lastly, a reason for unlearning the love of the world is the
solitary permanence of Christian action. In contrast with
the fleetingness of this Avorld, the apostle tells us ofthe sta
bility of labor. "He that doeth the will of God abideth for
ever." And let us mark this. Christian life is action : not
a speculating, not a debating, but a doing. One thing, and
only one, in this world has eternity stamped upon it.. Feel
ings pass ; resolves and thoughts pass ; opinions change.
What you have done lasts — lasts in you. Through ages,
through eternity, what you have done for Christ, that, "and
only that, you are. " They rest from their labors," saith the
Spirit, " and their works do follow them." If the love ofthe
Father be in us, where is the thing done which Ave have to
show ? You think justly — feel rightly — yes — but your
work ? — produce it. '. Men of wealth, men of talent, men of
leisure, what are you doing in God's world for God ?
Observe, however, to distinguish between the act and the
actor: It. is not the thing done, but the doer who lasts.
The thing done often is a failure. The cup given in the
name of Christ may be given to one unworthy of it ; but
think ye that the love with which it was given has passed
away? Has it not printed itself indelibly in the character
by the very act of giving ? Bless, and if the Son of peace
be there, your act succeeds ; but if not, your blessing shall
return unto you again. In other words, the act may fail, but
the doer of it abideth forever.
We close this subject with two practical truths. Let us

342 Worldliness,
learn from earthly changefulness a lesson of cheerful activi
ty. The world has its way of looking at all this, but.it is
not the Christian's way. There has been nothing said to
day that a worldly moralist has not already said a thousand
times far better. The fact is a world-fact. The application
is a Christian one. Every man can be eloquent about the
nothingness of time. But the application ! '" Let us eat
and drink, for to-morrow we die?" That is one application.
Let us sentimentalize and be sad in this fleeting world, and
talk of the instability of human greatness, and the transi
toriness of human affection ? Those are the only two appli
cations the world knows. They shut out the recollection
and are merry, or they dwell on it and are sad. Christian
brethren, dAvell on it &nd be happy. This world is not
yours ; thank God it is not. It is dropping away from you
like worn-out autumn leaves ; but beneath it, hidden in it,
there is another world lying as the flower lies in the bud.
That is your world, which must burst forth at lasjt into eter
nal luxuriance. All you stand on, see, and love, is but the
husk of something better. Things are passing ; our friends
are dropping off from us ; strength is giving way ; our relish
for earth is going, and the world no longer wears to our
hearts the radiance that once it wore. We have the same
sky above us, and the same scenes around us ; but the fresh
ness that our hearts extracted from every thing in boyhood,
and the glory that seemed to rest once on earth and life have
faded away forever. Sad and gloomy truths to the man who
is going down to the grave with his work undone. Not sad
to the Christian, but rousing, exciting, invigorating. If it be
the eleventh hour, we have no time for folding of the' hands :
we will work the faster. . Through the changefulness of life
— through the solemn tolling of the bell of Time, which tells
us that another, and another, and another, are gone before
us — through the noiseless rush of a world which is going down
with gigantic footsteps into nothingness. Let not the Chris
tian slack his hand from work, for he that doeth the will of
God may defy hell itself to quench his immortality.
Finally, The love of this world is only unlearned by the
love of the Father. It were a desolate thing, indeed, to for
bid the love of earth, if there Avere nothing to fill the vacant
space in the heart. But it is just for this purpose, that a
sublimer affection may find room, that the lower is to be ex
pelled. And there is only one way in which that higher love
is learned. The cross of Christ is the measure of the love of
God to us, and the measure ofthe meaning of man's existence.
The measure is the love of God. Through the death-knell

The Sydenham Palace, Etc. 343
of a passing universe God seems at least to speak to us in
wrath. There is no doubt of what God means in the Cross.
He means love. The measure of the meaning of man's exist
ence. Measure all by the Cross. Do you want success ?
The Cross is failure. Do you want a name? The Cross is
infamy. Is it to be gay and happy that you live ? The Cross
is pain and sharpness. Do you live that the will of God may
be done — in you and by you, in life and death ? Then, and
only then, the Spirit of the Cross is in you. When once a
man has learned that, the power of the Avorld is gone ; and
no man need bid him, in denunciation or in invitation, not to
love the world. He can not love the world, for he has got
an ambition above the world. He has planted his foot upon
the Rock, and when all else is gone, he at least abides forever.

XIII.
THE SYDENHAM PALACE, AND THE RELIGIOUS
NON-OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH.
"One man esteemeth one day above another: another esteemeth every
day alike. Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind. He that
regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord ; and he that regardeth not the
day, to the Lord he doth not regard it. He that eateth, eateth to the Lord,
for he giveth God thanks ; and he that eateth not, to the Lord he eateth not,
and giveth God thanks." — Rom. xiv. 5, 6.
The selection of this text is suggested by one of the cur
rent topics of the day. Lately projects have been devised,
one of which in importance surpasses all the rest, for provid
ing, places of public recreation for the people: and it has
been announced, with the sanction of government, that such
a place will be held open during a part at least of the day of
rest. By a large section of sincerely religious persons this
announcement has been received with considerable alarm
and strenuous opposition. It has seemed to them that such
a desecration would be a national crime : for, holdingthe sab
bath to be God's sign between Himself and His people, they
can not but view the desecration ot the sign as a forfeiture
of His covenant, and an act which Will assuredly call down
national judgments. By the secular press, on the contrary,
this proposal has been defended with considerable power. It
has been, maintained that the sabbath is a Jewish institu
tion ; in its strictness, at all events, not binding on a Chris
tian community. It has been urged with much force that

34.4 The Sydenham Palace, and the
we can not consistently refuse to concede to the poor man
publicly, that right of recreation which privately the rich
man has long taken without rebuke, and with no protest on
the part of the ministers of Christ. And it has been said
that such places of recreation will tend to humariize, which
if not identical with Christianizing the population, is at least
a step towards it.
Upon such a subject, Avhere truth unquestionably does not
lie upon the surface, it can not be out of place if a minister
of Christ endeavors to direct the minds of' his congregation
towards the formation of an opinion; not dogmatically,- but
humbly, remembering always that his own temptation is,
from his very position as a clergyman, to view such matters,
not so much in the broad light of the possibilities of actual
life, as with the eyes of a recluse ; from a clerical and eccle
siastical, rather than from a large and human point of view.
For no minister of Christ has a right to speak oracularly.
All that he can pretend to do is to give his judgment, as one
that has obtained mercy ofthe Lord, to be faithful. And on
large national subjects there is perhaps no class so ill quali
fied, to form a judgment with breadth as we, the clergy of
the Church of England, accustomed as we are to move in the
narrow circle of those who listen to us with forbearance and
deference, and mixing but little in real life, till in our clois
tered and inviolable' sanctuaries we are apt to forget that it
is one thing to lay down rules for a religious clique, and an
other to legislate for a great nation. ,
In the Church qf Rome a controversy had arisen in the
time of St. Paul, respecting the exact relation in which Chris
tianity stood to Judaism; and, consequently, the obligation
of various Jewish institutions came to be discussed : among
the rest the sabbath-day; One party maintained its abroga
tion, another its continued obligation. " One man esteemeth
one day above another ; another esteemeth every day alike."
Now it is remarkable that, in his reply, the Apostle Paul, al
though his own views upon the question -Avere decided and
strong, passes no judgment of censure upon the practice of
either of these parties, but only blames the uncharitable
spirit in which the one "judged their brethren" as irrelig
ious, and the other " set at naught " their stricter brethren as
superstitious. He lays down, however, two principles for the
decision of the matter : the first being the rights of Christian
conviction, or the sacredness of the individual conscience —
" Let every man be fully persuaded in his OAvn mind ;" the
second, a principle unsatisfactory enough, and surprising, no
doubt, to both, that there is such a thing as religious observ-

Religious Non-Observance of the Sabbath. 345
"ance, and also such a thing as a religious non-observance of
the day — " He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the
Lord: and he that regardeth not the day, to the Lord he
doth not regard it."- I shall consider,
I. St. Paul's own view upon the question.
II. His modifications of that vieAV, in reference to separate
cases.- L St. Paul's own view. No one, I believe, who Avould
read St. Paul's own writings with unprejudiced mind could
fail to come to the conclusion that he considered the sabbath
abrogated by Christianity: not merely as modified in ite
stringency, but as totally repealed.
For example, see Colossians ii. 16, IV: pbserve, he counts
the sabbath-day among those institutions of Judaism which
Avere shadows, and of which Christ was the realization, the
substance or " body ;" and he bids the Colossians remain in
different to the judgment which would be pronounced upon
their non-observance of such days. "Let no man judge you
with respect to ... . the sabbath-days."
He is more decisive still in the text. For it has been con
tended that in the former passage, " sabbath-days " refers
simply to the Jewish sabbaths, Avhich Avere superseded by
the Lord's day, and that the apostle does not allude at all to
the new institution, which it is supposed had superseded it.
Here, however, there can be no such ambiguity. " One man
esteemeth every day alike ;" and he only says, " let him be
fully persuaded in his own mind." "Every" day must in
clude first days as well as last days ofthe week: Sundays as
well as Saturdays. And again, he even speaks of scrupulous
adherence to particular days, as if it were giving up the very
principle of Christianity : " Ye observe days, and months,
and times, and years. I am afraid of you, lest I have bestow
ed upon you labor in vain." So that his objection was not
to JeAvish days, but to' the very principle of attaching intrin
sic sacredness to any days. All forms and modes of particu
larizing the Christian life he reckoned as bondage under the
elements' or alphabet of the law. And this is plain from the
nature of the case. He struck not at a day, but at a princi
ple. Else, if with all this vehemence and earnestness, he only
meant to establish a new set of days in the place of the old,
there is no intelligible principle for Avhich he is contending,
and that earnest apostle is only a champion for one day in
stead of another — an asserter ofthe eternal sanctities of Sun
day, instead of the eternal sanctities of Saturday. Incredi
ble indeed. 15*

346 The Sydenham Palace, and the
Let us then understand the principle on which he declared
the repeal of the sabbath. He taught that the blood of
Christ cleansed all things ; therefore there Avas nothing spe
cially clean. Christ had vindicated all for God ; therefore
there was no one thing more God's than another. For to as
sert one thing as God's more than another, is by implication
to admit that other to be less God's.
The blood of Christ had vindicated God's parental right to
all humanity ; therefore there could be no peculiar people.
"There is neither Jew nor Greek, circumcision nor uncircum-
cision, Barbarian, Scythian, bond, nor free : but Christ is all,
and in all." It had proclaimed God's property in all places ;
therefore there could be no one place intrinsically holier than
another. No human dedication, no human consecration
could localize God in space. Hence the first martyr quoted
from the prophet : " Howbeit the Most High dwelleth not in
temples made with hands; as saith the prophet, heaven is
my throne, and earth is my footstool : what house will ye
build for me ? saith the Lord."
Lastly, the Gospel of Christ had sanctified all time : hence
no time could be specially God's. For to assert that Sunday
is. more God's day than Monday, is to maintain by implica
tion Monday is His less rightfully.
Here, however, let it be observed, it is perfectly possible,
and not at all inconsistent with this, that for human conveni
ence, and even human necessities, just as it became desirable
to set apart certain places in which the" noise of earthly busi
ness should not be*heard for spiritual Avorship, so it should
become desirable to set apart certain days for special wor
ship. But then all such were defensible on the ground of
wise and Christian expediency alone. They could not be
placed on the ground of a Divine statute or command. They
rested on the authority of the Church of Christ ; and the
power which had made could unmake them again.
Accordingly in early, we can , not say exactly how early
times, the Church of Christ felt the necessity of substituting
something in place of the ordinances which had been repeal
ed. And the Lord's day arose : not a day of compulsory
rest ; not such a day at all as modern Sabbatarians suppose ;
not a Jewish sabbath ; rather a day in many respects abso
lutely contrasted with the Jewish sabbath.
For the Lord's day sprung, not out of a transference ofthe
JeAvish sabbath from Saturday to Sunday, but rather out of
the idea of making the week an imitation of the life»of Christ.
With the early Christians, the great conception was that of
following their crucified and risen Lord: they set, as it Avere.

Religious Non-Observance of the Sabbath. 347
the clock of Time to the epochs of his history. Friday repre
sented the Death in which all Christians daily die, and Sun
day the Resurrection in which all Christians daily rise to
higher life.. What Friday and Sunday were to the week,
that Good Friday and Easter Sunday Avere to the year.
And thus, in larger or smaller cycles, all time represented to
the early Christians the mysteries ofthe Cross and the Risen
Life hidden in humanity. And as the sunflower turns from
morning till evening to the sun, so did the early Church turn
forever to her Lord, transforming week and year into a sym
bolical, representation of His spiritual life.
Carefully distinguish this, the true historical view ofthe
origin of the Lord's day, froni a mere transference of a Jew
ish sabbath from one day to another. For St. Paul's teach
ing is distinct and clear, that the sabbath is annulled, and to
urge the observance of the day as indispensable to salvation
was, according to him, to Judaize : " to turn again to the
weak and beggarly elements, Avhereunto they desired to be
in bondage."
II. The modifications ofthis view.
1. The first modification has reference to those who con
scientiously observed the. day. He that observeth the day,
observeth it to the Lord. Let him act, then, on that convic
tion : " Let hini be fully persuaded in his own mind." There
is therefore a religious observance of the sabbath-day possi
ble. We are bound by the spirit ofthe fourth commandment,
so far as Ave are in the same spiritual state as they to whom
it was given. The spiritual intent of Christianity is to wor
ship God, every day in the spirit. But had this law been
given in all its purity to the .lews, instead of turning every
Aveek-day into a sabbath, they would have transformed every
sabbath into a week-day : with no special day fixed for wor
ship, they would have spent every day without Avorship.
Their hearts were too dull for a devotion so spiritual and
pure. Therefore a law was given, specializing a day, in or
der to lead them to the broader truth that every day is
God's. Now, so far as Ave are in the Jewish state; the fourth com
mandment, even in its rigor and strictness, is wisely used by
us; nay, Ave might say, indispensable. For who is he who
needs not the day ? fle is the man so rich in love, so con
formed to the mind of Christ, so elevated into the sublime
repose of heaven, that he needs no carnal ordinances at all,
nor the assistance of one day in seven to kindle spiritual

348 Tlie Sydenham Palace, and the
feelings, seeing he is, as it Avere, all his life in heaven al
ready. And doubtless, such the Apostle Paul expected the
Church of Christ to be. Anticipating the Second Advent
at once ; not knowing the long centuries of slow progress
that were to come, his heart would have sunk Avithin him
could he have been told that at the end of eighteen centu
ries the Christian Church would be • still observing days,
and months, and times, and years, and still more, needing
them. Needing them, I say. For the sabbath was made for
man. Gcd made it for men in a certain spiritual state, be
cause they needed it. The need therefore is deeply hidden
in human nature. He who can dispense with it must be
holy and spiritual indeed. And he who, still unholy and
unspiritual, Avould yet dispense Avith it, is a man who would
fain be wiser than his Maker. We, Christians as we are,
still need the laAV : both in its restraints, and in its aids to
our weakness.
No man, therefore, who knows himself, but will gladly and
joyfully use the institution. ¦ No man who knows the need
of his brethren will wantonly desecrate it, or recklessly hurt
even their scruples respecting its observance. And no such
man can look with aught but grave and serious apprehen
sions on such an innovation upon English customs of life and
thought, as the proposal to give public and official counte
nance to a scheme which will invite millions, I do not say to
an irreligious, but certainly an unreligious use of the day of
rest. This then is the first modification ofthe broad view of a
repealed sabbath. Repealed though it be, there is such a
thing as a religious observance of it. And provided that
those who are stricter than we in their views of its obliga
tion, observe it not from superstition, nor in abridginent
of Christian liberty, nor from moroseness, we are bound in
Christian charity to yield them all respect and honor. Let
them act out their conscientious convictions. Let not him
that observeth not despise him that observeth.
The second modification ofthe broad view is, that there is
such a thing as a, religious non-observance of the sabbath. I
lay a stress on the word religious. For St. Paul does not say
that every non-observance of the sabbath is religious, but
that he who not observing it, observeth it not to the Lord,
is, because acting on conscientious conviction, as acceptable
as the others, Avho, in obedience to Avhat they belieAre to be
His will, obserAre it.

Religious Non-Observance of the Sabbath. 349
He pays his non-observance to the Lord, who feeling that
Christ has made him free, striving to live all his days in the
spirit, and knoAving that that which is displeasing to God is
not work nor recreation, but selfishness and worldliness, re
fuses to be bound by a Jewish ordinance which forbade la
bor and recreation, only Avith a typical intent.
But he who, not trying to serve God on any day, giyes
Sunday to toil or pleasure, certainly observes not the day :
but his non-observance is not rendered to the Lord. He may
be free from superstition : but it is not Christ who has made
him free. Nor is he one of whom St. Paul would have said
that his liberty on the sabbath is as acceptable as his broth
er's conscientious scrupulosity.
Here, then, we are at issue with the popular defense of
public recreations on the sabbath-day : not so much with re
spect to the practice, as with respect to the grounds on which
the practice is approved. They claim liberty : but it is not
Christian liberty. Like St. Paul, they demand a license for
non-observance ; only, it is not " non-observance to the Lord."
For distinguish well. The abolition of Judaism is not neces
sarily the establishment of Christianity : to do away with the
sabbath-day in order to substitute a nobler, truer, more con
tinuous sabbath, even the sabbath of all time given up to
God, is well ; but to do away with the special rights of God
to the sabbath, in order merely to substitute the rights of
pleasure, or the rights of mammon, or even the license of
profligacy and drunkenness, that, methinks, is not St. Paul's
" Christian liberty !"
The second point on Avhich we join issue is the assump
tion; that public places of recreation, which humanize, will
therefore Christianize the people. It is taken for granted
that architecture, sculpture, and the wonders of nature and
art which such buildings will contain, have a direct or indi
rect tendency to lead to true devotion.
Only in a very limited degree is there truth in this at all.
Christianity will humanize : we are not so sure that human
izing will Christianize. Let us be clear upon this matter.
Esthetics are not religion. It is one thing to civilize and
polish : it is another thing to Christianize. The worship of
the beautiful is not the worship of holiness ; nay, I know not
whether the one may not have a tendency to disincline from
the other.
At least, such Avas the history of ancient Greece. Greece
Avas the home of the arts, the sacred ground on which the
Avorship of the beautiful was carried to its perfection. Let
those Avho have read the history of her decline and fall, Avho

350 The Sydenham Palace, and the
have perused the debasing works of her later years, tell us
how music, painting, poetry, the arts, softened and debilita
ted and sensualized, the nation's heart. Let them tell us
how, when Greece's last and greatest man was warning in
vain against the foe at her gates, and demanding a manlier
and a more heroic disposition to sacrifice, that most polished
and humanized people, sunk in trade and sunk in pleasure,
were squandering enormous sums upon their buildings and
their esthetics, their processions and their people's palaces,
till the flood came, and the liberties of Greece were trampled
down forever beneath the feet of the Macedonian conqueror.
No ! the change of a nation's heart is not to be effected
by the infusion of a taste for artistic grace. " Other founda
tion can no man lay than that is laid, which is Christ Jesus."
Not art, but the cross of Christ. Simpler manners, purer
lives : more self-denial ; more earnest sympathy with the
classes that lie below us ; nothing short of that can lay the .
foundations of the Christianity which is to be hereafter, deep
and broad.
On the other hand, we dissent from the views of those
who Avould arrest such a project by petitions to the legis
lature on these grounds :
1. It is a return backward to Judaism aud law. It may
be quite true that, as we suspect, such non-observance ofthe
day is not to the Lord ; but only a scheme of mere pecuni
ary speculation. Nevertheless there is such a thing as a re
ligious non-observance of the day : and we dare not "judge
another man's servant : to his own master he standeth or
falleth." We dare not assert the , perpetual obligation of
the sabbath, when an inspired apostle has declared it abro
gated. We dare not refuse a public concession of that .kind
of recreation to the poor man which the rich have long not
hesitatpd to take in their sumptuous mansions and pleasure-
grounds, unrebuked by the ministers of Christ, who seem
touched to the quick only when the desecration of the sab
bath is loud and vulgar. We can not substitute a statute law
for a repealed law of God. We may think, and we do, that
there is much which may lead to dangerous consequences in
this innovation : but we dare not treat it as a crime.
2. The second ground on which we are opposed to the ul
tra-rigor of sabbath observance, especially, when it becomes
coercive, is the danger of injuring the conscience. It is
Avisely taught by St. Paul that he who does any thing with
offense, i. e., Avith a feeling that it is wrong, does wrong.
To him it is wrong, even though it be not wrong abstractly.
Therefore it is ahvays dangerous to multiply restrictions and

Religious Non-Observance of the Sabbath. 351
requirements beyond what is essential, because men feeling
themselves hemmed in break the artificial barrier, but break
ing it with a sense of guilt, do thereby become hardened in
conscience and prepared for transgression against command
ments which are divine and of eternal obligation. Hence it
is that the criminal has so often in his confessions traced his
deterioration in crime to the first step of breaking the
sabbath-day, and no doubt with accurate truth. But what
shall we infer from this ? Shall we infer, as is so often done
upon the platform and in religious books, that it proves the
everlasting obligation of the sabbath ? Or shall we, with a
far truer philosophy of the human soul, infer, in the language
of St. Peter, that we have been laying on him " a yoke which
neither we nor our fathers were able to bear ?" — in the lan
guage of St. Paul, that " the motions of sin were by the law,"
that the rigorous rule wag itself the stimulating, moving
cause of the sin : and that when the young man, worn out
with his week's toil, first stole out into the fields to taste
the fresh breath of a spring day, he did it with a vague,
secret sense of transgression, and that having, as it were,
drawn his sword in defiance against the established code of
the religious world, he felt that from thenceforward there
was for him no return, and so he became an outcast, his sword
against every man, and every man's sword against him ? I
believe, this to be the true account of the matter ; and be
lieving it, I can not but believe that the false Jewish notions
of the sabbath-day Avhich are prevalent have been exceeding
ly pernicious to the morals ofthe country.
Lastly, . I remind you ot the danger of. mistaking a "posi
tive " law for a moral one. The danger is that proportion-
ably to the vehemence with which the law positive is en
forced, the sacredness of moral Jaws is neglected. A positive
law, in theological language, is a law laid; down for special
purposes, and corresponds with statute laws in things civil.
Thus laws of quarantine and laws of excise depend for their
force upon the will of the legislature, and when repealed are
binding no more. But a moral law is one binding forever,
which a statute law may declare, but can neither make nor
unmake. Now when men are rigorous in the enforcement and rev
erence paid to laws positive, the tendency is to a correspond
ing indifference to the laws of eternal right. The written
supersedes in their hearts the moral. The mental history of
the ancient Pharisees who observed the sabbath, and tithed
mint, anise, and cummin, neglecting justice, mercy, and truth,
is the history of a most dangerous but universal tendency of

352 The Sydenham Palace, Etc.
the human heart. And so, many a man whose heart swells
with what he thinks pious horror when he sees the letter de
livered or the train run upon the sabbath-day, can pass
through the streets at night, undepressed and unshocked by
the evidences of the wide-spreading profligacy which has
eaten deep into his country's heart. And many a man who
would gaze upon the domes of a Crystal Palace, rising above
the trees, with' somewhat ofthe same feeling with which he
would look on a temple dedicated to Juggernaut,- and Who
would fancy that something of the spirit of an ancient proph
et was burning in his bosom, when his lips pronounced the
woe ! woe ! of a coming doom, would sit calmly in a social
circle of English life, and scarcely feel uneasy in listening to
its uncharitableness and its slanders : would hear Avithout
one throb of indignation the common dastardly condemna
tion of the weak for sins which .are venial in the strong :
would survey the relations ofthe rich and poor in this coun
try, and remain calmly satisfied that there is nothing false in
them, unbrotherly and wrong. No, my brethren ! let us
think clearly and strongly on this matter. It may be that
God has a controversy with this people. It may be, as they
say, that our Father will chasten us by the sword of the
foreigner. But if He does, and if judgments are in store for
our country, they will fall — not because the correspondence
of the land is carried on upon the sabbath-day : nor because
Sunday trains are not arrested by the legislature : nor be
cause a public permission is given to the working classes for
a few hours' recreation on the day of rest— but because we
are selfish men : ' and because we prefer pleasure to duty, and
traffic to honor ; and because we love our party more than
our Church, and our Church more than our Christianity;
and our Christianity more than truth, and ourselves more
than all. These are the things that defile a nation : but the
labor and the recreation of its poor, these are not the things
that defile a nation.

The Early Development of Jesus. 353

xiv.
THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS.
"And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wisdom; and
tha grace of God was upon him." — Luke ii. 40.
The ecclesiastical year begins with Advent, then .comes
Christmas-day. The first day of the natural year begins
with the infancy of the Son of Man. To-day the Gospel
proceeds with the brief account of the early years of Jesus.
The infinite significance of the life of Christ is not exhaust
ed by saying- that He was a perfect man. The notion of the
earlier Socinians that He was a pattern man (tpiXoe avOpioirog),
commissioned from Heaven with a message to teach men
how to live, and supernaturally empowered to live in that
perfect Avay Himself, is immeasurably short of truth. For
perfection merely human does not attract ; rather it repels.
It may be copied in form : it can not be imitated in spirit —
for men only imitate that from which enthusiasm and life
are caught — for it does not inspire nor fire Avith love.
Faultless men and pattern children-^-you may admire
them, but you admire coldly. Praise them as you will, no
one is better for then- example. No one blames them, and
no one loves them : they kindle no enthusiasm ; they create
no likeness of themselves : they never reproduce themselves
in other lives — the true prerogative of all original life.
If Christ had been only a faultless being, fle would never
have set up in 'the world a new type of character which at
the end of two thousand years is fresh and life-giving and
inspiring still. He never would have regenerated the Avorld.
He never would have " drawn all men unto Him," by being
lifted up a self-sacrifice, making self-devotion beautiful. In
Christ the divine and human blended : immutability joined
itself to mutability. There was' in Him the divine which re
mained fixed ; the human which was constantly developing.
One uniform idea and purpose characterized His Avhole life,
with a divine immutable unity throughout, but it was sub
ject to the laws of human growth. For the soul of Christ
was not cast doAvn upon this world a perfect thing at once.
Spotless ? — yes. Faultless ? — yes. Tempted, yet in all points
without sin ? — yes. But perfection is more than faultlessness.
All Scripture coincides in telling us that the ripe perfection

354 The Early Development of Jesus.
of His manhood was reached step by step. There was a
power and a life within Him which were to be developed,
which could only be developed, like all human strength and
goodness, by toil of brain and heart. Life up-hill all the
way : and every foot-print by which He climbed left behind
for us, petrified on the hard rock, and indurated into history
forever, to show us when, and where, and how He toiled and
won. Take a few passages to proAre that flis perfection Avaa
gained by degrees. " It became Him for whom are all
things, and by whom are all things, in bringing many sons
to glory, to make the Captain of their salvation perfect
through suffering." Again, " Behold, I cast out devils, and
do cures to-day and to-morrow, and the third day I shall be
perfected'' " Though He were a Son, yet learned He obedi
ence." And in the context, " Jesus increased. . . . ."
Now see the result of this aspect of His perfectibility. In
that changeless element of His being which beneath all the
varying phases of growth remained divinely faultless, we see
that which we can adore. In the ever-changing, ever-grow
ing, subject therefore to feebleness and endearing mutabili
ty, Ave see that which brings Him near to us : makes Him
lovable, at the same time that it interprets us to ourselves.
Our subject is the early development of Jesus. In this
text we read of a threefold groAvth.
I. In strength.
II. In wisdom.
III. In grace. *
First, it speaks to us simply of his early development,
" The child grew."
In the case of all rare excellence that is merely human, it
is the first object of the biographer of a marvellous man to
seek for surprising stories of his early life. The appetite for
the marvellous in this matter is almost instinctive and inva
riable. Almost all men love to discover the early wonders
Avhich were prophetic of after-greatness. Apparently the
reason is that we are unwilling to believe that wondrous ex
cellence was attained by slow, patient labor. We get an ex
cuse for our own slowness and stunted growth, by settling it
once for all, that the original differences between such men
and us were immeasurable. Therefore it is, I conceive, that
Ave seek so eagerly for anecdotes of early precocity.
In this spirit the fathers of the primitive Church collected
legends of the early life of Christ, stories of superhuman in
fancy : Avhat the infant and the child said and did. Many

The Early Development of Jesus. 355
of these legends are absurd : all, as resting on no authority,
are rejected.
Very different from this is the spirit of the Bible narra
tive. It records no marvellous stories of infantine sagacity
or miraculous power, to feed a prurient curiosity. Both in
Avhat it tells and in what it does not tell, one thing is plain,
that the human life of the Son of God was natural. * There
Avas first the blade, then the ear, then the full corn. In what
it does not say : because, had there been any thing preter
natural to record, no doubt it Avould have been recorded.
In what it does- say : because that little is all unaffectedly
simple: One anecdote, and two verses of general descrip
tion, that is all which is told us of the Redeemer's childhood.
The Child, it is Avritten, grew. Two pregnant facts. He
was a child, and a child that grew in heart, in intellect, in
size, in grace, in favor with God. Not a man in child's
years. No hotbed precocity marked the holiest of infancies.
The Son of Man grew up in the quiet valley of existence — •
in shadow, not in sunshine, not forced. No unnatural, stimu
lating culture had developed the mind or feelings : no pub
lic flattery : no sunning of His infantine perfections in the
glare of the world's show, had brought the temptation of
the wilderness, with which His manhood grappled, too early
on His soul. We know that He was childlike as other chil
dren : for in after years His brethren thought His fame
strange, and His townsmen rejected Him. They could not
believe that one who had gone in and out, ate. and drank and
worked among them, Avas He whose name is Wonderful.
The proverb, true of others, was true of Him : " A prophet is
not Avithout honor, but in his own country, and among his
own kin, and in his own house." You know Him in a picture
at once, by the halo round His brow. There was no glory
in His real life to mark Him. He was in the world, and the
Avorld knew Him not. Gradually and gently He woke to
consciousness of life and its manifold meaning ; found Him
self in possession of a self; by degrees opened His eyes upon
this outer world, and drank in its beauty. Early He felt
the lily of the field discourse to Him of the Invisible Loveli
ness, and the ravens tell of God His Father. Gradually and
not at once, He embraced the sphere of human duties, and
He woke to His earthly relationships one by one- — the son —
the brother — the citizen — the master.
It- is a very deep and beautiful and precious truth that the
Eternal Son had a human and progressive childhood. Hap
py the child who is suffered to be and content to be what
God meant it to be — a child while childhood lasts. Happy

356 The Early Development of Jesus.
the parent who does not force artificial manners, precocious
feeling, premature religion. Our age is one of stimulus and
high pressure. We live, as it were, our lives out fast. Ef
fect is every thing. We require results produced at once :
something to show and something that may tell. The folio
of patient years is replaced by the pamphlet that stirs men's
curiosity to-day, and to-morrow is forgotten. " Plain living
and high thinking are no more." The town, with its fever
and its excitements, and its collision of mind with mind, has
spread over the country : and there is no country, scarcely
home. To men who traverse England in a few hours and
spend only a portion ofthe year in one place, home is "becom
ing a vocable of past ages.
The result is, that heart and brain, which were given to
last for seventy years, wear out before their time. We have
our exhausted men of twenty-five, and our old men Of forty.
Heart and brain give way : the heart hardens and the brain
grows soft.
Brethren ! the Son of God lived till thirty in an obscure
village of Judea, unknoAvn : then came forth a matured and
perfect man — with mind, and heart, and frame in perfect
balance of humanity. It is a Divine lesson ! I would I could
say as strongly as I feel deeply. Our stimulating artificial
culture destroys depth. Our competition, our nights turned
into days by pleasure, leave no time for earnestness. We
are superficial men. Character in the world wants root.
England has gained much : she has lost also much. The
- world wants Avhat has passed away, and which until we se
cure, we shall remain the clever shallow men we are : a child-
hopd and a youth spent in the shade — a home.
Now this growth of Jesus took place in three particulars.
I. In spiritual strength. " The child waxed strong in spirit."
Spiritual strength consists of two things — power of will, and
power of self-restraint. It requires two things, therefore, for its
existence — strong feelings and strong command over them.
Now it is here we make a great mistake: we mistake
strong feelings for strong character. A man who bears all
before him — before whose froAvn domestics tremble, and
whose bursts of fury make the children ofthe house quake —
because he has his will obeyed and hisoAvn way in all things
Ave call him a strong man. The truth is, that is the weak
man ; it is his passions that are strong : he, mastered by
them, is weak. You must measure the strength of a man by
the power of the feelings which he subdues, not by the poAver
of those which subdue Trim,

The Early Development of Jesus. 357
And hence composure is very often the highest result of
strength. Did we never see a man receive a flagrant insult,
and only grow a little pale, and then reply quietly ? That
was a man spiritually strong. Or did we never see a man in
anguish stand as if carved out of solid rock, mastering him
self? or one bearing a hopeless daily trial remain silent, and
never tell the world what it was that cankered his home-
peace ? That is strength. He who with strong passions re
mains chaste : he who, keenly sensitive, with manly power of
indignation in him, can be provoked and yet refrain himself,
and forgive — these are strong men, spiritual heroes.
The Child waxed strong. Spiritual strength is reached by
successive steps ; fresh strength is got by every mastery of
self. It is the belief of the savage that the spirit of every
enemy he slays enters into him and becomes added to his
own, accumulating a Avarrior's strength for the day of battle :
therefore he slays all he can. It is true in the spiritual war
fare. Every sin you slay— the spirit of that sin passes into
you transformed into strength : every passion, not merely
kept in abeyance by asceticism, but subdued by a higher im
pulse, is so much character strengthened. The strength of
the passion not expended is yours still. Understand then,
you are not a man of spiritual poAver because your impulses
are irresistible. They SAveep over your soul like a tornado-
lay all flat before them ; whereupon you feel a secret pride
of strength. Last week men saAV a vessel on this coast borne
headlong on the breakers, and.dashing itself Avith terrific force
against the shore. It embedded itself, a miserable wreck,
deep in sand and shingle. Was that brig in her convulsive
throes strong ? or was it powerless and helpless ?
No, my brethren : God's spirit in the soul — an inward poAver
of doing the thing we will and ought — that is strength, noth
ing else. All other force in us is only our weakness, the vio
lence of driving passion. " I can do all things through Christ
who" strengtheneth me:" this is Christian strength. "I can
not do the things I would:" that is the weakness of an unre
deemed slave.
I instance one single evidence of strength in the early years
of Jesus : I find it in that calm, long Avaiting of thirty years
before He began his work. And yet all the evils he was to re
dress were there, provoking indignation, crying for interfer
ence — the hollowness of social life— the misinterpretations of
Scripture — the forms of worship and phraseology which had
hidden moral truth — the injustice — the priestcraft — the coav-
ardic.e — the hypocrisies : He had long seen them all.
All those years His soul burned Avithin Him Avith a Divine

358 The Early Development of Jesus.
zeal and heavenly indignation. A mere man — a weak, emo
tional man of spasmodic feeling — a hot enthusiast, would
have spoken out at once, and at once been crushed. The
Everlasting Word incarnate bided his own time : " Mine hour
is not yet come " — matured His energies, condensed them by
repression — and then went forth to speak and do and suffer —
His hour was come. This is strength : the power of a divine
silence : the strong will to keep force till it is wanted : the
power to wait God's time. "He that believeth," said the
Avise prophet, " shall not make haste."
H GroAvth in wisdom — " Filled with wisdom."
Let us distinguish wisdom from two things. From informa
tion, first. It is one thing to be well-informed, it is another
thing to be wise. Many books read, innumerable facts hived
up in a capacious memory, this does not constitute Avisdom.
Books give it not : sometimes the bitterest experience gives
it not. Many a heart-break may have come as the result of
life-errors and life-mistakes ; and yet men may be no wiser
than before. Before the same temptations they fall again in
the self-same way they fell before. Where they erred in youth
they err still in age. A mournful truth ! " Ever learning,"
said St. Paul, "and never able to come to a knoAvledge ofthe
truth." Distinguish wisdom, again, from talent. Brilliancy of pow
ers is not the wisdom for which Solomon prayed; Wisdom
is of the heart rather than the intellect : the harvest of moral
thoughtfulness, patiently reaped in through years. Two
things are requires! — earnestness and love. First that rare
thing earnestness — the earnestness which looks on life prac
tically. Some ofthe wisest ofthe race have been men who
have scarcely stirred beyond home, read little,, felt and
thought much. " Give me," said Solomon, " a wise and un
derstanding heart." A heart which ponders upon life, trying
to understand its rnystery, not in order to talk about it like
an orator, nor in order to theorize about it like a philosopher ;
but in order to know how to live and how to die. •
And, besides this, love is required for wisdom— the love
which opens the heart and makes it generous, and reveals se
crets deeper than prudence or political economy teaches ;
for example, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."
Prudence did not calculate that, love revealed it. No man
can be wise without love. Prudent : cunning : yes ; but not
Avise. Whoever has closed his heart to love has got wisdom
at one entrance quite shut ou^ A large, genial, loving heart
— Avith that we have known a ploughman wise ; without it

The Early Development of Jesus. 359
we know a hundred men of statesmanlike sagacity fools —
profound, but not wise. There was a man who pulled down
his barns and built greater, a most sagacious man, getting on
in life, acquiring, amassing, and all for self. The men of that
generation called him, no doubt, Avise — God said, " Thou fool."
Speaking humanly, the steps by Which the wisdom of Jesus
was acquired Were two.
1. The habit of inquiry.
2. The collision of mind with other minds.
Both these we find in this anecdote : His parents found
Him with the doctors in the temple, both hearing and asking
them questions. For the mind of man left to itself is unpro
ductive : alone in the wild woods he becomes a savage.
Taken away from school early, and sent to the plough, the
country boy loses by degrees that which distinguishes him
from the cattle that he drives, and over his very features and
looks the Ioav animal expressions creep. Mind is necessary
for mind. The mediatorial system extends through all God's
dealings with us. The higher man is the mediator between
God and the lower man : only through man can man receive
development. For these reasons, we call this event a't Jeru
salem a crisis or turning-point in the history of Him who was
truly man.
He had come from Nazareth's quiet valley and green slopes
on the hillsides, where hill and valley, and cloud and wind,
and day and night, had nourished His child's heart — from
communion with minds proverbially low, for the adage was,
" Can any good thing come out of Nazareth ?" — to the cap
ital of His country, to converse with the highest and most
cultivated intellects. He had many a question to ask, and
many a difficulty to solve. As for instance, such as this:
How could the religion accredited in Jerusalem — a religion
of long prayers and church services, and phylacteries, and
rigorous sabbaths — be reconciled with the stern, manly right
eousness of- which He had read in the old prophets: a right
eousness not of litany-makers, but of men with sAvords in their
hands and zeal in their hearts, setting up God's kingdom upon
earth? a kingdom of truth, and justice," and realities— were
they bringing in that kingdom? — And if not, who should?
Such questions had to be felt, and asked, and pondered. on.
Thenceforth we say •therefore, in all reverence, dated the in
tellectual life of Jesus. From that time "Jesus increased
iorwisdom." Not that they, the doctors of the temple, contributed much-
Those ecclesiastical pedants had not much to tell Him that
was worth the telling.- They Avere thinking about theology.

360 The Early Development of Jesus.
He about religion. They about rubrics and church services,
He about God His Father, and. His will. And yet He gained
more from them than they from Him. Have we never ob
served that the deepest revelations of ourselves are often
made to us by trifling remarks met Avith here and there in
conversation and books, sparks which set a whole train of
thoughts on fire ? Nay, that a false view given by an inferior
mind has led us to a true one, and that conversations from
which we had expected much light, turning out unsatisfac
torily, have thrown us upon ourselves and God, and so be
come almost the birth-times of the soul? The truth is, it is
not the amount which is poured in that gives wisdom : but
the amount of creative mind and heart working on and stirred
by what is so poured in. That conversation with miserable
priests and formalists called into activity the One Creative
Mind which was to fertilize the whole spiritual life of man to
the end of time : and Jesus grew in wisdom by a conversation
with pedants of the law.
What Jerusalem was to Him a town life is to us. , Knowl
edge develops itself in the heated atmosphere of town life.
Where men meet, and thought clashes with thought — where
workmen sit round a board at work, intellectual irritability
must be stirred more than where men live and work alone.
The march of mind, as they call it, must go on. Whatever
evils there may be in our excited, feverish, modern life, it is
quite certain that Ave know through it more than our fore
fathers knew. Tlie workman knows more of foreign politics
than most statesmen knew two centuries ago. The child is
versed in theological questions which only occupied master
minds once. But the question is, whether, like the Divine,
Child in the Temple, Ave are turning knowledge into wisdom,
and whether, understanding more ofthe mysteries; of life, we
are feeling more of its sacred laAV ; and whether, having left
behind the priests, and the scribes, and the doctors, and the
fathers, we are about our Father's business, and becoming
wise to God.
III. Growth in grace—" the grace of God was upon Him."
And this in three points :
1. The exchange of an earthly for a heavenly home.
2. Of an earthly, for a heavenly parent.
3. The reconciliation of domestic duties.
First step : Exchange of an earthly for a heavenly home.
Jesus was in the temple for the first time. . That which was
dull routine to others through dead habit, was full of vivid
impression, fresh life, and God to Him. " My Father's busi-

The Early Development of Jesus. 361
ness " — " My Father's house." How different the meaning
of these expressions now from what it had been before ! Be
fore all was limited to the cottage of the carpenter : now it
extended to the temple. He had felt the sanctities of a new
home. In after-life the phrase which He had learned by
earthly experience obtained a divine significance. "In my
Father's house are many mansions."
Our first life is spontaneous and instinctive. Our second
life is reflective. There is a moment when the life sponta
neous passes into the life reflective. We live at first by
instinct; then we look in, feel ourselves, ask what we are
and whence Ave came, and whither we are bound. In an
awful new world of mystery, and destinies, and duties, Ave
feel God, and know that our true home is our Father's house
Avhich has many mansions.
Those are fearful, solitary moments; in which the heart
knoAveth its OAvn bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth
not with its joys. Father — mother — can not share these;
and to share is to intrude. The soul first meets God alone.
So with Jacob when he saAV the dream-ladder: so with
Samuel when the voice called him : so with Christ. So
with every son of man, God visits the soul in secrecy, in
silence, and in solitariness. And the danger and duty of a
teacher is twofold. 1st. To avoid hastening that feeling,
hurrying that crisisrmoment which some call conversion.
2d. To avoid crushing it. I have said that first religion is
a kind of instinct; and if a child does not exhibit strong
religious sensibilities, if he seem " heedless, untouched by awe
or serious thought;" still it is Aviser not to interfere. Ho
may be still at home AvithGod: he may be Avorshipping at
home ; as has been said with not less truth than beauty, he
may be "Lying in Abraham's bosom all the year,
And worship at the temple's inner shrine,"
God being with him when he knew it not. Very mysterious,
and beautiful, and wonderful, is God's communing with the
unconscious soul before reflection comes. The second cau
tion is not to quench the feeling. Joseph and the Virgin
chid the Child for His absence : "" Why hast thou dealt so
with us ?" They could not understand His altered ways :
His neglect of apparent duties: His indifference to usual
pursuits. They mourned over the change. And this reminds
us of the Avay in .which affection's voice itself ministers to
ruin. When God>eomes to the heart,: and His presence is
shown by thougntfulness, and seriousness, and distaste to
common business, and loneliness, and solitary musings, and
16

362 The Early Development of Jesus.
a certain tone of melancholy, straightway we set ourselves
to expostulate, to rebuke, to cheer, to prescribe amusement
and gayeties, as the cure for seriousness which seems out of
place. Some of us have seen that tried ; and more fearful
still, seen it succeed. And we have seen the spirit of fri
volity and thoughtlessness, which had been banished for a
time, come back again with seven spirits of evil more mighty
than himself, and the last state of that person worse than
the first. And we have watched the still small voice of
God in the soul silenced. And we have seen the spirit of
the Avorld get its victim back again ; and incipient goodness
dried up like morning dew upon the heart. And they that
loved him did it — his parents — his teachers.. They quenched
the smoking flax, and turned out the lamp of God lighted
in the soul !
The last step was reconciliation to domestic duties. He
went down to Nazareth, and was subject unto them. The
first step in spirituality is to get a distaste for common du
ties. There is a time Avhen creeds, ceremonies, services, are
distasteful ; when the conventional arrangements of society
are intolerable burdens; and when, aspiring Avith a sense
of vague longing after a goodness which shall be immeasur
able, a duty which shall transcend mere law, a something
which we can not put in words — all restraints of rule and
habit gall the spirit. But the last and highest step in spir
ituality is made in feeling these common duties again to be
divine and holy. This is the true liberty of Christ, when a
free man binds himself in love to duty. Not in shrinking
from our distasteful occupations, but in fulfilling them, do
we realize our high origin. And this is the blessed, second
childhood of Christian life. All the several stages towards
it seem to be shadowed forth with accurate truthfulness in
the narrative of the Messiah's infancy. First the quiet, un
pretending,, unconscious obedience and innocence of home.
Then the crisis of inquiry : new strange thoughts, entrance
upon a new world, hopeless seeking of truth from those who
can not teach it, hearing many teachers arid questioning all :
thence bewilderment and bitterness, loss of relish for former
duties : and small consolation to a man in knowing that he
is farther off from heaven than when he was a boy. . And
then, lastly, the true reconciliation and atonement of our
souls to God^-a second springtide of life — a second faith
deeper than that of childhood— not instinctive but conscious
trust— childlike love come back again — childlike wonder 
childlike implicitness of obedience— only deeper than child
hood ever kneAv; Avhen life has got a new meaning, when

Christ's Estimate of Sin. 363
"old things are passed away, and all things are become
new ;" when earth has become irradiate with the feeling of
our Father's business and our Father's home.

Xv'.
CHRIST'S ESTIMATE OF SIN.
"The Son of Man is come to seek and to save that which was lost." — •
Luke xix. 10.
These words occur in the history which tells of the re
covery of Zaccheus from a life of worldliness to the life of
God. Zaccheus was a publican; and the- publicans were
outcasts among the Jews, because, haying accepted the
office under the Roman government of collecting the taxes
imposed by Rome upon their brethren, they wei'e regarded
as traitors to the cause of Israel. Reckoned a degraded
class, they became degraded. It is hard for any man to live
above the moral standard acknowledged by his own class;
and the moral standard of the publican Avas as low as possible.
The first step doAvmvard is to sink in the estimation of others
— the next and fatal step is to sink in a man's own estima
tion. The value of character is that it pledges men to be
What they are taken for. It is a fearful thing to' have no
character to .support -^-nothing to fall back upon — nothing
to keep a man up to himself. Now the publicans had no
character. i • ¦ •
Into the house of one of these outcasts the Son of Man
had entered. It was quite certain that such an act Avould be
commented upon severely by people who called themselves
religious : it wcmld seem to them scandalous, an outrage
upon decency, a defiance to every rule of respectability and
decorum. No pious Israelite would be seen holding equal
intercourse with a publican. In anticipation of such remarks,
before there was time pel-haps to make them, Jesus spoke
these 'words': "The Son of Miin is come to seek and to save
that which was lost." They exhibit the peculiar aspect in
which the Redeemer contemplated sin.
There are two ways of looking at sin. One is the sev'ere
view : it makes no allowance for frailty — it will not hear of
temptation, nor distinguish between circumstances. Men
who judge in this way shut their eyes to all but two objects
— a plain laAV, and a transgression of that law. There is co

364 Christ's Estimate of Sin.
more to be said: let 'the law take its course. Now if this
be the right view of sin, there is abundance of room left for
admiring what is good, and honorable, and upright : there is
positively no room provided for restoration. Happy it you
have done well ; but if ill, then nothing is before you but
judgment and fiery indignation.
The other view is one of laxity and false liberalism. When
such men speak, prepare yourself to hear liberal judgments
and lenient ones; a great* deal about human weakness, error
in judgment, mistakes, an unfortunate constitution, on which
the chief blame of sin is to rest — a good heart. All well if
we wanted, in this mysterious struggle of a life, only conso
lation. But we want far beyond comfort — goodness ; and to
be inerely made easy when we haVe done wrong, Avill not help
us to that!
Distinct from both of these was Christ's view of guilt.
His standard of right Avas high — higher than ever man had
placed it before. Not moral excellence, but heavenly, He de
manded. " Except your righteousness shall exceed the right
eousness of the Scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case en
ter, into the kingdom of heaven." Read the Sermon on the
Mount. It tells of a purity as of snow resting on an Alpine
pinnacle, white in the blue holiness of heaven ; and yet also,
He the All-pure had tenderness for what was not pure. He
Avho stood in divine uprightness that never faltered, felt com
passion for the ruined, and infinite gentleness for human. fall.
Broken, disappointed, doubting hearts, in dismay and bewil
derment, never ipoked in vain to Him. Very strange, if we
stop to think- of it, instead of repeating it as a matter of
course. For generally human goodness repels from it evil
men : they shun the society arid presence of men reputed
good, as owls fly, from light. But here was purity attracting
evil ; that was the wonder. Harlots and wretches steeped in
infamy gathered round Him. No wonder the purblind Phar
isees thought there must be something in Him like such sin
ners which drew them so. Like draws to like. If He chose
their society before that of the Pharisee, was it not' because
of some congeniality in evil ? But they did crowd His steps,
and that because they saw a hope opened out in a hopeless
world for fallen spirits and broken hearts, ay, and seared
hearts. The Son of Man was forever standing among the
lost, and His ever predominant feelings were sadness for the
evil in human nature, hope for the divine good in it, and the
divine image never worn out "wholly.
I perceive in this description three peculiarities, distin
guishing Christ from ordinary men.

Christ's Estimate of Sin. 365
I. A peculiarity in the constitution of the Redeemer's
moral nature.
II. A peculiarity in the objects of His solicitude.
III. A peculiarity in His way of treating guilt.
I. In His moral constitution. Manifested in that peculiar
title which he assumed — The Son of Man. Let us see what
that implies.
1. It implies fairly His divine origin : for it is an emphatic
expression, and, as Ave may so say, an unnatural one. Im
agine an apostle, St. Paul or. St. John, insisting upon it per
petually that he himself was human. It would almost pro
voke a smile to hear either of them averring and affirming,
I am a son of man : it would be unnatural, the affectation of
condescension would be intolerable. Therefore, Avhen Ave
hear these words from Christ, we are compelled to think of
them as contrasted with a higher nature. None could with
out presumption remind men that He was their brother and
a Son of Man, except One who was' also something higher,
even the Son of God.
2. It implies the catholicity of His brotherhood.
Nothing in the judgment of historians stands out so sharp
ly distinct as race— national character : nothing is more in
effaceable. The Hebrew was marked from all mankind. The
Roman was perfectly distinct from the Grecian character;
as markedly different as the rough English truthfulness is
from Celtic brilliancy of talent. Now these peculiar nation
alities are seldom combined. You rarely find the stern, old
Jewish sense of holiness going together with the Athenian
sensitiveness of what is. beautiful. Not often do you find
together severe truth and refined tenderness. Brilliancy
seems opposed to perseverance. Exquisiteness of taste com
monly goes along with a certain amount of untruthfulness.
By humanity, as a whole, we mean the aggregate of all these
separate excellences. Only in tAvo places are they all found
together — in the universal human race ; and in Jesus Christ.
He having, as it were, a whole humanity in Himself, com
bines them all.
Now this is the universality ofthe nature of Jesus Christ.
There was in Him no national peculiarity or individual idio
syncrasy. He was not the Son of the Jew, nor the Son of
the carpenter ; nor the offspring of the modes of living and
thinking of that particular century. He was the Son of Man.
Once in the world's history was born a Man. Once in .the
roll of ages, out of innumerable failures, from the stock of
human nature, one bud developed itself into a faultless flow-

366 Christ's Estimate of Sin.
er. One perfect specimen of humanity has God exhibited on
earth. The best and most catholic of Englishmen has his preju
dices. All the world over, our greatest writer would be rec
ognized as having the English cast of thought. The pattern
Jew would seem Jewish everywhere but in Judea. Take
Abraham, St. John, St. Paul, place them where you will, in
China or in Peru, they are Hebrews : they could not com
mand all sympathies: their life could not be imitable except
in part. They are foreigners in every land, and out of place
in every country but their own. But Christ is the King of
men, and " draws all men," because all character is in fiim,
separate from nationalities and limitations. As if the life-
blood of every nation were . in His veins, and that which is
best and truest in every man, and that which is tenderest,
and gentlest, and purest in every woman, were in His char
acter. He is emphatically the Son of Man.
Out of this arose two powers of His sacred humanity — the
universality of His sympathies, and their intense particular
personality. The universality of His sympathies : for, compare Him
Avith any one of the sacred characters of Scripture. You
know how intensely national they were in their sympathies,
priests, prophets, and apostles : for example, the apostles
" marvelled that He spake Avith a Avoman of Samaria :" — just
before His resurrection, their largest charity had not reached
beyond this, " Lord, wilt thou at this time restore the king
dom unto Israel?" Or, to come down to modern times,
when His spirit *has been moulding men's ways of thought
for many ages : — now, when we talk of our philanthropy and
catholic liberality, here in Christian England, we have scarce
ly any fellow-feeling, true and genuine, with other nations,
other churches, other parties, than our own : we care nothing
for Italian or Hungarian struggles ; we think of Romanists as
the Jew thought of Gentiles ; we speak of German Protest
ants in the same proud, wicked, self-sufficient way in which
the Jew spoke of Samaritans.
Unless we bring such matters home, and away from vague
generalities, and consider what we and. all men are, or rather
are not, we can not comprehend with due wonder the mighty
sympathies of the heart of Christ. . None of the miserable
antipathies that fence us from all the world, bounded the out
goings of that love, broad and deep and Avide as the heart
of God. Wherever the mysterious pulse of human life was
beating, Avherever aught human was in struggle, there to Him
was a thing not common or unclean, but cleansed by God and

Christ's Estimate of Sin. 367
sacred. Compare the daily, almost indispensable language
of our life with His spirit. " Common people ?" — Point us
out the passage where He called any people that God His Fa
ther made, common? "Lower orders?" — Tell us when and
Avhere He, whose home was the workshop of the carpenter,
authorized you or me to know any man after the flesh as low
or high ? To Him Avho called Himself the Son of Man, the
link was manhood. And that he could discern even when it
was marred. '• Even in outcasts His eye could recognize the
sanctities of a nature human still. Even in the harlot " one
of Eve's family :" — a " son of Abraham " even in Zaccheus.
Once more, out of that universal, catholic nature rose
another power — the power of intense, particular, personal af
fections. He was the Brother and Saviour of the human
race ; but this because He was the Brother and Saviour of
every separate man in it.
Now it is very easy to feel great affection for a country as
a whole; to have, for instance, great sympathies for Poland,
or Ireland, or America, and yet not care a whit for any single
man in Poland, and to have strong antipathies to every sin
gle individual American. Easy to be a warm lover of Eng
land, and yet not love one living Englishman. Easy to set a
great value on a flock of sheep, and yet have no particular care
for any one sheep or lamb. If it were killed, another of the
same species might replace it. Easy to have fine, large, liberal
views about the working classes, or the emancipation of the
negroes, and yet never have done a loving act to one. Easy
to be a great philanthropist, and yet have no strong friend
ships, no deep personal attachments.
For the idea of an universal manlike Sympathy Avas not neAV
when Christ was born. The reality was neAV. But before
this, in the Roman theatre, deafening applause was called
forth by this sentence, "I am a man — nothing that can affect
man is indifferent to me." A fine sentiment — that Avas all.
Every pretense of realizing that sentiment, except one, has been
a failure. ; One and but One has succeeded in loving man : and
that by loving men. No sublime high-sounding language in
His lips about " educating the masses," or " elevating the
people.". The charlatanry of our modern sentiment had not
appeared then : it is but the parody of His love.
What was His mode of sympathy with men ? He did not
sit down to philosophize about the progress of the species, or
dream about a millennium. He gathered round Him twelve
men. He formed one friendship, special, concentrated, deep.
He did' not give himself out as the leader of the publican's
cause, or the champion of the rights of the dangerous

368 Christ's Estimate of Sin.
classes; but He associated with Himself Matthew, a publican
called from the detested receipt of custom. He went into
the house of Zaccheus, and treated him like, a fellow-creature
—a brother, and a son of Abraham. His catholicity or phi
lanthropy was not an abstraction, but an aggregate of person
al attachments.
II. Peculiarity in the objects of Christ's solicitude.
He had come to seek and to save the " lost." The world
is lost, and Christ came to save the world. But by the lost
in this place He does not mean the world ; He means a spe
cial class, lost in a more than common sense, as, sheep are lost
which have strayed from the flock, and wandered far beyond
all their fellows scattered in the wilderness. ""*¦
Some men are lost by the force of their OAvn passions, as
Balaam was by love of gold : as Saul was by self-will, ending
in jealousy, and pride darkened into madness : as Haman was
by envy indulged and brooded on: as the harlots were,
through feelings pure and high at first, inverted and pervert
ed: as Judas was by secret dishonesty, undetected in its first
beginnings, the worst misfortune that can befall a tendency
to a false life. And others are lost by the entanglement of
outward circumstances, which make escape, humanly speak
ing, impossible. Such were the publicans : men forced, like
executioners, into degradation. An honest publican, or a
holy executioner, would be miracles to marvel at. And some
are lost by the laws of society, which while defending society
have no mercy for its outcasts, and forbid their return, fallen
once, forever. •
Society has rjower to bind on earth ; and what it binds is
bound upon the soul indeed. For a man or woman Avho has
lost self-respect is lost indeed.
And oh ! the untold world of agony contained in that ex
pression — " a lost soul !" agony exactly in proportion to the
nobleness of original powers. For it is a strange and mourn
ful truth, that the qualities which enable men to shine are
exactly those which minister to the worst ruin. God's high
est gifts — talent, beauty, feeling, imagination, power : they
carry with them the possibility of the highest heaven and the
loAvest hell. Be sure that it is by that which is highest in
you that you may be lost. It is the awful warning, and not
the excuse of evil, that the light which leads astray is light
from heaven. The shallow fishing-boat glides safely over the
reefs where the noble bark strands : it is the very might, and
majesty of her career that bury the sharp rock deeper1 in her
bosom. There are thousands Avho are not lost (like the re-

Christ's Estimate of Sin. 369
spectable Pharisees), because they had no impetuous impulses,
no passion, no strong enthusiasm, by the perversion of which
they could be lost.
Now this will explain to us what there was in these lost
ones which left a hope for their salvation, and which Jesus
saw in them to seek and save. Outwardly men saAV a crust
of black scowling impenitence. Reprobates they called them.
Below that outward crust ran a hot lava-stream of anguish :
What was that ? The coward fear of hell ? Nay, hardened
men defy hell. The anguish of the lost ones of this world is
not fear of punishment. It was, and is, the misery of having
quenched a light brighter than the sun : the intolerable sense
of being- sunk : the remorse of knowing that they Avere not
tvhat they might have been. And He saw that : He knew
that it was the germ of life which God's spirit could develop
into~ salvation.
It Avas His work and His desire to save such, and in this
world a new and strange solicitude it was, for the world had
seen before nothing like it.
Not half a century ago a great man was seen stooping and
working in a charnel-house of bones. Uncouth, nameless
fragments lay around him, which the workmen had dug up
and throAvn- aside as rubbish. They belonged to some far-
back age, and no man knew what they were or whence. Few
men Cared. The world was merry at the sight of a philoso
pher groping among mouldy bones. But when that creative
mind, reverently discerning the fontal types of living being
in diverse shapes, brought together those strange fragments,
bone to bone, and rib to claw, and tooth to : its own corre
sponding vertebrae, recombining the wondrous forms of past
ages, and presenting each to the astonished world as it
moved and lived a hundred thousand ages back, then men
began to perceive that a new science had begun on earth.
And such was the work of Christ. They saw Him at work
among the fragments and mouldering wreck of our humanity,
and sneered. But He took the dry bones such as Ezekiel
saw in vision, which no man thought could live, and He
breathed into them the breath of life. He took the scattered
fragments of our ruined nature, interpreted their meaning,
showed the original intent of those powers, which were now
destructive only, drew Out from publicans and sinners yearn
ings which- Avere -incomprehensible, and feelings which Avere
misunderstood, vindicated the beauty of the original inten
tion, showed the Divine Order below the chaos, exhibited to
the world once more a human soul in the form in Avhich God
had made it, saying to the dry bones " Live I"
16*

370 Christ's Estimate of Sin.
Only what in the great foreigner was a taste, in Christ was
love. In the one the gratification of an enlightened curiosi
ty: in the other the gratification of a sublime affection. In
the philosopher it Avas a longing to restore and reproduce
the past. In Christ a hope for the future — " to seek and to
save that which was lost."
ni. A peculiarity in His mode of treatment. How were
these lost ones to be restored ? The human plans are reducible
to three. Governments have tried chastisernent for the rec
lamation of offenders. For ages that was the only expedi
ent known either to Church or State. Time has written
upon it failure. I do not say that penal severity is not need
ful. Perhaps it is, for protection, and for the salutary ex
pression of indignation against certain forms of evil. But as
a system of reclamation it has failed. Did the rack ever re
claim in heart one heretic? Did the scaffold ever soften one
felon ? One universal fact of history replies : where the
penal code was most sanguinary,' and Avhen punishments
Avere most' numerous, crime was most abundant.
Again, society has tried exclusion for life. > J do not pre
tend to say that it may not be needful. . It may be necessary
to protect your social purity by banishing offenders of a cer
tain sort forever. I only say for recovery it is a failure.
Whoever kneAV one case where the ban of exclusion was
hopeless, and the shame of that exclusion reformed ? Did
Ave ever hear of a fallen creature made moral by despair ?
Name, if you can, the publican or the harlot in any age
brought. back to goodness by a Pharisee, or by the system
of a Pharisee. '
And once more, some governors have tried the system of
indiscriminate lenity : they forgave great criminals, trusting
all the future to gratitude: they passed over great sins, they
sent away, the ringleaders of rebellion Avith honors heaped
upon them : they, thought this Avas the Gospel : they expect
ed dramatic emotion to work wonders. How far this miser
able system has succeeded, let those tell us who have studied
the history of our South African colonies for the last twenty
years. We were tired of .cruelty— we tried sentiment — we
trusted to feeling. Feeling failed : we only made hypo
crites, and encouraged rebellion by, impunity. Inexorable
severity, rigorous banishment, indiscriminate and mere for-
givingness— all are failures. ¦
In Christ's treatmerit of guilt we find three peculiarities :
Sympathy, holiness, firmness. •
i. By human sympathy. In the treatment of Zaccheus

Christ's Estimate of Sin. 371
this was almost all. We read of almost nothing else as the
instrument of that Avonderful reclamation. One thing only,
Christ went to his house self-invited. But that one was ev
ery thing. Consider it — Zaccheus Avas, if he Avere like other
publicans, a hard and hardened man. He felt' people shrink
from him in the streets. He lay under an imputation : and
we know how that feeling of being universally suspected
and misinterpreted makes a man bitter, sarcastic, and de
fiant. And so the outcast would go home, look at his gold,
rejoice in the revenge he could take by false accusations,
felt a pride in knoAving that they might hate, but could not
help fearing him: scorned the world, and shut up his heart
against it.
At last, one whom, all men thronged to see, and all men
honored, or seemed to honor, came to him, offered to go home
and sup Avith him. For the first time for many years Zac
cheus felt that he "was not despised, and the floodgates of
that avaricious, shut heart were opened in a tide of love and
generosity. " Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to
the poor ; and if I have taken any thing from any man by
false accusation, I restore him fourfold." He was reclaimed
to human feeling by being taught that he was a man still ;
recognized and treated like a man. A Son of Man had come
to " seek " him — the lost.
2. By the exhibition of Divine holiness.
The holiness of Christ differed from all earthly, common,
vulgar holiness. Wherever it was, it elicited a sense of sin
fulness and imperfection. Just as the purest cut crystal of
the rock looks dim beside the diamond, so the best men felt
a sense of guilt growing distinct upon their souls. When
the Anointed of God came near, " Depart from me," said the
bravest and truest of them all, "for I am a sinful man, O
Lord." But at the same time the holiness of Christ did not awe
men away from Him, nor repel them. It inspired them Avith
hope. It was not that vulgar unapproachable sanctity Avhich
makes men awkward in its presence, and stands aloof. Its
peculiar characteristic Avas that it made men enamored of
goodness. It "drew all men unto Him." This is the differ
ence between greatness that is first-rate and gi'eatness which
is secOnd-rate — betAveen heavenly and earthly goodness.
The second-rate and the earthly draAvs admiration on itself.
You say, "how great an act— how-good a man !" The first-
rate and the heavenly imparts itself— inspires a spirit. You
feel a kindred something in you that rises up to meet it,
and draws you out of yourself, making you better than you

372 The Sanctification of Christ.
were before, and opening out the infinite possibilities of your
life and soul.
And such pre-eminently was the holiness of Christ. Had
some earthly great or good one come to Zaccheus's" house, a
prince or a nobleman, his feeling would have been, What
condescension is there ! But when He came whose every
word and act had in it life and power, nO such barren reflec
tion was the result : but instead, the beauty of holiness had
become a power within him, and a longing for self-consecra
tion. " Behold, Lord, the half of iriy goods I give to the
poor: and if I have taken any thing- from any man by false
accusation, I restore him fourfold."
By Divine sympathy, and by the Divine Image exhibited
in the speaking act of Christ, the lost Ajras sought and saved.
He was saved, as alone all fallen men can be saved. " Be
holding as in a glass the glory ofthe Lord, he was changed
into the same image." Arid this is the Very essence of the
Gospel of Jesus Christ. We are redeemed by the life of God
without Us, manifested in theperson of Christ,1 kindling into
flame the life of God that is within us. Without Him we
can do nothing. Without Him the warmth that was in
Zaccheus's heart would have smouldered uselessly away.
Through Him it became life and light, and the lost Avas
saved.

XVI.
THE SANCTLFICATION OF CHRIST.
"And for their sakes I sanctify myself, that they also might be sanctified
through the truth." — John xvii. 19.
The prayer in which these words occur is given to us by
the Apostle John alone. Perhaps only St. John could give
it, for it belongs to the peculiar province of his revelation.
He presents us with more of the heart of Christ than the
other apostles : with less of the outward manifestations. He
gives us more conversations, fewer miracles : more of the in
ner life, more of what Christ was, less of what Christ did.
St. John's mind was not argumentative, but intuitive.
There are two ways of reaching truth : by reasoning it out
and by feeling it out. All the profoundest truths are felt
out. The deep glances into truth are got by love. Love a
man, that is the best way of understanding him. Feel a
truth, that is the only Avay of comprehending it.

The Sanctification of Christ. 373
Not that you can put your sense of such truths into words
in the shape of accurate maxims or doctrines : but the truth
is reached, notwithstanding.*
Now St. John felt out truth. He understood his Lord by
loving him. You find no long trains of argument in St.
John's writings : an atmosphere of contemplation pervades
all. Brief, full sentences, glowing with imagery of which
the mere prose intellect makes nonsense, and which a warm
heart alone interprets, that is the character of his writing :
very different from the other apostles'. St. Peter's knowl
edge of Christ was formed by impetuous mistakes, corrected
slowly and severely. St. Paul's Christianity was formed by
principles wrought out glowing hot, as a smith hammers out
ductile iron, in his unresting, earnest fire of thought, where
the Spirit dwelt in warmth and light forever, kindling the
Divine fire of inspiration. St. John and St. John's Christian
ity were formed by personal view of Christ, by intercourse
with Him, and by silent contemplation. Slowly, month by
month and. year by year, he gazed on Christ in silence and
thoughtful adoration : " reflecting as from a glass the glory
of the Lord," he became like Him — caught His tones, His
modes of thought, His very expressions, and became partaker
of His imvard life. A " Christ was formed in him."
Hence it Avas that this prayer was revealed to St. John
alone of the apostles, and by him alone recorded for us.
The Saviour's mind touched his : through secret sympathy
he was inspired with the mystic consciousness of what had
passed and what was passing in the deeps of the soul of
Christ. Its secret longings and its deepest struggles were
known to John alone.
This particular sentence in the prayer which I have takeD
for the text was peculiarly after the heart of the Apostle
John. For I have said that to him the true life of Christ
was rather the inner life than the outward acts of life. Now
this sentence from the lips of Jesus speaks of the atoning
sacrifice as an inward mental act rather than as an outward
deed : a self-consecration wrought out in the will of Christ.
For their sakes I am sanctifying myself. That is a resolve —
a secret of the inner life. No wonder that it was recorded
by St. John. The text has two parts.
I. The sanctification of Jesus Christ.
II. The sanctification of His people.
I. Christ's sanctification of himself. "For their sakes I
sanctify myself, that they also might be sanctified through
* Compare 1 Cor. ii. 15, 16.

374 The Sanctification of Christ.
the truth." We must explain this Avord " sanctify ;" upon it
the whole meaning turns. Clearly it has not. the ordinary
popular sense here of making holy. Christ was holy. He
could not by an inward effort or struggle make- Himself
holy, for He was that already. Let us trace the history of
the word " sanctify " in the early pages of the Jewish his
tory. When the destroying angel smote the first-born of the
Egyptian families, the symbolic blood on the lintel of every
Hebrew house protected the eldest born from the plague of
death. In consequence, a laAV of Moses vieAved every eldest
son in a peculiar light. He was reckoned as a thing devoted
to the Lord — redeemed, and therefore set apart. The word
used to express this devotion is sanctify. " The Lord said
unto Moses,' Sanctify unto me all the first-born, whatsoever
openeth the womb among - the children of Israel, both of
man and of beast : it is mine." By a subsequent arrange
ment these first-born were exchanged for the Levites. In
stead -of the eldest son in each family, a Avhole tribe Avas
taken, and reckoned as set apart and devoted to Jehovah,
just as now a substitute is provided to serve in war in
another's stead. Therefore the tribe of Levi were said to be
sanctified to God.
Ask we what was meant by saying, that the Levites were
sanctified to God ? The ceremony of their sanctification will
explain it to us. It was a, very significant one. The priest
touched with the typical blood of a sacrificed animal the Le-
vite's right hand, right eye, right foot. This Avas the Le-
vite's sanctification. It devoted every faculty and. every
power — of seeing, doing, walking, the right-hand faculties —
the best arid choicest — to God's peculiar service. He was a
man set apart. . To sanctify, therefore, in the Hebrew phrase,
meant to devote or -consecrate. Let us pause for a few mo
ments to gather up the import of this ceremony.
The first-born are a nation's hope : they may be said to
representa whole nation. The consecration, therefore, of the
first-born was the consecration of the entire nation by their
representatives. Nowthe Levites were substituted for the
first-born. The Levites consequently represented all Israel ;
and by their consecration the life of Israel was. declared to
be in idea and by right a consecrated life to God. But fur
ther still. As the Levites represented Israel, so Israel itself
Avas but a part taken for the whole, and represented the
whole human race. If any One thinks this fanciful, let him
remember the principle of representation on which the whole
Jewish system was built. For example — the first-fruits of

The Sanctification of Christ. 375
the harvest Avere consecrated to God. Why ? to declare
that portion and that only to be God's ? No ; St. Paul says
as a part for the whole, to teach and remind that the whole
harvest was his. " If the first-fruits be holy, the lump also
is holy." So in the same way, God consecrated a peculiar
people to himself? Why? The Jews say because they
alone are His. We say, as a part representative of the
whole, to shoAv in one nation what all are meant to be. The
holiness of Israel is a representative holiness. Just as the
consecrated Levite stood for what Israel Avas meant to be,
so the anointed and separated nation represents forever what
the whole race of man is in the Divine Idea — a thing whose
proper life is perpetual consecration.
One step farther. This being the true life of humanity,
name it how you will, sanctification, consecration, devotion,
sacrifice, Christ the Representative of the Race, submits
Himself in the text to the universal law of this devotion.
The true law of every life is consecration to God : therefore
Christ says, I consecrate myself: else He had not been a
Man in God's idea of Manhood — for the idea of Man which
God had been for ages laboring to give through a consecra
ted tribe and a consecrated nation to the world, was the idea
of a being whose life-law is sacrifice, every act and every
thought being devoted to God.
Accordingly, this is the view which Christ Himself gave
of His own Divine humanity. He spoke of it as of a thing
devoted by a Divine decree. "Say ye of Him, whom the
Father hath sanctified, and sent into the world, Thou blas-
phemest ; because I said I am the Son of God ?"
We have reached, therefore, the meaning of this word in
the text, " For their sakes I sanctify," i. e., consecrate or de-
A'ote " myself." The first meaning of sanctify is to set apart.
But to set apart for God is to devote or consecrate ; and to
consecrate a thing is to make it holy. And thus we: have.
the three meanings of the word, viz., to set apart, to devote,
to make holy — rising all out of one simple idea. To go
somewhat into particulars. This sanctification is spoken of
here chiefly as threefold : Self-devotion by inward resolve ;
self-devotion to the truth ; self-devotion for the sake of
others. 1. He devoted Himself by inward resolve. " I sanctify my
self." God His Father had devoted Hiin before. He had
sanctified and sent Him. It only remained that this devo
tion ' should become by His own act — se^devotion : com
pleted by His OAvn will. Now in that act of will consisted
His sanctification of Himself.

376 The Sanctification of Christ.
For observe, this was done within : in secret, solitary
struggle — in wrestling with all temptations which deterred
Him from His work — in resolve to do it unflinchingly: in
real human battle and victory.
Therefore this self-sanctification applies to the whole tone
and history of His mind. He was forever devoting Himself
to Avork — forever bracing His human spirit to sublime re
solve. But it applies peculiarly. to certain special moments,
Avhen some crisis came, as on this present occasion, which
called for an act of will.
The first of these moments which ,we read of came when
He was twelve years of age. We pondered on it a few
weeks ago. In the temple, that earnest conversation with
the doctors indicates to us that He had begun to revolve
His own mission in His mind ; for the answer to His moth
er's expostulations shows us what had been the subject of
those questions He had been putting : " Wist ye not that I
must be about my Father's business ?" Solemn words, sig
nificant of a crisis in His mental history. He had been ask
ing those doctors about His Father's business : what it was,
and how it was to be done by Him of whom He had read in
the prophets; even Himself. This was the earliest self-devo
tion of Messiah : the boy was sanctifying Himself for life
and manhood's work.
The next time was in that preparation of the wilderness
Avhich we call Christ's temptation. You can not look deep
ly into that strange story without perceiving that the true
meaning of it lies in this, that the Saviour in that conflict
was steeling His soul against the threefold form in which
temptation presented itself to Him in after-life, to mar or
neutralize His ministry.
1. To convert the hard, stony life of duty into the comfort
and enjoyment of this life : to -barter, like Esau, life for pot
tage : to use Divine powers in Him only to procure bread of
earth. 2. To distrust God, and try impatiently some wild, sud
den plan, instead of His meek and slow-appointed ways — to
cast Himself from the temple, as we dash ourselves against
our destiny.
3. To do homage to the majesty of wrong : to worship
evil for the sake nf success : to make the Ayorld His own by
force or by crooked policy, instead of by suffering.
These were the temptations of His life, as they are of ours.
If you search through His history, you find that all trial was
reducible to one or other of these three forms. In the wil
derness His soul foresaw them all; they were all in spirit

The Sanctification of Christ. 377
met then, fought and conquered before they came in their
reality. In the wilderness He had sanctified and consecra
ted Himself against all possible temptation, and life thence
forward was only the meeting of that in fact which had
been in resolve met already — a vanquished foe.
I said He had sanctified Himself against every trial : I
should have said, against every one except the last. The
temptation had not exhibited the terrors and the form of
death : He had yet to nerve and steel Himself to that. And
hence the lofty sadness which characterizes His later minis--
try, as he went down from the sunny mountain-tops of life
into the darkening shades of the valley where lies the grave.
There is a perceptible difference between the tone of His
earlier and that of His. later ministry, Avhich by its evidently
undesigned truthfulness gives us a strong feeling of the re
ality :of the history.
At: first all is bright, full of hope, signalized by success
and triuinph. You hear from Him joyous words of antici
pated victory : " I beheld Satan as lightning fall from
heaven." And we recollect how His first sermon in the
synagogue of Capernaum was hailed; how all eyes were fix
ed on Him, and Ais words seemed full of grace.
Slowly after this there comes a change over the spirit of
His life. The unremitting toil becomes more superhuman,
" I must work the work of Him that sent Me while it is
day : the night cometh when no man can work." The cold
presentiment of doom hangs more often on Him. He begins
to talk to His disciples in mysterious hints of the betrayal
and the cross. He is going down into the cloud-land, full
of shadoAvs where nothing is distinct, and His step becomes
more solemn, and His language more deeply sad. Words
of awe, the words as of a soul struggling to pierce through
thick glooms of mystery, and doubt, and death, come more
often from His lips : for instance, " Now is My soul troub
led : and what shall I say ? Father, save Me from this hour :
but for this cause came I into the world." " My soul is ex
ceeding sorrowful, even unto death." And here in the text
is another of those sentences of mournful grandeur : " For
their sakes I sanctify Myself, that they also might be sancti
fied through the truth."
Observe the present tense. Not I shall devote Myself—
but I sarictify, i. e., I am sanctifying Myself. It was a men
tal struggle going on then. This prayer was, so to speak,
part of His Gethsemane prayer, the first utterances of it— -
broken by interruption — then finished in the garden1. The
consecration and the agony had begun — the long inward

378 The Sanctification of Christ.
battle — which was not complete till the words came, too
solemnly to be called triumphantly, though they Avere in
deed the trumpet-tones of man's grand victory, " It is fin
ished." Secondly the sanctification of Christ was self-devotion to
the truth. I infer this, because He says, " I sanctify Myself,
that they also . might - be sanctified . through the truth."
" Also " implies that what His consecration was, theirs was.
Now theirs is expressly said to be sanctification by the
.truth. That, then, was His consecration too. It was the
truth which devoted Him and marked Him out for death.
For it was not merely death that made Christ's sacrifice
the world's atonement. There is no special A'irtue in mere
death, even though it be the death of God's own Son.
Blood does not please God. , " As I live, saith the Lord, I
have no pleasure in the death of the sinner." Do you think
God has pleasure in the blood of the righteous ? blood mere
ly as blood ? death merely as a debt of nature paid? suffer
ing merely, as if suffering had in it mysterious virtue ?
No, my brethren ! God can be satisfied with that only
Avhich pertains to the conscience and the will ; so says the
Avriter of the Epistle to the Hebrews : " Sacrifices could nev
er make the comers thereunto perfect."- The blood of Christ
was sanctified by the will with which He shed it : it is that
Avhich gives it value. It was a sacrifice offered up to con
science. He suffered as a martyr to the truth, fle fell in
fidelity to a cause. The sacred cause in which He fell was
love to the human race : " Greater love hath no man than
this, that a man give his life for his friends." Now that
truth was the cause in which Christ died. We have His
own words as proof: " To this end was I born, and for this
cause came I into the Avorld, to bear witness to the truth."
Let us see how His death was a martyrdom of witness to
truth. 1. He proclaimed the identity between religion and good
ness. He distinguished religion from correct views, accurate
religious observances, and even from devout feelings. He
said that to be religious is to be good. " Blessed are the
pure in. heart . . . .Blessed are the merciful .... Blessed
are the meek." Justice, mercy, truth — these He proclaimed
as the real righteousness of God.
Bnt because He taught the truth of Godliness, the Phari
sees became his enemies : those men of opinions and maxims :
those men of ecclesiastical, ritual and spiritual pretensions.
Again, He taught spiritual religion. God was not in the
temple : the temple Avas to come down. But religion Avould

The Sanctification of Christ. 379
survive the temple. God's temple was man's soul ; and be
cause He taught spiritual worship, the priests became his en
emies. Hence came those accusations that He blasphemed
the temple: that he had said contemptuously, " Destroy this
temple, and in three days I will raise it up." '
Once more he struck a death-blow at Jewish exclusive-
ness : He proclaimed the truth of the character of God. God
the Father : the hereditary descent from Abraham Avas noth
ing : the inheritance of Abraham's faith was every thing.
God therefore would admit the Gentiles who inherited that
faith. For God loved the world, not a private few : not the
Jew only, not the elder brother who had been all his life at
home, but the prodigal younger brother too, who had wan
dered far and had sinned much.
Now because He proclaimed this salvation of the Gentiles,
the whole Jewish nation were offended. The first time he
ever hinted it at Capernaum, they took Him to the brow of
the hill whereon their city was built that they might throw
Him thence.
And thus by degrees — priests, Pharisees, rulers, rich and
poor — He had roused them all against Him : and the Divine
Martyr of the truth stood alone at last beside the cross, when
the world's life was to be won, without a friend.
All this we must bear in mind, if. we would understand the
expression, " I sanctify myself." He was sanctifying and
consecrating Himself for this — to be a witness to the truth —
a devoted One, consecrated in His heart's deeps to die — loyal
to truth, even though it should have to give as the reward of
allegiance, noj honors and kingdoms, but only a crown of
thorns. 3. The self-sanctification of Christ was for the sake of oth
ers. " For their sakes." He obeyed the law of self-consecra
tion for Himself, else He had not been man ; for that law is
the universal law of our human existence. But he obeyed it
not for Himself alone, but for others also. It was vicarious
self-devotion, i. e., instead of others, as the Representative of
"hem. " For their sakes," as an example, " that they also
might be sanctified through the truth."
Distinguish between a model and an example. You copy
the outline of a model : you imitate the spirit of an example.
Christ is, our example : Christ is not our model. You might
copy the life of Christ : make Him a model in every act : and
yet you might be not one whit more of a Christian than, be
fore. You might wash the feet of poor fishermen as He did,
live a Avandering life Avith nowhere to lay your head. You
might go about teaching, and never use any Avords but His

380 The Sanctification of Christ.
words, never express a religious truth except in Bible lan
guage : have no home, and mix with publicans and harlots.
Then Christ would be your model : you would have copied
His life like a picture, line for line, and shadow for shadow ;
yet you might not be Christlike.
On the other hand, you might imitate Christ, get his Spirit,
breathe the atmosphere of thought which He breathed: do
not one single act which He did, but every act in His spirit :
you might be rich, whereas He was poor : never teach, where
as He was teaching always ; lead a life in all outward partic
ulars the very contrast and opposite of His : and yet the spirit
of His self-devotion might have saturated your whole feeing,
and penetrated into the life of every act and the essence of
every thought. Then Christ Avould have become your exam
ple : for we can only imitate that of which we have caught
the spirit.
Accordingly, He sanctified Himself that He might become
a living, inspiring example, firing men's hearts by love to imita
tion — a burning and a shining light shed upon the mystery
of life, to guide by a spirit Of warmth lighting from within.
In Christ there is not given to us a faultless essay on the love
liness of self-consecration, to convince our reason how beau
tiful it is : but there is given to us a self-consecrated One :
a living Truth, a living Person ; a life that was beautiful, a
death that we feel in our inmost hearts to have been divine :
and all this in order that the Spirit of that consecrated life
and consecrated death, through love, and wonder, and deep
enthusiasm, may pass into us, and sanctify us also to the
truth in life ana death. He sacrificed Himself that we might
offer ourselves a living sacrifice to God.
H Christ's sanctification of His people :. " That they also
might be sanctified through the truth."
To sanctify means two things. It means to devote, and it
means to( set apart. Yet these tAvo meanings are but differ
ent sides ofthe same idea : for to be devoted to God is to be
separated from all that is , opposed to God. Those whom
Christ sanctifies are separated from two things: from the
world's evil, and from the world's spirit.
1. From the world's evil. So in verse 15, " I pray not that
thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that thou
shouldest keep them from the evil." Not from physical evil,
not from pain: Christ does not exempt his own from, such
kinds of evil. Nay, we hesitate to call pain and sorrow evils,
when we remember what bright characters they haAre made,
and when Ave recollect that almost all who came to Christ

The Sanctification of Christ. 381
came impelled by suffering of some kind or other. For ex
ample, the Syrophenician woman had been driven to " fall at
His feet and worship Him," by the anguish of the tormented
daughter whom she had watched. It was a widow that cast
into the treasury all her living, and that widow poor.
Possibly want and woe will be seen hereafter, when this
world of appearance shall have passed away, to have been,
not evils, but God's blessed angels and ministers of His most
parental love.
But the evil from which Christ's sanctification separates
the soul is that worst of evils — properly speaking the only
evil— sin : revolt from God, disloyalty to conscience, tyranny
of the passions, strife of our self-will in conflict with the lov
ing will of God. This is our foe — our only foe that we have
a right to hate with perfect hatred, meet it where we will, and
under whatever form, in Church or state, in false social max
ims, or in our OAvn hearts. And it was to sanctify or separate
us from this that Christ sanctified or consecrated Himself..
By the blood of his anguish — by the strength of his uncon
querable resolve — we are sworn against it — bound to be, in a
world of evil, consecrated spirits, or else greatly sinning.
Lastly, the self-devotion of Christ separates us from the
world's spirit.
Distinguish between the world's evil and the Avorld's spirit.
Many things which can not "be classed amongst things evil
are yet dangerous as things worldly.
It is one of the most difficult of all ministerial duties to de
fine what the world-spirit is. It can not be identified with
vice, nor can unworldliness be defined as abstinence from vice.
The Old Testament saints were many of them great trans
gressors. Abraham lied, Jacob deceived, David committed
adultery. Crimes dark, surely ! and black enough ! And
yet these men were unworldly; the spirit ofthe world Avas
not in them. They erred and were severely punished; for
crime is crime in whomsoever it is found, and most a crime
in a saint of God. But they were beyond their age : they
were not of the world. They were strangers and pilgrims
upon earth. They were, in the midst of innumerable temp
tations from within and from without, seeking after a better
country, •»'. e., a heavenly.
Again, you can not say that Avorldliness consists in mixing
with many people, and unworldliness with few. Daniel was
unworldly in the luxurious, brilliant court of Babylon : Adam,
in Paradise, had but one companion ; that one was the world
to him.
Again, the spirit of the Avorld can not be defined as con-

382 The Sanctification of Christ.
sisting in any definite plainness of dress or peculiar mode of
living. If Ave would be sanctified from the world when Christ
comes, we must be found, not stripping off the ornaments from
our persons, but the censoriousness from our tongues and the
selfishness from our hearts.
Once more, that which is a sign of unworldliness in one
age is not a certain sign of it in another. In Daniel's age,
when dissoluteness marked the world, frugal living was a suf
ficient evidence that he was not of the world. To say that
he restrained his appetites was nearly the same as saying
that he was sanctified. But noA-? when intemperance is not
the custom, a life as temperate as Daniel's might coexist with
all that is worst ofthe spirit of the world in the heart; al
most no man then was temperate who Avas not serving God
— now hundreds of thousands are self-controlled by prudence,
who serve the world and self.
Therefore you can not define sanctification by any outward
marks or rules. But he who will thoroughly watch will un
derstand what is this peculiar sanctification or separation
from the world which Christ desired in His servants.
He is sanctified by the self-devotion of his Master from the
world, who has a life in himself independent of the maxims
and customs 'which sweep along with them other men. In
his Master's words, "A well of water in him, springing up
into everlasting life," keeping his life on the whole pure, and
his heart fresh. His true life is hid with Christ in God. His
motives, the aims and objects of his life, hoAvever inconsist
ent they may he with each other, however irregularly or fee
bly carried out, are yet on the whole above, not here. His
citizenship is in heaven. He may be tempted, he may err,
he may fall, but still in his darkest aberrations there Avill be
a something that keeps before him still the dreams and aspi
rations of his best days — a thought of the cross of Christ and
the self-consecration that it typifies — a conviction that that
is the highest, and that alone the true. life. And that — if it
were only that — would make him essentially different from
other men, even when he mixes with them and seems to catch
their tone, among them but not one of them. And that life
within him is Christ's pledge that he shall be yet what he
longs to be — a something severing him, separating him, con
secrating him. For him and for. such as him the consecration
prayer of Christ was made. " They are not of the world,
even as I am not of the Avorld : Sanctify them through thy
truth : thy word is truth."

The First Miracle. 383

XVII.
THE FIRST MIRACLE.
I. TH2 GL0EY OF THE VIKGIT"" MOTHEE.
"This beginning of miracles did- Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and*manif'ested
forth his glory ; and his disciples believed on him."— John ii. 11.
This was the " beginning of miracles " which Jesus did,
and yet he was now thirty years of age. For thirty years he
had done no miracle ; and that is in itself almost Avorthy to
be called a miracle. That he abstained for thirty years from
the exertion of His Avonder-working power is as marvellous
as that He possessed for three years the power to exert. He
Avas content to live long in deep obscurity. Nazareth, with
its quiet valley, Avas world enough for Him. There was no
disposition to rush into, publicity : no haste to be known in
the world. The quiet consciousness of power which breathes
in that expression, " Mine hour is not yet come," had marked
His whole life. He could bide His time. He had the strength
to wait.
This was true greatness — the greatness of man, because
also the greatness of God: for such is God's way in all He
does. In all the works of God there is a conspicuous absence
of haste and hurry. All that He does ripens slowly. Six
slow days and nights of creative force before man was made:
two thousand years to discipline and form a JeAvish people :
four thousand years of darkness, and ignorance, and crime,.
before the fullness ofthe time had come, when He could send'
forth His Son : unnumbered ages of war before the thousand
years of solid peace can come. Whatever contradicts this
Divine plan must pay the price of haste^brief duration. All
that is done before the hour is come decays fast. All preco
cious things ripened before their time,. wither before their
time: precocious fruit, precocious minds, forced feelings. "He
that believeth shall not make haste."
We shall distribute the various thoughts which this event
suggests under two heads.
I. The glory of the Virgin Mother.
II. The glory of the Divine Son.
I. The glory of the Virgin Mother.
In the First Epistle to the Corinthians St Paul speaks of

384 The First Miracle.
the glory of the woman as of a thing distinct from the glory
of the man. They are the two opposite poles of the sphere
of humanity. Their provinces are not the same, but differ
ent. The qualities which are beautiful as predominant in
one are not beautiful when predominant in the other. That
which is the glory of the one is not the glory ofthe other.
The glory of her who was highly favored among women,
and whom all Christendom has agreed in contemplating as
the type and ideal of her sex, was glory in a different order
from that in which her Son exhibited the glory of a perfect
manhood. A glory different in degree, of course : the one
was only human, the. other more than human, the Word
made flesh ; but different in order too : the one manifesting
forth her glory—the grace of womanhood ; the other mani
festing forth His glory — the wisdom and the majesty of
manhood, in which God dwelt.
Different orders or kinds of glory. Let us consider the
glory of the Virgin, which is, in other words, the glory of
what is womanly in character.
1. Remarkable, first of all, in this respect, is her consider-
ateness. There is gentle, womanly tact in those words, ".They
have no wine." Unselfish thougntfulness about others' com
forts, not her own : delicate anxiety to save a straitened
family from the exposure of their poverty : and moreover,
for this is A'ery Avorthy of observation,, carefulness about
gross, material things : a sensual thing, we might truly say
— wine, the instrument of intoxication : yet see how her
feminine tenderness transfigured and sanctified such gross
and common things ; how that wine which, as used by the
revellers of the banquet, might be coarse and sensual, was
in her use sanctified, as it was by unselfishness and charity :
a thing quite heavenly, glorified by the ministry of love.
It was so that in old times, with, thoughtful hospitality,
Rebekah offered water at the well to Abraham's way-worn
servant. It was so that Martha showed her devotion to her
Lord eA'en to excess, being cumbered with much serving.
It was so that the women ministered to Christ out of their
substance — Avater, food, money. They took these low things
of earth, and spiritualized them into means of hospitality and
devotion. And this is the glory of womanhood : surely no common
glory: surely one which, if she rightly comprehended her
place on earth, might enable her to accept its apparent hu
miliation unrepiningly ; the glory of unsensualizing coarse
and common things, sensual things, the objects of mere
sense, meat and drink and household cares, elevating them,

The Glory of the Virgin Mother. 385
by the spirit in which she ministers them, into something
transfigured and sublime.
The humblest mother of a poor family who is cumbered
with much serving, or watching over a hospitality which she
is too poor to delegate to others, or toiling for love's sake in
household work, needs no emancipation in God's sight. It
is the prerogative and the glory of her womanhood to con
secrate the meanest things by a ministry which is not for
self. 2. Submission. " Whatsoever He saith unto you, do it."
Here is the true spirit of obedience. Not slavishness, but
entire loyalty and perfect trust in a person whom we rever
ence. She did not comprehend her Son's strange repulse and
mysterious words ; but she kneAv that they were not capri
cious words, for there was no caprice in Him : she knew that
the law which ruled His will was right, and that importunity
was useless. So she bade them reverently wait in silence till
His time should come.
Here is another distinctive glory of womanhood. In the
very outset of the Bible submission is revealed as her pe
culiar lot and destiny. If you Avere merely to look at the
words as they stand, declaring the results of the Fall, you
would be inclined to call that vocation of obedience a curse ;
but in the, spirit of Christ it is transformed, like labor, into a
blessing. In this passage a twofold blessing stands con
nected Avith it. Freedom from all doubt ; and preArailing
power in prayer.
The first is freedom from all doubt. The Virgin seems to
have felt no perplexity at that rebuke and seeming refusal ;
and yet perplexity and misgiving would seem natural. A
more masculine and imperious mind would have been start
led ; made sullen, or have begun at once to sound the depths
of metaphysics, reasoning upon the hardship of a lot which
can not realize all it wishes: wondering why such simple
blessings are refused, pondering deeply on Divine decrees,
ending perhaps in skepticism. Mary was saved from this.
She could not understand, but she could trust and wait.
Not for one moment did a shade of doubt rest upon her
heart. At once and instantly, " Whatsoever He saith unto
you, do it." And so, too, the Syrophenician woman was not
driven to speculate on the injustice of her destiny by the
seeming harshness of Christ's reply. She drew closer to her
Lord in prayer. Affection and submissiveness saved them
both from doubt. True women both.
Now there are whole classes of our fellow-creatures to
whom, as a class, the anguish of religions doubt never or
17

386 The First Miracle.
rarely comes. Mental doubt rarely touches women. Sol
diers and sailors do not doubt. Their religion is remarkable
for its simplicity and childlike character. Scarcely ever are
religious warriors tormented Avith skepticism or doubts.
And in all, I believe, for the same reason — the habits of feel-
inc to which the long life of obedience trains the soul.
Prompt, quick, unquestioning obedience : that is the soil for
faith. I call this, therefore, the glory of womanhood. It is the
true glory of human beings to obey. It is her special glory,
rising out of the very Aveakness of her nature — God's strength
made perfect in weakness. England will not soon forget
that lesson left her as the bequest of a great life. Her bur
ied Hero's glory came out of that which was manliest in his
character — the Virgin's spirit of obedience.
The second glory resulting from it is prevailing power
with God. Her wish was granted. " What have I to do
with thee," Avere words that only asserted His own perfect
independence. They were not the language of rebuke. As
Messiah He gently vindicated His acts from interference,
showing the filial relation to be in its first strictness dis
solved. But as Son He obeyed, or to speak more properly,
complied. Nay, probably Ais look had. said that already,
promising more than His words, setting her mind at rest,
and granting the favor she desired.
Brethren, the subject of prayer is a deep mystery. To
the masculine intellect it is a demonstrable absurdity. For
says logic, hoA^ can man's will modify the will of God, or
alter the fixed decree ? And if it can not, wherein lies the
use of prayer ? But there is a something mightier than in
tellect and truer than logic. It is the faith which works by
love— the conviction that in this world of mystery, that
which can not be put in words, nor defended by argument,
may yet be true. The Avill of Christ was fixed, what could
be the use of intercession? and yet the Virgin's feeling was
true ; she felt her prayer would prevail.
Here is a grand, paradox, Avhich is the paradox of all
prayer. The heart hopes that which to reasoning seems im
possible. And I believe we never pray aright except when
Ave pray in that feminine childlike spirit which rioJogic can
defend, feeling as if Ave modified the Avill of God, though that
Avill is fixed. It is the glory ofthe spirit that is affectionate
and submissive that it, ay and it alone, can pray, because it
alone can believe that its prayer ivill be granted ; and it is
the glory of that spirit, too, th.tt its prayer will be granted.
3. In all Christian ages the especial glory ascribed to the

The Glory of the Virgin Mother. 387
Virgin Mother is purity of heart and life. Implied in the
term " Virgin." Gradually in the history of the Christian
Church the recognition of this became idolatry. The works
of early Christian art curiously exhibit the progress of this
perversion. They show how Mariolatry grew up. The first
pictures of the early Christian ages simply represent the
woman. By-and-by we find outlines of the mother and the
child. In an after-age the Son is seen sitting on a throne, with
the mother crowned, but sitting as yet below. Him. In an
age still later, the crowned mother on a level with the Son.
Later still, the mother on a throne above the Son. And last
ly, a Romish picture represents the eternal Son in wrath,
about to destroy the earth, and the Virgin Intercessor inter
posing, pleading by significant attitude her maternal rights,
and redeeming the world from His vengeance. Such was, in
fact, the progress of Virgin-worship. First the Avoman rev
erenced for the Son's sake; then the woman reverenced
above the Son, and adored.
Now the question is, How came this to be ? for we assume
it as a principle that no error has ever spread widely that was
not the exaggeration or perversion of a truth. And be as
sured that the first step towards dislodging error is to un
derstand the truth at Avhich it aims. Never can an error be
permanently destroyed by the roots, unless we have planted
by its side the truth that is to take its place. Else you will
find the falsehood returning forever, growing up again when
you thought it cut up root and branch, appearing in the very
places where the crushing of it seemed most complete.
Wherever there is a deep truth, unrecognized, misunderstood,
it will force its Avay into men's hearts. It will take perni
cious forms if it can not find healthful ones. It will grow as
some Aveeds groAV, in noxious forms, ineradicably, because it
has a root in human nature.
Else how comes it to pass, after three hundred years of
reformation, Ave find Virgin-worship restoring itself again in
this reformed England, where least of all countries we should
expect it, and where the remembrance of Romish persecu
tion might have seemed to make its return impossible ?
How comes it that some of the deepest thinkers of our day,
and men of the saintliest lives, are feeling this Virgin-worship
a necessity for their souls ; for it is the doctrine to which the
converts to Romanism cling most tenaciously ?
Brethren, I reply, Because the doctrine of the worship of
the Virgin has a root in truth, and no mere cutting and up
rooting can destroy it : no thunders of Protestant oratory :
no platform expositions : no Reformation societies. In one

388 The First Miracle.
word, no mere negations ; nothing but the full liberation of
the truth which lies at the root of error can eradicate erroi\
Surely we ought to have learnt that truth by this time.
Recollect how, before Christ's time, mere negations failed to
uproot paganism. Philosophers had disproved it by argu
ment : satirists had covered it with ridicule. It was slain a
thousand times, and yet paganism lived on in the hearts of
men : and those Avho gave it up returned to it again in a
dying hour, because the disprovers of it had given nothing
for the heart to rest on in its place. But when Paul dared
to proclaim of paganism what Ave are proclaiming of Virgin-
worship, that paganism stood upon a truth, and taught that
truth, paganism fell forever. The Apostle Paul found in
Athens an altar to the unknown God. He did not announce
in Athens lectures against heathen priestcraft; nor did he
undertake to prove it, in the Areopagus, all a mystery of in
iquity, and a system of damnable idolatries — that is the
mode in which we set about our controversies ; but he dis
engaged the truth from the error, proclaimed the truth, and
left the errors to themselves. The truth greAv up, and the
errors silently and sloAvly withered.
I pray you, Christian brethren, do not join those fierce as
sociations which think only of uprooting error. There is a
spirit in them which is more of earth than heaven, short
sighted too and self-destructive. They do not make converts
to Christ, but only controversialists, and adherents to a par
ty. They compass sea and land to make one proselyte. : It
matters little Avhether fierce Romanism or fierce Protestant
ism Avins the day : but it does matter whether or not in the
conflict we lose some precious Christian truth, as Avell as the
very spirit of Christianity.
What lies at the root of this ineradicable Virgin-worship?
Hoav comes it that out of so few Scripture sentences about
her, many of them like this rebuke, depreciatory, learned men
and pious men could ever have eleveloped, as they call it, or
as it seems to us, tortured and twisted a doctrine of Divine
honors to be paid to Mary? Let us set out with the con
viction that there must have been some reason for it, some
truth of which it is the perversion.
I believe the truth to be this. Before Christ the qualities
honored as Divine were peculiarly the virtues of the man :
courage, wisdom, truth, strength. But Christ proclaimed the
Divine nature of qualities entirely opposite : meekness, obe
dience, affection, purity. He said that the pure in' heart
should see God. He pronounced the beatitudes of meekness,
and loAvliness, and poverty of spirit. Now observe these

The Glory of the Virgin Mother. 389
were all of the order of graces which are distinctively femi
nine. And it is the peculiar feature of Christianity that it
exalts not strength nor intellect, but gentleness, and. loving-
ness, and virgin purity.
Here was a new, strange thought given to the world. It
Avas for many ages the thought : no wonder — it was the one
great novelty of the revealed religion. How were men to
find expression for that idea which was working in them,
vague and beautiful, but wanting substance ? the idea of the
Divineness of what is pure, above the Divineness of what is
strong? Would you have had them say simply, we had
forgotten these things ; now they are revealed — now we know
that love and purity are as Divine as power and reason ? My
brethren, it is not so that men worship — it is only so that men
think. They think about qualities — they worship persons.
Worship must have a form. Adoration finds a person, and if
it can not find one it will imagine one. Gentleness and purity
are words for a philosopher ; but a man whose heart wants
something to adore will find for himself a gentle one, a pure
one, incarnate purity and love, gentleness robed in flesh and
blood, before whom his knee may bend, and to whom the
homage of his spirit can be given. You can not adore except
a person. What marvel if the early Christian found that the Virgin-
mother of our Lord embodied this great idea ? What marvel
if he filled out and expanded with that idea which was in his
heart, the brief sketch given of her in the Gospels, till his
imagination had robed the woman of the Bible with the
majesty of the mother of God ? Can we not feel that it must
have been so ? Instead of a dry, formal dogma of theology,
the Romanist presented an actual woman, endued with every
inward grace and beauty, and pierced by sorrows, as a living
object of devotion, faith, and hope — a personality instead of
an abstraction. Historically speaking, it seems inevitable
that the idea could scarcely have been expressed to the world
except through an idolatry.
Brethren, if is an idolatry : in modern Romanism a perni
cious and most defiling one. The worship of Mary over
shadows the worship of the Son. The love given to her is
so much taken from Him. Nevertheless, let us not hide from
ourselves the eternal truth of the idea that lies beneath the
temporary falsehood of the dogma. Overthrow the idolatry ;
but do it by substituting the truth.
Now the truth which alone can supplant the worship of the
Virgin is the perfect humanity of .Jesus Christ. I say the
perfect humanity : for perfect manhood is a very ambiguous

39° The First Miracte.
expression. By man we sometimes mean the human race;
made up of man and woman, and sometimes we only mean the
masculine sex. We have only one word to express both
ideas. The language in which the New Testament was
written has two. Hence we may make a great mistake.
When the Bible speaks of man the human being, we may
think that it means man the male creature. When the
Bible tells us Jesus Christ was the Son of Man, it uses the
word which implies human being : it does not use the word
which signifies one of the male sex : it does not dwell on the
fact that He was a man : but it earnestly asserts that He was
Man. Son of a man He was not. Son of Man He was : for
the blood, as it were, of all the race was in His veins.
Now let us see Avhat is implied in this expression Son of
Man. It contains in it the doctrine of the incarnation: it
means the full humanity of Christ. Lately I tried to bring
out one portion of its meaning. I said that He belonged to
no particular age, but to every age. He had not the qualities
of one clime or race, but that which is common to all climes
and all races. He was not the Son of the Jew, nor the Son
of the Oriental — He was the Son of Man. He was not the
villager of Bethlehem: nor one whose character and mind
were the result of a certain training, peculiar to Judea, or pe
culiar to that century — but He Avas the Man. This is what
St. Paul insists on, when He says that in Him there is neither
Jew nor Gentile, Barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free. A hu
manity in which, there is nothing distinctive, limited, or pe
culiar, but univergal— your nature and mine, the humanity in
which Ave all are brothers, bond or free. Now in that same
passage St. Paul uses another very remarkable expression :
" There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor
free, there is neither male nor female." That is the other
thing implied in His title to the Son of Man. His nature
had in it the nature of all nations : but also His heart had in
it the blended qualities of both sexes. Our humanity is a
Avhole made up of two opposite poles of character — the manly
and the feminine. In the character of Christ neither was
found exclusively-, but both in perfect .balance. He was the
Son of Man — the Human Being — perfect Man.
There was in Him the woman-heart as well as the manly
brain — all that was most manly, and all that was most wom
anly. Remember what He was in life : recollect His stern
iron hardness in the temptation of the desert : recollect the
calmness that never quailed in all the uproars of the people, .
the truth that never faltered, the strict severe integrity which
characterized the Witness of the Truth : recollect the justice

The Glory of the Virgin Mother. 39 1
that never gave way to weak feeling — Avhich let the rich
young ruler go his way to perish if he would — which paid
the tribute-money— which held the balance fair between the
persecuted woman and her accuser, but did not suffer itself
to be betrayed by sympathy into any feeble tenderness — the
justice that rebuked Peter with indignation, and pronounced
the doom of Jerusalem unswervingly. Here is one side or
pole of human character — surely not the feminine side. Noav
look at the other. Recollect the twice-recorded tears, which
a man would have been ashamed to show, and which are
never beautiful in man except when joined with strength like
His : and recollect the sympathy craved and yearned for as
well as given — the shrinking from solitude in prayer — the
trembling of a sorrow unto death — the considerate care Avhich
provided bread for the multitude, and said to the tired disci
ples, as with a sister's rather than a brother's thoughtfulness,
" Come ye apart into the desert and rest a while." This is
the other side or pole of human character — surely not the
masculine. When we have learnt and felt what is meant by Divine
humanity in Christ, and when we have believed it, not in a
one-sided way, but in all its fullness, then we are safe from
Mariolatry — because we do not want it: we have the truth
which Mariolatry labors to express, and, laboring ignorantly,
falls into idolatry. But so long as the male was looked upon
as the only type of God, and the masculine virtues as the
only glory of Ais character, so long the truth was yet unre-
vealed. This was the state of heathenism. And so long as
Christ was only felt as the Divine Man, and not the Divine.
Humanity, so long the world had only a one-sided truth.
One-half of our nature, the sternei portion of it, only was
felt to be of God and in God. The other half, the tenderer
and the purer qualities of our souls, were felt as earthly.
This was the state of Romanism from, which men tried to
escape by Mariolatry. And if men had not learned that this
side of our nature too Avas made divine in Christ, what possi
ble escape was there for them, but to look to the Virgin
Mary as the incarnation ofthe purer and lovelier elements of
God's character, reserving to her Son the sterner and the
more masculine ?
Can we not understand, too, how it came to pass that the
mother was placed above the Son, and adored more ? Chris
tianity had proclaimed meekness, purity, obedience, as more
Divine than strength and Avisdom. What wonder if she
who was gazed on as the type of purity should be reckoned
more near to God than He who had come through miscon-

39 2 The First Miracle.
ception to be looked on chiefly as thctype of Strength and
Justice ?
There is a spirit abroad which is leading men to Rome.
Do not call that the spirit of the Devil. It is the desire and
hope to find there in its tenderness, and its beauty, and its
devotion, a home for those feelings of awe, and contempla
tion, and love, for which our stern Protestantism finds no
shelter. Let us acknowledge that what they worship is
indeed deserving of all adoration : only let us say that what
they worship ignorantly is Christ. Whom they ignorantly
Avorship let. us declare unto them : Christ their unknown
God, worshipped at an idol-altar. Do not let us satisfy
ourselves by saying as a watchword, " Christ, not Mary :"
say rather, "In Christ "all that they find in Mary." The
mother in the Son, the womanly in the soul of Christ. Di
vine honor to the feminine side of His character, joyful and
unvarying acknowledgment that in Christ there is a reve
lation ofthe Divirieness of submission, and love, and purity,
and long-suffering, just as there was before in the name of
the Lord of Hosts a revelation of the Divineness of courage,
and strength, and heroism, and manliness.
Therefore it is we do not sympathize Avith those coarse
expositions which aim at doing exclusive honor to the Son
of God by degrading the life and character of the Virgin.
Just as the Romanist has loved to represent all connection
Avith her as mysterious and immaculate, so has the. Prot
estant been disposed to vulgarize her to the level of the
commonest humanity, and exaggerate into rebukes the rev
erent expressions to her in which Jesus merely asserted His
Divine independence.
Rather reverence, not her, but that idea and type which
Christianity has given in her — the type of Christian woman
hood; which was not realized in her, which never AVas and
never will be realized in one single woman — Avhich remains
ever a Divine Idea, after which each living woman is to
strive. And Avhen I say reverence that idea or type, I am but
pointing to the relation between the mother and. the Son,
and asking men to' reverence that which He reverenced.
Think we that there is no meaning hidden in the mystery
that the Son of God was the Virgin's Son ? To Him through
life there remained the early recollections of a pure mother.
Blessed beyond all common blessedness is the man who can
look back to that. God has given to him a talisman which
Avill carry him triumphant through many a temptation. To
other men purity may be a name ; to him it has been once a

The Glory of the Divine Son. 393
reality. "Faith in all things high beats with his blood."
He may be tempted : he may err : but there will be a light
from home shining forever on his path inextinguishably.
By the grace of God, degraded he can not be.

XVIII.
THE FIRST MIRACLE.
II. THE GLOKT OF THE DIVINE SOU".
"This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and manifested
forth his glory; and his disciples believed on him." — John ii. 11.
In the history of this miracle two personages are brought
prominently before our notice. One is the Virgin Mary ;
the other is the Son of God. And these two exhibit differ
ent orders of glory, as well as different degrees. Different
degrees, for the Virgin was only human : her Son was God
manifest in the flesh. Different orders of glory, for the one
exhibited the distinctive glory of womanhood: the Other
manifested forth His glory — the glory of perfect manhood.
Taking the Virgin "as the type and representative of her
sex, we found the glory of womanhood, as exhibited by her
conduct in this parable, to consist in unselfish considerate-
ness about others, in delicacy of tact, in the power of enno
bling a ministry of coarse and household things, like the
wine of the marriagefeast, by the sanctity of affection : in
meekness, and lowly obedience, which was in the Fall her
curse, in Christ become her glory, transformed into a bless
ing and a power: and lastly, as the name Virgin implies,
the distinctive glory of womanhood we found to consist in
purity. Now the Christian history first revealed these great truths.
The Gospels which record the life of Christ, first, in the his
tory of the world, brought to light the Divine glory of those
qualities which had been despised. Before Christ came, the
heathen had counted for Divine, the legislative Avisdom of
the man, manly strength, manly truth, manly justice, manly
courage. The life and the cross of Christ shed a splendor
from heaven upon a new and till then unheard-of order of
heroism — that which may be called the feminine order,
meekness, endurance, long-suffering, the passive strength of
martyrdom. For Christianity does not say, Honor to the
17*

394 The First Miracle.
wise, but " Blessed are the meek." Not, Glory to the strong,
but " Blessed are the pure in heart, for they, shall see God."
Not, " The Lord is a man of war, Jehovah is His name," but
" God is Love." In Christ not intellect, but love, is conse
crated. In Christ is magnified, not force of will, but the
glory of a Divine humility. "He was obedient unto death,
even the death of the cross : wherefore God also hath highly
exalted Him."
Therefore it was, that from that time forward womanhood
assumed a new place in this Avorld. She in whom these
qualities, for the first time declared Divine in Christ, were
the distinctive characteristics, steadily and gradually rose
to a higher dignity in human life. It is not to a mere civiliza
tion, but to the spirit of life in Christ, that Avoman owes all
she has, and all she has yet to gain.
Now the outward phases in which this redemption of the
sex appeared to the world have been as yet chiefly three.
There. have been three ages through Avhich these great truths
of the Divineness of purity, and the strength and glory of
obedience, the peculiar characteristics of womanhood, have
been rising into their right acknowledgment. 1. The ages
of Virgin-worship. 2. The ages of chivalr'y. 3. The age of
the three last centuries. Now during these three Protestant
centuries, the place and destinies of womanhood have been
every year rising more and more into great questions. Her
mission, as it is called in the cant language of the day —
what it is — that is one of the subjects of deepest interest in
the controversies" of the day.- And unless we are prepared
to say that the truth which has been growing clearer and
brighter for eighteen centuries shall stop now exactly where
it is, and grow no clearer: unless Ave are ready to affirm that
mankind will never learn to pay less glory to strength and
intellect, and more to meekness, and humbleness, and pure-
ness than they do now, it follows that G°d has yet reserved
for womanhood a larger and more glorious field for her
peculiar qualities and gifts, and that the truth contained in
the Virgin's motherhood is unexhausted still.
For this reason, in reference to that womanhood and its
destinies of which St. Mary is the type, I thought it needful,
last Sunday, to insist on two things as of profound impor
tance. I. To declare in what her true glory consists. The only
glory of the Virgin was the glory of true womanhood. The
glory of true womanhood consists in being herself: not in
striving to be something else. It is the false paradox and

The Glory of the Divine Son. 395
heresy of this present age to claim for her as a glory the
right to leave her sphere. Her glory lies in her sphere, and
God has given her a sphere distinct ; as in the Epistle to the
Church of Corinth, Avhen in that Avise chapter St. Paul render
ed unto womanhood the things Avhich were woman's, and
unto manhood the things which were man's.
And the true correction of that monstrous rebellion against
Avhat is natural lies in vindicating Mary's glory, on the one
side, from the Romanist, who gives to her the glory of God ;
and on the other from those who would confound, the dis
tinctive glories of the two sexes, and claim as the glory of
Avoman Avhat is, in the deeps of nature, the glory of the
man. Every thing is created in its own order. Every created
thing has its own glory. " There is one glory of the sun,
another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars :
for one star differeth from another star in glory." There is
one glory of manhood, and another glory of womanhood.
And the glory of each created thing consists in being true
to its own nature, and moving in its own sphere.
Mary's glory Avas not immaculate origin, nor immaculate
life, nor exaltation to Divine honors. She had none of these
things. Nor, on the other hand, was it force or demanded
rights, social or domestic, that constituted her glory. But it
Avas the glory of simple womanhood; the glory of being
true to the nature assigned her by her Maker ; the glory of
motherhood; the glory of "a meek and quiet spirit, which
in the sight of God is of great price." She was not the
queen of heaven, but she was something nobler still, a crea
ture content to be what God had made her: in unselfishness,
and humbleness, and purity, "rejoicing in God her Saviour,"
content that " He had regarded the lowliness of His hand
maiden." The second thing upon which I insisted was, that the only
safeguard against the idolatrous error of Virgin- worship is a
full recognition of the perfect humanity of Christ. A. full
recognition : for it is only a partial acknowledgment of the
meaning of the incarnation when we think of Him as the
Divine Man. It was not manhood, but humanity, that was
made Divine in Him. Humanity has its tAvo sides : one side
in the strength and intellect of manhood ; the other in the
tenderness, and faith, and submissiveness of womanhood:
Man and woman, not man alone, make up human nature. In
Christ not one alone but both were glorified. Strength and
grace, wisdom and love, courage and purity, Divine manli
ness : Divine Avomanliness. In all noble characters you find

396 The First Miracle.
the two blended : in Him, the noblest, blended into one en
tire and perfect humanity.
Unless you recognize and fully utter this whole truth, you
will find Mariolatry forever returning, cut it down as you
will. It must come back. It will come back. I had well
nigh said it ought to come back, unless we preach and believe
the full truth of God incarnate, in humanity. For while we
teach in our classical schools : as the only manliness, Pa
gan heroism of warrior and legislator, can we say that we
are teaching both sides of Christ ? Our souls were trained
in boyhood to honor the heroic and the masculine. Who
ever hinted to us that charity is the " more excellent way ?"
Who suggested that "he which ruleth his spirit is greater
than he which taketh a city ?"
Again, we find our English society divided into two sec
tions : one the men of business and action, exhibiting promi
nently the masculine virtues of English character, truth and
honor, and almost taught to reckon forbearance and feeling
as proofs of weakness ; taught in the playground to believe
that a chaste life is romance ; false sentiment and strength-
lessness of character taught there : and in after-life that it is
mean to forgive a personal affront.
The other section of our society is made up of men of
prayer and religiousness : for some reason or other singular
ly deficient in masculine breadth ¦ and strength, and even
truthfulness of character : with no firm footing upon reality,
not daring to look -the real problems of social and political
life in the face, rlut " wasting their strength in disputes of
words, or shrinking into a dim atmosphere of ecclesiastical
dreaminess, unreal and effeminate. Dare we say that the
full humanity of Christ in its double aspect is practically
adored amongst us ? Have we not made a fatal separation
between the manly and the feminine sides of character ? be
tween the moral and the devout ? so that we have men who
are masculine and moral, and also men who are effeminate
and devout. But where are our Christian men in whom the
whole Christ is formed — all that is brave, and true, and wise,
and at the same time all that is tender, and devout, and
pure ? Who ever taught us to adore in Christ all that! is
most manly, and all that is most womanly, that we might
strive to be' such in our degree ourselves ? And if not, can
you wonder that men, feeling their Christianity imperfect,
blindly strive to patch it up through Mariolatry ?
I gather into a few sentences the substance of what was
said last Sunday. I said that Christianity exhibited the
Divine glory of the weaker elements of our human nature.

The Glory of the Divine Son. 397
Heathenism, nay even Judaism, had as yet before him only
recognized the glory of the stronger and masculine. Now
the Romanist personified the masculine side of human na
ture in Christ. He personified gentleness and purity, the
feminine side of human nature, in the Virgin Mary. No
wonder that with this cardinal error at the outset in his con
ceptions, he adored ; and no Avonder, since Christianity de
clared meekness and purity more Divine than strength and
intellect, in process of time he came to honor the Virgin
more than Christ. That I believe is the true history and
account of Virgin-worship.
The Bible personifies both sides of human nature, the mas
culine and feminine, in Christ, of whom St. Paul declares in
the Epistle to the Galatians, " In Him is neither Jew nor
Greek, bond nor free, male nor female." Neither distinctive
ly, for in him both the manly and the womanly sides of char
acter divinely meet. I say therefore that the incarnation of
God in Christ is the true defense against Virgin-Worship.
Think of Christ only as the masculine character, glorified
by the union of Godhead with it, and your Christianity has
in it an awful gap, a void, a want — the inevitable supply and
relief to which will be Mariolatry, however secure you may
think yourself; however strong and fierce the language
you now use. Men who have used language as strong and
fierce have become idolaters of Mary. With a half thought
of Christ, safe you are not. But think of him as the Divine
Human Being, in whom both sides of our double being are
divine and glorified, and then you have the' truth .which Ro
manism has marred and perverted into an idolatry pernicious
in all ; in the less spiritual worshippers sensualizing and- de
basing. Now there are two ways of meeting error. The one is that
in which, in humble imitation of Christ and His apostles, I
have tried to show you the error of the worship of Mary — to
discern the truth out of which the error sprung, firmly as
serting the truth, forbearing threatening ; certain that he in
whose mind the truth is lodged has in that truth the safe
guard against error.
The other way of meeting error is to overwhelm it with
threats. To some men it seems the only way in which true
zeal is shown. Well, it is very easy, requiring no self-con
trol, but only an indulgence of every bad passion. It is very
easy to call Rome the "mother of harlots and abominations"
— very easy to use strong language about " damnable idola
tries " — very easy for the apostles to call down fire from
heaven: upon the Samaritans because they would not receive

398 The First Miracle.
Christ, and then to flatter themselves that that was godly
zeal. But it might be well for us to remember his somewhat
startling comment, " Ye know not what manner of spirit ye
are of." There are those Avho think it a surer and a safer
Protestantism to use those popular watchwords. Be it so.
But with God's blessing, that will not I. The majesty of
truth needs other bulwarks than vulgar and cowardly vitu
peration. Coarse and violent lariguage, excusable three hun
dred years ago by the manners of that day, was bold and
brave in the lips of the Reformers, with whom the struggle
Avas one of life and death, and who might be called to pay
the penalty of their bold defiances with their blood. But the
same fierceness of language now, Avhen there is no personal
risk in the use of it, in the midst of hundreds of men and
Avomen ready to applaud and honor violence as zeal, is simply
a dastardlines"S from which every generous mind shrinks.
You do not get the Reformers' spirit by putting on the ar
mor they have done Avith, but by risking the dangers Avhich
those noble warriors risked. ¦ It is not their big words, but
their large, brave heart that makes the Protestant. , Oh, be
sure that he Avhose soul has anchored itself to rest on the
deep calm sea of truth, does not spend his strength in raving
against those who are still tossed by the winds of error.
Spasmodic violence of words is one thing, strength of convic
tion is another.
When, oh when, shall we learn that loyalty to Christ is
tested far more by the strength of our sympathy Avith truth
than by the intensity of our hatred of error ? I will tell you
what to hate. Hate hypocrisy — hate cant — hate intolerance,
oppression, injustice — hate Pharisaism— hate them as Christ
hated them, with a deep, living, Godlike hatred. But do not
hate men in intellectual error. To hate a man for his errors
is as unwise as to hate one who in casting up an account has
made an error against himself. The Romanist has made an
error against himself. He has missed the full glory, of his
Lord and Master. Well, shall we hate him, and curse, and
rant, and thunder at him ? .Or, shall we sit down beside him,
and try to sympathize with him, and see things from his point
of view, and strive to understand the truth which his soul is
aiming at, and seize the truth for him and for ourselves,
" meekly instructing those Avho oppose themselves ?"
Our subject to-day is the glory ofthe Divine Son. In that
miracle " He manifested forth his glory." Concerning that
glory Ave say : —
1. The glory of Christ did not begin with that miracle : the
miracle only manifested it. For thirty years the wonder-

The Glory of the Divine Son. 399
working power had been in Him. It was not Diviner poAver
when it broke forth into visible manifestation than it had
been when it was unsuspected and unseen. It had been ex
ercised up to this time in common acts of youthful life : obe
dience to His mother, loye to His brethren. Well, it was
just as Divine in those simple, daily acts, as when it showed
itself in a way startling and wonderful. It was just as much
the life of God on earth when He did an act of ordinary hu
man love or human duty, as when He did an extraordinary
act, such as turning Avater into wine. God was as much, nay
more; in the daily life and love of Christ, than he was in Christ's
miracles. The miracle only made the hidden glory visible.
The extraordinary only proved that the ordinary was Divine.
That was the very object of the miracle. It was done to man
ifest forth his glory. And if, instead of rousing men to see
the real glory of Christ in His other life, the miracle merely
fastened men's attention on itself, and made them think that
the only glory which is Divine is to be found in what is won
derful and uncommon, then the whole intention of the miracle
was lost.
Let us make this more plain by an illustration. To the
wise man, the lightning only manifests the electric force which
is everywhere, and which for one moment has become visible.
As often as he sees it, it reminds him that the lightning slum
bers invisibly in the dew-drop, and in the mist, and in the
cloud, and binds together every atom of the water that he
uses in daily life. But to the vulgar mind the lightning is
something unique, a something which has no existence but
Avhen it appears. There is a fearful glory in the lightning
because he sees it. But there is no startling glory and noth
ing fearful in the drop of dew, because he does not know,
what the thinker knoAvs, that the flash is there in all its terT
rors. So, in the same way, to the half believer a miracle is
the one solitary evidence of God. Without it he could have
no certainty of God's existence.
But to the true disciple a miracle only manifests the poAv-
er and love which are silently at work everywhere— as truly
and as really in the slow work ofthe cure ofthe insane, as in
the sudden expulsion of the legion from the demoniac — as
divinely in the gift of daily bread as in the miraculous mul
tiplication ofthe loaves. God's glory is at Avork in the groAvth
of the vine and the ripening of the grape, and the process by
which grape-juice passes into Avine. It is not more glory, but
only glory more manifested, when water at his bidding passes
at once into Avine. And be sure that if you do not feel as
David felt, God's presence in the annual miracle, that it is

4CX) The First Miracle.
God, which in the vintage of every year causeth wine to
make glad the heart of man, the sudden miracle at Caperna
um would not have given you conviction of His presence.
" If you hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will you
be persuaded though one rose from the dead." Miracles have
only done their work when they teach us the glory and the
awfulness that surround our common life. In a miracle, God
for one moment shows Himself that we may remember it is
He that is at work when no miracle is seen.
Now this is the deep truth of miracles Avhich most men
miss. They believe that the life of Jesus was Divine, be
cause He wrought miracles. But if their faith in miracles
were shaken, their faith in Christ would go. If the evidence
for the credibility of those miracles were weakened, then to
them the mystic glory would have faded off His history.
They could not be sure that His existence was Divine.
I^hat love, even unto death, would bear no certain stamp of
God upon it. That life of long self-sacrifice would have, had
in it no certain unquestionable traces of the Son of God.
See what that implies. If that be true, and miracles are
the best proof of Christ's mission, God can be recognized
only in what is marvellous : God can not be recognized in
what is good. It is by Divine power that a human Being
turns water into, wine. It is by power less certainly Divine
that the same Being witnesses to truth— forgives His ene
mies — makes it His meat and drink to do His Father's will,
and finishes His work. We are more sure that God was in
Christ when he^said, "Rise up, and walk," than when He
said with absolving love, " Son, thy sins be forgiven thee :"
more certain when He furnished wine for wedding-guests,
than when He said, " Father, forgive them, for they know
not what they do." Oh, a strange, and low, and vulgar ap
preciation this of the true glory of the Son of God ; the same
false conception that runs through all our life, appearing in
every form — God in the storm, and the earthquake, and the
fire — no God in the still small voice. Glory in the lightning-
flash — no glory and no God in the lowliness of the dew-drop.
Glory to intellect and genius — no glory to gentleness and
patience. Glory to every kind oi power — none to the in
ward, invisible strength of the life of God in the soul of man.
"An evil and an adulterous generation seeketh after a
sign." Look at the feverish eagerness with which men
crowd to every exhibition of some newly-discovered force,
real or pretended. What lies at the bottom of this feverish-
ness but an unbelieving craving after signs ? some wonder
which is to show them "the Divine life of Avhich the evidence

The Glory of the Divine Son. 401
is yet imperfect ? As if the bread they eat and the wine
they drink, chosen by God for the emblems of His sacra
ments because the commonest things of daily life, were not
filled with the presence of His love ; as if God were not
around their path and beside their bed, and spying out all
their daily ways.
It is in this strange way that we have learned Christ.
The miracles which were meant to point us to the Divinity
of His goodness, have only dazzled us with the splendor of
their power. We have forgotten what His first wonder-
Avork shows, that a miracle is only manifested glory.
2. It was the glory of Christ, again, to sanctify, i. e., declare
the sacredness of, all. things natural— -all natural relation
ships, all natural enjoyments.
All natural relationships. What He sanctified by His
presence was a marriage. Noav remember what had gone
before this. The life of John the Baptist was the highest
form of religious life knoAvn in Israel. It was the life
ascetic. It was a life of solitariness and penitential auster
ity. He drank no wine : he ate no pleasant food : he mar
ried no Avife : he entered into no human relationship. It was
the law of that stern and in its way sublime life, to cut out
every human feeling as a weakness, and to mortify every
natural instinct, in order to cultivate an intenser spirituality.
A life in its own order grand, but indisputably unnatural.
Now the first public act of our Redeemer's life is to go
with His disciples to a marriage. He consecrates marriage,
and the sympathies which lead to marriage. He declares
the sacredness df feelings which had been reckoned carnal,
and low, and human. He stamped His, image on human
joys, human connections, human relationships. He pro
nounces that they are more than human — as it were sacra
mental : the means whereby God's presence comes to us ;
the .types and shadows whereby higher and deeper relation
ships become possible to us. For it is through our human
affections that the soul first learns to feel that its destiny is
divine : It is through a mortal yearning, unsatisfied, that the
spirit ascends, seeking a higher object : It is through the
gush of our human tenderness that the immortal and the in
finite in us reveals itself. Never does a man know the force
that is in him till some mighty affection or grief has human
ized the soul. It is by an earthly relationship that God has
typified to us and helped us.to conceive the only true espous
al — the marriage ofthe soul to' her eternal Lord.
It was the glory of Christianity to pronounce all these hu
man feelings sacred: therefore it is that the Church asserts

402 The First Miracle.
their sacredness in a religious ceremony ; for example, that
of inarriage. Do not mistake. It is not the ceremony that
makes a thing religious : a ceremony can only declare a thing
religious.- The Church can not make sacred that which is
not sacred : she is but here on earth as the moon, the witness
of the light in heaven ; by her ceremonies and by her insti
tutions to bear witness to eternal truths. She can not by
her manipulations manufacture a child ofthe devil, through
baptism, into a child of God : she can only authoritatively
declare the sublime truth — he is not the devil's child, but
God's child by right. She can not make the bond of mar
riage sacred and indissoluble : she can only witness to the
sacredness of that which the union of two spirits has already
made : and such are her own words. Her minister is com
manded by her to say — " Forasmuch as these two persons
have consented together" there is the sacred fact of nature,
"I pronounce that they be man and Avife" — here is the au
thoritative witness to the fact.
Again, it was His glory to declare the sacredness of all
natural enjoyments. It Avas not a marriage only, but a mar-
riage-feast, to which Christ conducted His disciples. Noav
we can not get over this plain fact by saying that it was a
religious ceremony : that would be mere sophistry. It was
an indulgence in the festivity of life ; as plainly as words
can describe, here was a banquet of human enjoyment. The
very language of the. master of the feast about men who had
Avell drunk, tells us that there had been, not excess of course,
but happiness there and merry-making.
Neither can Ave explain away the lesson by saying that it
is no example to us, for Christ was there to do good, and
that what was safe for Him might be unsafe for us. . For if
His life is no pattern for us here in this case of accepting an
invitation, in what can Ave be sure it is a pattern ? • Besides,
He took His disciples there, and His mother was there : they
were not shielded, as He was, by immaculate purity. He was
there as a guest at first, as Messiah only afterwards : thereby
He declared the sacredness of natural enjoyments.
Here again, then, Christ manifested His peculiar glory.
The temptation of the wilderness Avas past : the baptism of
John, and the life of abstinence to which it introduced, were
over; and noAv the Bridegroom comes before the world in
the true glory of Messiah — not in the life of asceticism, but
in the life of Godliness — not separating from life, but conse
crating it ; carrying a Divine spirit into every simplest act —
accepting an invitation to a feast — giving to Avater the vir
tue of a nobler beverage. For Christianity does not destroy

The Glory of the Divine Son. 403
what is natural, but ennobles it. To turn Avater into wine,
and what is common into what is holy, is indeed the glory of
Christianity. The ascetic life of abstinence, of fasting, austerity, singu
larity, is the lower and earthlier form of religion. The life
of Godliness is the glory of Christ. It is a thing far more
striking to the vulgar imagination to be religious after the
type and pattern of John the Baptist, to fast, to mortify
every inclination, to be found at no feast, to wrap ourselves
in solitariness, and abstain from all social joys : yes, and far
easier so to live, and far easier so to win a character for re
ligiousness. A silent man is easily reputed wise. A man
who suffers none to see him in the common jostle and un
dress of life, easily gathers round him a mysterious veil of
unknown sanctity, and men honor him for a saint. The un
known is always wonderful. But the life of Him whom
men called " a gluttonous man and a Avinebibber, a friend of
publicans and sinners," was a far harder and a far heavenlier
religion. To shroud ourselves in no false mist of holiness : to dare to
show ourselves as we are, making no solemn affectation of
reserve or difference from others: to be found at the mar
riage-feast : to accept the invitation of the rich Pharisee Si
mon, and the scorned publican Zaccheus: to mix Avith the
crowd of men, using no affected singularity, content to be
" creatures not too bright or good for human nature's daily
food :" and yet for a man amidst it all to remain a conse
crated spirit, his trials and his solitariness knoAvn only to his
Father — a being set apart, not of this world, alone in the
heart's deeps with God: to put the cup of this world's glad
ness to his lips, and yet be unintoxicat*d : to gaze steadily
on all its grandeur, and yet be undazzled, plain and simple
in personal desires : to feel its brightness, and yet defy its
thrall: — this is the difficult, and rare, and glorious life of
God in the soul of man. This, this was the peculiar glory
of the life of Christ, which was manifested in that first mir
acle which Jesus wrought at the marriage-feast in Cana of
Galilee.

404 The Good Shepherd.

XIX.
THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
" I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and am known of mine.
As the Father knoweth me, ev<an so know I the Father : and I lay down my
life for the sheep." — John x. 14, 15.
As these words stand in the English translation, it is hard
to see any connection between the thoughts that are brought
together. It is asserted that Christ is the good Shepherd, and knows
His sheep. It is also asserted that He knows the Father ;
but between these two truths there is no express connection.
And again, it is declared that He lays down His life for the
sheep. This folloAvs directly after the assertion that He
knows the Father. Again, we are at a loss to say what one
of these truths has to do with the other.
But the whole difficulty vanishes with the alteration of a
single stop and a single Avord*. Let the words " even so " be
exchanged for the word " and." Four times in these verses
the same Avord occurs. Three times out of these four it is
translated " and," — and know my sheep, and am known, and
I lay down my life. All that is required then is, that in con
sistency it shall be translated by the same word in the fourth
case : for " even so " substitute " and :" then strike away the
full stop after ''mine," and read the Avhole sentence thus :
" I am the good Shepherd, and know my sheep, and am
known of mine as tie Father knoweth me, and as I know the
Father : and I lay down my life for the sheep."
At once our Redeemer's thought becomes clear. There is
a reciprocal affection between the Shepherd and the sheep.
There is a reciprocal affection between, the Father and the
Son; and the one is the parallel ofthe other. The affection
betAveen the Divine Shepherd, and His flock can be compared,
for the closeness of its intimacy, with nothing but the affec
tion between the Eternal Father and the Son of His love.
As the Father knows the Son, so does the Shepherd know
the sheep: as the Son knows the Father, so do the sheep
know their heavenly Shepherd.
I. The pastoral character claimed by Christ.
II. The proofs which substantiate the claim.
L The Son of Man claims to Himself the name of Shep-

The Good Shepherd. 405
herd. Now Ave shall not learn any thing from that, unless
we enter humbly and affectionately into the spirit of Christ's
teaching. It is the heart alone which can give us a key to
His words. Recollect how He taught. By metaphors, by
images, by illustrations, boldly figurative, in rich variety —
yes, in daring abundance. He calls Himself a gate, a king,
a vine, a shepherd, a thief in the night. In every one of
these fle appeals to certain feelings and associations. What
He says can only be interpreted by such associations. They
must be understood by a living heart : a cold, clear intellect
will make nothing of them. If you take those glorious ex
pressions, pregnant with almost boundless thought, and lay
them doAvn as so many articles of rigid, stiff theology, you
turn life into death. It is just as if a chemist were to ana
lyze a fruit or a flower, and then imagine that he had told
you what a fruit and a flower are. He separates them into
their elements, names them and numbers them : but those
elements, weighed, measured, numbered in the exact propor
tions that made up the beautiful living thing, are not the liv
ing thing — no, nor any thing like it. Your science is very
profound, no doubt ; but the fruit is crushed, and the grace
of the flower is gone.
It is in this way often that we deal with the words of
Christ, Avhen we anatomize them and analyze them. Theol
ogy is very necessary, chemistry is very necessary ; but
chemistry destroys life to analyze, murders to dissect ; and
theology very often kills religion out of words before it can
cut them up into propositions.
Here is a living truth which our cold reasonings have often
torn into dead fragments — " I am the good Shepherd." In
this northern England it is hard to get the living associa
tions of the East with which such an expression is full.
The pastoral life and duty in the East is very unlike that
of the shepherds on our bleak hill-sides and downs. Here
the connection between the shepherd and the sheep is simply
one of pecuniary interest. Ask an English shepherd about
his flock, he can tell you the numbers- and the value ; he
knows the market in which each was purchased, and the re
munerating price at which it" can be disposed of. There is
before him so much stock convertible into so much money.
Beneath the burning skies and the clear starry riights of
Palestine there grows up between the shepherd and his flock
an union of attachment and tenderness. It is the country
Avhere at any moment sheep are liable to be swept away by
some mountain-torrent, or carried off by hill-robbers, or torn
by. wolves. At any moment their protector may have to

406 The Good Shepherd.
save them by personal hazard. The shepherd-king tells us
how, hi defense of his father's flock, he slew a lion and a
bear : and Jacob reminds Laban how, when he watched La-
ban's sheep in the day, the drought consumed. Every hour
of the shepherd's life is risk. Sometimes for the sake of an
armful of grass in the parched summer days, he must climb
precipices almost perpendicular, and stand on a narrow ledge
of rock where the wild goat will scarcely venture. Pitiless
showers, driving snows, long hours of thirsts-all this he must
endure, if the flock is to be kept at all.
And thus there grows up between the man and the dumb
creatures he protects, a kind of friendship. For this is, after
all, the true school in Avhich love is taught — dangers mutually
shared and hardships borne together; these are the things
which make generous friendship — risk cheerfully encountered
for another's sake. You love those for whom you risk, and
they love you ; therefore it is that, not as here where the
flock is driven, the shepherd goes before and the sheep follow
him. They follow in perfect trust, even though he should be
leading them away from a green pasture, by a rocky road, to
another pasture which they can not yet see. He knows them
all — their separate histories, their ailments, their characters.
Noav let it be observed how much in all this connection
there is of heart — of real, personal attachment, almost incon
ceivable to us. It is strange how deep the sympathy may
become between the higher and the lower being : nay, even
betAveen the being that has life and what is lifeless. Alone
almost in the desert, the Arab and his horse are one family.
Alone in those vast solitudes, with no human being near, the
shepherd and the sheep feel a life in common. Differences
disappear, the vast interval between the man and the brute :
the single point of union is felt strongly. One is the love of
the protector : the other the love of the grateful life : and so
between lives so distant there is woven by night and day, by
summer suns and winter frosts, a living netAvork of sympa
thy. The greater and the less mingle their being together:
they feel each other. " The shepherd knoAvs his sheep, and
is known of them."
The men to whom Christ said these words : felt all this
and more, the moment He had said them, which it has taken
me many minutes to draw out, in dull sentences : for He ap
pealed to the familiar associations of their daily life; and call
ing Himself a Shepherd, touched strings which would vi
brate with many a tender and pure recollection of . their
childhood. And unless Ave try, by realizing such scenes, to
supply what they felt by association, the Avords of Christ

The Good Shepherd. 407
Avill be only hard, dry, lifeless words to us : for all Christ's
teaching is a Divine poetry, luxuriant in metaphor, over-
floAving with truth too large for accurate sentences, truth
which only a heart alive can appreciate. More than half the
heresies into which Christian sects have blundered, have
merely come from mistaking for dull prose what prophets
and apostles said in those highest moments of the soul, when
seraphim kindle the sentences of the pen and lip into poetry,
" This is my body." Chill that into prose, and it becomes
Transubstantiation. "I am the good Shepherd." In the
dry and merciless logic of a commentary, trying laboriously
to find out minute points of ingenious resemblance in Avhich
Christ is like a Shepherd, the glory and the tenderness of this
sentence are dried up.
But try to feel, by imagining what the lonely Syrian shep
herd must feel towards the helpless things which are the com
panions of his daily life, for whose safety he stands in jeopardy
every hour, and whose value is measurable to him not by
price, but by his own jeopardy, and then we have' reached
some notion ofthe love which Jesus meant to represent, that
eternal tenderness which bends over us — infinitely lower
though we be in nature — and knoAvs the name of each and
the trials of each, and thinks for each with a separate solici
tude, and gave Itself for each with a sacrifice as special and
a love as personal, as if in the whole world's wilderness there
were none other but that one.
To the name Shepherd, Christ adds an emphatic word
of much significance : "I am the good Shepherd." Good,
not in the sense of benevolent, but in the sense of genuine,
true born, of the real kind — just as wine of nobler quality is
good compared with the cheaper sort^ just as a soldier is
good or noble who is a soldier in heart, and not a soldier by
mere profession or for pay. It is the same word used by St.
Paul when he speaks of a good, i. e., a noble soldier of Christ.
Certain peculiar qualifications make the genuine soldier —
certain peculiar qualifications make the genuine or good
shepherd. '
Now this expression distinguishes the shepherd from two
sorts of men Avho may also be keepers of the sheep : shep
herds, but not shepherds of the true blood. 1. From rob
bers. 2. From hirelings.
1. Robbers may turn shepherds : they may keep the
sheep, but they guard them only for their own purposes,
simply for the flesh and fleece ; they have not a true shep
herd's heart,' any more than a pirate has the true sailor's
heart and the true sailor's loyalty. There were many such

408 The Good Shepherd.
marauders on the hills of Galilee and Judea : such, for ex
ample, as those from whom David and his band protected
Nabal's flocks on Mount Carmel.
And many such nominal shepherds had the people of
Israel had in by-gone years : rulers in whom the art of rul
ing had been but kingcraft; teachers whose instruction to
the people had been but priestcraft. Government, states
manship, teachership— these are pastoral callings — sublime,
even Godlike. For only consider it : wise rule, chivalrous
protection, loving guidance — what diviner work than these
has the Master given to the shepherds of the people ? But
when the work is done, even well done, whether it be by
statesmen or by pastors, for the sake of party_ or place, or
honor, or personal consistency, or preferment, it is not the
spirit of the genuine shepherd, but of the robber. No won
der He said, "All that ever came before Me were thieves
and robbers."
2. Hirelings are shepherds, but not good shepherds, of
the right pure kind : they are tested by danger. " He that
is a hireling, and not the good shepherd, whose own the
sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep,
and fleeth ; . and the wolf catcheth them, and scattereth
the sheep." Now a man is a hireling when he does his
duty for pay. He may do it in his way faithfully. The
paid shepherd would not desert the sheep for a shower or a
cold night. But the lion and the bear— he is not_ paid to
risk his life against them, and the sheep are not his, so he
leaves them t« their fate. So, in the same way, a man may
be a hired priest, as Demetrius was at Ephesus : "By this
craft we get our living." Or a paid demagogue, a great
champion of rights, and an investigator of abuses — paid by
applause ; and while popularity lasts he will be a reformer
— deserting the people when danger comes. There is no
vital union between the champion and the defenseless — the
teacher and the taught. The cause of the sheep is not his
cause. Exactly the reverse of this Christ asserts in calling Him
self the good Shepherd. He is a good, genuine, or true-
born sailor who feels that the ship is as it were his own ;
Avhose point of chivalrous honor is to save his ship rather
than himself — not to survive her. He is a good, genuine, or
true-born shepherd who has the spirit of his calling, is an en-.
thusiast in it, has the true shepherd's heart, and makes the
cause of the sheep his cause.
Brethren, the cause of man was the cause of Christ ! He
did no hireling's work. The only pay He got was hatred, a

The Good Shepherd. 409
crown of thorns, and the cross. He might have escaped it
all. He might have been the Leader of the people and their
King. He might have converted the idolatry of an hour
into the hosannas of a lifetime : if He would but have con
ciliated the Pharisees, instead of bidding them defiance and
exasperating . their bigotry against Him : if He would but
have explained, and, like some demagogue called to account,
trimmed away His sublime sharp-edged truths about oppres
sion and injustice until they became harmless, because mean
ingless : if He would but have left unsaid those rough things
about the consecrated temple and the sabbath-days : if fle
would but have left undisputed the hereditary title of Israel
to God's favor, and not stung the national vanity by telling
them that trust in God justifies the Gentile as entirely as the
Jew : if He would but have taught less prominently that
hateful doctrine of the salvability of the heathen Gentiles
and the heretic Samaritans, and the universal Fatherhood of
God: if he .would but have stated with less angularity of
edge His central truth — that not by mere compliance Avith
law, but by a spirit transcending law, even the spirit of the
cross and self-sacrifice, can the soul of man be atoned to
God :— that would have saved Him. But that would have
been the desertion ofthe cause — God's cause and man's— the
cause of the ignorant defenseless sheep, whose very salvation
depended on the keeping of that Gospel intact : therefore the
Shepherd gave His life a witness to the truth, and a sacrifice
to God. It was a profound-truth that the populace gaA-e ut
terance to, when they taunted Him on the cross : " He saved
others, Himself He can not save." No, of course not; He
that Avill save others can not save Himself.
Of that pastoral character He gives here three proofs. I
know My sheep — am knoAvn of Mine — I lay down My life
for the sheep.
I know, my sheep, as the Father knoweth Me. In other
Avords, as unerringly as His Father read His heart, so unerr
ingly did He read the heart of man and recognize His own.
Ask we how ? An easy reply, and a common one, would
be — He recognized them by the Godhead in Him : His mind
Avas Divine, therefore omniscient : He knew all things, there
fore He knew what was in man : and therefore He knew His
own. But we must not slur over His precious words in this
Avay. That Divinity of His is made the pass-key by which
Ave open all mysteries with fatal facility, and save ourselves
from thinking of them. We get a dogma ard cover truth
with it : we satisfy ourselves with saying Christ was God.
and lose the precious humanities of His heart and life.
18

410 The Good Shepherd.
There is here a deep truth of human nature, for he does not
limit that recognizing power to Himself— He says that the
sheep know Him as truly as He the sheep. He knew men on
the same principle on which we know men — the same on
which we know Him. The only difference is in degree : He
knows with infinitely more unerringness than we, but the
knowledge is the same in kind.
Let us think of this. There is a certain mysterious tact
of sympathy and antipathy by which we discover the like
and unlike of ourselves in others' character. You can not
find out a man's opinions unless he chooses to express them ;
but his feelings and his character you may. He can not hide
them : you feel them in his look and mein, and tones and
motion. There is, for instance, a certain something in sincer
ity and reality which can not be mistaken — a certain some
thing in real grief which the most artistic counterfeit can not
imitate. It is distinguished by nature, not education.
There is a something in an impure heart which purity de
tects afar off. Marvellous it is how innocence perceives the
approach of evil Avhich it can not know by experience, just
as the dove which has never seen a falcon trembles by in
stinct at its approach; just as a blind man detects by finer
sensitiveness the passing of the cloud which he can not. see
overshadowing the sun. It is wondrous how the truer we
become the more unerringly we know the ring of truth, dis
cern whether a man be true or not, and can fasten at once
upon the rising lie in word and look, and dissembling act.
Wondrous how the charity of Christ in the heart finely, per
ceives the slightest aberration from charity in others, in un
gentle thought or slanderous tone.
Therefore Christ knew His sheep by that mystic power al
ways finest in the best natures, most developed in the high
est, by which like detects Avhat is like and Avhat unlike it
self. He was perfect love, perfect truth, perfect purity :
therefore He knew what was in man, and felt, as by another
sense, afar off the shadows of unlovingness, and falseness, aud
impurity. No one can have read the Gospels without remarking that
they ascribe to Him unerring skill in reading man. People,
Ave read, began to show enthusiasm for Him. But Jesus did
not trust Himself unto them, "for He knew what was in
man." He knew that the flatterers of to-day would be the
accusers of to-morrow. Nathanael stood before Him. He
had scarcely spoken a word ; but at once unhesitatingly, to
Nathanael's own astonishment — " Behold an Israelite indeed,
in Avhom there is no guile !" There came to Him a young

The Good Shepherd. 411
man with vast possessions : a single- sentence, an exaggerated
epithet, an excited manner, revealed his character. EnthusL-
astic and amiable, Jesus loved him : capable of obedience, in
life's sunshine and prosperity, ay, and capable of aspiration
after soinething more than mere obedience, but not of sacri
fice. Jesus tested him to the quick, and the young man fail
ed. He did not try to call him back, for He knew what Avas
in him and what was not. He read through Zaccheus when
he climbed into the sycamore-tree, despised by the people as
a publican, really a son of Abraham : through Judas, with
his benevolent saying about the selling of the alabaster-box
for the poor, and his false kiss : through the curses of the
thief upon the cross, a faith that could be saved : through the
zeal of a man Avho in a fit of enthusiasm offered to go Avith
Him whithersoever He would. He read through the Phari
sees, and His whole being shuddered with the recoil of utter
and irreconcilable aversion.
It was as if His bosom was some mysterious mirror on
which all that came near Him left a sullied or unsullied sur
face, detecting themselves by every breath.
Now distinguish that Divine power from that cunning
sagacity which men call knowingness in the matter of char
acter. The worldly-wise have maxims and rules ; but the
finer shades and delicacies of truth of character escape
them. They would prudently avoid Zaccheus — a publican :
they— There is a very solemn aspect in which this power of Jesus
to know man presents itself. It is this which qualifies Him
for judgment — this perfection of human sympathy. Perfect
sympathy with every most delicate line of good implies ex
quisite antipathy to every shadow of a shade of evil. God
hath given Him authority to execute judgment also, because
He is the Son of Man. On sympathy the final awards of
heaven and hell are built : attraction and repulsion, the law
of the. magnet. To each pole all that has affinity with itself:
to Christ all that is Christlike : from Christ all that is not
Christlike — forever and ¦ forever. Eternal judgment is noth
ing more than the carrying out of these words, " I know my
sheep :" — for the obverse of them is, " I never knew you, -de
part from me all ye that work iniquity."
The second proof which Christ alleges ofthe genuineness
of His pastorate is that His sheep know Him.
How shall we recognize truth Divine? What is the test
by which we shall know whether it comes from God. or not?
They tell us we know Christ to be from God because He
wrought miracles ; we know a doctrine to be from God be-

412 The Good Shepherd.
cause we find it written : or because it is sustained by an
universal consent of fathers.
That is — for observe what this argument implies — there is
something more evident than truth : Truth can not prove it
self: we want something else to prove it. Our souls judge
of truth — our senses judge of miracles ; and the evidence of
our senses — the lowest part of our nature — is more certain
than the evidence of our souls, by which we must partake of
God. Now to say so is to say that you can not be sure that it is
midday or morning sunshine unless you look at the sun-dial :
you can not be sure that the sun is shining in the heavens
unless you see his shadow on the dial-plate. The dial is val
uable to a man Avho never reads the heavens — the shadow is
good. for him who has not watched the sun : but for a man
who lives in perpetual contemplation of the sun in heaven,
the sunshine needs no evidence, and every hour is known.
Now Christ says, " My sheep know Me'' Wisdom is just
ified by her children. Not by some lengthened investiga
tion, whether the shepherd's dress be the identical dress, and
the staff and the crozier genuine, do the sheep recognize the
shepherd. They know him, they hear his voice, they know
him as a man knows his friend.
They know him, in short, instinctively. Just so does the
soul recognize what is of God and true. Truth is like light :
visible in itself, not distinguished by the shadows that it
casts. There is a something in our souls of God, which cor
responds with Avhat is of God outside us, and recognizes it
by direct intuition : something in the true soul which corre
sponds Avith truth and knows it to be truth. Christ came
with truth, and the true recognize it as true : the sheep knoAV
the shepherd, wanting no further evidence. Take a few ex
amples: "God is Love." "What shall a man give in ex
change for his soul ?" " He that saveth his life shall lose it :
and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it." "All
things are possible to him that believeth." " The sabbath
was made for man, not man for the sabbath." " God is a
Spirit." Now the Avise men of intellect and logical acumen Avanted
proof of these truths. Give us, said they, your credentials.
" By what authority doest thou these things ?" They want
ed a sign from heaven to prove that the truth was true, and
the life He led, Godlike, and not devil-like. How can we be
sure that it is not from Beelzebub, the prince of the devils,
that these deeds and sayings come ? We must be quite sure
that we are not taking a message from hell as one from

The Good Shepherd. 4 1 3
heaven. Give us demonstration, chains of evidence — chapter
and verse — authority.
But simple men had decided the matter already. . They
knew very little of antiquity, church authority, and shadows
of coming events Avhich prophecy casts before : but their
eyes saw the light, and their hearts felt the present God.
Wise Pharisees and learned doctors said, to account for a
Avondrous miracle, " Give God the glory." But the poor un
lettered man, whose blinded eye had for the first time looked
on a face of love, replied, " Whether this man be a sinner or
not, I know not : one thing I know, that whereas I Avas blind,
now I see."
The well-read Jews could not settle the literary question,
whether the marks of his appearance coincided Avith the
prophecies. But the Samaritans felt the life of God : " Now
we believe, not because of thy word, but because we have
heard Him ourselves and know that this is indeed the Christ."
The Shepherd had come, and the sheep knew his voice.
Brethren, in all matters of eternal truth, the soul is before
the intellect : the things of God are spiritually discerned.
You know truth by being true : you recognize God by being
like. Him. The Scribe Comes and says, I Avill prove to you
that this is sound doctrine by chapter and verse, by Avhat
the old and best Avriters say, by evidence such as convinces
the intellect of an intelligent lawyer or juryman. Think you
the conviction of faith is got in that way ? .
Christ did not teach like the Scribes. He spoke His truth.
He said, " If any man believe not, I judge him not ; the
word Avhich I have spoken, the same shall judge him in the
last day." It was true, and the guilt of disbelieving it was
not an error of the intellect but a sin of the heart. Let us
stand upright i let us be sure that the test of truth is the soul
Avithin us. Not at second-hand can we have assurance of
Avhat is divine and what is not: only at first-hand. The
sheep of Christ hear His voice.
The third proof given by Christ was pastoral fidelity : "I
lay down my life for the sheep." Noav here is the doctrine
of vicarious sacrifice : the sacrifice of one instead of another :
life saved by the sacrifice of another life.
Most of us know the meagre explanation of these words
which satisfies the Unitarians : they say that Christ merely
died as a martyr, in attestation of the truths He taught.
But you will observe the strength of the expression which
Ave can not explain away, "I lay down my life for," i. e, in
stead of "the sheep." If the Shepherd had not sacrificed
Himself, the sheep must have been the sacrifice.

414 The Good Shepherd.
Observe, however, the suffering of Christ was not the same
suffering as that from which He saved us. The suffering of
Christ was death. But the suffering from which He re
deemed us by death was more terrible than death. The pit
into which He descended was the grave. But the pit in
which we should -have been lost forever, Avas the pit of self
ishness and despair.
Therefore St. Paul affirms, " If Christ be not risen, ye are
vet in your sins." If Christ's resurrection be a dream, and
He be not risen from the grave of death, you are yet in the
grave of guilt. He. bor^ suffering to free us from what is
worse than suffering — sin : temporal death to save us from
death everlasting : His life given as an offering for sin to
save the soul's eternal life.
Now in the text this sacrificing love of Christ is paralleled
by the love of the Father to the Son. As He loved the
sheep, so the Father had loved Him. Therefore the sacrifice
of Christ is but a mirror of the love of God. The love of the
Father to the Son is self-sacrificing love.
You know that shallow men make themselves merry with
this doctrine. The sacrifice of God, they say, is a figment and
an impossibility. Nevertheless this parallel tells us that it
is one of the deepest truths of all the universe. It is the pro
found truth which the ancient fathers endeavored to express
in the doctrine of the Trinity: For what is the love of the
Father to the Son — Himself yet not Himself — but the grand
truth of Eternal LoAre losing Itself and finding Itself again in
the being of another ? What is it but the sublime express
ion ofthe unselfishness of God ?
It is a profound, glorious truth ; I wish I knew how to put
it in intelligible words. ' But if these words of Christ do not
make it intelligible to the heart, how can any words of mine?
The life of blessedness — the life of love — the life of sacrifice
— the life of God, are identical. All love is sacrifice— the
giving of life and self for others. God's life is sacrifice — for
the Father loves the Son as the Son loves the sheep for
whom He gave His life.
Whoever will humbly ponder upon this will, I think, un
derstand the Atonement better than all theology can teach
him. Oh, my brethren, leave men to quarrel as they will
about the theology of the Atonement ; here in these w01'<ls ig
the religion of it — the blessed, all-satisfying religion for our
hearts. The self-sacrifice of Christ was the satisfaction to
the Father.
Hoav could the Father be satisfied with the death of Christ,
unless He saw in the sacrifice mirrored His own love ? — for

The Doubt of Thomas. 4 1 5
God can be satisfied only with that Avhich is perfect as Him
self. Agony does not satisfy God — agony only satisfied Mo
loch. Nothing satisfies God. but the voluntary sacrifice of
love. The pain of Christ gave God no pleasure — only the love
that was tested by pain— '-the love of perfect obedience. He
was obedient unto death.

XX.
THE DOUBT OF THOMAS.
"Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast
believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed."' — •
John xx. 29,
The day on which these words were spoken was the first
day of the week. On that day Thomas received demonstra
tion that his Lord was risen from the dead. On that same
day a week before, Thomas had declared that no testimony
of others, no eyesight of his own, nothing short of touching
with his hands the crucifixion marks in his Master's body,
should induce him to believe a fact so unnatural as the res
urrection of a human being from the grave. Those seven
days betAveen must therefore have been spent in a state of
miserable uncertainty. How miserable and how restless
none can understand but those who have felt the wretched
ness of earnest doubt.
Doubt moreover, observe, respecting all that is dear to a
Christian's hopes. For if Christ were not risen, Christianity
was false, and every high aspiration Avhich it promised to
gratify Avas thrown back on the disappointed heart.
Let us try to understand the doubt of Thomas. There are
some men whose affections are stronger than their under
standings : they feel more than they think. They are simple,
trustful, able to repose implicitly on what is told them — lia
ble sometimes to verge upon credulity and superstition, but
take them all in all, perhaps the happiest class of minds : for
it is happy to be without misgivings about the love of God
and our own eternal rest in Him. "Blessed," said Christ to
Thomas, " are they that have believed."
There is another class of men whose reflective powers are
stronger than their susceptive : they think out truth — they
do not feel it out. Often highly gifted and powerful minds,

4 1 6 The Doubt of Thomas.
they can not rest till they have made all their grounds cer
tain : they do not feel safe as long as there is one possibility
of delusion left : they prove all things. Such a man was
Thomas. He has well been called the rationalist among the
apostles. Happy such men can not be. An anxious and in
quiring mind dooms its possessor to unrest. But men of
generous spirit, manly and affectionate, they maybe : Thomas
Avas. When Christ was bent on going to Jerusalem, to cer
tain death, Thomas said, " Let us go up too, that we may die
Avith him." And men of mighty faith they may become, if
they are true to themselves and their convictions : Thomas
did. When, such men do believe, it is belief with all the heart
and soul for life. When a subject has been once thoroughly
and suspiciously investigated, and settled once for all, the ad
herence ofthe Avhole reasoning man, if given in at all, is given
frankly and heartily as Thomas gave it — " My Lord, and my
God." Now this question of a resurrection which made Thomas
restless, is the most anxious that can agitate the mind of man.
So aAvful in its importance, and out of Christ so almost des
perately dark in its uncertainty, Avho shall blame an earnest
man severely if he crave the most indisputable proofs ?
Very clearly Christ did not. Thomas asked of Christ a
sign : he must put his OAvn hands, into the prints. His Mas
ter gave him that sign or proof. He said, " Reach hither thy
hand." He gave it, it is true, with a gentle and delicate
reproof — but He did give it. Now from that condescension
we are reminded of the darkness that hangs round the ques
tion of a resurrection, and how excusable it is for a man to
question earnestly until he has got proof to stand on. For if
it were not excusable to crave a proof, our Master never
would have granted one. Resurrection is not one of those
questions on which you can afford to wait : it is the question
of life and death. There are times when it does not weigh
heavily. When we have some keen pursuit before us : when
we are young enough to be satisfied to enjoy ourselves — the
problem does not press itself. We are too laden with the
pressure of the present to care to ask what is coming. But
at last a time comes when Ave feel it will be all over soon —
that much of our time is gone, and the rest swiftly going.
And let a man be as frivolous as he will at heart, it is a ques
tion toosolemn to be put aside — Whether he is going down
into extinction and the blank of everlasting silence or not.
Whether in those far ages, when the very oak which is to
form his coffin shall have become fibres of black mould, and
the church-yard in Avhich he is to lie shall have become per-

The Doubt of Thomas. 4 1 7
haps unconsecrated ground, and the spades of a generation
yet unborn shall have exposed his bones, those bones will be
the last relic in the Avorld to bear record that he once trod
this green earth, and that life was once dear to him, Thomas,
or James, or Paul. Or whether that thrilling, loving, think
ing something, that he' calls himself, has indeed within it an
indestructible existence which shall still be conscious, when
every thing else shall have rushed into endless wreck. Oh,
in the awful earnestness of a question such as that, a specula
tion and a peradventure will not do : we must have proof
The honest doubt of Thomas craves a sign as. much as the
cold doubt of the Sadducee. And a sign shall be mercifully
given to the doubt of love which is refused to the doubt of
indifference. This passage presents two lines of thought.
I. The naturalness of the doubts of Thomas, which partly
excuses them.
II. The evidences of the Christian Resurrection.
I. The naturalness of the doubts of Thomas.
The first assertion that we make to explain those doubts
is, that Nature is silent respecting a future life. All that
reason, all that nature, all that religion, apart from Christ,
have to show us is something worse than darkness. It is
the twilight of excruciating uncertainty. There is enough
in the riddle of this world to shoAv us that there may be a
life to come ; there is nothing to make it certain that there
will be one. We crave, as Thomas did, a sign either in the
height aboAre or in the depth beneath, and the answer seems
to fall back like ice upon our hearts — " there shall no sign
be given you."
It is the uncertainty of twilight. You strain at some
thing in the twilight, and just when you 'are beginning to
make' out its form and color, the light fails you, and your
eyelids sink down, wet and wearied with the exertion. Just
so it is when we strain into nature's mysteries, to discern the
secrets of the great hereafter. Exactly at the moment when
we think Ave begin to distinguish something, the light goes
out and we are left groping in darkness — the darkness of the
grave. Let us forget for a moment that we ever heard of Christ :
Avhat is there in life or nature to strengthen the guess that
there is a life to come ? There are hints — there are proba
bilities- — there is nothing more. Let us examine some of
those probabilities.
First, there is an irrepressible longing in our hearts. We
18*

4i 8 The Doubt of Thomas.
wish for immortality. The thought of annihilation is horri
ble : even to conceive it is almost impossible. The wish is a
kind of argument : it is not likely that God would have giv
en all men such a feeling, if He had not. meant to gratify it.
Every natural longing has its natural satisfaction. If, we
thirst, God has created liquids to gratify tfiirst. If we are
susceptible of attachments, there are beings to gratify that
love. If we thirst for life and love eternal, it is likely that
there are an eternal life and an eternal love to satisfy that
craving. Likely, I say : more we. can not say. A likelihood of an
immortality of which our passionate yearnings are a pre
sumption — nothing higher than a likelihood. And in weary
moments, when the desire of life is not strong, and in unlov
ing moments, there is not even a likelihood.
Secondly, corroborating this feeling we have the traditions
of universal belief. There is not a nation perhaps which
does not in some form or other hold that there is a country
beyond the grave where the weary are at rest. Now that
which all men everywhere and in every age have held, it is
impossible to treat contemptuously. How came it to be
held by all, if only a delusion ? Here is another probability
in the universality of belief. And yet when you come to es
timate this, it istoo slender for a proof: it is only a pre
sumption. The universal Aroice of mankind is not infallible.
It was the universal belief once on the evidence of the
senses that the earth was stationary : the universal voice
was Avrong. The universal voice might be wrong in the
matter, of a resurrection. It might be only a beautiful and
fond dream, indulged till hope made itself seem to be a re
ality. You can not build upon it.
Once again : in this strange world of perpetual change^
we are met by many resemblances to a resurrection. With
out much exaggeration we call them resurrections. There
is the resurrection of the moth from the grave of the chrysa
lis. For many ages the sculptured butterfly was the type
and emblem of immortality. Because it passes into a state
of torpor or deadness, and because from that it emerges by a
kind of resurrection — the same, yet not the same — in all the
radiance of a fresh arid beautiful youth, never again to be
supported by the coarse substance of earth, but destined
henceforth to nourish its etherealized existence on the nectar
of the floAvers — the ancients saAV in that transformation a
something added to their hopes of immortality. It was
their beautiful symbol of the soul's indestructibility.
Again, there is a kind of resurrection when the spring

The Doubt of Thomas. 4 1 9
brings vigor and motion back to the frozen pulse of the win
ter world. Let any one. go into the fields at this spring sea
son of the year. Let him mark the busy preparations for
life Avhich are going on. Life is at work in every emerald
bud, in the bursting bark of every polished bough, in the
greening tints of every brown hillside. A month ago every
thing was as still and cold as the dead silence which chills
the heart in the highest regions of the glacier solitudes.
Life is coming back to a dead world. It is a resurrection
surely ! The return of freshness to the frozen world is not
"les^marvellous than the return of sensibility to a heart
which has ceased to beat. If one has taken place, the other
is not impossible.
And yet all this, valuable as it is in the way of suggestive-
ness, is worth nothing in the way of proof. It is Avorth ev
ery thing to the heart, for it strengthens the dim guesses and
vague intimations which the heart has formed already. It is
worth nothing to the intellect : for the moment we come to
argue the matter we find how little there is to rest upon in
these analogies. They are no real resurrections, after all :
they only look like resurrections. The chrysalis only seemed
dead : the tree in winter only seemed to have lost its vitali
ty. Show us a butterfly which has been dried and crushed,
-fluttering its brilliant wings next year again — show us a
tree plucked up by the roots and seasoned by exposure, the
vital force really killed out, putting forth its leaves again,
then we should have a real parallel to a resurrection. But
nature does not show us that. So that all Ave have got in
the butterfly and the spring are illustrations exquisitely in
point after immortality is proved, but in themselves no
proofs at all.
Further still. Look at it in another point of view, and it
is a dark prospect. Human history behind and human his
tory before, both give a stern " No," in reply to the question
— Shall Ave rise again ?
Six thousand years of human existence have passed away;
countless armies of the dead haA'e set sail from the shores of
time. No traveller has returned from the still land beyond.
More than one hundred and fifty generations have done
their work, and sunk into the dust again, and still there is
not a voice ; there is not a whisper from the grave to tell us
whether indeed those myriads are in existence still. Be
sides, why. should they be? Talk as you will ofthe grand
eur of man, why should it not be honor enough for him,
more than enough to satisfy a thing so mean, to have had
his twenty or his seventy years' life-rent of God's universe ?

420 The Doubt of Thomas.
Why must such a thing, apart from proof, rise up and claim
to himself aii exclusive immortality ?
Man's majesty ! man's worth ! the difference between him
and the elephant or ape is too degradingly small to venture
much on. That is not all : instead of looking backward, now
look fonvard. The wisest thinkers tell us that there are al
ready on the globe traces of a demonstration that the human
race is drawing to its close. Each of the great human fami
lies has had its day — its infancy — its manhood — its decline.
The two last races that have not been tried are on the stage
of earth doing their work now. There is no other to*uc-
ceed them. Man is but of yesterday, and yet his race is
Avell-nigh done. Man is wearing out, as every thing before
him has been worn out. In a few more centuries the crust
of earth will be the sepulchre of the race of man, as it has
been the sepulchre of extinct races of palm-trees, and ferns,
and gigantic reptiles. The time is near when the bones of
the last human being will be given to the dust. It is his
torically certain that man. has quite lately, within a few thou
sand years, been called into existence. It is certain that be
fore very long the race must be extinct.
Now look at all this without Christ, and tell us whether
it be possible to escape such misgivings, and such reason
ings as these Avhich rise out of such an aspect of things,
Man, this thing of yesterday, which sprung out of the eter
nal nothingness, why may he not sink, after he has played
his appointed part, into nothingness again ? You see the
leaves sinking one by one in autumn, till the heaps below
are rich with the Spoils of a whole year's vegetation. They
were bright and perfect while they lasted : each leaf a mira
cle of beauty and contrivance. There is no resurrection for
the leaves — why must there be one for man ?
Go and stand some summer evening by the river side :
you will see the mayfly sporting out its little hour, in dense
masses of insect life, darkening the air a few feet above the
gentle swell of the water. The heat of that very afternoon
brought them into existence. Every gauze wing is traversed
by ten thousand fibres Avhich defy the microscope to find a
flaw in their perfection. The omniscience and the care
bestowed upon that exquisite anatomy, one would think, can
not be destined to be wasted in a moment. Yet so it is:
when the sun has sunk below the trees its little life is done.
Yesterday it Avas not: to-morrow it will not be. God has
bidden it be happy for one evening. It has no right or
claim to a second, and in the universe that marvellous life
has appeared once and will appear no more. May not the

The Doubt of Thomas. 421
race of man sink like the generations of the mayfly? Why
can not the Creator, so lavish in His resources, afford to an
nihilate souls as he annihilates insects ?
Would it not almost enhance His glory to believe it?
That, brethren, is the question ; and Nature has no reply.
The fearful secret of sixty centuries has not yet found a
voice. The whole evidence lies before us. We know what
the greatest and wisest have had to say in favor of an im
mortality; and we know how, after eagerly devouring all
their arguments, our hearts have sunk back in cold disap
pointment, and to every proof as we read, our lips have re
plied mournfully, that will not stand. Search through tradi*
tion, history, the world within you and the world without —
except in Christ there is not the shadow of a shade of proof
that man survives the grave.
I do not wonder that Thomas, with that honest accurate
mind of his, wishing that the news were true, yet dreading
lest it should be false, and determined to guard against
every possible illusion, delusion, and deception, said so strong
ly, "Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails,
and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my
hand into his side, I will not believe."
II. The Christian proofs of a Resurrection.
This text tells us of two kinds of proof: The first is the
evidence of the senses — " Thomas, because thou hast seen me,
thou hast believed." The other is the evidence of the Spirit
— "Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have be
lieved." Let us scrutinize the external evidence of Christ's resur
rection which those sverses furnish. It is a twofold evidence :
The witness of the Apostle Thomas, who was satisfied with
the proofs — the witness of St. John, who records the circum
stance of his satisfaction. Consider first the witness of St.
John : try it by ordinary rules. Hearsay evidence, which
comes second-hand, is suspicious, but St. John's is no distant
hearsay story. He does not say that he had heard the story
from Thomas, and that years afterwards, when the circum
stances had lost their exact sharp outline, he had penned it
down, when he Avas growing old and his memory might be
failing. St. John Avas present the whole time. All the
apostles were there : they all watched the result with eager
interest. The conditions made by Thomas, without which
he would not believe, had been made before them all. They
all heard him say that the demonstration Avas complete :
they. all saw him touch the wounds : and St. John recorded

422 The Doubt of Thomas.
what he saw. Now a scene like that is one of those solemn
ones in a man's life which can not be forgotten : it graves it
self on the memory. A story told us by another may be un
intentionally altered or exaggerated in the repetition ; but a
spectacle like this, so strange and so solemn, could not be
forgotten or misinterpreted. St. John could have made no
mistake. Estimate next the Avorth of the witness of Thomas :
try it by the ordinary rules of life. Evidence is worth little
if it is the evidence of credulity. If you find a man believ
ing every new story, and accepting every fresh discovery, so
called, without scrutiny, you may give him credit for sinceri
ty ; you can not rest much upon his judgment : his testimony
can not go for much. For example, when St. Peter, after his
escape from prison, knocked at Mark's mother's door, there
Avent a maid to open it, who came back scared and startled
Avith the tidings that she had seen his angel or spirit. Had
she gone about afterwards among the believers with that
tale, that St. Peter Avas dead and alive again, it would have
been worth little. Her fears, her sex, her credulity, all rob
bed her testimony of its worth.
Now the resurrection of Christ does not stand on such a
footing. There was one man who dreaded the possibility
of delusion, however credulous the others might be. He re
solved beforehand that only one proof should be decisive.
He would not be contented with seeing Christ : that might
be a dream : it might be the vision of a disordered fancy.
He would not be satisfied with the assurance of others.
The evidence of testimony which he did reject was very
strong. Ten of lfis most familiar friends, and certain women,
gave in their separate and their united testimony; but
against all that St. Thomas held out skeptically firm. They
might have been deceived themselves : they might have been
trifling with him. The possibilities.of mistake were innumer
able : the delusions of the best men about what they see are
incredible. He would trust a thing so infinitely important
to nothing but his own scrutinizing hand. It might be some
one personating his Master. He would put his hands into
real wounds, or else hold it unproved. The allegiance which
was given in so enthusiastically, " My Lord, and my God,"
Avas given in after, and not before scrutiny. It was the cau
tious verdict of an enlightened, suspicious, most earnest, and
most honest skeptic.
Try the evidence next by character. Blemished character
damages evidence. Now the only charge that Avas ever
heard against the Apostle John was that he loved a Avorld
which hated him. The character of the Apostle Thomas is

The Doubt of Thomas. 423
that he was a man cautious in receiving evidence, and most
rigorous in exacting satisfactory proof, but ready to act upon
his convictions when once made; even to the death. Love,
elevated above the common love of man, in the one — heroic
conscientiousness and a most rare integrity in the other —
Avho impeaches that testimony ?
Once more : any possibility of interested motives Avill dis
credit evidence. Ask Ave the motive of John or Thomas for
this strange tale? John's reward — a long and solitary ban
ishment to the mines of Patmos. The gain and the bribe
Avhich tempted Thomas — a lonely pilgrimage to the far East,
and death at the last in India. Those were strange motives
to account for their persisting and glorying in the story of
the resurrection to the last ! Starving their gain, and martyr
dom their price.
The evidence to Avhich Thomas yielded was the evidence
of the senses — touch, and sight, and hearing. Now the feel
ing which arose from this touching, and feeling, and demon
stration, Christ pronounced to be faith: " Thomas, because
thoU hast seen, thou hast believed." There are some Chris
tian writers who tell us that the conviction produced by the
intellect or the senses is not faith: but Christ says it is.
Observe, then, it matters not how faith comes — whether
through the intellect, as in the case of St. Thomas — or
through the heart, as in the case of St. John — or as the result
of long education, as in the case of St. Peter. God has many
Avays of bringing different characters to faith : but that
blessed thing which the Bible calls faith is a state of soul in
which the things of God become glorious certainties. It
was not faith which assured Thomas that Avhat stood before
him was the Christ he had known : that was sight. But it
was faith, which from the visible enabled him to pierce up to
the truth invisible: "My Lord, and my God." And it was
faith which enabled him through all life after, to venture
every thing on that conviction, and live for One who had
died for him.
Remark again this : The faith of Thomas was not merely
satisfaction about a fact : it was trust in a person. The
admission of a fact, however sublime, is not faith: we may
believe that Christ is risen, yet not be nearer heaven. It is
a Bible fact that Lazarus rose from the grave, but belief in
Lazarus's resurrection does not make the soul better than it
Avas. Thomas passed on from the fact of the resurrection to
the person of the risen : " My Lord, and my God." Trust in .
the risen Saviour — that Avas the belief Avhich saved his soul.
And that is our salvation too. You may satisfy yourself

424 The Doubt of Thomas.
about the evidences of the resurrection ; you may bring in
your verdict well, like a cautious and enlightened judge;
you are then in possession of a fact, a most valuable and
curious fact : but faith of any saving worth you have not,
unless from the fact you pass on, like Thomas, to cast the
allegiance and the homage of your soul, and the love of all
your being, on Him whom Thomas worshipped. It is not
belief about the Christ, but personal trust in the Christ of
God, that saves the soul.
There is another kind of evidence by which tlie resurrec
tion becomes certain. Not the evidence of the senses, but
the evidence of the spirit : " Blessed are they that have not
seen, and yet have believed." There are thousands of Chris
tians who have never examined the evidences of the resur
rection piece by piece : they are incapable of estimating it if
they did examine : they know nothing about the laws of ev
idence : they have had no experience in balancing the value
of testimony : they are neither lawyers nor philosophers : and
yet these simple Christians have received into their very souls
the resurrection of their Redeemer, and look forward to
their own rising from the grave with a trust as firm, as
steady, and as saving, as if they had themselves put their
hands into His wounds. They have never seen — they knoAV
nothing of proofs and miracles — yet they believe, and are
blessed. How is this ?
I reply, there is an inward state of heart which makes
truth credible the moment it is stated. It is credible to
some men because of what they are. Love is credible to a
loving heart : purity is credible to a pure mind : life is cred
ible to a spirit in which ever life beats strongly : it is incred
ible to other men. Because of that such men believe. Of
course that inward state could not reveal a fact like the
resurrection; but it can receive the fact the moment it is
revealed without requiring evidence. The love of St. John
himself never could /discover a resurrection; but it made
a resurrection easily believed, when the man of intellect,
St. Thomas, found difficulties. Therefore " with the heart
man believeth unto righteousness," and therefore "he that
believeth on the Soh ^>f God hath the witness in himself,"
and therefore "faith is the substance of things hoped for."
Now it is of such a state, a state of love and hope, which
makes the Divine truth credible and natural at once, that
Jesus speaks : " Blessed are they that have not seen and yet
have believed."
There are men in Avhom the resurrection begun makes the
resurrection credible. In them the Spirit of the risen Saviour

The Doubt of Thomas. 425
works already ; and they have mounted with Him from the
grave. They have risen out of the darkness of doubt, and are
expatiating in the brightness and the sunshine of a day in
which God is ever light. Their step is as free as if the clay
of the sepulchre had been shaken off: and their hearts are
lighter than those of other men ; and there is in them an
unearthly triumph which they are unable to express. They
have risen above the narroAvness of life, and all that is petty,
and ungenerous, and mean. They have risen above fear —
they have risen above self. In the New Testament that is
called the spiritual resurrection, a being, " risen with Christ :"
and the man in whom all that is working has got something
more blessed than external evidence to rest upon. He has the
witness in himself: he has not seen, and yet he has believed :
he helieved in a resurrection, because he has the resurrection
in himself. The resurrection in all its heavenliness and un
earthly elevation has begun within his soul, and he knows as
clearly as if he had demonstration, that it must be developed
in an eternal life.
Now this is the higher and nobler kind of faith — a faith
more blessed than that of Thomas. " Because thou hast seen
me, thou hast believed." There are times when we envy, as
possessed of higher privileges, those who saw Christ in the
flesh : we think that if we could have heard that calm voice,
or seen that blessed presence, or touched those lacerated
wounds in His sacred flesh, all doubt would be set at rest
forever. Therefore these words must be our corrective. ¦
God has granted us the possibility of believing in a more
trustful and more generous way than if we saw. To believe,
not because Ave are learned and can prove, but because there
is a something in us, even God's own Spirit, which makes us
feel Light as light, and Truth as true — that is the blessed
faith. Blessed, because it carries with it spiritual eleAration of
character. Narrow the prospects of man to this time-world,
and it is impossible to escape the conclusions of the Epicu
rean sensualist. If to-morrow we die, let us eat and drink
today. If we die the sinner's death, it becomes a matter of
mere taste whether we shall live the sinner's life or not..
But if our existence is forever, then plainly, that which is to
be daily subdued and subordinated is the animal within us :
that which is to be cherished is that which is likest God
Avithin us— which we have from Him, and which is the sole
pledge of eternal being in the spirit-life.

426 The Irreparable Past,

xxi.
THE IRREPARABLE PAST.
"And he cometh the third time, and saith unto them, Sleep on now, and
take your rest : it is enough, the hour is come ; behold, .the Son of man is
betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise up, let us go ; lo, he that betrayeth
me is at hand." — Mark xiv. 41, 42.
It is upon two sentences of this passage that our attention
it to be fixed to-day— sentences which in themselves are ap
parently contradictory, but which are pregnant with a les
son of the deepest practical import. Looked at in the
mere meaning of the words as they stand, our Lord's first
command given to His disciples, " Sleep on now, and take
your rest," is inconsistent with the second command, which
follows almost in the same breath, " Rise, let us be going."
A permission to slumber, and a warning to arouse at once,
are injunctions which can scarcely stand together in the same
sentence consistently.
Our first inquiry therefore is, what did our Redeemer
mean ? We shall arrive at the true'solution of this, difficulty
if we review the circumstances under Avhich these words were
spoken. The account with Avhich these verses stand connected, be
longs to one of the last scenes in the drama of our Master's
earthly pilgrimage : it is found in the history of the trial-
hour which was passed in the garden of Gethsemane. And
an hour it was indeed big with the destinies of the world,
for the command had gone forth to seize the Saviour's per
son : but the Saviour was still at large and free. Upon the
success or the frustration of that plan the world's fate was
trembling. Three men were selected to be witnesses of the
sufferings of. that hour : three men, the favored ones on all
occasions of the apostolic band, and the single injunction
which had been laid upon them was, " Watch with me one
hour." That charge to watch or keep awake, seems to have been
given with two ends in vieAV. He asked them to keep
awake, first that they might sympathize with him. He com
manded them to keep awake that they might be on their
guard against surprise: that they might afford sympathy,
because never in all His career did Christ more stand in need

The Irreparable Past. 427
of such soothing as it was in the power of man to give. It is
true that was not much : the struggle, and the agony, and
the making Up of the mind to death had something in them
too Divine and too mysterious to be understood by the dis
ciples, and therefore sympathy could but reach a portion of
Avhat our Redeemer felt. Yet still it appears to have been
an additional pang in Christ's anguish to find that He was
left thoroughly alone — to endure, while even His own friends
did not compassionate His endurance. We know what a re
lief it is to see the honest affectionate face of a menial serv
ant, or some poor dependent, regretting that your suffering
may be infinitely above his comprehension. It may be a se
cret which you can not impart to him : or it may be a men
tal distress which his mind is too uneducated to appreciate :
yet still his sympathy in your dark hour is worth a world.
What you suffer he knows not, but he knoAvs you do suffer,
and it pains him to think of it : there is balm to you in that.
This is the power of sympathy.
We can do little for one another in this Avorld. Little,
very little, can be done when the worst must come ; but yet
to know that the pulses of a human heart are vibrating with
yours, there is something in that, let the distance between
man and man be ever so immeasurable, exquisitely soothing.
It was this, and but this, in the way of feeling, that Christ
asked of Peter, James, and John : Watch — be awake: let me
not feel that when I agonize you can be at ease and comfort
able. But it would seem there was another thing which He
asked in the way of assistance. The plot to capture Him Avas
laid; the chance of that plot's success lay in making the sur
prise so sudden as to cut off all possibility of escape. The
hope of defeating that plot depended upon the fidelity of
apostolic vigilance. Humanly speaking, had they been vigi
lant they might have saved Him. Breathless listening for
the sound of footsteps in the distance : eyes anxiously strain
ing through the trees to distinguish the glitter of the lan
terns; unremitting apprehension catching from the Avord of
Christ an intimation that He was in danger, and so giving
notice on the first approach of any thing like intrusion — that
would have been watching.
That command to watch was given twice — first; when
Christ first retired aside leaving the disciples by themselves ;
secondly, in a reproachful way Avhen He returned and found
His request disregarded. He waked them up once and said,
" What, could ye not watch with me one hour ?" He came
again, and found their eyes closed once more. On that occa
sion not a syllable fell from His lips ; He did not waken

428 The Irreparable Past.
them a second time. He passed away sad and disappointed,
and left them to their slumbers. But when He came the
third time, it was no longer possible for their sleep to do
Him harm or their watching to do Him good. The precious
opportunity was lost forever. Sympathy, vigilance, tlie hour
for these was past. The priests had succeeded in their sur
prise, and Judas had well led them through the dark, with
unerring accuracy, to the very spot where his Master knelt;
and there Avere seen quite close, the dark figures shown in re
lief against the glare of the red torchlight, and every now
and then the gleam glittering from the bared steel and the
Roman armor. It Avas all over, they might sleep as they
liked, their sleeping could do no injury now ; their watching
could do no good. And, therefore, partly in bitterness, part
ly in reproach, partly in a kind of irony, partly in sad earnest,
our Master said to flis disciples : "Sleep on now: there is no
use in Avatching now : take your rest — forever if yon Avill.
Sleep and rest can do me no more harm now, for all that
watching might have done is lost."
But, brethren, we have to observe that in the next sen*
tence our Redeemer addresses Himself to the consideration
of what could yet be done: the best thing as circumstances
then stood. So far as any good to be -got from watching
went, they might sleep on : there was no reparation for the
fault that had been done : but so far as duty Avent, there was
still much of endurance to which they had to rouse them
selves. They could not save their Master, but they might
loyally and manfully share His disgrace, and, if it must be,
His death. They could not put off the penalty, but they
might steel themselves cheerfully to share it. Safety was
out of the question : but they might meet their fate, instead
of being overwhelmed by it: and so, as respected what was
gone by, Christ said, "Sleep, what is done can not be un
done ;" but as respected the duties that were lying before
them still, He said, " We must make the best of it that can
be made : rouse yourselves to dare the worst : on to enact
your parts like men. Rise, let us be going — we have some
thing still left to do." Here then we, have two subjects of
contemplation distinctly marked out for us.
I. The irreparable past.
II. The available future.
The words of Christ are not like the words of other men :
His sentences do not end with the occasion which called them
forth : every sentence of Christ's is a deep principle of hu
man life, and it is so Avith these sentences: ''Sleep on now"

The Irreparable Past. 429
— that is a principle. " Rise up, and let us be going " — that
is another principle. The principle contained in " Sleep on
noAv " is this, that the past is irreparable, and after a certain
moment waking Avill do no good. You may improve the fu
ture, the past is gone beyond recovery. As to all that is
gone by, so far as the hope of altering it goes, you may sleep
on and take your rest : there is no power in earth or heaven
that can undo what has once been done.
Now let us proceed to give illustrations of this principle.
It is true, first of all, with respect. to time that is gone by.
Time is the solemn inheritance to which every man is born
heir, who has a life-rent of this world — a little section cut out
of eternity and given us to do our work in : an eternity be
fore, an eternity behind ; and the small stream between,
floating swiftly from one into the vast bosom of the other.
The man who has felt Avith all his soul the significance of
Time will not be long in learning any lesson that this world
has to teach him. Have you ever felt it, my Christian breth
ren ? Have you ever realized how your own little streamlet
is gliding away, and bearing you along with it towards that
awful other world of which all things here are but the thin
shadows, down into that eternit y towards which the confused
wreck of all earthly things are bound ? Let us realize that,
beloved brethren : until that sensation of Time, and the infi
nite meaning which is wrapped up in it, has taken possession
of our souls, there is no chance of our ever feeling other than
that it is worse than madness to sleep that time away. Ev
ery day in this world has its work ; and every day as it rises
out of eternity keeps putting to each of us the question
afresh, What will you do before to-day has sunk into eternity
and nothingness again ? And now what have we to say with
respect to this strange solemn thing — Time? That men do
with it through life just what the apostles did for one precious
and irreparable hour in the garden of Gethsemane : they go
to sleep. Have you ever seen those marble statues in some
public square or garden, which art has so fashioned into a
perennial fountain that through the lips or through the hands
the clear water flows in a perpetual stream, on and on for
ever; and the marble stands there — passive, cold — making-
no effort to arrest the gliding water ? , ¦
It is so that Time flows through the hands of men — swift,
never pausing till it has run'itself out ; and there is the man
petrified into a marble sleep, not feeling what it is which is
passing away forever. It is so, brethren, just so, that the
destiny of nine, men out of ten accomplishes itself, slipping
away from them, aimless, useless, till it is too late. And

430 The Irreparable Past.
this passage asks us with all the solemn thoughts which
crowd around an approaching eternity— -what has been our
life, and what do Ave intend it shall be? Yesterday, last
week, last year — they are gone. Yesterday, for example,
was such a day as never was before, and never can be again.
Out of darkness and eternity it was born a new fresh day:
into darkness and eternity it sank again forever. It had a
voice calling to us, of its own. Its own work — its OAvn du
ties. What were we doing yesterday? Idling, Avhiling
away the time in light and luxurious literature—not as life's
relaxation, but as life's business ? thrilling our hearts with
the excitements of life — contriving hoAV to spend the day
,most pleasantly ? Was that our day ? Sleep, brethren ! all
that is but the sleep of the three apostles. And now let us
remember this : there is a day coming when that sleep will
be broken rudely, with a shock : there is a day in our future
lives when our time will be counted not by years nor by
months, nor yet by hours, but by minutes — the day when
unmistakable symptoms shall announce that the messengers
of death have come to take us.
That startling moment will come which it is in vain to at
tempt to realize now, when it will be felt that it is all over
at last — that our chance and our trial are past. The moment
that Ave have tried to think of, shrunk from, put away from
us, here it is — going too, like all other moments that have
gone before it : and then with eyes unsealed at last, you look
back on the life which is gone by. There is no mistake about
it: there it is, as sleep, a most palpable sleep — self-indulged
unconsciousness of high destinies, and God and Christ : a
sleep when Christ was calling out to you to watch with Him
one hour — a sleep Avhen there Avas something to be done — a
sleep broken, it may be, once or tAvice by restless dreams,
and by a voice of truth which would make itself heard at
times, but still a sleep which was only rocked into deeper
stillness by interruption. And hoav from the undone eterni
ty the bosom of Whose Waves is distinctly audible upon your
soul, there comes the same voice again — a solemn sad voice —
but no longer the same word, " Watch " — Other words alto
gether, " You may go to sleep." It is too late to wake ;
there is no science in earth or heaven to recall tifne that
once has fled.
Again, this principle of the irreparable past holds good
with respect to preparing for temptation. That hour in the
garden was a precious opportunity given for laying in spir
itual strength. Christ knew it well. He struggled and
fought then : therefore there was no struggling afterwards —

The Irreparable Past. 431
no trembling in the judgment-hall — no shrinking on the cross,
but only dignified and calm victory ; for He had fought the
temptation on His knees beforehand, and conquered all in the
garden. The battle of the judgment-hall, the battle of the
cross, were already fought and over, in the Avatch and in the
agony. The apostles missed the meaning of that hour ; and
therefore when it came to the question of trial,- the loudest
boaster of them all shrunk from acknowledging Avhose he
Avas, and the rest played the part of the craven and the
renegade. And if the reason of' this be asked, it is simply
this : They went to trial unprepared : they had not prayed :
and what is a Christian without prayer but Samson Avith-
out his talisman of hair ?
Brethren, in this world, when there is any foreseen or sus
pected danger before us, it is our duty to forecast our trial.
It is our wisdom to put on our armor — to consider what lies
before us — to call up' resolution in God's strength to go
through what we may have to do. And it is marvellous
how difficulties smooth away before a Christian when he
does this. Trials that cost him a struggle to meet even in
imagination— like the heavy sweat of Gethsemane, when
Christ was looking forward and feeling exceeding sorrowful
even unto death— come to their crisis; and behold, to his
astonishment they are nothing — they have been fought and
conquered already. But if you go to meet those tempta
tions, not as Christ did, but as the apostles did, prayerless,
trusting to the chance impulse of the moment, you may make
up your mind to. fail. That opportunity lost is irreparable :
it is your doom to yield then. Those Avords are true, you
may " sleep on now, and take your rest," for you have be
trayed yourselves into the hands of danger.
And now one word about prayer. It is a preparation for
danger, it is the armor for battle. Go , not, my Christian
brother, into the dangerous world Avithout it. You kneel
doAvn at night to pray, and drowsiness weighs doAvn your
eyelids^ A hard day's work is a kind of excuse, and you
shorten your prayer and resign yourself softly to repose.
The morning breaks, and it may be you rise late, and so
your early devotions are not done, or done Avith irregular
haste., No watching unto prayer — wakefulness once more
omitted. And now we ask, is that reparable? Brethren,
we solemnly believe not. There has been that done which
can not be undone. You have given up your prayer, and
you Avill suffer for it. Temptation is before you, and you are
not fit to meet it. There is a guilty feeling on the soul, and
you linger at a distance from Christ. It is no marvel if. that

43 2 The Irreparable Past.
day, in which you suffer drowsiness to interfere with prayer,
be a day on which you betray Him by coAvardice and soft
shrinking from duty. Let it be a principle through life, mo
ments of prayer intruded upon by sloth can not be made up.
We may get experience, but we can not get back the rich
freshness and the strength which Avere wrapped' up in these
moments. Once again this principle is true in another respect. Op
portunities of doing good do not come back. We are here,
brethren, for a most definite and intelligible purpose-r-to
educate our OAvn hearts by deeds of love, and to be the in
strument of blessing to our brother men. There are tAvo
ways in which this is to be done — by guarding them from
danger, and by soothing them in their rough path by kindly
sympathies— the two things Avhich the apostles were asked
to do for Christ. And it is an encouraging thought,'that he
Avho can not do the one has at least the other in his power.
If he can not protect he can sympathize. Let the weakest
— let the humblest in this congregation remember, that in
his daily course he can, if he will, shed around him almost a
heaven. Kindly words, sympathizing attentions, watchful
ness against wounding men's sensitiveness — these cost very
little, but they &xe priceless m their value. Are they not,
brethren, almost the staple of our daily happiness ? From
hour to hour, from moment to moment, we are supported,
blest, by small kindnesses. And then consider :', Here is a
section of life, one-third, one-half, it may be three-fourths
gone by, and the question before us is, how much has been
done in that «ray ? Who has charged himself with the
guardianship of his brother's safety ? Who has laid on him
self as a sacred duty to sit beside his brother suffering ? Oh !
my brethren, it is the omission of these things which is irrepa
rable : irreparable, when you look to the purest enjoyment
which might have been your own : irreparable, when you
consider the compunction which belongs to deeds of love
not done ; irreparable, when you look to this groaning world
and feel that its agony of bloody sweat has been distilling
all night, and you were dreaming away in luxury ! Shame,
shame upon our selfishness ! There is an infinite voice in
the sin and sufferings of earth's millions, Avhich makes every
idle moment, every moment, that is, which is not relaxation,
guilt ; and seems to cry out, If you will not bestir yourself
for love's sake now, it will soon be too late.
Lastly, this principle applies to a misspent youth. There
is something very remarkable in the picture which is placed
before us. There is a picture of One struggling, toiling,

The . Irreparable Past. 433
standing between others and danger, and those others quiet
ly content to i-eap the benefit of that struggle without anxie
ty of their own. And there is something in this singularly
like the position in which all, young persons are placed.
The young are by God's providence exempted in a great
measure from anxiety : they are as the apostles were in re
lation to their Master: their friends stand between them
and the struggles of existence. They -are not called upon to
think for themselves : the burden is borne by others. They
get their bread without knowing or caring how it is paid
for: they smile and laugh without a suspicion ofthe anxious
thoughts of day and night which a parent bears to enable
them to smile. So to speak they are sleeping — and it is riot
a guilty sleep — while another watches.
My young brethren — youth is one of the precious oppor
tunities of life— rich in blessing if you choose to make it so,
but having in it the materials of undying remorse if you suf
fer it to pass unimproved. Your quiet Gethsemane is noAv.
Gethsemane's struggles you can not knoAV yet. Take care
that you do not learn too well Gethsemane's sleep. Do you
know how you can imitate the apostles in their fatal sleep ?
You can suffer your young days to pass idly and uselessly
away ; you can live as if you had nothing to- do but to en
joy yourselves : you can let others think for you, and not
try to become thoughtful yourselves : till the business and
the difficulties of life come upon you unprepared, and you
find yourselves like men waking from sleep, hurried, con
fused, scarcely able to stand, with all the faculties bewilder
ed, riot knowing right from wrong, led headlong to evil, just
because you have not given yourselves in time to learn Avhat
is good. All that is sleep.
And now let us mark it. You can not repair that in after?
life. Oh ! remember every period of human life has its own
lesson, and you can not learn that lesson in the next period.
The boy has one set of lessons, to learn, and the young man
another, and the grown-up man another. Let us consider
one single instance. The boy has to learn docility, gentle
ness of temper, reverence, submission. All those feelings
whichare to be transferred afterwards in full cultivation to
God, like, plants nursed in a hotbed and then planted out,
are to bq cultivated first in youth. Afterwards, those habits
which have been merely habits of obedience to an earthly
parent, are to become religious submission to a heavenly par
ent. Our parents stand to us in the place of God. Venera
tion for our parents is intended to become afterwards adora
tion for something higher. Take that single instance ; and
19

434 The Irreparable Past.
now suppose that that is not learnt in boyhood. Suppose
that the boy sleeps to that duty of veneration, and learns
only flippancy, insubordination, and the habit of deceiving
his father— can that, my young brethren, be repaired after
wards ? Humanly speaking, not. Life is like the transition
from class to class in a school. The school-boy who has not
learnt arithmetic in the earlier classes can not secure it when
he comes to mechanics in the higher : each section has its
OAvn sufficient Avork. He may be a good philosopher or a
good historian, but a bad arithmetician he remains for life ;
for he can not lay the foundation at the moment when he
must be building the superstructure. The regiment which
has not perfected itself in its manoeuvres on the parade-
ground can not learn them before the guns of the enemy.
And just in the same way, the young person who has slept
his youth away, and become idle, and selfish, and hard, can
not make up for that afterwards. He may do something,
he may be religious — yes ; but he can not be what he
might have been. There is a part of his heart which will
remain uncultivated to the end. The apostles could share
their Master's sufferings — they could not save Him. Youth
has its irreparable past.
And therefore, my young brethren, let it be impressed
upon you — NOW is a time, infinite in its value for eternity,
which will never return again. Sleep not ; learn that there
is a very solemn work of heart which must be done Avhile the
stillness ofthe garden of your Gethsemane 'gives you time.
Now — or never. The treasures at your command are infinite.
Treasures of tkne, treasures of youth, treasures of opportuni
ty that grown-up men would sacrifice every thing they have
to possess. Oh for ten years of youth back again with the
added experience of age ! But it can not be : they must be
content to sleep on now, and take their rest.
We are to pass bn next to a few remarks on the other sen
tence in this passage, which brings before us for considera
tion the future which is still available : for we are to observe,
that our Master did not limit His apostles to a regretful rec
ollection of their failure. Recollection of it He did demand.
There were the materials of a most cutting self-reproach in
the few words He said : for they contained all the desolation
of that sad word, never. Who knows not what that word
wraps up — never — it never can be undone. Sleep on. But
yet there was no sickly lingering over the irreparable. Our
Master's words are the words of One who had fully recog
nized the hopelessness of His position, but yet manfully and
calmly had numbered His resources and scanned His duties,

The Irreparable Past. 435
and then braced up His inirid to meet the exigencies of His
situation with no passive endurance : the moment was come
for action — " Rise, let us be going."
Now the broad general lesson which we gain from this is
not hard to read. It is that a Christian is to be forever rous
ing himself to recognize the duties which lie before him now.
In Christ the motto is ever this, " Let us be going." Let me
speak to the conscience of some one. Perhaps yours is a
very remorseful past — a foolish, frivolous, disgraceful, frit
tered past. Well, Christ says, My servant, be sad, but no
languor ; there is work to be done for me yet — rise up, be
going ! Oh my brethren, Christ takes your wretched rem
nants of life — the feeble -pulses of a heart which has spent its
best hours not for Him, but for self and for enjoyment, and
in His strange love He condescerids to accept them.
Let me speak to another kind of experience. Perhaps we
feel that we have faculties which never have and now never
will find their right field ; perhaps we are ignorant of many
things which can not be learnt now; perhaps the seed-time
of life has gone by, and certain powers of heart and mind
will not grow now ; perhaps you feel that the best days of
life are gone, and it is too late to begin things which were in
your- power once : still, my repentant brother, there is encour
agement from your Master yet. Wake to the opportunities
that yet remain. Ten years of life — five years — one year —
say you have only that — will you sleep that away because
you nave already slept too long ? Eternity is crying out to
you louder and louder as you near its brink, Rise, be going :
count your resources : learn what you are not fit for, and
give up wishing for it : learn what you can do, and do it with
the energy of a man. That is the great lesson of this pas
sage. But noAV consider it a little more closely.
Christ impressed two things on His apostles' minds : 1.
¦The duty of Christian earnestness — " Rise ;" 2. The duty of
Christian energy — " Let us be going."
Christ roused them to earnestness when He said, "Rise."
A short, sharp, rousing call. They were to start up and
wake to the realities of their position. The guards were on
them: their Master was about to be led away to doom.
That was an aAvakening which would make men spring to
their feet in earnest. Brethren, goodness and earnestness are
nearly the same thing. In the language in which this Bible
Avas written there was one word which expressed them both :
what we translate a good man, in Greek is literally " ear
nest." The Greeks felt that to be earnest was nearly iden
tical with being good. But, hoAvever, there is a day in life

436 The Irreparable Past.
when a man must be earnest, but it does not follow that he
will be good. " Behold the bridegroom cometh ; go ye out
to meet him." That is a sound that will thunder through
the most fast-locked slumber, and rouse men whom sermons
can not rouse. But that will not make them holy. Earnest
ness of life, brethren, that is goodness. Wake in death you
must, for it is an earnest thing to die. Shall it be this, I
pray you? — Shall it be the voice of death which first says,
" Arise," at the Arery moment Avhen it says, " Sleep on for
ever?" — Shall it be the bridal train sweeping by, and the
shutting of the doors, and the discovery that the lamp is
gone out ? — Shall that be the first time you know that it is
an earnest thing to live ? Let us feel that we have been do
ing : learn what time is — sliding from you, and not stopping
when you stop : learn what sin is : learn what " never " is :
"Awake, thou that sleepest."
Lastly, Christian energy — " Let us be going." There Avere
two ways open to Christ in which to submit to His doom.
He might have Avaited for it : instead of which He went to
meet the soldiers. He took up the cross, the cup of anguish
was not forced between His lips, He took it with His oavii
hands, and drained it quickly to the last drop. In after-
years the disciples understood the lesson, and acted on it.
They did not wait till persecution overtook them ; they
braved the Sanhedrim: they fronted the Avorld: they pro
claimed aloud the unpopular and unpalatable doctrines of
the resurrection andthe cross. Now in this there lies a prin
ciple. Under no conceivable set of circumstances are we
justified in sitting " By the poison'd springs of life,
Waiting for the morrow which shall free us from the strife."
Under no circumstances, whether of pain, or grief, or disap
pointment, or irreparable mistake, can it be true that there is
not something to be done, as well as something to be suffered.
And thus it is that the spirit of Christianity draws over our
life, not a leaden cloud of remorse and despondency, but a
sky — not perhaps of radiant, but yet of most serene and chas
tened and manly hope. There is a past which is gone for
ever. But there is a future which is still our own. '

SERMONS

(Eljirb Qtxks.

THE TONGUE.
" Even so the tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things. Be
hold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth ! And the tongue is a fire, a
world of iniquity : so is the tongue among our members, that it defileth the
whole body, and setteth on fire the course of nature ; and it is set on fire of
hell. — St. James iii. 5, 6.
In the development of Christian truth a peculiar office was
assigned to the Apostle James.
It was given to St. Paul to proclaim Christianity as the
spiritual law of liberty, and to exhibit faith as the most act
ive principle within the breast of man. It was .St. John's to
say that the deepest quality in the bosom of Deity is love ;
and to assert that the life of God in man is love. It was the
office of St. James to assert the necessity of moral rectitude;
his very name marked him out peculiarly for this office : he
was emphatically called, " the Just :" integrity was his peculiar
characteristic. A man singularly honest, earnest, real. Ac
cordingly, if you read through his whole epistle, you will
find it is, from first to last, one continued vindication of the
first principles of morality against the semblances of religion.
He protested against the censoriousness which was found
connected with peculiar claims of religious feelings. "If
any man among you seem to be religious and bridleth not
his tongue, but deceiveth his own heart, this man's religion
is vain." He protested against that spirit which had crept
into the Christian brotherhood, truckling to the rich and de
spising the poor. " If ye have respect of persons ye commit
sin, and are convinced of the law as transgressors." He
protested against that sentimental fatalism which induced
men to throw the blame of their own passions upon God.

43 8 The Tongue.
" Let no man say, when he is tempted, I am tempted of God ;
for God can not tempt to evil ; neither tempteth He any
man." He protested against that unreal religion of excite
ment which diluted the earnestness of real religion in the en
joyment of listening. " Be ye doers of the word, and not
hearers only ; deceiving your own souls." He_ protested
against that trust in the correctness of theological doctrine
which neglected the cultivation of character. " What doth
it profit, if a man say that he hath faith, and have not works ?
Can faith save him ?"
Read St. James's epistle through, this is the mind breath
ing through it all : all this talk about religion, and spiritual
ity — words, words, words — nay, let us have realities.
It is well known that Luther complained of this epistle,
that it did not contain the Gospel ; for men who are ham
pered by a system will say — even of an inspired apostle —
that he does not teach the Gospel if their own favorite doc
trine be not,, the central subject of his discourse ; but St.
James's reply seems spontaneously to suggest itself to us.
The Gospel ! how can we speak of the Gospel, when the
first principles of morality are forgotten ? when Christians
are excusing themselves, and slandering one another ? How
can the superstructure of love and faith be built, when the
very foundations of human character — justice, mercy, truth
— have not been laid ?
I. The license of the tongue.
II. The guilt of that license.
The first license given to the tongue is slander. I am not,
of course, speaking now of that species of slander against
which the law of libel provides a remedy, but of that of
which the Gospel alone takes cognizance ; for the worst in
juries which man can do to man are precisely those which
are too delicate for law to deal with. We consider therefore
not the calumny which is reckoned such by the moralities of
an earthly court, but that which is found guilty by the spirit
ualities of the courts of heaven — that is, the mind of God.
Now observe, this slander is compared in the text to poi
son — " the tongue is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison."
The deadliest poisons are those for which no test is known :
there are poisons so destructive that a single drop insinuated
into the veins produces death in three seconds, and yet no
chemical science can separate that virus from the contam
inated blood, and show the metallic particles of poison glit
tering palpably, and say, "Behold, it is there !"
In the drop of venom which distils from the sting of the

The Tongue. 439
smallest insect, or the spikes of the nettle-leaf, there is con
centrated the quintessence of a poison so subtle that the mi
croscope can not distinguish it, and yet so virulent that it
can inflame the blood, irritate the whole constitution, and
convert day and night into restless misery.
In St. James's day, as now, it would appear that there
were idle men and idle women, who went about from house
to house, dropping slander as they went, and yet you could
not take up that slander and detect the falsehood there.
You could not evaporate the truth in the slow process of the
crucible, and then show the residuum of falsehood glittering
and visible. You could not fasten upon any word or sen
tence, and say that it was calumny ; for in order to consti
tute slander it is not necessary that the word spoken should
be false — half truths are often more calumnious than whole
falsehoods. It is not even necessary that a word should be
distinctly uttered; a dropped lip, and arched eyebrow, a
shrugged shoulder, a significant look, an incredulous expres
sion of countenance, nay, even an emphatic silence, may do
the work : and when the light and trifling thing which has
done the mischief has fluttered off, the venom is left behind,
to work and rankle, to inflame hearts, to fever human exist
ence, and to poison human society at the fountain - springs
of life. Very emphatically was it said by one whose whole
being had smarted under such affliction, " Adder's poison is
under their lips."
The second license given to the tongue is in the way of
persecution ; " therewith curse we men which are made after
the similitude of God." " We !" — men who bear the name of
Christ — curse our brethren ! Christians persecuted Chris
tians. Thus even in St. James's age that spirit had begun,
the monstrous fact of Christian persecution ; from that day
it has continued, through long centuries, up to the present
time. The phurch of Christ assumed the office of denuncia
tion, and except in the first council, whose object was not to
strain, but to relax the bonds of brotherhood, not a council
has met for eighteen centuries which has not guarded each
profession of belief by the too customary formula, " If any
man maintain otherwise than this, let him be accursed."
- Myriad, countless curses haA'e echoed through those long
ages ; the Church has forgotten her Master's spirit and called
down fire from heaven. A fearful thought to consider this
as the spectacle on which the eye of God has rested. He
looks down upon the creatures He has made, and hears every
where the language of religious imprecations : and, after all,
Avho is proved right by curses ?

440 The Tongue.
The Church of Rome hurls her thunders against Protest
ants of every denomination: the Calvinist scarcely recog
nizes the Arminian as a Christian : he who considers himself
as the true Anglican, excludes from the Church of Christ all
but the adherents of his own orthodoxy ; every minister and
conoreo'ation has its small circle beyond Avhich all are her
etics : nay, even among that sect which is most lax as to the
dogmatic forms of truth, we find the Unitarian of the old
school denouncing the spiritualism of the new and rising
school. This is the state of things to which we are arrived. Sis
ters of Charity refuse to permit an act of* charity to be done
by a Samaritan ; ministers of the Gospel fling the thunder
bolts of the Lord ; ignorant hearers catch and exaggerate
the spirit— boys, girls, and women shudder as one goes by,
perhaps more holy than themselves, who adores the same
God, believes in the same Redeemer, struggles in the same
life-battle, and all this because they have been taught to
look upon him as an enemy of God.
There is a class of religious persons against whom this ve
hemence has been especially directed. No one who can read
the signs of the times can help perceiving that we are on the
eve of great Changes, perhaps a disruption of the Church of
England. Unquestionably there has been a large secession
to the Church of Rome.
Now what has been the position of those who are about
to take this step ? They have been taunted with dishonest
reception of the wages of the Church ; a watch has been set
over them : not a* word they uttered in private, or in public,
but was given to the world by some religious busybody ;
there was not a visit which they paid, not a foolish dress
which they adopted, but became the subject of bitter scruti
ny and malevolent gossip. For years the religious press has
denounced them with a vehemence as virulent, but happily
more impotent than that of the Inquisition. There has been
an anguish and an inward struggle little suspected, endured
by men who felt themselves outcasts in their own society,
and naturally looked for a home elsewhere.
We congratulate ourselves that the days of persecution
are gone by ; but persecution is that which affixes penalties
upon views held, instead of upon life led. Is persecution only
fire and sword? But suppose a man of sensitive feeling
says, The sword is less sharp to me than the slander : fire is
less intolerable than the refusal of sympathy !
Now let us bring this home; you rejoice that the faggot
and the stake are given up; you never persecuted — you

The Tongue. 441
leave that to the wicked Church of Rome. Yes, you never
burned a human being alive — you never clapped your hands
as the death-shriek proclaimed that the lion's fang had gone
home into the most vital part of the victim's frame ; but did
you never rob him of his friends ? — gravely shake your head
and oracularly insinuate that he was leading souls to hell? —
chill the affections of his family ? — take from him his good
name ? Did'you never with delight see his Church placard
ed as the Man of Sin, and hear the platform denunciations
which branded it with the spiritual abominations of the
Apocalypse ? Did you never find a malicious pleasure in re
peating all the miserable gossip with which religious slander
fastened upon his daily acts, his words, and even his uncom-
municated thoughts ? Did you never forget that for a man
to " work out his own salvation with fear and trembling " is
a matter difficult enough to be laid upon a human spirit,
without intruding into the most sacred department of an
other's life — that, namely, which lies between himself and
God ? Did you never say that " it was to be wished he
should go to Rome," until at last life became intolerable —
until he Was thrown more and more in upon himself; found
himself, like his Redeemer,in this world alone, but unable, like
his Redeemer, calmly to repose upon the thought that his
Father was with him ? Then a stern defiant spirit took pas-
session of his soul, and there burst from his lips, or heart,
the wish for rest — rest at any cost, peace anywhere, if even
it is to be found only in the bosom of the Church of Rome !
II. The guilt of this license,
1. The first evil consequence is the harm that a man does
himself: " so is the tongue among the members, that it de
files the Aghole body." It is not very obvious, in what way
a man does himself harm by caluriiny. I will take the sim
plest form in which this injury is done ; it effects a dissipa
tion of spiritual energy. There are two ways in which the
- steam of machinery may find an outlet for its force : it may
work, and. if so it works silently ; or it may escape, and that
takes place loudly, in air and noise. There are two ways in
which the spiritual energy of a man's soul may find its vent :
it may express itself in action, silently ; or in words, noisily :
but just so much of force as is thrown into the one mode of
expression is taken from the other.
Few men. suspect how much mere talk fritters away spir
itual energy— that . which should be spent in action spends
itself in words. The fluent boaster is not the man who is
steadiest before the enemy ; it is well said to him that his
19*

442 The Tongue.
courage is better kept till it is wanted. Loud utterance of
virtuous indignation against evil from the platform, or in the
drawing-room, do not characterize the spiritual giant : so
much indignation as is expressed, has found vent, is wasted,
is taken away from the work of coping with evil ; the man
has so much, less left. And hence he who restrains that love
of talk lays up a fund of spiritual strength.
With large significance, St. James declares, •" If any man
offend not in word, the same is a perfect man, able also to
bridle the whole body." He is entire, powerful, because he
has not spent his strength. In these days of loud profession,
and bitter, fluent condemnation, it is well for us to learn the
divine force of silence. Remember Christ in the judgment-
hall, the very symbol and incarnation of spiritual strength;
and yet when revilings were loud around Him and charges
multiplied, " He held His peace."
2. The next feature in the guilt of calumny is its uncon
trollable character: "the tongue can no man tame." You
can not arrest a calumnious tongue, you can not arrest the
calumny itself; you may refute a slanderer, you may trace
home a slander to its source, you may expose the author of
it, you may by that exposure give a lesson so severe as to
make the repetition of .the offense appear impossible; but
the fatal habit is incorrigible ; to-morrow the tongue is at
work again.
Neither can you stop the consequences of a slander; you
may publicly prove its falsehood, you may sift every atom,
explain and annihilate it, and yet, years after you had
thought that all hftd' been disposed of forever, the mention of
a name wakes up associations in the mind of some one Avho
heard the calumny, but never heard or never attended to
the refutation, or who has only a vague and confused recol
lection of the whole, and he asks the question doubtfully,
"But were there not some suspicious circumstances con
nected with him ?"
It is like the Greek fire used in ancient warfare, which
burnt unquenched beneath the water, or like the weeds
Avhich, when you have extirpated them in one place are
sprouting forth vigorously in another spot, at the distance of
many hundred yards; or, to use the metaphor of St. James
himself, it is like the wheel which catches fire as it goes, and
burns with a fiercer conflagration as its own speed increases;
" it sets on fire the whole course of nature " (literally, the
wheel of nature). You may tame the wild beast, the con
flagration of the American forest will cease when all the
timber and the dry underwood is consumed; but you can

The Tongue. 443
not arrest the progress of that cruel word which you uttered
carelessly yesterday or this morning — which you will utter,
perhaps, before you have passed from this church one hun
dred yards : that will go on slaying, poisoning, burning be
yond your own control, now and forever.
3. The third element of guilt lies in the unnaturalness of
calumny. " My brethren, these things ought not so to be ;"
ought not — that is, they are unnatural. That this is St.
James's meaning is evident from the second illustration
which follows: "Doth a fountain send forth at the same
place, sweet water and bitter?" "Can the fig-tree, my
brethren, bear olive-berries, or a vine, figs."
There is apparently in these metaphors little that affords
an argument against slander; the motive which they sug
gest would appear to many far-fetched and of small cogency ;
but to one who looks on this world as a vast whole, and
who has recognized the moral law as only a part of the
great law of the universe, harmoniously blending with the
whole, illustrations such as these are the most powerful of
all arguments. The truest definition of evil is that which
represents it as something contrary to nature : evil is evil,
because it is unnatural; a vine which should bear olive-
berries, an eye to which blue seems yellow, would be dis
eased: an unnatural mother, an unnatural son, an unnatural
act, are the strongest terms of condemnation. It is this
view which Christianity gives of moral evil : the teaching
of Christ was the recall of man to nature, not an infusion
of something new into humanity. Christ came to call out
all the principles and powers of human nature, to restore
the natural equilibrium of all our faculties ; not to call us
back to our own individual selfish nature, but to human
nature as it is in God's ideal — the. perfect type which is to
be realized in us. Christianity is the regeneration of our
whole nature, not the destruction of one atom of it.
Now the nature of man is to adore God and to love what
is Godlike in man. The office of the tongue is to bless.
Slander is guilty because it contradicts this; yet even in
slander itself, perversion as it is, the interest of man in man
is still distinguishable. What is it but perverted interest
Avhich makes the acts, and words, and thoughts of his breth
ren, even in their evil, a matter of such strange delight ?
Remember, therefore, this contradicts your nature and your
destiny ; to speak ill of others makes you a monster in God's
world: get the habit of slander, and then there is not a
stream which bubbles fresh from the heart of nature, there
is not a tree that silently brings forth its genial fruit in its

444 The Tongue.
appointed season, which does not rebuke and proclaim you
to be a monstrous anomaly in God's world. _
4. The fourth point of guilt is the diabolical character of
slander; the tongue "is set on fire of hell." Now,' this is
no mere strong expression — no mere indignant vituperation
— it contains deep and emphatic meaning.
The apostle means literally what he says — slander is dia
bolical. " The first illustration we give of this is contained
in the very meaning ofthe Avord devil. "Devil," in the
original, means traducer or slanderer. The first introduc
tion of a demons spirit is found connected with a slanderous
insinuation against the Almighty, implying that His com
mand had been given in envy of His creature : " for God
doth know that in the day' ye eat thereof, then your eyes
shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and
evil." ,7
In the magnificent imagery of the book of Job, the accuser
is introduced with a demoniacal and malignant sneer, attrib
uting the excellence of a good man to interested motives;
" Doth Job serve God for naught ?" There is another mode
in which the fearful accuracy of St. James's charge may be
demonstrated. There is brie state only from which there is
said to be no recovery— there is but one sin that is called
unpardonable. The Pharisees beheld the works of Jesus.
They could not deny that' they were good \vorks, they
could not deny that they were miracles of beneficence, but
rather than acknowledge' that they were done by a good
man through thg co-operation of a Divine spirit, they pre
ferred to account for them by the Avildest and most incredi
ble hypothesis; they said they were done by tbe power of
Beelzebub, the prince of the devils. It was upon this occa
sion that our Redeemer said with solemn meaning, "For
every idle word that' men shall speak, they shall give ac
count in the day of judgment;" It was then that fle said,
for a word spoken against the Holy Ghost there is no for
giveness in this world, or in' the world to come.
Our own hearts respond to the truth of this— to call evil,
good, and good, evil — to see the Divinest good, and call it
satanic evil — below this lowest deep there is not a lower
still. There is no cure for mortification of the flesh— there
is no remedy for ossification of the heart. Oh, that misera
ble state, when to the jaundiced eye all good transforms
itself into evil, and the very instruments of health become
the poison of disease ! Beware of every approach of this !
beware of that spirit which controversy fosters, of watching
only for the evil in the character of an antagonist! beAvare

The Tongue. 445
•of that habit which becomeB the slanderer's life, of magni
fying every speck of evil and closing the eye to goodness !
till at last men arrive at the state in which generous, uni
versal love (which is heaven) becomes impossible, and a sus
picious, universal hate takes possession of the heart, and that
is hell !
There is one peculiar manifestation of this spirit to Avhich
I desire specially to direct your attention.
The politics of the community are guided by the political
press. The religious views of a vast number are formed by
that portion of the press which is called religious; it be
comes, therefore, a matter of deepest interest to inquire what
is the spirit of that " religious press." I am not asking you
what are the views maintained — whether Evangelical, An
glican, or Romish — but what is the spirit of that fountain
from which the religious life of so many is nourished?
Let any man cast his eye over the pages of this portion of
the press — it matters little to which party the newspaper or
the journal may belong — he will be startled to find the char
acters of those whom he has most deeply reverenced, whose
hearts he knows, whose integrity and life are above suspi
cion, held up to scorn and hatred : the organ of one party is
established against the organ of another, and it is the recog
nized office of each to point out with microscopic care the
names of those whose views are to be shunned ; and in order
that these may be the more shrunk from, the characters of
those who hold such opinions are traduced and vilified.
There is no personality too mean — there is no insinuation too
audacious or too false for the recklessness of these daring
slanderers. I do not like to use the expression, lest it should
appear to be merely one of theatrical vehemence ; but I say
it in all seriousness, adopting the inspired language of the
Bible, and using it advisedly and with accurate meaning :
the spirit which guides the " religious press " of this country
— which dictates those personalities, which prevents contro
versialists from seeing what is good in their opponents, which
attributes low motives to account for excellent lives, and
teaches men whom to suspect and shun, rather than point
out where it is possible to admire and love — is a spirit " set
on fire of hell."
Before we conclude, let us get at the root of the matter.
" Man," says the Apostle James, " was made in the image
of God :" to slander man is to slander God ; to love what is
good in man is to love it in God. Love is the only remedy
for slander : no set of rules or restrictions can stop it ; Ave
may denounce, but we shall denounce in vain. The radical

446 The Victory of Faith.
cure of it is charity— "out of a pure heart and faith unfeign
ed," to feel what is great in the human character ; to recog
nize with delight all high, and generous, and beautiful ac
tions ; to find a joy even in seeing the good qualities of your
bitterest opponents, and to admire those qualities even in
those with whom you have least sympathy— be it either the
Romanist or the Unitarian — this is the only spirit which can
heal the love of slander and calumny. If we would bless
God, we must first learn to bless man, who is made in the
image of God.

II.
THE VICTORY OF FAITH.
"For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world: and this is the
victory that overcometh the world, even our faith. Who is he that over
cometh the world, but he that believeth that Jesus is the Son of God?" —
1 John v. 4, 5.
There are tAvo words in the system of Christianity which
have received a meaning so new, and so emphatic, as to be
in a way peculiar to it, and to distinguish it from all other
systems of morality and. religion; these two words are — the
world, and faith. We find it written in Scripture that to
have the friendship of the world is to be the enemy of God ;
whereupon the question arises — the world ? — did not God
make the world?* Did He not place us in the world? Are
avc not to love what God has made ? And yet meeting this
distinctly we have the inspired record, " Love not the world."
The object of the statesman is, or ought to be, to produce
as much worldly prosperity as possible ; but Christianity,
that is Christ, speaks little of this world's prosperity, under
rates it — nay, speaks of it at times as infinitely dangerous.
The legislator prohibits crime — the moralist transgression
— the religionist sin. To these Christianity superadds a new
enemy — the world and the things of the world. "If any
man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him."
The other word used in a peculiar sense is faith. It is
impossible for any one to have read his Bible ever so negli
gently, and not to be aware that the word faith, or the grace
of faith, forms a large element in the Christian system. It is
said to work miracles, remove mountains, justify the soul,
trample upon impossibilities. Every apostle, in his way, as
signs to faith a primary importance. Jude tells us to " build

The Victory of Faith. 447
up ourselves in our most holy faith." John tells us that —
" he that believeth that Jesus is the Christ, is bom of God ;"
and Paul tells us that, not by merit nor by works, but by
trust or reliance only, can be formed that state of soul by
which man is reckoned just before God. In these expres
sions the apostles only develop their Master's meaning, when
He uses such words as these, "All things are possible to him
that believeth :" " Oh thou of little faith, Avherefore didst
thou doubt ?"
These two Avords are brought into diametrical opposition
in the text, so that it branches into a twofold line of thought.
I. The Christian's enemy, the world.
II. The victory of faith.
In endeavoring to understand first what is meant by
the world, we shall feel that the mass of evil which is com
prehended under this expression can not be told out in any
one sernion ;, it is an expression used in various ways, some
times. meaning one thing, sometimes meaning another; but.
Ave will endeavor to explain its general principles — and
these we will divide into three heads ; first, the tyranny of
the present ; secondly, the tyranny of the sensual ; and last
ly, the spirit of society.
1. The tyranny ofthe present.
" Christ," says the Apostle Paul, " hath redeemed us from
this present evil world ;" and again, " Demas hath forsaken
me, having loved this present world."
Let a stress be laid on the word present. Worldliness is
the attractive power of something present, in opposition to
something to come. It is this rule and tyranny of the pres
ent that constitutes Demas a worldly man.
In this respect worldliness is the spirit of childhood carried
on into manhood. The child lives in the present hour — to
day to him is every thing. The holiday promised at a distant
interval is no holiday at all — it must be either now or never.
Natural in the child, and therefore pardonable, this spirit,
Avhen carried on into manhood, is coarse — is worldliness. The
most distinct illustration given us of this, is the case of Esau.
Esau came from the hunting-field worn and hungry ; the only
means of procuring the tempting mess of his brother's pot
tage was the sacrifice of his father's blessing, which in those
ages carried with it a substantial advantage ; but that birth
right could be enjoyed only after years — the pottage was
present, near and certain ; therefore he sacrificed a future and
higher blessing for a present and lower pleasure* For this
reason Esau is the Bible type of worldliness :, he is called in

448 The Victory of Faith.
Scripture a profane, that is, not a distinctly vicious, but a
secular or worldly person — an overgrown child ; impetuous,
inconsistent, not without gleams of generosity and kindliness,
but ever accustomed to immediate gratification.
In this worldliness, moreover, is to be remarked the game
ster's desperate play. There is a gambling spirit in hu
man nature. Esau distinctly expresses this : " Behold I am
at the point to die, and what shall my birthright profit me ?"
He might never live to enjoy his birthright; but the pottage
was before him, present, certain, there.
Now, observe the utter powerlessness of mere preaching
to cope with this tyrannical poAver of the present. Forty
thousand pulpits throughout the land this day will declaim
against the vanity of riches, the uncertainty of life, the sin of
worldliness — against the gambling spirit of human nature ;
I ask what impression will be produced by those forty thou
sand harangues ? In every congregation it is reducible to a
certainty that, before a year has passed, some will be num
bered with the dead. Every man knows this, but he thinks
the chances are that it will not be himself; he feels it a
solemn thing for humanity generally — but for himself there
is more than a chance. Upon this chance he plays away
life. •
It is so with the child : you tellhim of the consequences
of to-day's idleness — but the sun is shining brightly, and he
can not sacrifice to-day's pleasure, although he knows the dis
grace it will bring to-morrow. So it is with the intemperate
man : he says — " Sufficient unto the -day is the evil and the
good thereof; let me have my portion now." So the one
great secret of the world's victory lies in the mighty power
of saying "Now."
2. The tyranny ofthe sensual.
I call it tyranny, because the evidences of the senses are
all-powerful, in spite of the protestations of the reason. In
vain you try to persuade the child that he is moving, and not
the trees which seem to flit past the carriage — in vain we re
mind ourselves that this apparently solid earth on which we
stand, and which seems so immovable, is in reality - flying
through the regions of space with an inconceivable rapidity —
in vain philosophers would persuade us that the color which
the eye beholds resides not in the object itself, but in our own
perception ; we are victims of the apparent, and the verdict
of the senses is taken instead of the verdict of the reason.
Precisely so is it Avith the enjoyments of the world. The
man who died yesterday, and whom the world called a suc
cessful man — for Avhat did he live ? He lived for this world

The Victory of Faith. 449
— he gained this Avorld. Houses, lands, name, position in so
ciety — all that earth could give of enjoyments — he had : he
Avasthe man of whom the Redeemer said that his thoughts
were occupied in planning how to pull down his barns and
build greater. We hear men complain of the sordid love of
gold, but gold is merely a medium of exchange for other
things : gold is land, titles, name, comfort — all that the world
can give. If the world be all, it is wise to live for gold. There
may be some little difference in the degree of degradation
in different forms of worldliness ; it is possible that the am
bitious man who lives for power is somewhat higher than he
Avho merely lives for applause, and he again may be a trifle
higher than the mere seeker after gold — but, after all, look
ing closely at the matter, you will find that, in respect ofthe
objects of their idolatry, they agree in this, that all belong
to the present. Therefore, says the apostle, all that is in the
Avorld — " the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the
pride of life, is not of the Father, but of the world," and are
only various forms of one great tyranny. And then, when
such a man is at the brink of death, the words said to the man
in our Lord's parable must be said to him, " Thou fool, the
houses thou hast built, the enjoyments thou hast prepared,
and all those things which have formed thy life for years —
when thy soul is taken from them, what shall they profit
thee ?"
3. The spirit1 of society.
The world has various meanings in Scripture ; it does not
always mean the visible, as opposed to the invisible ; nor the
present, as opposed to the future : it sometimes stands for the
secular spirit of the day — the voice of society.
Our Saviour says, " If ye were of the world, the world
would love his own." The apostle says, " Be not conformed
to this world ;" and to the Gentiles he writes, " In time
past ye walked according to the course of this world, the
spirit which now worketh in the children of disobedience. " In
these ; verses, a tone, a temper, a spirit is spoken of. There
are two things — the Church and the world — two spirits per
vading different bodies of men, brought before us in these
verses — those called the Spirit-born, and those called the
Avorld, which is to be overcome by the Spirit-born, as in the
text, " Whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world."
Let us understand what is meant by the Church of God.
When we speak of the Church we generally mean a society
to aid men in their progress GodAvard; but the Church of
God is by no means co-extensive in any age with that organ
ized institution which Ave call the Church ; sometimes it is

450 The Victory of Faith.
nearly co-extensive — that is, nearly all .on earth who are born
of God are found within its pale, nearly all who: are of the
world are extraneous to it — but sometimes the born of God
have been found distinct from the institution called the
Church, opposed to it — persecuted by it. The institution of
the Church is a blessed ordinance of God, organized on earth
for the purpose of representing the eternal Church and of
extending its limits, but still ever subordinate to it.
The eternal Church is "the general assembly and church
of the firstborn which are written in heaven ;" the selected
spirits of the Most High, who are struggling with the evil of
their day ; sometimes alone, like Elijah, and like him, long
ing that their work Avas done ; sometimes conscious of their
union with each other. God is forever raising up a succes
sion of these — His brave, His true, His good. Apostolical
succession, as taught sometimes, means simply this — a suc
cession of miraculous powers flowing in a certain line. The
true apostolic succession is — not a succession in a hereditary
line, -or line marked by visible signs which men can always
identify, but a succession emphatically spiritual.
The Jews .looked for a hereditary succession ; they thought
that because they were Abraham's seed, the spiritual succes
sion was preserved ; the Redeemer told them that " God was
able of those stones to raise up children unto Abraham."
Therefore is this ever a spiritual succession — in the hands of
God alone ; and they are here called the God-born, coming
into the world variously qualified ; sometimes baptized with
the spirit which makes them, like James and John, the "sons
of thunder,!' sometimes with a milder spirit, as Barnabas,
which makes them " sons of consolation," sometimes having
their souls indurated into an adamantine hardness, which
makes them living stones — rocks like Peter, against which
the billows of this world dash themselves in vain, and against
which the gates of hell shall not prevail. But whether as
apostles, or visitors of the poor, or parents of a family, born
to do a Avork on earth, to speak a word, to discharge a mis
sion which they themselves perhaps do not know till it is ac
complished — these are the Church of God — the children of
the Most High— the noble army of the Spirit-born ! - Op
posed to this stands the mighty confederacy called the world.
But beware of fixing on individual men in order to stigmatize^
them as the Avorld. You may not draw a line and say — " We
are the sons of God, ye are of the world." The world is not
so much individual as it is a certain spirit ; the course of this
Avorld is " the spirit which now worketh in the children of
disobedience." The Avorld and the Church are annexed as

The Victory of Faith. 451
inseparably as the elements which, compose the atmosphere.
Take the smallest portion of this, that you will, in a cubic
inch the same proportions are found as in a temple. In the
ark there was a Ham ; in the small band of the twelve apos
tles there was a Judas.
The spirit of the world is forever altering — impalpable ;
forever eluding, in fresh forms, your attempts to seize it. In
the days of Noah, the spirit of the world was violence. In
Elijah's day it was idolatry. In the day of Christ it was
power concentrated and condensed in the government of
Rome. In ours, perhaps, it is the love of money. It enters
in different proportions into different bosoms ; it is found in
a different form in contiguous towns; in the fashionable
watering-place, and in the commercial city : it is this thing
at Athens, and another in Corinth. This is the spirit of the
world — a thing in my heart and yours: to be struggled
against, not so much in the case of others, as in the silent
battle to be done within our own souls. Pass we on now to
consider —
H The victory of faith.
Faith is a theological expression ; we are apt to forget
that it has any other than a theological import ; yet it is the
commonest principle of man's daily life, called in that region
prudence, enterprise, or some such name. It is in effect the
principle on which alone any human superiority can be
gained. Faith, in religion, is the same principle as faith in
worldly matters, differing only in its object : it rises through
successive stages. When, in reliance upon your promise,
your child gives up the half-hour's idleness of to-day for the
holiday of to-morrow, he lives by faith ; a future supersedes
the present pleasure. When he abstains from over-indul
gence Ofthe appetite, in reliance upon your word, that the
result will he pain and sickness, sacrificing the present pleas
ure for fear of future punishment, he acts on faith : I do not
say that this is a high exercise of faith — it is a very low one
— but it is faith.
Once more : the same motive of action may be carried on
into manhood ; in our own times two religious principles
have been exemplified in the subjugation of a vice. The hab
it of intoxication has been broken by an appeal to the prin
ciple of combination, and the principle of belief. Men were
taught to feel that they were not solitary strugglers against
the vice ; they were enrolled in a mighty army, identified in
principles and interests. Here was the principle of the
Church — association for . reciprocated strength ; they were

452 The Victory of Faith.
thus taught the inevitable result of the indulgence of the
vice. The missionaries of temperance went through the
country contrasting the wretchedness and the degradation
and the filth of drunkenness, with the domestic comfort and
the health and the regular employment of those who were
masters of themselves. So far as men believed this, and gave
up the tyranny of the present for the hope of the future — so
far they lived by faith.
Brethren, I do not say that this was a high triumph for
the principle of faith ; it was, in fact, little more than selfish
ness ; it was a high future balanced against a low present ;
only the preference of a future and higher physical enjoy
ment to a mean and lower one. Yet still, to be ruled by this
influence raises a man in the scale of being : it is a low vir
tue, prudence, a form of selfishness ; yet prudence is a virtue.
The merchant who forecasts, saves, denies himself systemati
cally through years, to amass a fortune, is not a very lofty
being, yet he is higher, as a man, than he who is sunk in
mere bodily gratifications. You would not say that the in
temperate man — who has become temperate in order merely
to gain by that temperance honor and happiness — is a great
man, but you would say he was a higher and a better man
than he who is enslaved by his passions, or than the gambler
who improvidently stakes all upon a moment's throw. The
worldly mother who plans for the advancement of a family,
and sacrifices solid enjoyments for a splendid alliance, is only
worldly wise, yet in that manoeuvring and worldly prudence
there is the exercise of a self-control which raises her above
the mere giddy pleasure-hunter ofthe hour; for want of self-
control is the Aveakness of our nature — to restrain, to wait,
to control present feeling with a large foresight, is human
strength. Once more : instead of a faith like that of the child, which
overleaps a few hours, or that of the worldly man, Avhich
overpasses years, there may be a faith which transcends the
whole span of life, and, instead of looking for temporal en
joyments, looks for rewards in a future beyond the grave,
instead of a future limited to time.
This is again a step. The child has sacrificed-a day ; the
man has sacrificed a little more. Faith has now reached a
stage which deserves to be called religious ; not that this,
however, is very grand ; it does but prefer a happiness here
after to a happiness enjoyed here — an eternal well-being in
stead of a temporal well-being ; it is but prudence on a grand
scale — another form of selfishness — an anticipation of infinite
rewards instead of finite, and not the more noble because of

The Victory, of Faith. 453
the infinitude of the gain : and yet this is what is often
taught as religion in books and sermons. We are told that
sin is wrong, because it Avill make us miserable hereafter.
Guilt is represented as the short-sightedness which barters
for a home on earth — a home in heaven.
In the text-book of ethics studied in one of our universi
ties, virtue is defined as that which is done at the command
of God for the sake of an eternal reward. So, then, religion
is nothing more than a calculation of infinite and finite quan
tities ; vice is nothing more than a grand imprudence ; and
heaven is nothing more than selfishness rewarded with eter
nal well-being !
Yet this, you will observe, is a necessary step in the de
velopment of faith. Faith is the conviction that God is a
rewarder of them who diligently seek Him ; and there is a
moment in human progress when the anticipated rewards
and punishments must be of a Mohammedan character — the
happiness of the senses. It was thus that the Jews were
disciplined ; out of a coarse, rude, infantine state, they were
educated by rewards and punishments to abstain from pres
ent sinful gratification : at first, the promise of the life which
now is, afterwards the promise of that Avhich is to come ;
but even then the rewards and punishments of a future state
were spoken of, by inspiration itself, as of an arbitrary char
acter ; and some of the best of the Israelites, in looking to
the recompense of reward, seemed to have anticipated, coarse
ly, recompense in exchange for duties performed.
The last step is that which alone deserves to be called
Christian faith — "Who is he that overcometh but he that
believeth Jesus is the Christ ?" The difference between the
faith of the Christian and that of the man of the world, or
the mere ordinary religionist, is not a difference in mental
operation, but in the object of the faith — to believe that
Jesus is the Christ is the peculiarity of Christian faith.
The anticipated heaven of the Christian differs from the
anticipated heaven of any other man, not in the distinctness
Avith which its imagery is perceived, but in the kind of ob
jects which are hoped for. - The apostle has told us the char
acter of heaven. " Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither
hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive' the things
which God hath prepared for them that love Him" — which
glorious words are sometimes strangely, misinterpreted, as if
the apostle merely meant rhetorically to exalt the conception
of the heavenly world, as of something beyond all power to
imagine or to paint. The apostle meant something infinitely
deeper : the heaAren of God is not only that which " eye hath

454 The Victory of Faith.
not seen," but that which eye can never see ; its glories are
not of that kind at all which can ever stream in forms of
beauty on the eye, or pour in melody upon the enraptured
ear — not such joys as genius in its most gifted hour (here
called "the heart of man") can invent or imagine: it is
something which these sensuous organs of ours never can'l
appreciate — bliss of another kind altogether, revealed to the !
spirit of man by the Spirit of God — joys such as spirit alone
can receive.
Do you ask what these are ? " The fruits of the Spirit
are love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith,
meekness, temperance." That is heaven, and therefore the
apostle tells us that he alone who " believeth that Jesus is
the Christ," and only he, feels that, What is it to believe
that Jesus is the Christ? — That He is the Anoirited One,
that His life is the anointed life, the only blessed life, the
blessed life Divine for thirty years ? Yes, but if so, the bless
ed Ufe still, continued throughout all eternity : unless you
believe that, you do not believe that Jesus is the Christ.
What is the blessedness that you expect? — to have the
joys of earth with the addition of the element of eternity ?
Men think that heaven is to be a compensation for earthly
loss : the saints are earthly-wretched here, the children of
this world are earthly-happy ; but that, they think, shall be
all reversed — Lazarus,- beyond the grave, shall have the pur
ple and the fine linen, and the splendor, and the houses, and
the lands which Dives had on earth : the one had them for
time, the other shall have them for eternity. That is the
heaven that men txpect-1— this earth sacrificed now, in order
that it may be re-granted forever.
Nor will this expectation be reversed except by a rever
sal of the nature. None can anticipate such a heaven as
God has revealed, except they that are born of the Spirit ;
therefore to believe that Jesus is the Christ, a man must be
born of God. You will observe that no other victory over
comes the world : for this is what St. John means by say
ing, " Who is he that overcometh the world, but he that be
lieveth th.it Jesus is the Christ ?" For then it comes to pass
that a man begins to feel that to do wrong is hell ; and that
to love God, to be like God, to have the mind of Christ, is
the only heaven. Until this victory is gained, the world re
tains its stronghold in the heart.
Do you think that the temperate man has overcome the
world, who, instead ofthe short-lived rapture of intoxication,
chooses regular employment, health, and prosperity ? Is it
not the world in another form which has his homage? Or

The Dispensation of the Spirit. 455
do you suppose that the so-called religious man is really the
world's conqueror by being content to give up seventy
years of enjoyment in order to win innumerable ages of the
very same species of enjoyment ? Has he not only made
earth a hell, in order that earthly things may be his heaven
forever ?
Thus the victory of faith proceeds from stage to stage :
the first victory is, Avhen the present is conquered by the fu
ture ; the last, when the visible and sensual is despised in
comparison of the invisible aud eternal. Then earth has
lost its power forever ; for if all that it has to give be lost
eternally, the gain of faith is still infinite.

III.
THE DISPENSATION OF THE' SPIRIT.
"Now there are diversities of gifts, hut the same Spirit." — 1 Cor. xii. 4.
According to a vieAV which contains in it a profound truth,
the ages of the world are divisible into three dispensations,
presided over by the Father, the Son, and the Spirit.
In the dispensation of the Father, God was known as a
Creator ; creation manifested His eternal power and God
head, and the religion of mankind was the religion of nature.
In the dispensation of the Son, God manifested Himself to
humanity through man ; the Eternal Word spoke, through
the inspired and gifted ofthe human race, to those that were
uninspired and ungifted. This was the dispensation of the'
prophets — Its climax was the advent of the Redeemer ; it
.was completed when perfect Humanity manifested God to
man. The characteristic of this dispensation was, that God
revealed Himself by an authoritative Voice, speaking from
without, and the highest manifestation of God whereof man
was capable, Avas a Divine humanity.
The age in which we at present live is the dispensation of
the Spirit, in which God has communicated Himself by the
highest" revelation, and in the most intimate communion, of
which man is capable ; no longer through creation, no more
as an authoritative Voice from without, but as a Law within
— as a Spirit mingling with a spirit. This is the dispensa
tion of which the prophet said of old, that the time should
come when they should no longer teach every man his broth
er and every man his neighbor, saying, " Know the Lord " —

456 The Dispensation of the Spirit.
that is, by a will revealed by external authority from other
human minds—" for they shall all know Him, from the least
of them to the greatest." This is the dispensation, too, of
whose close the Apostle Paul speaks thus : " Then shall the
Son also be subject to Him that hath put all things under
Him, that God may be all in all."
The outAvard humanity is to disappear, that the inward
union may be complete. , To the same effect, he speaks in
another place, " Yea, though we have known Christ after the
flesh, yet henceforth knoAV we Him no more." For this rea
son the ascension was necessary before Pentecost could come :
the Spirit Avas not given, we are told, because Jesus was not
yet glorified. It was necessary for the Son to disappear as
an outward authority, in order that He might re-appear as an
inward principle of life. Our salvation is no longer God
manifested in a Christ without us, but as a Christ within us,
the hope of glory. To-day is the selected anniversary of
that memorable day when the first proof Avas given to the
senses, in the gift of Pentecost, that that spiritual dispensa
tion had begun.
There is a twofold way in which the operations of the
Spirit on mankind may be considered — His influence on the
Church as a whole, and His influence on individuals ; both
of these are brought together in the text. It branches, there
fore, into a twofold division.
I. Spiritual gifts ponferred on individuals.
II. Spiritual union of the Church.
Let us distinguish between the Spirit and the gifts of the
Spirit : by the Spirit, the apostle meant the vital principle
of new life from God, common to all believers — the animat
ing Spirit ofthe Church of God ; by the gifts ofthe Spirit, he
meant the diversities of form in which fle operates on indi:
viduals ; its influence varied according to their respective pe
culiarities and characteristics. In the twenty-eighth verse
of this chapter a full catalogue of gifts is found ; looking at
them generally, we discover two classes into which they may
be divided — the first are natural, the second are supernatu
ral : the first are those capacities which are originally found
in human nature — personal endowments of mind, a character
elevated and enlarged by the gift of the Spirit; the second
are those which were created and called into existence by the
sudden approach of the same influence.
Just as if the temperature of this northern hemisphere were
raised suddenly, and a mighty tropical river were to pour its
fertilizing inundation over the country, the result would be

The Dispensation of the Spirit. 457
the impartation of a vigorous and gigantic groAvth to the
vegetation already in existence, and at the same time the de
velopment of life in seeds and germs which had long lain
latent in the soil, incapable of vegetation in the unkindly
climate of their birth. Exactly in the same way, the flood
of a Divine life, poured suddenly into the souls of men, en
larged and ennobled qualities which had been used already,
and at the same time developed powers which never could
have become apparent in the cold, low temperature of natu
ral life.
Among the natural gifts, we may instance these : teaching
— healing — the power of government. Teaching is a gift,
natural or acquired. To know, is one thing; to have the
capacity of imparting knowledge, is another.
The physician's art, again, is no supernatural mystery ; long
and careful study of physical laws capacitate him for his
task. To govern, again, is a natural faculty: it may be ac
quired by habit, but there are some who never could acquire
it. . Some men seem bom to command: place them in what
sphere you will, others acknowledge their secret influence
and subordinate themselves to their will. The faculty of or
ganization, the secret of rule, need no supernatural power.
They exist among the uninspired. Now the doctrine of the
apostle was, that all these are transformed and renovated by
the spirit of a new life in such a way as to become almost
new powers, or, as he calls them, gifts of the Spirit. A re
markable illustration of this is his vieAv of the human body.
If there be any thing common to us by nature, it is the mem
bers of our corporeal frame ; yet the apostle taught that
these, guided by the Spirit as its instruments and obeying a
holy will, became transfigured ; so that, in his language, the
body becomes a temple of the Holy Ghost, and the meanest
faculties, the lowest appetites, the humblest organs, are en
nobled by the Spirit-mind -which guides them. Thus he bids
the Romans yield themselves " unto God as those that are
alive from the dead, and their members as instruments of
righteousness unto God."
The second class of gifts are supernatural : of these we find
two pre-eminent — the gift of tongues, and the gift of proph
ecy. It does not appear that the gift of tongues was merely the
imparted faculty of speaking foreign languages — it could not
be that the highest gift of God to His Church merely made
them rivals of the linguist ; it would rather seem that the
Spirit of God, mingling with the soul of man, supernaturally
elevated its aspirations and glorified its conceptions, so that
20

458 The Dispensation of the Spirit.
an entranced state of ecstacy was produced, and feelings
called into energy, for the expression of which the ordinary
forms of speech were found inadequate. Even in a far lower
department, when a man becomes possessed of ideas for
which his ordinary vocabulary supplies no sufficient expres
sion his language becomes broken, incoherent, struggling,
and almost unnaturally elevated ; much more was it to be
expected that when divine and new feelings rushed like a
flood upon the soul, the language of men would have be
come strange and extraordinary ; but in that supposed case,
wild as the expressions might appear to one coldly looking
on and not participating in the feelings of the speaker, they
would be quite sufficient to convey intelligible iheaning to
any one affected by the same emotions.
Where perfect sympathy exists, incoherent utterance — a
word — a syllable — is quite as efficient as elaborate sentences.
Now this is precisely the account given of the phenomenon
which attended the gift of tongues. On the day of Pente
cost, all Avho were in the same state of spiritual emotion as
those who spoke, understood the speakers ; each was as intel
ligible to all as if he spoke in their several tongues : to those
who were coolly and skeptically watching, the effects ap
peared like those of intoxication. A similar account is given
by the Apostle Paul: the voice appeared to unsympathetic
ears as that of a barbarian ; the uninitiated and unbelieving
coming in, heard nothing that Avas articulate to them, but
only Avhat seemed to them the ravings of insanity.
The next Avas the gift of prophecy. Prophecy has several
meanings in Scripture; sometimes it means the power of pre
dicting future events, sometimes an entranced state accom
panied Avith ravings, sometimes it appears to mean only ex
position ; but prophecy, as the miraculous spiritual gift grant
ed to the early Church, seems to have been a state of com
munion with the mind of God loAver than that Avhich was
called the gift of tongues, at least less ecstatic, less rapt into
the world to come, more under the guidance of the reason,
more within the control of calm consciousness — as we might
say, less supernatural.
Upon these gifts we make two observations :
1. Even the highest were not accompanied with spiritual
faultlessness. Inspiration was one thing, infallibility another.
The gifts of the Spirit were, like the gifts of nature, subor
dinated to the will1 — capable of being used for good or evil,
sometimes pure, sometimes mixed with human infirmity. The
supernaturally gifted man Avas no mere machine, no automa
ton ruled in spite of himself by a superior spirit. Disorder,

The Dispensation of the Spirit. 459
vanity, overweening self-estimation, might accompany these
gifts, and the prophetic utterance itself might be degraded
to a mere brawling in the Church ; therefore St. Paul estab
lished laws of control, declared the need of subjection and
rule over spiritual gifts : the spirits of the prophets were to
be subject to the prophets ; if those in the ecstatic state were
tempted to break out into utterance and unable to interpret
what it meant, those so gifted were to hold their peace.
The prophet poured out the truths supernaturally impart
ed to his highest spirit, in an inspired and impassioned elo
quence which was intelligible even to the unspiritual, and
was one ofthe appointed means of convincing the unconvert
ed. The lesson derivable from this is not obsolete even in
the present day. There is nothing perhaps precisely identi
cal in our own day with those gifts of the early Church ;
but genius and talent are uncommon gifts, Avhich stand in a
somewhat analogous relation — in a closer one certainly — than
more ordinary endowments. The flights of genius, we know,
appear like maniac ravings to minds not elevated to the same
spiritual level. Now these are perfectly compatible with
misuse, abuse, and moral disorder. The most gifted of our
countrymen has left this behind him as his epitaph, "The
greatest, wisest, meanest of mankind." The most glorious
gift of poetic insight — itself in a way divine — having some
thing akin to Deity — is too often associated with degraded
life and vicious character. Those gifts which elevate us above
the rest of our species, whereby we stand aloof and separate
from the crowd, convey no moral — nor even mental — infalli
bility : nay, they have in themselves a peculiar danger, where
as, that gift which is common to us all as brethren, the ani
mating spirit of a divine life, in Avhose soil the spiritual being
of all is rooted, can not make us vain ; we can not pride our
selves on that, for it is common to us all.
2. Again, the gifts which were higher in one sense were
lower in another; as supernatural gifts they would rank thus
— the gift of tongues before prophecy, and prophecy before
teaching ; but as blessings to be desired, this order is reversed :
rather than the gift of tongues, St. Paul bids the Corinthians
desire that they might prophesy. Inferior, again, to prophecy
Avas the quite simple, and as we should say, lower faculty of
explaining truth. Now the principle upon which that Avas
tried was that of utility— not utility in the low sense of the
utilitarian, Avho measures the value of a thing by its suscep
tibility of application to the purpose of this present life, but
a utility whose measure was love, charity. The apostle con
sidered that gift most desirable by which men might most

460 The Dispensation of tlie Spirit.
edify one another. And hence that noble declaration of one
of the most gifted of mankind — "I had rather speak five
Avords with my understanding, that I might teach others also,
than ten thousand words in an unknown tongue."
Our estimate is almost the reverse of this : we value a gift
in proportion to its rarity, its distinctive character, separating
its possessor from the rest of his fellow-men ; Avhereas, in
truth, those gifts which leave us in lonely majesty apart from
our species, useless to them, benefiting ourselves alone, are
not the most Godlike, but the least so ; because they are dis
severed from that beneficent charity which is the very being
of God. Your lofty incommunicable thoughts, your ecsta
sies, and aspirations, and contemplative raptures — in virtue
of which you have estimated yourself as the porcelain of the
earth, of another nature altogether than the clay of common
spirits — tried by the test of charity, what is there grand in
these if they can not be applied as blessings to those that are
beneath you ? One of our countrymen has achieved for him
self extraordinary scientific renown ; he pierced the mysteries
of nature, he analyzed her processes, he gave new elements
to the world. The same man applied his rare intellect to the
construction of a simple and very common instrument— that
well-known lamp which has been the guardian of the miner's
life from the explosion of fire. His discoveries are his nobil
ity in this world, his trifling invention gives him rank in the
Avorld to come. By the former he shines as one of the bright
est luminaries in the firmament of science, by the latter, evinc
ing a spirit animated and directed by Christian love, he takes
his place as one of the Church of God.
And such is ever the true order of rank which graces oc
cupy in reference to gifts. The most trifling act which is
marked by usefulness to others is nobler in God's sight than
the most brilliant accomplishment of genius. To teach a
feAV Sunday-school children, week after week, commonplace,
simple truths — persevering in spite of dullness and mean ca
pacities — is a more : glorious occupation than the highest
meditations or creations of genius which edify or instruct
only our OAvn solitary soul.
II. The spiritual unity of the Church — " the same Spirit."
Men have formed to themselves two ideas of unity : the
first is a sameness of form — of expression ; the second an
identity of spirit. Some of the best of mankind have fondly
hoped to realize an unity for the Church of Christ which
should be manifested by uniform expressions in eA'ery thing ;
their imaginations have loved to paint, as the ideal of a

The Dispensation of the Spirit. 46 1
Christian Church, a state in which the same liturgy should
be used throughout the Avorld, the same ecclesiastical gov
ernment, even the same vestments, the same canonical hours,
the same form of architecture. They could conceive noth
ing more entirely one than a Church so constituted that the
same prayers, in the very same expressions, at the very same
moment, should be ascending to the Eternal Ear.
There are others who have thrown aside entirely this idea
as chimerical ; who have not only ceased to hope it, but even
to wish it ; who, if it could be realized, would 'consider it a
matter of regret ; who feel that the minds of men are vari
ous — their modes and habits of thought, their original ca
pacities and acquired associations, infinitely diverse ; and
Avho, perceiving that the law of the universal system is
manifoldness in unity, have ceased to expect any other one
ness for the Church of Christ than that of a sameness of
spirit, showing itself through diversities of gifts. Among
these last was the Apostle Paul : his large and glorious
mind rejoiced in the contemplation of the countless mani
festations of spiritual nature beneath which he detected one
and the same pervading Mind. Now let us look at this
matter somewhat more closely.
1. All real unity is manifold. Feelings in themselves
identical find countless forms of expression ; for instance,
sorrow is the same feeling throughout the human race ; but
the Oriental prostrates himself upon the ground, throws dust
upon his head, tears his garments, is not ashamed to break
out into the most violent lamentations. In the north, Ave
rule our grief in public ; suffer not even a quiver to be seen
upon the lip or brow, and consider calmness as the appropri
ate expression of manly grief. Nay, two sisters of different
temperament will show their grief diversely ; one will love
to dwell upon the theme of the qualities of the departed, the
other feels it a sacred sorrow, on which the lips are sealed
forever ; yet would it not be idle to ask Avhich of them has
the truest affection? Are they not both in their own way
true ? In the same East, men take off their sandals in de
votion ; we exactly reverse the procedure, and uncover the
head. The Oriental prostrates himself in the dust before
his sovereign ; even before his God the Briton only kneels ;
yet would it not again be idle to ask which is the essential
and proper form of reA'erence ? Is not true reverence in all
cases modified by the individualities of temperament and
education ? Should we not say, in all these forms worketh
one and the same spirit of reverence ?
, Again, in the world as God has made it, one law shoAVS

462 The Dispensation of the Spirit.
itself under diverse, even opposite manifestations ; lead sinks
in water, wood floats upon the surface. In former times
men assigned these different results to different forces, laws,
and gods. A knowledge of nature has demonstrated that
they are expressions of one and the same law;' and the great
difference between the educated and the uneducated man is
this — the uneducated sees in this world nothing but an in
finite collection of unconnected facts — a broken, distorted,
and fragmentary system, which his mind can by no means
reduce to order. The educated man, in proportion to his
education, sees the number of laws diminished — beholds in
the manifoloyappearances of nature the expression of a few
laws, by degrees fewer, till at last it becomes possible to his
conception that they are all reducible to one, and that that
which lies beneath the innumerable phenomena of nature is
the One Spirit — God.
2. All living unity is spiritual, not formal ; not sameness,
but manifoldness. You may have a unity shown in identity
of form ; but it is a lifeless unity. There is a sameness on
the sea-beach — that unity Avhich the ocean waves have pro
duced by curling and forcibly destroying the angularities of
individual form, so that every stone presents the same mo
notony of aspect, and you must fracture each again in order
to distinguish whether you hold in your hand a mass of flint
or fragment of basalt. There is no life in unity such as
this. But as soon as you arrive at a unity that is living, the
form becomes more complex, and you search in vain for uni
formity. In tlie parts, it must be found, if found at all, in
the sameness of the pervading life. The illustration given
by the apostle is that of the human body — a higher unity,
he says, by being composed of many members, than if every
member were but a repetition of a single type. It is con
ceivable that God might have moulded such a form for hu
man life ; it is conceivable that every cause, instead of pro
ducing in different nerves a variety of sensations, should
have affected every one in a mode precisely similar ; that
instead of producing a sensation of sound — a sensation of
color— a sensation of taste— the 'outward causes of nature,
be they what they may, should have given but one unvaried
feeling to every sense, and that the whole universe should
have been light or sound.
That would have been unity ; if sameness be unity ; but,
says the apostle, "if the whole body were seeingj'Where
were the hearing ?" That uniformity would have "been ir
reparable loss — the loss of every part that was merged into

The Dispensation of the Spirit. 463
the one. What is the body's unity ? Is it not this ? The
unity of a living consciousness which marvellously animates
every separate atom of the frame, and reduces each to the
performance of a function fitted to the welfare of the whole
— its own, not another's : so that the inner spirit can say of
the remotest, and in form most unlike, member, " That, too,
is myself."
3. None but a spiritual unity can preserve the rights both
of the individual and the Church. All other systems of
unity, except the apostolic, either sacrifice the Church to the
individual, or the individual to the Church.
Some have claimed the right of private judgment in such
a Avay that every individual opinion becomes truth, and
every utterance of private conscience right : thus the Church
is sacrificed to the individual ; and the universal conscience,
the common faith, becomes as nothing ; the spirits of the
prophets are not subject to the prophets. Again, there are
others, who, like the Church of Rome, Avould surrender the
conscience of each man to the conscience of the Church, and
coerce the particulars of faith into exact coincidence with a
formal creed. Spiritual unity saves the right of both in
God's system. The Church exists for the individual, just as
truly as the individual for the Church. The Church is then
most perfect Avhen all its powers converge, and are concen
trated on the formation and protection of individual charac
ter ; and the individual is then most complete — that is, most
a Christian — when he has practically learned that his life is
not his own, but OAved to others — " that no man liveth to
himself, and no man dieth to himself."
Noav, spiritual unity respects the sanctity of the individu
al conscience. How reverently the Apostle Paul considered
its claims, and how tenderly ! When once it became a mat
ter of conscience, this was his principle laid down in matters
of dispute : " Let every man be fully persuaded in his own
mind." The belief of the whole world, can not make that
thing true to me which to me seems false. The conscience
of the whole Avorld can not make a thing right to me, if I in
my heart believe it wrong. You may coerce the conscience,
you may control men's belief, and you may produce a unity
by so doing ; but it is the unity of pebbles on the sea-shore
— a lifeless identity of outward form with no cohesion be
tween the parts — a dead sea-beach on which nothing grows,
and where the very sea-weed dies.
Lastly, it respected the sanctity of individual character.
Out of eight hundred millions of the human race, a few feat
ures diversify themselves into so many forms of counte-

464 The Trinity.
nance, that scarcely tAvo could be mistaken for each other.
There are no two leaves on the same tree alike ; nor two
sides of the same leaf, unless you cut and kill it. There is a
sacredness in individuality of character; each one born into
this world is a fresh new soul intended by his Maker to de
velop himself in a new fresh way ; we are what we are ; Ave
can not be truly other than ourselves. We reach perfection
not by copying, much less by aiming at originality ; but by
consistently and steadily working out the life which is com
mon to us all, according to the character Avhich God has
given us.
And thus will the Church of God be one at last — will pre
sent an, unity like that of heaven. There is one universe, in
which each separate star differs from another in glory ; one
Church, in which a single Spirit, the Life of God, pervades
each separate soul; and just in proportion as that Life be
comes exalted does it enable every one to shine forth in the
distinctness of his own separate individuality, like the stars
of heaven.

IV.
THE TRINITY.
"And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your
whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of
our Lord Jesus Christ." — 1 Thess. v. 23i
The knowledge of God is the blessedness of man. To
know God, and to be known by him — to love God, and to be
loved by Aim — is the most precious treasure which this life
has to give ; properly speaking, the only treasure ; properly
speaking, the only knowledge ; for all knowledge is valuable
only so far as it converges towards and ends in the knowl
edge of God, and enables us to acquaint ourselves with God,
and be at peace with Him. The doctrine of the Trinity is
the sum of all that knowledge which has as yet been gained
by man. I say gained as yet. For we presume not to main
tain that in the ages which are to come hereafter, our knowl
edge shall not be superseded by a higher knowledge; we
presume not to say that in a state of existence future — yea
even here upon this earth, at that period which is mysteri
ously referred to in Scripture as " the coming of the Son of
Man "—there shall not be given to the soul an intellectual
conception of the Almighty, a vision ofthe Eternal, in com-

The Trinity. 465
.parison with whose brightness and clearness our present
knowledge of the Trinity shall be as rudimentary and as
childlike as the knoAvledge of the Jew Avas in comparison
with the knowledge of the Christian.
Now the passage which I have undertaken to expound to
day is one in which the doctrine of the Trinity is brought
into connection practically with the doctrine of our humani-
ty. Before entering into it, brethren, let us lay down these
two observations and duties for ourselves. In the first
place, let us examine the doctrine of the Trinity ever in the
spirit of charity.
A clear statement of the deepest doctrine that man can
know, and the intellectual conception of that doctrine, are
by no means easy. We are puzzled and perplexed by
words ; we fight respecting words. Quarrels are nearly al
ways verbal quarrels. Words lose their meaning in the
course of time ; nay, the very w;ords of the Athanasian creed
Avhich we read to-day mean not in this age the same thing
Avhich they meant in ages past. Therefore it is possible
that men, externally Trinitarians, may differ from each other
though using the same words, as greatly as a Unitarian dif
fers from a Trinitarian. There may be found, in the same
Church and in tbe same congregation, men holding all possi
ble shades of opinion, though agreeing externally and in
words. I speak within the limit of my own experience when I say
that persons have been known and heard to express the lan
guage of bitter condemnation respecting Unitarianism, who
when examined aud calmly required to draw out verbally
the meaning of their own conceptions, have been proved to
be holding all the time, unconsciously, the very doctrine of
Sabellianism., And this doctrine is condemned by the
Church as distinctly as that of Unitarianism. Therefore let
us learn from all this a large and catholic charity. There
are in almost every . congregation, themselves not knowing
it, Trinitarians who are practically Tri-theists, worshipping
three Gods; and Sabellians, or worshippers of one person
under three different manifestations. To knoAV God so that
we may be said intellectually to appreciate Him, is blessed :
to be unable to do so is a misfortune. Be content with your
own blessedness, in comparison with others' misfortunes.
Do not give to that misfortune the additional sting of illib
eral :and, unchristian vituperation.
The next observation we have to lay down for ourselves
is, that we should examine this doctrine in the spirit of mod
esty. There are those who are inclined to sneer at the Trin-
20*

466 The Trinity.
itarian ; those to whom the doctrine appears merely a con
tradiction — a puzzle — an entangled, labyrinthine enigma, in
which there is no meaning whatever. But let all such re
member, that though the doctrine may appear to them ab
surd, because they have not the proper conception of it, some
of the profoundest thinkers, and some of the holiest spirits
among mankind, have believed in this doctrine — have clung
to it as a matter of life or death. Let them be assured of
this, that whether the doctrine be true or false, it is not nec
essarily a doctrine self-contradictory. Let them be assured
of this, in all modesty, that such men neA'er could have held
it unless there was latent in the doctrine a deep truth— per
chance tte truth of God.
We pass on now to the consideration of this verse under
the following divisions. In the first place, we shall vieAV it
as a triad in discord : " I pray God your whole spirit and
soul and body be preserved blameless;" in the second place,
as a Trinity in • unity : " the God of peace sanctify you
wholly." We take then, first of all, for our consideration the
triad in discord : " I pray God your whole body and soul
and spirit be preserved blameless."
The apostle here divides human nature into a threefold
division ; and here we have to observe again the difficulty
often experienced in understanding words. Thus Avords in
the Athanasian creed have become obsolete, or lost their
meaning: so that in the present day the words "person,"
" substance," " juocession," " generation," to an ordinary
person, mean almost nothing. So this language of the
apostle, when tendered into English, sIioavs no difference
whatever between " soul " and " spirit." We say, for instance,
that the soul of a man has departed front him. We also say
that the spirit of a man has departed from him. There is no
distinct difference between the two ; but in the original two
very different kinds of thoughts — two very different modes
of conception— are represented by the two English words
" soul " and " spirit."
It is our business, therefore, in the first place, to under
stand Avhat is meant by this threefold division. When the
apostle speaks of the body, what he means is the animal life
— that which we share in common with beasts, birds, and
reptiles ; for our life, my Christian brethren — our sensational
existence — differs but little from that of the lower animals.
There is the same external form, the same material in the
blood-vessels, in the nerves, and in the muscular system.
Nay, more than that, our appetites and instincts are alike, our
loAver pleasures like their lower pleasures, our loAver pain like

The Trinity. 467
their lower pain, our life is supported by the same means, and
our animal functions are almost indistinguishably the same.
But, once more, the apostle speaks of what he calls the
"soul." What the apostle meant by what is translated
" soul," is the immortal part of man — the immaterial as
distinguished from the material : those powers, in fact, which
man has by nature — powers natural, which are yet to survive
the grave. There is a distinction made in Scripture by our
Lord between these two things. " Fear not," says He, " them
who can kill the body ; but rather fear Him who can destroy
both body and soul in hell."
We have again to observe respecting this, that what the
apostle called the " soul," is not simply distinguishable from
the body, but also from the spirit ; and. on that distinction I
have already touched. By the soul the apostle means our
powers natural — the powers which we have by nature.
Herein is the soul distinguishable from the spirit. . In the
Epistle to the Corinthians we read — " But the natural man
receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God ; for. they are
foolishness unto him ; neither can he know them, because they
are spiritually discerned. But he that is spiritual judgeth
all things." Observe, there is a distinction drawn between
the natural man and the spiritual. What is there translated
"natural" is derived from precisely the same word as that
AA'hich is here translated "soul." So that we may read just
as correctly : " The man under the dominion of the soul
receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are
foolishness unto him ; neither can he know them, because
they are spiritually discerned. But he that is spiritual
judgeth all things." And again, the apostle, in the same
Epistle to the Corinthians, writes: "That is not first which
is spiritual, but that which is natural :" that is, the endow
ments of the soul precede the endowments of the spirit.
You have the same truth in other places. The powers that
belong to the spirit were not the first developed ; but the
powers which belong to the soul — that is, the powers of
nature. Again in the same chapter, reference is made to
the natural and spiritual body. " There is a natural body
and there is a spiritual body." Literally, there is a body
governed by the soul — that is, powers natural : and there is
a body governed by the spirit — that is, higher nature.
Let then this be borne in mind, that what ' the apostle
calls " soul " is the same as that which he calls, in another
place, the " natural man." These powers are divisible into
two branches — the intellectual powers and the moral sense.
The intellectual powers man has by nature. Man need not

468 The Trinity.
be regenerated in order to possess the power of reasoning,
or in order to invent. The intellectual powers belong to
what the apostle calls the " soul." The moral sense dis
tinguishes between right and wrong. The apostle tells us,
in the Epistle to the Romans, that the heathen — manifestly
natural men — had the "work of the law written in their
hearts ; their conscience also bearing witness."
The third division of which the apostle speaks, he calls
the " spirit ;" and by the spirit he means that life in man
which, in ' his natural state, is in such an embryo condition
that it can scarcely be said to exist at all — that which is
called out into power and vitality by regeneration — the
perfection of the powers of human nature. And you will
observe, that it is not merely the instinctive life, nor the
intellectual life, nor the moral life, but it is principally our
nobler affections — that existence, that state of being which
Ave call love. That is the department of human nature
which the apostle calls the spirit ; and accordingly, when the
Spirit of God was given on the day of Pentecost, you will
remember that another power of man was called out, differ
ing from what he had before. That Spirit granted on the
day of Pentecost did subordinate to flimself, and was in
tended to subordinate to Himself, the will, the understand
ing, and the affection of man ; but you often find these spir
itual powers were distinguished from the natural powers, and
existed without them.
So in the highest state of religious life, we are told, men
prayed in the spirit. Till the spirit has subordinated the
understanding* the gift, of God is not complete— has not
done its work. It is abundantly evident that a new life was
called out. It was not merely the ' sharpening of the in
tellectual powers ; it was calling out powers of aspiration
and love to God; those affections which have in them some
thing boundless, that are not limited to this earth, but seek
their completion in the mind of God Himself.
Now, what we have to say respecting this threefold state
of man is, it is a state of discord. Let us take up a very
simple, popular, everyday illustration. We hear it remarked
frequently in conversation of a man, that if only his will
were commensurate with his knowledge, he would be a great
man. His knowledge is great — his powers are almost un
bounded ; he has gained knowledge from nearly every de
partment of science ; but somehow or other — you can not
tell why — there is such an indecision, such a vacillation
about the man, that he scarcely knows what to do, and, per
haps does nothing in this world. You find it remarked.

The Trinity. 469
respecting another class of men, that their will is strong,
almost unbounded in its strength — they have iron wills, yet
there is something so narrow in their conceptions, something
so bounded in their views, so much of stagnation in their
thoughts, so much of prejudice in all their opinions, that
their Avill is prevented from being directed to any thing in a
proper manner. Here is the discord in human nature.
There is a distinction betAveen the will and the under
standing. And sometimes a feeble Avill goes with a strong
understanding, or a powerful Avill is found in connection
Avith great feebleness or ignorance of the understanding.
Let us, however, go into this more specially. The first
cause of discord in this threefold state of man is the state in
Avhich the body is the ruler ; and this, my Christian brethren,
you find most visibly developed in the uneducated and irre
ligious poor. I say uneducated and irreligious, because it is
by no means education alone which can subordinate the flesh
to the higher man. The religious uneducated poor man may
be master of his lower passions ; but in the uneducated and
irreligious poor man these show themselves in full force ; this
discord, this want of unity, appears, as it were, in a magnified
form. There is a strong man — health bursting, as it were, at
every pore, with an athletic body ; but coarse, and rude, and
intellectually weak — almost an animal. ^When you are re
garding the upper classes of society, you see less distinctly
the absence ofthe spirit, unless you look with a spiritual eye.
The coarseness has passed away, the rudeness is no longer
seen : there is a refinement in the pleasure. But if you take
the life led by the young men of our country — strong, ath
letic, healthy men — it is still the life of the flesh : the un
thinking and the unprincipled life in which there is as yet no
higher life developed. It is a life which, in spite of its re
finement, the Bible condemns as the life of the sensualist.
We pass on now to another state of discord — a state in
which the soul is ruined. Brethren, this is a natural result —
this is what might have been expected. The natural man
gradually subordinates the flesh, the body, to the soul. It is
natural in the development of individuals, it is natural in the
development of society : in the development of individuals,
because that childlike^ infantine life which exists at first,
and is almost entirely a life of appetites, gradually subsides.
Higher wants, higher desires, loftier inclinations arise ; the
passions of the young man gradually subside, and by degrees
the more rational life comes : the life is changed — the pleas
ures of the senses are forsaken for those of the intellect.
It appears natural, again, in the development of society.

470 The '1'rinity.
Civilization will subordinate the flesh to the soul In the
savage state you find the life of the animal. Civilization is
teaching a man, on the principle of this world, to subordinate
his appetites ; to rule himself; and there comes a refinement,
and a gentlene'ss, and a polish, and an enjoyment of intellect
ual pleasures ; so that the man is no longer what the apostle
calls a sensual man, but he becomes now what the apostle
calls a natural man. We can see this character delineated in
the Epistle to the Ephesians. " Then we were," says the
apostle, " in our Gentile state, fulfilling the desires of the flesh
and of the mind." Man naturally fulfills not inerely the de
sires of the. flesh, but the desires of the mind. "And were,"
says the apostle, " children of wrath."
One of the saddest spectacles is the decay of the natural
man before the Avork of the Spirit has been accomplished in
him. When the savage dies — when a mere infant dies — when
an animal dies — there is nothing that is appalling or depress
ing there ; but when the high, the developed intellect — when
the cultivated man comes to the last hours of life, and the
memory becomes less powerful, and the judgment fails, and
all that belongs to nature and to earth visibly perishes, and
the higher life has not been yet developed, though it is des
tined to survive the grave forever — even the life of God —
there is here ample cause for grief; and it is no wonder that
the man of genius merely should shed tears at the idea of
decaying life.
We pass on to consider the Trinity in unity. All this is
contained in that simple expression, " The God of peace."
God is a God* of unity. He makes one where before there
were two. He is the God of peace, and therefore can make
peace. Now this peace, according to the Trinitarian doctrine,
consists in a threefold unity. Brethren,..as we remarked, re
specting this first of all, the distinction in this Trinity is not
a physical distinction, but a metaphysical one. The illustra
tions which are often given are illustrations drawn from ma
terial sources : if we take only those, we get into contradic
tion : for example, when we talk of personality, our idea is
of a being bounded by space ; and then to say in, this sense
that three persons are one, and one is three, is simply con
tradictory and absurd. Remember that the doctrine of the
Trinity is a metaphysical doctrine. It is a Trinity — a division
in the mind of God. It is not three materials ; it is three per
sons in a sense we shall explain by-and-by.
In the next place I will endeavor to explain the doctrine
— not to proA'e it, but to show its rationality, and to explain
what it is.

The Trinity. 471
The first illustration we endeavor to give in this is taken
from the world of matter. We will take any material sub
stance : we find in that substance qualities ; we will say three
qualities — color, shape and size. Color is not shape, shape is
not size, size is not color. They are three distinct essences,
three distinct qualities, and yet they all form one unity, one
single conception, one idea — the idea, for example, of a tree.
Now we will ascend from that into the immaterial Avorld ;
and here we come to something more distinct still. Hith
erto Ave have had but three qualities ; we now come to the
mind of man — where Ave find something more than qual
ities. We will take three — the will, the affections, and the
thoughts of man. His will is not his affections, neither are
his affections his thoughts; and it would be imperfect and
incomplete to say that these are mere qualities in the man.
They are separate consciousnesses — living consciousnesses —
as distinct and as really sundered as it is possible for three
things to be, yet bound together by one unity of conscious
ness. Now we have distincter proof than even this that
these things are three. The anatomist can tell you that the
localities of these powers are different. He can point out the
seat of the nerve of sensation ; he can localize the feeling of
affection ; he can point to a nerve and say, " There resides
the locality of thought."
There are three distinct localities for three distinct quali
ties, personalities, consciousnesses ; yet all these three are
one. Once more, Ave will give proof even beyond all that. The
act that a man does is done by one particular part of that
man. You may say it was a work of his genius, or of his
fancy ; it may have been a manifestation of his love, or an
exhibition of his courage ; yet that work was the work of the
whole man : his courage, his intellect, his habits of persever
ance, all helped towards the completion of that single work.
Just in this way certain special works are attributed to cer
tain personalities of the Deity ; the work of redemption being
attributed to one, the work of sanctification to another. And
yet just as the whole man was engaged in doing that work,
so does the whole. Deity perform that work which is at
tributed to one essential.
Once more, let us remember that principle which we ex
pounded last Sunday, that it is the law of being that in pro
portion as you rise from lower to higher life, the parts are
more distinctly developed, while yet the unity becomes more
entire. You find, for example^ in the lowest forms of animal
life one organ performs several functions, one organ being at

472 The Trinity,
the same time heart and brain and blood-vessels. But when
you come to man, you find all these various functions exist
ing in different organs, and every organ more distinctly de
veloped ; and yet the unity of a man is a higher unity than
that of a limpet. When you come from the material world
to the world immaterial, you find that the more society is
cultivated, the more man is cultivated, the more marvellous
is the power of developing distinct powers. In the savage
life it is almost all one feeling; but in proportion as the
higher education advances andthe higher life appears, every
power and faculty develops and distinguishes itself and be
comes distinct and separate. And yet just in proportion as
in a nation every part is distinct, the unity is greater, and
just in proportion as in an individual every power is most
complete, and stands out most distinct, just in that propor
tion has the man reached the entireness of his humanity.
Now, brethren, Ave apply all this to the mind of God. The
Trinitarian maintains against the Unitarian and the Sabellian,
that the higher you ascend in the scale of being, the more dis
tinct are the consciousnesses, and that the law of unity im
plies and demands a manifold unity. The doctrine of Sabel-
lianism, for example, is this : that God is but one essence— r
but one person under different manifestations ; and that when
He made the world He was called the Father, when He re
deemed the world He was called the Son, and when he sanc
tified the world He was called the Holy Ghost. The Sabel
lian and the Unitarian maintain that the unity of God con
sists simply in a unity of person, and in opposition to this does
the Trinitarian maintain that grandness, either in man or in
God, must be a unity of manifoldness.
But we will enter into this more deeply. The first power
of consciousness in Avhich God is made known to us is as the
Father, the Author of our being. It is written, " In Him we
live, and move, and have our being." He is the Author of
all life. , In this sense He is not merely our Father as Chris
tians, but the Father of mankind ; and not merely the Fa
ther of mankind, but the Father of creation; and in this
Avay the sublime language of the prophets may be taken as
true literally, " The morning stars sang together, and all the
sons of God shouted for joy ;" and the language ofthe can
ticle which belongs to our morning service, " the deeps, the
fountains, the wells," all unite in one hymn of praise, one ev
erlasting hallelujah to God the Father, the Author of their
being. In this respect, simply as the Author of life, merely
as the Supreme Being, God has reference to us in relation to
the body. He is the Lord of life : in Him we live, and

The Trinity. 473
move, and have our being. In this respect God- to us is as
law — as the collected laAvs of the universe ; and therefore, to
offend against law, and bring down the result of transgress
ing law, is said in Scripture language, because applied to a
person, to be provoking the wrath of God the Father.
In the next place, the second way through which the per
sonality and consciousness of God has been revealed to us is
as the Son. Brethren, we see in all those Avriters who have
treated of the Trinity, that much stress is laid upon this
eternal generation of the Son, the everlasting sonship. It is
this which we have in the creed — the creed which was read
to-day — " God, of the substance of the Father, begotten be
fore the worlds ;" and, again, in the Nicene creed, that ex-
Eression, which is so often wrongly read, " God of God,
ight of Light, very God of very God," means absolutely
nothing. There are two statements made there. The first
is this, " The Son was God :" the second is this, " The Son
Avas — of God," showing his derivation. And in that, breth
ren, we have one of the deepest and most blessed truths of
revelation. The Unitarian maintains a divine humanity — a
blessed, blessed truth. There is a truth more blessed still —
the humanity of Deity. Before the world was, there was
that in the mind of God which we may call the humanity of
His Divinity. It is called in Scripture the Word : the Son :
the Form of God. It is in virtue of this that we have a right
to attribute to Him our own feelings ; it is in virtue of this
that Scripture speaks of His wisdom, His justice, His love.
Love in God is what love is in man; justice in God is what
justice is in man; creative power in God is what creative
power is in man ; indignation in God is that which indigna
tion is in man, barring only this, that the one is emotional,
but the 'other is calm, and pure, and everlastingly still. It
is through this humanity in the mind of God, if I may dare
so to speak of Deity, that a revelation became possible to
man. It Avas the Word that was made flesh; it was the
Word that manifested itself to man. It is in virtue of the
connection between God and man, that God made man in
His own image ; that through a long line of prophets the hu
man truth of God could be made known to man, till it came
forth developed most entirely and at large in the incarnation
of the Redeemer. Now in this respect, it will be observed
that God stands connected Avith us in relation to the soul as
" the Light which lighteth every man that cometh into the
world." Once more : there is a nearer, a closer, and a more enduring
relation in Avhich God stands to us — that is, the relation of

474 The Trinity.
the Spirit. It is to the writings of St. John that we have to
turn especially, if we desire to know the doctrines of the
Spirit. You will remember the strange way in which he
speaks of God. It would almost seem as if the external God
has disappeared to him ; nay, as if an external Christ were
almost forgotten, because the internal Christ has been formed.
He speaks of God as kindred with us ; he speaks of Christ as
Christ in us ; and " if we love one another," he says, " God
dAvelleth in us." If a man keep the commandments, " God
dAvelleth in him, and he in God." So that the spiritual man
ifestation of God to us is that whereby He blends Himself
with the soul of man.'
These, then, my Christian brethren, are the three con
sciousnesses by which He becomes known to us. Three, we
said, known to us. We do not dare to limit God ; Ave do not
presume to say that there are in God only three personali
ties, only three consciousnesses : all that we dare presume to
say is this, that there are three in reference to us, and only
three ; that a fourth there is not ; that, perchance, in the
present state a fourth you can not add to these — Creator,
Redeemer, Sanctifier.
Lastly, let us turn to the relation which the Trinity in
unity bears to the triad in discord. It is intended for the
entireness of our sanctification : " the very God of peace
sanctify you wholly." Brethren, we dwell upon that expres
sion " wholly." There is this difference between Christianity
and every other system : Christianity proposes to ennoble
the whole man ; every other system subordinates parts to
parts. Christianity does not despise the intellect, but it
does not exalt the intellect in a one-sided way: it only
dwells with emphasis on the third and highest part of man
— his spiritual affections; and these it maintains" are the
chief and real seat of everlasting life, intended to subordi
nate the other to themselves.
Asceticism would crush the natural affections, destroy the
appetites. Asceticism feels that there is a conflict between
the flesh and the spirit, and it would put: an end to that con
flict ; it would bring back unity by the excision of all our
natural appetites, and all the desires and feelings which we
have by nature. But when the Apostle Paul comes forward
to proclaim the will of God, he says it is not by the crushing
of the body but by the sanctification of the body : " I pray
God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved
blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ."
In this, my Christian brethren, there is one of the deepest
of all truths. Does a man feel himself the slave and the vie-

The Trinity. 475
tim of his loAver passions ? Let not that man hope to subdue
them merely by struggling against them. Let him not by
fasting, by austerity, by any earthly rule that he can con
ceive, expect to subdue the flesh. The more he thinks of his
vile and lower feelings, the more will they be brought into
distinctness, and therefore into power ; the more hopelessly
Avill he become their victim. The only way in which a man
can subdue the flesh is not by the extinction of those feel
ings, but by the elevation of their character. Let there be
added to that character, sublimity of aim, purity of affection ;
let there be given grandeur, spiritual nobleness ; and then,
just as the strengthening of the whole constitution of the
body makes any particular and local affection disappear, so
by degrees, by the raising of the character, do these loAver
affections become, not extinguished or destroyed by excision,
but ennobled by a new and loftier spirit breathed through
them. This is the account given by the apostle. He speaks of
the conflict between the flesh and the spirit. And his reme
dy is to give vigor to the higher, rather than to struggle
with the lower. " This I say, then, Walk in the spirit, and
ye shall not fulfill the lust of the flesh."
Once more : the apostle differs from the world in this,
that the Avorld would restore this unity and sanctify man
simply from the soul. It is this which civilization pretends
to effect. We hear much in these modern days of " the
progress of humanity." We hear of man's invention, of
man's increase of knowledge ; and it Avould seem in all this,
as if man Avere necessarily becoming better. Brethren, it al
ways must be the case in that state in Avhich God is looked
upon as the Supreme Being merely, Avhere the intellect of
man is supposed to be the chief thing — that which makes
him most kindred to his Maker.
The doctrine of Christianity is this — that unity of all this
discord must be made. Man is to be made one with God,
not by soaring intellect, but by lowly love. It is the Spirit
which guides him to all truth ; not merely by rendering
more acute the reasoning powers, but by convincing of sin,
by humbling the man. It is the graces of the Spirit which
haririonize the man, and make him one ; and that is the end,
and aim, and object of all the Gospel: the entireness of sanc
tification to produce a perfectly developed man."
Most of us in this Avorld are monsters, with some part of
our being bearing the development of a giant and others
showing the proportions of a dAvarf : a feeble, dwarfish will
— mighty, full-blown passions ; and therefore it is that there

476 Absolution.
is to be visible through the Trinity in us, a noble manifold
unity; and when the triune power of God shall so have
done its work on the entireness of our humanity, that the
body, soul, and spirit have, been sanctified, then shall there
be exhibited, and only then, a perfect affection in man -to his
Maker, and body, soul, and spirit shall exhibit a Trinity in -
unity.

ABSOLUTION.
"And the scribes and the Pharisees began to reason, saying, Who is this
which speaketh blasphemies? Who can forgive sins, but God alone?" —
Luke v. 2 1 .
There are questions which having been again and again
settled, still from time to time present themselves for re-so
lution ; errors Avhich having been refuted, and cut up by the
roots, re-appear in the next century as fresh and vigorous as
ever. Like the fabled monsters of old, from whose dissever
ed neck the blood sprung forth and formed fresh heads, mul
tiplied and indestructible ; or like the weeds, which, extir
pated in one place, sprout forth vigorously in another.
' In every such case it may be taken for granted that the
root "of the matter has not been reached ; the error has been
exposed, but the truth which lay at the bottom of the error
has not been* disengaged. Every error is connected with a
truth ; the truth being perennial, springs up again as often
as circumstances foster it, or call for it, and the seeds of er
ror which lay about the roots spring up again in the form of
weeds, as before.
A popular illustration of this may be found in the belief
in the appearance of the spirits of the departed. You may
examine the evidence for every such alleged apparition ; you
may demonstrate the improbability ; you may reduce it to
an impossibility; still the popular feeling will remain ; and
there is a lurking superstition even among the enlightened,
which in the midst of" professions of incredulity shows itself
in a readiness to believe the wildest new tale, if it possess
but the semblance of an authentication. Now two truths
lie at the root of this superstition. The first is the re
ality of the spirit-world and the instinctive belief in it. The
second is the fact that there are certain states of health in
-which the eye creates the objects which it perceives. The

Absolution. 477
death-bloAv to such superstition is only struck Avhen we have
not only proved that men have been deceived, but shoAvn be
sides how they came to be deceived ; when science has ex
plained the optical delusion, and shown the physiological
state in which such apparitions become visible. Ridicule
Avill not do it. Disproof will not do it. So long as men feel
that there is a spirit-world, and so long as to some the im
pression is vivid that they have seen it, you spend your
rhetoric in vain. You must show the truth that lies below
the error.
The principle we gain from this is, that you can not over
throw falsehood by negation, but by establishing the antag
onistic truth. The refutation which is to last must be posi
tive, not negative. It is an endless work to be Uprooting
weeds : plant the ground with Avholesome vegetation, and
then the juices which would have otherwise fed rankness
will pour themselves into a more vigorous growth ; the dwin
dled weeds will be easily raked out then. It is an endless
task to be refuting error. Plant truth, and the error will
pine away.
The instance to which all this is preliminary, is the perti
nacious hold which the belief in a human absolving power
retains upon mankind. There has perhaps never yet been
known a religion without such a belief. There is not a sav
age in the islands of the South Pacific who does not believe
that his priest can shield him from the consequences of sin.
There was not a people in antiquity who had not dispensers
of Divine favor. That same belief passed from Paganism
into Romanism. It was exposed at the period of the Refor
mation. A mighty reaction was felt against it throughout
Europe. Apparently the whole idea of human priesthood
was proved, once and forever, to be baseless ; human media
tion, in every possible form, was vehemently controverted ;
men were referred back to God as the sole Absolver.
Yet now again, three centuries after,-the belief is still as
strong as ever. That which we thought dead is alive again,
and not likely, it seems, to die. Recent revelations have
shown that confession is daily made in the country whose
natural manners are most against it ; private absolution ask-
• ed by English men and given by English priests. A fact so
significant might lead us well : to- pause, and ask Ourselves
whether we have found the true answer to the question.
The negation we haA*e got, the vehement- denial; we are
weary of its reiteration : but the positive truth which lies at
the bottom of this craving — where is that ?
Parliaments and pulpits, senators and clergymen, have

478 Absolution.
vied with each other in the vehemence with which they de
clare absolution uu-Christian, un-English. All that is most
abominable in the confessional has been Avith unsparing and
irreverent indelicacy forced before the public mind. Still,
men and women, whose holiness and purity are beyond slan
der's reach, come and crave assurance of forgiveness. How
shall we reply to such men? Shall we say, "Who is this
that speaketh blasphemies ? who can forgive sins, but God
only ?" Shall we say it is all blasphemy ; an impious, intru
sion upon the prerogatives of the One Absolver ? Well, we
may ; it is popular to say we ought ; but you Avill observe,
if we speak so, we do no more than the Pharisees in this
text : we establish a negation ; but a negation is only one
side of truth.
Moreover, we have been asserting that for three hundred
years, with small fruits. We keep asserting, Man can not
give assurance that sin is pardoned ; in other words, man
can not absolve : but still the heart craves human assurance
of forgiveness. What truth have we got to supply that
craving ? We shall therefore rather try to fathom the deeps
of the positive truth Avhich is the true reply to the error ; Ave
shall try to see whether there is not a real answer to the
craving contained in the Redeemer's words, " The Son of
Man hath power on earth to forgive sins." What power is
there in human forgiveness ? What does absolution mean
in the lips of a son of man ? These are our questions for to
day. We shall consider two points.

I. The impotency of the negation.
II. The power of the positive truth.

The Pharisees denied the efficacy of human absolution :
they said, " None can forgive sins, but God only :" that was
a negation. What did they effect by their system of nega
tions ? They conferred no peace ; they produced no holi
ness. It would be a great error to suppose that the Phari
sees were hypocrites in the ordinary sense of the term — that
is, pretending to be anxious about religion when they knew
that they felt no anxiety. They were anxious, in their way.
They heard a startling free announcement of forgiveness by
a man. To them it appeared license given to sin. If this •
new teacher, this upstart — in their own language, " this fel
low — of whom every man knew whence he was," were to go
about the length- and breadth of the land, telling sinners to
be at peace ; telling them to forget the past, and to work on
wards ; bidding men's consciences be at rest ; and command
ing them not to fear the God whom they had offended, but

Absolution. 479
to trust in Him — what Avould become of morality and relig
ion ? This presumptuous Absolver would make men careless
about both. If the indispensable safeguards of penalty Avere
removed, Avhat remained to restrain men from sin ?
For the Pharisees had no notion of any other goodness
than that which is restrained ; they could conceive no good
ness free, but only that which is produced by rewards and
punishments — law-goodness, law-righteousness: to dread
God, not to love and trust Him, was their conception of re
ligion. And this, indeed, is the ordinary conception of re
ligion — the ordinary meaning implied to most minds by the
word religion. The word religion means, by derivation, re
striction or obligation — obligation to do, obligation to avoid.
And this is the negative system of the Pharisees — scrupulous
avoidance of evil rather than positive and free pursuit of ex
cellence. Such a system never produced any thing but bar
ren denial. "This is Wrong;" " that is heresy;" " that is
dangerous." There was another class of men who denied human poAver
of absolution. They were called Scribes or writers — ped
ants, men of ponderous learning and accurate definitions ;
from being mere transcribers of the law, they had risen to
be its expounders. They could define the exact number of
yards that might be travelled on the sabbath-day without
infringement of the law ; they could decide, according to the
most approved theology, the respective importance of each
duty; they would tell you, authoritatively, which was the
great commandment of the law. The Scribe is a man who
turns religion into etiquette : his idea of God is that of a
monarch, transgression against whom is an offense against
statute law, and he, the Scribe, is there to explain the pre-
.scribed conditions upon which the offense may be expiated ;
he has no idea of admission to the sovereign's presence, ex
cept by compliance with certain formalities which the Scribe
is commissioned to declare.
There are therefore Scribes in all ages — Romish Scribes,
AArho distinguish between venial and mortal sin, and appor
tion to each its appointed penance and absolution. There
are Protestant Scribes, who have no idea of God but as an
incensed judge, and prescribe certain methods of appeasino-
Him— a certain price, in consideration of which He is willing
to sell forgiveness; men who accurately draAv the distinc
tion betAveen the different kinds of faith — faith historical and
faith saving ; who bewilder and confuse all natural feeling ;
who treat the natural love of relations as if it were an idola
try as great as bowing doAvn to mammon ; Avho make intel-

480 Absolution.
ligible distinction between the work that may and the Avork
that may not be done on the sabbath-day; who send you
into a perilous consideration of the workings of your own
feelings, and the examination of your spiritual experiences,
to ascertain whether you have the feelings which give you a
right to call God a Father. They hate the Romish Scribe
as much as the Jewish Scribe hated the Samaritan and called
him heretic. But in their way they are true to the spirit of
the Scribe.
Now the result of this is fourfold. Among the tender-
minded, despondency ; among the vainer, spiritual pride ; in
the case of the slavish, superstition ; with the hard-minded,
infidelity. Ponder it well, and you Avill find these four
things rife amongst us : despondency, spiritual pride, super
stition, and infidelity. In this way we have been going on
for many years. In the midst of all this, at last we are in
formed that the confessional is at work again ; whereupon
astonishment and indignation are loudly expressed. It is
not. to be borne that the priests of the Church of England
should confess and absolve in private. Yet it is only what
might have been expected.
With our Evangelicalism, Tractarianism, Scribeism, Phar
isaism, we , have ceased to front the living fact — we are as
zealous as Scribes and Pharisees ever Avere for negatives ;
but in the mean time human nature, oppressed and over
borne, gasping for breath, demands something real and living.
It can not live on controversies. It can not be fed on pro
tests against heresy, hoAvever vehement. We are trying
who can pretest loudest. Every book, every journal, rings
with warnings. "Beware!" is written upon every thing.
Beware of Rome ; beware of Geneva ; beware of Germany ;
some danger on every side ; Satan everywhere — God no
where; everywhere some man to be shunned or dreaded —
nowhere one to be loved freely and without suspicion. Is it
any wonder if men and women, in the midst of negations,
cry, " Ye Avarn me from the error, but who will guide me
into truth? I want guidance. I am sinful, full of evil ! I
Avant forgiveness. Absolve me ; tell me that I am pardon
ed ; help me to believe it. Your quarrels do not help mo ;
if you can not do that, it matters little what you can do.
You have restricted God's love, and narrowed the path to
heaven ; you have hampered. religion with so many mysteri
ous questions and quibbles that I can not find the way to
God ; you have terrified me with so many snares and pitfalls
on every side, that I dare not tread at all. Give me peace ;
give me human guidance : I want a human arm to lean on."

Absolution. 48 1
This is a cry, I believe, becoming daily more passionate
and more common. And no wonder that all our information,
public and private, is to the same effect — that the recent
converts have found peace in Rome ; for the secret of the
power of Rome is this — that she grounds her teaching, not
on variable feelings and correct opinions, but on facts. God
is not a highly probable God, but a fact. God's forgiveness
is not a feeling, but a fact ; and a material symbolic fact is
the witness of the invisible one. • Rome puts forward her ab
solution — her false, priestly, magical absolution — a visible
fact, as a witness of the invisible. And her perversion pre
vails because founded on a truth.
II. The power of the positive truth.
Is it any wonder, if, taught on every side distrust of man,
the heart should by a violent reaction, and by an extrava
gant confidence in a priest, proclaim that its normal, natural
state is not distrust, but trust ?
What is forgiveness ? It is God reconciled to us. What
is absolution ? It is the authoritative declaration that God
Is reconciled. Authoritative: that is a real power of con
veying a sense and feeling of forgiveness. It is the power
of the Son of Man on earth to forgive sins. It is man, God's
image, representing, by his forgiveness on earth, God's for
giveness in heaven.
Noav distinguish God's forgiveness of sin from an arresting
of the consequence of sin. When God forgives a sin it does
not follow that He stops its consequences: for example,
when He forgives the intemperate man whose health is
ruined, forgiveness does not restore his health. Divine par
don does not interfere with the laws of the universe, for it is
itself one of those laAvs. It is a laAV that penalty folloAvs
transgression. Forgiveness will not save from penalty ; but
it alters the feelings Avith which the penalty is accepted.
Pain inflicted Avith a surgeon's knife for a man's good is as
keen as that which results from the knife of the torturer ; but
in the one case it is calmly borne because remedial — in the
other it exasperates because it is felt to be intended by ma
levolence. So with the difference between suffering which
comes from a sin which Ave hope God has forgiven, and' suf
fering which seems to fall hot from the hand of an angry
God. It is a fearful truth, that, so fai- as we know at least,
the consequences of an act are connected with it indissolubly.
Forgiveness does not. arrest them ; but by producing softness
and grateful penitence, it transforms them into blessings.
This is God's forgiveness ; and absolution is the conveyance
21

482 Absolution.
to the conscience ofthe conviction of forgiveness : to absolve
is to free— to comfort by strengthening — to afford repose
from fear.
Now it was the way of the Redeemer to emancipate from
sin by the freeness of absolution. The dying thief; an hour
before a blasphemer, was unconditionally assured ; the mo
ment the sinner's feelings changed towards God, He pro
claimed that God was reconciled to him : " This day thou
shalt be with me in Paradise." And hence, speaking human
ly, hence, from this absolving tone and spirit, came His won
drous and unparalleled power with sinful, erring hearts;
hence the life and fresh impulse which He imparted to the
being and experience to those with whom He dealt. Hence
the maniac, freed from the legion, sat at His feet, clothed,
and in his right mind. Hence the outcast woman, whom
human scorn would have hardened into brazen effrontery,
hearing an umvonted voice of human sympathy, " Avashed
His feet with her tears, and wiped them with the hairs of
her head."
And this is what we have forgotten: Ave have not yet
learned to trust the power of redeeming love ; Ave do not be
lieve in the omnipotence of grace, and the might: of an ap
peal to the better parts,, and not the slavish parts of human
nature. Settle it in your minds, the absolving power is the
central secret of the Gospel. Salvation is unconditional ; not
an offer, but a gift; not clogged with conditions, but free as
the air we breathe. God welcomes back the prodigal. God
loves without money and without price. To this men reply
gravely, It is "dangerous to speak thus ; it is perilous to dis
pense with the safeguards of restriction. Law ! law ! there
is nothing like law-'-a salutary fear—for making men holy.
Oh blind Pharisee ! had you ever known the spring, the life
which comes from feeling free, the gush of gratitude with
which the heart springs to duty when all chains are^ shat
tered, and it" stands fearless and free in the light, and in the
love of God — you Avould understand that a large trusting
charity, which can throw itself on the better and more gen
erous impulses of a laden spirit, is the safest as Avell as the
most beautiful means of securing obedience.
So far, however, there will not be much objection to the
doctrine :, it will be admitted that absolution is true in the
lips of Christ, because of His Divinity. * It will be said He
was God, and God speaking on earth is the same thing as
God speaking in heaven. No, my brethren, it is not the
same thing, Christ forgiving on earth is a new truth added
to that of God's forgiving in heaven. It is not the samp

Absolution. 483
truth. The one is forgiveness by Deity; the other is the
declaration of forgiveness by humanity. He bade the pal
sied man walk, that they might know that " the Son of Man
hath power on earth to forgive sins." Therefore we proceed
a step farther. The same power He delegated to His Church
which He had exercised flimself. " Whosesoever sins ye re
mit, they are remitted." Now perhaps it will be replied to
this, that that promise belongs to the apostles ; that they
were supernaturally gifted to distinguish genuine from
feigned repentance ; to absolve, therefore, was their natural
prerogative, but that we have no right to say it extends be
yond the apostles.
We therefore bring the question to a point by referring to
an instance in which an apostle did absolve. Let us ex
amine whether St. Paul confined the prerogative to himself.
"To whom ye forgive any thing, I forgive also: for to
whom I forgave any thing for your sakes, forgave I it in the
person of Ghrist.'?
Observe uoav : it is quite true here that the apostle ab
solved a man whose excommunication he had formerly re
quired : but he absolved him because the congregation ab
solved him ; not as a plenipotentiary supernaturally gifted
to convey a mysterious benefit, but as himself an organ and
representative of the Church. The power of absolution
therefore belonged to the Church, and to the apostle through
the Church. It was a power belonging to all Christians: to
the apostle, because he was a Christian, not because he was
an apostle. A priestly power, no doubt, because Christ has
made all Christians kings and priests.
Now let us turn again, with this added light, to examine
the meaning of that expression, "The Son of Man hath poAV-
er on earth to forgive sins." Mark that form of words— not
Christ as God, but Christ as Son of Man. It was manifestly
said by 'Him, not solely as Divine, but rather as human, as
the Son of Man ; that is, as man. For Ave may take it as a
rule : when Christ calls himself Son of Man, He is asserting
His humanity. It was said by the High-Priest of humanity
in the name of the race. It Avas said on the principle that
human nature is the reflection' of God's nature : that human
love is the image of God's love ; and that human forgiveness
is the type and/assurance of Divine forgiveness.
In Christ' humanity was the perfect type of Deity, and
therefore Christ's absolution was always the exact measure
and counterpart of God's forgiveness. Herein lies the deep
truth ofthe doctrine of His eternal priesthood — the Eternal
Son — the humanity of the being of God — the ever-human

484 Absolution.
mind of God. The Absolver ever lives. The Father judgeth
no man, but hath committed all judgment to the Son — hath
given Aim authority to execute judgment also because He
is the Son of Man.
But further than this. In a subordinate, because less per
fect degree, the forgiveness of a man as man carries with it
an absolving power. Who has not felt the load taken from
his mind when the hidden guilt over which he had brooded
long has been acknowledged, and met by forgiving human
sympathy, especially at a time when he expected to be treat
ed with coldness and reproof? Who has not felt how such
a moment was to him the dawn of a better hope, and how
the merciful judgment of some wise and good human being
seemed to be the type and the assurance of God's pardon,
making it credible. Unconsciously, it may be, but still in
substance really, I believe some such reasoning as this goes
on in the whispers ofthe heart — "He loves me, and has com
passion on me — will not God forgive ? He, this man, made
m God's image, does not think my case hopeless. Well,
then, in the larger love of God it is not hopeless." Thus,
and only thus, can we understand the ecclesiastical act. Ab
solution, the prerogative of our humanity, is represented by
a formal act ofthe Church.
Much controversy and angry bitterness has been spent on
the absolution put by the Church of England into the lips
of her ministers — I can not think Avith justice — if Ave try to
get at the root of these Avords of Christ. The priest pro
claims forgiveness authoritatively as the organ of the con
gregation — aS the voice of the Church, in the name of man
and God. For human nature represents God. The Church
represents what human nature is and ought to be. The min
ister represents the Church. He speaks therefore in the
name of our Godlike human nature. He declares a Divine
fact ; he does not createit. There is no magic in his absolu
tion : he can no more forgive Avhom God has not forgiven,
by the formula of absolution, or reverse the pardon of him
whom God has absolved by a formula of excommunication,
than he can transfer a demon into an angel by the formula
of baptism. He declares what every one has a right to de
clare, and ought to declare by his lips and by his conduct :
but being a minister, he declares it authoritatively in the
name of every Christian who by his Christianity is a priest
to God ; he specializes what is universal ; as in baptism, he
seals the universal Sonship on the individual by name, say
ing, " The Sonship Avith which Christ has redeemed all men,
I hereby proclaim for this child ;" so by absolution he spe-

Absolution. 485
cializes the universal fact of the love of God to those who
are listening then and there, saying, " The love of God the
Absolver I authoritatively proclaim to be yours."
In the service for the visitation of the sick, the Church of
England puts into the lips of her ministers words quite un
conditional: "I absolve thee from all thy sins." You knoAV
that passage is constantly objected to as Romish and super
stitious. ' 1 would not give up that precious passage. I love
the Church of England, because she has dared to claim her
inheritance — because she has courage to assert herself as
Avhat she ought to be — God's representative on earth. She
says to her minister, Stand there before a darkened spirit, on
whom the shadows of death have begun to fall : in human
flesh and blood representing the Invisible — with words of
human love making credible the love eternal. Say boldly, I
am here to declare not a perhaps, but a fact. I forgive thee
in the name of humanity. And so far as humanity represents
Deity, that forgiveness is a type of God's. She does not put
into her ministers' lips words of incantation. He can not
bless whom God has not blessed — he can not curse whom
God has not cursed. If the Son of Absolution be there, his
absolution will rest. If you have ever tried the slow and
apparently hopeless task of ministering to a heart diseased,
and binding up the. wound that will bleed afresh, to which no
assurances can give comfort, because they are not authorita
tive, it must have crossed your mind that such a power as
that which the Church of England claims, if it were believed,
is exactly the remedy you want. You must have felt that
even the formula of the Church of Rome Avould be a blessed
power to exercise, could it but once be accepted as a pledge
that all the past was obliterated, and that from that moment
a free untainted future lay before the soul — you must have
felt that ; you must have wished you had dared to say it.
My Avhole spirit has absolved my erring brother. Is God
less merciful than I ? Can I — dare I — say or think it condi
tionally ? Dare I say, I hope ? May I not, must I not, say,
¦I know God has forgiven you ?
Every man whose heart has truly bled over another's sin,
and watched another's remorse with pangs as sharp as if the
crime had been his own, has said it. Every parent has said
it who ever received back a repentant daughter, and opened
out for her a new hope for life. Every mother has said it
who ever, by her hope against hope for some profligate, pro
tested for a love deeper and wider than that of society.
Every man has said it who forgave a deep Avrong. See, then,
why and how the Church absolves. She only exercises that

486 Absolution.
power which belongs to every son of man. If society were
Christian — if society, by its forgiveness and its exclusion,
truly represented the mind of God — there would be no ne
cessity for a Church to speak; but the absolution of society
and the world does not represent by any means God's for
giveness. Society absolves those whom God has not ab
solved—the proud, the selfish, the strong, the seducer ; so
ciety refuses return and acceptance to the seduced, the frail,
and the sad penitent whom God has accepted; therefore it
is necessary that a selected body, through its appointed or
gans, should do in the name of man what man, as such, does
not. The Church is the ideal of humanity. It represents
what God intended man to be — what man is in God's sight
as beheld in Christ by Him ; and the minister of the Church
speaks as the representative of that ideal humanity. Church
absolution is an eternal protest, in the name of God the Ab
solver, against the false judgments of society.
One thing more : beware of making this a dead formula.
If absolution be not a living truth it becomes a monstrous
falsehood ; if you take absolution as a mystical gift conveyed
to an individual man called a priest, and mysteriously, effica
cious in his lips, and his alone, you petrify a truth into death
and unreality. I have been striving to show that absolution
is not a Church figment, invented by priestcraft, but a living,
blessed, human power. It is a power delegated to you and
to me, and just so far as we exercise it lovingly and wisely,
in our lives, and with our lips, we help men away from sin :
just so far a%we do not exercise it, or exercise it falsely, we
drive men to Rome. For if the heart can not have a truth
it will take a counterfeit of truth. By every magnanimous
act, "by every free forgiveness with which a pure man for
gives, or pleads for mercy, or assures the penitent, he pro
claims this truth, that " the Son of Man hath power on earth
to forgive sins "rr— he exhibits the priestly power of humanity
-~-he does absolve ; let theology say what it will of absolu
tion, he gives peace to the conscience — he is a type arid as
surance of what God is — he breaks the chains and lets the
captive go free.

The Illusiveness of Life. 487

VI.
THE ILLUSIVENESS OF LIFE.
"By faith Abraham, when he was called to go out into a place which he
should after receive for an inheritance, obeyed ; and he went out, not know
ing whither he went. By faith he sojourned- in the land of promise, as in a
strange' country, dwelling in tabernacles with Isaac and Jacob, the heirs with
him of the same promise : for he looked for a city which hath foundations,
whose builder-and maker is God." — Heb. xi. 8-10.
Last Sunday we touched upon a thought Avhich deserves
further development. God promised Canaan to Abraham,
and yet Abraham never inherited Canaan : to the last he was
a wanderer there ; he had no possession of his OAvn in its ter
ritory ; if he wanted even a tomb to bury his dead, he could
only obtain it by purchase. This difficulty is expressly ad
mitted in the text, " In the land of promise he sojourned as
in a strange country ;" he dwelt there in tents — in changeful,
movable tabernacles — not permanent habitations ; he had no
home there.
It is stated in all its startling force, in terms still more ex
plicit, in the 7th chapter of the Acts, 5fh verse, "And He
gave him none inheritance in it, no, not so much as to set his
foot on : yet He promised that He would give it to him for a
possession, and to his seed after him, when as yet he had no
child." Now the surprising point is that Abraham, deceived, as
you might almost say, did not complain of it as a deception ;
he was even grateful for the non-fulfillment of the promise :
he does not seem to have expected its fulfillment ; he did not
look for Canaan, but for " a city which had foundations ;" his
faith appears to have consisted in disbelieving the letter, al
most as much as in believing the spirit of the promise.
And herein lies a principle, which, rightly expounded, can
help us to interpret this life of ours. God's promises never
are fulfilled in the sense in which they seem to have been
given. Life is a deception ; its anticipations, which are God's
promises to the imagination, are never realized; they who
know life best, and have trusted God most to fill it with
blessings, are ever the first to say that life is a series of dis
appointments. And in the spirit of this text we have to say
that it is a wise and merciful arrangement which ordains it
thus.

488 The Illusiveness of Life.
The wise and holy do not expect to find it otherwise —
would not wish it otherwise ; their wisdom consists in disbe
lieving its promises. To develop this idea would be a glori
ous task ; for to justify God's ways to man, to expound the
mysteriousness of our present being, to interpret God — is not
this the very essence of the ministerial office ? All that I
can hope, however, to-day, is not to exhaust the subject but
to furnish hints for thought. Over-statements may be made,
illustrations may be inadequate, the new ground of an almost
untrodden subject may be torn up too rudely; but remem
ber, we are here to live and die ; in a few years it wiU'be all
over ; meanwhifej what we have to do is to try to under
stand, and to help one another to understand, what it all
means — what this strange and contradictory thing, Avhich
Ave call life, contains within it. Do not stop to ask, there
fore, Avhether the subject was satisfactorily worked out ; let
each man be satisfied to have received a germ of thought
Avhich he may develop better for himself.
I. The deception of life's promise.
II. The meaning of that deception.
Let it be clearly understood, in the first place, the promise
never was fulfilled. I do not say the fulfillment was delay
ed. I say it never was fulfilled. Abraham had a feAV feet
of earth, obtained by purchase — beyond that nothing ; he
died a stranger and a pilgrim in the land. Isaac had a little.
So small was Jacob's hold upon his country that the last
years of his life were spent in Egypt, and he died a foreigner
in a strange "land. His descendants came into the land of
Canaan, expecting to find it a land flowing with milk and
honey ; they found hard work to do — war and unrest, in
stead of rest and peace.
During one brief period, in the history of Israel, the prom
ise may. seem to have been fulfilled. It was during the later
years of David and the earlier years of Solomon ; but we
have the warrant of Scripture itself for affirming, that even
then the promise was not fulfilled. In the Book of Psalms,
David speaks of a hope of entering into a future rest. The
writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews, quoting this passage,
infers from it that God's promise had not been exhausted
nor fulfilled by the entrance into Canaan ; for he says, " If
Joshua had given them rest, then would he not have spoken
of another day." Again, in this very chapter, after a long
list of Hebrew saints — "These all died in faith, not having
received the promises." To none therefore had the promise
been fulfilled. Accordingly Avriters on prophecy, in order to

The Illusiveness of Life. 489
get over this difficulty, take for granted that there must be
a future fulfillment, because the first was inadequate.
They who believe that the JeAvs will be restored to their
native land, expect it on the express ground that Canaan
has never been actually and permanently theirs. A certain
tract of country — three hundred miles in length, by two
hundred in breadth — must be given, or else they think the
promise has been broken. To quote the expression of one
of the most eloquent of their Avriters, " If there be nothing
yet future for Israel, then the magnificence of the promise
has been lost in the poverty of its accomplishment."
I do not quote this to prove the correctness of the inter
pretation of the prophecy, but as an acknoAvledgment which
may be taken so far as a proof that the promise made to
Abraham has never been accomplished.
And such is life's disappointment. Its promise is, you
shall have a Canaan ; it turns out to be a baseless airy
dream — toil and warfare — nothing that we can call our own ;
not the land of rest by any means. But we will examine
this in particulars. .
1. Our senses deceive us; we begin life with delusion.
Our senses deceive us with respect to distance, shape, and
color. That which afar off seems oval turns out to be circu
lar, modified by the perspective of distance ; that which ap
pears a speck, upon nearer approach becomes a vast body.
To the earlier ages the stars presented the delusion of small
lamps hung in space. The beautiful berry proves to be bit
ter and poisonous : that Avhich apparently moves is really at
rest: that which seems to be stationary is in perpetual mo
tion : the earth moves : the sun is still. All experience is a
correction of life's delusions — a modification, a reversal ofthe
judgment ofthe senses : and all life is a lesson on the false
hood, of appearances.
2. Our natural anticipations deceive us — I say natural in
contradistinction to extravagant expectations. Every hu
man life is a fresh one, bright with hopes that will never be
realized. There may be differences of character in these
hopes ; finer spirits may look on life as the arena of success
ful deeds, the more selfish as a place of personal enjoyment.
With man the turning-point of life may be a profession —
Avith woman, marriage ; the one gilding the future with the
triumphs of intellect, the other with the dreams of affection ;
but in every case, life is not what any of them expects, but
something else. It would almost seem a satire on existence
to compare the youth in the outset of his career, flushed and
sanguine, with the aspect ofthe same being when it is near-
21*

49° The Illusiveness of. Life.
Iy done — worn, sobered, covered, with the dust of life, and
confessing that its days have been few and evil. Where is
the land 'flowing with milk, and honey?
With our affections it is still worse, because they promise
more. Man's affections are but the tabernacles of Canaan —
the tents of a night ; not permanent habitations even for this
life. Where are the charms of character, the. perfection, and
the purity, and the truthfulness, which seemed so resplendent
in our friend ? They were only the shape of our own con
ceptions—our creative shaping intellect projected its own
fantasies on him : and hence we outgrow our early friend
ships ; outgrow the intensity of all : we dwell in tents ; we
never find a home, even in the land of promise. Life is an
unenjoyable Canaan, with nothing real or substantial in it.
3. Our expectations, resting on revelation, deceive us.
The world's history has turned round two points of hope ;
one, the first — the other, the second coming of the Messiah.
The magnificent imagery of Hebrew prophecy had described
the advent of the Conqueror ; He came — " a root out of a
dry ground, with no form or comeliness : and when they saw
Him there was no beauty in Him that they should desire
Him." The victory, predicted in such glowing terms, turned
out to be the victory of submission— the law of our hu
manity, which Avins by gentleness and love. The promise
in the letter was unfulfilled. For ages the world's hope has
been the second advent. The early church expected it in
their own day. " We, which are alive, and remain until the
coming of ounLord."
The SaA'iour Himself had said, " This generation shall
not pass till all things be fulfilled." Yet the Son of Man has
never Come ; or rather, He has been ever coming. Unnum
bered times the judgment-eagles have gathered together
over corruption ripe for condemnation. Times innumerable
the separation has been made between good and bad. The
promise has not been fulfilled, or it has been fulfilled, but
in either case anticipation has been foiled and disappointed.
There are two Avays of considering this aspect of life.
One is the way of sentiment.; the other is the way of faith.
The sentimental way is trite enough. Saint, sage, sophist,
moralist, and preacher, have repeated in every possible
image,.till there is nothing new to say, that life is a bubble,
a dream, a delusion, a phantasm. The other is the way of
faith : the ancient saints felt as keenly as any moralist could
feel the brokenness of its promises ; they confessed that they
Avere strangers and pilgrims here ; they said that they had
here no continuing city ; but they did not mournfully moralize

The Illusiveness of Life. 491
on this; they said it cheerfully, and rejoiced that it was so.
They felt that all was right ; they knew that the promise
itself had a deeper meaning : they looked undauntedly for
" a city which hath foundations."
H The second inquiry, therefore, is the meaning of this
delusiveness. 1. It serves to allure us on. Suppose that a spiritual
promise had been made at first to Israel ; imagine that they
had been informed at the outset that God's rest is inward ;
that the promised land is only found in the Jerusalem which
is above — not material, but immaterial. That rude, gross
people, yearning after the fleshpots of Egypt — willing to go
back into slavery, so as only they might have enough to eat
and drink — would they have quitted Egypt on such terms ?
Would they have begun one single step of that pilgrimage
which was to find its meaning in the discipline of ages ?
We are led through life as Ave are allured upon a journey.
Could a man see his route before him — a flat, straight road,
unbroken by bush, or tree, or eminence, with the sun's heat
burning down upon it, stretched out in dreary monotony —
he could scarcely find energy to begin his task ; but the un
certainty of what may be seen beyond the next turn keeps
expectation alive. The view that may be seen from yonder
summit — the glimpse that may be caught, perhaps, as the
road winds round yonder knoll — hopes like these, not far
distant, beguile the traveller on from iriile to mile, and from
league to league.
In fact, life is an education. The object for which you
educate your son is to give him strength of purpose, self-
command, discipline of mental energies ; but you do not re-
Areal to your son this aim of his education ; you tell him of
his place in his class, of the prizes at the end of the year, of
the honors to be given at college.
These are not the true incentives to knowledge ; such in
centives are not the highest — they are even mean, and par
tially injurious; yet these mean incentives stimulate and
lead on, from day to day and from year to year, by a process
the principle of which the boy himself is not aAvare of. So
does God lead on, through life's unsatisfying and false re-
Avard, ever educating : Canaan first ; then the hope of a Re
deemer ; then the millennial glory.
Now what is remarkable in this is, that the delusion
continued to the last ; they all died in faith, not having re
ceived the promises ; all were hoping up to the \'ery last,
and all died in faith, not in realization ; for thus God has

492 The Illusiveness of Life.
constituted the human heart. It never will be believed that
this world is unreal." God has mercifully so arranged it, that
the idea of delusion is incredible. You may tell the "boy or
girl as you will that life is a disappointment ; yet however
you may persuade them to adopt your tone, and catch the
language of your sentiment, they are both looking forward
to some bright distant hope — the rapture of the next vaca
tion, or the unknown joys ofthe next season — and throwing
into it an energy of expectation which only a whole eternity
is worth. You may tell the man who has received the heart-
shock from which in this world he will not recover, that life
has nothing left ; yet the stubborn heart still hopes on, ever
pear the prize — "wealthiest when most undone:" he has
reaped the whirlwind, but he will go on still, till life is over,
sowing the wind.
Now observe the beautiful result which comes from this
indestructible power of believing in spite of failure. In the
first centuries, the early Christians believed that the millen
nial advent was close ; they heard the warning of the apos
tle, brief and sharp, " The time is short." Now suppose
that, instead of this, they had seen all the dreary page of
Church history unrolled ; suppose that they had known that
after two thousand years the world would have scarcely
spelled out three letters of the meaning of Christianity,
where would have been those gigantic efforts, that life spent
as on the very brink of eternity, which characterize the days
of the early Church, and which was, after all, only the true
life of man in time ? It is thus that God has led on His
world. He has conducted it as a father leads his child, when
the path homeward lies over many a dreary league. He
suffers him to beguile the thought of time, by turning aside
to pluck noAV and then a flower, to chase now a butterfly ;
the butterfly is crushed, the flower fades, but the child is
so much nearer home, invigorated and full of health, and
scarcely wearied yet. ,
2. This non-fulfillment of promise fulfills it in a deeper
way. The account we have given already, were it to end
there, would be insufficient to excuse the failure of life's
promise ; by saying that it allures us would be really to
charge God with deception. Now life is not deception,
but illusion. We distinguish between illusion and delusion.
We may paint wood so as to be taken for stone, iron, or
marble ; this is delusion : but you may paint a picture, in
which rocks, trees, and sky are never mistaken for Avhat
they seem, yet produce all the emotion Avhich real rocks,
trees, and sky would produce. This is illusion, and this

The Illusiveness of Life. 493
is the painter's art : never for one moment to deceive by at
tempted imitation, but to produce a mental state in which the
feelings are suggested which the natural objects themselves
would create. Let us take an instance drawn from life.
To a child a rainbow is a real thing — substantial and pal
pable ; its limb rests on the side of yonder hill ; he believes
that he can appropriate it to himself; and Avhen, instead of
gems and gold hid in its radiant bow, he finds nothing but
damp mist, cold, dreary drops of disappointment — that dis
appointment tells that his belief has been delusion.
To the educated man that bow is a blessed illusion, yet it
never once deceives ; he does not take it for what it is not ;
he does not expect to make it his own ; he feels its beauty
as much as the child could feel it, nay infinitely more — more
even from the fact that he knows that it will be transient ;
but besides and beyond this, to him it presents a deeper
loveliness ; he knows the laws of light, and the laws of the
human soul Avhich gave it being. He has linked it with the
laws of the universe, and with the invisible mind of God ;
and it brings to him a thrill of awe, and the sense of a mys
terious, nameless beauty, of which the child did not con
ceive. It is illusion still ; but it has fulfilled the promise.
In the realm of spirit, in the temple of the soul, it is the
same. All is illusion ; " but we look for a city Avhich hath
foundations ;" and in this the promise is fulfilled.
And such Avas Canaan to the Israelites. To some, doubt
less, it was delusion. They expected to find their reward in
a land of milk and honey. They were bitterly disappointed,
and expressed their disappointment loudly enough in their
murmurs against Moses, and their rebellion against his suc
cessors. But to others, as to Abraham, Canaan was the
bright illusion which never deceived, but forever shone be
fore as the type of something more real. And even taking
the promise literally, though they built in tents, and could
not call a foot of land their own, was not its beauty theirs ?
Were not its trellised vines, and glorious pastures, and rich
olive-fields, ministers to the enjoyment of those who had all
in God-, though its milk, and oil, and honey, could not be en
joyed with exclusiveness of appropriation ? Yet over and
above and beyond this, there was a more blessed fulfillment
of the promise ; there was " a city which had foundations "
— built and made by God — towards which the anticipation
of this Canaan was leading them. The kingdom of God Was
forming in their souls, forever disappointing them by the un
real, and teaching them that what is spiritual, and belongs
to mind and character, alone can be eternal.

494 The Illusiveness of Life.
We will illustrate this principle from the common walks
of life. The principle is, that the reward we get is not the
reward for which we worked, but a deeper one ; deeper and
more permanent. The merchant labors all his life, arid the
hope which leads him on is perhaps wealth : well, at sixty
years of age he attains wealth; is that the reward of sixty
years of toil ? Ten years of enjoyment, when the senses can
enjoy no longer — a country-seat, splendid plate, a noble es
tablishment ? Oh, no ! a reward deeper than he dreamed
of — habits of perseverance : a character trained by indus
try: that is his reward. He was carried on from year to
year by, if he were wise, illusion ; if he were unwise, delu
sion ; but he reaped a more enduring substance in himself.
Take another instance : the public man, warrior, or states
man, who has served his country, and complains at last, in
bitter disappointment, that his country has not fulfilled his
expectations in rewarding him — that is, it has not given him
titles, honors, wealth. But titles, honors, wealth — are these
the rewards of well-doing? can they reward it ? would it be
well-doing if they could ? To be such a man, to have the
power of doing such deeds, what could be added to that re-
Avard by having? This same apparent contradiction, which
was found in Judaism, subsists too in Christianity ; we will
state it in the words of an apostle : " Godliness is profitable
for all things ; having the promise of the life that now is, as
Avell as of that which is to come." Now for the fulfillment :
" If in this life only we have hope in Christ, then are we of
all men most miserable."
Godliness is profitable ; but its profit, it appears, consists in
finding that all is loss : yet in this way you teach your son.
You will tell him that if he will be good all men will love
him. You say that " Honesty is the best, policy," yet in
your heart of hearts you know that you are leading him on
by a delusion. Christ was good. Was he loved by all ? In
proportion as he, your son, is like Christ, he will be loved,
not by the many, but by the few. Honesty is not the best
policy; the commonplace honesty of the market-place may
be — the vulgar honesty which goes no farther than paying
debts accurately ; but that transparent Christian honesty of
a life which in every act is bearing witness to the truth, that
is not the way to get on in life — the reward of such a life is
the cross. Yet you were right in teaching your son this :
you told him what was true ; truer than he could compre
hend. It is better to be honest and good ; better than
he can know or dream : better even in this life ; better by so
much as being good is better than having good. But, in a

The Sacrifice of Christ. 495
rude coarse way, you must express the blessedness on a level
with his capacity ; you must state the truth in a way
Avhich he will inevitably interpret falsely. The true inter
pretation nothing but experience can teach.
And this is what God does. His promises are true, though
illusive; far truer than Ave at first take them to be. We
work for a mean, Ioav, sensual happiness, all the while He is
leading us on to a spiritual blessedness, unfathomably deep.
This is the life of faith. We live by faith, and not by sight.
We do not preach that all is disappointment— the dreary
creed of sentimentalism ; but we preach that nothing here is
disappointment, if rightly understood. We do not comfort
the poor man, by saying that the riches that he has not now
he will have hereafter — the difference between himself and
the man of wealth being only this, that the one has for time
what the other will have for eternity ; but what we say is,
that that Avhich you have failed in reaping here you never
will reap, if you expected the harvest of Canaan. God has
no Canaan for His own ; no milk and honey for the luxury
ofthe senses: for the city which hath foundations is built in
the soul of man. He in whom Godlike character dwells has
all the universe for his own — "All things," saith. the apostle,
" are yours ; whether life or death, or things present, or
things to come ; if ye be Christ's, then are ye Abraham's
seed, and heirs according to the promise."

VII.
THE SACRIFICE OF CHRIST.
" For the love of Christ constraineth us : because we thus judge, that if
one died for all, then were all dead : and that he died for all, that they which
live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him which died for
them, and rose again." — 2 Cor. v. 14, 15.
It may be, that in reading these verses some of us have
understood them in a sense foreign to that of the apostle.
It may have seemed that the arguments ran thus — Because
Christ died upon the cross for all, therefore all must have
been in a state of spiritual death before ; and if they were
asked what doctrines are to be elicited from this passage
they would reply, " the doctrine of universal depravity, and
the constraining power of the gratitude due to Him who
died to redeem us from it." There is, however, in the first
place, this fatal objection to such an interpretation, that the

496 The Sacrifice of Christ.
death here spoken of is used in two diametrically opposite
senses. In reference to Christ, death literal — in reference to
all, death spiritual. Noav, in the thought of St. Paul, the
death of Christ was always viewed as liberation from the
power of evil : " in that He died, He died unto sin once," and
again, " he that is dead is free from sin." The literal death,
then, in one clause, means freedom from sin ; the spiritual
death of the next is slavery to it. Wherein, then, lies the co
gency ofthe apostle's reasoning? How does it follow that
because Christ died to evil, all before that must have died to
God? Of course that doctrine is true in itself, but it is not
the doctrine of the text.
' In the next place, the ambiguity belongs only to the Eng
lish word — it is impossible to make the mistake in the orig
inal: the word which stands for were, is a word which does
not imply a continued state, but must imply a single finish
ed act. It can not by any possibility imply that before the
death of Christ men were in a state of death — it can only
mean, they became dead at the moment when Christ died.
If you read it thus, the meaning of the English will emerge
— " if one died for all, then all died ;" and the apostle's ar
gument runs thus, that if one acts as the representative of
all, then his act is the act of all. If the ambassador of a na
tion makes reparation in a nation's name, or does homage for
a nation, that reparation, or that homage, is the nation's act
— if one did it for all, then all did it. So that instead of in
ferring that because Christ died for all, therefore before that
all Ave re dead to God, his natural inference is that therefore
all are noAV de"ad to sin.
Once more, the conclusion of the apostle is exactly the re-
A'erse of that which this interpretation attributes to him : he
does not say. that Christ died in order that men might not
die, but exactly for this very purpose, that they might die ;
and this death he represents in the next verse by an equiva
lent expression — the life of unselfishness : " that they which
live might henceforth live not unto themselves." The
" dead " of the first verse are " they that live " of the sec
ond. The form of thought finds its exact parallel in Romans vi.
10, 11. Two points claim our attention :
I. The vicarious sacrifice of Christ.
II. The influence of that sacrifice on man.
I. The vicariousness ofthe sacrifice is implied in the word
" for." A vicarious act is an act done for another. When
the Pope calls himself the vicar of Christ, he implies that he

The Sacrifice of Christ. 497
acts for Christ. The vicar or viceroy of a kingdom is one
Avho acts for the king— a vicar's act, therefore, is virtually
the act of the principal Avhom he represents ; so that if the
Papal doctrine Avere true, Avhen the vicar of Christ pardons,
Christ has pardoned. When the viceroy of a kingdom has
published a proclamation or signed a treaty, the sovereign
himself is bound by those acts.
The truth of the expression for all, is contained in this
fact, that Christ is the representative of humanity — properly
speaking, the representative of human nature. This is the
triith contained in the emphatic expression, " Son of Man."
What Christ did for humanity was clone by humanity, be
cause in the name of humanity. For a truly vicarious act
does not supersede the principal's duty of performance, but
rather implies and acknowledges it. Take the case from
which this very word of vicar has received its origin. In
the old monastic times, when the revenues of a cathedral or
a cure fell to the lot of a monastery, it became the duty of
that monastery to perform the religious services of the cure.
But inasmuch as the monastery was a corporate body, they
appointed one of their number, whom they denominated their
vicar, to discharge those offices for them. His service did
not supersede theirs, but was a perpetual and standing ac
knowledgment that they, as a whole and individually, were
under the obligation to perform it. The act of Christ is the
act of humanity — that which all humanity is bound to do.
His righteousness does not "supersede our righteousness, nor
does His sacrifice supersede our sacrifice. It is the repre
sentation of human life and human sacrifice — vicarious for
all, yet binding upon all.
That He died for all is true —
1. Because He was the victim ofthe sin of all. In the pe
culiar phraseology of St. Paul, He died unto sin. He was
the victim of sin — He died by sin. It is the appalling mys
tery of our redemption that the Redeemer took the attitude
of subjection to evil. There Avas scarcely a form of evil with
which Christ did not come in contact, and by which He did
not suffer. He was the victim of false friendship and in
gratitude, the victim of bad government and injustice. He
fell a sacrifice to the vices of all classes — to the selfishness of
the rich and the fickleness of the poor : intolerance, formal
ism, skepticism, hatred of goodness, were the foes which
crushed Him.
In the proper sense of the Avord He was a victim. He did
not adroitly wind through the dangerous forms of evil, meet
ing it with expedient silence. Face to face, and front to

498 The Sacrifice of Christ.
front,' He met it, rebuked it, and defied it ; and just as truly
as he is a voluntary victim whose body, opposing the prog
ress of the car of Juggernaut, is crushed beneath its mon
strous wheels, was He a victim to the world's sin : because
pure, He was crushed by impurity; because just and real
and true, He waked up the rage of injustice, hypocrisy and
falsehood. Now this sin was the sin of all. Here arises at once a dif
ficulty : it seems to be most unnatural to assert that in any
one sense He was the sacrifice of the sin of all. We did not
betray Him— that, was Judas's act — Peter denied Him —
Thomas doubted— Pilate pronounced sentence^it must be a
figment to say that these were our acts ; we did not watch
Him like the Pharisees, nor circumvent Him like the Scribes
and lawyers ; by what, possible sophistry can we be involved
in the complicity of that guilt ? The savage of New Zealand
who never heard of Him, the learned Egyptian, and the vo
luptuous Assyrian who died before He came ; how was it the
sin of all ?
The reply that is often given to this query is wonderfully
unreal. It is assumed that Christ was conscious, by His
omniscience, of the sins of all mankind ; that the duplicity
of the child, and the crime of the assassin, and every unholy
thought that has ever passed through a human bosom, were
present to His mind in that awful hour as if they wereHis
own. This is utterly unscriptural. Where is the single text
from which it can be, except by force, extracted ? Besides
this, it is fanciful and sentimental ; and again it is dangerous,
for it represents the whole Atonement as a fictitious and
shadowy transaction. There is a mental state in which men
have felt the burden of sins which they did not commit.
There have been cases in which men have been mysteriously
excruciated with the thought of having committed the un
pardonable sin. But to represent the mental phenomena of
the Redeemer's mind as in any way resembling this — to say
that His conscience was oppressed with the responsibility of
sins which He had not committed— is to confound a state of
sanity with the delusions of a half lucid mind, and the work
ings of a healthy conscience with those of one unnatural and
morbid. There is a way, however; much more appalling and much
more true, in which this may be true, without resorting to
any such fanciful hypothesis. Sin has a great power in this
world: it gives laws like those of a sovereign, which bind us
all, and to which we are all submissive. There are current
maxims in Church and State, in society, in trade, in law, to

The Sacrifice of Christ. 499
which we yield obedience. For this obedience every one is
responsible ; for instance, in trade, and in the profession of
law, every one is the servant of practices the rectitude of
which his heart can only half approve — every one complains
of them, yet all are involved in them. Now, when such sins
reach their climax, as in the case of national bankruptcy oi
an unjust acquittal, there may be some who are in a special
sense the actors in the guilt ; but evidently, for the bank
ruptcy, each member ofthe community is responsible in that
degree and so far as he himself acquiesced in the duplicities
of public dealing ; every careless juror, every unrighteous
judge, every false witness, has done his part in the reduction
of society to that state in Avhich the monster injustice has
been perpetrated. In the riot of a tumultuous assembly by
night, a house may be burnt, or a murder committed ; in the
eye of the law, all who are aiding and abetting there are
each in his degree responsible for that crime ; there may be
difference in guilt, from the degree in which he is guilty
who with his own hand perpetrated the deed, to that of him
Avho merely joined the rabble from mischievous curiosity —
degrees from that of willful murder to that of more or less
excusable homicide.
The Pharisees were declared by the Saviour to be guilty
of the blood of Zacharias, the blood of righteous Abel, and
of all the saints and prophets who fell before He came. But
how were the Pharisees guilty ? They built the sepulchres
of the prophets, they honored and admired them ; but they
were guilty, in that they were the children of those that slew
the prophets ; children in this sense, that they inherited
their spirit, they opposed the good in the form in which it
showed itself in their day, just as their fathers opposed the
form displayed to theirs ; therefore He said that they belong
ed to the same confederacy of evil, and that the guilt of the
blood of all who had been slain should 'rest on that genera
tion. Similarly we are guilty of the death of Christ. If
you have been a false friend, a skeptic, a cowardly disciple,
a formalist, selfish, an opposer of goodness, an oppressor,
Avhatever evil you- have done, in that degree and so far you
participate in the evil to which the Just One fell a victim —
you are one of that mighty rabble which cry, " Crucify Him !
Crucify Him !" for your sin He died ; His blood lies at your
threshold. Again, He died for all, in that His sacrifice represents
the sacrifice of all. We have heard of the doctrine of '-im
puted righteousness ;" it is a theological expression to which
meanings foolish enough are sometimes attributed, but it

500 The Sacrifice of Christ.
contains a very deep truth, which it shall be our endeavor
to elicit.
Christ is the realized idea of our humanity. He is God's
idea of man completed. There is every difference between
the ideal and the actual — between what a man aims to be
and what he is ; a difference betAveen the race as it is, and
the race as it existed in God's creative idea when He pro
nounced it very good.
In Christ, therefore, God beholds humanity ; in Christ
He sees perfected every one in whom Christ's spirit exists
in germ. He to whom the possible is actual, to whom what
will be already is, sees all things present, gazes on the imper
fect, and sees it in its perfection. Let me venture an illus
tration. He who has never seen the vegetable world'except
in Arctic regions, has but a poor idea of the majesty of
vegetable life — a microscopic red moss tinting the surface
of the snow, a few stunted pines, and here and there per
haps a dwindled oak ; but to the botanist who has seen the
luxuriance of vegetation in its tropical magnificence, all that
Avretched scene presents another aspect ; to him those dwarfs
are the representatives of what might be, nay, what has been
in a kindlier soil and a more genial climate ; he fills up by
his conception the miserable actuality presented by these
shrubs, and attributes to them — imputes, that is, to them
— the majesty of which the undeveloped germ exists already.
Now the difference between those trees seen in them
selves, and seen in the conception of their nature's perfect-
ness which has been previously realized, is the difference
between man<>seen in himself and seen in Christ. We are
feeble, dwarfish, stunted specimens of humanity. Our best
resolves are but withered branches, our holiest deeds unripe
and blighted fruit; but to the. Infinite Eye, who sees in the
perfect One the type and assurance of that which shall be,
this dwindled humanity of ours is divine and glorious.
Such are we in the sight of God the Father as is the 'very
Son of God Himself This is what theologians, at least the
wisest of them, meant by " imputed righteousness." I do
not mean that all who have written or spoken on the subject
had this conception of it, but I believe they who thought
truly meant this ; they did not suppose that in imputing
righteousness there was a kind of figment, a self-deception
in the mind of God ; they did not mean that by an act of
Avill He chose to consider that every act which Christ did
was done by us ; that He imputed or reckoned to us the
baptism in Jordan and the victory in the wilderness, and
the agony in the garden, or that He believed, or acted as if

The Sacrifice of Christ. 501
He believed, that when Christ died, each one of us died :
but He saw Humanity submitted to the law of self-sacrifice ;
in the light of that idea He beholds us as perfect, and is
satisfied. , In this sense the apostle speaks of those that are
imperfect, yet " by one offering He hath perfected forever
them that are sanctified." It is true, again, that He died for
us, in that we present His sacrifice as ours. The value of
the death of Christ consisted in the surrender of self-will.
In the fortieth Psalm, the value of every other kind of sacri
fice being first denied, the Avords follow, " Then said I, Lo, I
come to do thy will, O God." The profound idea contained,
therefore, in the death of Christ is the duty of self-surrender.
But in us that surrender scarcely deserves the name ;
even to use the word self-sacrifice covers us Avith a kind of
shame. Then it is that there is an almost boundless joy in
acquiescing in the life and death of Christ, recognizing it as
ours, and representing it to ourselves and God as what we
aim at. If we can not understand how in this sense it can
be a sacrifice for us, we may partly realize it by remembering
the joy of feeling hoAV art and nature realize for us what we
can not realize for ourselves. It is recorded of one of the
Avorld's gifted painters that he stood before the masterpiece
ofthe great genius of his age — one which he could never
hope to equal, nor even rival — and yet the infinite superi
ority, so far from crushing him, only elevated his feeling,
for he saw realized those conceptions Avhich had floated
before him, dim and unsubstantial; in every line and touch
he felt a spirit immeasurably superior yet kindred, and he is
reported to have exclaimed, Avith dignified humility, "Aud I
too am a painter !"
We must all have felt, when certain effects in nature,
combinations of form and color, have been presented to
us, our own idea speaking in intelligible and yet celestial
language ; when, for instance, the long bars of purple, " edged
Avith intolerable radiance," seemed to float in a sea of pale
pure green, when the whole sky seemed to reel with thunder,
Avhen the night-wind moaned. It is wonderful how the most
commonplace men and women — beings who, as you would
have thought, had no conception that rose beyond a com
mercial speculation or a fashionable entertainment — are ele
vated by such scenes ; how the slumbering grandeur of
their nature wakes and acknowledges kindred with the sky
and storm. " I can not speak," they would say, " the feelings
which are in me ; I have had emotions, aspirations, thoughts ;
I can not put them into words. Look there ! listen now to
the storm ! That is Avhat I meant, only I never could say

502 The Sacrifice of Christ.
it out till now." Thus do art and nature speak for us, and
thus do we adopt them as our own. This is the way in which
His righteousness becomes righteousness for us. This is the
way in which the heart presents to God the sacrifice of Christ ;
gazing on that perfect Life we, as it were, say, " There., that
is my religion — that is my righteousness — what I want to be,
which I am not — that is my offering, my life as I would wish
to give it, freely and not checked, entire and perfect." So
the old prophets, their hearts big with unutterable thoughts,
searched " what or what manner of time the spirit of Christ
which was in them did signify, when it testified beforehand
of the sufferings of Christ, and of the glory which should
follow ;" and so with us, until it passes into prayer : " My
Saviour, fill up the blurred and blotted sketch which my
clumsy hand has drawn of a divine life, with the fullness of
Thy perfect picture. I feel the beauty which I can not
realize : — robe me in Thine unutterable purity : —
" Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hicle myself in Thee."
II. The influence of that sacrifice on man is the introduc
tion of the principle of self-sacrifice into his nature — -" then
were all dead." Observe, again, not He died that Ave might
not die, but that in His death we might be dead, and that
in His sacrifice we might become each a sacrifice to God.
Moreover, this death is identical Avith life. They who in the
first sentence are called dead, are in tbe second denominated
" they who live." So in another place, " I am crucified with
Christ, nevertheless I live ;" death, therefore, that is, the sac
rifice of self, is equivalent to life. Now this rests upon a
profound truth. The death of Christ Avas a representation
of the life of God. To me this is the profoundest of all truths,
that the whole of the life of God is the sacrifice of self. God
is love ; love is sacrifice — to give rather than to receive — the
blessedness of self-giving' If the life of God were not such, it
Avould be a falsehood to say that God is love ; for even in our
human nature, that which seeks to enjoy all instead of giving
all is known by a very different name from that of love.
All the life of God is a flow of this divine self-giving charity.
Creation itself is sacrifice — the self-impartation of the Divine
Being. Redemption, too, is sacrifice, else it could not be love ;
for which reason we "will not surrender one iota of the truth
that the death of Christ was the sacrifice of - God — the man
ifestation once in time of that which is' tbe eternal law of His
life. If man, therefore, is to rise into the life of God, he must bo

The Sacrifice of Christ. 503
absorbed into the spirit of that sacrifice — he must die with
Christ if he would enter into his proper life. For sin is the
withdrawing into self and egotism, out of the vivifying life
of God, which alone is our true life. The moment the man
sins he dies. Know we not hoAV awfully true that sentence is,
" Sin revived, and I died ?" The vivid life of sin is the death
of the man. Have we never felt that our true existence has
absolutely in that moment disappeared, and that we are not ?
I say, therefore, that real human life is a perpetual comple
tion and repetition of the sacrifice of Christ — " all are dead;"
the explanation of which follows, " to live not to themselves,
but to Him who died for them and rose again." This is the
truth which lies at the bottom ofthe Romish doctrine ofthe
mass. Rome asserts that in the mass a true and proper sac
rifice is offered up for the sins of all — that the offering of
Christ is forever repeated. To this Protestantism has ob
jected vehemently, that there is but one offering once of
fered — an objection in itself entirely true ; yet the Romish
doctrine contains a truth' which it is of importance to disen
gage from the gross and material form with which it has been
overlaid. Let us hear St. Paul: "I fill up that, which is be
hindhand ofthe sufferings of Christ, in my flesh for his body's
sake, which is the Church." Was there then something be
hindhand of Christ's sufferings remaining uncompleted, of
which the sufferings of Paul could be in any sense the com
plement ? He says there was. Could the sufferings of Paul
for the Church in any form of correct expression be said to
eke out the sufferings that were complete ? In one sense it
is true to say that there is one offering once offered for all.
But it is equally true to say that that one offering is value
less, except. so far as it is completed and repeated in the life
and self-offering of all. This is the Christian's sacrifice. Not
mechanically completed in the miserable materialism of the
mass, but spiritually in the life of all in whom the Crucified
lives. The sacrifice of Christ is done over again in every life
which is lived, not to self but to God.
Let one concluding observation be made — self-denial, self-
sacrifice, self-surrender! Hard doctrines, and impossible!
Whereupon, in' silent hours, we skeptically ask, Is this possi
ble ? is it natural ? Let preacher and moralist say what they
will; I am: not here to sacrifice myself for .others. God sent
me here for happiness, not misery. Now introduce one sen
tence of this.text of which we have as yet said nothing, and
the dark doctririe becomes illuminated — " the love of Christ
constraineth us." Self-denial, for the. sake of self-denial, does
no good ; self-sacrifice for its own sake is no religious act at

504 The Power of Sorrow.
all. If you give up a ineal for the sake of shoAving power
over self, or for the sake of self-discipline, it is the most mis
erable of all delusions. You are not more religious in doing
this than before. This is mere self-culture, and self-culture
being occupied forever about self, leaves you only in that
circle of self from which religion is to free you ; but to give
up a meal that one you love may have it is properly a relig
ious act — no hard and dismal duty, because made easy by
affection." To bear pain for the sake of bearing it has in it no
moral quality at all, but to bear it rather than surrender
truth, or in order to save another, is positive enjoyment as
Avell as ennobling to the soul. Did you ever receive even a
Woav meant for another, in order to shield that other ? Do
you not know that there was actual pleasure in the keen pain
far beyond the most rapturous thrill of nerve which could, be
gained from pleasure in the midst of painlessness ? Is not the
mystic yearning of love expressed in words most purely thus,
Let me suffer for him ?
This element of love is that which makes this doctrine an
intelligible and blessed truth. So sacrifice alone, bare and
unrelieved, is ghastly, unnatural, and dead ; but self-sacrifice,
illuminated by love, is warmth and life; it is the death of
Christ, the life of God, the blessedness and only proper life
of man.

VIII.
THE POWER OF SORROW.
*' Now I rejoice, not that ye were made sorry, but that ye sorrowed to
repentance: for ye were made sorry after a godly manner, that ye might
receive damage by us in nothing. "For godly sorrow worketh repentance to
salvation not to be repented of: but the sorrow ofthe world worketh death."
—2 Cor. vii. 9, 10.
That which is chiefly insisted on in this verse is the dis
tinction between sorrow and repentance. To grieve over sin
is one thing, to repent of it is another.
The apostle rejoiced, not that the Corinthians sorrowed,
but that they sorrowed unto repentance. Sorrow has two
results ; it may end in spiritual life, or in spiritual death ; and
in themselves, one of these is as natural as the other. Sorrow
may produce tAvo kinds of reformation — a transient, or a per
manent one — an alteration in habits, which, originating in emo
tion, will last so long as that emotion continues, and then after
a few fruitless efforts be given up — a repentance which will be

The Power of Sorrow. 505
repented of; or again, a permanent change, which will be re
versed by no afterthought — a repentance not to be repented
of. Sorrow is in itself, therefore, a thing neither good nor
bad : its value, depends on the spirit of the person ou whom
it falls. Fire will inflame straw, soften iron, or harden clay ;
its effects are determined by the object with which it comes
in contact Warmth develops the energies of life, or helps
the progress of decay. It is a great power in the hothouse,
a great power also in the coffin : it expands the leaf, matures
the fruit, adds precocious vigor to vegetable life : and warmth
too develops Avith tenfold rapidity the weltering process of
dissolution. So too with soitoav. There are spirits in which
it develops the seminal principle of life ; there are others in
which it prematurely hastens the consummation of irreparable
decay. Our subject therefore is the twofold power of sorrow.
I. The fatal power ofthe sorrow ofthe Avorld.
IL The life-giving power of the soitoav that is after God.
The simplest way in which the soitoav of the world works
death, is seen in the effect of mere regret for worldly loss.
There are certain advantages with which Ave come into the
Avorid. Youth, health, friends, and sometimes property. So
long as these are continued we are happy; and because hap
py, fancy ourselves very grateful to God. We bask in the
sunshine of His gifts, and this pleasant sensation of sunning
ourselves in life we call religion; that state in which we all
are -before sorrow comes, to test- the- temper of the metal of
Avhich our souls are made, when the spirits are unbroken and
the heart buoyant, when a fresh morning is to a young heart
Avhat it is to the skylark. The exuberant burst of joy seems
a spontaneous hymn to the: Father of all blessing, like the
matin carol of the bird ; but this is not religion : it is the in
stinctive utterance of happy feeling, having as little of moral
character in it, in the happy hiiman being, as in the happy
bird. Nay more: the religion which is only sunned into being
by happiness is a suspicious thing — having been warmed by
joy, it will-become cold when joy is over ; and then when
these blessings are removed we count ourselves" hardly treat
ed, as if we had been defrauded of a right ; rebellious hard
feelings Come ; then it is you see people become bitter, spite
ful, discontented. At every step in the solemn path of life
something must be mourned which will come back no more ;
the temper that was so smooth becomes rugged and uneven ;
the benevolence that expanded- upon all narrows into an ever-
dwindling selfishness — we are alone ; and then that doath-
22

506 The Power of Sorrow.
like loneliness deepens as life goes on. The course of man is
downward, and he moves with slow and ever more solitary
steps, down to the dark silence — the silence of the grave.
This is the death of heart; the sorrow of the world has
worked death.
Again, there is a sorroAV of the world, when sin is grieved
for in a worldly spirit. There are two views of sin : in one
it is looked upon as wrong — in the other, as producing loss —
loss, for example, of character. In such cases, if character
could be preserved before the world grief would not come ;
but the paroxysms of misery fall upon our proud spirit when
our guilt is made public. The most distinct instance we
have of this is in the -life of Saul. In the midst of his apparent
grief, the thing still uppermost was that he had forfeited his
kingly character :' almost the only longing was, that Samuel
should honor him before his people. And hence it comes to
pass, that often remorse and anguish only begin with expo
sure. Suicide takes place, not when the act of wrong is done
but when the guilt is known,and hence, too, many a one be
comes hardened who would otherwise have remained tolera
bly happy ; in consequence of which we blame the exposure,
not the guilt ; we say if it had been hushed up all would
have been well ; that the servant who robbed his master was
ruined by taking away his character ; and that if the sin had
been passed over repentance might have taken place, and he
might have remained a respectable member of society. Do
not think so. It is quite true that remorse was produced by
exposure, and that the remorse was fatal ; the sorrow Which
worked death* arose from that exposure, and so far exposure
may be called the cause : had it never taken place, respecta
bility, and comparative peace, might have continued ; but
outward, respectability is not change of heart.
It is well known that the corpse has been preserved for
centuries in the iceberg, or in antiseptic peat;' and that
when atmospheric air Avas introduced to the exposed surface
it crumbled into dust. Exposure worked dissolution, but it
only manifested the death which was already there ; so with
sorrow, it is not the liA'ing heart which drops to pieces or
crumbles into dust, when it is revealed. Exposure did not
work death in the Corinthian sinner, but life.
There is another form of grief for sin, which the apostle
would not have rejoiced, to see; it is Avhen the hot tears
come from pride. No two tones of feeling, apparently simi
lar, are more, unlike than that in which Saul exclaimed, " I
have played the fool exceedingly," and that in which the
publican cried out, " God be merciful to me a sinner." The

The Power of Sorrow. 507
charge of folly brought against one's self only proves that Ave
feel bitterly for having lost our own self-respect. It is a hu
miliation to have forfeited the idea Avhich a man had formed
of his own character — to find that the very excellence on
which he prided himself is the one in which he has failed.
If there were a virtue for which Saul was conspicuous it was
generosity ; yet it was exactly in this point of generosity in
Avhich he discovered himself to have failed, when he was
overtaken on the mountain, and his life spared by the very
man whom he was hunting to the death with feelings of the
meanest jealousy. Yet there was no real repentance there ;
there was none of that in which a man is sick of state and
pomp. Saul could still rejoice in regal splendor, go about
complaining of himself to the Ziphites, as if he was the most
ill-treated and friendless of mankind ; he was still jealous of
his reputation, and anxious to be well thought of. Quite dif
ferent is the tone in which the publican, who felt himself a sin
ner, asked for mercy. He heard the contumelious expression
of the Pharisee, " this publican." With no resentment, he
meekly bore it as a matter naturally to be taken for granted
— "he did not so much as lift up his eyes to heaven;" he
was as a worm which turns in agony, but not revenge, upon
the foot which treads it into the dust.
Now this soitoav of Saul's, too, works death : no merit can
restore self-respect ; when once a man has found himself out
he can not be deceived again. The heart is as a stone: a
speck of canker corrodes and spreads Avithin. What on this
earth remains, but endless sorrow, for him who has ceased
to respect himself, and has no God to turn to ?
II. The divine poAver of soitoav.
1. It Avorks repentance. By repentance is meant, in Scrip
ture, change of life, alteration of habits, reneAval of heart.
This is the aim and meaning of all sorrow. The conse
quences of sin are meant to wean from sin. The penalty an
nexed to it is in the first instance, corrective, not penal. Fire
burns the child, to teach it one of the truths of this universe
— the property of fire to burn. The first time it cuts its
hand with a sharp knife it has gained a lesson which it nev
er will forget. Now, in the case of pain this experience is sel
dom, if ever, in vain. -There is little chance of a child forget
ting that fire will burn, and that sharp steel will cut; but
the moral lessons contained in the penalties annexed to
Avrong-doing are just as truly intended, though they are by
no means so unerring in enforcmg their application. The
fever in the veins and the headache which succeed intoxica-

508 The Power of Sorrow.
tion, are meant to warn against excess. On the first occasion
they are simply corrective ; in every succeeding one they as
sume more and more a penal character in proportion as the
conscience carries with them the sense of ill desert.
Sorrow, then, has done its work when it deters from evil ;
in other words, when it works repentance. In the sorroAv of
the world, the obliquity of the heart towards evil is not
cured ; it seems as if nothing cured it : heartache and trials
come in vain ; the history of life at last is what it Avas at
first. The man is found erring where he erred before. The
same course, begun with the certainty of the same desperate
end which has taken place so often before.
They have reaped the whirlwind, but they will again sow
the wind. Hence I believe that life-giving soitoav is less
remorse for that which is • irreparable, than anxiety to save
that which remains. The sorroAv that ends in death hangs
in funeral Aveeds over the sepulchres of the past Yet the
present does not become more wise. Not one resolution is
made more firm, nor one habit more holy. Grief is all.
Whereas sorrow avails only Avhen the past is converted into
experience, and from failure lessons are learned Avhich never
are to be forgotten.
2. Permanence of alteration ; for after all, a steady refor
mation is a more decisive test of the value of mourning than
depth of grief.
The susceptibility of emotion varies with individuals.
Some men feel intensely, others suffer less keenly ; but this
is constitutional, belonging to nervous temperament rather
than to moral character. This is the characteristic of the
divine sorrow, that it is a repentance "not repented of;" no
transient, short-lived resolutions, but sustained resolve.
And the beautiful haw is, that in proportion as the repent
ance increases the grief diminishes. "I rejoice," says Paul,
that " I made you sorry, though it were but for a time."
Grief for a time, repentance forever. And few things more
signally prove the wisdom of this apostle than his way of
dealing with this grief of the Corinthian. He tried no arti
ficial means of intensifying it — did not urge the duty of
dwelling upon it, magnifying it, nor even of gauging and
examining it. So soon as grief had done its work the apos
tle was anxious to dry useless tears— he even feared lest
haply such an one should be swallowed up with overmuch
soitoav. " A true penitent," says Mr. Newman, " never for
gives himself." Oh false estimate of the Gospel.of Christ and
of the heart of man ! A proud remorse does not forgive it
self the forfeiture of its own dignity ; but it is the very beauty

The Power of Sorrow. 509
of the penitence which is according to God, that at last the
sinner, realizing God's forgiveness, does learn to forgive him
self. For what other purpose did St. Paul command the
Church of Corinth to give ecclesiastical absolution, but in
order to afford a symbol and assurance of the Divine par
don, in which the guilty man's grief should not be over
whelming, but that he should become reconciled to himself?
What is meant by the publican's going down to his house
justified, but that he felt at peace with himself and God ?
3. It is sorrow with God, here called godly sorrow ; in the
margin sorrowing according to God.
God sees sin not in its consequences but in itself; a thing
infinitely evil, even if the consequences were happiness to
the guilty instead of misery. So sorrow according to God
is to see sin as God sees it. The grief of Peter was as bit
ter as that of Judas. He went out and wept bitterly ; how
bitterly none can tell but they who have learned to look on
sin as God does. But in Peter's grief there Avas an element
of hope ; and that sprung precisely from this — that he saw
God in it all. Despair of self did. not lead to despair of
God. This is the great, peculiar feature of this sorrow : God is
there, accordingly self is less prominent. It is not a micro
scopic self-examination, nor a mourning in which self is ever
uppermost : my character gone ; the greatness of my sin ;
. the forfeiture of my salvation. The thought of God absorbs
all that. I believe the feeling of true penitence would ex
press itself in such words as these : — There is a righteous
ness, though I have not attained it. There is a purity, and
a love, and a beauty, though my life exhibits little of it. In
that I can rejoice. Of that I can feel the surpassing loveli
ness. My doings ? They are worthless, I can not endure to
think of them. I am not thinking of them. I have some
thing else to think of. There, there ; in that life I see it.
And, so the Christian — gazing not on what he is, but on
Avhat he desires to be — dares in penitence to say, That right
eousness is mine : dares, even when the recollection of his
sin is most vivid and most poignant, to say with Peter,
thinking less of himself than of God, and sorrowing as it
Avere with God — "Lord, Thou knowest all things, Thou
knoAvest that I love Thee."

5 1 p Sensual and Spiritual Excitement.

IX.
SENSUAL AND SPIRITUAL EXCITEMENT.
"Wherefore be ye not unwise, but understanding what the will of tha
Lord is. And be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess ; but be filled with
the Spirit."— Eph. v. 17, 18.
There is evidently a connection between the different
branches of this sentence — for ideas can not be properly
contrasted which have not some connection — but what that
connection is, is not at first sight clear. It almost appears
like a profane and irreverent juxtaposition to contrast full
ness of the Spirit with fullness of wine. Moreover, the
structure of the whole context is antithetical. Ideas are op
posed to each other in pairs of contraries ; for instance,
" fools " is the exact opposite to " wise ;" " unwise," as op
posed to " understanding," its proper opposite.
And here again, there must be the same true antithesis
between drunkenness and spiritual fullness. The propriety
of this opposition lies in the intensity of feeling produced in
both cases. There is one intensity of feeling produced by
stimulating the senses, another by vivifying the spiritual life
within. The one commences with impulses from without,
the other is guarded by forces from within. Here then is
the similarit"f, and here the dissimilarity, which constitutes
the propriety of the contrast. One is ruin, the other salva
tion. One degrades, the other exalts. This contrast then is
our subject for to-day.
I. The effects are similar. On the day of Pentecost^ when
the first influences of the Spirit descended on the early
Church, the effects resembled intoxication. They were full
ofthe Spirit, and mocking by-standers said, " These men are
full of new wine;" for they found themselves elevated into
the ecstasy of a life higher than their own, possessed of
powers which they could not control; they spoke incohe
rently and irregularly ; to the most part of those assembled,
unintelligibly. Now compare with this the impression produced upon saAT-
age nations — suppose those early ages in which the spectacle
of intoxication was presented for the first time. They saw
a man under the influence of a force different from and in

Sensual and Spiritual Excitement. 511
some respects inferior to, their own. To them the bacchanal
appeared a being half inspired ; his frenzy seemed a thing for
reverence and awe, rather than for horror and disgust ; the
spirit which possessed him must be, they thought, divine ; they
deified it, worshipped it under different names as a god ; even
to a clearer insight the effects are wonderfully similar. It is
almost proverbial among soldiers that the daring produced
by Avine is easily mistaken for the self-devotion of a brave
heart The play of imagination in the brain of the opium-eater is
as free as that of genius itself, and the creations produced in
that state by the pen or pencil are as wildly beautiful as
those owed to the nobler influences. In years gone by, the
oratory of the statesman in the senate has been kindled by
semwritoxication, when his noble utterances were set down
by his auditors to the inspiration of patriotism.
It is this very reseinblance which deceives the drunkard :
he is led on by his feelings as well as by his imagination. It
is not the sensual pleasure of the glutton that fascinates
him; it is those fine thoughts and those quickened sensi
bilities which were excited in that state, which he is power
less to produce out of his own being, or by his own powers,
and which he expects to reproduce by the same means. The
experience of our first parent is repeated in him : at the very
moment when he expects to" find himself as the gods, know
ing good and evil, he discovers that he is unexpectedly de
graded, his health wrecked, and his heart demoralized.
Hence it is almost as often the finer as the baser spirits of
our race which are found the victims of such indulgence.
Many will remember, while I speak, the names of the gifted
of their species, the degraded men of genius who were the
victims of these deceptive influences ; the half- inspired
painter, poet, musician, who began by soothing opiates to
calm the over-excited nerves or Stimulate the exhausted
brain, who mistook the sensation for somewhat half divine,
and, became, morally and physic-ally, Avrecks of manhood^ de
graded even in their mental conceptions. It was therefore
no mere play of words which induced the apostle to bring
these two things together. That which might else seem ir
reverent appears to have been a deep knowledge of human
mature ; he contrasts, because his rule was to distinguish two
things which are easily mistaken for each other.
The second point of. resemblance is the necessity of in
tense feeling. We have fullness — fullness, it may be, pro
duced by outward stimulus, or else by an inpouring of the
Spirit. What we want is life, " more life, and fuller, " To

512 Sensual and Spiritual Excitement.
escape from monotony, to get away from the life of mere
routine and habits, to feel that we are alive — with more of
surprise and wakefulness in our existence. To have less of
tlie gelid, torpid, tortoise-like existence. " To feel the years
before us." To be consciously existing.
Now this desire lies at the bottom of many forms of life
which are apparently as diverse as possible. It constitutes
the fascination of the gambler's life : money is not what he
wants — were he possessed of thousands to-day he would risk
them all to-morrow — but it is that being perpetually on the
brink of enormous wealth and utter ruin, he is compelled to
realize at every moment the possibility of the extremes of
life. Every moment is one of feeling. This too, constitutes
the charm of all those forms of life in which the gambling
feeling is predominant — where a sense of skill is blended
with a mixture of chance. If you ask the statesman why it
is, that possessed as he is of wealth, he quits his princely
home for the dark metropolis, he would reply, "that he
loves the excitement of a political existence." It is this, too,
which gives to the warrior's and the traveller's existence such
peculiar reality ; and it is this in a far lower form which
stimulates the pleasure of a fashionable life — which sends
the votaries of the world in a constant round from the capi
tal to the watering-place, and from the watering-place to the
capital ; what they crave for is the power of feeling intensely.
Now the proper and natural outlet for this feeling is the
life of the Spirit. What is religion but fuller life ? To live
in the Spirit, what is it but to have keener feelings and
mightier powers: — to rise into a higher consciousness of life ?
What is religion's self but feeling ? The highest form of re~
ligion is charity. Love is of God, and he that loveth is born
of God, and knoweth God. This is an intense feeling, too in
tense to be excited, profound in its calmness, y6t it rises at
times in its higher flights into that ecstatic life which glances
in a moment intuitively through ages. These are the pente-
costal hours of our existence, when the Spirit comes as it-
mighty rushing wind, in cloven tongues of fire, filling the
soul with God-
H. The dissimilarity or contrast in St. Paul's idea. The
one fullness begins from without, the other from within.-
The one proceeds from the flesh arid then influences the emo
tions. The other reverses this order. Stimulants like wine
inflame the senses, and through them set the imaginations
and feelings on fire ; and the law of our spiritual being is,
that that which begins with the flesh sensualizes the snirit —

Sensual and Spiritual Excitement. 5 1 3
whereas that which commences in the region of the spirit
spiritualizes the senses in which it subsequently stirs emo
tion. But the misfortune is that men mistake this law of
their emotions; and the fatal error is, when having found
spiritual feelings existing in connection, and associated with,
fleshly sensations, men expect by the mere irritation of the
emotions ofthe frame to reproduce those high and glorious
Lelings. You might conceive the recipients of the Spirit on the
day of Pentecost acting under this delusion ; it is conceiv
able that having observed certain bodily phenomena — for
instance, incoherent utterances and thrilled sensibilities co
existing with those sublime spiritualities — they might have
endeavored, by a repetition of those incoherencies, to obtain
a fresh descent ofthe Spirit. In fact, this was exactly what
was tried in after ages of the Church. In those events of
Church history which are denominated revivals in the camp
ofthe Methodist and the Ranter, a direct attempt was made
to arouse the emotions by exciting addresses and vehement
language. Convulsions, shrieks, and violent emotions were
produced, and the unfortunate victims of this mistaken at
tempt to produce the cause by the effect, fancied themselves,
and were pronounced by others, converted. Now the mis
fortune is, that this delusion is the more easy from the fact
that the results of the two kinds of causes resemble each
other. You may galvanize the nerve of a corpse till the ac
tion of a limb startles the spectator with the appearance of
life. It is not life, it is only a spasmodic hideous mimicry of
life. Men having seen that the spiritual is always associated
with forms, endeavor by reproducing the forms to recall
spirituality ; you do produce thereby a something that looks
like spirituality, but it is a resemblance only. The worst case
of all occurs in the department of tbe affections. That which
begins in the heart ennobles the whole animal being, but
that which begins in the inferior departments of our being is
the most entire degradation and sensualizing of the soul.
Now it is from this point of thought that we learn to ex
tend the apostle's principle. Wine is but a specimen of a
class of stimulants., All that begins from without belongs to
the same class. The stimulus may be afforded by almost any
enjoyment of the senses. Drunkenness may come from any
thing wherein is excess : from over-indulgence in society, in
pleasure, in music, and in the delight of listening to oratory,
nay, even from the excitement of sermons and religious meet
ings. The prophet tells us of those who are drunken, and not
withWine. 22*

514 Sensual and Spiritual Excitement.
The other point of difference is one of effect. Fullness of
the Spirit calms; fullness produced by excitement satiates
and exhausts. They who know the world of fashion tell us
that the tone adopted there is, either to be, or to affect to be,
sated with enjoyment, to be proof against surprise, to have
lost all keenness of enjoyment, and to have all keenness of
wonder gone. That which ought to be men's shame becomes
their boast — unsusceptibility of any fresh emotion.
Whether this be real or affected matters not ; it is, in truth,
the real result of the indulgence of the senses. The law is
this : the " crime of sense is avenged by sense which wears
Avith time ;" for it has been well remarked that the terrific
punishment attached to the habitual indulgence of the senses
is, that the incitements to enjoyment increase in proportion
as the power of enjoyment fades.
Experience at last forbids even the hope of enjoyment ; the
sin of the intoxicated soul is loathed, detested, abhorred ; yet
it is done. The irritated sense, like an avenging fury, goads
on with a restlessness of craving, and compels a reiteration
of the guilt though it has ceased to charm.
To this danger our own age is peculiarly exposed. In the
earlier and simpler ages, the need of keen feeling finds a nat
ural and safe outlet in compulsory exertions. For instance,
in the excitement of real warfare, and in the necessity of pro
viding the sustenance of life, warlike habits. and healthy la
bor stimulate without exhausting life. But in proportion as
civilization advances, a large class ofthe community are ex
empted from the necessity of these, and thrown upon a life
of leisure. Then it is that artificial life begins, and artificial
expedients become necessary to sharpen the feelings amongst
the monotony of existence ; every amusement and all litera
ture become more pungerit in their character; life is no long
er, a thing proceeding from powers within, but sustained by
new impulses from without.
There is one peculiar form of this danger to Avhich I would
Specially direct your attention. There, is one nation in Eu
rope which, more than any other, has been subjected to these
influences. In ages of revolution, nations live fast ; centuries
of life are passed in fifty years of time. In such a state, in;
dividuals become subjected more or less to the influences
Avhich are working around them. Scarcely an enjoyment or'
a book can be met with which does not bear the impress of
this intensity. Noav, the particular danger to which I allude
is French novels, French romances, and French plays. The
overflowings of that cup of excitement have reached our
shores. I do not say that these Avorks contain any thing

Sensual and Spiritual Excitement. 5 1 5
coarse or gross — better if it were so : evil which comes in a
form of grossness is not nearly so dangerous as that which
comes veiled in gracefulness and sentiment. Subjects which
are better not touched upon at all are discussed, examined,
and exhibited in all the most seductive forms of imagery.
You would be shocked at seeing your son, in a fit of intoxica
tion ; yet, I say it solemnly, better that your son should reel
through the streets in a fit of drunkenness, than that the del
icacy of your daughter's mind should be injured, and her im
agination inflamed with false fire. Twenty-four hours will
terminate the evil in the one case. Twenty-four hours will
not exhaust the effects ofthe other; you must seek the con
sequences at the end of many, many, years.
I speak that which I do know ; and if the earnest warning
of one who has seen the dangers of which he speaks realized,
can reach the heart of one Christian parent, he will put a ban
on all such works, and not suffer his children's hearts to be
excited by a drunkenness which is worse than that of wine.
For the worst of it is, that the men of our time are not yet
alive to this growing evil ; they are elsewhere — in their stud
ies, counting-houses, professions— not knowing the food, or
rather poison, on which their wives' and daughters' intellect
ual life is sustained. It is precisely those who are most un
fitted to sustain the danger, whose feelings need restraint in
stead of spur, and whose imaginations are most inflammable,
that are specially exposed to it. .
h On the other hand, spiritual life" calms Avhile it fills. True
it is that there are pentecostal moments Avhen such life.reach-
es the stage of ecstasy. But these were given to the Church
to prepare her for suffering, to give: her martyrs a glimpse of
blessedness, which might sustain: them afterAvards in, the ter
rible struggles of death. True it is that there are pentecos
tal hours when the soul is surrounded by a kind of glory, and
Ave are tempted to make tabernacles upon the mount, as if
life were meant for rest ; but out of that very cloud there
comes a voice telling of the cross, and bidding us descend
into the common world again, to simple duties and humble
life. This very principle seems to be contained in the text.
The apostle's remedy for this artificial feeling is — " Speaking
to one another in psalms and hymns, and spiritual songs."
Strange remedy ! Occupation fit for children— too simple
far for men : as astonishing as the remedy prescribed, by the
prophet to Naaman — to wash in simple water, and be clean ;
yet therein lies a very important truth.', In ancient medical
phraseology, herbs possessed of healing natures were called
simples ; in God's laboratory, all things that heal are simple

5 16 Purity.
— all natural enjoyments, all the deepest, are simple too. At
night, man fills his banquet-hall with the glare of splendor
which fevers as well as fires the heart ; and at the very same
hour, as if they intended contrast, the quiet stars of God steal
forth, shedding, together with the deepest feeling, the pro
foundest sense of calm. One from whose knowledge of the
sources of natural feeling there lies almost no appeal, has said
that to him, " The meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears."
This is exceedingly remarkable in the life of Christ. No
contrast is more striking than that presented by the thought,
that that deep and beautiful life was spent in the midst
of mad Jerusalem. Remember the Son of Man standing
quietly in the porches of Bethesda, when the streets all
around were filled with the revelry of innumerable multi
tudes, who had come to be present at the annual feast.
Remember Him pausing to weep over his country's doomed
metropolis, unexcited, while the giddy crowd around Him
were shouting " Hosannah to the Son of David !" Remem
ber. Him in Pilate's judgment rhall", meek, self-possessed,
standing in the serenity oftruth, while all around Him was
agitation — -hesitation in the breast of Pilate, hatred in the
bosom of the Pharisees, and consternation in the heart of
the disciples.
And this, in truth, is what we want : we want the vision
of a calmer and simpler beauty, to tranquillize us in the
midst of artificial tastes — we want the draught of a purer
spring to cool the flame of our excited life ; we want, in
other words, the Spirit of the life of Christ, simple, natural,
with power to calm and soothe the feelings which it rouse,« :
the fullness of the Spirit which can never intoxicate !

X.
PURITY.
" Unto the pure all things are pure : but unto them that are defiled and
unbelieving is nothing pure ; but even their mind and conscience is defiled."
—Titus i. 15.
For the evils of this world there are two classes of reme
dies— one is the world's, the other is God's. The world
proposes to remedy evil by adjusting the circumstances of

Purity. 5 1 7
this life to man's desires. The world says, Give us a perfect
set of circumstances, and then we shall have a set of perfect
men. This principle lies at the root of the system called
Socialism. Socialism proceeds on the principle that all
moral and even physical evil arises from unjust laAvs. If
the cause be remedied, the effect will be good. But Chris
tianity throws aside all that as merely chimerical. It proves
that the fault is not in outAvard circumstances but in our
selves. Like the wise physician who, instead of busying
himself with transcendental theories to improve the climate
and the outward circumstances of man, endeavors to relieve
and get rid of the tendencies of disease which are from
within^ Christianity, leaving all outward circumstances to
ameliorate themselves, fastens its attention on the spirit
which has to deal with them. Christ has declared that the
kingdom of heaven is from Avithin. He said to the Pharisee,
" Ye make clean the outside of the cup and platter, but
within ye are full of extortion and excess." The remedy for
all this is a large and liberal charity, so overfloAving that
" unto the pure all things are pure." To internal purity all
external things become pure. The principle that St. Paul has
- here laid down is, that each man is the creator of his OAvn
Avorld ; he walks in a universe of his own creation.
As the free air is to one out of health the cause of cold
and diseased lungs, so to the healthy man it is a source of
greater vigor. The rotten fruit is sweet to the worm, but
nauseous to the palate of man. It is the same air and the
same fruit acting differently upon different beings. To
different men a different world — to one all pollution, to
another, all purity. To the noble all things are noble, to the
mean all things are contemptible.
The subject divides itself into two parts.
I. The apostle's principle.
II. The application of the principle.
Here we have the same principle again ; each man creates
his own world. Take it in its simplest form. The eye creates
the outward world it sees. We see not things as they are,
but as God has made the eye to receive them.
In its strictest sense, the creation of a new man is the
creation of a new universe. Conceive an eye so constructed
as that the planets and all within them should be minutely
seen, and all that is near should be dim and invisible like
things seen through a telescope, or as Ave see through a
magnifyirig-glass the plumage ofthe butterfly and the bloom
upon the peach ; then it is manifestly clear that we have

5 1 8 Purity.
called into existence actually a new creation, and not new
objects. The mind's eye creates a world for itself. ¦
Again, the visible world presents a different aspect to
each individual man. You will say that the same things you
see are seen by all — that the forest, the valley, the flood,
and the sea, are the same to all; and yet all. these things so
seen, to different minds are a myriad of different universes.
One man sees in that noble river an emblem of eternity ; he
closes his lips and feels that God is there. Another sees
nothing in it but a very convenient road for transporting his
spices, silks, and merchandise. To one this Avorld appears
useful, to another beautiful. Whence comes the difference ?
From the soul within us. It can make of this world a vast
chaos—" a : mighty maze without a plan ;" or a mere ma
chine—a collection of lifeless forces ; or it can make it the
living vesture of God, the tissue through which He can
become visible to us. In the spirit in which we look on it
the world is an arena for mere self-advancement, or a place
for noble deeds, in which self is forgotten and God is all. .
Observe, this effect is traceable even in that produced by
our different and changeful moods. We make and unmake
a world more than once in the space of a single day. In
trifling moods all seems trivial. In serious moods all seems
solemn. Is the song of the nightingale merry or plaintive ?
Is it the voice of joy or the harbinger of gloom ? Sometimes
one, and sometimes the other, according to our different
moods. We hear the ocean furious or exulting. The
thunder-claps are grand, or angry, according to the differ
ent states of*our mind. Nay, the very church-bells chime
sadly or merrily, as our associations determine. They
speak the language of our passing moods. The young ad
venturer revolving sanguine plans upon the milestones; hears
them speak to him as God did to Hagarin the Avilderness,
bidding him back to perseverance and greatness. The' soul
spreads its own hue Over every thing ; the shroud or wed
ding-garment of nature is woven in the loom of our own feel
ings. This universe is the express image and direct counter
part of the souls that dwell in it. . Be noble-minded, and all
nature replies— I am divine, the child of God; be thou, too
His child, and noble. Be mean, and all nature dwindles into
a contemptible smallness.
In the second place, there are two ways in which this
principle is true. To the pure, all things and all persons are
pure, because their purity makes all seem pure.
There are some who go through life complaining of this
world; they say they have found nothing but treachery and

Purity. 5 1 9
deceit ; the poor are ungrateful, and the rich are selfish. Yet
Ave do not find such the best men. Experience tells us that
each man most keenly and unerringly detects in others the
vice with which he is most familiar himself.
Persons seem to each man what he is himself. One who
suspects hypocrisy in the world is rarely transparent ; the
man constantly on the watch for cheating is generally dis
honest ; he who suspects impurity is prurient. This is the
principle to which Christ alludes when he says, " Give alms
of such things as ye have ; and behold all things are clean
unto you."
Have a large charity ! Large " charity hopeth all things."
Look at that sublime apostle Avho saw the churches of Ephe
sus and Thessalonica pure, because he saw them in his own
large love, and painted them, not as they were, but as his
heart filled up the picture ; he viewed them in the light of
his own nobleness, as representations of his OAvn purity.
Once more : to the pure all things are pure, as well as all
persons. That which is natural lies not in things, but in the
minds of men. There is a difference between prudery and
modesty. Prudery detects wrong where no wrong is ; the
wrong lies in the thoughts, and not in the. objects. There
is something of over-sensitiveness and over-delicacy which
shoAvs not innocence, but an inflammable imagination. And
men of the world can not understand that those subjects and
thoughts which to them are full of torture, can be harmless,
suggesting nothing evil to the pure in heart.
Here, however, beware ! No sentence of Scripture is more
frequently in the lips of persons who perrriit themselves
much license, than the text, " To the pure all things are
pure." Yes, all things natural, but hot artificial — scenes
which pamper the tastes, which excite' the senses. Inno
cence feels healthily. . To it all nature is pure. But, just as
the . dove trembles at the approach of the hawk, and the
young calf shudders at the lion never seen before, so inno
cence shrinks instinctively from Avhat is wrong by the same
divine instinct. If that which is wrong seems pure, then the
heart is not pure but vitiated. To the right-minded all that
is right in the course of this world seems pure. Abraham,
looking forward to the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah,
entreated that it might be averted, and afterwards . acqui
esced! To the disordered mind "all things are out of
course." This is the spirit which pervades the whole, of the
Ecclesiastes. There were two things which were perpetu
ally suggesting themselves to the mind of Solomon ; : the in
tolerable sameness of this Avorld, and the constant desire for

520 Purity.
change. And yet that same world, spread before the serene
eye of God, was pronounced to be all " very good."
This disordered universe is the picture of your own mind.
We make a wilderness by encouraging artificial wants, by
creating sensitive and selfish feelings ; then we project every
thing stamped with the impress of our own feelings, and we
gather the whole of creation into our own pained being —
" the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain togeth
er until now." The world you complain of as impure and
wrong is not God's world, but your world ; the blight, the
dullness, the blank, are all your own. The light which is in
you has become darkness, and therefore the light itself is
dark. Again, to the pure all things not only seem pure, but are
really so because they are made such.
First, as regards persons. It is a marvellous thing, to see
how a pure and innocent heart purifies all that it approach
es: The most ferocious natures are soothed and tamed by
innocence. And so with human beings, there is a delicacy
so pure that vicious men in its presence become almost
pure; all of purity which is in them is brought out; like at
taches itself to like. The pure' heart becomes a centre of at
traction round which similar atoms gather, and from which
dissimilar ones are repelled. A corrupt heart elicits in an
hour all that is bad in us ; a spiritual one brings out and
draws to itself all that is best and purest. Such was Christ.
He stood in the world the Light of the world, to which all
sparks of light gradually gathered. He stood in the pres
ence of impurity, and men became pure. Note this in the
history of Zaccheus. In answer to the invitation ofthe Son
of Man, he says, " Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give
to the poor, and if I have done wrong to any man I restore
him fourfold." So also the Scribe, " Well, Master, thou hast
weir said, there is one God, and there is none other than
He." To the pure Saviour all was pure. " He was lifted
up on high, arid dreAV all men unto Him."
Lastly, all situations are pure to the pure. According to
the Avorld, some professions are reckoned honorable and some
dishonorable. Men judge according to a standard merely
conventional, and not "by that of moral rectitude. Yet it
was in truth the men Avho were in these situations which
made them such. In the days ofthe Redeemer the publi
can's occupation was a degraded one, merely because low
base men filled that place. But since He was born into the
world a poor, laboring man, poverty is noble and dignified,
and toil is honorable. To the man Avho feels that "the

Purity. 521
king's daughter is all glorious within," no outward situation
can seem inglorious or impure.
There are three Avords which express almost the same
thing, but whose meaning is entirely different. These are,
the gibbet, the scaffold, and the cross. So far as we know,
none die on the gibbet but men of dishonorable and base
life. The scaffold suggests to our minds the noble deaths of
our greatest martyrs. The cross was once a gibbet, but it
is now the highest name we have, because He hung on it.
Christ has purified and ennobled the cross. This principle
runs through life. It is not the situation which makes the
man, but the man who makes the situation. The slave may
be a freeman. The monarch may be a slave. Situations are
noble or ignoble, as we make them.
From all this subject we learn to understand two things.
Hence we understand the Fall. When man fell, the world
fell with him. All creation received a shock. Thorns,
briers, and thistles, sprang up. They were there before, but
to the now restless and impatient hands of men they became
obstacles and weeds. Death, which must ever have existed
as a form of dissolution, a passing from one state to another,
became, a curse ; the sting of death was sin — unchanged in
itself, it changed in man. A dark heavy cloud rested on it —
the shadow of his OAvn guilty heart.
Hence, too, we understand the Millennium. The Bible
says that these things are not to be forever. There are
glorious things to come. Just as in my former illustration,
the alteration of the eye called neAV worlds into being, so
now nothing more is needed than to re-create the soul- — the
mirror on which all things are reflected. Then is realized
the prophecy of Isaiah, " Behold, I create all things new,"
" new heavens and a new earth."
The conclusion of this verse proves to us why all these new
creations were called into being — " wherein dwelleth right
eousness." To be righteous makes all things new. We do
not want a new world, we Avant new hearts. Let the Spirit
of God purify society, and to the pure all things will be
pure. The earth will put off the look of weariness and
gloom which it has worn so long, and then the glorious lan
guage of the prophets will be fulfilled — " The forests Avill
break out with singing, and the desert will blossom as the
rose."

522 Unity and Peace.

XI.
UNITY AND PEACE
"And let the peace of God rule in your hearts, to the which also ye are
called in one body ; and be ye thankful. " — Col. iii. 15.
There is something in these words that might surprise
us. It might surprise us to find that peace is urged on us as
a duty. There can be no duty except where there is a mat
ter of obedience ; and it might seem to us that peace is a
something over which we have no power. It is a privilege
to have peace, but it would appear as if there were no power
of control within the mind of a man able to insure that peace
for itself. "Yet," says the apostle, "let the peace of God
rule in your hearts."
It would seem to us as if peace were as far beyond our
own control as happiness. Unquestionably, we are not mas
ters, on our own responsibility, of our own happiness. Hap
piness is the gratification of every innocent desire ; but it is
not given to us to insure the gratification of every desire ;
therefore, happiness is not a duty, and it is nowhere written
in the Scripture, "You must be happy." But we find it
Avritten by the Apostle Paul, "Be ye thankful," implying,
therefore, that peace is a duty. The apostle says, " Let the
peace 6f God^rule in your hearts ;" from which we infer that
peace is attainable, and within the reach of our own wills;
that if there be not repose there is blame ; if there be not
peace but discord in the heart, there is something wrong.
This is the more surprising when we remember the cir
cumstances under which these words were written. They
were Avritten from Rome, where the apostle lay in prison,
daily and hourly expecting a violent death. They were
written in days of persecution, Avhen false doctrines were
rife, and religious animosities fierce ; they were written in
an epistle abounding with the most earnest and eager con
troversy, whereby it is therefore implied, that according to
the conception of the Apostle Paul, it is possible for a Chris
tian to live at the very point of death, and in the very midst
of danger — that it is possible for him to be breathing the at
mosphere of religious controversy — it is possible for him to
be surrounded by bitterness, and even take up the pen of
controversy himself — and yet his soul shall not lose its own

Unity and Peace. 523
deep peace, nor the power of the infinite repose and rest of
God. Joined with the apostle's command to be at peace,
we find another doctrine, the doctrine of the unity of the
Church of Christ. "To the which ye are called in one
body," in order that ye may be at peace ; in other words,
the unity ofthe Church of Christ is the basis on which, and
on which alone, can be built the possibility of the inward
peace of individuals.
And thus, my Christian brethren, our subject divides itself
into these two simple branches :
I. The unity of the Church of Christ.
II. The inward peace of the members of that Church.
I. The first subject, then, which Ave have to consider, is
the unity of the Church of Christ.
And the first thing we have to do is both clearly to define
and understand the meaning of that Avord " unity." I dis
tinguish the unity of comprehensiveness from the unity of
mere singularity. The word one, as oneness, is an ambigu
ous word. There is a oneness belonging to the army as well
as to every soldier in the army. The army is one, and that
is the oneness of unity ; the soldier is one, but that is the
oneness of the unit. There is a difference between the one
ness of a body and the oneness of a member of that bodj'-.
The body is many, and a unity of manifold comprehensive
ness. An arm or a member of a body is one, but that is the
unity of singularity. Without unity, my Christian brethren,
peace must be impossible. There can be no peace in the one
single soldier of an army. You do not speak ofthe harmony
of one member of a body. There, is peace in an army, or in
a kingdom joined with other kingdoms ; there is harmony in
a member united with other members. There is no peace in
a unit, there is no possibility ofthe harmony of that whieh is
but one in itself. In order to have peace you must have a
higher unity, and therein consists the unity of God's own
Being. The unity of God is the basis of the peace of God —
meaning, by the unity of God the comprehensive manifold
ness of God, and not merely the singularity in the number
of God's Being. When the Unitarian speaks of God as one,
he means simply singularity of number. We mean that He
is of manifold comprehensiveness — that there is unity be
tween His various powers. Amongst the personalities or
powers of His Being there is no discord, but perfect harmo
ny, entire union ; and that, brethren, is repose, the blessed
ness of infinite rest, that belongs to the unity of God—" I
and my Father are one."

524 Unity and Peace.
The second thing which we observe respecting this unity
is, that it subsists between things not similar or alike, but
things dissimilar or unlike. There is no unity in the sepa
rate atoms of a sand-pit ; they are things similar ; there is
an aggregate or collection of them. Even if they be harden
ed in a mass they are not one, they do not form a unity :
they are simply a mass. There is no unity in a flock of
sheep : it is simply a repetition of a number of things simi
lar to each other. If you strike off from a thousand five
hundred, or if you strike off nine hundred, there is nothing
lost of unity, because there never was unity. A flock of one
thousand or a flock of five is just as much a flock as any oth
er number.
On the other hand, let us turn to the unity of peace which
the apostle speaks of, and Ave find it is something different ;
it is made up of dissimilar members, without which dissimi
larity there could be no unity. Each is imperfect in itself,
each supplying what it has in itself to the deficiencies and
wants of the other members. So, if you strike off from this
body any one member, if you cut off an arm, or tear out an
eye, instantly the unity is destroyed ; you have no longer an
entire and perfect body, there is nothing but a remnant of
the whole, a part, a portion ; no unity whatever.
This will help us to understand the unity of the Church
of Christ. If the ages and the centuries of the Church of
Christ, if the different Churches whereof it was composed, if
the different members of each Church, were similar — one in
this, that they all held the same views, all spoke the same
words, all vfewed truth from the same side, they would have
no unity ; but would simply be an aggregate of atoms., the
sand-pit over again — units, multiplied it may be to infinity,
but you would have no real unity, and therefore no peace.
No unity — for wherein consists the unity of the Church of
Christ? The unity of ages, brethren, consists it in this —
that every age is merely the repetition of another age, and
that which is held in one is held in another? Precisely in
the same way, that is not the unity of the ages of the Chris
tian Church.
Every century and every age has held a different truth,
has put forth different fragments of the truth. In early
a'ges, for example, by martyrdom Avas proclaimed the eternal
sanctity of truth, rather than give up which a man must
lose his life  In our own age it is quite plain those are
not the themes which engage us, or the truths which we put
in force now. This age, by its revolutions, its socialisms,
proclaims another truth — the brotherhood of the Church of

Unity and Peace. 525
Christ ; so that the unity of ages subsists ou the same prin
ciple as that of the unity of the human body : and just as
every separate ray — the violet, the blue, and the orange —
make up the white ray, so these manifold fragments of truth
blended together make up the one entire and perfect white
ray of truth. And with regard to individuals, taking the
case of the Reformation, it was given to one Church to pro
claim that salvation is a thing received, and not local ; to
another to proclaim justification by faith ; to another the
sovereignty of God ; to another the supremacy of the Scrip
tures ; to another the right of private judgment, the duty of
the individual conscience. Unite these all, and then you
have the Reformation one — one in spite of manifoldness ;
those very A-arieties by which they have approached this
proving them to be one. Disjoint them and then you have
some miserable sect — Calvinism, or Unitarianism; the unity
has dispersed. And so again with the unity of the Churches.
Whereby would Ave produce unity ? Would we force on
other Churches our Anglicanism? Would we have our
thirty-nine articles, our creeds, our prayers, our rules. and
regulations, accepted by every Church throughout the
world ? If that were unity, then in consistency you are
bound to demand that in God's world there shall be but one
color instead of the manifold harmony and accordance of
which this universe is full ; that there should be but one
chanted note — the one which we conceive most beautiful.
This is not the unity of the Church of God. The various
Churches advance different doctrines and truths. The
Church of Germany something different from those of the
Church of England. The Church of Rome, even in its idol
atry, proclaims truths which we would be glad to seize. By
the worship of the Virgin, the purity of women ; by the rig
or of ecclesiastical ordinances, the sanctity and permanence
of eternal order ; by the very priesthood itself, the necessity
of the guidance of man by man. Nay, even the dissenting
bodies themselves — mere atoms of aggregates as they are —
stand forward and proclaim at least this truth, the separate-
ness of the individual conscience, the right of independence.
Peace subsists not between things exactly alike. We do
not speak of peace in a single country. We say peace sub
sists between different countries where war might be. There
can be no peace between two men who agree in evely thing ;
peace subsists between those who differ. There is no peace
between Baptist and Baptist ; so far as they are Baptists,
there is perfect accordance and agreement. There may be
peace between you and the Romanist, the Jew, or the Dis-*

526 Unity and Peace.
senter, because there are angles of sharpness which might
come into collision if they were not subdued and softened by
the power of love. It was given to the Apostle Paul to dis
cern that this was the ground of unity. In the Church of
Christ he saw men with different views, and he said, So far
from that variety destroying unity, it was the only ground
of unity. There are many doctrines, all of them different,
but let those varieties be blended together — in other words,
let there be the peace of love, and then you will have unity.
Once more: this unity, whereof the apostle speaks, consists
in submission to one single influence or spirit. Wherein
consists the unity of the body ? Consists it not in this — that
there is one life uniting, making all the separate members
one ? Take away the life, and the members fall to pieces :
they are no longer one; decomposition begins, and every
element separates, no longer having any principle of cohe
sion or union with the rest.
There is not one of us who, at some time or other, has not
been struck with the power there is in a single living influ
ence. Have we never, for instance, felt the power where
with the orator unites and holds- together, a thousand men as
if they Avere but one ; with flashing eyes and throbbing
hearts, all attentive to his words, and by the difference of
their attitudes, by the variety ofthe expressions of their
countenances, testifying to the unity of that single living
feeling with which he had inspired them ? Whether it be
indignation, whether it be compassion, or whether it be en
thusiasm, that one living, influence made the thousand, for the
time, one. Have we not heard how, even in this century in
which we live, the various and conflicting feelings of the
people of. this country were concentrated into one, when the
threat of foreign invasion had fused down and broken the
edges of conflict and variance, and from shore to shore was
heard one cry of terrible defiance, and the different classes
and orders of this manifold and mighty England were as
one ? Have we riot hefrd how the mighty winds hold to
gether as if one, the various atoms of the desert, so that they
rush like a living thirig across the wilderness? And this,
brethren, is the unity ofthe Church of Christ, the subjection
to the one uniting Spirit of its God.
It will be said, in reply to this, " Why, this is mere enthu
siasm. It may be very beautiful in theory, but it is impossi
ble in practice. It is mere enthusiasm to believe, that while
all these varieties of conflicting opinion remain, we can have
unity ; it is mere enthusiasm to think that so long as men's
minds reckon on a thmg like unity, there can be a thing like

Unity and Peace. 527
oneness." And our reply is, Give us the Spirit of God, and
we shall be one. You can not produce a unity by all the
rigor of your ecclesiastical discipline. You can not produce
a unity by consenting in some form Of expression such as
this, " Let us agree to differ." You can not produce a unity
by Parliamentary regulations or enactments, bidding back
the waves of what is called aggression. Give us the living
Spirit of God, and we shall be one.
Once on this earth was exhibited, as it were, a specimen of
perfect anticipation of such a unity, when the "rushing
mighty wind " of Pentecost came down in the tongues of fire
and. sat on every man ; when the Parthians, and Medes, and
Elamites, and the dwellers in Mesopotamia, the " Cretes and
Arabians," the Jew and the Gentile, each speaking one lan
guage, yet blended and fused into one unity by enthusiastic
love, heard one" another speak, as it Avere, in one language,
the manifold works of God ; when the spirit of giving was
substituted for the spirit of mere rivalry and competition,
and no man said the things he had were his own, but all
shared in common. Let that spirit come again, as come it
will, and come it must ; and then, beneath the influences of a
mightier love, we shall have a nobler and a more real unity.
We pass on now, in the second place, to consider the indi
vidual peace resulting from this unity. As we have endeav
ored to explain what is meant by unity, so now let us en
deavor to understand Avhat is meant by peace. Peace, then,
is the opposite of passion, and of labor, toil, and effort.
Peace is that state in which there are no desires madly de
manding an impossible gratification ; that state in which
there is no misery, no remorse, no sting. And there are but
three things which can break that peace. The first is dis
cord between the mind of man and the lot which he is called
on to inherit ; the second is discord between the affections
and powers of the soul ; and the third is doubt of the recti
tude and justice and love whereAvith this world is ordered.
But where these things exist not, where a man is contented
with, his lot, where the flesh is subdued to the spirit, and
whereihe believes and feels Avith all his heart that all is right,
there is peace, and to this, says the apostle, " ye are called"
— the grand, peculiar call of Christianity— the call, " Come
unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I Avill
give you. rest."
This was the dying bequest of Christ : " Peace I leave Avith
you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth give
I unto you:" and therein lies one of the greatest truths of
the blessed and eternal character of Christianity, that it ap

528 Unity and Peace.
plies to, and satisfies the very deepest Avant and craving of
our nature. The deepest want of man is not a desire for
happiness, but a craving for peace ; not a Avish for the grati
fication of every desire, but a craving for the repose of ac
quiescence in the will of God ; and it is this which Christiani
ty promises. Christianity does not promise happiness, but it
does promise peace. "In the world ye shall have tribula
tion," saith our Master, " but be of good cheer ; I have over
come the world." Now, let us look more closely into this
peace. The first thing Ave see respecting it is, that it is called
God's peace. God is rest : the infinite nature of God is in
finite repose. The "I am " of God is contrasted with the I
am become of all other things. Every thing else is in a state
of becoming, God is in a state of being. -The acorn has be
come the plant, and the plant has become the oak. The
child has become the man, and the man has become good, or
Avise, or whatever else it may be. God ever is ; and I pray
you once more to observe, that this peace of God, this eter
nal rest in the Almighty Being, arises omi-of His unity. Not
because He is a unit, but because He is a unity. There is
no discord between the powers and attributes of the mind of
God; there is no discord between His justice and His love;
there is no discord demanding some miserable expedient to
unite them together, such as some theologians imagined when
they described, the sacrifice and atonement of our Redeemer
by saying, it is the clever expedient whereby God reconciles
His justice with His love. God's justice and love are one.
Infinite justice must be infinite love. Justice is but another
sign of love. The infinite rest of the "I am " of God arises
out of the harmony of His attributes.
The next thing we observe respecting this divine peace
which has come down to man on earth is, that it is a living
peace. Brethren, let us distinguish. There are several things
called peace which are by no means Divine or Godlike peace.
There is peace, for example, in the man who lives for and en
joys self, with no nobler aspiration goading him on to make
him feel the rest of God ; that is peace, but that is merely
the peace of toil. There is rest on the surface of the cav-
erned lake, which no wind can stir ; but that is the peace of
stagnation. There is peace amongst the stones which have
fallen and rolled down the mountain's side, and lie there
quietly at rest ; but that is the peace of inanity. There is
peace in the hearts of enemies who lie together, side by side,
in the same trench of the battle-field, the animosities of their
souls silenced at length, and their hands no longer clenched

Unity and Peace. 529
in deadly enmity agaiust each other; but that is the peace
of death. If our peace be but the peace of the sensualist sat
isfying pleasure, if it be but the peace of mental torpor and
inaction, the peace of apathy, or the peace ofthe soul dead
in trespasses and sins, we may Avhisper to ourselves, " Peace,'
peace," but there will be no peace ; there is not the peace of
unity nor the peace of God, for the peace of God is the living
peace of love.
The next thing we observe respecting this peace is, that it
is the manifestation of power — it is the peace which comes
from an inward power : " Let the peace of God," says the
apostle, "rule within your hearts." For it is a power, the
manifestation of strength. There is no peace except there is
the possibility ofthe opposite of peace, although,noAV restrain
ed and controlled. You do not speak of the peace of a grain
of sand, because it can not be otherwise than merely insignifi
cant, and at rest. You do not speak of the peace of a mere
' ,pond; you speak ofthe peace ofthe sea, because there is the
opposite of peace implied, there is power and strength.
And this, brethren, is the real character of the peace in the
mind and soul of man. Oh ! we make a great mistake when
Ave say there is strength in passion, in the exhibition of emo
tion. Passion, and emotion, and all those outward manifest
ations, prove, not strength, but weakness. If the passions of
a man are strong, it proves the man himself is weak if he can
not restrain or control his passions. The real strength and
majesty of the soul of man is calmness, the manifestation of
strength ; " the peace of God " ruling ; the word of Christ
saying to the inward storms, " Peace !" and there is " a great
calm." Lastly, the peace of which the apostle speaks is the peace
that is received — the peace of reception. You will observe,
throughout this passage the apostle speaks of a something
received, and not done: "Let the peace of God rule in your
hearts." It is throughout receptive, but by no means inact
ive. And according to this, there are two kinds of peace ;
the peace of obedience — " Let the peace of God rule " you ;
and there is the peace Of gratefulness — " Be ye thankful."
Very great, brethren, is the peace of obedience : when a man
has his lot fixed, and his mind inade up, and he sees his des
tiny before him, and quietly acquiesces in it, his spirit is at
rest. Great and deep is the peace of the soldier to whom
has been assigned even an untenable position, with the com
mand, " Keep that, even if you die," and he obediently re
mains to die.
Great was the peace of Elisha — very, very calm are those
23

530 The Christian Aim and Motive.
words by which he expressed his acquiescence in the Divine
will. " Knowest thou," said the troubled, excited, and rest
less men around him — " Knowest thou that the Lord will
take away thy master from thy head to-day?" He answered,
" Yea, I know it ; hold ye your peace." Then there is the
other peace, it is the peace of gratefulness : " Be ye thank
ful." It is that peace which the Israelites had when these
words were spoken to them on the shores of the Red Sea,
while the bodies of their enemies floated' past them, de
stroyed, but not by them : " Stand still and see the salvation
ofthe Lord."
And here, brethren, is another mistake of ours : we look
on salvation as a thing to be done, and not received. In
God's salvation we can do but little, but there is a great
deal to be received. We are here, not merely to act, but to
be acted upon. " Let the peace of God rule in your hearts ;"
there is a peace that will enter there, if you do not thwart it ;
there is a Spirit that will take possession of your soul, pro
vided that you do not quench it. In this world we are re
cipients, not creators. In obedience and in gratefulness, and
the infinite peace of God in the soul of man, is alone to be
found deep calm repose.

XII.
THE CHRISTIAN AIM AND MOTIVE.
"Be ye therefore perfect, even as your "Father which is in heaven is per
fect."— Matt, v. 48.
There are two erroneous views held respecting the char
acter of the Sermon on the Mount. The first may be called
an error of worldly-minded men, the other an error of mis
taken religionists. Worldly-minded men — men, that is, in
whom the devotional feeling is but feeble — are accustomed
to look upon morality as the whole of religion ; and they
suppose that the Sermon on the Mount was designed only to
explain and enforce correct principles of morality. It tells
of human duties and human proprieties, and an attention to
these, they maintain, is the only religion which is required
by it. Strange; my Christian brethren, that men whose lives
are least remarkable for superhuman excellence, should be
the very men to refer most frequently to those sublime com
ments on Christian principle, and should so confidently con-

The Christian Aim and Motive. 531
elude from thence, that themselves are right and all others
are wrong. Yet so it is.
The other is an error of mistaken religionists. They some
times regard the Sermon on the Mount as if it Avere a col
lection ofmoral precepts, and consequently, strictly speaking,
not Christianity at all. To them it seems as if the chief
value, the chief intention of the discourse, was to show the
breadth and spirituality of the requirements of the law of
Moses ; its chief religious significance, to shoAV the utter im
possibility of fulfilling the law, and thus to lead to the nec
essary inference that justification must be by faith alone.
And so they would not scruple to assert that, in the highest
sense of that term, it is not Christianity at all, but only
preparatory to it— a kind of spiritual Judaism ; and that the
higher and more developed principles of Christianity are to
be°found in the writings of the apostles. Before we proceed
further, we would remark here that it seems extremely start
ling to say that He who came to this world expressly to
preach the Gospel, should, in the most elaborate of all His
discourses, omit to do so : it is indeed something more than
startling, it is absolutely revolting, to suppose that the let
ters of those who spoke of Christ, should contain a more per
fectly-developed, a freer and fuller Christianity than is to be
found in Christ's own words.
Now you will observe that these two parties, so opposed
to each other in their general religious views, are agreed in
this — that the Sermon on the Mount is nothing but morality.
The man of the world says — " It is morality only, and that
is the whole of religion." . The mistaken religionist says —
" It is morality only, not the entire essence of Christian
ity." In opposition to both these views, we maintain that
the Sermon on the Mount contains the sum and substance
of Christianity — the very chief matter of the Gospel of our
Redeemer. It is not, you will observe, a pure and spiritualized Juda
ism ; it is contrasted with Judaism again and again by Him
Avho spoke it. Quoting the words of Moses, He affirmed, " So
was it spoken by them of old time, but I say unto your—"
For exainple, ".Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt
perform unto the Lord thine oaths." That is Judaism. " But
I say unto you, Swear not at all, but let your yea be, yea,
and your nay nay." That is Christianity. And that which
is the essential peculiarity of this Christianity lies in these
two things. First of all, that the morality which it teaches
is disinterested goodness — goodness not for the sake of the
blessing that follows it, but for its own sake, and because it

532 The Christian Aim and Motive.
is right " Love your enemies," is the Gospel precept. Why ?
—Because if you love them you shall be blessed ; and if you
do not, cursed? No ; but "Love your enemies, bless them
that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for
them which despitefully use you and persecute you, that ye
may be the children of "—that is, may be like—" your Fa
ther which is in heaven." The second essential peculiarity
of Christianity — and this, too, is an essential peculiarity of
this sermon, is that it teaches and enforces the law of self-
sacrifice. " If thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out ; if thy
right hand offend thee, cut it off." This, brethren, is the law
of self-sacrifice — the very law and spirit of the blessed cross
of Christ.
How deeply and essentially Christian, then, this Sermon
on the Mount is, Ave shall understand if we are enabled in
any measure to reach the meaning and spirit of the single
passage which I have taken as my text. It tells two things
— the Christian aim and the Christian motive.
I. The Christian aim — perfection.
II. The Christian motive — because it is right and Godlike
to be perfect.
I. The Christian aim is this — to be perfect. " Be ye there
fore perfect." Noav distinguish this, I pray you, from mere
Avorldly morality. It is not conformity to a creed that is
here required, but aspiration after a state. It is not de
manded of us to perform a number of duties, but to yield
obedience to a certain spiritual law. But let us endeavor to
explain this more fully. What is the meaning of this
expression, "Be ye perfect?" Why is it that in this dis
course, instead of being commanded to perform religious du
ties, We are commanded to think of being like God ? Will
not that inflame our pride, and increase our natural vain
glory ? Now the nature and possibility of human perfection,
what it is and how it is possible, are both contained in one
single expression in the text, " Even as your Father which is
in heaven is perfect." The relationship between father and
son implies consanguinity, likeness, similarity . of character
and nature. God made the insect, the stone, the lily, but God
is not the Father of the caterpillar, the lily, or the stone.
When, therefore, God is said to be our Father, something
more is implied in this than that God created man. And so
when the Son of Man came proclaiming the fact that we are
the children of God it was in the truest sense a revelation.
He told us that the nature of God resembles the nature of
man, that love in God is not^a mere figure of speech, but

The Christian Aim and Motive. 533
means the same thing as love in us, and that Divine anger is
the same thing as human anger, divested of its emotions and
imperfections. When we are commanded to be like God, it
implies that God has that nature of which we have already
the germs. And this has been taught by the incarnation of
the Redeemer. Things absolutely dissimilar in their nature
can not mingle. Water can not coalesce with fire— water
can not mix Avith oil. If, then, humanity and divinity were
united in the person ofthe Redeemer, it follows that there
must be*something kindred between the tAvo, or else the
incarnation had been impossible. So that the incarnation is
the realization of man's perfection.
But let us examine more deeply this assertion, that our
nature is kindred with that of God — for if man has not a
nature kindred to God's, then a demand such as that, "Be
ye the children of"— that is, like — "God," is but a mockery
of man. We say, then, in the. first place, that in the truest
sense ofthe word man can be a creator. The beaver makes
its hole, the bee makes its cell ; man alone has the power of
creating. The mason makes, the architect creates. In the
same sense that we say God created the universe, we say
that man is also a creator. The creation of the universe was
the Eternal Thought taking reality. And thought taking
expression is also a creation. Whenever, therefore, there is
a living thought shaping itself in word or in stone, there is
there a creation. And therefore it is that the simplest effort
of what we call genius is prized infinitely more than the most
elaborate performances which are done by mere workman
ship, and for this reason: that the one is produced by an
effort of power which we share with the beaver and the bee,
that of making, and the other by a faculty and poAver which
man alone shares with God.
Here, however, you Avill observe another difficulty. It
Avill be said at once, There is something in this comparison
of man with God which looks like blasphemy, because one
is finite and the other infinite — man is bounded, God bound
less ; and to speak of resemblance and kindred betAveen
these two, is to speak of resemblance and kindred between
two natures essentially different. But this is • precisely the
argument which is brought by the Socinians against the
doctrine of the incarnation ; "and we are bound to add that
the Socinian argument is right, unless there be the similarity
of which we have been speaking. Unless there be something
in man's nature which truly and properly partakes of the
Divine nature, there could be no incarnation, and the demand
for perfection would be a mockery and an impossibility.

534 The Christian Aim and Motive.
Let us then endeavor to find out the evidences of this in
finitude in the nature of man. First of all, we find it in this
— that the desires of man are for something boundless and
unattainable. Thus speaks our Lord — " What shall it profit
a man if he should gain the whole world and lose his own
soul ?" Every schoolboy has heard the story of the youth
ful prince who enumerated one by one the countries he
meant to conquer year, after year ; and when the enumera
tion was completed, was asked what he meant to do when
all those victories were achieved, and he replied, To sit down,
to be happy, to take his rest. But then came the ready re
joinder, Why not do so now ? But it is not every school
boy who has paused to consider the folly of the question.
He who asked his son why he did not at once take the rest
which it was his ultimate purpose to enjoy, knew not the im
mensity and nobility of the human soul. He could not then
take his rest and be happy. As long as one realm remained
unconquered, so long rest was impossible ; he would weep
for fresh worlds to conquer. And thus, that which was
spoken by our Lord of one earthly gratification, is true of
all — " Whosoever drinketh of this Avater shall thirst again."
The boundless, endless, infinite void in the soul of man can
be satisfied with nothing but God. Satisfaction lies not in
having, but in being. There is no satisfaction even in doing.
Man can not be satisfied with his own performances. When
the righteous young ruler came to Christ, and declared that
in reference to the life gone by he had kept all the com
mandments and fulfilled all the duties required by the law,
still came the* question — " What lack I yet ?"
The Scribes and Pharisees Avere the strictest observers of
the ceremonies of the Jewish religion, " touching the right
eousness which is by the law " they were blameless, but yet
they wanted something more than that, and they were found
on the brink of Jordan imploring the baptism of John, seek
ing after a new and higher state than they had yet attained
to — a significant proof that man can not be satisfied with his
own works. And again, there is not one of us who has ever
been satisfied with his OAvn performances. There is no man
Avhose doings are worth any thing, who has not felt that he
has not yet done that Avhich he feels himself able to do.
While he was doing it, he Avas kept up by the spirit of hope ;
but Avhendone the thing seemed to him worthless. And
therefore it is that the author can not read his own book
again, nor the sculptor loolc with pleasure upon his finished
work. With respect to one of the greatest of all modern
-sculptors, Ave are told that he longed for the termination of

The Christian Aim and Motive. 535
his earthly career, for this reason — that he had been satisfied
with his own performance : satisfied for the first time in his
life. And this expression of his satisfaction was but equiva
lent to saying that he had reached the goal beyond Avhich
there could be no progress. This impossibility of being sat
isfied Avith his own performances is one ofthe strongest proofs
of our immortality — a proof of that perfection towards which
we shall forever tend, but which we can never attain.
A second trace of this infinitude in man's nature we find
in the infinite capacities of the soul. This is true intellectu
ally and morally. With reference to our intellectual capa
cities, it would perhaps be more strictly correct to say that
they are indefinite, rather than infinite ; that is, we can affix
to them no limit. For there is no man, however low his
intellectual powers may be, who has not at one time or
another felt a rush of thought, a glow of inspiration, which
seemed to make all things possible, as if it were merely the
effect of some imperfect organization which stood in the way
of his doing whatever he desired to do. With respect to
our moral and spiritual capacities, we remark that they are
not only indefinite, but absolutely infinite. Let that man
answer who has ever truly and heartily loved another. That
man knows what it is to partake of the infinitude of God.
Literally, in the emphatic language of the Apostle John, he
has felt his immortality — " God in him, and he in God." For
that moment, infinitude was to him not a name, but a reality.
He entered into the infinite of time and space, which is not
measured by days, or months, or years, but is alike boundless
and eternal.
Again : we perceive a third trace of this infinitude in man,
in the power which he possesses of giving up self. In this,
perhaps more than in any thing else, man may claim kindred
with God. Nor is this power confined to the best of man
kind, but is possessed, to some extent at least, by all. There
is no man, how low soever he may be, who bas not one or
two causes or secrets, Avhich no earthly consideration would
induce him to betray. There is no man who does not feel
toAvards one or tAvo at least, in this world, a devotion which
all the bribes of the universe Avould not be able to shake.
We have heard the story of that degraded criminal who,
when sentence of death Avas passed upon him, turned to his
accomplice in guilt, in whose favor a verdict of acquittal was
brought in, and in glorious self-forgetfulness exclaimed —
"Thank God, you are saved 1" The savage and barbarous
Indian, whose life has been one unbroken series of cruelty
and crime, will submit to a slow, lingering, torturing death,

536 The Christian Aim and Motive.
rather than betray his country. Now, what shall we say to
these thino-s? Do they not tell of an indestructible some
thing in the nature of man, of which the origin is Divine? —
the remains of a majesty Avhich, though it may be sullied,
can never be entirely lost ?
Before passing on let us observe, that Avere it not for this
conviction of the Divine origin, and consequent perfectibility
of our nature, the very thought of God would be painful to
us. God is so great, so glorious, that the mind is over
whelmed by, and shrinks from, the contemplation of His ex
cellence, unless there comes the tender, ennobling thought
that we are the children of God, who are to become like our
Father in heaven, whose blessed career it is to go on in an
advance of love and duty towards Him, until we love Him
as Ave are loved, and know Him almost as we are knoAvn.
II. We pass on, in the second place, to consider the Chris
tian motive — "Even as your Father which is in heaven is
perfect." Brethren, worldly prudence, miscalled morality,
says — " Be honest ; you Avill find your gain in being so. Do
right ; you will be the better for it— even in this world you
will not lose by it." The mistaken religionist only magni
fies this on a large scale. " Your duty," he says, " is to save
your soul. Give up this world to have the next. Lose here,
that you may gain hereafter." Now this is but prudence,
after all — it is but magnified selfishness, carried on into eter
nity — none the more noble for being eternal selfishness. In
opposition to all such sentiments as these, thus speaks the
Gospel — "Be^ye perfect." Why? " Because your Father
which is in heaven is perfect." Do right, because it is God
like and right so to do. Here, however, let us be understood.
We do not mean to say that the Gospel ignores altogether
the personal results of doing right. This would be unnat
ural — because God has linked together well-doing and bless
edness. But we do say that this blessedness is not the mo
tive which the Gospel gives us. It is true the Gospel says
— " Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth ;
blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy ; blessed
are they Avhich do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for
they shall be filled." But when these are made ourjnotives —
Avhen Ave become meek in order that we may inherit here —
then the promised enjoyment will not come. If we are mer
ciful merely, that Ave may ourselves obtain mercy, we shall
not have that indwelling love of God which is the result
and token of His forgiveness. Such Avas the law and such
the example of our Lord and Master.

The Christian Aim and Motive. 537
True it is that in the prosecution of the great work of re
demption He had " respect to the recompense of reward."
True it is He was conscious — how could He but be conscious
— that when His work was completed He should be " glori
fied Avith that glory which He had Avith the Father before
the world began;" but we deny that this Avas the motive
which induced Him to undertake that work ; and that man
I.lis a very mistaken idea ofthe character ofthe Redeemer,
and understands but little of His spirit, who has so mean an
opinion of Him as to suppose that it was any consideration
of personal happiness and blessedness which led the Son of
God to die. "For this end was He born, and for this end
came He into the world to bear witness unto the truth," and
" to finish the work which was given Him to do."
If we were asked, Can you select one text in which more
than in any other this unselfish, disinterested feature comes
forth, it should be this, " Love ye your enemies, do good and
lend, hoping for nothing again." This is the true spirit of
Christianity — doing right disinterestedly, not from the hope
of any personal advantage or reward, either temporal or spir
itual, but entirely forgetting self, "hoping for nothing again."
When that glorious philanthropist, whose whole life had been
spent in procuring the abolition of the slave-trade, was de
manded of, by some systematic theologian, whether in his ar
dor in this great cause he had not been neglecting his per
sonal prospects and endangering his OAvn soul, this was his
magnanimous reply — one .of those Avhich show the light of
truth breaking through like an Inspiration : he said, " I did
not think about my own soul, I had no time to think about
myself, I had forgotten all about my soul." The Christian
is not concerned about his own happiness ; he has not time
to consider himself; he has not time to put that selfish ques
tion which the' disciples put to their Lord when they Avere
but half baptized Avith His spirit, " Lo, Ave have left all and
followed Thee, what shall Ave have therefore ?"
In conclusion we observe, there are tAvo things which are
to be learned from this passage. The first is this, that hap
piness is not our end and aim. It has been said, and has
since been repeated as frequently as if it were an indisputa
ble axiom, that "happiness is our being's end and aim."
Brethren, happiness is not our being's end and aim. The
Christian's aim is perfection, not happiness, and every one of
the sons of God must have something of that -spirit which
marked their Master ; that holy sadness, that peculiar unrest,
that high and lofty melancholy which belongs to a spirit
which strives after heights to Avhich it can never attain
23*

538 The Christian Aim and Motive.
The second thing we have to learn is this, that on this
earth there can be no rest for man. By rest we mean the at
tainment of a state beyond which there can be no change.
Politically, morally,, spiritually, there can be no rest for man
here. In one country alone has that system been fully car
ried out which, conservative of the past, excludes all desire
of progress and improvement for the future : but it is not to
China that we should look for the perfection of human socie
ty. There is one ecclesiastical system which carries out the
same spirit, looking rather to the Church of the past than to
the Church of the future ; but it is not in the Romish that
we shall find the model of a Christian Church. In Paradise
it may have been right to be at rest, to desire no change; but
ever since the Fall, every system that tends to check the on
ward progress of mankind is fatally, radically, curelessly
Avrong. The motto on every Christian banner is " Forward."
There is no resting in the present, no satisfaction in the past.
The last thing we learn from this is the 'impossibility of
obtaining that of which some men speak — the satisfaction of
a good conscience. Some men Avrite and speak as if the dif
ference between the Christian and the worldly man was this,
that in the one conscience is a self-reproaching hell, and in
the other a self-congratulating heaven. Oh, brethren, is this
the fact ? Think you that the Christian goes home at night
counting up the noble deeds done during the day, saying to
himself," Well done, good and faithful servant ?" Brethren,
that habit of looking forward to the future prevents all pride
and self-righteousness, and makes our best and only rest and
satisfaction to#consist in contemplating the future Avhich is
bringing us nearer and nearer home. Our motto, therefore,
must be that striking one of the Apostle Paul, " Forgetting
those things which are behind, and reaching forth to those
things Avhich are before, I press towards the mark for the
prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus."

Christian Casuistry. 539

XIII.
CHRISTIAN CASUISTRY.
' ' Is any man called being circumcised ? let him not become uncircumcised.
Is any called in uncircumcision? let him not be circumcised. Circumcision
is nothing, and uncircumcision is nothing, but the keeping of the command
ments of God. Let every man abide in the same calling wherein he was
called. Art thou called being a servant ? care not for it : but if thou mayest
be made free, use it rather. For he that is called in the Lord, being a serv
ant, is the Lord's freeman : likewise also he that is called, being free, is
Christ's servant. Ye are bought with a price ; be not ye the servants of men.
Brethren, let every man, wherein he is called, therein abide with God.'- —
1 Cor. vii. 18-24.
The whole of 'these seven chapters ofthe First Epistle of
the Apostle Paul to the Corinthians, is occupied with ques
tions of Christian casuistry. In the application of the prin
ciples of Christianity to the varying circumstances of life in
numerable difficulties had arisen, and the Corinthians upon
these difficulties had put certain questions to the Apostle
Paul This seventh chapter contains the apostle's answer to
many of these questions. There are, however, two great di
visions into which these answers generally fall. St. Paul
makes a distinction between those things which he speaks
by commandment and those which he speaks only by per
mission ; there is a distinction between what he says as from
the Lord, and what only from himself; between that which
he speaks to them as being taught of God, and that which
he speaks only as a servant, " called of the Lord and faith
ful." It is manifestly plain that there are many questions in which
right and wrong are not variable, but indissoluble* and fixed;
while there are questions, on the other hand, where these
terms are not fixed, but variable, fluctuating, altering, de
pendent upon circumstances. As, for instance, those in which
the apostle teaches in the present chapter the several duties
and advantages of marriage and celibacy. There may be cir
cumstances in which it is the duty of a Christian man to be
married, there are others in which it may be his duty to re
main unmarried. For instance, in the case of a missionary
it may beright to be married rather than unmarried ; on the
other hand, in the case of a pauper, not having the where
withal to bring up and maintain a family, it may be proper

540 Christian Casuistry.
to remain unmarried. You will observe, however, that no
fixed law can be laid doAvn upon this subject. We can not
say marriage is a Christian duty ; nor celibacy is a Christian
duty ; nor that it is in every case the duty of a missionary to
be married, or of a pauper to be unmarried. All these things
must vary according to circumstances, and the duty must be
stated not universally, but with reference to those circum
stances. These, therefore, are questions of casuistry, which depend
upon the particular case : from which word the term " casu
istry " is derived. On these points the apostle speaks not
by commandment, but by permission : not as speaking by
God's command, but as having the. Spirit of God. A dis
tinction has sometimes beep drawn with reference to this
chapter betAveen that whicn tne apostle speaks by inspira
tion, and what he speaks as a man uninspired. The distinc
tion, hoivever, is an altogether false one, and beside the ques
tion. For the real distinction is not between the inspired
and uninspired, but between a decision in matters of Chris
tian duty and advice in matters of Christian prudence. It is
abundantly evident that God can not give advice ; He can
only issue a command. God can not say, " It is better to do
this ;" His perfections demand something absolute : " Thou
shalt do this ; thou shalt not do this." Whensoever, there
fore, Ave come to advice, there is introduced the human ele
ment rather than the Divine. In all such cases, therefore, as
are dependent upon circumstances the apostle speaks not as
inspired, but as uninspired ; as one whose judgment we have
no right to find fault with or to cavil at, who lays down
Avhat is a matter of Christian prudence, and not a bounden
and universal duty. The matter of the present discourse
Avill take in various verses in this chapter— from the tenth
to the twenty-fourth verse — leaving part of the commence
ment and the conclusion for our consideration, if God permit,
next Sunday.
There are three main questions on which the apostle here
gives his inspired decision. The first decision is concerning
the sanctity of the marriage-bond between two Christians.
His verdict is given in the tenth verse : " Unto the married
I command, yet not I, but the Lord, Let not the wife depart
from her husband." He lays down this principle, that the
union is an indissoluble one.
Upon such a subject, Christian brethren, before a mixed
congregation, it is manifestly evident that we can only speak
in general terms. It will be sufficient to say that marriage
is of all earthly, unions almost the only one permitting ofnc

Christian Casuistry. 541
change but that of death. It is that engagement in Avhich
man exerts his most awful and solemn power — the power of
responsibility which belongs to him as one that shall give
account — the power of abnegating the right to change — the
power of parting with his freedom — the power of doing that
Avhich in this world can never be reversed. And yet it is
' perhaps that relationship which is spoken of most frivolously,
and entered into most carelessly and most wantonly. It is
not a union merely between tAvo creatures, it is a union
between two spirits ; and the intention of that bond is to
perfect the nature of both, by supplementing their deficien
cies with the force of contrast, giving to each sex those ex
cellencies in which it is naturally deficient; to the one
strength of character and firmness of moral will, to the other
sympathy, meekness, tenderness. And just so solemn, and
just so glorious as these ends are for which the union was
contemplated and intended, just so terrible are -the conse
quences if it be perverted and abused. For there is no
earthly relationship which has so much power to ennoble
and to exalt. Very strong language does the apostle use in
this chapter respecting it : " What knowest thou, oh wife,
whether thou shalt save thy husband ? or how knoAvest thou,
oh man, whether thou shalt save thy wife ?" The very pow- •
er of saving belongs to this relationship. And on the other
hand, there is no earthly relationship which has.so much -power
to wreck and ruin the soul. For there are two rocks in this
world of ours on which the soul must either anchor or be
wrecked. The one is God ; the other, is the. sex opposite
to itself. The one is the " Rock of Ages," on which if the
human soul anchors it lives the blessed life of faith ; against
Avhich if the soul be dashed and broken, there ensues the
Avreck of Atheism — the worst ruin of the soul. The other
rock is of another character. Bfessed is the man, blessed is
the woman, whose life-experience has taught a confiding be
lief in the excellencies of the sex opposite to their own — a
blessedness second only to the blessedness of salvation.
And the ruin in the other case is second only to the ruin of
everlasting perdition — the same wreck and ruin of the soul.
These, then, are the two tremendous alternatives: on the
one hand the possibility of securing, in all sympathy and
tenderness, the laying of that step on Avhich man rises to
wards his perfection ; on the other hand the blight of all
sympathy, to be dragged down to earth, and forced to be
come frivolous and commonplace ; to lose all zest and ear
nestness in life, to have heart and life degraded by mean and
perpetually-recurring sources of disagreement ; these are the

542 Christian Casuistry.
tAvo alternatives, and it is the worst of these alternatives
which the young risk when they form an inconsiderate union
— excusably indeed, because through inexperience ; and it is
the worst of these alternatives which parents risk — not ex
cusably but inexcusably— when they bring up their children
with no higher view of what that tie is, than the merely pru
dential one of a rich and honorable marriage.
The secorid decision which the apostle makes respecting
another of the questions proposed to him by the Corinthians
is, as to the sanctity of the marriage bond between a Chris
tian and one who is a heathen. When Christianity first
entered into our world, and was little understood, it seemed
to threaten the dislocation and alteration of all existing rela
tionships. Many difficulties arose ; such, for instance, as the
one here started. When of two heathen parties only one
was converted to Christianity, the question arose, What in
this case is the duty of the Christian ? Is not the duty sepa
ration ? Is not the marriage in itself null and void ? as if it
were a union between one dead and one living ? And that
perpetual contact with a heathen, and therefore an enemy of
God, is not that, in a relation so close and intimate, perpetual
defilement ? The apostle decides this with his usual inspired
wisdom. He decides that the marriage bond is saCred still.
Diversities of religious opinion, even the farthest and widest
diversity, can not sanction separation. And so he decides in
the 13th verse, "The woman which hath a husband that be-
lieAreth not, if he be pleased to dwell with her, let her not
leave him." And, " If any brother hath a wife that believeth
not, and she %e pleased to dwell with him, let him not put
her away " (ver. 12).
Now for us in the present day the decision on this point
is not of so much importance as the reason which is adduced
in support of it. The proof which the apostle gives of the
sanctity of the marriage is exceedingly remarkable. Practi
cally it amounts to this : If this were no marriage, but an un
hallowed alliance, it would follow as a necessary consequence
that the offspring could not be reckoned in any sense as the
children of God ; but, on the other hand, it is the instinctive,
unwavering conviction of every Christian parent, united
though he or she may be to a heathen, "My child is a child
of God," or, in the Jewish form of expression, " My child is
clean." So the apostle says, " The unbelieving husband is
sanctified by the wife, and the unbelieving wife is sanctified
by the husband • else were your children unclean ; but now
they are holy," for it follows if the children are holy in this
sense of dedicated to God, and are capable of Christian reia-

Christian Casuistry. 543
tionship, then the marriage relation was not unhallowed, but
sacred and indissoluble.
The value of this argument in the present- day depends on
its relation to baptism. The great question we are deciding
in the present day may be reduced to a very few Avords.
This question — the baptismal question— is this : — whether we
are baptized because we are the children of God, or, whether
we are the children of God because we are baptized; wheth
er, in other words, when the Catechism of the Church of Eng
land says that by baptism we are " made the children of
God," we are to understand thereby that we are made some
thing which we were not before — magically and mysterious
ly changed ; or, whether we are to understand that we are
made the children of God by baptism in the same sense that
a. sovereign is made a sovereign by coronation. Here the
apostle's argument is full, decisive, and unanswerable. He
does not say that these children were Christian, or clean, be
cause they Avere baptized, but they were the children of God
because they were the children of one Christian parent; nay,
more than that, such children could scarcely ever have been
baptized, because, if the rite met with opposition from one
of the parents, it would be an entire and perfect veto to the
possibility of baptism. You will observe that the very fun
damental idea -out of which infant-baptism arises is, that the
impression produced upon the mind and character of the
child by the Christian parent makes the child one of a Chris
tian community; and therefore, as Peter argued that Cor
nelius had received the Holy Ghost, and so was to be bap
tized, just in the same way, as they are adopted into the
Christian family and receive a Christian impression, the chil
dren of Christian parents are also to be baptized.
Observe, also, the important truth which comes out collater
ally from this argument — namely, the sacredness of the im
pression which arises from the close connection between pa
rent and child. Stronger far than education — going on before
education can commence, possibly from the very first mo
ments of consciousness, we begin to impress ourselves on our
children. Our character, voice, features, qualities — modified,
no doubt, by entering into a new human being, and into a
different organization — are impressed upon our children.
Not the inculcation of opinions, but much rather the forma
tion of principles, and of the tone of character, the derivation
of qualities. Physiologists tell us of the derivation of the
mental qualities from the father, and of the moral from the
mother. But be this as it may, there is scarcely one here
Avho can not trace back his present religions character to

544 Christian Casuistry,
some impression, in early life, from one or other of his parents
— a tone, a look, a word, a habit, or even, it may be, a bit
ter, miserable exclamation of remorse.
The third decision which the apostle gives, the third prin
ciple which he lays down, is but the development of the last.
Christianity, he says, does not interfere with existing rela
tionships. First he lays down the principle, and then unfolds
the principle in two ways, ecclesiastically and civilly. The
principle he lays down in almost every variety of form. In
the 1 7th verse, " As God hath distributed to every man, as
the Lord hath called every one, so let him walk." In the
20th verse, " Let every man abide in the same calling where
in he was called." In the 24th verse, " Brethren, let every
man wherein he is called therein abide with God." This is
the principle. Christianity was not to interfere with exist
ing relationships ; Christian men were to remain in those re
lationships in Avhich they were, and in them to develop the
inward spirituality of the Christian life. Then he applies
this principle in tAvo ways. First of all, ecclesiastically.
With respect to their church, or ecclesiastical affairs, he says
— " Is any man called being circumcised ? Let him not be
come uncircumcised. Is any man in uncircumcision? Let
him not be circumcised." In other words, the Jews, after
their conversion, were to continue Jews, if: they would.
Christianity required no change in these outward things, for
it was not in these that the depth and reality of the kingdom
of Christ consisted. So the Apostle Paul took Timothy and
circumcised him; so also he used all the Jewish customs
with which he was familiar, and performed a vow, as related
in the Acts of the Apostles, " having shorn his head in Cen-
chrea ; for he had a vow." It was not his, opinion that it
Avas the duty of a Christian to overthrow the Jewish system.
He kneAV that the Jewish system could not last, but what he
wanted was to vitalize the system — to throw into it not a
Jewish, but a Christian feeling; and so doing, he might con
tinue in it so long as it would hold together. And so it was,
no doubt, with all the other apostles. We have no evidence
that before the destruction of the Jewish polity there was
any attempt made by them to overthrow the Jewish external
religion. They kept the Jewish sabbath, and observed the
Jewish ritual. One of them, James, the Christian bishop of
Jerusalem, though a Christian, was even among the JeAVS re
markable and honorable for the regularity with which he ob
served all his JeAvish duties. Now let us apply this to
modern duties. The great desire among men now appears to
be to alter institutions, to have perfect institutions, as if they

Christian Casuistry. 545
would make perfect men. Mark the difference between this
feeling, and that of the apostle, " Let every man abide in the
same calling wherein he Avas called." We are called to be
members of the Church of England — what is our duty now ?
What would Paul have done ? Is this our duty — to put such
questions to ourselves as these : " Is there any single, par
ticular sentence in the service of my Church with which I do
not entirely agree ? Is there any single ceremony with
Avhich my Avhole soul does not go along ? If so, then is it my
duty to leave it at once?" No, my brethren, all that we
have to do is to say, "All our existing institutions are those
under which God has placed us, under which we are to mould
our lives according to His will." It is our duty to vitalize
our forms, to throw into them a holier, deeper meaning. My
Christian brethren, surely no man will get true rest, true re-
' pOse for his soul, in these days of controversy, until he has
* learned the Avise significance of these wise words — " Let ev
ery man abide in the same calling wherein he was called."
He will but gain .unrest, he will but disquiet himself, if he
says, " I am sinning by continuing in this imperfect system,"
if he considers it his duty to change his calling if his opinions
'*do not agree in every particular and special point with the
system under which God has placed him.
Lastly, the apostle applies this principle civilly. And you
will observe he applies it to that civil relationship which of
all others was the most difficult to harmonize with Chris
tianity—slavery. " Art thou called," he says, " being a
servant ? Care not for it." Now, in considering this part
of the subject Ave should carry along with us these two rec
ollections. First, we should recollect that Christianity had
made much way among this particular class, the class of
slaves. No wonder that men cursed with slavery embraced
with joy a religion which was perpetually teaching the
worth and dignity of the human soul, and declaring that
rich and poor, peer and peasant, master and slave, were equal
in the sight of God. And yet, great as this growth was, it
contained within it elements of danger. It was to be feared
lest men, hearing forever of brotherhood and Christian equal
ity, should be tempted and excited to throw off the yoke by
force, and compel their masters and oppressors to do them
right. The other fact Ave are to keep in remembrance is this—
that all this occurred in an age in Avhich slavery had reach
ed its worst and most fearful form, an age in which the em
perors were accustomed, not unfrequently, to feed their fish
Avith living slaves ; when captives were led to fight in the

546 Christian Casuistry.
amphitheatre Avith wild beasts or with each other, to glut
the Roman appetite for blood upon a Roman holiday. And
yet, fearful as it was, the apostle says, " Care not for it."
And fearful as war was in those days, when the soldiers
came to John to be baptized, he did not recommend them to
join some " peace association," to use the modern term ; he
simply exhorted them to be content Avith their wages.
And hence we understand the way in which Christianity
Avas to work. It interferes indirectly and not directly with
existing institutions. No doubt it will at length abolish
war and slavery, but there is not one case where we find
Christianity interfering with institutions, as such. Even
Avhen Onesimus ran away and came to Paul, the apostle sent
him back to his master Philemon, not dissolving the connec
tion between them. And then, as a consolation to the serv
ant, he told him of a higher feeling — a feeling that would ¦
make him free, with the chain and shackle upon his arm.
And so it was possible for the Christian then, as it is now, to
be possessed of the highest liberty even under tyranny. It
many times occurred that Christian men found themselves
placed under an unjust and tyrannical government, and com
pelled to pay unjust taxes. The Son of Man showed his free
dom not by refusing, but by paying them. His glorious lib
erty could do so without any feeling of degradation ; obey
ing the laws, not because they were right, but because insti
tutions are to be upheld with cordiality.
One thing in conclusion we have to observe. It is possi
ble from all this to draw a most inaccurate conclusion.
Some men have spoken of Christianity as if it was entirely
indifferent about liberty and all public questions — as if with
such things as these Christianity did not concern itself at
all. This indifference is not to be found in the Apostle
Paul. While he asserts that inward liberty is the only true
liberty, he still goes on to say, " If thou mayest be free, use it
rather." For he Avell knew that although it was possible for
a man to be a high and lofty Christian even though he were
a slave, yet it was not probable that he would be so. Out
ward institutions are necessary partly to make a perfect
Christian character ; and thus Christianity works from what
is internal to what is external. It gave to the slave the feel
ing of his dignity as a man, at the same time it gave to the
Christian master a new vieAV of his relation to his slave, and
taught him to regard him " not now as a servant, but above
a servant, a brother beloved." And so by degrees slavery
passed into freed servitude, and freed servitude, under God's
blessing, may pass into something else.

Marriage and Celibacy. 547
There are two mistakes which are often made upon this
subject: one is, the error of supposing that outward institu
tions are unnecessary for the formation of character, and the
other, that of supposing that they are all that is required to
form the human soul. If we understand rightly the duty of
a Christian man, it is this : to make his brethren free inward
ly and outwardly ; first inwardly, so that they may become
masters of themselves, rulers of their passions, having the
power of self-rule and self-control ; and then outwardly, so
that there may be every power and opportunity of develop
ing the inward life ; in the language of the prophet, " To
break the rod of the oppressor and let the oppressed go
free."

XIV.
MARRIAGE AND CELIBACY.
"But this I say, brethren, the time is short: it remaineth, that both they
lhat have wives be as though they had none ; and they that weep, as though
ihey wept not ; and they that rejoice, as though they rejoiced not ; and they
that buy, as though they possessed not ; and they that use this world, as not
•»busing it : for the fashion of this world passeth away." — 1 Cor. vii. 29-31.
The subject of our exposition last Sunday was an essen
tial portion of this chapter. It is our duty to examine now
the former arid the latter portions of it. These portions are
occupied entirely with the inspired apostolic decision upon
this one question — the comparative advantages and merits
of celibacy' and marriage. One preliminary question, hoAV-
ever, is to be discussed. How came it that such a question
should be put at all to the apostle ?
In the church at Corinth there were tAvo different sections
of society ; first there were those who had been introduced
into the church through Judaism, and afteiwards those who
had been converted from different forms of heathenism.
Now it is well known, that it was the tendency of Judaism
highly to venerate the marriage state, and just in the same
proportion to disparage that of celibacy, and to place those
who led a single life under a stigma and disgrace. Those
converts, therefore, entered into the Church of Christ carry
ing with them their old Jewish prejudices. On the other
hand, many who had entered into the Christian Church had
been converted to Christianity from different forms of hea
thenism. Among these prevailed a tendency to the belief
(which originated primarily in the Oriental schools of philos-

548 Marriage and Celibacy,
ophy) that the highest virtue consisted in the denial of all
natural inclinations, and the suppression of all natural., de
sires ; and looking upon marriage on one side only, and that
the lowest, they Avere tempted to consider it as low, earthlyj
carnal, and sensual. It was at this time that Christianity
entered into the world, and while it added fresh dignity and
significance to the marriage relationship, it at the same time
shed a splendor and a glory upon the other state. The vir
ginity of the mother of Our Lord — the solitary life of John
the Baptist — the pure and solitary youth of Christ Himself
— had thrown upon celibacy a meaning and dignity which it
did not possess before. No marvel, therefore, that to men so
educated, and but half prepared for Christianity, practices
like these should have become exaggerations ; for it rarely
happens that any right ideas can be given to the world
Avithout suffering exaggeration. Human nature progresses,
the human mind goes on ; but it is rarely in a straight line,
almost always through the medium of reaction, rebounding
from extremes Avhich produce contrary extremes. So it was
in the Church of Corinth. There were two opposite parties
holding views diametrically opposed to one another — one
honoring the married and depreciating tbe unmarried life —
the other attributing peculiar dignity and sanctity to celi
bacy, and looking down with contempt upon the ' married
Christian state.
It is scarcely necessary to remind ourselves that this di
versity of sentiment has existed in the Church of Christ in
almost all ages. For example, in the early ages, in almost
all the writings of the Fathers we have exaggerated descrip
tions of the dignity and glory of the state of celibacy. They
speak as if the marriage state was low, carnal, and worldly ;
and the other the only one in which it is possible to attain
to the higher spiritual life — the one the natural state, fit for
man, the other the angelic, fit for angels. But ordinarily
among men in general, in every age, the state of single life
has been looked down upon and contemned. And then
there comes to the parties Avho are so circumstanced a cer
tain sense of shame, and along with this a disposition to
wards calumny and slander. Let us endeavor to understand
the wise, inspired decision Avhich the Apostle Paul pro
nounced upon this subject. He does not decide, as we
might have been led to suppose he would, from his -own pe
culiarity of disposition, upon one side only ; but raises into
relief the advantages and excellencies of both. He says that
neither state has in itself any intrinsic merit — neither is in
itself superior to the other.. "I suppose, then," he says, " that

Marriage and Celibacy. 549
this is good for the present distress. Art thou bound unto a
wife ? Seek not to be loosed. Art thou loosed from a wife ?
Seek not a wife. But and if thou marry, thou hast not sin
ned : and if a virgin marry, she hath not sinned. Neverthe
less, such shall have trouble in the flesh : but I spare you."
That is, I will spare you this trouble, in recommending a sin
gle, solitary life. You will observe that in these words he
attributes no intrinsic merit or dignity to either celibacy or
marriage. The comparative advantages of these two states
he decides with reference to two considerations ; first of all
with respect to their comparative power in raising the char
acter of the individual, and afterwards with reference to the
opportunities which each respectively gives for the service
of God.
I. With respect to the single life, he tells us that he had
his own proper gift from God ; in other words, he was one
of those rare characters who have the power of living with
out personal sympathy. The feelings and affections of the
Apostle Paul were of a strange and rare character — tending
to expansiveness rather than concentration. Those sympa
thies Avhich ordinary men expend, upon a few, he extended
to many. The members of the churches which. he had found
ed at Corinth, and Ephesus, and Colosse, and Philippi, were
to him as children ; and he threAV upon them all that sym
pathy and affection which other men throw upon their own
domestic circle. To a man so trained and educated, the sin
gle life gave opportunities of serving God which the marriage
state could not give. St. Paul had risen at once to that phi
lanthropy — that expansive benevolence; which most other
men only attain by slow degrees, arid this was made, by
God's blessing, a means of serving his cause. HoAvever we
may sneer at the monastic system of the Church of Rome, it
is unquestionable that many great works have been done by
the monks which could not have been performed by men
who had entered into the marriage relationship. Such ex
amples of heroic Christian effort as are seen in the lives of
St. Bernard, of Francis Xavier, ahd many others, are scarcely
ever to be found except in the single state. The forlorn
hope in battle, as well as in the cause of Christianity, must
consist of men who have no domestic relationships to divide
their devotion, who will leave no wife nor children to mourn
over their loss.
Let this great truth bring its improvement to those who,
either of their own choice or by the force of circumstances,
are destined hereafter to live a single life on earth ; and, in-

550 Marriage and Celibacy.
stead of yielding to that feeling so common among mankind
— the feeling of envy at another's happiness ; instead of be
coming gloomy, and bitter, and censorious, let them remem
ber what the Bible has to tell of the deep significance of the
Virgin Mary's life — let them reflect upon the snares and dif
ficulties from which they are saved — let them consider how
much more time and money they can give to God — that they
are called to the great work of serving causes, of entering
into public questions, while others spend their time and tal
ents only upon themselves. The state of single life, however
we may be tempted to think lightly of it, is a state that has
peculiar opportunities of deep blessedness.
On the other hand, the Apos_tle; Paul brings forward, into
strong relief, the blessedness and advantages of the marriage
state. He tells us that it is a type of the union between the
Redeerherand the Church. But as this belongs to another
part ofthe subject, we shall not enter into it now. But Ave
observe, that men in general must have their sympathies
drawn out step by step, little by little. We do not rise to
philanthropy all at once. We begin with personal, domestic,
particular affections. And not only is it true that rarely can
any man have the whole of his love drawn out except through
this domestic state, but, also, it is to be borne in mind that
those who have entered into this relationship have also their
own peculiar advantages. It is true that in the marriage-
life, interrupted as it is by daily cares and small trifles, those
works of Christian usefulness can not be so continuously car
ried on as in the other. But is there not a deep meaning to
be learned from the old expression — that celibacy is an an
gelic state ? that it is preternatural, and not natural ? that
the goodness which is induced by it is not, so to speak, the
natural goodness of humanity, but such a goodness as God
scarcely intended ?
Who of us can not recollect a period of his history when
all his time was devoted to the cause of Christ ; when all
his money was given to the service of God ; and when Ave
were tempted to look doAvn upon those who were less ardent
than ourselves, as if they were not Christians ? But now the
difficulties of life have come upon us; we have become in
volved in the trifles and the smallness of social domestic ex
istence ; and these have made us less devoted perhaps, less
preternatural, less angelic— but more human, better fitted to
enter into the daily cares and small difficulties of our ordi
nary humanity. And this has been represented to us by two
great lives — one human, the other Divine — one, the life of
John the Baptist, and the other, of Jesus Christ. In both

Marriage and Celibacy. 551
these cases is verified the saying, that "Wisdom is justified
of all her children." Those who are wisdom's children — the
truly wise — will recognize an even wisdom in both these
lives ; they will see that there are cases in which a solitary
life is to be chosen for the sake of God ; Avhile there are
other cases in which a social life becomes our bounden duty.
But it should be specially observed here that that life
Avhich has been given to us as a specimen of life for all, Avas
a social, a human life. Christ did not refuse to mix with the
common joys and common sorrows of humanity. He was
present at the marriage-feast, and by the bier of the widow's
son. This, of the two lives, was the one which, because it was
the most human, was the most Divine ; the most rare, the
most difficult, the most natural — therefore the most Christ-
like. II. Let . us notice, in the second place, the principle upon
which the apostle founds this decision. It is given in. the
text — " This I say, brethren, the time is short : it remaineth
that both they that have, wives be as though they had none,"
" for the fashion of this world passeth away." Now observe
here, 1 pray you, the deep wisdom of this apostolic decision.
In point of fact it comes to this: Christianity is a spirit,
not a law; it is a set of principles,' not a set of rules; it is
not a saying to us, You shall do this, you shall not do that ;
you shall Use this particular dress, you shall not use that;
you shall lead, you shall not lead a married life. Christianity
consists of principles, but the application of those principles
is left to every man's individual conscience. With respect
not only to this particular case, but to all the questions
which had been brought before him, the apostle applies the
same principle; the cases upon which he decided were many
and various, but the large, broad principle of his decision re
mains the same in all. You may marry, and you have not
sinned; you may remain unmarried, and you do not sin;
if you are invited to a heathen feast, you may go, or you
may a'bstain from going ; you may remain a slave, or you
may become free; in these things Christianity does not con
sist. But what it does demand is this : that whether mar
ried or unmarried, whether a slave or free, in sorrow or -in
joy, you are to live in a spirit higher and loftier than that
of the world.
The apostle gives us in the text two motives for this
Christian unworldliness. The first motive which he lays
down is tlys^"The time is short." You will observe, how
frequently, in the course of his remarks upon the questions

552 Marriage and Celibacy.
proposed to him, the apostle turns, as it were, entirely away
from the subject, as if worn out and Avearied by the com
paratively trivial character of the questions — as if this
balancing of one earthly condition or advantage with an
other Avere but a solemn trifling compared with eternal
things. And so here he seems to turn aAvay from the ques
tion before him, and speaks of the shortness of time — " The
time is short !"
Time is short in reference to two things. First, it is short
in reference to the person Avho regards it. That mysterious
thing time, is a matter of sensation, and not a reality ; a
modification merely of our own consciousness, and not actual
existence ; depending upon the flight of ideas — long to one,
short to another. The span granted to the butterfly, the
child of a single summer, may be long ; that which is given
to the cedar of Lebanon may be short. The shortness of
time, therefore, is entirely relative — belonging to us not to
God. Time is short in reference to existence, Avhether you
look at it before or after. Time past seems nothing ; time
to come always seems long. We say this chiefly for the
sake of the young. To them fifty or sixty years seems a
treasure inexhaustible. But, my young brethren, ask the
old man, trembling on the verge of the grave, what he
thinks of time and life. He will" tell you that the three
score years and ten, or even the hundred and twenty years
of Jacob, are but " few and evil." And therefore if you are
tempted to unbelief in respect to this question, we appeal to
experience — experience alone can judge of its truth.
Once more^ time is short with reference to its opportuni
ties. For this is the emphatic meaning in the original —
literally, " The opportunity is compressed, or shut in."
Brethren, time may be long, and yet the opportunity may
be very short. The sun in autumn may be bright and clear,
but the seed which has not been sown until then will not
vegetate. A man may have vigor and energy in manhood
and maturity, but the work which ought to have been done
in childhood and youth can not be done in old age. A chance
once gone in this world can never be recovered.
Brother men, have you learned the meaning of yesterday?
Do you rightly estimate the importance of to-day ? That
there are duties to be done to-day which can not be done
to-morrow? This it is that throws so solemn a significance
into your work. The time for working is short, therefore
begin to-day ; " for the night is coming when no man can
work." Time is short in reference to eternity. Jt was es
pecially with this reference that the text was written. In

Marriage and Celibacy. 553
those days, and even by the apostles themselves, the day
of the Lord's appearance and second advent seemed much
nearer than it was. They believed that it would occur
during their own lives. And with this belief came the
feeling which comes sometimes to all. " Oh, in comparison
with that vast hereafter, this little life shrivels into nothing !
What is to-day worth, or its duties or its cares ?" All deep
minds have thought that. The thought of Time is solemn
and awful to all minds in proportion to their depth — and
in proportion as the mind is superficial, the thought has
appeared little, and has been treated with levity. Brethren,
let but a man possess himself of that thought — the deep
thought of the brevity of time ; this thought — that time is
short, and that eternity is long — and he has learned the first
great secret of unworldliness.
The second motive which the apostle gives us is the
changing character of the external world. " The fashion of
this world passeth away " — literally, " the scenery of this
world," a dramatic expression, drawn from the Grecian stage.
One of the deepest of modern thinkers has told us in words
often quoted, "AH the world's a stage." And a deeper
thinker than he, because inspired, had said long before in
the similar words of the text, "The scenery of this world
passeth away."
There are tAvo ways in which this is true. First, it is true
with respect to all the things by Avhich we are surrounded.
It is only in poetry — the poetry of the Psalms for example
— that the hills are called " everlasting." Go to the side of
the ocean which hounds our country, and watch the tide
going out, bearing with it the sand which it has worn from
the cliffs; the very boundaries of our land are changing;
they are not the same as they Avere when these words were
written. Every day new relationships are forming around
us; new circumstances are calling upon us to act — to act
manfully, firmly, decisively, and up to the occasion, remem
bering that an opportunity once gone is gone forever. In
dulge not in vain regrets for the past, in vainer resolves for
the future — act, act in the present.
Again; this is true with respect to ourselves. " The
fashion of this world passeth away " in us. The feelings we
have now are not those which we- had in childhood. There
has passed away a glory from the earth — the stars, the sun,
the moon, the green fields have lost their beauty and signifi
cance — nothing remains as it was, except their repeated
impressions on the mind, the impressions of time, space,
eternity, color, form ; these can not alter, but all besides has
24

554 Marriage and Celibacy.
changed. Our very minds alter. There is no bereavement
so painful, no shock so terrible, but time will remove or
alleviate. The keenest feeling in this world time wears out
at last, and our minds become like old, monumental tablets
which have lost the inscription once graven deejfly upon
them. In conclusion, we have to examine the nature of this
Christian unworldliness Avhich is taught us in the text. The
principle of unworldliness is stated in the latter portion of
the text ; in the former part the apostle makes an applica
tion of the principle to four cases of life. First, to cases of
domestic relationship — "it remaineth that they that have
wives be as though they had none." Secondly, to cases of
sorrow — "and they that weep as though they Avept not."
Thirdly, to cases of joy — " and they that rejoice as though
they rejoiced not." And, finally, to cases of the acquisition
of worldly property — " and they that buy as though they
possessed not." Time Avill not alloAV us to go into these
applications ; Ave must confine ourselves to a brief considera
tion of the principle. The principle of Christian unworldli
ness, then, is this, to " use this world as not abusing it"
Here Christianity takes its stand in opposition to two con
trary principles. The spirit of the world says, " Time is
short, therefore use it while you have it ; take your fill of
pleasure while you may." A narrow religion says, " Time is
short, therefore temporal things should receive no attention :
do not weep, do not rejoice ; it is beneath a Christian." In
opposition to the narrow spirit of religion, Christianity says,
" Use this Avould ;" — in opposition to the spirit of the world
Christianity says, " Do not abuse it." A distinct duty arises
from this principle to use the world. While in the world
we are citizens of the world : it is our duty to share its joys,
to take our part in its sorrows, not to shrink from its diffi
culties, but to mix ourselves with its infinite opportunities.
So that if time be short, so far from that fact lessening their
dignity or importance, it infinitely increases them; since
upon these depend the destinies of our eternal being. Un
worldliness is this — to hold things from God in the per
petual conviction that they will not last ; to have the world,
and not to let the Avorld have us ; to be the Avorld's masters,
and not the world's slaves.

The Christian Church a Family. 555

xv.
THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH A FAMILY.
" Our Lord Jesus Christ, of whom the whole family in heaven and earth is
named." — Eph. iii. 14, 15.
In the verses immediately before the text the Apostle
Paul has been speaking of what he calls a mystery — that
is, a revealed secret. And the secret was this, that the
Gentiles would be " felloAV-heirs and of the same body, and
partakers of the promise in Christ by the Gospel." It had
been kept secret from the former ages and generations ; it
Avas a secret which the Jew had not suspected, had not even
dreamt of. It appeared to him to be his duty to keep as far
as possible from the Gentile. Circumcision, which taught
him the duty of separation from the Gentile spirit and Gentile
practices, seemed to him to teach hatred towards Gentile
persons, until at length, in the good pleasure arid providence
of God, in the fullness of time, through the instrumentality
of men Avhose hearts rather than whose intellects were in
spired by God, the truth came out distinct and clear, that God
was the Father ofthe Gentiles as Avell as ofthe Jews, "for
the same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon Him."
In the progress of the months, my Christian brethren, we
have arrived again at that period of the year in which our
Church calls upon us to commemorate the Epiphany, or
manifestation of' Jesus Christ to the Gentiles, and we know
not that in the whole range of Scripture we could find a
passage which more*distinctiy and definitely than this brings
before us the spirit in which it is incumbent upon us to enter
upon this duty, In considering this passage we shall divide
it into these tAvo branches :
I. The definition which the Apostle Paul here gives of
the Church of Christ ; and,
H The name by which this Church is named.
I. In the first place, let us consider the definition given by
the Apostle Paul of the Christian Church, taken in its en
tirety. . It is this, " the whole family in heaven and earth."
But in order to understand this fully, it will be necessary for
us to break it up into its different terms.
1. First of all, it is taught by this definition that the

556 The Christian Church a Family.
Church of Christ is a society founded upon natural affinities
 a « family." A family is built on affinities which are nat
ural not artificial ; it is not a combination, but a society.
In ancient times an association of interest combined men in
one guild or corporation for protecting the common persons in
that corporation from oppression. In modern times identity
of political creed or opinion has bound men together in one
league, in order to establish those political principles which
appeared to them of importance. Similarity of taste has
united men together in what is called an association, or a
society, in order by this means to attain more completely
the ends of that science to which they had devoted them
selves. But as these have been raised artificially, so their
end is, inevitably, dissolution. Society passes on, and guilds
and, corporations die ; principles are established, and leagues
become dissolved ; tastes change, and then the association or
society breaks up and comes to nothing.
It is upon another principle altogether that that which we
call a family, or true society, is formed. It is not built upon
similarity of taste, nor identity of opinion, but upon affini
ties of nature. You do not choose who shall be your broth
er ; you can not exclude your mother or your sister ; it does
not depend upon choice or arbitrary opinion at all, but is
founded upon the eternal nature of things. And precisely
in the same way is the Christian Church formed— upon nat
ural affinity j and. not upon artificial combination. "The
family, the whole family in heaven and earth ;" not made up
of those who call themselves brethren, but of those who are
brethren ; nofr founded merely upon the principles of com
bination, but upon the principles of affinity. That is not a
church, or a family, or a society which is madeup by men's
choice, as when, in the upper classes of. life, men of fashion
unite together, selecting their associates from their own dass,
and form what is technically, called a society; it is a com
bination, if you will, but a. society it is :not— a family it is
not — a Church of Christ it can not be. '.,..,.
And, again, .when the Baptists or the.Independents, or any
other sectarians, unite themselves with men holding the same
faith and entertaining the same opinions, there may be a sect,
a combination, a persuasion, but a Church there can riot be.
And so, again, when the Jew in time, past linked himself with
the Jew, with those of the same nation, there you have what
in ancient times was called Judaism, and in modern times
is called Hebraicism— a system, a combination, but not a
Church. - The Church rises ever out of the family. First of
all, in the good providence of God,- there is the family, then

The Christian Church a Family. 557
the tribe, then the nation ; and then the nation merges itself
into humanity. And the nation which refuses to merge its
nationality in humanity, to lose itself in the general interests
of mankind, is left behind, and loses almost its religious na
tionality — like the Jewish people.
Such is the first principle. A man is bom of the same
family, and is not made such by an appointment or by arbi
trary choice.
2. Another thing which is taught by this definition is this,
that the Church of Christ is a whole made up of manifold di
versities. We are told here it is " the whole family," taking
into it the great and good of ages past, now in heaven ; and
also the struggling, the humble, and the weak now existing
upon earth, flere, again, the analogy holds good between
the Church and the family. Never more than in the family
is the true entirety of our nature seen. Observe how all the
diversities of human condition and character manifest them
selves in the family.
First of all, there are the two opposite poles of masculine
and feminine, which contain within them the entire of our
humanity — which together, npt separately, make up the
whole of man. Then there are the diversities in the degrees
and kinds of affection. For Avhen Ave speak of family affec
tion we must remember that it is made up of many diversi
ties. There is nothing more different than the love which
the sister bears toAvards the brother, compared with that
which the brother bears towards the sister. The affection
which a man bears towards his father is quite distinct from
that which he feels towards his mother; it is something
quite different towards his sister ; totally diverse again, to
Avards his brother.
And then there are diversities of character. First the ma
ture wisdom and stern integrity of the father ; then the ex
uberant tenderness of the mother. And then one is brave
and enthusiastic, another thoughtful, and another tender.
One is remarkable for being full of rich humor, another is
sad, mournful, even melancholy. Again, besides these, there
.are diversities of condition in life. First, there is the heir,
sustaining the name and honor of the family ; then perchance
the soldier, in whose career all the anxiety and solicitude of
the family is centred ; then the man of business, to whom
they look up, trusting his advice, expecting his counsel ;
lastly, perhaps, there is the invalid, from the very cradle
trembling between life and death, drawing out all the sym
pathies and anxieties of each member of the family, and so
uniting them all more closely, from their having one common

558 The Christian Church a Family.
point of sympathy and solicitude. Now, you will observe
that these are not- accidental, but absolutely essential to the
idea of a family ; for so far as any one of them is lost, so far
the family is incomplete. A family made up of one sex
alone all brothers and no sisters ; or in which all are devo
ted to one pursuit ; or in Avhich there is no diversity of tem
per and dispositions1 — the same monotonous repeated identity
— a sameness in the type of character— this is not a family,
it is only the fragment of a family.
And precisely in the same way all these diversities of
character and condition are necessary to constitute and com
plete the idea of a Christian Church. For as in ages past it
Avas the delight of the Church to canonize one particular
class of virtues — as for instance, purity or martyrdom — so
now, in every age, and in every individual bosom, there is a
tendency to canonize, or honor, or reckon as Christian, only
one or two classes of Christian qualities. For example, if
you were to ask in the present day where you should find a
type of the Christian character, many in all probability
would point you to the man who keeps the sabbathday, is
regular in his attendance upon the services of the Church,
who loves to heal" the Christian sermon. This is a phase of
Christian character — that Avhich is essentially and peculiarly
the feminine type of religion. But is there in God's Church
to be found no place for that type which is rather masculine
than feminine? — which not in litanies or in psalm-singing
does the will of God, but by struggling for principles, and
contending for the truth — that life whose prayer is action,
whose-aspirafion is continual effort ?
Or again, in every age, amongst all men, in the history of
almost every individual, at one time or another, there has
been a tendency towards that which has been eriiphatically
named in modern times hero-worship~-leaelmg us to an ad
miration of the more singular, powerful, noble qualities of
humanity. And wherever this tendency- to hero-worship ex
ists, there will be found side by side with it a tendency to
underA'aluie and depreciate excellences of an opposite charac
ter — the humble, meek, retiring qualities. But it is precisely
for these that the Church of Christ finds place. " Blessed
are the meek, blessed are the merciful, blessed are they that
hunger and thirst after righteousness, blessed are the poor in
spirit." In God's world there is a place for the wren and the
violet, just as truly as there is for the eagle and the rose.
In the Church of God there is a place — and that the noblest
—for Dorcas making garments for the poor, and for Mary
sitting at the feet of "Jesus, just as truly as there is for Elijah

The Christian Church a Family. 559
confounding a false religion by his noble opposition, for
John the Baptist making a king tremblcon his throne, or
for the Apostle Paul " compassing sea and land " by his
wisdom and his heroic deeds.
Once more, there are ages as well as times in our own in
dividual experience, when Ave set up charity as if it were the
one only Christian character. And Avherever this tendency
is found there will be found at the same time, and side by
side with it, a tendency to admire the spurious form of char
ity, which is a sentiment and not a virtue ; which can sym
pathize with crime, but not with la\v ; Avhich can be tender
to savages, but has no respect, no care for national honor.
And therefore does this principle of the Apostle Paul call
upon us to esteem also another form or type of character, and
the opposite one ; that which is remarkable for — in Avhich pre
dominates — not so much charity as justice ; that which Avas
seen in the warriors and prophets of old ; who, perchance,
had a more strong recoil from vice than sympathy with vir
tue ; whose indignation towards that which is Avrong and
hypocritical Avas more intense than their love for that which
is good : the material, the character, out of which the re
former and the prophet, those Avho are called to do great
works on earth, are made.
The Church of Christ takes not in one individual form of
goodness merely, but every form of excellence that can
adorn humanity. Nor is this wonderful when we remem
ber who He Avas from whom this Church was named. It
was He in whom centred all excellence — a righteousness
Avhich was entire and perfect. But Avhen we speak of the
perfection of righteousness, let us remember that it is made
not of One exaggerated character, but of a true harmony,
a due proportion of all virtues united. In Rim were found,
therefore, that tenderness towards sinners which had no
sympathy with sin ; that humility which could be dignified,
and was yet united with self-respect ; that simplicity Which
is ever to be met Avith side by side Avith true majesty; that
love which could weep over Jerusalem at the very moment
when He was pronouncing its doom ; that truth and justice
which appeared to stand as a protection to those who had
been oppressed, at the same time that He scathed with in
dignant invective the Pharisees ofthe then existing Jews.
There are tAvo, only two perfect humanities. One has ex
isted already in the person of our Lord Jesus Christ, the
other is to be found only iii the collective Church. Once,
only once, has God given a perfect representation of Himself,
" the brightness of the Father's glory, and the express image

560 The Christian Church a Family.
of His person." And if Ave ask again for a perfect humanity,
the answer is, it is not in this Church or in that, Church, or
in this man or in that man, in this age or in that age, but in
the collective blended graces, and beauties, and humanities,
which are found in every age, in all churches, but not in every
separate man. So, at least, Paul has taught us, " Till we all
come " — collectively, not separately — " in the unity of the
faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a.perfect
man " — in other words, to a perfect humanity — " unto the
measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ."
3. The last thing which is taught us by this definition is,
that the Church of Christ is a society which is forever shifting
its locality and altering its forms. It is the whole church,
" the whole family in heaven and earth." So, then, those who
were on earth, and are noAV in heaven, are yet members of
the same family still. Those who had their home here, now
have it there.
Let us see what it is that we should learn from this doctrine.
It is this, that the dead are not lost to us. There is a sense
in which the departed are ours more than they were before.
There is a sense in which the Apostles Paul or John, the good
and great of ages past, belong to this age more than to that in
Avhich they lived, but in which they were not understood ; in
which the commonplace and every-day part of their lives hin
dered the brightness and glory and beauty of their character
from shining forth. So it is in the family. It is possible for
men to live in the same house, and partake of the same meal
from day to day, and from year to year, and yet remain stran
gers to each otiier, mistaking each other's feelings, not com
prehending each other's character; and it is only when the
Atlantic rolls between, and half a hemisphere is interposed,
that we learn how dear they are to us, how all our life is
bound up in deep anxiety with their existence. Therefore it
is the Christian feels that the family is not broken. Think
you that family can break or end ? — that because the chair
is empty, therefore he, your child, is no more ? It may be so
Avith the coarse, the selfish, the unbelieving, the superstitious ;
but the eye of faith sees there only a transformation. He is
not there, he is risen. You see the place where he was, but
he has passed to heaven. So at least the parental heart of
David felt of old, " by faith and not by sight," when speak
ing of his infant child. " I shall go to him, but he shall not
return to me."
Once more, the Church of Christ is a society ever altering
and changing its external forms. " The whole family "^-the
Church of the patriarchs, and. of ages before them ; and yet

The Christian Church a Family. 561
the same family. Remember, I pray you, the diversities of
form through which, in so many ages and generations, this
Church has passed. Consider the difference there was be
tween the patriarchal Church of the time of Abraham and
Isaac, and its condition under David ; or the difference be
tween the Church sO existing and its state in the days of the
apostles ; and the marvellous difference between that and the
1 .1 me Church four or five centuries later ; or, once again, the
difference between that, externally one, and the Church as it
exists in the present day, broken into so many fragments.
Yet diversified as these states may be, they are not more so
than the various stages of a family.
There is a time Avhen the children are all in one room,
around their mother's knee. Then comes a time, still farther
on, when the first separation takes place, and some are leav
ing their home to prepare for after-life. Afterwards, when
all in their different professions, trades or occupations, are
separate. At last comes the time when some are gone. And,
perchance, the two survivors meet at last — an old, gray-hair
ed man, and a weak, worn-out woman — to mourn over the
last graves of a household. Christian brethren, which of
these is the right form— the true, external pattern of a fam
ily ? Say we not truly, it remains the same under all out
ward mutations ? We must think of this, or else we may lose
heart in our work. Conceive, for instance, the feelings of a
pious Jew, when Christianity entered this world ; when all his
religious system was broken up — the Temple-service brought
to a violent end ; when that polity which he thought was to
redeem and ennoble the world was cast aside as a broken
and useless thing. Must they not have been as gloomy and
as dreary as those of the disciples, when He was dead who
they " trusted should have redeemed Israel ?" In both cases
the body was gone or was altered — the spirit had arisen.
And precisely so it is with our fears and unbelieving ap
prehensions now. Institutions pass — churches alter — old
forms change — and high-minded and good men cling to
these as if they were the only things by Avhich God could
regenerate the world. Christianity appears to some men to
be effete and Worn out. Men who can look back upon the
times of Venn, and Newton, and Scott — comparing the de
generacy of their descendants with the men of those days —
lose heart as if all things were going wrong. " Things are
not," they say, " as they were in our younger days." No,
my Christian brethren, things are not as they then were ;
but the Christian cause lives on — not in the successors of
such men as those ; the outvvard form is altered, but tha
24*

562 The Christian Church a Family.
spirit is elsewhere, is risen — risen just as truly as the spirit
of the highest Judaism rose again in Christianity. And to
mourn over old superstitions and effete creeds is just as un
wise as is the grief of the mother mourning over the form
Avhich was once her. child. She can not separate her affee--
tion from that form — those hands, those limbs, those features
— are they not her child ? The true answer is, her child is
not there. It is only the form of her child. And it is as un-
Avise to mourn over the decay of those institutions — the
change of human forms — as it was unwise in Jonah to mourn
with that passionate sorrow over the decay of the gourd
which had sheltered him from the heat ofthe noontide sun.
A worm had eaten the root of the gourd, and it was jrone.
But He who made the gourd the shelter to the weary — the
shadow of those who are oppressed by the noontide heat of
life — lived on : Jonah's God. And so, brethren, all things
change— all things outward change and alter ; but the God
,of the Church lives on. The Church of God remains un
der fresh forms — the one, holy, entire family in heaven and
earth. II. Pass we on now, in the second place, to consider the
name by which this Church is named. " Our Lord Jesus
Christ," the Apostle says, "of whom the Avhole family in
heaven and earth is named."
Now, every one familiar with the Jewish modes of thought
and expression will allow here that name is but another
word to express being, actuality, and existence. So when
Jacob desired to know the character and nature of Jehovah,
he said — "Tell me now, I beseech thee, thy name." When
the Apostle here says, " Our Lord Jesus Christ, of whom the
whole family in heaven and earth is named" it is but anoth
er way of saying that it is He on whom the Church depends
— who has given it substantive existence — without whom it
could not be at all. It is but another way of saying what he
has expressed elsewhere — " that there is none other name
under heaven given among men, whereby we may be saved."
Let us not lose ourselves in vague generalities. Separate
from Christ, there is no salvation ; there can be no Christian
ity. Let us understand what we mean by this. - Let us
clearly define and enter into the meaning of the words we
use. When Ave say that our Lord Jesus Christ is He " of
Avhom the whole family in heaven and earth is named,'* we
mean that the very being of the Church depends on Christ —
that it could not be Avithout Him. Now, the Church of
Christ depends upon these three things — first, the recognition

The Christian Church a Family. 563
of a common Father; secondly, of a common humanity ; and
thirdly, of a common sacrifice.
1. First, the recognition of a common Father. That is the
sacred truth proclaimed by the Epiphany. God revealed in
Christ — not the Father of the Jew only, but also of the
Gentile. The Father of a " Avhole family." Not the partial
Father loving one alone — the elder — but the younger son
besides : the outcast prodigal who had spent his living Avith
harlots and sinners, but the child still, and the child of a
Father's love. Our Lord taught this in His own blessed
prayer — " Our Father ;" and as we lose the meaning of
that single word our, as Ave say my Father — the Father of
me and of my faction — of me and my felloAV-believers — my
Anglicanism or my Judaism — be it what it may — instead of
our Father — the Father of the outcasts, the profligate, of all
who choose to claim a Father's love ; so we lose the meaning
of the lesson which the Epiphany was designed to teach, and
the possibility of building up a family to God.
2. The recognition of a common humanity. He from
Avhom the Church is named, took upon Him not the nature
merely of the noble, of kings, or of the intellectual philoso
pher — but of the beggar, the slave, the outcast, the infidel,
the sinner, and the nature of every one struggling in various
Avays. Let us learn then, brother men, that we shall have no
family in God, unless we learn the deep truth of our common
humanity, shared in by the servant and the'sinner, as well as
the sovereign. Without this we shall have no Church — no
family in God.
3. Lastly, the Church of Christ proceeds out of, and rests
upon, the belief in a common sacrifice.
* * * * * * * *
There are three ways in which the human race hitherto
has endeavored to construct itself into a family; first, by
the sword ; secondly, by an ecclesiastical system ; and third
ly, by trade or commerce. First, by the sword. The Assyri
an, the Persian, the Greek, and the Roman, have done' their
work — in itself a most valuable and important one ; but so
far as the formation of mankind into a family Avas the object
aimed at, tbe work of the sword has done almost nothing.
Then there Avas the ecclesiastical system — the grand attempt
of the Church of Rome to organize all men into one family,
Avith an ecclesiastical, visible, earthly head. Being Protest
ants, it is not necessary for us to state our conviction that
this attempt has been a signal and complete failure. We
now come to the systerii of commerce and trade. We are
told that that Avhich chivalry and honor could not do — AArhich

564 The Christian Church a Family.
an ecclesiastical system could not do— personal interest wiU
do. Trade is to bind men together into one family. When
they feel it their interest to be one, they will be brothers.
Brethren, that which is built on selfishness can not stand.
The system of personal interest must be shivered into atoms.
Therefore, we, who have observed the ways of God in the
past, are waiting in quiet but awful expectation until He
shall confound this system as He has confounded those which
have gone before. And it may be effected by convulsions
more terrible and more bloody than the world has yet seen.
While men are talking of peace, and of the great progress of
civilization, there is heard in the distance the noise of armies
gathering rank on rank : east and west, north and south,
are rolling towards us the crushing thunders of -universal
Avar. Therefore there is but one other system to be tried, and
that is the cross of Christ — a system that is not to be built
upon selfishness, nor upon blood, nor upon personal interest,
but upon love. Love, not self — the cross of Christ, and not
the mere working out of the ideas of individual humanity.
One word only, in conclusion. Upon this, the great truth
of the Epiphany, the apostle founds a prayer. He prays,
" For this cause I bow my knees untothe Father of our Lord
Jesus Christ, of whom the whole family in heaven and earth
is named, that He would grant you, according to the riches
of His glory, to -be strengthened with might by His Spirit
in the inner man, that Christ may dwell in your hearts by
faith." This inanifestation of joy and good to the Gentiles
was, according to him, the great mystery of love. A love,
brighter, deeper, wider, higher than the largest human heart
had ever yet dreamed of. But the apostle tells us it is, after
all, but a glimpse of the love of God. How should we learn
it more ? How should we comprehend the whole meaning
of the Epiphany ? By sitting down to read works of theolo
gy? The Apostle Paul tells us — No. You must love, in
order to understand love. " That ye, being rooted and
grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all saints
what is the breadth and length, and depth and "height; and
to know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge."
Brother men, one act of charity will teach us more of the
love of God than a thousand sermons — one act of unselfish
ness, of real self-denial, the putting forth of one loving feeling
to the outcast and " those who are out of the way," will tell
us more of the meaning of the Epiphany than Avhole volumes
of the wisest writers on tlieolosrv.

The Law of Christian Conscience. 565

xvi.
THE LAW OF CHRISTIAN CONSCIENCE.
" Howbeit there is not in every man that knowledge : for some with con
science of the idol unto this hour eat it as a thing, offered unto an idol ; and
their conscience being weak is defiled. But meat TOmmendeth us not to
God : for neither, if we eat, are we the better ; neither, if we eat not, are we
the worse. But take heed lest by any means this liberty of yours become a
stumblingblock to them that are weak. For if any man see thee which hast
knowledge sit at meat in the idol's temple, shall not the conscience of him
which is weak be emboldened to eat those things which are offered to idols ;
and tlirough thy knowledge shall the weak brother perish, for whom Christ
died ? But when ye sin so against the brethren, and wound their weak
conscience, ye sin against Christ. Wherefore, if meat make my brother to
offend, I will eat no flesh while the world standeth, lest I make my brother
to offend."— 1 Cor. tviii. 7-13.
We have already divided this chapter into two branches
— the former portion of it containing the difference between
Christian knowledge and secular knowledge, and the second
portion containing the apostolic exposition of the law of
Christian conscience. The first of these we endeavored to
expound last Sunday, but it may be Avell briefly to recapitu
late the principles -of that discourse in a somewhat different
form. Corinth, as we all know and remember, was a city built
on the sea-coast, having a large and free communication with
all foreign nations ; and there was also within it, and going
on amongst its inhabitants, a free interchange of thought,
and a vivid power of communicating the philosophy and
truths^ of those days to each other. Now it is plain, that to
a society in such a state, and to minds so educated, the Gos
pel of Christ must have presented a peculiar attraction, pre
senting itself to them, as it did, as a law of Christian liberty.
And so in Corinth the Gospel had "free course and was
glorified," and was received with great joy by almost all
men, and by minds of all classes and all sects ; and a large
number of these attached themselves to the teaching of the
Apostle Paul as the most accredited expounder of Christiani
ty — the " royal law of liberty." But it seems, from what
we read in this epistle, that a large number of these men re
ceived Christianity as a thing intellectual, and that alone—
and not as a thing which touched the conscience, and swayed
and purified the affections. Thus this, liberty became to

566 The Law of Christian Conscience.
them almost all — they ran into sin or went to extravagance
— they rejoiced in their freedom from the superstitions, the
ignorances, and the scruples which bound their weaker
brethren ; but had no charity — none of that intense charity
which characterized the Apostle Paul, for those still strug
gling in the delusions and darkness from which they them
selves were free.
More than that, they demanded their right, their Christian
liberty, of expressing their opinions in the church, merely for
the sake of exhibiting the Christian graces and spiritual gifts
Avhich had been showered upon them so largely; until by
degrees those very assemblies became a lamentable exhibi
tion of their own depravity, and led to numerous irregulari
ties Avhich we find severely rebuked by the Apostle Paul.
Their women, rejoicing in the emancipation which had been
given to the Christian community, laid aside the old habits
of attire which had been consecrated so long by Grecian and
Jewish custom, and appeared with their heads uncovered in
the Christian community. Still further than that, the Lord's
Supper exhibited an absence of all solemnity, and seemed
more a meeting for licentious gratification, Avhere " one was
hungry, and another was drunken" — a place in which earth
ly drunkenness, the mere enjoyment ofthe appetites, had tak
en the place of Christian charity towards each other.
And the same feeling — this love of mere liberty — liberty
in itself — manifested itself in many other directions. Hold
ing by this freedom, their philosophy taught that the body,
that is, the flesh, was the only cause of sin ; that the soul was
holy and pure ; and that therefore, to be free from the body
Avould be entire, perfect, Christian emancipation. And so
came in that strange, wrong doctrine, exhibited in Corinth,
Avhere immortality Avas taught separate from, and in opposi
tion to, the doctrine of the resurrection. And afterwards
they went on with their conclusions about liberty, to main
tain that the body, justified by the sacrifice of Christ, Avas no
longer capable of sin ; and that in the eA'il which was done
by the body the soul had taken no part. And therefore sin
Avas to them but as a name, from which a Christian conscience
Avas to be freed altogether. So that Avhen one of their num
ber had fallen into grievous sin, and had committed fornica
tion, " such as was not so much as named among the Gen
tiles," so far from being humbled by it, they were " puffed
up," as if they were exhibiting to the world an enlightened,
tine, perfect Christianity — separate from all prejudices.
To such a society and to such a state of mind the Apostle
Paul preached, in all its length, breadth, and fullness, the

The Law of Christian Conscience. 567
humbling doctrines of the cross of Christ. He taught that
knowledge was one thing — that charity was another thing;
that "knowledge puffeth up, but charity buildeth up." fle
reminded them that love was the perfection of knowledge.
In other words, his teaching came to this : there are two
kinds of knowledge ; the one the knowledge of the intellect,
the other the knowledge of the heart. Intellectually, God
never can be known, fle must be knoAvn by love — for, " if
any man love God, the same is known of Him." Here, then,
Ave have arrived in another way at precisely the same con
clusion at which we arrived last Sunday. Here are two
kinds of knoAvledge, secular knowledge and Christian knowl
edge ; and Christian knowledge is this — to know by love.
Let us now consider the remainder of the chapter, which
treats of the law of Christian conscience. You will observe
that it divides itself into two branches — the first containing
an exposition of the law itself, and the second the Christian
applications which flow out of this exposition.
I. The Avay in which the apostle expounds the law of
Christian conscience is this: — Guilt is contracted by the
soul, in so far as it sins against and transgresses the laAV of
God by doing that which it believes to be Avrong: not so
much what is wrong as what appears to it to be wrong. '
This is tbe doctrine distinctly laid down in the seventh and
eighth verses. The apostle tells the Corinthians — these
strong-minded Corinthians — that the superstitions of their
weaker brethren were unquestionably wrong. " Meat," he
says, " commendeth us not to God ; for neither if we eat are
we the better, neither if we eat not are we the worse." He
then tells them further, that " there is not in every man that
knoAvledge ; for some, with conscience of the idol, eat it as a
thing offered unto an idol." Here, then, is' an ignorant, mis
taken, informed conscience ; and yet he goes on to tell them
fthat this conscience, so ill-informed, yet binds the possessor
i^of it : " and their conscience being Aveak, is defiled." For ex
ample—there could be no harm in eating the flesh of an ani- •
mat that had been offered to an idol or false god ; for a false
god is nothing, and it is impossible for it to have contracted
positive defilement by being offered to that which is a posi
tive and absolute negation. And yet if any man thought it
wrong to eat such flesh, to him it was wrong; for in that act
there would be a deliberate act of transgression — a delibe
rate preference of that which was mere enjoyment, to that
Avhich was apparently, though it may be only apparently,
sanctioned by the laAV of God. And so it Avould carry with

568 The Law of Christian Conscience.
it all the disobedience, all the guilt, and all the misery which
belongs to the doing of an act altogether wrong ; or as St.
Paul expresses it, the conscience would become defiled.
Here, then, we arrive at the first distinction — the distinc
tion between absolute and relative right and wrong. Abso
lute right and absolute wrong, like absolute truth, can each
be but one and unalterable in the sight of God. The one
absolute right — the charity of God arid the sacrifice of Christ
—this, from eternity to eternity must -be the sole measure of
eternal right. But human right or human wrong — that is,
the merit or demerit of any action done by any particular
man — must be measured, not by that absolute standard, but
as a matter relative to his particular circumstances, the state
of the age in which he lives, and his own knowledge of right
and wrong. For we come into this world with a moral
sense ; or to speak more Christianly, with a conscience. And
yet that will tell us but very little distinctly. It tells us
broadly that which is right and that which is wrong, so that
every child can understand this. That charity and self-
denial are right — this we see recognized in almost every na
tion. But the boundaries of these two — when and how far
self-denial is right — what are the bounds of charity — this it is
for different circumstances yet to bring out and determine.
And so it will be found that there is a different standard
among different nations and in different ages. That, for ex
ample, Avhich was the standard among the Israelites in the
earlier ages, and before their settlement in Canaan, was very
different from the higher and truer standard of right and
wrong recognised by the later prophets. And the standard
in the third and fourth centuries after Christ, was truly and
unquestionably an entirely different one from that recognized
in the nineteenth century among ourselves.
Let me not be mistaken. I do not say that right and
wrong are merely conventional, or merely chronological or
geographical, or that they vary with latitude and longitude.
I do not say that there ever was or ever can be a nation so
utterly, blinded and perverted in its moral sense as to ac
knowledge that which is wrong — seen and known to be
wrong — as right ; or on the other hand, to profess that which
is seen and understood as right, to be wrong. But what I
do say is this: that the form and aspect in which different
deeds appear, so vary, that there Avill be forever a change
and alteration in men's opinions, and that which is really
most generous may seem most base, and that which is really
most base may appear most generous. So, for example, as I
have already said, there are two things universally recog-

The Law of Christian Conscience. 569
nized — recognized as right by every man whose conscience
is not absolutely perverted — charity and self-denial. The
charity of God, the sacrifice of Christ — these are the two
grand, leading principles ofthe Gospel; and in some form or
other you will find these lying at the roots of every profes
sion and state of feeling in almost every age. But the form
in which these appear will vary with all the gradations which
are to be found between the lowest savage state and the
highest and most enlightened Christianity.
For example, in ancient Israel the law of love was ex
pounded thus : — " Thou shalt love thy neighbor, and hate
thine enemy." Among the American Indians and at the
Cape, the only homage, perchance, given to self-denial, was
the strange admiration given to that prisoner of war who
bore with unflinching fortitude the torture of his country's
enemies. In ancient India the same principle was exhibited,
but in a more strange and perverted manner. The homage
there given to self-denial, self-sacrifice, Avas this — that the
highest form of religion was considered to be that exhibited
by the devotee who sat in a tree until the birds had built
their nests in his hair— until his nails, like those of the King
of Babylon, had grown like birds' talons — until they had
grown into his hands — and he became absorbed into the Di
vinity. We Avill take another instance, and one better known. In
ancient Sparta it was the custom to teach children to steal.
And here there would seem to be a contradiction to our prop
osition — here it would seem as if right and wrong were mat
ters merely conventional ; for surely stealing can never be
any thing but Avrong. But if we look deeper we shall see
that there is no contradiction here., It was not stealing
which was admired ; the child was punished if the theft was
discovered ; but it was the dexterity which was admired,
and that because it was a Avarlike virtue, necessary, it may be,
to a people in continual rivalry with their neighbors. It was
not that honesty was despised and dishonesty esteemed, but
that honesty and dishonesty were made subordinate to that
Avhich appeared to them of higher importance, namely, the
duty of concealment. And so we come back to the principle
which we laid down at first In every age, among all na
tions, the same broad principle remains, but the application
of it varies. The conscience may be ill-informed, and in this
sense only are right and wrong conventional — varying with
latitude and longitude, depending upon chronology and ge
ography. The principle laid down by the Apostle Paul is this : — A

570 The Law of Christian Conscience.
man will be judged, not by the abstract law of God, not by
the rule of absolute right, but much rather by the relative
law of conscience. This he states most distinctly — looking
at the question on both sides. That Avhich seems to a man
to be right is, in a certain sense, right to him ; and that
Avhich seems to a man to be wrong, in a certain sense is
wrong to him. For example : he says in his Epistle to the
Romans (ver. 14) that, "sin is not imputed when there is no
law," in other Avords, if a man does not really know a thing
to be wrong, there is a sense in which, if not right to him, it
ceases to be so wrong as it would otherwise be. With re
spect to the other of these sides, however, the case is still
more distinct and plain. Here, in the judgment which the
apostle delivers in the parallel chapter of the Epistle to the
Romans (the xivth), he says, " I know, and am persuaded of
the Lord Jesus, that there is nothing unclean of itself: but
to him that esteemeth any thing to be unclean, to him it is
unclean." In other words, whatever may be the abstract
merits of the question — however in God's jurisprudence any
particular act may stand — to you, thinking it to be wrong, it
manifestly is wrong, and your conscience will gather round
it a stain of guilt if you do it.
In order to understand this more fully, let us take a few
instances. There is a difference between truth and veracity.
Veracity — mere veracity — is a small, poor thing. Truth is
something greater and higher. Veracity is merely the cor
respondence between some particular statement and facts —
truth is the correspondence between a man's whole soul and
reality. It is possible for a man to say that which, unknown
to him, is false ; and yet he maybe true : "because if deprived
of truth he is deprived of it unwillingly. It is possible, on
the other hand, for a man to utter veracities, and yet at the
very time that he is uttering those veracities, to be false to
himself, to his brother, and to his God. One of the most sig
nal instances of this is to be seen in the Book of Job. Most
of what Job's friends said to him were veracious statements.
Much of what Job said for himself was unveracious and mis
taken. And yet those veracities of theirs were so torn from
all connection with fact and truth, that they became false
hoods ; and they were, as has been said, nothing more than
" orthodox liars " in the sight of God. On the other hand,
Job, blundering perpetually, and falling into false doctrine,
Avas yet a true man — searching for and striving after the
truth ; and if deprived of it for a time, deprived of it with all
Lis heart and soul unwillingly. And therefore it was that at
last the Lord appeared out of the whirlwind to confound the

The Law of Christian Conscience. 571
men of mere veracity, and to stand by and support the honor
of the heartily true.
Let us apply the principle further. It is a matter of less
importance that a man should state true views, than that he
should state views truly. We will put this in its strongest
form. Unitarianism is false — Trinitarianism is true. But
yet in the sight of God, and with respect to a man's eternal
destinies hereafter, it would surely be better for him earnest
ly, honestly, truly, to hold the doctrines of Unitarianism,
than in a cowardly or indifferent spirit, or influenced by au
thority, or from considerations of interest, or for the sake of
lucre, to hold the doctrines of Trinitarianism.
For instance : Not many years ago the Church of Scot
land was severed into two great divisions, and ga\-e to this
age a marvellous proof that there is still amongst us the
power of living faith — when five hundred ministers gave up
all that earth holds dear — position in the Church they had
loved ; friendships and affections formed, and consecrated by
long fellowship, in its communion ; and almost their hopes
of gaining a livelihood — rather than assert a principle which
seemed to them to be a false one. Noav, my brethren, sure
ly the question in such a case for us to consider is not this,
merely — whether of the two sections held the abstract right
— held the principle in its integrity — but surely far rather,
this: who on either side was true to the light within, true to
God, true to the truth as God had revealed it to his soul.
Now it is precisely upon this principle that we are ena
bled to indulge a Christian hope that many of those who in
ancient times were persecutors, for example, may yet be
justified at the bar of Christ. Nothing can make persecu
tion right^it is wrong, essentially, eternally wrong in the
sight of God. And yet, if a man sincerely and assuredly
thinks that Christ has laid upon him a command to perse
cute with fire and SAVord, it is surely better that he should,
in spite of all feelings of tenderness and compassion, cast
aside the dearest affections at the command of his Redeem
er, than that he should, in mere laxity and tenderness, turn
aside from what seemed to him to be his duty. At least,
this appears to be the opinion of the Apostle Paul. He tells
us that he was " a blasphemer and a persecutor and injuri
ous," that " he did many things contrary to the name of Je
sus of Nazareth," that "being exceedingly mad against the
disciples, he persecuted them even unto strange cities." But
he tells us further, that " for this cause he obtained mercy,
because he did it ignorantly in unbelief."
Now take a case precisely opposite : In ancient times the

572 The Law of Christian Conscience.
JeAvS did that by which it appeared to them that they would
contract defilement and guilt — they spared the lives of the
enemies which they had taken in battle. Brethren, the eter
nal law is, that charity is right : and that law is eternally-
right which says, " Thou shalt love thine enemy." And had
the Jews acted upon this principle they would have done
Avell to spare their enemies : but they did it, thinking it to
be wrong, transgressing that law which commanded them to
slay their idolatrous enemies — not from generosity, but in
cupidity — not from charity, but from lax zeal. And so do
ing, the act Avas altogether Avrong.
II. Such is the apostle's exposition of the law of Christian
conscience. Let us noAV, in the second place, consider the
applications, both of a personal and of a public nature, Avhich
arise out of it.
1. The first application is a personal one. It is this : — Do
what seems to you to be right : it is only so that you will at
last learn by the grace of God to see clearly what is right.
A man thinks Avithin himself that it is God's law and God's
will that he should act thus and thus. There is nothing
possible for us to say, there is no advice for us to give, but
this — " You must so act." He is responsible for the opinions
he holds, and still more for the way in which he arrived at
them — whether in a slothful and selfish, or in an honest and
truth-seeking manner ; but being now his soul's convictions,
you can give no other law than this^-" You must obey your
conscience." For no man's conscience gets so seared by do
ing what is wrong unknowingly, as by doing that which ap
pears to be wrong to his conscience. The JeWs' consciences
did not get seared by their slaying the Canaanites, but they
did become seared by their failing to do what appeared to
them to be right Therefore, woe to you if you do what
others think right, instead of obeying the dictates of your
own conscience ; woe to you if you allow authority, or pre
scription, or fashion, or influence, or any other human thing,
to interfere with that awful and sacred thing — responsibili
ty. " Every man," said the apostle, " must give an account
of himself to God."
2. The second application of this principle has reference
to others. No doubt, to the large, free, enlightened mind of
the Apostle Paul all these scruples aud superstitions must
have seemed mean, trivial, and small indeed. It was a mat- .
ter to him of far less importance that truth should be estab
lished than that it should be arrived at truly— a matter of
far less importance, even, that right should be done, than

The Law of Christian Conscience. 573
that right should be done rightly. Conscience was far more
sacred to him than even liberty — it was to him a prerogative
far. more precious to assert the rights of Christian conscience,
than to magnify the privileges of Christian liberty. The
scruple may be small and foolish, but it may be impossible
to uproot the scruple Avithout tearing up the feeling of the
sanctity of conscience, and of reverence to the law of God,
associated with this scruple. And therefore the Apostle
Paul counsels these men to abridge their Christian liberty,
and not to eat of those things which had been sacrificed to
idols, but to have compassion upon the 'scruples of their
weaker brethren.
And this, for two reasons. The first of these is a mere rea
son of Christian feeling. It might cause exquisite pain to
sensitive minds to see those tilings which appeared to them
to be wrong, done by Christian brethren. Now you may
take a parallel case. It may be, if you will, mere supersti
tion to bow at the name of Jesus. It may be, and no doubt
is, founded upon a mistaken interpretation of that passage in
the Epistle to the Philippians (ii. 10), which says that "at
the name of Jesus every knee shall bow." But there are
many congregations in which this has been the long-estab
lished rule, and there are many Christians who would feel
pained to see such a practice discontinued^-as if it implied a
declension from the reverence due to " that name which is
above every name." Now what in this case is the Christian
duty ? Is it this — to stand upon our Christian liberty ? Or
is it not rather this — to comply with a prejudice which is
manifestly a harmless one, rather than give pain to a Chris
tian brother ?
Take another case. It may be a mistaken scruple ; but
there is no doubt that it causes much pain to many Chris
tians to see a carriage used on the Lord's day. But .you,
with higher views of the spirit of Christianity, who know
that "the sabbath was made for man, and not mail for the
sabbath "—who can enter more deeply into the truth taught
by our blessed. Lord, that every day is to be dedicated to.
Him and consecrated to His service — upon the high princi
ple of Christian liberty you can use your carriage— -you can
exercise your liberty. But if there are Christian brethren
to whom this would give pain — then I humbly ask you, but
most earnestly — What is the duty here ? Is it not this— to
abridge your .Christian liberty— and to go through rain, and
mud, and snow, rather than give pain to one Christian con
science ?
To. give one more instance. The words, and garb, and

5 74 The Law of Christian Conscience.
customs of that sect of Christians called Quakers may be
formal enough ; founded, no doubt, as in the former case,
upon a mistaken interpretation of a passage in the Bible.
But they are at least harmless; and have long been asso
ciated with the simplicity, and benevolence, and Christian
humbleness of this body of Christians — the followers of one
who, three hundred years ago, set out upon the glorious en
terprise of making all men friends. Now would it be Chris
tian, or would it not rather be something more than unchris
tian — would it not be gross rudeness and coarse unfeeling-
ness to treat such'words, and habits, and customs, Avith any
thing but respect and reverence ?
Further : the apostle enjoined this duty upon the Corinth
ian converts, of abridging their Christian liberty, not mere
ly because it might give pain t.o indulge it, but also because
it might even lead their brethren into sin. For, if any man
should eat of the flesh offered to an idol, feeling himself
justified by his conscience, it were well: but if any man,
overborne by authority or interest, were to do this, not ac
cording to conscience, but against it, there would be a dis
tinct and direct act of disobedience — a conflict between his
sense of right and the gratification of his appetites, or the
power of influence ; and then his compliance would as much
damage his conscience and moral sense as if the act had been
wrong in itself.
In the personal application of these remarks, there are
three things which Ave have to say. The first is this : — Dis
tinguish, I pray you, between this tenderness for a brother's
conscience and .mere time-serving. This same apostle whom
Ave here see so gracefully giving way upon the ground' of
expediency when Christian principles were left entire, Avas
the same who stood firm and strong as a rock when any
thing was demanded which trenched upon Christian princi
ple. 'When some required, as a matter of necessity for salva
tion, that these converts should be circumcised, the apostle
says — " To whom we gave place by subjection, no, not for an
hour !" It was not indifference — it was not coAvardice — it
was not the mere love of peace, purchased by the sacrifice of
principle, that prompted this counsel — but it was Christian
love — that delicate and Christian love which dreads to tam
per with the sanctities of a brother's conscience.
2. The second thing we have to say is this — that this-
abridgment of their liberty is a duty more especially in
cumbent upon all who are possessed of influence. There are
some men, happily for themselves Ave may say, Avho are so in
significant that they can take their course quietly in the val-

The Law of Christian Conscience. 575
leys of life, and Avho can exercise the fullest Christian liberty
Avithout giving pain to others. But it is the price Avhich all
Avho are possessed of influence must pay — that their acts
must be measured, not in themselves, but according to their
influence on others. So, my Christian brethren, to bring
this matter home to every-day experience and common life,
if the landlord uses his authority and influence to induce his
tenant to vote against his conscience, it may be he has se
cured one voice to the principle which is right, or at all
events, to that which seemed to him to be right : but.be has
gained that single voice at the sacrifice and expense of a
brother's soul. Or again — if for the sake of insuring per
sonal politeness and attention, the rich man puts a gratuity
into the hand of a servant of some company which has for
bidden him to receive it, he gains the attention, he insures
the politeness, but he gains it at the sacrifice and expense of
a man and a Christian brother.
3. The last remark which we have to make is this : —
How possible it is to mix together the vigor of a masculine
and manly intellect with the tenderness and charity which is
taught by the Gospel of Christ. No man ever breathed so
freely when on earth the air and atmosphere of heaven as the
Apostle Paul — no man ever soared so high above all preju
dices, narrowness, littlenesses, scruples, as he : and yet no
man ever bound himself as Paul bound himself to the igno
rance, the scruples, the prejudices of his brethren. So that
what in other cases was infirmity, imbecility, and supersti
tion, gathered round it in his case the pure high spirit of
Christian charity and Christian delicacy.
And now, out of the writings, and sayings, and deeds of
those who loudly proclaim " the rights of man " and the
" rights of liberty,"* match us, if you can, with one sentence
so sublime, so noble, one that will so stand at the bar of
God hereafter, as this " single, glorious sentence of his, in
which he asserts the rights of Christian conscience above the
claims of Christian liberty — "Wherefore if meat make my
brother to offend, I Avill eat no flesh Avhile the Avorld starid-
eth. lest I make my brother to offend."

576 Victory over Death.

XVII.
VICTORY OVER DEATH.
"The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But
thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus
Christ."— 1 Cor. xv. 56, 57.
Oi>t Sunday last I endeavored to bring before you the
subject of that Avhich Scripture calls the glorious liberty of
the sons of God. The two points on which we were trying
to get clear notions were these : what is meant by being uiir
der the law, and what is meant by being free from the law ?
When the Bible says that a man led by the Spirit is not un
der the law, it does not mean that he is free because he may
sin without being punished for it, but it means that he is
free because, being taught by God's Spirit to love what His
law commands, he is no longer conscious of acting from re
straint The law does not drive him, because the Spirit
leads him.
There is a state, brethren, when we recognize God, but do
not love God in Christ. It is that state when we admire
what is excellent, but are not able to perform it It is a
state when the love of good comes to nothing, dying away
in a mere desire. That is the state of nature, when we are
under the laA*, and not converted to the love of Christ.
And then there is another state, when God writes His laAV
upon our hearts by love instead of fear. The one state is
this, " I can not do the things that I would " — the other
state is this, " I will walk at liberty ; for I seek Thy com
mandments." Just so far, therefore, as a Christian is led by the Spirit, he
is a conqueror. A Christian in full possession of his privileges
is a man whose very step ought to have in it all the elasticity
of triumph, and whose very look ought to have in it all the
brightness of victory. And just so far as a Christian suffers
sin to struggle in him and overcome his resolutions, just so
far he is under the law. And that is the key to the Avhole
doctrine of the New Testament. From first to last the
great truth put forward is — The law can neither save you
nor sanctify you. The Gospel can do both ; for it is rightly
and emphatically called the perfect law of liberty.
We proceed to-day to a further illustration of this subject

Victory over Death. 577
— of Christian victory. In the verses which I have read out,
the apostle has evidently the same subject in his mind:
slavery through the latv : victory through the Gospel.
" The strength of sin," he says, " is the laAV." God giveth
us the victory through Christ. And when Ave are familiar
with St. Paul's trains of thinking, we find this idea coming in
perpetually. . It runs like a colored thread through embroid
ery, appearing on the upper surface every now and then in a
different shape— a leaf, it may be, or a flower ; but the same
thread still, if you only trace it back with your finger. And
this Avas the golden recurring thread in the mind of Paul.
Restraint and laAV can not check sin; they only gall it and
make it struggle and rebel. The love of God in Christ, that,
and only that; can give man the victory.
But in this passage the idea of victory is brought to bear
upon the most terrible of .all — a Christian's enemies. It is
faith here conquering in death. And the apostle brings to
gether all the believer's antagonists — the law's power, sin,
and death the chief antagonist of all : and then, as it were on
a conqueror's battle-field, shouts over them the hymn of tri
umph— "Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory,
through our Lord Jesus Christ." We shall take up these
two points to dwell upon :
I. The awfulness which hangs round the dying hour.
II. Faith conquering in death.
That which makes it peculiarly, terrible to die is asserted
In this passage to be guilt. We lay a stress upon this ex
pression — the sting. It is not said that sin is the only bit
terness, but it is the- sting which contains in it the venom of
a most exquisite torture. And in truth, brethren, it is no
mark of courage to speak, lightly of human dying. We may
do it in bravado, of in wantonness; but no man who thinks
can call it a trifling thing to die. True thoughtfulness'must
shrink from death without Christ. There is a world of un
told sensations crowded into that moment when a man puts
his hand to his forehead and feels the damp upon it which
tells him his hour is cOme. - He has been waiting for death
all his life, and now it is come. It is all over — his chance is
past, and his eternity is settled. None of us know, except
by. guess, what that sensation is. . Myriads of human beings
have fejt it to whom life was dear ; but they never spoke out
their feelings, for such things are untold. And to every indi
vidual man throughout all eternity that sensation in its-full^
ness can come but once. It is mockery, brethren, for a man
to speak lightly of that Avhich he can not know till it comes
25

578 Victory over Death.
Now the first cause which makes it a solemn thing to die
is the instinctive cleaving of every thing that lives to its own
existence. That unutterable thing which we call our being
— the idea of parting with it is agony. It is the first and
the intensest desire of living things, to be, Enjoyment,
blessedness, every thing Ave long for, is wrapped up in being.
Darkness and all that the spirit recoils from, is contained in
this idea, not to be. It is in virtue of this unquenchable im
pulse that the world, in spite of all the misery that is in it,
continues to struggle on. What are war, and trade, and la
bor, and professions ? Are they all the result of struggling
to be great ? No, my brethren, they are the result of strug
gling to be. The first thing that men and nations labor for
is existence. Reduce the nation or the man to their last re
sources, and only see what marvellous energy of contrivance
the love of being arms them with. Read back the pauper's
history at the end of seventy years — his strange sad history,
in which scarcely a single day could insure subsistence for
the morrow — and yet learn what he has done these long
years in the stern struggle with impossibility to hold his be
ing Avhere every thing is against him, and to keep an ex
istence whose only conceivable charm is this, that it is exist
ence. Now it is with this intense passion for being that the idea
of death clashes. Let us search why it is Ave shrink from
death. This reason, brethren, we shall find, that it presents
to us the idea of not being. Talk as we will of immortality,
there is an obstinate feeling that we can not master, that we
end in death ;«and that may be felt together with the firmest
belief of a resurrection. Brethren, our faith tells us one
thing, and our sensations tell us another. When we die, we
are surrendering in truth all that with which we have asso
ciated existence. All that we know of life is connected with
a shape, a form,' a body of materialism ; and now that that is
palpably melting away into nothingness, the boldest heart
may be excused a shudder, when there is forced upon it, in
spite of itself, the idea of ceasing forever.
The second reason is not one of imagination at all, but
most sober reality. It is a solemn thing to die, because it is
the parting with all round which the heart's best affections
have twined themselves. There are. some men who have not
the capacity for keen enjoyment. Their affections have noth
ing in them of intensity, and so they pass through life without
ever so uniting themselves with what they meet, that there
would be any thing of pain in the severance. Of course,
Avith them the bitterness of death does not attach so much to

Victory over Death. 579
the idea of parting. But, my brethren, how is it with human
nature generally? Our feelings do not weaken as we go on
in life ; emotions are less shown, and we get a command over
our features and our expressions ; but the man's- feelings are
deeper tiian the boy's. It is length of time that makes at
tachment We become wedded to the sights and sounds of
this lovely world more closely as years go on.
Young meh, with nothing rooted deep, are prodigal of life.
It is an adventure to them, rather than a misfortune, to leave
their country forever. With the old man it is like tearing
his own heart from him. And so it was that when Lot quit
ted Sodom the younger members of his family went on gladly.
It is a touching truth ; it was the aged one who looked be
hind to the home which had so many recollections connected
with it. And therefore it is, that when men approach that
period of existence when they must go, there is an instinctive
lingering oVer things which they shall never see again. Every
time the sun sets, every time the old man sees his children
gathering round him, there is a filling of the eye with an
emotion that we can understand. There is upon his soul the
thought of parting, that strange wrench from all we love,
which makes death (say Avhat moralists will of it) a bitter
thing. -
Another pang which belongs to death Ave find in the sen*
sation of loneliness which attaches to it. Have we ever seen
a ship preparing to sail with its load of pauper emigrants to
a distant colony ? If we have we know what that desolation
is which comes from feeling unfriended on a new and untried
excursion. All beyond the seas, to the ignorant poor man,
is a strange land. They are going away from the helps and
the friendships and the companionships of life, scarcely know
ing what is before them. And it is in such a moment, when
a man stands upon a deck taking his last look of his father
land, that there comes upon him a sensation new, strange,
and inexpressibly miserable — the feeling of being alone in
the world.
Brethren, with all the bitterness of such a moment, it is
but a feeble image when placed by the side ofthe loneliness
of death. We die alone. We go on our dark mysterious
journey for the first time in all our existence, without one to
accompany us. Friends are beside our bed, they must stay
behind. Grant that a Christian has something like familiar
ity with the Most High, that breaks this solitary feeling ;
but what is it with the mass of men ? It is a question full
of loneliness to them. What is it they are to see? What
are they to meet ? Is it not true, that, to the larger number

580 Victory over Death.
of this congregation, there is no one point in all eternity on
which the eye can fix distinctly and rest, gladly— nothing
beyond the grave, except a dark space into which they must
plunge alone?
And yet, my brethren, with all these ideas no doubt vivid
ly before his mind, it was none of them that the apostle se
lected as the crowning bitterness of dying. It was not the
thought of surrendering existence. It was not the parting
from all bright and lovely things. It was not the shudder of
sinking into the sepulchre alone. " The sting of death is sin.",
Now there are two ways in Avhich this deep truth applies
itself. There is something that appals in death when there
are distinct separate acts of guilt resting on the memory;
and there is something, too, in the possession of a guilty
heart which is quite another . thing from acts of sin, that
makes it an. awful thing to die: There are some who carry
about with them the dreadful secret of sin that has been
done ; guilt that. has a name. A man has injured some one;
he has made money, or got on by .unfair means ; he has been
unchaste; he has done some of those thousand things of life
which leave upon the heart the dark spot that will not come
out. All these are sins Avhich you can courit up and. num
ber. And the recollection of things like these is that agony
Avhich we call remorse. ' Many of us have remembrances of
this kind which are fatal to serenity. We shut them out,
but it will not do. They bide their time,- and then suddenly
present themselves, together with the thought of a judg
ment-seat When a- guilty man begins to think of dying, it
is like a vision* of the Son of Man presenting itself ^nd call
ing out the voices of all the unclean spirits in the man — :
" Art thou come to torment us before the time ?"
But, my brethren, it-is a mistake if we suppose that, is the
common way: in which sin stings at the thought of death.
Men who haAre lived the career of passionate life have dis
tinct and accumulated acts of guilt before their, eyes. , But
Avith most men it is not guilty acts, but guiltiness of heart
that weighs the heaviest. Only take yesterday. as a speci
men of life. . What was it with most of us? A day of sin.
Was it sin palpable and dark, such as Ave shall remember
painfully this day year? Nay, '.my brethren, unkindness,
petulance; wasted time; opportunities lost,frivolous conversa
tion, that Avas our chief guilt And yet with all that, trifling,
as it may be, when it comes to be the history of life does it
not leave behind a restless und efinable sense of fault, a vague
idea of debt, but to Avhat extent we know not, perhaps the
more Avretched just because it is uncertain ?

Victory over Death. 581
My Christian brethren, this is the sting of sinfulness, the
wretched consciousness of an unclean heart. It is just this
feeling, " God is not my friend ; I am going on to the grave,
and no man can say aught against me, but my heart is not
iight; I want a river, like that which the ancients fabled —
the river of forgetfulness — that I might go down into it and
bathe, and come up a new man. It is not so much what I
have done ; it is what I am. Who shall save me from my
self?" Oh, it is a desolate thing to think ofthe coffin when
that thought is in all its misery before the soul. It is the
sting of death.
- And now let us bear one thing in mind — the sting of sin
is not a constant pressure. It may be that wo live many
years in- the world before a death in our own family forces
the thought personally. home : many years before all those
sensations which are so often'the precursors ofthe tomb —
the' quick short cough, lassitude, emaciation, pain — come in
startling suddenness upon us in our young vigor, and make
us feel what it is to be here with" death inevitable to our
selves. And when those things become habitual, habit
makes delicacy the same forgetful thing as health, so that
neither in sickness nor in health is the thought of death a
constant pressure. It is only now and then ; but so often
as death is a reality, the sting of death is sin.
Once more : Ave remark that all this power of sin to ago
nize is traced by the apostle to the law — " the strength of
sin is the law ;" by which he means to say that sin would
not be so violent if it were not for the attempt of God's law
to restrain it. It is the law which makes sin strong. And
he does not mean particularly the law of Moses. He means
any law, and all law. Law is what forbids and threatens;
law bears gallingly on those Avho want to break it. And
St. Paul declares this, that no law, not even God's law, can
make men righteous in heart, unless the Spirit has taught
men's hearts to acquiesce in the law. It can only force out
into rebellion the sin that is in them.
It is so, brethren, with a nation's law. The voice of the
nation must go along with it. It must be the expression of
their own feeling, and then they will have it obeyed. But
if it is only the law of a government, a law which is against
the whole spirit of the people, there is first the murmur of a
nation's disapprobation, and then there is transgression, and
then, if the law be vindicated with a high hand, the next
step is the bursting that law asunder in national revolution.
And so it is with God's law. It will never control a man
long who does not from his heart love it. First comes a

582 Victory over Death.
sensation of restraint, and then comes a murmuring of the
heart ; and last, there comes the rising of passion in its giant
might, made desperate by restraint. That is the law giving
strength to sin.
And therefore, brethren, if all we know of God be this,
that He has made laws, and that it is terrible to break them ;
if all our idea of religion be this, that it is a thing of com
mands arid hindrances — thou shalt, and thou shalt not ; we
are under the law, and there is no help for it. We must
shrink from the encounter with death.
We pass to our secorid subject — Faith conquering in
death. And, before we enter upon this topic, there are two gen
eral remarks that we have to make. The first is, The ele
vating power of faith. There is nothing in all this world
that ever led man on to real victory-but faith. Faith is that
looking forward to a future with something like certainty,
that raises man above the narrow feelings of the present.
Even inthis life he is a greater man, a man of more elevated
character, who is steadily pursuing a plan that requires, some
years to accomplish, than'he who is living by the day. Look
forward but ten years, and plan for it, live for it ; there is
something of manhood, something of courage required to
conquer the thousand things that stand in your way. And
therefore it is, that faith, and nothing but faith,:gives victory
in death. It is that elevation of character which we get
from looking steadily and forever forward till eternity be
comes a real hoSne to us, that enables us to look down upon
the last struggle, and the funeral, and the grave, not as the
great end of all, but only as something that stands between
us and the end. We are conquerors of death when we are
able to look beyond it.
Our second remark, is for the purpose of fixing special at
tention upon this, that ours is not merely to be victory, it is
to be victory through Christ. " Thanks be to God which
giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
Victory, brethren, mere victory over death, is no unearthly
thing. You may get it by infidelity. Only let a man sin
long enough, and. desperately enough, to shut judgment al
together out of his creed, and then you have a man who can
bid defiance to the grave. It was so that our country's
greatest infidel historian met death. He quitted the world
without parade and without display. If we want a speci-
™en of victory apart from Christ, we have it on his death
bed. He left all this strange world of restlessness calmly,

Victory over Death. 583
like an unreal show that must go to pieces, and he himself
an unreality departing from it. A skeptic can be a conquer
or in death.
Or again, mere manhood may give us a victory. He Avho
has only learned not to be afraid to die, has not learned
much. . We have steel and nerve enough in our hearts to
dare any thing. And, after all, it is a triumph so common as
scarcely to deserve the name. Felons die on the scaffold like
men ; soldiers can be hired by tens of thousands, for a few
pence a day, to front death in its worst form. Every minute
that we live sixty of the human race are passing away, and
the greater part with courage — the weak and the timid as
Avell as the resolute. Courage is a very different thing from
the Christian's victory.
Once more, brethren, necessity can make man conqueror
over death. We can make up our minds to any thing when
it once becomes inevitable. It is the agony of suspense that
makes danger dreadful. History can tell us that men can
look with desperate calmness upon hell itself when once it
has become a certainty. And it is this, after all, that com
monly -makes the dying hour so quiet a thing. It is more
dreadful in the distance than in the reality. When a man
feels that there is no help, and he must go, he lays him down
to die quietly as a tired traveller wraps himself in his cloak
to sleep. It is quite another thing from all this that Paul
meant by victory.
In the first place, it is the prerogative of a Christian to be
conqueror over doubt. Brethren, do we all know what
doubt means ? Perchance not. There are some men who
have never believed enough to doubt. There are some Avho
have never thrown their hopes with such earnestness on the
world to come, as to feel anxiety for fear it should not all be
true. But every one who knows what faith is, knows too
what is the desolation of doubt. We pray till we begin to
ask, Is there one who hears, or am I whispering to myself?
We hear the consolation administered to the bereaved, and
we see the coffin lowered into the grave, and the thought
comes, What if all this doctrine of a life to come be but the
dream of man's imaginative mind, carried on from age to age,
and so believed, because it is a venerable superstition ? Now
Christ giVes us victory over that terrible suspicion in two
ways— first, He does it by His own resurrection. We have
got a fact there that all the metaphysics about impossibility
can not rob us of. In moments of perplexity we look back
to this. The grave has once, and more than once, at the
Redeemer's bidding, given up its dead. It is a world-fact.

5 84 Victory over Death.
It tells us what the Bible means by our resurrection — not a
spiritual rising into new holiness merely — that, but also
something more. It means that in our own proper identity
we shall live again. Make that thought real, and God has
given you, so far, victory over the grave through Christ.
There is another way in which we get the victory over
doubt, and that is by living in Christ. All doubt comes
from living out of habits of affectionate obedience to God.
By idleness, by neglected prayer, we lose our power of real
izing things not seen. Let a man be religious and irreligious
at intervals — irregular, inconsistent, without some distinct
thing to live for — it is a matter of impossibility that he can
be free from doubts. He must make up his mind for a dark
life. Doubts can only be dispelled by that-kind of active life
that realizes Christ. And there is no faith that gives a vic
tory so steadily triumphant as that. When such a man
comes near the opening of the vault, it is no world of sor
rows he is entering upon. He is only going to see things
that he has felt, for he has been living in heaven. He has
his grasp on things that other men are only groping after
and touching now and then. Live above this world, breth
ren,- and then the powers of the world to come are so upon
you that there is no room for doubt.
Besides all this, it is a Christian's privilege to have victory
over the fear of death, And here it is exceedingly easy to
paint what, after all, is only the image-picture of a dying
hour. It is the easiest thing to represent the dying Chris
tian as a man who always sinks into the grave full of hope,
full of triumph^ in the certain hope of a blessed resurrection.
Brethren, we must paint things in the sober colors of truth ;
not as they might be supposed to be, but as they are. Often
that is only a picture. Either very few death-beds are Chris
tian ones, or else triumph is a very different thing from what
the word generally implies. Solemn, subdued, full of awe
and full of solemnity, is the dying hour generally of the holi
est men : sometimes almost darkness. Rapture is a rare
thing, except in books and scenes.
Let us understand Avhat really is the victory over fear.
It may be rapture or it may not All that depends very
much on temperament ; and after all, the br'oken words of
a dying man are a very poor, index of his real state before
God. Rapturous hope has been granted fo martyrs in pe
culiar moments. It is on record of a minister of our own
Church, that his expectation of seeing God in Christ became
so intense as his last hour dreAv near, that his physician" was
compelled to bid him calm his transports, because in so ex

Victory over Death. 585
cited a state he could not die. A strange unnatural energy
Avas imparted to his muscular frame by his nerves over
strung with triumph. But, brethren, it fosters a dangerous
feeling to take cases like those as precedents. It leads to
that most terrible of all unrealities — the acting of a death
bed scene. A Christian conqueror dies calmly. Brave men
in battle do not boast that they are not afraid. Courage is
si natural to them that they are not conscious they are do
ing any thing out of the common way — Christian bravery is
a deep, calm thing, unconscious of itself. There are more
triumphant death-beds than we count, if we only remember
this — true fearlessness makes no- parade.
Oh, it is not only in those passionate effusions in which the
ancient martyrs spoke sometimes of panting for the crushing
of their limbs by the lions in the amphitheatre, or of holding
out their arms to embrace the flames that were to curl round
them — it is not then only that Christ has stood by His serv
ants, and made them more than conquerors : there may be
something of earthly excitement in all that. Every day His
servants are dying modestly and peacefully — not a word of
victory on their lips ; but Christ's deep triumph in their
hearts — watching the slow progress of their own decay, and
yet so far emancipated from personal anxiety that they are
still able to think and to plan for others, not knowing that
they are doing any great thing. They die, and the world
hears nothing of them ; and yet, theirs was the completest
victory. They came to the battle-field, the field to which
they had been looking forward all their lives, and the enemy
was not to be found. There was no foe to fight with.
The last form in which a Christian gets the victory over
death is by means of his resurrection. It seems to have been
this which was chiefly alluded to by the apostle here ; for he
says, " When this corruptible shall have put on incorruption
.... then shall come to pass the saying which is written,
Death is swallowed up in victory." And to say the truth,
brethren, it* is a rhetorical expression rather than a sober
truth when we call any thing, except the resurrection, victory
over death. We may conquer doubt and fear when we are
dying, but that is not conquering death. It is like a warrior
crushed to death by a superior antagonist refusing to yield a
groan, and bearing the glance of defiance to the last. You
feel that he is an unconquerable spirit, but he is not the .con
queror. And when you see flesh melting away, and mental
power becoming infantine in its feebleness, and lips scarcely
able to articulate, is there left one moment a doubt upon the
mind as to who is the conqueror, in spite of all the unshaken
25*-

586 Victory over Death.
fortitude there may be ? The victory is on the side of death,
not on the side of the dying.
And, my brethren, if we would enter into_ the full feeling of
triumph contained in this verse, we must just try to bear in
mind what this world would be without the thought of a
resurrection. If we could conceive an unselfish man looking
upon this world of desolation with that infinite compassion
which all the brave and good feel, what conception could he
have but that of defeat, and failure, and sadness — the sons
of man mounting into a bright existence, and one after an
other falling back into darkness and nothingness, like soldiers
trying to mount an impracticable breach, and falling back
crushed and mangled into the ditch before the bayonets and
the rattling fire of their conquerors. Misery and guilt, look
which way you will, till the heart gets sick with looking at it.
Brethren, until a man looks on evil till it seems to him al
most like a real personal enemy rejoicing over the destruc
tion that it has made, he can scarcely conceive the deep rap
ture which rushed into the mind of the Apostle Paul when
he remembered that a day was coming when all this was to
be reversed. A day was coming, and it was the day of re
ality for which he lived, ever present and ever certain, when
this sad world was to put off forever its changefulness and
its misery, and the grave was to be robbed of its victory,
and the bodies were to come forth purified by their long
sleep. He called all this a victory, because he felt that it
Avas a real battle that has to be fought and won before that
can be secured. One battle has been fought by Christ, and
another battle,«most real and difficult, but yet a conquering
one, is to be fought by us. He hath imparted to us the vir
tue of His wrestlings, and the strength of His victory. So
that, when the body shall rise again, the power of the law to
condemn is gone, because we have learned to love the laAV.
And now, to conclude all this, there are but two things
which remain to say. In the first place, brethren, if we would
be conquerors we must realize God's love in Christ. Take
care not to be under the law. Constraint never yet made a
conqueror : the utmost it can do is to make either a rebel or
a slave. Believe that God loves you. He gave a triumphant
demonstration of it in the cross. Never shall we -conquer
self till we have learned to love. My Christian brethren, let
us remember our high privilege. Christian life, so far a's"it
deserves the name, is victory. We are not going forth to
mere battle — we are going forth to conquer. To gain mas
tery over self, and sin, and doubt, and fear: till the last cold
ness, coming across the brow, tells us that all is over and

Victory over Death. 587
our Avarfare accomplished — that we are safe, the everlasting
arms beneath us — that is our calling. Brethren beloved, do
not be content with a slothful, dreamy, uncertain struggle.
You are to conquer, and the banner under which Ave are to
win is not fear, but love. " The strength of sin is the law ;"
the victory is by keeping before us God in Christ.
Lastly, there is need of encouragement for those of us
whose faith is not of the conquering, but the timid kind.
There are some whose hearts will reply to all this, Surely
victory is not always a Christian's portion. Is there no cold
dark watching in Christian life — no struggle when victory
seems a mockery to speak of — no times when light and life
seem feeble, and Christ is to us but a name, and death a real
ity ? " Perfect love casteth out fear," but who has it ? Vic
tory is by faith, but, O God, who will tell us what this faith
is that men speak of as a thing so easy ; and how we are to
get it ! You tell us to pray for faith, but how shall we
pray in earnest unless we first have the very faith we pray
for? My Christian brethren, it is just to this deepest cry of the
human heart that it is impossible to return a full answer.
All that is true. To feel faith is the grand difficulty of life.
Faith is, a deep impression of God and God's love, and per
sonal trust in it. It is easy to say, " Believe, and thou shalt
be saved," but well we know it is easier said than done. We
can not say how men are to get faith. It is God's gift, al
most in the saine way that genius is. You can not work for
faith; you must have it first, and then work from it.
But, brethren beloved, Ave can say, Look up, though we
know not how the mechanism of the will which directs the
eye is to be put in rhotion ; we can say, Look to God in
Christ, though Ave know not how men are: to obtain faith to
do it. Let us be in earnest. Our polar star is the love of
the cross. Take the eye off that, and you are in darkness
and bewilderment at once. Let us not mind Avhat is past.
Perhaps it isall failure, and useless struggle, and broken re
solves. What then? Settle this first, brethren, Are you in
earnest ? If so, though your faith be weak and your strug
gles unsatisfactory, you may begin the hymn of triumph now,
for victory is pledged. "Thanks be to God, which" — not
shall give, but — "giveth us the victory through our Lord Je
sus Christ."

5 88 Mans Greatness and God's Greatness.

XVIII.
MAN'S GREATNESS AND GOD'S GREATNESS.
"For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth eternity, whose
name is Holy ; I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a
contrite and humble spirit." — Isa. lvii. 15.
The origin of this announcement seems to have been the
state of contempt in which religion found itself in the days
of Isaiah. One of the most profligate monarchs that ever dis
graced the page of sacred history sat upon the throne of Ju
dah. His court was filled with men who recommended them
selves chiefly by their licentiousness. The altar was for
saken. Sacrilegious hands had placed the abominations of
heathenism in the Holy Place ; and piety, banished from the
State, the Church, and the royal Court, was once more as she
had been before, and will be again, a wanderer on the face of
the earth.
Noav, however easy it may be to contemplate such a state
of things at a distance, it never takes place in a man's own
day and time, without suggesting painful perplexities of a
twofold nature. In the first place, suspicions respecting
God's character ; and, in the second place, misgivings as to
his own duty. For a faithless heart whispers, Is it worth
while to sufiHr for a sinking cause? Honor, preferment,
grandeur, follow in the train of unscrupulous-conduct. To
be strict in goodness is to be pointed at and shunned. To
be no better than one's neighbors is the only way of being
at peace. It seems to have been to such a state as this that
Isaiah was commissioned to bring light- He vindicated
God's character- by saying that He is "the high and lofty
One that inhabiteth eternity." He encouraged those Avho
were trodden dbvrn to perseverance, by reminding them that
real dignity is something very different from present success.
God dwells with him " that is of a contrite and humble spir
it." We consider —
I. That in which the greatness of God consists.
II. That in which man's greatness consists.
I. The first measurement, so to speak, which is given us of
God's greatness, is in respect of Time. He inhabiteth eter
nity. There are some subjects on which it Avould be good

Man's Greatness and God's Greatness. 589
to dwell, if it were only for the sake of that enlargement of
mind which is produced by their contemplation. And eter
nity is one of these, so that you can riot steadily fix the
thoughts upon it without being sensible of a peculiar kind
of elevation, at the same time that you are humbled by a
personal feeling of utter insignificance. You have come in
contact with something so immeasurable — beyond the nar
row range of our common speculations — that you are exalted
by the very conception of it. Noav the only way we have
of forming any idea of eternity is by going, step by step, up
to the largest measures of time we know of, and so as
cending, on and on, till we are lost in wonder. We can not
grasp eternity, but we can learn something of it by perceiv
ing that, rise to what portion of time we will, eternity is
vaster than the vastest.
We take up, for instance, the history of our own country,
and then, when we have spent months in mastering the mere
outline of those great events which, in the slow course of re
volving centuries, have made England what she is, her earlier
ages seem so far removed from our own times that they ap
pear to belong to a hoary and most remote antiquity. But
then, when you compare those times with even the existing
Avorks of man, and when you remember that, when England
Avas yet young in civilization, the pyramids of Egypt were
already gray with 1500 years, you have got another step
Avhich impresses you with a doubled amount of A'astness.
Double that period, and you come to the far distant- moment
when the present aspect of this world Avas called, by crea
tion, out of the formless void in which it was before.
Modern science has raised us to a pinnacle of thought be
yond even this. It has commanded us to think of countless
ages in Avhich that formless void existed before it put on the
aspeot of its present creation. Millions of years before God
called the light day, and the darkness night, there was, if
science speaks true, creation after creation called into exist
ence, and buried in its own ruins upon the surface of this
earth. And then, there Avas a time beyond even this — there
was a moment when this earth itself, with all its countless
creations and innumerable ages, did not exist. And again,
in that far back distance it is more than conceivable, it seems
by the analogy of God's dealings next to certain, that ten
thousand worlds may have been called into existence, and
lasted their unnumbered ages, and then perished in succes
sion. Compared with these stupendous figures, 6000 years
of our planet sink into nothingness. The mind is lost in
dAvelling on such thoughts as these. When you have pene-

590 Man's Greatness and God's Greatness.
trated far, far back, by successive approximations, and still
see the illimitable distance receding before you as distant
as before, imagination absolutely gives way, and you feel
dizzy and bewildered with new strange thoughts, that have
not a name.
But this is only one aspect of the case. It looks only to
time past. The same overpowering calculations wait us
when we bend our eyes on that which is to come. Time
stretches back immeasurably, but it also stretches on and on
forever. Now it is by such a conception as this that the in
spired prophet attempts to measure the immeasurable df God.
All that eternity, magnificent as it is, never was without an
inhabitant. Eternity means nothing by itself. It merely
expresses the existence of the high and lofty One that inhab
iteth it. We make a fanciful . distinction between eternity
and time — there is no real distinction. We are in eternity
at this moment. That has begun to be with us which never
began with -God. Our only measure of time is by the suc
cession of ideas. If ideas flow fast, and many sights and
many thoughts pass -by us, time seems lengthened. If we
have the simple routine of a' few engagements, the same ev
ery day, with little variety, the years roll by us so fast that
Ave can not mark them. It is not so with God. There
is no succession 'of ideas with Him. Every possible idea is
present with Him now. It was present with Him ten
thousand years ago. God's dwelling-place is that eternity
which has neither past nor future, but one vast, immeasurable
present. There is a second measure given us of God in this verse.
It is in respect of Space. He dwelleth in the high and lofty
place. - He dwelleth moreover in the most insignificant place
— even the heart- of man. And the idea by which the proph
et would here exhibit to us the greatness of God is that of
His eternal omnipresence. It is difficult to say which con
ception carries with it the greatest exaftation — that of bound
less space or that of unbounded time. When Ave pass from
the tame and narrow scenery of our own country, and stand
on those spots of earth in which nature puts on her wilder
and more awful forms, we are conscious of something of the
grandeur which belongs to the thought of space. Go where
the strong foundations of the earth lie around you in their
massive majesty, and mountain after mountain rears its
snow to heaven in a giant chain, and then, when this bursts
upon you for the first time in life, there is that peculiar feel
ing Avhich Ave call, in common language, an enlargement of
ideas. But when we are told that the sublimity of those

Man's Greatness and God's Greatness. 591
dizzy heights is but a nameless speck in comparison with the
globe of which they form the girdle ; and when we pass on
to think of that globe itself as a minute spot in the mighty
system to which it belongs, so that our .world might be an
nihilated and its loss would not be felt ; and when we are
told that eighty millions of such systems roll in the world
of space, to which our own system again is as nothing ; and
when we are again pressed with the recollection that beyond
those farthest limits creative power is exerted immeasurably
farther than eye can reach or thought can penetrate ; then,
brethren, the awe which comes upon the heart is only, after
all, a tribute to a portion of God's greatness.
Yet we need not science to teach us this. It is the thought
which oppresses very childhood^the overpowering thought
of space. A child can put his head upon his hands, and
think and think till it reaches in imagination some far dis
tant barrier of the universe, and still the difficulty presents
itself to his young mind, "And what is beyond that barrier?"
and the only answer is, " The high and .lofty place." And
this, brethren, is the inward seal with which God has stamped
Himself upon man's heart. If every other trace of Deity has
been expunged by the fall, these two, at least, defy destruc
tion — the thought of eternal time, and the thought of im
measurable space.
The third measure which is given us of God respects His
character. His name is Holy. The chief idea which this
would convey to us is separation from evil. Brethren, there
is perhaps a time drawing near when those of us who shall
stand at His right hand, purified frorn all evil taint, shall be
able to comprehend absolutely what is meant by the holi
ness of God. At present, with hearts cleaving down to
earth, and tossed by a thousand gusts of unholy passion, we
can only form a dim conception relatively of that which it
implies. None but the pure can understand purity. The
chief knowledge which we have of God's holiness comes
from our acquaintance with unholiness. , We know what
impurity is— God is not that. We know Avhat injustice is —
God is not that We know what restlessness, and guilt, and
passion are, and deceitfulness, and pride, and waywardness —
all these we know. God is none of these. And this is our
chief acquaintance with His character. We know what God
is not. We scarcely can be rightly, said to know, that is to
feel, what God is. And therefore this is implied in the very
name of holiness. Holiness in the Jewish sense means sim
ply separateness. From all that is Avrong, and mean, and
base, our God is forever separate.

592 Man's Greatness and God's Greatness,
There is another way in which God gives to us a concep
tion of what this holiness implies. Tell us of His justice,
His truth, His loving-kindness. All these are cold abstrac
tions. They convey no distinct idea of themselves to our
hearts. What we wanted was, that these should be exhib
ited to us in tangible reality. And it is just this which
God has done. He has exhibited all these attributes, not
in the light of speculation, but in the light of facts. He
has given us His own character in all its delicacy of coloi»
ing in the history of Christ. Love, mercy, tenderness,
purity — these are no mere names when we see them brought
out in the human actions of our Master. Holiness is
only a shadow to our minds, till it receives shape and sub
stance in the life of Christ. All this character of holiness
is intelligible to us in Christ. " No man hath seen God at
any time, the only begotten of the Father He hath declared
Him." There is a third light in which God's holiness is shown to
us, and that is in the sternness with which He recoils from
guilt When Christ died for man, I know, what God's love
means ; and when Jesus wept human tears over Jerusalem, I
know what God's compassion means; and when the stern
denunciations of Jesus rung in the Pharisees' ears, I can com
prehend what God's indignation is; and when Jesus stood
calm before. His murderers," I have a conception of what se
renity is. Brethren, revelation opens to us a scene beyond
the grave when this shall be exhibited in full operation.
There Avill be an everlasting banishment from God's presence
of that impurity on which the last efforts have been tried in
vain. It will be a carrying out of this sentence by a law
that can not be .reversed—" Depart from me, ye cursed."
But it is quite a mistake to suppose that this is only a mat
ter of revelation. Traces of it we have now on this side the
sepulchre. Human life is full of God's recoil from sin. In
the writhings of a heart which has been made to possess its
own iniquities — in the dark spot which guilt leaves upon the.
conscience, rising up at times in a man's gayest moments, as
if it will not come out— in the restlessness and the feverish-
ness which follow the efforts of the man who has indulged
habits of sin too long — in all these there, is a law repelling
wickedness from the presence of the Most High — which pro
claims that God is holy.
Brethren, it is in these that the greatness of God consists
— eternal in time — unlimited in space — unchangeable— -pure
m character — His serenity and His vastness arise from Hifi
own perfections.

Man's Greatness and God's Greatness. 593
II. We are to consider, in the second place, the greatness
of man.
1. The nature of that greatness.
2. The persons who are great.
Now, this is .brought before us in the text in this one fact,
that man has been made a habitation ofthe Deity — " I dwell
Avith him that is of a contrite and humble spirit." There is
in the very outset this distinction between what is great in
God and .what is great in man. To be independent of every
thing, in the universe is God!s glory, and to be independent
is man's shame. All that God has, He has from Himself —
all that man has, he has from God. And the moment man
cuts himself off from God, that moment he cuts himself off
from all true grandeur.
There are two things implied in Scripture, Avhen it is said
that God .dwells with man. The first is that peculiar pres
ence which-He has conferred upon the members of His church.
Brethren, we presume not to define what that Presence is,
and how it dwells within us — we are content to leave it as a
mystery. But this we know, that something of a veiy pecu
liar and supernatural character takes place in the heart of
every man upon whom the Gospel has been brought to bear
with power. "Know ye not," says the apostle, " that your
bodies are the temples of the Holy Ghost ?" And again, in
the Epistle to the Ephesians— " In Christ ye are builded for
a habitation of God through the Spirit." There is something
in these expressions which refuses to be explained away.
They leave us but one conclusion, and that is — that in all
those who have become Christ's by faith, God personally and
locally has taken up His dwelling-place.
There is a second meaning attached in Scripture to the ex
pression, God dwells in man. According to the first mean
ing, we understand it in the most plain and literal sense the
words are capable of conveying. According to the second,
we understand His dwelling in a figurative sense, implying
this— that He gives an acquaintance with Himself to man.
So, for instance, when .Judas asked, " Lord, how is it, that
Thou wilt manifest Thyself to us and not to the world ?"
our Redeemer's reply was this — " If a man love me he will
keep my words, and my Father will love him, and we will
come unto him and make our abode with him." In the
question it -was, asked how God would manifest Himself to
His servants. In the answer it was shown how He would
make His abode with them. And if the answer be any reply
to the question at all, what follows is this— that God making
His abode or dwelling in the heart is the same thing exactiy
as God's m.inifesting himself to the heart.

594 Man's Greatness and God's Greatness.
Brethren, in these two things the greatness of man con
sists. One is to have God so dwelling in us as to impart His
character to us ; and the other is to have God so dwelling in
us that we recognize His presence, and know that we are
His and He is ours. They are two things perfectly distinct.
To have God in us, this is salvation ; to know that God is in
us, this is assurance.
Lastly, we inquire as to the persons who are truly great.
And these the Holy Scripture has divided into two classes
— those who are humble and those who are contrite in
heart. Or rather, it will be observed that it is the same class
of character under different circumstances. Humbleness is
the frame of mind of those who are in a State of innocence,
contrition of those who are in a state of repentarit guilt.
Brethreri," let not the expression innocence be misunderstood.
Innocence in its true and highest sense never existed but
once upon this earth. Innocence can not be the religion of
man now. But yet there are those who have walked with
God from youth, not , quenching the Spirit which He gave
them, and who are therefore comparatively innocent beings.
All they have to do is to go on, whereas the guilty man has
to stop and turn back before he can go on. Repentance with
them is the gentle work of every day, not the work of one
distinct and miserable part of life. They are those whom
the Lord calls just men Avhich need no repentance, and of
whom He says, " He that is clean needeth not save to Avash
his feet." . ¦
Now they are described here as the humble in heart.
Two things ate required for this state of mind. One is that
a man should have a true estimate of God, and the other is
that he should have a true estimate of himself.
Vain, blind man, places himself on a little corner of this
planet, a speck upon a speck ofthe universe, and begins to
form conclusions from the small fraction of God's govern
ment which he can see from thence. The astronomer looks
at the laws of motion, and forgets that there must have been
a First Cause to commence that motion. The surgeon looks
at the materialism of his own frame, and forgets that matter
can not organize itself into exquisite beauty. The meta
physician buries himself inthe laws of mind, and forgets that
there may be spiritual influences producing all those laws.
And this, brethren, is the unhumbled spirit of philosophy —
intellectual pride. Men look at Nature, but they do not
look through it up to Nature's God. There is awful igno
rance, of God, arising from indulged sin, which produces an
unhumbled heart. God may be shut out from the soul by
pride of intellect or by pride of heart.

Man's Greatness and God's Greatness. 595
Pharaoh is placed before us in Scripture almost as a type
of pride. His pride arose from ignorance of God. " Who is
the Lord that I should obey his voice ? - I know not the Lord,
neither will I let Israel go." And this was not intellectual
pride ; it was pride in a matter of duty. Pharaoh had been
immersing his whole heart in the narrow politics of Egypt.
The great problem of his day was to aggrandize his own
people and prevent an insurrection of the Israelites ; and that
small kingdom of Egypt had been his universe. He shut his
heart to the voice of justice and the voice of humanity : in
other words, great in the pride of human majesty, small in
the sight of the high and lofty One, he shut himself out
from the knowledge of God.
The next ingredient of humbleness is, that a man must
have a right estimate of himself. There is a vast amount of
self-deception on this point We say of ourselves that which
we could not bear others to say of us. A man truly humbled
would take it only as his due when others treated him in the
way. that he says that he deserves. But, my brethren, we
kneel in our closets in shame for what we are, and we tell
our God that the lowest place is too good for us : and then
Ave go into the world, and if we meet with slight or disre
spect, or if our opinion be not attended to, or if another be
preferred before us, there is all the anguish of a galled and
jealous spirit, and half the bitterness of our lives comes from
this, that we are smarting from what we call the wrongs and
the neglect of men. My beloved brethren, if we saw ourselves
as God sees us, we should be willing to be anyAvhere, to be si
lent when others speak, to be passed by in the world's crowd,.
and thrust aside to make way for others. We should be wil
ling to put others in the way of doing that which we might
have got reputation for by doing ourselves. This was the
temper of our Master — this is the meek and the quiet spirit,
and this is the temper of the humble with whom the high
and lofty One dwells.
The other class of those who are truly great are the con
trite- in spirit. At first sight it might be supposed that
there must ever be a vast distinction between the innocent
and the penitent. It was so that the elder son in the parable
thought when he saw his brother restored to his father's
favor. He was surprised and hurt. He had served his fa
ther these many years — his brother had wasted his substance
in riotous living. But in this passage God makes no distinc
tion. He places the humble consistent follower and the
broken-hearted sinner on a level. He dwells with both — with
him that is contrite, and with him that is humble. He sheds

596 Man's Greatness and God's Greatness,
around them both the grandeur of His Own presence, and the
annals, of Church history are full of exemplifications of this
marvel of God's grace. By the transforming grace of Christ,
men, Avho have done the very work of Satan, have become as
conspicuous in the service :of Heaven as they Avere once con
spicuous in the. career of guilt :
...So indisputably has tEW been so, that men have drawn
from such instances the perverted conclusion, that if a man
is ever to be a great saint, he must , first be a great sinner.
God forbid, brethren, that we should ever make such an in
ference. But this, we infer, for 'our. own encouragement, that
past sin does.not necessarily preclude from high attainments.
We must " forget the things that are behind." We must
not mourn overpast years of folly as if they made saintliness
impossible. Deep as we may have been in earthliness, so
deep we may also be in penitence, and so high we may be
come in spirituality. .
We have so many years the fewer to do Our work in.
Well, brethren, let us try tp do it so much the faster. Christ
can crowd the work of years into hours. He did it with the
dying thief. If the man Avho has set out early may take his
time, it certainly can not be so with us who have lost our
time. If we have lost God's bright and happy presence by
our willfulness, what then ? Unrelieved sadness ? Nay, breth
ren, calmness, purity, may. have gone from our heart ; but all
is not gone yet. Just, as sweetness comes from the bark of
the cinnamon when it is bruised, so can the spirit of the cross
of. Christ bring beauty and holiness and peace out of the
bruised and l»-oken heart God dwells with the contrite as
much as with the humble. <
And now, brethren, to conolude, the first Inference we col
lect from this subject is the danger of coming into collision
with such a God as our God. Day by day we commit sins
of thought ahd word of which the dull eye of man takes no
cognizance. He whose name is Holy can not pass them by.
We may elude the A'igilance of a human enemy and place
ourselves beyond his reach. : God fills all space — there is not
a spot in which His piercing eye is not on us, and His uplift
ed hand can not find us out. Man must strike soon if he
would: strike at all; for opportunities pass away from him,
and his victim may escape his vengeance by death. There
is no passing of opportunity with God, and it is this which
makes His long-suffering a solemn thing. God can wait,
for He has a whole eternity before Him in which He may
strike. "All things are open and naked to Him with whom
we have to. do."

Man's Greatness and God's Greatness. 597
In the next place, we are taught the heavenly character
of condescension. It is not from the insignificance of man
that God's dwelling with him is so strange. It is as much
the glory of God to bend His attention on an atom as to
uphold the universe. But the marvel is that the habitation
which He has chosen for Himself is an impure one. And
when He came down from His magnificence to make this
Avorld His home, still the same character of condescension
was shown through all the life of Christ. Our God selected
the society of the outcasts of earth, those whom none else
would speak to.
Brethren, if we would be Godlike^ we must follow in the
same steps. Our temptation is to do exactly the reverse.
We are forever wishing to obtain the friendship and the in
timacy of those above us in the world. To win over men
of influence to truth — to associate with men of talent and
station and title. This is the world-chase, and this; breth
ren, is too much the religious man's chase. But if you look
simply to the question of resemblance to God, then the man
who makes it a habit to select that one in life to do good to,
and that one in a room to speak with, whom others pass by
because there is nothing either of intellect,or power, or name,
to recommend him, but only humbleness, that man has
stamped upon his heart more of heavenly similitude by con
descension, than the man who has made it his business to
win this world's great ones, even for the sake of truth.
Lastly, we learn the guilt of two things of Which this
world is full — vanity and pride. There is a distinction
between these two. But the distinction . consists in this^
that the vain man looks for the admiration of others — the
proud man requires nothing but his own. Now, it is this
distinction which makes Aranity despicable to us all. We
can easily find out the vain man — we soon discover what it
is he wants to be observed, whether it be a gift of person, or
a gift of mind, or a gift of character. If he be vain of his
person, his attitudes will tell the tale. If he be vain of his
judgment,:or his memory, Or his honesty, he can not help an
unnecessary parade. The world finds him out, and this is
why vanity is ever looked on with contempt. SosooU as we
let men see that we are suppliants for their, admiration, we
are at their, mercy. We have given them: the privilege of
feeling that they are above us. 'We have invited them to
spurn us. And therefore vanity is but a thing for scorn.
But it is very different with pride. No man can Look down
on .him that is proud, for he has asked no man for any thing.
They are forced to feel respect for pride, because it is thof-

598 The Lawful and Unlawful Use of Law.
oughly independent of them. It wraps itself up in the con
sequence of its own excellences, and scorns to care whether
others take note of them or not.
It is just here that the danger lies. We have exalted a
sin into a virtue. No man will acknowledge that he is vain
but almost any man will acknowledge that he is proud. " But
tried by the balance of the sanctuary, there is little to
choose between the two. If a man look for greatness out
of God, it matters little whether he seek it in his own
applause or in the applause of others. The proud Pharisee,
who trusted in himself that he was righteous, was condemned
by Christ as severely, and even more, than the vain JeAvs
who " could not believe because they sought honor from one
another, and not that honor which cometh from God only."
It may be a more dazzling and a more splendid sin to be
proud. It is not less hateful in God's sight. Let us speak
God's word to our own unquiet, swelling, burning hearts.
Pride may disguise itself as it will in its own majesty, but in
the presence of the high and lofty One, it is but littleness
after all.

XIX.
THE LAWFUL AND UNLAWFUL USE OF LAW.
A FRAGMENT.
But we know that the law is good, if a man use it lawfully." — 1 Tim. i. 8.
It is" scarcely ever possible to understand a passage with
out some acquaintance with the history of the circumstances
under which it was written.
At Ephesus, over which Timothy was bishop, people had
been bewildered by the teaching of converted Jews, who
mixed the old leaven of Judaism Avith the new spirituality of
Christianity. They maintained the perpetual obligation of
the Jewish law (ver. f). They desired to be teachers ofthe
law. They required strict performance of a number of
severe observances. They talked mysteriously of angels
and powers intermediate between God and the human soul
(ver. 4). The result was an interminable discussion at
Ephesus. The Church was filled with disputations and con
troversies. Now there is something always refreshing to see the
Apostle Paul descending upon an arena of controversy, whera

• The Lawful and Unlawful Use of Law. 599
minds have been bewildered : and so much is to be said on
both sides that people are uncertain which to take. You
know at once that he will pour light upon the question, and
illuminate all the dark corners. You know that he will not
trim, and balance, and hang doubtful, or become a partisan ;
but that he will seize some great principle which lies at the
root of the whole controversy, and make its true bearings
clear at once.
This he always does, and this he does on the present occa
sion (ver. 5 and 6). He does not, like a vehement polemic,
say. Jewish ceremonies and rules are all worthless, nor some
ceremonies are worthless and others essential ; but he says,
the root of the whole matter is charity. If you turn aside
from this, all is lost ; here at once the controversy closes.
So far as any rule fosters the spirit of love, that is, is used
lawfully, it is wise, and has a use. So far as it does not, it is
chaff. So far as it hinders it, it is poison.
Now observe how different this method is from that which
is called the sober, moderate way— the via media. Some
Avould have said, the great thing is to avoid extremes. If
the question respects fasting, fast, only in moderation : if
the observance of the sabbath-day, observe it on the Jewish
principle, only not so strictly.
St. Paul, on the contrary, went down to the root ; he said,
The true question is not whether the law is good or bad, but
on Avhat principle ; he said, You are both wrong — you, in
saying that the observance of the law is essential, for the
end of it is charity, and if that be got, what matter how ;
you, in saying rules may be dispensed with entirely and al
ways, " for we know that the law is good."
I. The unlawful use, and
II. The lawful use of law.
I. The unlaAvful use. 1
Define law. By law, Paul almost always means, not the
Mosaic law, but law in its essence and principle, that is, con
straint. This chiefly in two forms expresses itself — 1st. a
custom ; 2d. a maxim. As examples of custom, we might
give circumcision, or the sabbath, or sacrifice, or fasting.
Law said, Thou shalt do these things ; and law, as mere
law, constrained them. Or again, law may express itself in
maxims and rules.
In rules, as when law said, "Thou shalt not steal" — not
saying a word about secret dishonesty of heart, but simply
taking cognizance of acts.
In maxims, as when it admonished that man ought to give

600 The Lawful and Unlawful Use of Law. •
a tenth to God, leaving the principle of the matter, untouch
ed. Principle is one thing, and maxim is another. A prin
ciple requires liberality, a maxim says one-tenth. A princi
ple says, "A merciful man is merciful to his beast," leaves
mercy to the heart, and does not define how ; a maxim says,
"Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out thy corn."
A principle says, " Forgive ;" a maxim defines " seven
times ;" and thus the whole law falls into two divisions:
The ceremonial law, which constrains life by customs.
The moral law, which guides life by rules and maxims.
Now it is an illegitimate use of law. First. To expect,
by obedience to it, to make out a title to salvation.
By the deeds ofthe laAV shall no man living be justified.
Salvation is by faith : a state of heart right with God ; faith
is the spring of holiness — a Avell of life. Salvation is not the
having committed a certain, number of good acts. Destruc
tion is not the having committed a certain number of crimes.
Salvation is God's Spirit in us, leading to good.. Destruction
is the selfish spirit in us, leading to wrong.
For a plain reason, -then, obedience to law can not save,
because it is merely the performance of a certain number of
acts which may be done by habit, from fear, from compul
sion. Obedience remains still imperfect. A man may. have
obeyed the rule, and kept the maxim, and yet not be perfect.
" All these- commandments have I kept from my youth up."
" Yet laekest thou one thing." The law he had kept.' The
spirit of obedience in its high form of sacrifice he had not.
Secondly. To use it superstitiously.
It is plain ^hat this Avas the use made of it by the Ephe-
Sian teachers (ver. 4). It seemed 'to them that law Avas
pleasing to God as restraint. Then unnatural restraints
came to be imposed — on the appetites, fasting ; on the affec
tions, celibacy. This is what Paul condemns (ch. iv., ver. 8) :
" Bodily exercise profiteth little."
And again, this superstition showed itself in a false rever
ence — wondrous stories respecting angels — respecting the
eternal genealogy of Christ — awful thoughts about Spirits.
The apostle calls all these, very unceremoniously, " end
less genealogies" (ver. 4), and "old wives' fables" (ch. iv.,
ver. 7).
The question at issue is, wherein true reverence consists :
according to them, in the multiplicity of the objects of rever
ence; according to St. Paul, in the character of the object -
revered  God and right the true object.
But you are not a Avhit the better for solemn and reveren
tial feelings about a mysterious, invisible world. To trem-

The Lawful and Unlawful Use of Law. 60 1
ble before a consecrated wafer is spurious reverence. To
bend before the majesty of, right is Christian reverence.
Thirdly. To use it as if the letter of it were sacred. The
law commanded none to eat the shew-bread except the
priests'. David ate it in hunger. If Abimelech had scrupled
to give it he would have used the law unlawfully.
The law commanded no manner of work. The apostles in
hunger rubbed the ears of corn. The Pharisees used the
law unlawfully, in forbidding that.
II. The lawful use of laAV.
1. As a restraint to keep outward evil in check 
"The laAV was made for sinners and profane." .... Illus
trate this by reference to capital punishment. No sane man
believes that punishment by death will make a nation's
heart right, or that the sight of an execution can soften or
ameliorate. Punishment does not work in that way. It is
not meant for that purpose. It is meant to guard society.
The law commanding a blasphemer to be stoned could not
teach one Israelite love to God, but it could save the streets
of Israel from scandalous ribaldry.
And therefore, clearly understood, law is a mere check to
bad men : it does not improve them ; it often makes them
worse ; it can not sanctify them. God never intended that
it should. It saves society from the open transgression ; it
does not contemplate the amelioration of the offender.
Hence Ave see for what reason the apostle insisted on the
use of the laAV for Christians. Law never can be abrogated.
Strict rules are needed exactly in proportion as we want the
power or the will to rule ourselves. It is not because the
Gospel has come that we are free from the law, but because,
and only so far, as we are in a Gospel state. "It is for, a
righteous man" that the law is not made, and thus we see
the true nature of Christian liberty. The liberty to which
we are called in Christ is not the, liberty of devils, the liberty
of doing what we will,, but the blessed liberty of being on
the side of the laAV, and therefore unrestrained by it in do
ing right.
Illustrate from laws of coining, housebreaking, etc. We
are not under them ; because Ave may break them as we like ?
Nay, the moment we desire, the law is alive again to us.
2. As a primer is used by a child to acquire by degrees,
principles and a spirit.
This is the use attributed to it in Averse 5 : " The end of
the commandment is charity."
Compare Avith this two other passages — " Christ is the end
26

602 The Lawful and Unlawful Use of Law.
of the laAV for righteousness," and " Love is the fulfilling of
the law;" " Perf'ect love casteth out fear."
In every law there is a spirit ; in every maxim a principle ;
and the law and the maxim are laid down for the sake of con
serving the spirit and the principle which they enshrine.
St. Paul compares God's dealing with man to a wise pa
rent's instruction of his child — see the Epistle to the Gala-
tians. Boyhood is under law ; you appeal not to the boy's
reason, but his will, by rewards and punishments : Do this,
and I will reAvard you ; do it not, and you will be punished.
So long as a man is under law this is salutary and necessary,
but only while under law. He is free Avhen he discerns prin
ciples, and at the same time has got, by habit, the will to
obey. So that rules have done for him a double work, taught
him the principle and facilitated obedience to it.
Distinguish, however. In point of time, law is first — in
point of importance, the Spirit.
In point of time, charity is the " end "ofthe commandment
- — in point of importance, first and foremost.
The first thing a boy has to do is to, learn implicit obedi
ence to rules. The first thing in importance for a man to
learn is, to sever himself from maxims, rules, laws. Why ?
That he may become an Antinomian, or a Latitudinarian ?
No. He is severed from submission to the maxim because
he has' got allegiance to the principle. He is free from the
rule and the law because he has got the Spirit written in his
heart. This is the Gospel. A man is redeemed by Christ so far
as he is not u»der the law ; he is free from the law so far
as he is free from the evil which the law restrains ; he
progresses so far as there is no evil in him which it is
an effort to keep down; and perfect salvation and liberty
are when we — who, though1 having the first-fruits of the
Spirit, yet groan within ourselves, waiting for, the adoption,
"to wit, the redemption of our body" — shall have, been
freed in body, soul, and spirit, from the last traces of the
evil which can only be kept down by force. In other words,
so far as Christ's statement is true of us, "The Prince of this
world cometh, and hath nothing in me."

The Prodigal and his Brother. 603

xx.
THE PRODIGAL AND HIS BROTHER.
" And he said unto him, Son, thou art eA'er with me, and all that I have is
ft <ne. It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad : for this thy
brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found." — Luke
x.-. 31, 32.
There are tAvo classes of sins. There are some sins by which
man crushes, wounds, malevolently injures his brother man :
those sins Avhich speak of a bad, tyrannical, and selfish heart.
Christ met those with denunciation. There are other sins by
which a man injures himself. There is a life of reckless in
dulgence; there is a career of yielding to ungovernable pro
pensities, which most surely conducts to wretchedness and
ruin, but makes a man an object of compassion rather than
of condemnation.
The reception which sinners of this class met from Christ
Avas marked by strange and pitying mercy. There was no
maudlin sentiment on His lips. He called sin sin, and guilt
guilt. But yet there were sins which His lips scourged, and
others over which, containing in themselves their own
scourge, His heart bled. That which was melancholy, and
marred, and miserable in this, world, was more congenial to
the heart of Christ than that which was proudly happy. It
was in the midst of a triumph, and all the pride of a proces
sion, that He paused to weep over ruined Jerusalem. And if
we ask the reason why the character of Christ was marked by
this melancholy condescension, it is that He was in the midst
of a world of ruins, and there Avas nothing there to gladden,
but very much to touch with grief. He was here to restore
that which was broken down and crumbling into decay. An
enthusiastic antiquarian, standing amidst the fragments of
an ancient temple surrounded by dust and moss, broken pil
lar and defaced architrave, with magnificent projects in his
mind of restoring all this to former majesty, to draw out to
light from mere rubbish the ruined" glories, and therefore
stooping down amongst the dank ivy and the rank nettles;
such was Christ amidst the wreck of human nature. He was
striving to lift it out of its degradation. He was searching
out in revolting places that which had fallen doAvn, that He
might build it up again in fair proportions, a holy temple to
the Lord.

604 The Prodigal and his Brother.
Therefore He labored among the guilty ; therefore He was
tfie companion of outcasts ; therefore He spoke tenderly and
lovingly to those whom society counted undone ; therefore He
loved to bind up the bruised and the broken-hearted ; therefore
His breath fanned the spark which seemed dying out in the
wick of the expiring taper, when men thought that it was too
late, and that the hour of hopeless profligacy was come. It ¦
was that feature in His character, that tender, hoping, en
couraging spirit of His which the prophet Isaiah fixed upon
as a characteristic. " A bruised reed will He not break."
It was an illustration of this spirit which He gave in the
parable which forms the subject of our consideration to-day.
We find the occasion Avhich drew it from Hun in the com
mencement of this chapter, " Then drew near unto Him all
the publicans and sinners for to hear Him. And the Phari
sees and Scribes murmured, saying, This man receiveth sin
ners and eateth with them." It was then that Christ con
descended to offer an excuse or an explanation of his conduct.
And His excuse Avas this : It is natural, humanly natural, to
rejoice more over that' which has been recovered than over
that which has been never lost. He proved that by three
illustrations taken from human life. The first illustration in
tended to show the feelings of Christ in winning back a sin
ner, was the joy which the shepherd feels in the recovery of
a sheep', from the mountain wilderness. The second was the
satisfaction Avhich a person feels for a recovered coin. The
last was the gladness which attends the restoration of an
erring son.
Now, the tl(pee parables are alike in this, that they all
describe more or less vividly the feelings of the Redeemer
on the recovery of the lost. But the third parable differs
from the other tAvo in this, that besides the feelings of the
Saviour, it gives us a multitude of particulars respecting the
feelings, the steps, and the motives of the penitent who is
reclaimed back to goodness. In the first two the thing lost
is a coin or a sheep. It would not be possible to find any
picture of remorse or gladness there. But in the third para
ble the thing lost is not a lifeless thing, nor a mute thing,
but a-being, the Avorkings of whose human heart are all de
scribed. So that the Subject opened out to ns is a more ex
tensive one — not merely the feelings of the finder, God in
Christ, but besides that, the sensations of the wanderer him
self. In dealing with this parable, this is the line which we
shall adopt. We shall look at the picture which it draws of
— l. God's treatment ofthe penitent. 2. God's expostulation

The Prodigal and his Brother. 605
with the saint God's treatment of the penitent divides it
self in this parable into three distinct epochs. The period
of alienation, the period of repentance, and the circumstances
of a penitent reception. We shall consider all these in turn.
The first truth exhibited in this parable is the alienation
of man's heart from God. Homelessness, distance from our
Father — that is man's state by nature in this world. The
youngest son gathered all together and took his journey into
a far country. Brethren, this is the history of worldliness.
It is a state far from God ; in other words, it is a state of
homelessness. And now let us ask what that means; To
English hearts it is not necessary to expound elaborately the
infinite meanings which cluster round that blessed expres
sion, " home." Home is the one place in all this Avorld
where hearts are sure of each other. It is the place of con
fidence. It is the place where we tear off' that mask of
guarded and suspicious coldness which the world forces us
to wear in self-defense, and where we pour out the unre
served communications of full and confiding hearts. It is
the spot Avhere expressions of tenderness gush out Avithout
any sensation of awkwardness and without any dread of
ridicule. Let a man travel where he will, home is the place
to which "his heart untravelled fondly turns." He is to
double all pleasure there. He is there to divide all pain. A
happy home is the single spot of rest Avhich a man has upon
this earth for the cultivation of his noblest sensibilities.
And now, my brethren, if that be the description of home,
is God's place of rest your home ? Walk abroad and alone
by night. That awful other world in the stillness and the
solemn deep of the' eternities above, is it your home ? Those
graves that lie beneath you, holding in them the infinite se
cret, and stamping upon all earthly loveliness the mark of
frailty and change and fleetingness — are those graves the
prospect to which in bright days and dark days you can
turn without dismay ? God in his splendors — dare we feel
Avith Him affectionate and familiar, so that trial comes soft
ened by this feeling — it is my Father, and enjoyment can be
taken with a frank feeling ; my Father has given it me, with
out grudging, to make me happy? All that is having a
home in God. Are we at home there ? Why, there is dem
onstration in our very childhood that Ave are not at home
with that other world of God's. An infant fears to be alone,
because he feels he is not alone. He trembles in the dark,
because he is conscious ofthe presence ofthe Avorld of spirits.
Long before he has been told tales of terror, there is an in
stinctive dread ofthe supernatural in the infant mind. It is

606 The Prodigal and his Brother.
the instinct which we have from childhood that gives us the
feeling of another Avorld. And mark, brethren, if the child
is not°at home in the thought of that world of God's, the
deep of darkness and eternity is around him — God's home,
but not his home, for his flesh creeps. And that feeling
grows through life ; not the fear — when the child becomes a
man he gets over fear — but the dislike. The man feels as
much aversion as the child for the world of spirits.
Sunday comes. It breaks across the current of his world
liness. It suggests thoughts of death -and judgment arid
everlasting existence. Is that home ? Can the worldly man
feel Sunday like a foretaste of his Father's mansion ? If we
could but know how many have come here to-day, not to
have their souls lifted up heavenward j but from curiosity, or
idleness, or criticism, it would give us an appalling estimate
of the number who are living: in,- a far country, " having no
hope, and without God in the world."
The second truth conveyed to us in this parable is the un
satisfying nature of worldly = happiness. The outcast son
tried to satiate his appetite with husks. A husk is an empty
thing; it is a thing which looks extremely like food, and
promises as much as food ; but it is not food. It is a thing
Avhich when chewed will stay the appetite, but leaves the
emaciated body without nourishment. Earthly happiness is
a husk. We say not that there is no satisfaction in the pleas
ures of a worldly life. That would be an over-statement of
the truth. Something there is, or else why should men per
sist in living for them ? The cravings of man's appetite may
be stayed by tiings wrhich can not satisfy him. Every neAV
pursuit contains in it a neAV hope ; and it is long before hope
is bankrupt. But, my brethren, it is strange if a man has not
found out, long before he has reached the ia.ge of thirty, that
every thing here is . empty and disappointing. The nobler
his heart and the more unquenchable, his hunger for the high
and the good, the sooner will he find that out. Bubble after
bubble bursts,' each bubble tinted, with the celestial colors of
the rainbow, and each leaving in the hand which crushes it
a cold damp drop of disappointment. All that is described
in Scripture by the emphatic metaphor of " sowing the wind
and reaping the whirlwind," the whirlwind of blighted hopes
and unreturned feelings and crushed expectations — that is
the harvest which the world gives you to reap.
And now is the question asked, Why is this world unsatis
fying ? Brethren, it is the grandeur of the soul which God
has given us, which makes it insatiable in its desires— with
an infinite void which can not be filled up. A soul which

The Prodigal and his Brother. 607
was made for God, how can the world fill it ? If the ocean
can be still with miles of unstable waters beneath it, then
the soul of man, rocking itself upon its own deep longings,
with the Infinite beneath it, may rest. We were created
once in majesty, to find enjoyment in God, and if our hearts
are empty now, there is nothing for it but to fill up the hol-
lowness of the soul with God.
Let not that expression — filling the soul tvith God — pass
away without a distinct meaning. God is love and good
ness. Fill the soul with goodness, and fill the soul with
love, that is the filling it with God. If we love one another,
God dwelleth in us. There is nothing else that can satisfy.
So that when we hear men' of this world acknowledge, as
they sometimes will do, when they are wearied with this
phantom chase of life, sick of gayeties and tired of toil, that
it is not in their pursuits that they can drink the fount of
blessedness ; and when we see them, instead of turning aside
either broken-hearted or else made wise, still persisting to
trust to expectations — at fifty, sixty, or seventy years, still
feverish about some new plan of ambition — Avhat we see is
this : we see a soul formed with a capacity for high and no
ble things, fit for the banquet-table of God Himself, trying
to fill its infinite hollowness with husks.
Once more : there is degradation in the life of irreligion.
The things which the wanderer tried to live on were not
husks only. They Avere husks which the swine did eat.
Degradation means the application of a thing to purposes
loAver than that for which it was intended. It is degrada
tion to a man to live on husks, because these are not his true
food. We call it degradation when we see the members of
an ancient family, decayed by extravagance, working for
their bread. It is not degradation for a born laborer to
work for an honest livelihood. It is degradation for them,
for they are not what they might have been. And there
fore, for a man to be degraded, it is not necessary that he
should have given himself up to low and mean practices.
It is quite enough that he is living for purposes loAver
than those for which God intended him. He may be a man
of unblemished reputation, and yet debased in the trnest
meaning of the Avord. We were sent into this Avorld to love
God and to love man ; to do good — to fill up life, with deeds
of generosity and usefulness. And he that refuses to work
out that high destiny is a degraded man. He may turn
away revolted from every thing that is gross. His sensuous
indulgences may be all marked by refinement and taste.
His house may be filled with elegance. His library may be

608 The Prodigal and his Brother.
adorned with books. There may be the sounds in his man
sion which can regale the ear, the delicacies which can stim
ulate the palate, and the forms of beauty which can please
the eye. There may be nothing in his whole life to offend
the most chastened and fastidious delicacy ; and yet, if the
history of all this be, powers which were meant for eternity
frittered upon time, the man is degraded— if the spirit which
Avas created to find its enjoyment in the love of God has set
tled down satisfied with the love of the world, then, just as
surely as the sensualist of this parable, that man has turned
aside from a celestial feast to prey on garbage.
We pass onto the second ¦ period of the history of God's
treatment of a sinner. It is the period of his coming to him
self, or what we call repentance. The first fact of religious
experience which this parable suggests to us is that common
truth— men desert the world when' the world deserts them.
The renegade came to himself Avhen there were no more
husks to eat. He would have remained away if he could
have got them, but it is written, " no man gave unto him."
And this, brethren, is the record of our shame. Invitation
is not enough ; Ave must be driven to God. And the famine
comes not by chance. God sends the famine into the. soul —
the hunger, and thirst, and the disappointment — to bring
back his erring child again.
Now the world fastens upon that truth, and gets out of it
a triumphant sarcasm against religion. They tell us that
just as the caterpillar passes into the chrysalis, and the
chrysalis into the butterfly; so profligacy passes into disgust,
and disgust passes into religion. -To use their own phraseol
ogy, when people become disappointed with the world it is
the last resource, they say, to turn saint. So the. men ofthe
world speak, and they think they are profoundly philosophi
cal and concise in the account they give. The Avorld is wel
come to its very small sneer. It is the glory of our Master's
Gospel that it is the refuge of the broken-hearted. • It is the
strange mercy of our God that He does not reject thewrith-
ings of a jaded heart. Let the world curl its lip if it will,
when it sees through the causes of the prodigal's return.
And if the sinner does not come to God taught by this dis
appointment, what then? If affections crushed in early life
have driven one man to God ; if wrecked and ruinedhop.es
have made another man religious ; if want of success in a
profession has broken the spirit ; if the human life lived out
too passionately has left a surfeit and a craving behind
which end in seriousness ; if one is brought by the sadness
of widowed Hfe, and another by the forced desolation of in-

The Prodigal and his Brother. 609
voluntary single life ; if when the mighty famine comes into
the heart, and not a husk is left, not a pleasure untried, then,
and not till then, the remorseful resolve is made," I will
arise and go to my Father :" — Avell, brethren, what then ?
Why this, that the history of penitence, produced as it so
often is by mere disappointment, sheds only a brighter lustre
round the love of Christ, who rejoices to receive such Avan-
tierers, worthless as they are, back into His bosom. Thank
God, the world's sneer is true. It is the last resource to turn
saint. Thanks to our God that when this gaudy world has
ceased to charm, when the heart begins to feel its hollow-
ness, and the world has lost its satisfying power, still all is
not yet lost, if penitence and Christ remain, to still, to hum
ble, and to soothe a heart which sin has fevered.
There is another truth contained in this section of the
parable. After a life of wild sinfulness, religion is servitude
at first," not freedom. Observe, he Avent back to duty with
the feelings of a slave : " I am no more worthy to be called
thy son ; make me as one of thy hired servants." Any one
Avho has lived in the excitement of the world, and then tried
to settle down at once to quiet duty, knows how true that is.
To borrow a metaphor from Israel's desert life, it is a tasteless
thing to live on manna after you have been feasting upon
quails. It is a dull cold drudgery to find pleasure in simple
occupation when life has been a succession of strong emo
tions. Sonship it is not ; it is slavery. A son obeys in
lovej' entering heartily into his father's meaning. A servant
obeys mechanically, rising early because he must ; doing, it
may be, his duty Avell, but feeling in all its force the irksome-
ness of the service. Sonship does not come all at once.
The yoke of Christ is easy, the burden of Christ is light ;
but it is not light to eArery body. It is light when you love
it, and no man who has sinned much can loA'e it all at once.
Therefore, if I speak to any one who is trying to be relig
ious, and heavy in heart because his duty is done too formal
ly, my Christian brother, fear not. You are returning, like
the prodigal, with the feelings of a servant. Still it is a real
return. The spirit of adoption will come afterwards. You
Avill often have to do duties which you can not relish, and in
Avhich you see no meaning. So it Avas with Naaman at the
prophet's command. He bathed, not knowing why he was
bidden to bathe, in Jordan. When you bend to prayer, often
and often you Avill have to kneel with wandering thoughts,
and constraining lips to repeat words into which your heart
scarcely enters. Yon will have to perform duties when the
heart is cold, and without a spark of enthusiasm to Avarm
26*

6 1 o The Prodigal and his Brother.
you. But, my Christian brother, onward still. Struggle to '
the cross, even though it be struggling as in chains. _ Just
as on .a day of clouds, when you have watched the distant
hills, dark and gray with mist, suddenly a gleam of sunshine
passing over reveals to you, in that flat surface, valleys and
dells and spots of sunny happiness, which slept before unsus
pected in the fog, so in the gloom of penitential life there
will be times when God's deep peace and love will be felt
shining into the soul with supernatural refreshment Let the
penitent be content with the servant's lot at first. Liberty
and peace, and the bounding sensations of a Father's arms
around you, come afterwards.
The, last circumstance in this division of our subject is the
reception which a sinner meets with on his. return to God.
" Bring forth the best robe and put it. on him, and put a ring
on his hand, and shoes on his feet, and, bring hither, the fat
ted calf ahd kill it, and let us eat and be merry." This ban
quet represents to us two things. It tells ofthe father's glad
ness on his son's return. That represents God's joy. on the
reformation of a sinner. It tells of a banquet and a dance
given to the long-lost son. That represents the sinner's
gladness when he first understood that God was reconciled
to him in Christ. There is a strange, almost wild, rapture, a
strong gush of love and happiness in those, days, which are
called the days of the first conversion. When a man who
has sinned much — a profligate — turns to God, and it becomes
first clear to his apprehension! that there is love instead of
spurning for him, there. is a luxury of emotion: — a banquet of
tumultuous ble%sedness in the moment of first love to God,
which stands alone in life, nothing before and nothing after
like it. And, brethren, let us observe:! This forgiveness is a
thing granted while a man is yet afar off. We are not to
wait for the right of being happy till we are good : we might
wait forever. Joy is not delayed till we deserve it. _ Just so
soon as a sinful man trusts that the mercy, of God in Christ
has done away with his transgression, the ring, and the robe,
and the shoes are his, the banquet and the light of a Father's
countenance. Lastly, we have, to consider very briefly God's expostula
tion with a saint There is another brother, mentioned in
this parable, who expressed something like indignation at
the treatment which his brother met with. There are com
mentators who have imagined that this. personage represents
the Pharisees who complained that Jesus was receiving sin
ners. But this is manifestly impossible, because his father
expostulates Avith him in this language, " Son, thou art ever

The Prodigal and his Brother. 6 1 1
with me ;" not for one moment could that be true of the Phar
isees. The true interpretation seems to be that this elder
brother represents a real Christian perplexed with God's
mysterious dealings. We have before us the description of
one of those happy persons who have been filled with the
Holy Ghost from their mother's womb, and on the whole
(Avith imperfections of course) remained God's servant all his
life. For this is his own account of himself, which the father
does not contradict. " Lo ! these many years do I serve
thee." We observe, then, the objection made to the reception of
a notorious sinner — "Thou never gavest me a kid." Noav,
in this we have a fact true to Christian experience. Joy
seems to be felt more vividly and more exuberantly by men
Avho have sinned much, than by men who have grown up
consistently from childhood with religious education. Rap
ture belongs to him whose sins, which are forgiven, are
nianyi In the perplexity which this fact occasions, there is
a feeling which is partly right and partly wrong. There is a
surprise which is natural. There is a resentful jealousy
Avhich is to be rebuked.
There is first of all a natural surprise. It was natural that
the elder brother should feel perplexed and hurt. When a
sinner seems to be rewarded with more happiness than a
saint, it appears as if good and evil were alike undistinguish
ed in God's dealings. It seems like putting a reconciled en
emy oyer the head of a tried servant It looks as if it were
a kind of encouragement held out to sin, and a man begins
to feel, Well, if this is to be the caprice of my father's deal
ing ; if this rich feast of gladness be the reward of a licen
tious life, "Verily I have cleansed my heart in vain, and
washed my hands iii innocency." This is natural surprise.
But besides this there is a jealousy in these sensations of
,ours which God sees fit to rebuke. You have been trying to
serve God all your life, and find it struggle, and heaviness,
and dullness still. You see another who has outraged every
obligation of life, and he is not tried by the deep prostration
you think he ought to have, but bright with happiness at
once. You have been making sacrifices all your life, and
your worst trials come out of your most generous sacrifices.
Your errors in judgment have been followed by sufferings
sharper than those which crime itself could have brought.
And you see men who never made a sacrifice unexposed to
trial — men whose life has been rapture purchased" by the
ruin of others' innocence — tasting first the pleasures of sin,
and then the banquet of religion. You have been a moral

6 1 2 The Prodigal and his Brother.
man from childhood, and yet with all your efforts you feel
the crushing conviction that it has never once been granted
you to win a soul to God. And you see another man mark
ed by inconsistency and impetuosity, banqueting every day
upon the blest success of impressing and saving souls.' All
that is startling. And then comes sadness and despondency ;
then come all those feelings which are so graphically depict
ed here : irritation — " he was angry ;" swelling pride — ¦" he
would not go in;" jealousy, which required soothing — "his
father Avent out and entreated him."
And now, brethren, mark the father's answer. It does not
account for this strange dealing by God's sovereignty. It
does not cut the knot of the difficulty, instead of untying it,
by saying, God has a right to do what He will. He does not
urge, God has a right to act on favoritism if He please. But
it assigns two reasons. The first reason is, "It was meet,
right that we should make merry." It is meet that God
should be glad on the reclamation of a sinner. It is" meet
that that sinner, looking down into the dreadful chasm over
Avhich he had been tottering, should feel a shudder of delight
through all his frame on thinking of his escape.' And it is
meet that religious men should not feel jealous of one anoth
er, but freely and generously join in thanking God that
others have got happiness, even if they have not The spirit
of religious exclusiveness, which looks down contemptuously
instead of tenderly on worldly men, and banishes a man for
ever from the circle of its joys because he has sinned notori
ously, is a bad spirit.
Lastly, the' reason given for this dealing is, " Son; thou art
always with me; and all that I have is thine." By which
Christ seems to tell us that the disproportion- between man
and man is much less than, we suppose. The profligate had
had one hour' of ecstasy— the. other had had a whole life of
peace. A corisisterit Christian may not have rapture ; but
he has that which is much better than rapture : calmness —
God's serene and perpetual presence, And after alL. breth
ren, that is the -best. One to whom - much is forgiven has
much joy. He must have it, if it were' only to support him
through those fearful trials which .are to come — those haunt
ing reminiscences of a polluted heart— those frailties — those
inconsistencies to which the habits of past indulgence have
made him liable. A terrible struggle is in store for him yet.
Grudge him not one hour of unclouded exultation. But re
ligion's best gift— rest, serenity— the quiet daily love of one
who lives perpetually with his Father's family — uninterrupt
ed usefulness — that belongs to him who has lived steadily,

The Prodigal and his Brother. 6 1 3
and Avalked with duty, neither grieving nor insulting the
Holy Spirit of his God. The man who serves God early has
the best of it ; joy is well in its Avay, but a few flashes of joy
are trifles in comparison with a life of peace. Which is best :
the flash of joy lighting up the whole heart, and then dark
ness till the next flash comes — or the steady calm sunlight
of day in which men work ?
And now, one word to those who are living this young
man's life— thinking to become religious, as he did, when
they have got tired of the world. I speak to those who are
leading what, in the world's softened language of conceal
ment, is called a gay life. Young brethren, let two motives
be urged earnestly upon your attention. The first is the
motive of mere honorable feeling. We will say nothing
about the uncertainty of life. We will not dwell upon this
fact, that impressions resisted now may never come back
again. We will not appeal to terror. That is not the
Aveapon which a Christian minister loves to use. If our lips
were clothed Avith thunder, it is not denunciation which
makes men Christians ; let the appeal be made to every
high and generous feeling in a young man's bosom.
Deliberately and calmly you are going to do this: to
spend the best and most vigorous portion of your days in
idleness, in uselessness, in the gratification of self, in the con
tamination of others. And then weakness, the relics and
the miserable dregs of life — you are going to give that sor
ry offering to God, because His mercy endureth forever !
Shame — shame upon the heart which can let such a plan rest
in it one moment. If it be there, crush it like a man. It is
a degrading thing to enjoy husks till there is no man to give
them. It is a base thing to resolve to give to God as little
as possible, and not to serve Him till you must.
Young brethren, I speak principally to you. You have
health for God now. You have strength of mind and body.
You have powers which may fit you for real usefulness.
You have appetites for enjoyment which can be consecrated
to God. You acknowledge the law of honor. Well, then,
by every feeling of manliness and generosity remember this :
now, and not later, is your time to learn Avhat religion
means. There is another motive, and a very solemn one, to be~
urged upon those who are delaying. Every moment of de
lay adds bitterness to after-struggles. The moment of a
feeling of hired servitude must come. If a man will not
ob^y- God with a warm heart, he may hereafter have to do it
with a cold one. To be holy is the work of a long life.' The

6 1 4 John 's Rebuke of Herod.
experience often thousand lessons teaches only a little of it;
and all this, the work of becoming like God, the man who
delays is crowding into the space of a few years or a few
months. When we have lived long a life of sin, do we think
that repentance and forgiveness will obliterate all the traces
of sin upon the character ? Be sure that every sin pays its
price : " Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."
Oh! there are recollections of past sin which come crowd
ing up to the brain, with temptation in them. There are
old habits which refuse to be mastered by a few enthusiastic
sensations. There is so much of the old man clinging to the
penitent who has waited long — he is so much, as_-a religious
man, like what he was when be was a worldly mah— that it
is doubtful whether he ever reaches in this world the full
stature of Christian manhood. Much warm earnestness, but
strange inconsistencies — that is the character of one who is
an old nian and a young Christian. Brethren, do we Avish to
risk all this ? • Do we want to learri holiness with terrible
struggles, and sore affliction, and the plague of much re
maining evil ? Then wait before you turn to God.

XXI.
JOHN'S REBUKE OF HEROD.
"But Herod the tetrarch, being reproved by him for Herodias his brother
Philip's wife, and for all the evils which Herod had done, added yet this
above all, that he shut up John in prison." — Luke iii. 19, 20.
The life of John the Baptist divides itself into three dis
tinct periods. Of the first we are told almost nothing, but
Ave may conjecture much. We are told that he was in the
deserts till his showing unto Israel. It was a period, proba
bly, in which, saddened , by the holloWness of all life: in Is
rael, and perplexed with the controversies of Jerusalem, the
controversies of Sadducee -with Pharisee, of formalist with
mystic^ of the disciples of one infallible rabbi with the disci
ples of another infallible rabbi, he fled for refuge to the Avil-
derness, to see whether God could not be found there by the
heart that sought Him, without. the aid of churches, rituals,
creeds, and forms. This period lasted thirty years.
The second period is a shorter one. It comprises the few
months of his public ministry. His difficulties were over;
he had reached conviction enough to live and die on. He

John 's Rebuke of Herod. 6 1 5
knew not all, but he knew something. He could not baptize
with the Spirit, but he could at least baptize with water.
It Avas not given to him to build up, but it was given to him
to pull down all false foundations. He kneAV that the high
est truth of spiritual life was to be given by One that should
come after. What he had learned in the desert was con
tained in a few words — Reality lies at the root of religious
life. Ye must be real, said John. " Bring forth fruits meet
for repentance." Let each man do his own duty ; let the rich
impart to those Avho are not rich; let the publican accuse
no man falsely ; let the soldier be content with his wages.
The coming kingdom is not a mere piece of machinery which
will make you all good and happy without effort of your
own. Change yourselves, or you will have no kingdom at
all. Personal reformation, personal reality, that was John's
message to the world.
It was an incomplete one ; but he delivered it as his all,
manfully ; and his success was signal, astonishing even to
himself. Successful it was, because it appealed to all the
deepest wants ofthe. human heart It told of -peace to those
who had been agitated by tempestuous passion. It promised
forgetfulness of past transgression to those whose consciences
smarted with self-accusing recollections. It spoke of refuge
from the wrath to come to those who had felt it a fearful
expectation to fall into the hands of an angry God. And the
result of that message, conveyed by the symbol of baptism,
was that the desert swarmed, with crowds Avho owned the
attractive spell of the power of a new life made possible.
Warriors, paupers, profligates — some admiring the nobleness
of religious life, others needing it to fill up the empty hollow
of an unsatisfied heart; the . penitent, the heart-broken, the
Avorldly, and the disappointed, all came. And with them
there came two other classes of men, whose approach roused
the Baptist to astonishment.
The formalist, not satisfied with his formality, and the
infidel, unable to rest on his infidelity — they came too —
startled, for one hour at least, to the real significance of life,
and shaken out of unreality. The Baptist's message wrung
the confession from their souls : " Yes, our system will not
do. We are not happy, after all ; we are miserable. Proph
et, whose solitary life, far away there in the desert, has
been making to itself a horde in the mysterious and the in
visible, what hast thou got to tell us from that awful other
world ? What are we to do ?"
These things belong to a period of John's life anterior to
the text. The prophet has been hitherto in a self-selected

6 1 6 John 's Rebuke of Herod.
solitude, the free wild desert, opening his heart to the strange
sights and sounds through which the grand voice of orient
al nature speaks of God to the soul, in a way that books can
not speak.
We have arrived at the third period of his history. We
are now to consider him as the tenant of a compelled solitude,
in the dungeon of a capricious tyrant. Hitherto, by that
rugged energy with which he battled with the temptations
of this world, he has been shedding a glory round human
life. We are now to look at him equally alone; equally
majestic, shedding by martyrdom almost a brighter glory
round human death. He has hitherto been receiving the
homage of almost unequalled popularity. We are noAV to
observe him reft of every admirer, every soother, every friend.
He has been hitherto overcoming the temptations of existence
by entire seclusion from them all. We are now to ask hoAV
he will stem those seductions when he is brought into the
very midst of them, and the whole outward aspect, of his life
has laid aside its distinctive and peculiar character ; when he
has ceased to be the anchorite, and has become the idol of
court. Much instruction, brethren, there ought to be in all this,
if we only knew rightly hoAV to bring it out, or even to paint
in any thing like intelligible colors the picture Avhich' our
own minds have formed. Instructive, because human life
must ever be instructive. How a human spirit contrived to
get its life accomplished in this confused world : what a man
like us, and yet no common man, felt, did, suffered ; how he
fought, and fiow he conquered ; if we couid onlyget a clear
possession and firm grasp of that, we should have got almost
all that is worth having in truth; with the technicalities
stripped off, for Avhat is the use of truth except to teach man
how to live ? There is a vast value in genuine biography. It
is good to have real views of Avhat life is, and what Christian
life may be. It is good to familiarize ourselves with the his
tory of those Avhom God has pronounced the salt of the earth.
We can not help contracting good from such association.
And just one thing respecting this man whom we are to
follow for some time to-day. Let us not be-afraid of seeming
to rise into a mere enthusiastic panegyric'of a man. It is a
rare man we have to deal with, one of God's heroic ones, a
true conqueror; one Avhose life and motives it is hard to
understand without feeling warmly and enthusiastically
about them; one of the very highest characters, rightly
understood, of all the Bible. Piinegyric such as we can give,
what is it after he has been stamped by his Master's

John 's Rebuke of Herod. 617
eulogy — " A prophet ? Yea, I say unto you, and more than a
prophet. Among them that are born of women there hath
not risen, a greater than John the Baptist." In the verse
Avhich is to serve us for our guidance on this subject there
are tAvo branches which will afford us fruit of contempla
tion. It is written, " Herod being reproved by John for He
rodias." Here is our first subject of thought. The truthfulness of
Christian character.
And then next, he' " shut up John in prison."
Here is our second topic. The apparent failure of religious
life. The point which Ave have to look at in this section of the
Baptist's life is the truthfulness of religious character. For
the prophet was now in a sphere of life altogether hew. He
had got to the third act of his history. The first Avas per
formed right manfully in the desert — that is past. He has
now become a known man, celebrated through the country,
brought into the world, great men listening to him, and in
the Avay, if he chooses it, to become familiar with the polished
life of Herod's court. For this we read : Herod observed
John, that is, cultivated his acquaintance, paid him marked
attention, heard him, did many things at his bidding, and
heard him gladly.
For thirty long years John had lived in that far-off desert,
filling his soul with the grandeur of solitude, content to be
unknown, not conscious, most likely, that there was any thing
supernatural in him — living with the mysterious God in
silence. And then came the day when the qualities, so
secretly nursed, became known in the great world : men felt
that there Avas a greater than themselves before them; and
then came the trial of admiration, when the crowds congre
gated round to listen. And ' all that trial John bore unin
jured, for when those vast croAvds dispersed at night, he was
left alone with God and the universe once more. That pre
vented his being spoilt by flattery. But now comes the
great trial. John is transplanted from ¦ the desert to the
town : he has quitted simple life ; he has come to artificial
life. John has Avon a king's attention, and now the question
is, Will the diamond of the mine bear polishing without
breaking into shivers ? Is the iron prophet melting into
voluptuous softness? Is he getting the world's manners
and the Avorld's courtly insincerity ? Is he becoming arti
ficial through his change of life? My Christian brethren, we
find nothing of the kind. There he stands in Herod's volup
tuous court the prophet of the desert still, unseduced by

618 John's Rebuke of Herod.
blandishment from his high loyalty, and fronting his patron
and his prince with the stern unpalatable truth of God.
It is refreshing to look on such a scene as this-^-the highest,
the very highest moment, I think, in all John's history ;
hio-her than his ascetic life. For after all, ascetic life such as
he had led before, when he fed on locusts and wild honey, is
hard only in the first resolve. When you have once made
up your mind to that, it becomes a habit to live alone. To
lecture the poor about religion is not hard. To speak of un
worldliness to men with whom we do, not associate, and who
do riot see our daily inconsistencies, that is not hard. To
speak contemptuously of the world when we have no power
of commanding its admiration, that is not difficult. But
when God has given . a man accomplishments or powers
which Avould enable him to shine in society, and he can still
be firm, and steady, and uncompromisingly true; when he
can be as undaunted before the rich as before the poor ; when
rank and fashion can not subdue him into silence : when he
hates moral evil as sternly in a great man as he would in a
peasant, there is truth in that man. This was the test to
which the Baptist was. submitted.
And now contemplate him for a moment ; forget that he
is an historical personage, and remember that he was a man
. like us. Then comes the trial. All the habits and rules of
polite life would be whispering such advice as this : " Only
keep your remarks within- the limits of politeness. If you
can not approve, be silent ; you. can do no good by finding
fault with the great." We know how- the whole spirit of a
man like Jolin would have revolted at, that Imprisonment ?
Yes. Death ? Well, a man can die but once— any thing,
but not cowardice — not meanness— not pretending what I do
not feel, and disguising what I do" feel. Brethren, death is
not the worst thing in this life ;; it is not difficult to die— five
minutes and the sharpest agony is past. The worst thing in
this life is cowardly untruthfulness. Let men be rough, if
they will, let them be unpolished, but let Christian men in all
they say be sincere. No flattery, no speaking smoothly to a
man before his face, while all the time there is a disapproval
of his conduct in the heart The thing we Avant in Christi
anity is not -politeness, it is sincerity.
There are three things which we remark in this truthful
ness of John. The first is its straightforwardness, the second
is its unconsciousness, and the last its unselfishness. The
straightforwardness is remarkable in this circumstance, that
there is no indirect, coming to the point. At once, without
circumlocution, the true man speaks. " It is not lawful for

John's Rebuke of Herod. 619
thee to have her." There are some men Avhom God has
gifted with a rare simplicity of heart, which makes them ut
terly, incapable of pursuing the subtle excuses which can be
made for evil. There is in John no morbid sympathy for the
offender : " It is not lawful." He does not say, " It is best to
do otherwise ; it is unprofitable for your own happiness to
live in this way." He says plainly, " It is wrong for you to
do this evil."
Earnest men in this world have no time for subtleties and
casuistry. Sin is detestable, horrible, in God's sight, and
Avhen once it has been made clear that it is not lawful, a
Christian has nothing to do with toleration of it. If we dare
not tell our patron of his sin we must give up his patronage.
In the next place, there was unconsciousness in John's rebuke.
We remark, brethren, that he was utterly ignorant that he
was doing a fine thing. There was no sidelong glance, as
in a mirror, of admiration for himself. He was not feeling,
This is brave. He never stopped to feel that after-ages
Avould stand by, and look at that deed of his, and say, " Well
done." His reproof comes out as the natural impulse of an
earnest heart. John was the last of all men to feel that he
had done any thing extraordinary. And this we hold to be
an inseparable mark of truth. No true man is conscious that
he is true ; he is rather conscious of insincerity. No brave
man is conscious of his courage ; bravery is natural to him.
The skin of Moses's face shone after he had been with God,
but Moses wist' not of it.
There are many of us who would have prefaced that re
buke Avith a long speech. We should have begun by ob
serving how difficult it was to speak to a monarch, how del
icate the subject,- how. much proof we were giving of our
friendship. We should have asked the great man to accept
it as a proof of our devotion. John does nothing of this.
Prefaces betray anxiety about self; John was not thinking
of himself. He was thinking of God's offended law, and the
guilty king's soul. Brethren, it is a lovely and a graceful
thing to see men natural. It is beautiful to see men sincere
without being haunted with the consciousness of their sincer
ity. There is a sickly habit that men get of looking into
themselves, and thinking how they are appearing. We are
always unnatural when we do that. The very tread of one
who* is. thinking how he appears to others, becomes dizzy
with affectation. He is too conscious of what he is doing, and
self-consciousness is affectation. Let us aim at being natural.
Arid we can only become natural by thinking of God and duty,
instead of the way in which we are serving God and duty.

620 John's Rebuke of Herod.
There was, lastly, something exceedingly unselfish in
John's truthfulness. We do not build much on a man's be
ino- merely true. It costs some men nothing to be true, for
they have none of those sensibilities which shrink from in
flicting pain. . There is a surly, bitter Avay of speaking truth
Avhich says little for a man's heart. Some men have not
delicacy enough to feel that it is an awkAvard and a painful
thing to rebuke a brother : they are in their element when
they can become censors of the great. John's truthfulness
Avas not like that It was the earnest loving nature of the
man which made him say sharp things. ' Was it to gratify
spleen that he reproved Herod for all the evils he had done ?
Was it to minister to a diseased and disappointed misan
thropy ? Little do we understand the depth of tenderness
which there is in a rugged, true nature, if we think that.
John's whole life was an iron determination to crush self in
every thing.
Take a single instance. John's ministry was gradually su
perseded by the ministry of Christ. It was the moon wan
ing before the Sun. They came and told him that, "Rabbi,
He to whom thou barest witness beyond Jordan baptizeth,
and all men cpme unto Him." Two of his own personal
friends, apparently some ofthe last he had left, deserted him,
and went to the new teacher.
And now let us estimate the keenness of that trial. Re
member John was a man : he had tasted the sweets of in
fluence ; that influence was dying aAvay, and just in the prime
of life he was to become nothing. Who can not conceive the
keenness ofithat trial? Bearing that in mind, what is the
prophet's answer? One of the most touching sentences in
all Scripture — calmly, meekly, the hero ' recognizes his des
tiny — " He must increase, but I must decrease." He does
more than recognize it— he rejoices in it, rejoices to be noth
ing, to be forgotten, despised, so as only Christ can be every
thing. " The friend of the bridegroom rejoiceth because he
heareth the bridegroom's voice, this my joy is fulfilled." And
it is this man, with self so thoroughly crushed — the outward
self by bodily austerities, the inward self by Christian hum
bleness — it is this man who speaks so sternly to his sovereign.
"It is not lawful." Was there any gratification of human
feeling there ? Or was not the rebuke unselfish ? Meant for
God's honor, dictated by the un controllable hatred of all evil,
careless altogether of personal consequences?
Now it is this, my brethren, that we Avant. The world-
spirit can rebuke as sharply as the Spirit which was in John ;
the Avorld-spirit can be severe upon the great Avhen it is

John 's Rebuke of Herod. 621
jealous. The worldly man can not bear to hear of another's
success, he can not endure to hear another praised for accom
plishments, or another succeeding in a profession, and the
Avorld can fasten very bitterly upon a neighbor's faults, and
say, " It is not. lawful." We expect that in the Avorld. But
that this should creep among religious men, that we should
be bitter— that Ave, Christians, should suffer jealousy to en
throne itself in our hearts — that Ave should find fault from
spleen, and not from love — that we should not be able to be
calm and gentle, and sweet-tempered, Avhen we decrease,
when our powers fail — that is the shame. The love of Christ
is intended to make such men as John such high and heaven
ly characters. What is our Christianity wrorth if it can not
teach us a truthfulness, an unselfishness, and a generosity be
yond. the world's ?
We are to say something, in the second place, of the ap
parent failure of Christian life.
The concluding sentence of this verse informs us that John
was shut up in prison. And the first thought which sug
gests itself is, that a magnificent career is cut short too soon.
At the very outset, of ripe and experienced manhood the
whole thing ends in failure. John's day of actiye usefulness
is over ; at thirty years of age his work is done ; and what
permanent effect have all his labors left ? The crowds that
listened: to his voice, awed into silence by Jordan's side, we
hear of them no more. Herod heard John gladly, did much
good by reason of his influence. What was all that worth?
The prophet comes to himself in a dungeon, and wakes to
the bitter conviction that his influence had told much in the
way of commanding attention, and even winning reverence,
but very little in the way of gaining souls; the bitterest, the
most crushing discovery in the whole circle of ministerial ex
perience. All this was seeming failure.
And this, brethren, is the picture of almost all human life.
To some moods, and under some aspects, it seems, as it seem
ed to the psalmist, " Man walketh in a vain shadow and dis-
quieteth himself in vain." Go to any church-yard, and stand
ten minutes among the grave-stones ; read inscription after
inscription recording the date of birth, and the date of death,
of him who lies below, all the trace which myriads have left
behind of their having done their day's work on God's earth
¦ — that is failure or — seems so. Cast. the eye down the col
umns . of any commander's dispatch after a general action.
The men fell by thousands ; the officers by hundreds. Cour
age, high hope, self-devotion, ended in smoke — forgotten by
the time ofthe next list of slain : that is the failure of life

622 John 's Rebuke of Herod,
once more. Cast your eye over. the shelves of a public li
brary—there is the hard toil of years, the product of a life
of thouo'ht ; all that remains of it is there in a worm-eaten
folio taken down once in a century. Failure of human life
again. Stand by the most enduring of all human labors,
the pyramids of Egypt. One hundred thousand men, year
by year, raised those enormous piles to protect the corpses
of the buried from rude inspection. The spoiler's hand has
been there, and the bodies have been rifled from their mau
soleum, and three thousand years have written " failure "
upon that. In all that, my Christian brethren, if we look no
deeper than the surface, we read the grave of human hope,
the apparent nothingness of human labor.
And then look at this history once more. In the isolation
of John's dying hour there appears failure again. When a
great man dies we listen to hear what he has to say, we turn
to the last page of his biography first, to see what he had to
bequeath to the world as his experience of life. We expect
that the wisdom, which he has been hiving up for years, "will
distill in honeyed sweetness then. It is generally not so.
There is stupor and silence at the last. " How dieth' the
wise man ?" asks Solomon : and he answers bitterly, "As the
fool." The martyr of truth dies privately in Herod's dun
geon. We have no record of his last words. : There were no
crowds to look on. We can not describe how he received
his sentence. Was he calm? Was he agitated? Did he
bless his murderer? Did he give utterance to any deep re
flections on human life? All that is shrouded in silence.
He bowed bis head, and the sharp stroke fell flashing down.
We know that, Ave know no more — apparently a noble life
abortive. And now let us ask the question distinctly, Was all this
indeed failure ? No, my Christian brethren, it was sublimest
victory. John's work was no failure ; he left behind him no
sect to which he had given his name, but his disciples passed
into the service of Christ, and were absorbed in the Christian
Church. Words from John had made impressions, and men
forgot in after years where the impressions first came from,
but the day of judgment will not forget. John laid; the
foundations of a temple, and others built upon it. He laid it
in struggle, in martyrdom. It was covered up like the rough
masonry below ground, but when we look round on the vast
Christian Church we are looking at the superstructure of
John's toil.
There is a lesson for us in all that, if we will learn it.
Work, true work, done honestly and manfully for Christ,

John 's Rebuke of Hercd. 623
never can be a failure. Your own work, my brethren, which
God has given you to do, whatever that is, let it be done
truly. Leave eternity to show that it has not been in vain
in the Lord. Let it but be work, it will tell. True Chris
tian life is like the march of a conquering army into a for
tress which has been breached ; men fall by hundreds in the
ditch. Was their fall a failure ? Nay, for their bodies
bridge over the hollow, and over them the rest pass on to
victory. The quiet religious worship that we have this day
— how comes it to be ours ? It was purchased for us by the
constancy of such men as John, who freely gave their lives.
We are treading upon a bridge of martyrs. The suffering
Avas theirs — the victory is ours. John's career was no failure.
Yet Ave have one more circumstance which seems to tell of
failure. In John's prison, solitude, misgiving, black doubt,
seem for a time to have taken possession of the prophet's
soul. All that we know of those feelings is this : John
while in . confinement sent two of his disciples to Christ, to
say to Him, "Art thou He that should come, or do we look
for another?" Here is the language of painful uncertainty.
We shall riot marvel at this if we look steadily at the cir
cumstances. Let us conceive John's feelings. The enthu
siastic child of Nature, who had roved in the desert, free as
the air he breathed, is now suddenly arrested, and his strong
restless heart limited to the four Avails of a narrow dungeon.
And there he lay startled. An eagle cleaving the air with
motionless Aving, and in the midst of his career brought from
the black cloud by an arrow to the ground, and looking
round with his wild, large eye, stunned, and startled there;
just such was the free prophet of the wilderness, when Her
od's guards had curbed his noble flight, and left him alone
in his dungeon.
Now there is apparent failure here, brethren : it is not the
thing which we should have expected. We should have ex
pected that a man Avho had lived so close to God all his life
would have no misgivings in his last hours. But, my breth
ren, it is not so. It is the strange truth that some of the
highest of God's servants are tried with darkness on the dy
ing bed. Theory would say, when a religious man is laid up
for his ¦ last struggles, novv he is alone for deep communion
with his God. Fact very often says, " No — now he is alone,
as his Master was before him, in the wilderness to be tempted
of the devil." Look at John in imagination, arid 'you would
say, " Now his rough pilgrimage is done. He is quiet, out
of the world, with the rapt foretaste of heaven in his soul."
Look at John in fact. He is agitated, sending to Christ, not

624 John's Rebuke of Herod.
able to rest, grim doubt wrestling Avith his soul, misgiving
for one last black hour whether all his hope has not been de
lusion. There is one thing we remark here by the way. -Doubt
often comes from inactivity. We can not give the philoso
phy of it, but this is the fact, Christians who have nothing to
do but to sit thinking of themselves, meditating, sentimental
izing, are almost sure to become the prey of dark, black mis
givings. John struggling in the desert needs no proof that
Jesus is the Christ. John shut up became morbid and doubt
ful immediately. Brethren, all this is very marvellous. The
history of a human soul is marvellous. We are mysteries,
but here is the practical lesson of it all. For sadness, for
suffering, for misgiving, there is no remedy but stirring and
doing. Noav look once more at these doubts of John's. All his
life long John had been wishing and expecting that the king
dom of God would come. The kingdom of God is right tri
umphant over wrong, moral evil crushed, goodness set-up in
its place, the true man recognized, the false man put down
and forgotten. All his life long John had panted for that ;
his hope was to make men better. He tried to make the sol
diers merciful, and the publicans honest, and the Pharisees sin
cere. His complaint was, Why is the. world the thing it is ?
All his life long- he had been appealing to the invisible jus
tice of Heaven against the visible brute force which he saw
around him. Christ had appeared, and his hopes were strain
ing to the utmost. " Here is the man !" And now, behold,
here is no kingdom of heaven at all, but one of darkness still,
oppression and cruelty triumphant, Herod putting God's
prophet in prison, and the Messiah quietly letting things
take their course. Can that be indeed Messiah ? All this
Avas exceedingly startling. And it seems that then John be
gan to feel the horrible doubt whether the whole thing were
not a mistake, and whether all that which he had taken for
inspiration were not, after all, only the excited hopes of an
enthusiastic - temperament. Brethren, the prophet was well
nigh on the brink of failure.
But let us mark — that a man has doubts — that is not the
evil ; all earnest men must expect to be tried with doubts.
All men who feel, with their whole souls, the . value of the
truth which is at stake, can not be satisfied with a " perhaps."
Why, when all that is true and excellent in this world, all
that is worth living for, is in that question of questions,' it is
no marvel if we sometimes Avish,like Thomas, to see the prints
of the nails, to knoAV whether Christ be indeed our Lord or

John's Rebuke of Herod. 625
not. Cold hearts are not anxious enough to doubt. Men
who love will have their misgivings at times ; that is not
the evil. But the evil is, when men go on in that languid
doubting Avay, content to doubt, proud of their doubts, mor
bidly glad to talk about them, liking the romantic gloom of
twilight, without the manliness to . say — I must and will
know the truth. That did not John. Brethren, John ap
pealed to Christ. He did exactly what Ave do when we
pray — and he got his answer' Our Master said to his disci
ples, Go to my suffering servant, and give him proof. Tell
John the things ye see and hear — "The blind see, the deaf
hear, the dead are raised, to the poor the Gospel is preached."
There is a deep lesson wrapped up in this. We get a firm
grasp of truth by prayer. Communion with Christ is the
best proof of Christ's existence and Christ's love. It is so
even in human life. Misgivings gather darkly round our
heart about our friend in his absence ; but we seek his frank
smile, we feel his affectionate grasp : our suspicions go to
sleep again. It is just so in religion. No man is in the
habit of praying to God in Christ, and then doubts whether
Christ is He " that should come." It is in the power of
prayer to realize Christ, to bring Him near, to make you feel
His life stirring like a pulse within you. Jacob could not
doubt whether he had been with God when his sinew shrunk.
John could not doubt whether Jesus Avas the Christ, when
the things He had done were pictured out so vividly in an
swer to his prayer. Let but a man live with Christ, anxious
to have his own life destroyed and Christ's life established
in its place, losing himself in Christ, that man will have all
his misgivings silenced. These are the two remedies for
doubt — activity and prayer. He who works, and feels he
works: — he who prays, aud knows he prays — has got the se
cret of transforming life-failure into life-victory.
In conclusion, brethren, we make three remarks which
could not be introduced into the body of this subject. The
first is : let young and ardent minds, under the first impres
sions of religion, beware how they pledge themselves by any
open profession to more than they can perform. Herod
Avarmly took up religion at first, courted the prophet of re
ligion, and then Avhen the hot fit of enthusiasm had passed
away, he found that he had a clog round his life from wdiich he
could only disengage himself by a rough, rude effort. Breth
ren whom God has touched, it is good to count the cost be
fore you begin. If you give up present pursuits impetuously,
are you sure that present impulses will last ? Are yGu quite
certain that a day will not come Avhen you will curse the
27

626 John's Rebuke of Herod.
hour in which you broke altogether with the world ? Are
you quite sure that the revulsion back again will not be as
impetuous as Herod's, and your hatred of the religion which
has become a clog as intense as it now is ardent ?
Many things doubtless there are to be given up — amuse
ments that are dangerous, society that is questionable. What
Ave give up, let us give up, not from quick feeling but from
principle. Enthusiasm is a lovely thing, but let us be calm
in what Ave do. In that solemn, grand thing — Christian life
— one step backward is religious death.
Once more : we get from this subject the doctrine of a res
urrection. John's life Avas hardness, his end was agony.
That is frequently Christian life. Therefore, says the apos
tle, if there be no resurrection the Christian's choice is Avrong ;
" If in this life only we have hope in Christ, then are we of
all men most miserable." Christian life is not visible success
— very often it is the apparent opposite of success. It is the
resurrection of Christ working itself out in us ; but it is very
often the cross of Christ imprinting itself on us very sharply.
The highest prize which God has to give here is martyrdom.
The highest style of life is the Baptist's — heroic, enduring,
manly love. The noblest coronet which any son of man can
wear is. a crown of thorns. Christian, this is, not your rest.
Be content to feel that this world is not your home. Home
less upon earth, try more and more to make your home in
heaven, above with Christ.
Lastly, we have to learn from this, that devotedness to
Christ is our only blessedness. It is surely, a strange thing
to see the j^ay in which men crowded round the austere
prophet, all saying, " Guide us, we can not guide ourselves."
Publicans, Pharisees, Sadducees, Herod, whenever John ap
pears, all bend before him, offering him homage and leader
ship. How do we account for this ? The truth is, the spirit
of man groans beneath the weight of its own freedom. When
a man has no guide, no master but himself, he is miserable ;
we want guidance, and if we find a man nobler, wiser than
ourselves, it is almost our instinct to prostrate our affections
before that man, as the crowds did by Jordan, and say, " Be
my example, my guide, my soul's sovereign." That passion
ate need of worship — hero- Avorship it has been called — is a
primal, universal instinct of the heart. Christ is the answer
to it. Men will not do ; we try to find men to reverence
thoroughly, and we can not do it. We go through life, find
ing guides, rejecting them one after another, expecting no
bleness and finding meanness ; and Ave turn aAvay with a re
coil of disappointment.

John 's Rebuke of Herod. 627
There is no disappointment in Christ. Christ can be our
souls' sovereign. Christ can be our guide. Christ can ab
sorb all the admiration which our hearts long to give. We
Avant to worship men. These Jews wanted to worship man.
They were right — man is the rightful object of our Avorship ;
but in the roll of ages there has been but one Man whom we
can adore without idolatry — the Man Christ Jesus.

SERMONS

Jonrtlj Scries.
i.
THE CHARACTER OF ELI.
"And the child Samuel ministered unto the Lord before Eli. And the
word of the Lord was precious in those days; there was no open vision." —
1 Sam. iii. 1.
It is impossible to read this chapter without perceiving
that it draws a marked contrast between the two persons
of Avhom it speaks — Eli and Samuel.
1. They are contrasted in point of years : for the one is a
boy, the other a gray-headed old man ; and if it Avere for
only this, the chapter would be one of deep interest. For
it is interesting always to see a friendship between the old
and the young. It is striking to see the aged one retaining
so much of freshness and simplicity as not to repel the sym
pathies of boyhood. It is surprising to see the younger one
so advanced and thoughtful as not to find dull the society
of one who has outlived excitability and passion. This is
the picture presented in this chapter. A pair of friends —
childhood and old age standing to each other in the relation
ship, not of teacher and pupil, but of friend and friend.
2. They are contrasted, again, in point of office. > Both are
judges of Israel. But Eli is a judge rendering up his trust,
and closing his public career.' Samuel is a judge entering
upon his office : and the outgoing ruler, Eli, is placed under
very novel and painful circumstances in reference to his
successor. He receives God's sentence of doom from the
lips ofthe child he has taught, and the friend he has loved.
The venerable judge of forty years is sentenced by the judge
elect. 3. Still more striking is the contrast in point of character.

630 The Character of Eli. ,
A -difference of character we expect when ages are so differ
ent. But here the difference of inferiority is on the Avrong
side. It is the young who is counselling, supporting, ad
monishing the old. It is not the ivy clinging for its own
sake to the immovable wall, to be held up : but it is the
badly built, mouldering wall held together by the ivy, and
only by the ivy kept from falling piecemeal into ruin.
4. Once more : we have here the contrast between a judge
by office and a judge by Divine call. In the first days of
the judges of Israel we find them raised up separately by
God, one by one, one for each emergency. So that if war
threatened the coasts of Israel, no man knew whence the
help would come, or Avho would be Israel's deliverer. It
always did come : there was always one, qualified by God,
found ready for the day of need, equal to the need ; one
Avhose fitness to be a leader no one had before suspected.
But when he did appear, he proved himself to be Israel's
acknowledged greatest — greatest by the qualities he dis
played, qualities given unto him by God. Therefore men
rightly said he was a judge raised up by God. But it seems
that in later days judges were appointed by hereditary suc
cession. When danger was always near, men became afraid
of trusting to God to raise up a defender for them, and making
no preparations for danger of invasion ; therefore, in the ab
sence of any special qualification marking out the man, the
judge's son became judge at his father's death ; or the office
devolved on the high-priest This was Eli's qualification, it
would seem. Eli Avas high -priest, and therefore he was
judge. He appears not to have had a single ruling quality.
He Avas only a judge because he was born to the dignity.
There is an earthly wisdom in such an arrangement — nay,
such an arrangement is indispensable. It is wise after an
earthly sort to have an appointed succession. Hereditary
judges, hereditary nobles, hereditary sovereigns : without
them, human life would run into inextricable confusion.
Nevertheless, such earthly arrangements only represent the
heavenly order. The Divine order of government is the
rule of the wise and good. The earthly arbitrary arrange
ment — hereditary succession, or any other — stands for this,
representing it, more or less fulfills it, but never is it perfect
ly. And from time to time God sets aside and quashes the
arbitrary arrangement, in order to declare that it is only a
representation of the true and Divine one. From time to
time, one who has qualifications direct from God is made, in
Scripture, to stand side by side with one who has his qualifi
cations only from office or earthly appointment ; and then

The Character of Eli. 631
the contrast is marvellous indeed. Thus Saul, the king ap
pointed by universal suffrage of the nation, is set aside for
David, the man after God's own heart : and thus the Jews,
the world's hereditary nobles, descended from the blood and
stock of Abraham, are set aside for the true spiritual succes
sion, the Christian Church — inheritors by Divine right, not
of Abraham's blood, but of Abraham's faith. Thus the he
reditary high - priests in the genuine line of Aaron, priests
by lawful succession, representing priestly powers, are set
aside at once, so soon as the real High-Priest of God, Jesus
Christ, whose priestly poAvers are real and personal, appears
on earth.
And thus by the side of Eli, the judge by office, stands
Samuel, the judge by Divine call : qualified by wisdom, in
sight, Avill, resting on obedience, to guide and judge God's
people Israel. Very instructive are the contrasts of this
chapter: — We will consider —
I. Eli's character.
IT. Eli's doom.
1. Eli's character has tAvo sides; we will take the bright
side first. The first point remarkable in him is the absence of
envy. Eli furthers Samuel's advancement, and assists it to
his own detriment. Very mortifying was that trial. Eli
was the one in Israel to whom, naturally, a revelation should
have come. God's priest and God's judge, to whom so fitly
as to him could God send a message ? But another is pre
ferred: the inspiration comes to Samuel, and Eli is super
seded and disgraced. Besides this, every conceivable cir
cumstance of bitterness is added to his humiliation — God's
message for all Israel comes to a boy : to one who had been
Eli's pupil, to one beneath him, who had performed for him
servile offices. This Avas the bitter cup put into his hand to
drink. And yet Eli assists him to attain this dignity. He per
ceives that God has called the child. He does not say in
petulance^" Then, let this favored child find out for himself
all he has to do, I will leave him to himself." Eli meekly
tells him to go back to his place, instructs him how he is to
accept the revelation, and appropriate it : " Go lie down : and
it shall be, if He call thee, that thou shall say, Speak, Lord ;
for thy servant heareth." He conducts his rival to the pres
ence-chamber, Avhich by himself he can not find, and leaves
him there with the King, to be invested with the order which
has been stripped off himself.
Consider how difficult this conduct of Eli's was. Remem-

632 The Character of Eli.
ber how difficult it is to be surpassed by a younger brother.
and bear it with. temper ; hoAV hard it is even to be set right,
with meekness ; to have our faults pointed out to us : es
pecially by persons who, in rank, age, or standing, are our
inferiors. Recollect how in our experience of life, in all pro
fessions, merit is kept down, shaded by jealousies. Recollect
how rare generous enthusiasm is, or even fairness ; Iioav men
depreciate their rivals by coldness, or by sneering at those
Avhom they dare not openly attack.
It is hard to give information which Ave have collected
Avith pains, but which we can not use, to another who can
make use of it. Consider, again, how much of our English
reserve is but another name for jealousy. Men often meet
in society with a consciousness of rivalry ; and conversation
flags because they fear to impart information, lest others
should make use of it, and they should thus lose -the credit
of being original.
One soldier we have heard of who. gave up the post of
honor and the chance of high distinction to cover an early
failure of that great warrior whom England has lately lost,
and to give him a fresh chance of retrieving honor. He did
what Eli did : assisted his rival to rise above him. But
AA'here is the man of trade who will throAv in a rival's Avay the
custom which he can not use himself? Where is the profes
sional man, secular or clerical, who will so speak of another
of the same profession, while struggling with him in honor
able rivalry, or so assist him, as to insure that the brightest
lustre shall shine upon what he really is ? Whoever will
ponder these things Avill feel that Eli's was no common act.
Noav, for almost all of us, there are one or two persons in
life who cross our path, whose rise will be our eclipse, Avhose
success will abridge ours, whose fair career will thwart ours,
darken our prospects, cross our affections. Those one or two
form our trial; they are the test and proof of our justice.
How Ave feel and act to them proves whether Ave are just or
not. It Avas easy for Eli to have instructed any one else
how to approach God. But the difficulty was how to in
struct Samuel. Samuel alone, in all Israel, crossed his path.
And yet Eli stood the test. He was unswervingly just. He
threw no petty hindrances in his way. He removed all
He gave a clear, fair, honorable field. That act of Eli's is
fair and beautiful to gaze upon.
2. Remark the absence of all priestly pretensions.
Eli might with ease have assumed the priestly tone.
When Samuel came Avith his strange story, that he had heard
a voice calling to him in the dark, Eli might have fixed upon

The Character of Eli. 633
* *
him a clear, cold, unsympathizing eye, and said, " This is
excitement — mere enthusiasm. I am the appointed channel
of God's communications; I am the priest. Hear the
Church. Unordained, unanointed with priestly oil, a boy, a
child, it is presumption for you to pretend to communica
tions from Jehovah ! A layman has no right to hear
Voices; it is fanaticism." Eli might have done this; he
a, ould have only done what ordained men have done a
thousand times when they have froAyned irregular enthusiasm
into dissent. And then Samuel would have become a mys
tic, or a self-relying enthusiast. For he could not have been
made to think that the Voice was a delusion. That Voice
no priest's frown could prevent his hearing. On the other
hand, Eli might have given his own authoritative interpreta
tion to Samuel of that word of God Avhich he had heard.
But suppose that interpretation had been wrong?
Eli did neither of these things. He sent Samuel to God.
He taught him to inquire for himself. He did not tell him
to reject as fanaticism the belief that an inner Voice was
speaking to him, a boy ; nor did he try, to force his OAvn in
terpretation on that Voice. His great care Avas to put Sam
uel in direct communication with God ; to make him listen
to God ; nay, and that independently of him, Eli. Not to
rule him; not to direct his feelings and b^Jief; not to keep
him in the leading-strings of spiritual childhood, but to teach
him to walk alone.
There are tAvo sorts of men who exercise influence. The
first afe those who perpetuate their OAvn opinions, bequeath
their own names, form a sect, gather a party round them
Avho speak their words, believe their belief. Such men were
the ancient rabbis. And of such men, in and out of the
Church, we have abundance noAV. It is the influence most
aimed at and most loved. The second class is composed of
those who stir up faith, conscience, thought, to do their OAvn
Avork. They are not anxious that those they teach should
think as they do, but that they should think. Nor that they
should take this or that rule of right and wrong, but that thay
should be conscientious. Nor that they should adopt their
own views of God, but that faith in God should be roused in
earnest. Such men propagate not many views; but they
propagate life itself in inquiring minds and earnest hearts.
Now this is God's real, best work. Men do not think so.
They like to be guided. They ask, What am I to think ?
and what am I to believe ? and what am I to feel ? Make it
easy for me. Save me the trouble of reflecting and the an
guish of inquiring. It is very easy to do this for them ; but
27*

634 The Character of Eli.
from what minds, and from what bboks, do we really gain
most of that which we can really call our own ? From those.
that are suggestive, from those that can kindle life within us,
and set us thinking, and call conscience into action — not from
those that exhaust a subject and seem to leave it threadbare,
but from those that make us feel there is a vast deal more
in that subject yet, and send us, as Eli sent Samuel, into the
dark Infinite to listen for ourselves.
And this is the ministry and its work — not to drill hearts,
and minds, and consciences, into right forms of thought and
mental postures, but to guide to the Living God who speaks.
It is a thankless work ; for, as I have said, men love to have
all their religion done out for them. They w7ant something
definite, and sharp, and clear — words — not the life of God in
the soul : and indeed, it is far more flattering to our vanity
to have men take our views, represent us, be led by us.
Rule is dear to all. To rule men's spirits is the dearest rule
of all ; but it is the work of every true priest of God to lead
men to think and feel for themselves — to open their ears
that God may speak. Eli did this part of his work in a true
spirit. He guided Samuel, trained his character. But
" God's Spirit !" Eli says, " I can not give that God's
voice ! I am not God's voice. I am only God's witness,
erring, listening^for myself. I am here, God's Avitness, to
say — God speaks. I may err — let God be true. Let me be
a liar, if you will. My mission is done when your ear is
opened for God to whisper into." Very true, Eli was super
seded. Very true, his work was done. A new set of views,
not his, respecflng Israel's policy and national life, Avere to
be propagated by his successor ; but it was Eli that had
guided that successor to God who gave the views : and Eli
had not lived in \-ain.
My brethren, if any man or any body of men stand be
tween us and the living God, saying, " Only through us — the
Church — can you approach God ; only tlirough my conse-
- crated touch can you receive grace ; only through my or
dained teaching can you hear God's voice ; and the voice
Avhich speaks in your soul in the still moments of existence
is no revelation from God, but a delusion and a fanaticism "
— that man is a false priest. To bring the soul face to face
Avith God, and supersede ourselves, that is the Avork of the
Christian ministry.
3. There was in Eli a resolve to know the whole truth.
" What is the thing that the Lord hath said unto thee ? I
pray thee hide it not from me : God do so to thee, and more
also, if thou hide any thing from me of all the things that

The Character of Eli. 635
He said unto thee." Eli asked in earnest to know the
worst It would be a blessed thing' to know what God thinks of
Ais. But next best to this would be to see ourselves in the
light in which we appear to others : other men's opinion is a
mirror in which Ave learn to see ourselves. It keeps us hum
ble when bad and good alike are known to us. The worst
slander has in it some truth from which we may learn a les
son, which may make us Aviser when the first smart is
passed. Therefore it is a blessing to have a friend like Samuel,
who can dare to tell us truth, judicious, candid, wise ; one to
whom, we can say, " Now tell me what I am, and what I
seem ; hide nothing, but tell me the worst." But observe,
we are not to beg praise or invite censure — that were weak.
We are not to ask for every malicious criticism or torment
ing report — that were hypochondria, ever suspecting, and
ever self-tormenting ; and to that diseased sensibility it
Avould be no man's duty to minister. True friendship will
not retail tormenting trifles ; but what we want is one friend
at least, who will extenuate nothing, but with discretion tell
the Avorst, using unflinchingly the sharp knife Avhich is to cut
away the fault.
4. There was pious acquiescence in the declared will of
God. When Samuel had told him every whit, Eli replied,
" It is the Lord." The highest religion could say no more.
What more can there be than surrender to the will of God ?
In that one brave sentence you forget all Eli's vacillation.
Free from envy, free from priestcraft, earnest, humbly sub
missive — that is the bright side of Eli's character, and the
side least known or thought of.
There is another side to Eli's character. He was a waA'er- '
ing, feeble, powerless man, with excellent intentions, but an
utter Avant of will ; and if we look at it deeply, it is will that
makes the difference between man and man ; not knowledge,
not opinions, not devoutness, not feeling, but Avill — the pow
er to be. Let us look at the causes of this feebleness.
There are apparently two. 1. A recluse life — he lived in
the temple. Praying and sacrificing, perhaps, were the sub
stance of his life ; all that unfitted him for the world ; he
knew nothing of life ; he knew nothing of character. When
Hannah came before him in an agony of prayer, he mis
judged her. He mistook the tremulousness of her lip for
the trembling of intoxication. He could not rule his own
household ; he could not rule the Church of God — a shy, sol
itary, amiable ecclesiastic and recluse — that was Eli.

636 The Character of Eli.
And such are the really fatal men in the work of life, those
who look out on human life .from a cloister, or who know
nothino- of men except through books. Religious persons
dread worldliness. They will not mix in politics. They
keep aloof from life. Doubtless there is a danger in know
ing too much of the world. But, beyond all comparison, of
the two extremes the worst is knowing too little of life. A
priesthood severed from human sympathies, separated from
men, cut off from human affections, and then meddling fatal
ly with questions of human life — that is the Romish priest
hood. And just as fatal, when they come to meddle with
public questions, is the interference of men as good as Eli, as
devout and as incompetent, who have spent existence in a
narrow religious party which they mistake for the world.
2. That feebleness arose out of original temperament. Eli's
feelings were all good: his acts were all wrong. In senti
ment Eli might be always trusted : in action he was forever
false, because he was a weak, vacillating man.
Therefore his virtues were all of a negative character. He
was forgiving to his sons, because unable to feel strongly the
viciousness of sin; free from jealousy, because he had no
keen affections ; submissive, because too indolent to feel re
bellious. Before we praise a man for his excellences, Ave
must be quite sure that they do not rise out of so many de
fects. No thanks to a proud man that he is not vain. No
credit to a man without love that he is not jealous: he has
not strength enough for passion.
All history overrates such men. Men like Eli ruin families
by instability, produce revolutions, die well when only pas
sive courage is wanted, and are reckoned martyrs. They
live like children, and die like heroes. Deeply true to na
ture, brethren, and exceedingly instructive, is this history of
Eli. It is quite natural that such men should suffer Avell.
For if only their minds are made up for them by inevitable
circumstances, they can submit. When people come to Eli
and say, " You should reprove your sons," he can do it after
a fashion ; when it is said to him, " You must die," he can
make up his mind to die : but this is not taking up the cross.
Let us look at the result of such a character.
1. It had no influence. Eli was despised by his own sons.
He was not respected by the nation." One only of all he
lived with, kept cleaving to him till the last — Samuel ; but
that was in a kind of mournful pit y. The secret of influence
is will — not goodness, not badness — both bad and good may
have it; but will. And you can not counterfeit will if yon
have it not. Men speak strongly and vehemently when

The Character of Eli. 637
most conscious of their own vacillation. They commit them
selves to hasty resolutions, but the resolve is not kept ; and
so, with strong feelings and good feelings, they lose influence
day by day.
2. It manifested incorrigibility. Eli Avas twice warned ;
once by a prophet, once by Samuel. Both times he answer
ed submissively. He used strong, nay, passionate expres
sions of penitence. Both times you would have thought an
entire reformation and change of life was at hand. Both
times he was warned in vain.
There are persons who go through life sinning and sorrow
ing — sorrowing and sinning. No experience teaches them.
Torrents of tears flow from their eyes. They are full of elo
quent regrets. You can not find it in your heart to condemn
them, for their sorrow is so graceful and touching, so full of
penitence and self-condemnation. But tears, heart-breaks, re
pentance, Avarnings, are all in vain. Where they did wrong
once, they do wrong again. What are such persons' to do in
the next life ? Where will the Elis of this world be ? God
only knoAvs. But Christ has said, " Not every one that
saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of
heaven." 3. It resulted in misery to others.
Recollect what this weakness caused. Those young men,
Eli's sons, grew up to be their country's plague. They sap
ped the moral standard of their countrymen and country-
Avomen. They degraded the ministry. " Men abhorred the
offering of the Lord." The armies of Israel, without faith in
God, and without leadership of man, fled before the enemy.
All that was Eli's doing. A weak man with good feelings
makes more misery than a determined bad man. Under a
tyranny men are at least at rest,' for they knoAV the worst.
But when subjects or children know that by entreaty, or
persistence, or intimidation, they can obtain what they want,
then a family or a nation is cursed with restlessness. Better
to live under bad laAvs which are firmly administered, than
under good ones where there is a misgiving whether they may
not be changed. There is no wretchedness like, the wretched
ness caused by an undetermined will to those who serve un
der it.

638 Appointment of the First King in Israel.

11.
THE APPOINTMENT OF THE FIRST KING IN
ISRAEL.
"And Samuel said unto all Israel, Behold, I have hearkened unto your
voice in all that ye said unto me, and have made a king over you." — 1 Sam.
xii. 1.
Oun subject to-day is the selection ofthe first king of Is
rael. We have arrived at that crisis in Israel's history when the
first shock occurred in her national life. That shock was be
reft of part of its violence by the wisdom of a single man.
By the lustre of his personal character, by his institutions,
and by his timely concessions, Samuel won that highest of
all privileges which can be given to a mortal — the power of
saving his country. He did not achieve the best conceiva
ble ; but he secured the best possible. The conceivable best
Avas, that there should have been no shock at all, that Israel's
elders should have calmly insisted on a reformation of abuses :
that they should have come to Samuel, and demanded repa
ration for the insulted majesty of Hebrew law in the persons
of the young judges, his sons, who had dared to dishonor it.
This Avould have been the first best. The second best was
the best practicable — that the shock should be made as light
as possible; that Samuel should still control the destinies of
his country, select the new king, and modify the turbulence
of excess. So that Israel was in the position of a boat which
has been borne down a swift stream into the very suction of
the rapids. The best would be that she should be put back;
but if it be too late for this, then the best is that there should
be in her a strong arm and a steady eye to keep her head
straight. And thus it was with Israel. She plunged down
the fall madly, rashly, wickedly; but, under Samuel's con
trol, steadily. This part of the chapter we arrange in two
branches : —
I. Samuel's conduct after the mortification of his OAvn re
jection. II. The selection of the first monarch of Israel.
I. The tenth chapter broke off in a moment of suspense.
The people, having accepted Saul as their king," had been dis-

Appointment of the First King in Israel. 639
missed, and Samuel was left alone ; but his feelings were very
different from those which he had in that other moment of
solitude, when he had dismissed the delegates of the people.
That struggle was past. He was now calm. The first mo
ment was a terrible one. It was one of those periods in hu
man life when the whole meaning of life is perplexed, its
aims and hopes frustrated; when a man is doAvn upon his
face and gust after gust sweeps desolately over his spirit.
Samuel was there to feel all the ideas that naturally suggest
themselves in such hours — the instability of human affection
— the nothingness of the highest earthly aims. But by de
grees tAvo thoughts calmed him. The first was the feeling
of identification with God's cause. " They have not rejected
thee, but they have rejected Me." Had it been mere wound
ed pride, or pique, or family aggrandizement arrested, or am
bition disappointed, it would have been a cureless sorrow.
But Samuel had God's cause at heart, and this gave a loftier
character to his sadness. There was no envenomed feeling,
no resentment, no smarting scornfulness. To be part of a
great Divine cause which has failed, is an elevating as well
as a saddening sensation. A conviction mingles with it that
the cause of God will one day be the conquering side.
The other element of consolation was the Divine sympa
thy. If they had been rebellious to their ruler, they had
also been disloyal to Jehovah. An unruly subject has had
a poor school in which to learn reverence for things heaven
ly. Atheism and revolution here, as elsewhere, went hand-
in-hand. We do not know how this sentence was impressed
by the Infinite Mind on Samuel's mind ; all we know is, he
had a conviction that God was a fellow-sufferer. This, how
ever, was inferior, in point of clearness, to our knowledge of
the Divine sympathy* Jehovah, the unnameable and awful,
was a very different conception from " God manifested in
the flesh." To the Jew, His dwelling was the peak round
Avhich the cloud had Wreathed its solemn form, and the thun
ders spent themselves ; but the glory of the life of Jesus to
us is, that it is full ofthe human. The many-colored phases
of human feeling all find themselves reflected in the lights
and shadows of ever-varying sensitiveness which the differ
ent sentences of His conversation exhibit Be your tone of
feeling what it may, whether you are poor or rich, gay or
sad — in society or alone — adored, loved, betrayed, misunder
stood, despised — weigh well His words. first, by thinking
what they mean, and you will become aware that one heart
in space throbs in conscious harmony with yours. In its
degree, that was Samuel's support.

640 Appointment of the First King in Israel.
Next, Samuel's cheerful Avay of submitting to his fate is to
be observed. Another prophet, when his prediction was
nullified, built himself a booth and sat beneath it, fretting in
sullen pride, to see the end of Nineveh. Samuel might have
done this; he might have withdrawn himself in offended dig
nity from public life, watched the impotent attempts ofthe
people to guide themselves, and seen dynasty after dynasty
fall with secret pleasure. Very different is his conduct. He
addresses himself like a man to the exigencies of the mo
ment. His great scheme is frustrated. ' Well, he will not
despair. of God's cause yet Bad as things are, he will try to
mahe the best of them.
Now remark in all this the healthy, vigorous tone of Sam
uel's religion. This man, the greatest and wisest then' alive,
thought this the great thing to live for — to establish a king
dom of God on earth — to transform his own country into a
kingdom of God. It is worth while to see how he set about
it. From first to last, it was in a practical, real way— by
activity in every department of life. We recollect his early
childhood ; his duty then was to open the gates of the tem
ple of the Lord, and he did that regularly, with scrupulous
fidelity, in the midst of very exciting scenes. He -was turn
ing that narrow circumscribed sphere of his into a kingdom
of God. AfterAvards he becariie ruler. His spirituality then
consisted in establishing courts of justice, founding acade
mies, looking into every thing himself. Now he is deposed :
but he has duties still. •¦ He has a king to look for, public fes
tivals to superintend, a public feast to preside over; and
later on Ave shall find him becoming the teacher of a school.
All this was. a religion for life. His -spirituality was no fan
ciful, shadowy thing ; the kingdom of God to him was to be
in this world, and Ave know no surer sign of enfeebled relig
ion than. the disposition to separate religion from life and
life-duties. Listen : what is secularity or worldliness ? Meddling
with worldly things ? or meddling Avith a worldly spirit ?
We brand political existence and thought with the name
" worldly " — Ave stigmatize first one department of life and
then another as secular ; and so religion becomes a pale,
unreal . thing, which must end, if we are only true to our
principles, in the cloister. Spirituality becomes the exclusive
property of a feAV amiable mystics; men of thought and men
of action draw off; religion becomes feeble, and the world,
deserted and proscribed, becomes infidel.
II. Samuel's treatment of his successor, after his own rejec

Appointment of the First King in Israel. 641
tion, is remarkable. It Avas characterized by two things —
courtesy and generosity. When he saw the man who was
to be his successor, he invited him to the entertainment ; he
gave him precedence, bidding him go up before him ; placed
him as a stranger at the post of honor, and set before him
the choice portion. This is politeness ; what we allude to is
a very different thing, however, from that mere system of
etiquette and conventionalisms in which small minds find
their very being, to observe which accurately is life, and to
transgress which is a sin.
Courtesy is not confined to the high-bred ; often theirs is
but the artistic imitation of courtesy. The peasant who
rises to put before you his only chair, while he sits upon the
oaken chest, is a polite man. Motive determines every
thing. If we are courteous merely to substantiate our
claims to mix in good society, or exhibit good manners
chiefly to show-that we have been in it, this is a thing in
deed to smile at ; contemptible, if it Avere not rather pitiable.
But that politeness which springs spontaneously from the
heart, the desire to put others at their ease, to save the
stranger from a sensation of awkwardness, to soothe the .
feeling of inferiority — that, ennobled as it is by love, mounts
to the high character of a heavenly grace.
Something still more beautiful marks Samuel's generosity.
The man who stood before him was a successful rival. One
who had been his inferior now was to supersede him. And
Samuel lends him a helping hand — gracefully assists him to
rise above him, entertains him, recommends him to the peo
ple. It is very touching.
Curiously enough" Samuel had twice in life to do a sim
ilar thing. Once he had to depose Eli, by telling him God's
doom. Noav he has $0 depose himself. The first he shrank
from, and only did it at last when urged. That Avas deli
cate. On the present occasion, with a large and liberal full
ness of heart, he elevates Saul aboA'e himself. And that we
call the true, high Gospel spirit. Samuel and the people did
the same thing — they made Saul king. But the people did
it by drawing down Samuel nearer to themselves. Samuel
did it by elevating Saul above himself. One was the spirit
of revolution, the other was the spirit of the Gospel.
In'our own day it specially behooves us to try the spirits,
whether they be of God. The reality and the counterfeit, as
in this case, are singularly like each other. Three spirits
make their voices heard in a cry for freedom, for brother
hood, for human equality. And we must not forget, these
are names hallowed by the very Gospel itself. They are in-

642 Appointment of the First King in Israel.
scribed on its forehead. Unless we realize them, Ave have no
Gospel kingdom. Distinguish, however, well, the reality
from the baser alloy. The spirit which longs for freedom
puts forth a righteous claim; for it is written, "If the Son
shall make you free ye shall be free indeed." Brotherhood —
the Gospel promises brotherhood also — " One is your Mas
ter, even Christ ; and all ye are brethren." Equality — yes.
" There is neither Jew nor Greek, circumcision nor uncircum
cision, barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free." This is the grand
federation, brotherhood, emancipation ofthe human race.
Now, the world's spirit aims at bringing all this about by
drawing otherp down to the level on which each one stands.
The Christian spirit secures equality by raising up. The
man that is less Avise, less good than I — I am to raise up to
my level in these things. Yes, and in social position, too, if
he be fit for it. I am to be glad to see him rise above me, as
generously as Samuel saw Saul. And those that are above
me, better than I, wiser than I, I have a right to expect to
elevate me, if they can, to be as wise and good as themselves.
This is the only levelling the Gospel knows. What was the
_ mission of the Redeemer but this ? To raise the lower to
the higher, to make men partakers of the Divine nature — His
nature, standing on His ground ; to descend to the roots of
society, reclaiming the outcasts, elevating the degraded, en
nobling the low, and reminding, in the thunder of reiterated
" woes," those who had left their inferiors in the dark, and
those who stood aloof in the titled superiority of rabbi — of
the account to be rendered by them yet.
And if we*could but all work in this generous rivalry, our
rent and bleeding country, sick at heart, gangrened with an
exclusiveness which narrows our sympathies and corrupts our
hearts, might be all that the most patriotic love would have
her. Brethren in Christ, I earnestly urge again the : lesson
of last Sunday. Not by pulling down those that are above
us, not by the still more un-Christlike plan of keeping down
those that are beneath us, can we make this country of ours
a kingdom of Christ. If Ave can not practise nor bear to have
impressed upon us, more condescension, more tenderness, and
the duty of unlearning much, very much of that galling, in
sulting spirit of demarkation with which we sever ourselves
from the sympathies of the class immediately beneath us,
those tears may have to flow again which were shed over the
city which would not know the day of her visitation : lulled
into an insane security even at the moment when the judg
ment-eagles Avere gathered together and plunging for their
prey.

Appointment of the First King in Israel. 643
Once more : there is suggested to us the thought that Sam
uel was now growing old. It seems by the eleventh and
thirteenth chapters, in connection with the text, that the
cause which hastened the demand of the elders for a king
Avas the danger of invasion. The Ammonites and Philistines
Avere sharpening their swords for war. And men felt that
Samuel was too old for such a crisis. Only a few Sundays
ago we were considering Samuel's childhood, his weaning,
education, and call. Now he is old : his hair is gray, and
men beginning to feel that he is no longer what he was. A
high, great life ; and a few chapters sum it all up. And such
is all life.
To-day we baptize a child ; in a period of time startlingly
short, the minister is called upon to prepare the youngman
for confirmation. A little interval and the chimes are ring
ing a merry wedding-peal. One more pause, and the winds
are blowing their waves of shadoAV over the long grass that
groAvs rankly on his grave. The font, the altar, and the
sepulchre, and but a single step between. Now Ave do not
dwell on this. It is familiar — a tale that is told.
But what we mention this for is, to observe that though
Samuel's life Avas fast going, Samuel's work was permanent.
Evidence of this- lies in the chapter before us. When Saul »
came to the city and inquired for the seer's house, some young
maidens, on their way to draw Avater, replied ; and their re
ply contained an accurate account, even to details, of the re
ligious service which was about to take place. The judge
had arrived ; there was to be a sacrifice, the people would
not eat till he came, he would pronounce a blessing, after
that there would be a select feast. Now compare the state
of things in Israel when Samuel became judge. Had a man
come to a city in Israel then, there would have been no
sacrifice going on, or if there had, no one would have been
found so accurately familiar with the whole service ; for then
" men abhorred the offering ofthe Lord." But now the first
change passer-by could run through it all, as a thing habitu
al — as a Church of England worshipper would tell you the
hours of service, and the order, of its performance. So that
they might forget Samuel — they might crowd round his suc
cessor — but Samuel's work could not be forgotten : years
after he was quiet and silent under ground, his courts in Bethel
and Mizpeh would form the precedents and the germs of the
national jurisprudence.
A A'ery pregnant lesson. Life passes, work is permanent.
It is all going — fleeting and withering. Youth goes. Mind
decays. That Avhich is done remains. Through ages, through

644 Prayer.
eternity, what you have done for God, that, and only that,
you are.' Ye that are workers, and count it the soul's worst
disgrace to feel life passing in idleness and uselessness, take
courage. Deeds never die.

IH.
PRAYER.
"And he went a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, 0
my "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me : nevertheless, not as I
will, but as thou wilt." — Matt. xxvi. '39.
No one will refuse to identify holiness with prayer. To
say that a man is religious is to say the same thing as to say
he prays. For what is prayer ? To connect every thought
with' the thought of God. To look on every thing as His
Avork and His appointment. To submit every thought, wish,
and resolve to Him. To feel His presence, so that it shall
restrain us even in our wildest joy. That is prayer. And
what we are now, surely we are by prayer. If we have at
tained any measure of goodness, if we have resisted tempta
tions, if we have any self-command, or if we live with aspira
tions and desires beyond the common, we shall not hesitate
to ascribe all to prayer.
There is therefore no question among Christians about the
efficacy of prayer ; but that granted generally, then question
ings and diversities of view begin. What is prayer? What
is the efficacy of prayer? Is prayer necessarily words in
form and sequence ; or is there a realprayer that never can
be syllabled ? Doesprayer change the outward universe, or
does it alter our inward being? Does it work on God, or
does it Avork on us?
To all these questions, I believe a full and sufficient answer
is returned in the text - Let us examine it calmly, and with
out prejudice or prepossession. If Ave do, it can not be but
that we shall obtain a conclusion in which we may rest with
peace, be it what it eventually may. We will consider—
I. The right of petition.
H Erroneous views of Avhat prayer is.
III. The true efficacy of prayer.
I. The right of petition. "Let this cup pass from me."
We infer it to be a right— 1. Because it is a necessity of our
human nature.

Prayer. 645
The Son of Man feels the hour at hand : shrinks from it,
seeks solitude, flies from human society — feels the need of it
again, and goes back to his disciples. Here is that need of
sympathy which forces us to feel for congenial thought
among relations ; and here is that recoil from cold unsympa
thizing natures, Avhich forces us back to our loneliness again.
In such an hour, they Avho have before forgotten prayer be
take themselves to God: and in such an hour, even the most
resigned are not Avithout the wish, "Let this cup pass."
Christ Himself has a separate wish — one human Avish.
Prayer, then, is a necessity of our humanity, rather than a
duty. To force it as a duty is dangerous. Christ did .not ;
never commanded it, never taught it till asked. This neces
sity is twofold. First, the necessity of sympathy. We touch
other human spirits only at a point or two. In the deepest
departments of' thought and feeling we are alone ; and the
desire to escape that loneliness finds for itself a voice in
prayer. Next, the necessity of escaping the sense of a crushing
fete. The feeling that all things are fixed and unalterable,
that Ave are surrounded by necessities which we can not
break through, is intolerable whenever it is realized. Our
egotism cries against it ; our innocent egotism, and the prac
tical reconciliation* between our innocent egotism and hid
eous fatalism is prayer, Avhich realizes a living Person ruling
all things with, a will.
2. Again, Ave base this right on our privilege as children.
"My Father" — that sonship Christ shares with us. reveals
the human race as a family in which God is a . Father, and
Himself the elder brother. It would be a strange family,
where the child's Avill dictates ; but it Avould be also strange
Avhere a child may not, as a child, express its foolish wish,
if it be only to have the impossibility of gratifying it ex
plained. 3. Christ used it as a right, therefore we may.
There is many a case in life, where to act seems useless —
many a truth which at times appears incredible. Then we
throw ourselves on Him — He did it, He believed it, that is
enough. He was wise, where I am foolish. He was holy,
Avhere I am evil. , He mustknow. He must be right I rely
on Him. Bring what arguments you may: say that prayer
can not change God's will. I knoAV it. Say that prayer ten
thousand times comes back like a stone. Yes, but Christ
prayed, therefore I may and I will pray. Not only so, but I
must pray ; the Avish felt and not uttered before God, is a
* Mesothesis.

646 Prayer.
prayer. Speak, if your heart prompts, in articulate words,
but there is an unsyllabled wish, which is also prayer. You
can not help praying, if God's Spirit is in yours.
Do not say, I must wait till this tumult has subsided and I
am calm. The worst storm of spirit is the time for prayer:
the Agony Avas the hour of petition. Do not stop to calcu
late improbabilities. Prayer is truest when there is most of
instinct and least of reason. Say, " My Father, thus I fear
and thus I wish. Hear thy foolish, erring child — let this
cup pass from me."
II. Erroneous notions of what prayer is. They are con
tained in that conception which He negatived, "As I will."
A common popular conception of prayer, is, that it is the
means by which the wish of man determines the will of God.
This conception finds an exact parallel in those anecdotes
with which Oriental history abounds, Avherein a sovereign
gives to his favorite some token, on the presentation of which
every request must be granted. As when Ahasuerus prom
ised Queen Esther that her petition should be granted, even
to the half of his kingdom. As when Herod swore to He-
rodias's daughter that he would do Avhatever she should re
quire. It will scarcely be said that this is a misrepresenta
tion of a very common doctrine, for they who hold it would
state it thus, and would consider the mercifulness and privi
lege of prayer to consist in this, that by faith Ave can obtain
all that Ave want
Now, in the text it is said distinctly this is not the aim of
prayer, nor^ts meaning. "Not as I will." The wish of man
does not determine the will of God.
Try this conception by four tests.
1. By its incompatibility Avith the fact that this universe
is a system of laws. Things are thus, rather than thus.
Such an event is invariably followed by such a consequence.
This we call a law. All is one vast chain, from which if you
strike a single link, you break the whole. It has been truly
said that to heave a pebble on the sea-shore one yard higher
up would change all antecedents from the creation, and all
consequents to the end of time. For it would have required
a greater force in the wave that threw it there — and that
would have required a different degree of strength in the
storm — that again, a change of temperature all over the
globe — and that again, a corresponding difference in the tem
peraments and characters ofthe men inhabiting the different
countries. So that when a child Avishes a fine day for his morrow's

Prayer. 647
excursion, and hopes to have it by an alteration of what
would have been without his wish, he desires nothing less
than a whole new universe.
It is difficult to state this in all its force except to men
who are professionally concerned with the daily observation
of the uniformity of the Divine laws. But when the astron
omer descends from his serene gaze upon the moving heav
ens, and the chemist rises from contemplating those marvel
lous affinities, the proportions of which are never altered,
realizing the fact that every atom and element has its own
mystic number in the universe to the end of time ; or when
the economist has studied the laws of wealth, and seen how
fixed they are and sure : then to hear that it is expected
that, to comply with a mortal's convenience or plans, God
shall place this whole harmonious system at the disposal of
selfish humanity, seems little else than impiety against the
Lord of law and order.
2. Try it next by fact.
Ask those of spiritual experience. We do not ask whether
prayer has been efficacious — of course it has. It is God's or
dinance. Without prayer the soul dies. But Avhat we ask
is, whether the good derived has been exactly this, that
prayer broughtthem the very thing they wished for ? For
instance, did the plague come and go according to the laAvs
of prayer or according to the laws of health ? Did it come
because men neglected prayer, or because they disobeyed
those rules which His wisdom has revealed as the conditions
of salubrity ? And when it departed, was it because a na
tion lay prostrate in sackcloth and ashes, or because it arose
and girded up its loins and removed those causes and those
obstructions which, by everlasting laAV, are causes and ob
structions? Did the catarrh or the consumption go from
him who prayed, sooner than from him who humbly bore it
in silence ? Try it by the case of Christ — Christ's prayer
did not succeed. He prayed that the cup might pass from
Him. It did not so pass.
Now lay down the irrefragable principle, " The disciple is
not above his master, nor the servant above his lord. It is
enough for the disciple that he be as his master, and the
servant as his lord." What Christ's prayer was not effica
cious to do, that ours is not certain to effect. If the object
of petition be to obtain, then Christ's prayer failed ; if the
refusal of His petition did not show the absence of the favor
of His Father, then neither does the refusal of ours.
Nor can you meet this by saying, " His prayer could not
succeed, because it Avas decreed that Christ should die ; but

648 Prayer. .
ours may, because nothing hangs on our fate, and we know
of no decree that is against our wish."
Do you mean that some things are decreed and some are
left to chance ? That Avould make a strange, disconnected
universe. The death of a Avorm, your death, its hour and
moment, are all fixed, as much as His was. Fortuity, chance,
contingency, are only words which express our ignorance of
causes. 3. Try it by the prejudicial results of such a belief.
To think that" prayer changes God's will gives unAvorthy
ideas of God. It supposes our will to be better than His,
the Unchangeable, the Unsearchable, the All -wise. Can
you see the All of things — the consequences and secret con
nections ofthe event you wish ? and if not, would you really
desire the terrible poAver of infallibly securing it ? - -
Consider, also, the danger of vanity and supineness result
ing from the fulfillment of our desires, as a necessity. Who
does not recollect such cases in childhood, when some curi
ous coincidences with . our wishes were taken for direct re
plies to prayer, and made us fancy ourselves favorites of
Heaven,. in possession of a secret spell. These coincidences
did not make us. more earnest, more holy, but rather the re
verse. Careless and vain, we fancied we had a power which
superseded exertion, Ave looked down contemptuously on
others. Those were startling and wholesome lessons which
came Avhen our prayer failed, and threw our whole childish
theory into confusion. It is recorded that a favorite once
received from his sovereign a ring as a mark of her regard,
with. a promise that whenever he presented that ring to her
she Avould grant his request. He entered on rebellion, from
a vain confidence in the favor of his sovereign. The ring
which he sent Avas kept back by his messenger, and he was
executed. So would Ave rebel if prayer were efficacious to
change God's will and to secure His pardon.
4. It would be most dangerous, too, as a criterion of our
spiritual state. If we think that answered prayer is a proof
of grace, we shall be unreasonably depressed and unreason
ably elated — depressed when we do jiot get what we wish,
elated when Ave do ; besides, Ave shall judge uncharitably of
other men.
Two farmers, pray, the one Avhose farm is on light land,
for rain ; the other, whose contiguous farm is on heavy soil,
for fine weather ; plainly one or the other must come, and
that which is good for one may be injurious to the other.
If this be the right view of prayer, then the one AA'ho does
not obtain his wish must mourn, doubting God's favor, or

, Prayer. 649
believing that he did not pray in faith. Two Christian
armies meet for battle — Christian men on both sides pray
for success to their own arms. Now if victory be given to
prayer, independent of other considerations, we are driven
to the pernicious principle, that success is the test of right.
From all which the history of this prayer of Christ deliv
ers us. It is a precious lesson of the cross, that apparent
failure is eternal victory. It js a precious lesson of this
prayer, that the object of prayer is not the success of its pe
tition ; nor is its rejection a proof of failure. Christ's peti
tion was not gratified, yet He was the One well-beloved of
His Father.
III. The true efficacy of prayer — "As Thou wilt."
All prayer is to change the will human into submission to
the will Divine. Trace the steps in this history by which
the mind of the Son of Man arrived at this result. First, we
find the human wish almost unmodified, that "that Cup
might pass from Him." Then He goes to the disciples, and
it would appear that the sight of those disciples, cold, un
sympathetic, asleep, chilled His spirit, and set that train of
thought in motion which suggested the idea that perhaps
the passing of that cup was not His Father's will. At all
events, He goes back with this perhaps — "If this cup may
not pass from me except I drink it, Thy will be done." He
goes back again, and the words become more strong : " Nev-
theless, not as I will, but as Thou wilt" The last time He
comes, all hesitancy is gone. Not one trace of the human
wish remains ; strong in submission, He goes to meet His
doom — "Rise, let us be going: behold, he is at hand that
doth betray me." This, then, is the true course and history
of prayer. Hence we conclude—
1. That prayer which does not succeed in moderating our
wish, in changing the passionate desire into still submission,
the anxious, tumultuous expectation into silent surrender,
is no true prayer, and proves that we have not the spirit of
true prayer. *
Hence, too, we learn —
2. That life is most holy in which there is least of petition
and desire, and most of waiting upon God : that in which
petition most often passes into thanksgiving. In the prayer
taught by Christ there is only one petition for personal good,
and that a, singularly simple and modest one, " Give us this
day our daily bread," and even that expresses dependence
far rather than anxiety or desire.
From this Ave understand the spirit of that retirement for

650 Prayer.
prayer into lonely tops of mountains and deep shades of
night, of which we read so often in His life; It was not so
much to secure any definite event as from the need of holy
communion with His Father — prayer without any definite
wish; for we must distinguish two things which are often
confounded. Prayer for specific blessings is a very different
thing from communion with God. Prayer is one thing,
petition is quite another. Indeed, hints are given us which
make it seem that a time will come when spirituality shall
be so complete, and acquiescence in the will of God so en
tire, that petition shall be superseded. "In that day ye
shall ask me nothing;" "Again I say not I will pray the
Father for you, for the Father Himself loveth you." And
to the same purpose are all those passages in which He dis
countenances the heathen idea of prayer, which consists in
urging, prevailing upon God. " They think that they shall
be heard for their much speaking. Be not ye therefore like
unto them : for your Father knoweth what things ye have
need of before ye ask Him."
Practically then, I say, Pray as He did, till prayer makes
you cease to pray. Pray till prayer makes you forget your
own wish, and leave it or merge it in God's will. The Di-
.vine wisdom has given us prayer, not as a means whereby
to obtain the good things of earth, but as a means whereby
we learn to do without them ; not; as a means whereby we
escape evil, but as a means whereby Ave become strong to
meet it. " There appeared an angel unto Him from heaven,
strengthening Him." That was the true reply to His
prayer. »
And so, in the expectation of impending danger, our
prayer has won the victory, not when we have warded off
the trial, but when, like Him, we have learned to say, "Arise,
let us go to meet the evil."
Now, contrast the moral consequences of this vieAV of
prayer with those which, as Ave saw, arise from the other
view. Hence comes that mistrust of our own understanding
which will not suffer us to dictate to God.' Hence, that
benevolence which, contemplating the good, of the whole
rather than self-interest, dreads to secure what is pleasing tc
self at the possible expense of the general weal. Hence, that
humility which looks on ourselves as atoms, links in a mys
terious chain, and shrinks from the dangerous wish to break
the chain. Hence, lastly, the certainty that the All-wise is
the All-good, and that " all things work together for good,"
for the individual as well as for tke whole. Then, the selfish
cry of egotism being silenced, Ave obtain Job's sublime spirit,

Perversion, as shown in Balaam's Character. 65 1
" Shall we receive good at the hand of God, and shall we not
receive evil?"
There is one objection may be made to this. It may be
said, If this be prayer, I have lost all I prized. It is sad and
depressing to think that prayer will alter nothing, and bring
nothing that I wish. All that was precious in prayer is
struck away from me. .
But one word in reply. You have lost the certainty of
getting your own wish ; you have got instead the compen
sation of knowing that the best possible, best for you, best
for all, will be accomplished. Is that nothing? and will you
dare to say that prayer is no boon at all unless you can re
verse the spirit of your Master's prayer, and say, " Not as
Thou wilt, but as I will ?"

IV.
. PERVERSION, AS SHOWN IN BALAAM'S
CHARACTER.
" And Balaam said unto the angel of the Lord, I have sinned ; for I knew
not that thou stoodest in the way against me : now therefore, if it displease
thee, I will get me back again. And the angel of the Lord said unto Balaam,
60 with the men : but only the word that I shall speak unto thee, that thou
shalt speak. So Balaam went with the princes of Balak. " — Num. xxii. 34, 35.
The judgment which we form on the character of Balaam
is one of unmitigated condemnation. We know and say
that he was a false prophet and a bad man. This is how
ever, doubtless, because we come to the consideration of his
history having already prejudged his case.
St. Peter, St. Jude, and St. John haA'6 passed sentence upon
him. " Having eyes full of adultery, and that can not cease
from sin ; beguiling unstable souls : a heart they have exer
cised Avith covetous practices ; cursed children : which have
forsaken the right way, and are gone astray, following the
Avay of Balaam the 6on of Bosor, who loved the wages of
unrighteousness, but was rebuked for his iniquity : the dumb
ass speaking with man's voice forbade the madhess of the
prophet.;" " Woe unto them ! for they have gone in the way
of Cain, and ran greedily after the error of Balaam for re-
Avard, and perished in the gainsaying of Core ;" " But Ihave
a feAV things against thee, because thou hast there them that
hold the doctrine of Balaam, Avho taught Balak to cast a
stumbling-block before the children of Israel, to eat things

652 Perversion, as shown in Balaam's Character.
sacrificed unto idols, and to commit fornication." And so we
read the history of Balaam familiar with these passages, and
coloring all with them.
But assuredly this is not the sentence we should have pro
nounced if we had been left to ourselves, but one much less
severe. Repulsive as Balaam's character is when it is seen
at a distance, when it is seen near it has much in it that is
human, like ourselves, inviting compassion — even admira
tion : there are traits of firmness, conscientiousness, noble
ness. For example, in the text, he offers to retrace his steps as
soon as he perceives that he is doing wrong. He asks guid
ance of God before he will undertake a journey : "And he
said unto them, Lodge here this night, and I will bring you
word again, as the Lord shall speak unto me." He professes
— and in earnest — "If Balak would give me his house full of
silver and gold, I can not go beyond the word of the Lord
my God, to do less or more." He prays to " die the death
of the righteous, and that his last end may be like his." Yet
the inspired judgment of his character, as a whole, stands re
corded as one of unmeasured severity.
And accordingly one of the main lessons in Balaam's his
tory must ever be, to trace how it is that men, who to the
world appear respectable, conscientious, honorable, gifted, re
ligious, may bb in the sight of God accursed, and heirs of
perdition. ' Our subject," then, to-day is perversion:
I. Perversion of great gifts.
II. Perversion of the conscience.
I. Of great gifts.
The history tells- of Balak sending to Pethor for Balaam
to curse the Israelites. This was a common occurrence in
ancient history. There was a class of men regularly set
apart to bless and curse, to spell-bind the winds and foretell
events. Balaam was such an one.
Now the ordinary account would be that such men were
impostors, or endued with political sagacity^ or had secret
dealings with the devil. But the Bible says Balaam's inspi
ration was from God.
It did not arise: from diabolical . agency, or from merely
political sagacity: that , magnificent ode of sublime poetry,
given in chapter xxiv., is from God. ;
The Bible refers the inspiration of the poet,, of the proph
et, of the worker in cunning workmanship, to God. It
makes no mention of our modern distinction between that
inspiration enjoyed by the sacred writers and that enjoyed

Perversion, as shown in Balaam's Character. 653
by ordinary men, except so far as the use is Concerned.
God's prophets glorified Him. The Avicked prophets glori
fied themselves ; but their inspiration Avas real, and came
from God, and these divine poAvers Were perverted —
1. By turning them to purposes of self-aggrandizement.
Now, remember hoAV the true prophets of JehoArah spoke.
Simply, with no affectation of mystery, no claims to mystical
illumination. They delighted to share their power with their
felloAvs ; they said, " The heart of the Lord was with them
that fear Him ;" that the Lord " dAvelt with au humble and
contrite heart" They represented themselves as inspired,
not because greater or wiser than their brethren, but be
cause more weak, more humble, and dependent upon God.
Contrast Balaam's conduct. Every thing is done to shoAv
the difference between him and others — to fix men's atten
tion upon himself — the wonderful, mysterious man who is in
communication Avith Heaven. Pie builds altars, and uses
enchantments. These were a priest's manoeuvres, not a
prophet's. He was the solitary self-seeker — alone, isolated, loving to
be separated from all other men ; admired, feared and
sought. Balak struck the key-note of his character when he said,
"Am I not able to promote thee unto honor?" Herein,
then, lies the first perversion of glorious gifts : that Balaani
sought not God's honor but his own.
2. By making those gifts subservient to his own greed.
It is evident that Balaam half suspected his own failing.
Otherwise what mean those vaunts, " If Balak would give
me his house full of silver and gold ?" Brave men do not
vaunt their courage, nor honorable men their honesty, nor do
the truly noble boast of high- birth. All who understand
the human heart perceive a secret sense of weakness in these
loud boasts of immaculate purity. Silver and gold, these
Avere the things he loved, and so, not content with commun
ion with God, with the possession of sublime gifts, he
thought these only valuable so far as they were means of
putting himself in possession of riches. Thus spiritual pow
ers were degraded to make himself a vulgar man of wealth.
There are two opposite motives which sway men. Some,
like Simon Magus, will give gold to be admired and wonder
ed at ; some will barter honor for gold. In some the two
are blended ; as in Balaam, we see the desire for honor and
wealth — wealth, perhaps, as being another means of insuring
reputation. And so have we seen many begin and end in
our own day — begin Avith a high-minded courage which flat

654 Perversion, as shown in Balaam 'stCharacter.
ters none ; speaks truth, even unpalatable truth ; but when
this advocacy of truth brings men, as it brought to Balaam,
to consult them, and they rise in the world, or in a court,
and become men of consideration, then by degrees the plain
truth is sacrificed to a feverish love of notoriety, the love of
truth is superseded, and passes into a love of influence.
Or they- begin with a generous indifference to wealth —
simple, austere ; by degrees they find the society of the rich
leading them from extravagance to extravagance, till at last
high intellectual and high spiritual powers become the serv
ile instruments of appropriating gold. The world sees the
sad spectacle of the man of science and the man of God wait
ing at the doors of princes, or cringing before the public for
promotion -and admiration.
II. Perversion of conscience.
L The first intimation we have of the fact that Balaam
was tampering with his conscience is in his second appeal to
God. On the first occasion God said, " Thou shalt not go
with them ; thou shalt not curse the people ; for they arc
blessed." Then more honorable messengers were sent from
Balak, with larger bribes. Balaam asks permission of God
again. Here is the evidence of a secret hollownessin his
heart, however fair the outside seemed. In worldly matters,
" think twice ;" but in duty, it has been well said, " first
thoughts are best ;" they are more fresh, more pure, have
more of God in them. There is nothing like the first glance
Ave get at duty, before there has been any special pleading
of our affectioi»s or inclinations. Duty is never uncertain at
first - It is only after Ave have got involved in the mazes and
sophistries of wishing that things were otherwise than they
are that it seems indistinct. Considering a duty is _ often
only explaining it away. Deliberation is often only dishon
esty. God's guidance is plain, when we are true.
Let us understand in what Balaam's hollowness consisted.
He wanted to please himself without displeasing God. The
problem was how to go to Balak, and yet not to offend God.
He Avould have given worlds to get rid of his duty ; and he
went to God to get his duty altered, not to learn what his
duty was. All this rested upon an idea that the Avill of God
makes right, instead of being right — as' if it were a caprice
which can be altered, instead of the law of the universe,
which can not alter.
How deeply this principle is ingrained in human nature
you may see from the Roman Catholic practice of indul
gences. The Romish Church permits transgressions for a

Perversion, as shown in Balaam's Character. 655
consideration, and pardons them for the same. Such a doc
trine never could have succeeded if the desire and belief were
not in man already. What Balaam was doing in this prayer
was simply purchasing an indulgence to sin.
2. The second stage is a state of hideous contradictions ;
God permits Balaam to go, and then is angry Avith him for
going. There is nothing here which can not be interpreted
by bitter experience. We must not explain it away by say
ing that these were only the alternations of Balaam's own
mind. They were ; but they were the alternations of a mind
with which God Avas expostulating, and to which God ap
peared differently at different times ; the horrible mazes and
inconsistencies of a spirit Avhich contradicts itself, and strives
to disobey the God Avhom yet it feels and acknowledges.
To such a state of mind God becomes a contradiction.
" With the froward " — oh, how true ! — " thou wilt show thy
self froward." God speaks once, and if that voice be not
heard, but is willfully silenced, the second time it utters a
terrible permission. God says, " Go," and then is angry.
Experience will tell us how God has sent us to reap the fruit
of our own willfulness.
3. We notice next the evidences in him of a disordered
mind and heart.
We come now to the most difficult portion of the story :
" The dumb ass, speaking Avith man's voice, forbade the mad
ness ofthe prophet." One of the most profound and pious
of modern commentators on this passage has not scrupled
to represent the whole transaction as occurring in a vis
ion. Others have thought that Balaam's own heart, smiting
him for his cruelty, put, as it were, words into the ass's
mouth. We care not. Let the caviller cavil if he will. There is
too much profound truth throughout this narrative for us
to care much about either the literal or the figurative inter
pretation. One thing, howeA-er, is clear. Balaam did only
Avhat men so entangled always do. The real fault is in
themselves. They have committed themselves to a false
position, and when obstacles stand in their way, they lay the
blame on circumstances. They smite the dumb innocent oc
casion of their perplexity as if it were the cause. And the
passionateness — the " madness " of the act is but an indica
tion that all is going wrong within. There was a canker at
the heart of Balaam's life and his equanimity was gone ; his
temper vented itself on brute things. Who has not seen the
like — a groAvn man, unreasoning as a child, furious beyond
the occasion ? If you knew the whole, you would see that

656 Perversion, as shown in Balaam's Character.
was not the thing Avhich had moved him so terribly ; you
would see that all was wrong inwardly.
It is a strange, sad picture this. The first man in the
land, gifted beyond most others, conscious of great mental
power, going on to splendid prospects, yet with hopelessness
and misery working at his heart. Who would have envied
Balaam if he could have seen all — the hell that Avas working
at his heart ? '
Lastly, let us consider the impossibility under such circum
stances of going back. Balaam offers to go back. The an
gel says, " Go on." There Avas yet one hope for him— to be
true, to. utter God's words careless of the consequences ; but
he who had been false so long, how should he be true ? It
was too late. _ In the ardor of youth you have made perhaps
a wrong choice, or chosen an unfit profession, or suffered
yourself Aveakly and passively to be drifted into a false course
of action, and now, in spite of yourself, you feel there is no
going back. To many minds, such a lot comes as with the
mysterious force of a destiny. They see themselves driven,
and forget that they put themselves in the Avay ofthe stream
that drives them. They excuse their own acts as if they
were coerced. They struggle now and then faintly, as Ba
laam did — try to go back — ran not — and at last sink passive
ly in the mighty current that floats them on to wrong.
And thenceforth to them all God's intimations Avill come
unnaturally. His voice will sound as that of an angel
against them in the way. Spectral lights will gleam, only
to show a quagmire from which there is no path of extrica
tion. The heayenliest things and the meanest will forbid
the madness of the prophet : and yet at the same time seem
to say to the weak and vacillating self-seeker, " You have
done wrong, and you must do more wrong." Then deepens
down a hideous, unnatural, spectral state — the incubus as of
a dream of hell, mixed with bitter reminiscences of-heaven.
Your secret faults will come out in your life. Therefore,
we say to you — be true.

Selfishness, as shown in Balaam's Character. 657

SELFISHNESS, AS SHOWN IN BALAAM'S
CHARACTER.
"Who can count the dust of Jacob, and the number of the fourth part of
Israel ? Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like
his !" — Num. xxiii. 10.
We acquainted ourselves with the earlier part of Balaam's
history last Sunday. We saw how great gifts in him were
perverted by ambition and avarice — ambition making them
subservient to the admiration of himself; avarice transform
ing them into mere instruments for accumulating wealth.
And we saw how his conscience was gradually perverted by
insincerity, till his "mind became the place of hideous contra
dictions, and even God Himself had become to him a lie ;
with his heart disordered, until the bitterness of all going
wrong within vented itself on innocent circumstances, and
he found himself so entangled in a false course that to go
back was impossible.
Noav we come to the second stage. He has been with
Balak : he has built his altars, offered his sacrifices, and tried
his enchantments, to ascertain whether Jehovah will permit-
him to curse Israel. And the Voice in his heart, through all,
says, " Israel is blest." He looks down from the hill-top, and
sees the fair camp of Israel afar off,' in beautiful array, their
white tents gleaming " as the trees of lignaloes which the
Lord had planted." He feels the solitary grandeur of a na
tion unlike all other nations— people which "shalt dwell
alone, and shall not be reckoned among the nations." A na
tion too numberless to give Balak any hope of success in
the coming war. " Who can count the dust of Jacob, and
the number ofthe fourth part of Israel?" A nation too
strong in righteousness for idolaters and enchanters to cope
Avith, " Surely there is no enchantment against Jacob, neither
is there any divination against Israel ?" Then follows a per
sonal ejaculation — "Let me die the death ofthe righteous,
and let my last end be like his !"
Now to prevent the possibility of misconception, or any
supposition that Balaam was expressing words whose full
significance he did not understand — -that, when he was
speaking of righteousness he had only a heathen notion of
28*

658 Selfishness, as shown in Balaam's Character.
it— we refer to the sixth chapter of Micah, from the fifth
verse. We will next refer to Numbers xxxi. 8, and Joshua
xiii. 22 from whence it appears that he who desired to die
the death of the righteous, died the death of the ungodly,
and fell, not on the side of the Lord, but fighting against the
Lord's cause. The first thing we find in this history of Ba
laam is an attempt to change the will of God.
Let us clearly understand what was the meaning of all
those reiterated sacrifices.
1. Balaam wanted to please himself without displeasing
God. The problem was hoAV to go to Balak, and yet not
offend God. He would have given worlds to get rid of his
duties, and he sacrificed, not to learn what his duty was, but
to get. his duty altered. Now see the feeling that lay at the
root of all this — that God is . mutable. Yet of all men one
would have thought that Balaam knew better, for had he
not said, " God is not a man, that He should lie; neither the
son of man that He should repent : hath He said, and shall
He not do it ?" But when we look upon it, Ave see Balaam
had scarcely any feeling , higher than this — God is more in
flexible than man. Probably had he expressed the exact
shade of feeling, he would have said, more obstinate. He
thought that God had set his heart upon Israel, and that it
was hard, yet not impossible, to alter this partiality. Hence
he tries sacrifices to bribe, and prayers to, coax, God.
How deeply rooted this feeling is in human nature — this
belief in God's mutability-^you may see from the Romish
doctrine of indulgences and atoneriients. The Romish Church
permits crime*for certain considerations. For certain con
siderations it teaches that God will forgive crimes. Atone
ments after, and indulgences before sin, are the same. But
this Romish doctrine never could have succeeded, if the. be
lief in God's mutability and the desire that He should be
mutable, were not in man already.
What Balaam was doing, in these parables, and enchant
ments, and sacrifices, was simply purchasing an .indulgence
to sin; in other words, it was an attempt to make the. Eter
nal Mind change. What was wanting for Balaam to feel
Avas this — God can not change. What he did feel was this
— God will riot change. There are many writers who teach
that this and, that is right because God has willed it. All
discussion is cut short by the reply, God has determined it,
therefore it is right. Now there is exceeding danger in this
mode of thought, for a thing is not right because God has
willed it, but God Avills it because it is right. It is in this
tone the Bible always speaks. Never, except in one obscure

Selfishness, as shown in Balaam's Character. 659
passage, does the Bible seem to refer right and wrong to the
sovereignty of God, and declare it a matter of will ; never
does it imply that if He so chose, He could reverse evil and
good. It says, " Is not my way equal ? are not your ways
unequal ?" " Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right ?"
was Abraham's exclamation in a kind of hideous doubt
Avhether the Creator might not be on the eve of doing injus
tice. So the Bible justifies the ways of God to man. But it
could not do so unless it admitted eternal laws, with which
no will can interfere. Nay more, see what ensues from this
mode of thought If right is right because God wills it, then,
if God chose, He eould make injustice, and cruelty, and lying
to be right. This is exactly what Balaam thought. If God
could but be prevailed on to hate Israel, then for him to
curse them would be right. And again : if power and sov
ereignty make right, then, supposing the Ruler were a demon,
devilish hatred would be as right as now it is wrong. There
is great danger in some of our present modes of thinking. It
is a common thought that might makes right, but for us there
is no rest, no rock, no sure footing, so long as we feel right
and wrong are mere matters of will and decree. There is no
safety, then, from these hankering feelings and Avishes to alter
God's decree. You are unsafe until you feel, " Heaven and
earth may pass away, but God's word can not pass away."
2. We notice, secondly, an attempt to blind himself One
of the strangest leaves in the book of the human heart is
here turned. We observe here perfect veracity with utter
want of truth. Balaam was veracious. He' will not deceive
Balak. Nothing was easier than to get the reward by mut
tering a spell, knowing all the while that it would not work.
Many a European has sold incantations fo rich savages for
jewels and curiosities, thus enriching himself by deceit.
Now Balaam was not supernaturally withheld. That is a
baseless assumption. Nothing withheld him but his con
science. No bribe on earth could induce Balaam to say a
falsehood — to pretend a curse which was powerless — to get
gold, dearly as he loved it, by a pretense. " If Balak would
give me his house full of silver and gold, I can not go beyond
the word of the Lord my God, to do less or more," was no
mere fine saying, but the very truth. You might as soon
have turned the sun from his course as induced Balaam to
utter falsehood.
Aud yet, with all this, there Avas utter truthlessness of
heart. Balaam will not utter what is not true ; but he will
blind himself so that he may not see the truth, and so speak
a lie, believing it to be the truth.

66o Selfishness, as shown in Balaam's Character.
He will only speak the thing he feels ; but he is not careful
to feel all that is true. He goes to another place, where the
whole truth may not force itself upon his mind-^-to a hill
where he shall not see the Avhole of Israel : from hill to hill
for the chance of getting to a place Avhere the truth may dis
appear. But there stands the stubborn fact^Israel is bless
ed ; and he will look at the fact in every Avay, to see if he
can not get it into a position where it shall be seen no long
er. Ostrich-like !
Such a, character is not so uncommon as, perhaps, we think.
There is many a lucrative business which involves misery
and Avrong to those who are employed in it. The man would
be too benevolent to put the gold in his purse if he knew of
the misery. But he takes care not to know. There is many
a dishonorable thing done at an election, and the principal
takes care not to inquire. Many an oppression is exercised
on a tenantry, and the landlord receives his rent and asks no
questions. Or there is some situation which depends upon
the holding of certain religious opinions, and the candidate
has a suspicion that if he were to examine, he could not con
scientiously profess these opinions, and perchance he takes
care not to examine.
3. Failing in all these evil designs against Israel, Balaam
tries his last expedient to ruin them, and that partially suc
ceeds. He recommends Balak to use the fascination of the daugh
ters of Moab to entice the Israelites into idolatry. (Num.
xxxi. 15, 16^ Rev. ii. 14). He has tried enchantments and
sacrifices in vain to reverse God's will. He has tried in
vain to think that will is reversed. It will not do. He feels
at last that God has not beheld iniquity in Jacob,. neither
.hath He seen perverseness in Israel. Now therefore, he
tries to reverse the character of these favorites, and so to re
verse God's will; God will; not curse . the good ; therefore
Balaam tries to make them wicked; he tries to make the
good curse themselves, and so exasperate God.
A more diabolical wickedness we can scarcely conceive.
Yet Balaam was an honorable man and a veracious man;
nay, a man of delicate conscientiousness and unconquer
able scruples*— a man of lofty religious professions, highly
respectable and respected. The Lord of heaven and earth
has said there is such a thing as " straining out a gnat, and
swallowing a camel." ' -
There are men who would not play false, and yet would
wrongly win. There are men who Avould not lie, and yet
who Avould bribe a poor man to support a cause which he

Selfishness, as shown in Balaam's Character. 66 1
believes in his soul to be false. There are men Avho Avould
resent at the sword's point the charge of dishonor, who
would yet for selfish gratification entice the weak into sin,
and damn body and soul in hell. There are men who would
be shocked at being called traitors, who in time of Avar Avill
yet make a fortune by selling arms to their country's foes.
There are men respectable and respected, who give liberally
and support religious societies, and go to church, and would
not take God's name in vain, who have made wealth, in some
trade of opium or spirits, out of the Avreck of innumerable
human lives. Balaam is one of the accursed spirits now,
but he did no more than these are doing.
Now see Avhat lay at the root of all this hollowness : self
ishness. From first to last one thing appears uppermost in this his
tory — Balaam's self; — the honor of Balaam as a true proph-
et^therefore he will not lie ; the wealth of Balaam — there
fore the Israelites must be sacrificed. Nay more, even in
his sublimest visions his egotism breaks out. In the sight
of God's Israel he cries, " Let me die the death of the right
eous :" in anticipation of the glories of the eternal advent,
"I shall behold Him, but not nigh." He sees the vision of a
kingdom, a Church, a chosen people, a triumph of righteous
ness. In such anticipations, the nobler prophets broke out
into strains in which their own personality was forgotten.
Moses, when he thought that God would destroy His people,
prays in agony — " Yet now, if Thou wilt, forgive their sins ;
— and if not, blot me, I pray Thee, out of Thy book." Paul
speaks in impassioned words — " I have continual soitoav in
my heart. For I could wish that myself were accursed from
Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh,
who are Israelites." But Balaam's chief feeling seems to be,
" How will all this advance me ?" And the magnificence of
the prophecy is thus marred by a chord of melancholy and
diseased egotism. Not for one moment — even in those mo
ments when uninspired men gladly forget themselves ; men
who have devoted themselves to a monarchy or dreamed of
a republic in sublime self-abnegation — can Balaam forget
himself in God's cause.
v Observe, then : desire for personal salvation is not religion.
It may go with it, but it is not religion. Arixiety for the
state of one's own soul is not the healthiest or best symp
tom. Of course. every one wishes, "Let me die the death of
the righteous." But it is one thing to Avish to be saved, an
other to wish God's right to triumph ; one thing to wish to
die safe, another to wish to live holily. Nay, not only is

662 Selfishness, as shewn in Balaam's Character.
this desire for personal salvation not religion, but if soured,
it passes into hatred of the good. Balaam's feeling became
spite against the people Avho are to be blessed when he is
not blessed. He indulges a wish that good may not pros
per, because personal interests are mixed up with the failure
of good.
We see anxiety about human opinion is uppermost.
Throughout we find in Balaam's character semblances, not
realities. He would not transgress a rule, but he would vio
late a principle. He would not say white Avas black, but he
Avould sully it till it looked black.
Noav consider the whole.
A bad man prophesies under the fear of God, restrained
by conscience, full of poetry and sublime feelings, with a full
clear view of death as dwarfing life, and the blessedness of
righteousness as compared with wealth. And yet we find
him striving to disobey God, hollow and unsound at heart;
using for the devil wisdom .and gifts bestowed by God;
sacrificing all with a gambler's desperation, for name and
wealth : tempting a nation to sin, and crime, and ruin ; sepa
rated in selfish isolation from all mankind ; superior to Balak,
and yet feeling that Balak knew, him to be a man that had
his price ; with the bitter anguish of being despised by the
men who were inferior to himself; forced to conceive, of a
grandeur in which he had no share, -and a righteousness in
Avhich he had no part Can you not conceive the end of one
with a mind so torn and distraoted- ?- — the death in battle;
the insane frenzy with which he would rush into the fields
and finding alfr go against him, and that lost for which he
had bartered heaven, after having died a thousand worse
than deaths, find death at last upon the spears of the Israel
ites ?
In application, we remark: 1st. The danger of great pow
ers. It is an aAvful thing, this conscious power to .see more,
to feel more, to know more than our fellows.
2d. But let us mark well the difference between feeling
and doing.
It is possible to have sublime feelings, great passions, even
great sympathies with the race, and yet not to love man.
To feel mightily, is one thing, to live truly and charitably,
another. Sin may be felt at the core, and yet not be cast
out. Brethren, beware. See how a man may be going on
uttering fine words, orthodox truths, and yet be rotten at
the heart.

The Transitoriness of Life. 663

VI.
THE TRANSITORINESS OF LIFE.
"So teach us to number our day's, that wts may apply our hearts unto
wisdom." — Psalm xc. 12. <
This is the key-note of the 90th Psalm. It numbers sadly
the days and vicissitudes of human life ; but it does this, not
for the sake of mere sentiment, but rather for practical pur
poses, that it may furnish a motive for a wiser life of the
heart. We knoAV nothing of the Psalm except that it was
the composition of "Moses, the man of God." It was writ
ten ' evidently in the wilderness, after years of apparently
fruitless wandering : its tone is that of deep sadness-^-re-
trospective ; its images are borrowed from the circumstances
of the pilgrimage — the mountain-flood, the grass, the night-
Avatch of an army on the march.
See here, again, what is meant by inspiration. Observe
the peculiarly human character of this Psalm. Moses, " tha
man of God," is commissioned not to tell truths superhuman,
but truths emphatically human. The utterances of this
Psalm are true to nature. Moses felt as we feel, only God
gave him a voice to interpret, and he felt more deeply than
all, what all in their measure feel. His inspiration lay not
in this, that he was gifted with legislative wisdom; but
rather in this, that his bosom vibrated truly and healthfully
to every note of the still sad music of humanity. We will
consider —
I. The feelings suggested by a retrospect of the past.
II. The right direction of those feelings.
1. The analogies of nature which correspond with human
life. All the images in this Psalm are suggested by the cir
cumstances of their forty years' pilgrimage. Human life felt
to be like a flood — the withering grass— a sleep broken — the
pain — the start — death — rthe awakening — a night-watch— a
tale told, whose progress We watched with interest, but of
Avhich when done the impression alone remains, the words
are gone forever. These are: not artificial images, but natu
ral. They are not similes forced by the writer into his serA'-
ice because of their prettiness, but similes which forced
themselves on him by their truthfulness. Now this is God's

664 The Transitoriness of Life.
arrangement. All things here are double. The world with
out corresponds with the world within. No man could look
on a stream when alone by himself, and all noisy companion
ship overpowering good thoughts was away, without the
thought that just so his own particular current of life will
fall at last into the " unfathomable gulf where all is still."
No man can look upon a field of corn, in its yellow ripe
ness, which he has passed weeks before when it was green,
or a convolvulus withering as soon as plucked, without ex
periencing a chastened feeling of the fleetingness of all earth
ly things.
No man ever went through a night-watch in the bivouac,
when the distant hum of men and the random shot fired told
of possible death on the morrow ; or watched in a sick-room,
when time was measured by the sufferer's breathing or the
intolerable ticking of the clock, without a firmer grasp on
the realities of life and time.
So God Avalks His appointed rounds through the year : and
every season and every sound has a special voice for the va
rying phases of our manifold existence. Spring comes' when
earth unbosoms her mighty heart to God, and anthems of
gratitude seem to ascend from every created thing. It is
'something deeper than an arbitrary connection which com
pels us to liken this to the thought of human youth.
And then comes summer, with its full statioriariness, its
noontide heat, its dust, and toil, an emblem of ripe manhood.
The interests of youth are gone by: The interest of a near
grave has not yet come. Its duty is work. And afterwards
autumn, with its mournfulness, its pfeasant rhelanCholy, tells
us of coming rest and quiet calm.
And now. has come whiter again. This is the last Sunday
in the year.
It is not a mere preacher's voice performing an allotted
task. -The call and correspondence are real. The. young
have felt the melancholy of the last two months. With a
transient feeling — even amounting to a luxury — the prophet
ic soul within us anticipates with sentiment the real gloom
of later life, and enables us to sympathize with what we have
not yet experienced. The old have felt it as no mere ro
mance — an awful fact — a correspondence between the world
Avithout and the world within. We have all felt it in the
damp mist, in the slanting shadows, the dimmer skies, the
pale, watery glow ofthe red setting sun, shorn of half its
lustre. In the dripping of the woodland, in' the limp leaves
trodden by heaps into clay, in the depressing north wind, in
the sepulchral cough of the aged man at the corner of the

The Transitoriness of Life. 665
street under the inclement sky, God has said to us, as He
said to Moses, " Pause, and number thy days, for they are
numbered." 2. There is also a sense of loss. Every sentence tells us
that this Psalm was written after a long period was past.
It Avas retrospective, not prospective. Moses is looking
back, and his feeling is loss. How much was lost ? Into
that flood of time hoAV much had fallen ? Many a one con
sumed, like Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, by the wrath of
God. Many a Hebrew warrior stricken in battle, and over
him a sand-heap. And those who remembered-these things
were old men — " consuming," his strong expression, " their
strength in labor, and sorrow."
Such is life ! At first, all seems given. We are acquiring
associations, sensations, neAV startling feelings ; then comes
the time when all give pleasure or pain by association — by
touching some old chord which vibrates again. And after
that, all is loss — something gone, and more "is going. Every
day, every year — this year, like all others. Into that flood
have fallen treasures that will not be recovered. Intimacies
have been dissolved that will not be reunited. Affections
cooled, we can not say why. Many a ship foundered, and
the brave hearts in her will be seen no more till the sea shall
give up her dead. Many a British soldier fallen before
Asiatic pestilence, or beneath the Kaffir assegai, above him
the bush or jungle is waving green, but he himself is now
Avhere the rifle's ring is heard, and the sabre's glitter is seen,
no more. Many a pew before me is full, which at the begin
ning of the year was filled by others. Many a hearth-stone
is cold, and many a chair is empty that will not be filled
again. We stand upon the shore of that illimitable sea
which never restores Avhat has once fallen into it; we hear
only the boom of the waves that throb over all — forever.
3. There is, too, an apparent non-attainment.
A deeper feeling pervades this Psalm than that of mere
transitoriness : it is that of the impotency of human effort.
" We are consumed " — perish aimlessly like the grass. No
man was more likely to feel this than Moses. After forty
years, the slaves he had emancipated were in heart slaves
still— idolators. He called them rebels, and shattered, the
stone tables of the law, in sad and bitter disappointment.
After forty years the promised land was not reached. He
himself never entered it
No wonder if life appeared to him like a stream, not mere
ly transitory, but monotonous. Generation after generation,
and no change; much lost, apparently nothing was Avon. No

666 The Transitoriness of Life.
prospect of better time had been. " The thing that hath
been, it is that which shall be." Here, too, is one of the great
trials of all retrospect — the great trial of all earthly life.
The cycles of God's providences are so large that our nar
row lives scarcely measure a visible portion of them. So
large that we ask, What can we effect ? Yet there is an al
most irrepressible wish in our hearts to see success attend our
labors, to enter the promised land in our own life. It is a
hard lesson : to toil in faith and to die in the wilderness, not
having attained the promises, but only seeing them afar off.
So in the .past year, personally and publicly. Personally
we -dare not say that we are better than we were at the be
ginning. Can we say that we are purer ? more earnest ?
Has the lesson of the cross been cut sharply into our hearts ?
Have we only learned self-denial, to say nothing of self-sacri
fice ? And stagnation thus being apparently the case, or at
most but very slow progress, the thought comes, Can such
beings be destined for immortality ?
On a larger scale, the young cries of freedom which caused
all generous hearts to throb with sympathy have been stifled ;
itself trodden down beneath the iron heel of despotism all
over Europe and rendered frantic and ferocious. Can we
wish for its success ? Are the better times coming at all ?
So does the heart sicken over the past. Every closing year
seems to say, Shall we begin the old useless struggle over
again ? Shall we tell again the oft-told tale ? Are not these
hopes, so high, a mockery to a moth like man ? Is all but a
mere illusion, a mirage in the desert ? , Are the waters of
life and hornet ever near, yet never reached, and the dry hot
desert sand his only attainment ?
Let us consider —
IL The right use of these sad suggestions. " So teach us
to number our days."
" So," because the days may be numbered, as in this Psalm,
ahd the heart not applied to wisdom. There are two ways
in which days may be numbered to no purpose.
1. That ofthe Epicurean — "Let us eat and drink; for to
morrow we die." There is a strong tendency to reckless en
joyment when the time is felt to be short, and religion does
not exist to restrain.
[For example. In times of plague — Athens — Milan — Lon
don — danger only stimulates men to seize to-day the enjoy
ments Which may not be theirs to-morrow. Again, at the
close of the last century, Avhen the prisons of Paris resounded
with merriment, dance, and acting, a light and trivial people,

The Transitoriness of Life. 66 7
atheists at heart, could extract from an hourly impending
death no deeper lesson than this, " Let us eat and drink ; for
to-morrow we die."]
2. That ofthe sentimentalist.
It is no part of our Christian duty to think of decay in an
abject spirit. That which the demoniac in the Gospels did,
having his dwelling among the tombs, has sometimes been
reckoned the perfection of Christian unworldliness. Men
have looked on every joy as a temptation ; on every earnest
pursuit as a snare — the skull and the hour-glass their com
panions, curtaining life with melancholy, haunting it with
visions and emblems of mortality. This is not Christianity.
Rather it is so to dwell on the thoughts of death " that we
may apply our hearts unto wisdom." If the history of these
solemn truths does not stimulate us to duty and action, it
were no duty to remind ourselves of them. Rather the re
verse. Better shut out such gloomy and useless thoughts.
But there is a way of dwelling amidst these facts which sol
emnizes life instead of paralyzing it. He is best prepared to
meet change who sees it at a distance and contemplates it
calmly. Affections are never deepened and refined until the
possibility of loss is felt. Duty is done with all energy, then
only, when we feel, " The night cometh, when no man can
work," in all its force.
Two thoughts are presented to make this easier.
1. The eternity of God. "Before the mountains were
brought forth, even from everlasting to everlasting, Thou art
God." ¦ With God there is no Time — it is one eternal Now.
This is made conceivable to us by a recent writer, who has re
minded us that there are spots in the universe which have
not yet been reached by the beams of light which shone from
this earth at its creation. If, therefore, we are able on an
angel's wings to reach that spot in a second or two of time,
the sight of this globe would be just becoming visible as it
Avas when chaos passed into beauty. A few myriads of miles
nearer, we should be met by the picture of the world in the
state of deluge. And so in' turn would present themselves
the spectacles of patriarchal life ; of Assyrian, Grecian, Per
sian, Roman civilization; and, at a short distance from the
earth, the scenes of yesterday. Thus a mere transposition in
space would make the past present. And thus, all that we
need is the annihilation of space to annihilate time. So that
if we conceive a Being present everywhere in space, to Him
all past events would be present. At the remotest extremi
ty of the angel's journey, he would see the world's creation ;

668 The Transitoriness of Life.
at this extremity, the events that pass before our eyes W
day. Omnipresence in space is thus equivalent to ubiquity
in time. And to such a being, demonstrably, there would be
no Time. All would be one vast eternal Now.
Apply this to practical wisdom. And this comes in to
correct our despondency. For Avith God, " a thousand years
are as one day." In the mighty cycles in which God works,
our years and ages are moments. It took fifteen hundred
years to educate the Jewish nation. . We wonder that Moses
saw nothing in forty years. But the thought of the eternity
of God was his consolation. And so, shall we give up our
hopes of heaven and progress, because it is so slow, when Ave
remember that God has innumerable ages before Him?" Or
our hopes for our personal improvement, Avhen we recollect
our immortality in Him who has been our refuge " from
generation to generation ?" Or for our schemes and plans
which seem to fail, when we remember that they will grow
after us, like the grass above our graves ?
II. Next, consider the permanence of results. Read the
conclusion of the Psalm, "Prosper Thou the work of our
hands upon us, oh prosper Thou our handiwork." It is a
bright conclusion for a Psalm so dark and solemn. To cor
rect the gloom that comes from brooding on decay, it is
good to remember that there is a sense in which nothing
perishes. 1. The permanence of our past seasons. Spring, summer,
autumn, are gone, but the harvest is gathered in. Youth and
manhood are passed, but their lessons have been learnt. The
past is ours only when it is gone. We do not understand the
meaning of our youth, our joys, our sorrows, till we look at
them from a distance. We lose them to get them back again
in a deeper way. The past is our true inheritance, which
nothing can take from us. Its sacred lessons, its pure affec
tions, are ours forever. . Nothing but the annihilation of our
being could rob us of them.
2. The permanence of lost affections. Over the departed
ones Moses mourned. But take his own illustration — "A
tale that is told." The sound and words are gone, but the
tale is indelibly impressed on the heart. So the lost are not
really ,lost Perhaps they are ours only truly Avhen lost.
Their patience, love, wisdom, are. sacred now, and live in us.
The apostles and prophets are more ours than they were the
property of the generation who saw their daily life— -" He
being dead, yet speaketh."
3,'The permanence of our own selves — "The beauty of

The Transitoriness of Life. 669
the Lord our God be upon us." Very striking this. We
survive. We are what the past has made us. The results
of the past are ourselves. The perishable emotions, and
the momentary acts of bygone years, are the scaffolding on
which we build up the being that we are. As the tree is
fertilized by its own broken branches and fallen leaves, and
grows out by its own decay, so is the soul of man ripened
out of broken hopes and blighted affections. The law of our
humanity is the common law of the universe — life out of
death, beauty out of decay. Not till those fierce young
passions, over the decay of which the old man grieves, have
been stilled into silence ; not until the eye has lost its fire,
and the cheek its hot flush, can " the beauty of the Lord our
God be upon us" — the beauty of a spirit subdued, chastened,
and purified by loss.
4. Let us correct these sad thoughts by the thought of the
permanence of work. " Prosper thou the work of our hands."
Feelings pass, thoughts and imaginations pass : dreams pass :
work remains. Through eternity, what you have done, that
you are. They tell us that not a sound has ever ceased to
vibrate through space ; that not a ripple has ever been lost
upon the ocean. Much more is it true that, not a true
thought, nor a pure resolve, nor a loving act, has ever gone
forth, in vain.
So then we Avill end our year.
Amidst the solemn lessons taught to the giddy traveller
as he journeys on by a Nature hastening with gigantic foot
steps down to a Avinter grave, and by the solemn tolling of
the bell of Time, which tells us that another, and another,
and another, is gone before us, we will learn, not the lesson
of the sensualist — enjoy while you can : not that of the feeble
sentimentalist — mourn, for nothing lasts: but that of the
Christian — work cheerfully.
" The beauty of the Lord our God be upon us."
" Oh, prosper Thou our handiwork."

670 Views of Death.

VII.
< VIEWS OF DEATH.
" Then said I in my heart, As it happeneth to the fool, so it happeneth
even to me; and why was I then more wise? Then I said in my heart,
that this also is vanity. For there is no remembrance of the wise more than
of the fool forever ; seeing that which now is in the days to come shall all be
forgotten. And how dieth the wise man ? as the fool." — Eccles. ii. 15, 16.
This is the inspired record of a peculiar view of life.
Paul, with his hopefulness of disposition, could not have
written it, neither could John, with his loving, trustful spirit.
We involuntarily ask who wrote this ? • Was it written by a
voluptuary — a skeptic — or a philosopher? What sort of
man was it ?
We detect the sated voluptuary in the expressions of the
first eleven verses of this chapter. We see the skeptic in
those of the 19th to the 22d verses of the third chapter.
And the philosopher, Avho in avoidance of all extremes seeks
the golden medium, is manifested in such a maxim as " Be
not righteous overmuch; neither make thyself overwise:
why shouldest thou - destroy thyself? Be not overmuch
wicked, neither be thou foolish: why shouldest thou die
before thy time ?" Or was it written by a man deeply and
permanently jnspired ?
I believe it to have been written by none of these, or
rather by all. four. It records different experiences ofthe
same mind — different moods iri which he' view'ed life in
different ways. It is difficult to interpret, or to separate
them ; for he says nothing by which they can be marked off
and made distinct from -each other. - Nowhere does Solomon
say, " I thought so then, but that was only a mood, a phase
of feeling that I have, since seen was false, and is now cor
rected by the experience and expressions of the present."
Here is, at first sight, nothing but inextricable confusion and
false conclusions.
The clue to the whole is to be found in the interpreter's
own heart. • It is necessary to make these few preliminary
remarks, as there is a tone of disappointment which runs
through all this book, which is not the tone of the Bible
in general. Two lines of thought are suggested by the
text.

Views of Death. 671
I. The mysterious aspect presented by death.
II. That state of heart in which it is mysterious no
longer. I. To Solomon, in his mood of darkness,," there is no re
membrance of the wise more than of the fool forever." But
it is not only in moods of dark perplexity, it is always a
startling thing to see the rapidity with which the Avisest and
the best are forgotten. We plough our lives in water, leav
ing no furrow ; two little waves break upon the shore, but no
further vestige of our existence is left.
[An accident happens to one of England's greatest sons ;
an announcement is made which stagnates the blood in a
country's veins for a moment, and then all returns to its
former channel. — (Tennyson. " In Memoriam." " Let them
rave," he sleeps well.)
Country church-yard — yew-tree — upheaving roots clasping
round bones-^-a striking fact that vegetable life outlives and
outlasts animal life.]
There is something exquisitely painful in the thought that
we die out and are forgotten ; therefore it is, that in the
higher walks of life people solace themselves with the hope
of posthumous reputation ; they think, perhaps, that then
only their true worth will be known. That posthumous
reputation1., when the eye is forever closed, and the heart
forever chilled here — what matters it to him, whether storms
rage over his grave or men cherish his memory ? he sleeps
well. The commentators on this book have disagreed among
themselves about Solomon's character — some have even
doubted whether he Avas finally saved or no. What matters
it to him now what is said of him ? what does it signify to
him what posterity thinks of him ? And so with us all : to
the ear that is turned into dust the voice of praise or of cen
sure is indifferent. One thing is certain. God says, " Time
is short, eternity is long." The solemn tolling of the bell
seems to cry, There is something to be done ; there is much
to be done ; do it ! and that quickly !
Then again there are some who say, " What use is there
in doing any thing in this world ? It scarcely seema worth
while, in this brief span of life, to try do any thing." A
man is placed in a high situation, receives an expensive ed
ucation at school and college, and a-still more expensive one
of time and experience. And then, just when we think all
this ripe wisdom, garnered up from so many fields, shall find
its fullest use, we hear that all is over, he has passed from

672 . Views of Death.
among us, and then the question, hideous in its suggestive-
ness, arises, " Why was he then more wise ?"
Asked from this Avorld's stand-point — if there is no life"
beyond the grave, if there is no immortality, if all spiritual
calculation is to end here, why, then the mighty work of
God is all to end in nothingness: but if this is only a state
of infancy, only the education for eternity, in which the soul
is to gain its wisdom and experience for higher work, then-
to ask Avhy such a mind is taken from us is just as absurd as
to question why the tree of the forest has its first training in
the nursery garden. This is but the nursery ground, from
whence we are to be transplanted into the great forest of
God's eternal universe. There is an absence of all distinc
tion betAveen the death of one man and another. The wise
man dies as the fool Avith respect to circumstances.
In our short-sightedness we think there ought to be a cer
tain correspondence between the man and the mode of the
man's death. We fancy the warrior should die upon the
battle-plain, the statesman at his post, the mean man should
die in ignorance : but it is not so ordered in God's world, for
the Avise man dies as the fool, the profligate man dies as the
hero. Sometimes for the great and wise is reserved a con
temptuous death, a mere accident ; then, he who is not sat
isfied unless the external reality corresponds with the in-
Avard hope, imagines that circumstances such as these can
not be ordained by Eternal Love, but rather by the spirit
of a mocking demon.
There is always a disappointment of our expectations.
No man ever lived whose acts were not smaller than him
self. We offen look forward to the hour of death in which a
man shall give vent to his greater and nobler emotions.
The hour comes,' and the wise man dies as the fool. In the
first place, in the case of holiness and humbleness, thoughts
' of deep despondency and dark doubt often gather round the
heart of the Christian in his last hour, and the narrow-minded
man interprets that into God's forgetfulness; or else deliri
um shrouds all in silence; or "else there are only common
place words, words tender, touching, and gentle, but in
themselves nothing. Often there is nothing that marks the
great man from the small man. T/iis is the mystery of
death. II. It depends on causes .within us and not without us.
Three things are said by the man of pleasure : — 1. That all
things happen by chance. 2. That there is nothing neAV.
3. That all is vanity, and nothing is stable.

Views of Death. 673
There is a strange special penalty Avhich God annexes to
a life of pleasure : Every thing appears to the Avorldly
man as a tangled web — a maze to Avhich there is no clue.
Another man says, " There is nothing new under the sun."
This is the state of the man who lives merely for excitement
and pleasure — his heart becomes so jaded by excitement that
the Avorld contains nothing for him Avhich can awaken fresh
or neAV emotions. Then, again, a third says, "All is vanity."
This is the state of him who is afloat on the vast ocean of ex
citement, and who feels that life is nothing but a fluctua
ting, changeful, heartless scene.
Some who read the Book of Ecclesiastes think that there
is a sadness and uneasiness in its tone inconsistent with the
idea of inspiration — that it is nothing but a mere kaleido
scope, with endlessly shifting moods. Therein lies the proof
of its inspiration. Its value lies as much in the way of warn
ing as of precept. Live for- yourself here — live the mere life
of pleasure, and then all is confusion and bewilderment of
mind ; then the view which the mighty mind of Solomon
took, inspired by, God, Avill be yours : life will seem as noth
ing, and death a mere mockery. Be in harmony with the
mind of Christ, have the idea He had, be one with Him, and
you shall understand the machinery of this world. " The
secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him." To the
humble pious heart there is no mystery. The world is intel
ligible only to a mind in harmony with the Mind that made
it. Else all is confusion, unless you are in possession of His
idea, moved by His Spirit.
Hence- it lies in a pure heart much more than in a clear
intellect, to understand the mystery of life and death. Solo
mon's wisdom has left us only a confused idea.
Turn we now from the views of Solomon to the life ofthe
Son of Man. Men asked, "How knoweth this man letters,
having never learned ?" : He gave a different explanation of
His wisdom. "My judgment is just; because I seek not
mine own will, but the will of the Father which hath sent
me." He gives directions to us how to gain the same discern
ment. " If any man will do His will, he shall know."
[One has just been taken from us to whom all eyes turned
—Sir Robert Peel.] 29

674 Waiting for the Second Advent.

VIII.
WAITING FOR THE SECOND ADVENT.
"And the Lord direct your hearts into the love of God, arid into the pa-
tient waiting for Christ."- — 2 Thess. iii. 5.
The two Epistles to the Thessalonians contain, more ex
pressly than any other, St. Paul's views respecting the sec
ond Advent of Christ. The first epistle Avas Avritten to cor
rect certain enthusiastic views respecting that coming. But
the second epistle tells us that the effort had failed. For in
the mean while, another epistle had been forged in St. Paul's
name, asserting that the clay Avas near, and so opening the
floodgates of fanaticism. To counteract this, he tells them
not to be shaken in mind by any word or letter as from him,
as that the day of Christ was; at hand. And, contrary to his
usual practice, he writes the salutation at the close with his
own hand, making it a test hereafter of the genuineness of
his epistles. !
Let us try to paint a picture ofthe state ofthe Thessalo-
nian Church. Such phenomena had appeared as might have
been expected to arise from a belief that the end of the
Avorld was near. Men forsook their stated employments ;
the poor would not work, but expected to be maintained by
their richer brethren. Men, being idle, spent their time in
useless discussions, neglected their OAvn affairs,' gossipped",
and indulged a prying curiosity into the affairs of others.
Hence arose the necessity for the admonition—" Study to be
quiet, and to do' your own business, and to work with your
hands, as we commanded you ;" and so the apostle had
said, "Now we command you, brethren, in the name of our
Lord Jesus- Christ, that ye withdraw yourselves from' every
brother that walketh disorderly, and not after the tradition
which he received of us. For yourselves know _ how ye
ought to follow us : for Ave behaved not ourselves disorderly
among you ; neither did we eat any man's bread for nought ;
but wrought with labor and travail night and day, that avc
might not be chargeable to any of you."
Moreover, two opposite lines of conduct were adopted by
persons of different temperament. Some greedily received
every wild tale and mysterious prediction of the Advent,
and listened eagerly to every fanatic who could Avork upon

Wailing for the Second Advent. 675
the vulgar credulity. Others, perceiving that there was so
much imposture, concluded that it was safest to believe noth
ing ; and accordingly were skeptical of every claim to inspi
ration. In admonition ofthe first class, St. Paul says, " Prove
all things ; hold fast that which is good." In admonition of
the second, " Quench not the Spirit. Despise not prophesy-
ings." The opposite tendencies of skepticism and credulity will
be found very near together in all ages. Some men refusing
to believe that God speaks in the signs ofthe times ; others
running after every book on prophecy, seeking after signs,
believing in miracles and imposture, mesmerisms, electro-biol
ogies, Avinking pictures — any thing provided it be marvellous
— it is the same state of mind exactly !
To meet the evil of this feverish, disturbed state of the
Thessalonian Church, St. Paul takes two grounds. He first
points out the signs which will precede the second Advent :
Self-idolatry, excluding the worship of God. Sinful human
ity, "the man of sin," in the temple of God. And this self-
Avorship deceiving by a show of godliness, and a power ap
parently miraculous (such as our present self-laudations, phi
lanthropies, marvellous triumphs as Avith Divine poAver, over
the material world). Besides this, punishment of falsehood
on the rejection ofthe true. These signs worked then and
noAV. St. Paul discerned the general law of Christ's king
dom and its development as applicable to all epochs down
to the last. But next, St. Paul called the Church away from
this feverishness to the real preparation for the Advent.
The Church Avas on the tiptoe of expectation, and prepared
in the way aboA'e described. St. Paul summons them to a
real but not excited preparation. And this in two things:
— 1. The love of God. 2. Patience ofthe saints. We con
sider —
I. Preparation for the Redeemer's coming: the love of
God. 1. The love of God is the love of goodness. The old Sax
on word God is. identical with Good. God the Good One —
personified goodness. , There is in that derivation not a mere
play of words — there is a deep truth. None loves God but
he who loves good. To love God is to love Avhat God is.
God is pure, and he who loves purity can love God. God is
true. God is just; and he who loves these things out of
God may love them in God; and God for them, because He
is good, and true, and pure, and just.
No other love is real; none else lasts. For example, love

676 Waiting for the Second Advent.
based on a belief of personal favors will not endure. You
may be very happy, and believe that God has made you
happy. While that happiness lasts you will love God. But
a time comes when happiness goes. You will not be always
young and prosperous. A time may come when misfortunes
Avill accumulate on you as on Job. At last, Job had nothing
left but life. The natural feeling would be, " Curse God and
die." Job said, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in
Him." Plainly Job had some other reason for his love than
personal favors. God, the all-pure, all-just, all-holy, adorable,
because all-holy. Or again, you believe that Christ's suffer
ings have purchased heaven for you. Well, you are grate
ful. But suppose your evidence of personal salvation fades,
what then ?
Here, however, let me make a remark. The love of good
ness only becomes real by doing good. Without this it re
mains merely a sickly sentiment. It gets body and reality
by acting. For example, we have been prating since the
Great Duke's death, of duty. Know we not that by merely
talking of duty our profession of admiration for duty will
become a* cant ? This is a truth a minister of Christ feels
deeply. It is his business to be talking to others of self-sac
rifice and devotedness. He of all men feels how little these
words mean, unless they are acted out. For an indolent
habit of admiring goodness is got easily, and is utterly with
out profit. Hence Christ says, " Not every man that saith
unto me, Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven ;
but he that doeth the will of my Father which is in heaven ;"
and hence, to», " If a man love me, he will keep my com
mandments, and I will love him ;" " If ye know these things,
happy are ye if ye do them ;" " This is the love of God, that
we keep. His commandments." The love of goodness is real
and healthy only when Ave do it.
2. The love of God is the love of man expanded and puri
fied. It is a deep truth that we can not begin with loving
God, we must begin with loving man. It is an aAvful com
mand, "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart
and soul and mind." It is awful and impossible at first.
Interrogate the child's conscience, he does not love God su
premely ; he loves his mother, arid his sister, and his brother
more. Now this is God's plan of nature. Our special hu
man affections are given us to expand into a diviner charity.
We are learning "by a mortal yearning to ascend." Our
affections wrap themselves round beings who are created in
God's image; then they expand, widen in their range ; be
come less absorbed, more calm, less passionate, more philan-

Waiting for the Second Advent. 677
thropic. They become more pure, less selfish. Love Avas
given, encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for this end — ....
that self might be annulled. The testimony of St. John is
decisive on this point. To him we appeal as to the apostle
Avho knew best what love is. His love to God was. unearth
ly, pure, spiritual ; his religion had melted into love. Let us
listen to his. account. "No man hath seen God at any time.
If we love one another, God dAvelleth in us, and His love is
perfected in us ;" " He that loveth not his brother Avhom he
hath seen, hoAV can he love God Avhom he hath not seen ?"
According to him, the thought of the invisible God is in
tolerable. It would be shorn of its dazzling splendor by be
ing exhibited in our brethren. So we can gaze on the re
flected sunlight on the moon. According to him, it is
through the visible that we appreciate the invisible —
through the love of our brother that Ave grow into the love
of God.
An awful day is coming to us all — the day of Christ. A
day of triumph, but of judgment too. Terrible language de
scribes it, " The sun shall . be turned into darkness and the
moon into blood." God shall be felt as He never has been
yet. How shall we prepare for that august sight ? Not by
unnatural, forced efforts at loving Him whom no eye can see
and live ; but by much persistence in the appointed path of
our common affections, our daily intercourse, the talk man
holds Avith man in the hourly Avalk of the world's inter
course. By being true to our attachments. Let not a hum
ble Christian be over-anxious, if his spiritual affections are
not as keen as he would Avish. The love of God is the full
blown flower of Avhich the love of man is the bud. To love
man is tb love God. To do good to man will be recognized
hereafter as doing good to Christ. These are the Judge's
words : " Verily, I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye did it unto
one of the least of these My brethren, ye did it unto Me."
3. Personal affections.
[Guard what is now said from any appearance of repre
senting it as actually attained by the person who describes
it. The love of God is a fearful and a lovely thing ; but
they Avho have reached it are the few.]
It is not merely love of goodness, but love of goodness
concentrated on the Good One. Not merely the love of
man, but the love of man expanded into the love of Him, of
whom all that we have seen of gentle and lovely, of true and
tender, of honorable and bright in human character, are but
the shadows and the broken, imperfect lights.

678 Waiting for the Second Advent.
It is here that the Jewish religion is the chief trainer of
the. world. Revelation began with the personality of God.
All the JeAv's discipline taught him this : that the law of
right was the will of a lawgiver. Deliverance from Egyp
tian* slavery, or Assyrian invasion, was always associated
with the name of a deliverer. Moses and the prophets were
His messengers and mediators. "Thus saith the Lord," is
ever the preface of their message.
Consequently, only from Jews, and Christians trained
through the Old Testament to know God, do we hear those
imptissioned expressions of personal' love, which give us a
sublime conception of the -adoration of which human hearts
are capable. Let us hear David — " Whom have I in heaven
but Thee ? and there is none upon earth that I desire in
comparison of Thee ;" " My soul is athirst for God, yea,
even for the living God." And that glorious outburst of St
Paul : " Let God be true, and every man a liar," which can
be understood only by those who feel that the desertion of
all, and the discovery of the falseness of all, would be as
nothing compared Avith a single doubt of the faithfulness of
God. II. The other preparation is the patient waiting.
1. What is waited for?— an Advent of Christ. We must
extend the ordinary meaning of this expression. There are
many comings of Christ.
Christ came in the flesh as a Mediatorial Presence.
Christ came at the destruction of Jerusalem.
Christ canns, a Spiritual Presence, Avhen the Holy Ghost
was given.
Christ comes now in every signal manifestation of redeem
ing power.
Any great reformation of morals and religion is a coming
of Christ.
A great revolution, like a thunderstorm, violently sweep
ing the evil away, to make way for the good, is a coming of
Christ. Christ will come at the end of the world, when the Spirit
of all these comings will be concentrated.
Thus we may understand in what Avay Christ is ever com
ing and ever near. Why it was that St. James said, " Stab-
lis'h your hearts: for the coming ofthe Lord draweth nigh ;
and " Behold, the Judge standeth before the door." And we
shall also understand how it w;as that the early Church was
not deceived in expecting Christ in their own day. He did
come, though not in the Avay they expected.

Waiting for the Second Advent. 679
2. What is meant by " waiting ?"
Now it is remarkable that throughout the apostle's writ
ings, the Christian attitude of soul is represented as an atti
tude of expectation— as in this passage, " So that ye come
behind in no gift ; waiting for the coming of our Lord Jesus
Christ ;" and again, " We are saved by hope : but hope that
is seen is not hope : for what a man seeth, why doth he yet
hope for ? But if we hope for that we see not, then do Ave
Avith patience .wdit^ for it." Salvation in hope : that was
their teaching. • Not a perfection attained, but a perfection
that is to be.
The golden age lies onward. We are longing for, not the
Church of the past, but the Church of the future. Ours is not
an antiquated, sentimental yearning for the imaginary perfec
tion of ages. gone by,' not a conservative stagnation content
Avith things as" they are, but hope — for the individual and for
the society. By.Him Ave have access by faith, and rejoice in
iiope of the glory that- shall be revealed. A better, wiser,
purer age than that of childhood. An age more enlightened
and more holy. than the world has yet seen. "Behold, the
tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them,
and they shall be His people, and God Himself shall be with
them, and be their God." It is this spirit of expectation
which is the preparation for the Advent. Every gift of no
ble origin is breathed upon by hope's perfect breath.
3. Let us note that it is patient Avaiting.
Every one who has ardently longed for any spiritual
blessing knoAvs the temptation to impatience in expecting it.
Good men who, like Elijah, have sickened over the degener
acy and luxury. of their times; fathers who have watched
tlie obduracy and Avild career of a child whom they have
striven in vain to lead to. God ; such cry out from the deeps
ofthe heart, "Where is the promise of His coming?".
Now the true preparation is, riot -having correct ideas of
how and Avhen He shall come, but being like Him. " It is
not for you to know the times or the seasons which the Fa
ther hath put in His own power ;" " Every man that hath
this hope in him purifieth himself, even as He is pure."
Application. "The Lord direct you" unto this.
Consider what the Thessalonians must have felt in their
perplexity. Would that we had a teacher such as St Paul,
ever at hand to tell ns what is truth— to distinguish be
tAveen ' fanaticism and genuine enthusiasm — between wild
false teaching and truth rejected by the many "Here,"
might they have "said, " were we beAvildered. How shall
Ave hereafter avoid similar bewilderments without an infalli-

680 The Sinlessness of Christ.
ble guide ?" Instead of which St. Paul says," The Lord di
rect your hearts into the love of God, and into the patient
waiting for Christ."
God has so decreed, that except in childhood, our depend
ence must be on our own souls. " The way of truth is slow,
hard, winding, often turning on itself.?' ' Good and: evil grow
up in the field of the world almost inseparably. The scan
ning of error is necessary to the comprehension and belief of
truth. Therefore it must be done solitarily. Nay, such an
infallible guide could, not be. given to us without danger.
Such a one ever near would prove not a guide to us, but a
hindrance to the use of our own eyes and souls. Reverence
for such a guide would soon degenerate into slavishness, pas-
siveness, and prostration of mind.
Hence, St. Paul throws us upon God.

IX.
THE SINLESSNESS OF CHRIST.
"Whosoever committeth sin transgresseth also the law: for sin is the
transgression of the law. And ye know that he was manifested to take
away our sins ; and in him is no sin." — 1 John iii. 4, 5.
The heresy with which the Apostle St. John had to con
tend in his day was an error of a kind and character which
it is hard forms with our practical, matter-of-fact modes of
thinking, to comprehend. There were men so over-refined
and fastidious, that they could not endure the thought of
anything spiritual being connected with materialism. They
could not believe in any thing being pure that Avas also
fleshly, for flesh and sinfulness Avere to them synonymous
terms. They could not believe in the Divine humanity, for
humanity was to them the very opposite of that which was
Divine : and accordingly, while admitting the Divinity of
Jesus, they denied the reality of His materialism. They
said of His earthly life exactly what the Roman Catholic
says of the miracle he claims to be performed in the Supper
of the Lord. The Roman Catholic maintains that it is sim
ply an illusion of the senses ; there is the taste of the bread,
the look of the bread, the smell of the bread, but it is all a
deceptidn :. there is no bread really there, it is only the spir
itual body ofthe Lord. That which the Romanist sayi3 now
of the elements in the Lord's Supper, did these ancient here-

The Sinks sness of Christ. 68 1
tics say respecting the body and the life of Jesus. There
was, they said, the sound of the human voice, there was the
passing from place to place, there Avere deeds done, there
were sufferings undergone, but these were all an illusion
and a phantasma — a thing that appeared, but did not
really exist. The everlasting Word of God Avas making it
self known to the minds of men through the senses by an
illusion ; for to say that the Word of God was made flesh, to
maintain that He connected Himself with sinful, frail hu
manity — this Avas degradation to the Word — this was de
struction to the purity of the Divine Essence.
You Avill observe that in all this there was an attempt to
be eminently spiritual; and what seems exceedingly marvel
lous, is the fact withal that these men led a life of extreme
licentiousness. Yet it is not marvellous, if we think accu
rately, for we find even now that over-refinement is but
coarseness. And so, just in the same way, these ultra-spirit
ualists, though they Avould not believe that the Divine Es
sence could be mingled with human nature without degrada
tion, yet they had no intention of elevating human nature by
their own conduct. They thought they showed great re
spect for Jesus in all this : they denied the-reality of his suf
ferings ; they would not admit the conception that frail, un
dignified humanity was veritably His, but nevertheless they
had no intention of living more spiritually themselves.
It was therefore that we find in another epistle, St. John
gives strict commands to his converts not to admit these
heretics into their houses : and the reason that he gives is,
that by so doing they would be partakers, not of their evil
doctrines, but of their evil deeds. They were a licentious
set of men, and it is necessary to keep this in view if we
would understand the writings of St. John. It is for this
reason, therefore, that he says — " That which was from the
beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with
our eyes, Avhich we have looked upon, and our hands have
handled of the Word of Life, declare we unto you." It is for
this reason that he, above all the apostles, narrates with scru
pulous accuracy all the particulars respecting the Redeemer's
risen body — that he joined in the repast of the broiled fish
and the honey-comb : and that he dwells with such minute
ness on the fact that there came from the body of the Re
deemer blood and water : " Not water only, but water and
blood ;" and it is for this reason that in speaking of Anti
christ he says, " Every spirit that confesseth not that Jesus
Christ is come in the flesh is not of God, and this is that spir
it of Antichrist Avhereof ye have heard that it should come."
29*

682 The Sinlessness of Christ.
So, then, Ave learn from this that the most spiritual of all
the apostles was the one who insisted most earnestly on the
materialism of the human nature of our Lord. He Avho
alone had penetrated into that realm beyond, where the
King was seen on His throne of light, Avas the one Avho felt
most strongly that in humanity there is nothing degrading.'
In the natural propensities of human nature there is nothing
to be ashamed of: there is nothing for a man to be ashamed
of but sin— there- is nothing more noble than a perfect hu
man nature.
My brethren, though the error ofthe ancient times can not
be repeated in this age in the same form, though this strange
belief commends itself not to our minds, yet there may be
such an exclusive dwelling upon the Divinity of Jesus as ab
solutely to destroy His real humanity ; there may be such a
morbid sensitiveness. when we speak of Him as taking our
nature, as Avill destroy the fact of His sufferings — yes, and
destroy the reality of His atonement also. There is a Avay
of speaking ofthe sinlessness of Jesus that Avould absolutely
make that scene on Calvary a mere pageant in which He was
acting a part in a drama, during which He was not really
suffering, and did-not really crush the propensities of His hu
man nature. It was for this reason we lately dwelt on the
Redeemer's sufferings ; now let us pass onward to the fact of
the sinlessness of His nature. ,
The subject divides itself— first, into the sinlessness of His
nature; and secondly, the power which He possessed from
that sinlessness to take away the sins of the world.
With respeat to the first branch, we have given us a defi
nition of what sin is — "Sin is the transgression ofthe law."
It is to be observed there is a difference betAveen sin- and
transgression. Every sin is a transgression of the law, but
every transgression of' the law is not necessarily a sin. Who
soever committeth sin transgresseth also the law. Noav
mark the difference. It is possible for a man to transgress
the law of God, not knowingly, and then in inspired language
we are told that " sin is not imputed unto him." • Yet for all
that, the penalty will follow whenever a man transgresses,
but the chastisement which belongs to sin, to known willful
transgression, will not follow.
Let us take a case in the Old Testament, Avhich it may be
as well to explain, because sometimes there is a difficulty
felt in it. We read ofthe patriarchs and saints in the Old
Testament as living in polygamy. There was no distinct
law forbidding it, but there Avas a law written in the "fleshly
tables ofthe heart," against which it is impossible to ti'ajis-

The Sinlessness of Christ. 683
gress without incurring a' penalty. Accordingly, though we
never find that the patriarchs are blamed for the moral fault,
though you never find them spoken of as having broken the
Avritten law of God, yet you see they reaped the penalty that
ever must be reaped. — in the case of one, degradation : in the
case of the other, slavery. Jacob's many wives brought dis
sension and misery into his household, though he did it inno
cently and ignorantly, and he reaped the penalty — quarrels
and wretchedness. In all this there is penalty, but there is
not sin in all this, and therefore there was not excited that
agony Avhich comes from the pangs of conscience after will
ful sin.
Every misery that falls on man has been the consequence
of transgression, his own trespass or those of others. It may
have been his parents, his grandparents, or his far-back an
cestors, who have given him the disadvantages under which
he labors. How shall we explain the fact that misery falls
alike on the good and on the evil? Only by remembering
whether it comes as the penalty of transgression ignorantly
done: then it is but the gentle discipline of a Father's love,
educating His child, it may be warning the child and giving
him the knowledge of that laAV of which he was hitherto ig
norant. This wretchedness of the patriarchs, what was it
but the corrective dispensation by which the world learnt
that polygamy is against the laAV of God ? So the child who
cuts his hand Avith the sharp blade of the knife has learnt a
lesson concerning his need. of caution for the future, and if
well and bravely borne, he is the better for it ; but if there
has been, added to that, transgression the sin of disobedience
to his parent's command, then there is something inflicted
beyond the penalty; there is all that anguish of conscience
and remorse which comes as the consequence of sin. Now
Ave have seen what transgression is, let us try and understand
what sin is.
My Christian brethren, it is possible for us to mistake this
subject b^ taking^fjgurative expressions too literally. We
speak of sin as if it were a things as if we were endpwed with
it, like memory, or judgment, or imagination, as a faculty
which must be exercised. Now let us learn ¦ the truth of
Avhat sin is — it "is the transgression of the law.". There
must be some voluntary act, transgressing some known law,
or there is no sin. There were those in the days of St. John
Avho held that sin was merely the infirmity ofthe flesh; that
if a man committed sin, and he was to know that it Avas the
Avorking merely of his lower nature, not of his OAvn mind—
his faith Avould save him.

684 The Sinlessness of Christ.
Another error was that of the Pharisees in the days of Je
sus ; and their error was precisely opposite. "Yes," said the
Pharisees, " sin is the transgression of the law. Holiness is
conformity to the law, iand the lives of the Pharisees being
conformable to the ceremonial law, Ave stand before the world
as, touching the righteousness which is in the law, blameless."
The Redeemer comes, and He gives another exposition of
sin. " Sin is the transgression ofthe law," but there is a laAV
Avritten for the heart, as well as for the outward man. There
is a work to be done within as Avell as without. A murder
may be committed by indulging revenge and malice, though
the hand has never been lifted to strike. It is not the out
ward act that constitutes alone the morality, of Christ, it is
the feeling of the heart, the acts of the inner man.
But then there is another error from which Ave have to
guard ourselves. It is a sophistry in which some men in
dulge themselves. They say, " Well, if the thought is as bad
as the act, why should we not therefore do the act ? I am
as guilty as if I had committed transgression; why should I
debar myself from the enjoyment ?" It is, I say, but sophis
try, for no man that has any conscience can really so deceive
himself. The Redeemer's doctrine was that many a man
whose outward life was pure and spotless would have_ done
the transgression if he had had the opportunity. It is one
thing to say that he would have done it if he could, but it is
quite another thing to say that a man who has indulged the
thought, and has drawn back, is' as guilty as if he had actual
ly carried out the evil act. The difference lies in this— the
one would hawe done it if he could, and the other could and
would not. '
We read in the Bible of two men who exemplify this. 1 hey
both resolved to commit murder, and the opportunity was
given to each. Saul threw his javelin with right good will
at David's person ; he did all that resolution could do, it weis
but what is called accident that left the javelin quivering in
the wall. Opportunity Avas given also to David. He had
resolved to slay Saul, but when the tempting opportunity
came, when hewas bending over Saul, .foil of the thought ot
destroying his enemy, at the very last moment he paused—
his conscience smote him— he refused to strike. Which ot
these was the murderer? Saul was the murderer: he had
slain in his heart. It Avas but an accident that prevented it.
In the other case there had been the indulgence of a wrong
thought, but it was subdued. He might say, he might as
well have slain his foe, but Avould you say that he was in the
same position as a murderer ? No, Christian brethren, let

The Sinlessness of Christ. 68 5
^there be no sophistry of this kind among us. It is but a sub
tle whisper from our great adversary that would beguile us.
Generally there is first a rising of an inclination which is
often no sin. This passes on to a guilty resolve — one step
more, and the man has committed the sin.
Now let us turn to the character of our blessed Redeemer,
and we shall find him doubly free from all this — as free in de
sire as free in act The proof of his perfect purity is to be
found in the testimony of His enemies, of His friends, and of
those indifferent to Him. We have first the evidence of His
enemies. For three long years the Pharisees were watching
their victim. There was the Pharisee mingling in every
crowd, hiding behind every tree. They examined His disci
ples ; they cross-questioned all around.Him ; they looked into
His ministerial life, into His domestic privacy, into His hours
of retirement. They came forward with the sole accusation
that they could muster^ — that He had shown disrespect to the
Roman governor. The Roman judge, who at least should
know, had pronounced the accusation null and void. There
was another spy. It was Judas. If there had been one act
of sin, one failing in all the Redeemer's career that betrayed
ambition, that betrayed any desire to aggrandize Himself —
in his hour of terrible remorse Judas would have remembered
it for his own comfort ; but the bitterness of his feelings —
that which made life insufferable — was»that he had " betray
ed innocent blood.""
Pass we on to those who were indifferent. And first we
have the opinion of Pilate himself. Contemporary historians
tell us that Pilate Avas an austere and- cruel man, a man of
firm resolve, and one who shrank not from' the destruction of
human life ; but we see here that for once the cruel man be
came merciful : for once the man of resolve became timid. It
was not merely that he thought Jesus was innocent ; the hard
Roman mind would have' cared little for the sacrifice of an
obscure Jew. The soul of Pilate was pervaded with the feel
ing that spotless innocence stood before him, and this feel
ing extended even to Pilate's wife : for we find that she sent
to him and said, " Have thou nothing to do- with that just
man." It was not because he was going to pass an unjust
sentence — he had often done so before — but she felt that
here was an innocent one who must not be condemned^
Now let us consider the testimony of His friends. They
tell us that during their intercourse of three years His Avas
a life unsullied by a single spot : and I pray you to remem
ber that tells us something of the holiness of the thirty pre
vious years ; for no man springs from sin into perfect right-

686 The Sinlessness of Christ.
eousness at once. If there has been any early wrong-doing
— though a man may be changed — yet there is something
left that tells of his early character — a want of refinement,
of delicacy, of purity ; a tarnish has passed upon the bright
ness, and can not be rubbed off. If we turn to the testimo
ny of John the Baptist, His contemporary, about the same
age, one who knew Him not at first as the Messiah: yet
Avhen the Son of Man comes to him simply as a man, and
asks him to baptize Him, John turns away in astonishment,
shocked at the idea. " I have need to be baptized of thee :
and comest thou to me?" In other words, the purest and
the most austere man that could be found on earth was com
pelled to acknowledge that in Him who came for baptism
there was. neither stain nor spot that the water of Jordan
was needed to. wash away. So we see there was no actual
transgression in our blessed Lord.
Now let us see what the inAvard life was ; for it is very
possible that there may be no outward transgression, and
yet that. the heart may not be pure. It is possible that out
wardly all may seem right, through absence of temptation,
and, yet there maybe the want of inward perfection. Of
the perfection of Jesus we can have but one testimony; it
can not be that of the apostles, for the lesser can not judge
the greater, and- therefore we turn to Himself.' He said,
"Which of you can. charge me with .sin?" "I and my Fa
ther are one." Now we must remember that just in pro
portion as a man becomes more holy does he feel and ac
knowledge the evil that is in him. Thus it was with the
Apostle "Paul<$ he . declared, " I am the chief of sinners."
But here is One, who attained the highest point of human
excellence, who was acknowledged even by His enemies to
be blameless, who declares Himself to be sinless.
If, then, the Son of Man were not the promised Redeemer,
He, the humblest of mankind, might justly, be accused of
pride ; the purest of mankind would be deemed to be un
conscious of the evil that was : in Him. He who looked so
deeply into the hearts, of others is ignorant of His own ; the
truest of mankind is guilty ofthe worst Of falsehoods; the
noblest of mankind guilty, of the sin of sins— the belief that
He had no sin. Let but the infidel grant us that human na
ture has never attained to what it attained in the character
of Jesus, then Ave carry him still farther, that even He whom
he acknowledges to be the purest of men declared Himself
to be spotless, Avhich, if it were false, would at once do away
with all the purity which he , grants was His. It was not
only the outward acts, but the inner life of Jesus which was

The Sinlessness of Christ. 687
so pure. His mind regulates every other mind ; it moves in
perfect harmony with the mind of God. In all the just men
that . ever lived you will find some peculiarity carried into
excess. We note this in the zeal of St. John, in the courage
of St. Peter, in the truth-seeking of St. Thomas. It was not
so with Jesus : no one department of His human nature ever
superseded another : all was harmony there. The one sound
which has come down from God in perfect melody, is His life,
the entire unbroken music of humanity.
We pass on to our second subject — the power there is in
the manifested sinlessness of Jesus to take away the sins of
the world. There are two aspects in which we are to con
sider this : first in reference to man, and secondly in reference
to God. Our subject to-day will confine itself to the first ;
on the other, we simply say this : there is, in the eternal con
stitution ofthe heavenly government, that which <makes the
life and death of Jesus the atonement for the world's sins.
Human nature, which fell in Adam, rose again in Christ ; in
Him it became a different thing altogether in God's sight —
redeemed now, hereafter to be -perfected.
But we leave this for the present, and consider how the
world was purified by the change of its own nature. "If I
be lifted up I will draw all men unto me." There are three
Avays by Avhich this may be done — by faith, by hope, and by
love. It is done by faith, for the most degrading thing in
the heart of man is the disbelief in the goodness of human
nature. We live in evil, and surrounded by evil, until we
have almost ceased to believe in greatness of mind or char
acter.- The more a man increases in knowledge of the world,
the more does he suspect human nature ;. a knowing man,
according to Avorldly phraseology, is' one that will trust no
one. He knoAvs that he himself has his price, and he believes
that he can buy 'any orie else: and: this may be called the
second fall of man— that moment when all our boyish belief
in goodness passes aAvay; when sudr-degradation and an
guish of soul comes on, that we cease to believe in woman's
purity or in man's integrity ; when a man has fallen so, low
there is' nothing in this world that can raise him, except
faith in the perfect innocence of Jesus. Then it is that there
bursts upon the world — that of which the world never
dreamed — entire and perfect purity, spotless integrity— no
mere dreaming of philosophers and sages — though the dream
were a blessed thing to have ; the tangible living Being be
fore us, whom Ave can see, and touch, and hear, so that a inan
is able to come to his brother with trust; in elevated humanity,
and to say, " This is He of whom the prophets did write."

688 . The Sinlessness of Christ.
But secondly, trust in Divine humanity elevates the sou!
by hope. You must have observed the hopefulness of the
character of Jesus — his hopefulness for human nature. If
ever there were one who might have despaired, it was He.
Full of love Himself, He was met with every sort of unkind-
ness, every kind of derision. There was treachery in one of
His disciples, dissension amongst them all. He was encaced
in the hardest work that man ever tried. He was met by
the hatred ofthe whole world, by torture and the cross : and
yet never did the hope of human nature forsake the Redeem
er's soul. _ ,He would not break the bruised reed nor quench
the smoking flax. There was a. spark mingling even in the
lowest humanity, which He would fain have fanned into a
blaze. The lowest publican Jesus could call to Him and
touch his heart; the lowest: profligate that was ever trodden
under foot by the world was one for whom He could hope
still; If He met with penitents, He would welcome them ;
if they were not penitents, but yet felt the pangs of detected
guilt, still with hopefulness He pointed to forgiven human
ity : this was His word, even to the woman brought to Him
by her accusers, " Go, and sin no more ;" in His last moments
on the cross, to one who was dying by His side, He prom
ised a place in Paradise : and the last words that broke from
the Redeemer's lips — what Avere they but hope for our hu
manity, while the curses were ringing in His ears ? — " Fa
ther, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
Noav it is this hopefulness that raises hope in us. . Chris
tian brethren, we dare to hope for that nature which Jesus
loved, we dare to forgive that nature which Jesus conde
scended to wear. This frail, evi}, weak humanity, of ours,
these, hearts that yield to almost every gust of temptation,
the Son of Man hoped for them.
And. thirdly, it is done also by- love; hate narrows the
heart, love expands the heart. To hate is to.be miserable;
to love. is to be happy.' To love is to have almost the power
of throwing aside sin. See the power of love in the hearts
of those around Him. He comes to a desponding man,
nourishing dark thoughts of the world ; He speaks encourag
ingly,: and the Language of that man is, "Lord, I will follow
thee whithersoever thou goest" He goes to a man who had
loved money all his life. He treats him as a man, and the
man's heart is conquered: "Behold, Lord, the half of my
goods I give to the poor." He comes to the coward, who
:had denied Him, and asks him simply, "Lovest thou Me ?"
.and the coward becomes a martyr, arid dares to ask to be
crucified. He comes to a sinful Avoinan, who had spent large

The Sinlessness of Christ. 689
sums on the adornment of her person, and the ointment
Avhich was intended for herself was poured in love upon His
feet, mingling with her tears. "She loved much," aud much
Avas forgiven.
And it was not during the Redeemer's life alone that the
power of His love extended.. It Avas manifested also after
His death. There was the healing act done on the man Avho
asked for alms. For this the apostles were carried before
the Sadducees, and the nian on whom this miracle was done
stood by them, full of strength and courage. ' The day be
fore he had been a miserable, cringing suppliant, beseeching
pity from the passers-by. But all the wailing tone is gone;
the attitude of the suppliant has passed away, and the reno
vated cripple fronts the supreme judicature of Israel with a
lion heart. Ask you what has inspired and dignified that
man, and raised him higher in the scale of humanity ? It
was the power of love. It is not so much the manifestation
of this doctrine or that doctrine, that can separate the soul
from sin. It is not the law. It is not by pressing on the
lower nature to restrain it, that this can be done, but it is by
elevating it. He speaks not to the degraded ofthe sinful
ness of sin, but He dwells upon the love of the Father, upon
His tender mercies ; and if a man would separate himself
from the bondage of guilt, there is no other Avay than this.
My Christian brethren, forget that miserable past life of
yours, and look up to the streams of mercy ever flowing
from the right hand of God.
My brethren, it is on this principle that we desire to
preach to the heathen. We would preach neither high
Church nor low Church doctrine. We desire to give Jesus
Christ to the world ; and in pleading for this Society* I will
not endeavor to excite your sympathies by drawing a pic
ture ofthe heathen world suspended over unutterable mis
ery, and dropping minute by minute into everlasting wretch
edness. It is easy to do this ; and theri to go away calmly
and quietly to our comfortable meals and our handsome
habitations, satisfied with having demonstrated so tremen
dous a fact. But this we say, if we would separate the world
from sin, and from the penalty of sin, and the inward misery
ofthe heart attendant on sin in this world and the world to
come, it is Avritten in Scripture, "There is none other name
under heaven given among men, whereby we must be
saved," than the name of Jesus.
* Church Missionary Society.

690 Christ's Way of Dealing with Sin.

CHRIST'S WAY OF DEALING WITH SIN.
"And immediately, when Jesus perceived in his spirit that they so rea
soned within themselves, he said unto them, Why reason ye these things in
your hearts ? Whether is it easier to say to the sick of the palsy, Thy sins be
forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and take up thy bed, and walk? But that
ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins (he
saith to the sick of the palsy), I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy bed,
and go thy way into thine house." — Mark ii. 8-11.
This anecdote is doubtless a familiar one to us all.
The Son of God was teaching in a house full of listeners,
round which croAvds were pressing. The friends of a poor
palsied man desired His aid. It Avas scarcely possible for
one person to edge his way through the press, Avhere all
longed to hear, and none of the crowd were likely to give
place; but, for the cumbrous apparatus of a pallet borne by
four, it was impossible. Therefore they ascended by the
outside staircase, which, in Oriental countries leads to the
flat roof, which they broke up, and let their friend down in
the midst, before Jesus. No doubt this must have struck
every one. But the impression produced on the spectators
would probably have been very different from that produced
on Christ. Ihey that saw the bed descending from the roof
over the heads of all; and who had before seen the fruitless
efforts that had been made to get in, and now remembered
that he who had been farthest from Christ Avas unexpect
edly in a feAV minutes nearest to Him, could not have Avith-
held that applause which follows a successful piece of dex
terity. They would have admired the perseverance, or the
ingenuity, or the inventiveness.
"On none of these qualities did Christ fix as an explanation
ofthe fact. He went deeper.' He traced it to the deepest
source of poAver that exists in the mind of man. "When
Jesus saAV their faith." For as love is deepest in the being
of God, so faith is the mightiest principle in the soul of man.
Let us distinguish their several essences. Love is the es
sence of the Deity— that Avhich makes it Deity. Faith is
the essence of humanity, which constitutes it what it is.
And, as here, it is the warring principle of this Avorld Avhich
Avins in life's battle. No Avonder that it is Avritten in Scrip

Christ's Way of Dealing with Sin. 691
ture — " This is the victory that overcometh the Avorld, even
our faith." No wonder it is said, " All things are possible
to him that believeth." It is that which wrestles with diffi
culty, removes mountains, tramples upon impossibilities. It
is this spirit which in the common affairs of life, known as a
" sanguine temperament," never says " impossible " aud nev
er believes in failure, leads the men of the wprld' to their
most signal successes, makingthem believe a thing possible
because they hope "if;' and giving, substantial reality to that
Avhich before was a shadow and a dream.
It was this " substance of things hoped for " that gave
America to Columbus, Avhen billows, miles deep, rose be
tween him and the land, and the men he commanded well-
nigh rose in rebellion against the obstinacy which believed
in "things not yet seen." It was this that croAvned the
Mohammedan arms for seven centuries with victory: so
long as they believed themselves the champions of the One
God with a mission from Him, they were invincible. And
it is this which so often obtains for some new system of
medicine the honor of a cure, Avhen the real cause of cure is
only the patient's trust in the remedies.
So it is in religion. For faith is not something heard of
in theology alone, created by Christianity, but it is one of
the commonest principles of life. He that believes a bless
ing is to be got, that " God is a rewarder of them that dili
gently seek Him," will venture much, and will likewise win
much. For, as with this palsied man, faith is inventive, ever
fertile in expedients — like our OAvn English character, never
knowing when it has been foiled ; and then nearest victory
at the very moment when the last chance has seemed to fail.
We divide our subject into —
L The nialady presented to Christ.
II. His treatment of it.
I. The malady, apparently, was nothing more than palsy.
But not as such did Jesus treat it. The by-standers might
have been surprised at the first accost of Jesus to the para
lytic man. It Avas not, "Take up thy bed and walk;" but
" Thy sins be forgiven thee." As with their faith, so it was
here. He went deeper than perseverance or ingenuity. He
goes deeper than the outward evil ; down to the evil, the
root of all evil, properly the only evil — sin. He read in: that
sufferer's heart a deeper wish than appeared in the outward
act, the consequences of a burden worse than palsy, the
longing for a rest more profound than release from pain —
the desire to be healed of guilt. It was in reply to this tacit

692 Christ's Way of Dealing with Sin,
application that the words "Thy sins be forgiven thee"
were spoken.
Now, sin has a tAvofold set of consequences. 1 . The natu
ral consequences. 2. The- moral consequences.
1. By the natural, we mean those results which come in
evitably iri the train of wrong-doing, by what we call the
laws of nature visiting themselyes on the outAvard condition
of a sinner, by which sin and suffering are linked together.
As for example, when an intemperate man ruins his health,
or an extravagant man leaves himself broken in fortune ; or
when tyrannical laws bring an uprising of a' people against
a tyrant : these are respectiA'ely the natural penalties of
wrong-doing. Here, apparently, palsy had been the natural result of shi ;
for otherwise the address of Christ was out of place and
meaningless. And what we are concerned to remark is,
that these natural consequences of sin are often invisible as
well as inevitable. Probably not one of the four friends
who bore him suspected such a connection. Possibly not
even his physician. But there were two at least to whom
the connection was certain — the conscience' of the jjalsied
man himself, whose awakened memory traced back the trem
bling of those limbs to the acts of a youth long past ; and to
the alhseeing eye of Him to whom past, present, and future
are but one.
And such experience, brethren, is true, doubtless, much
oftener than we imagine. The irritable temperament, the
lost memory which men bewail, the over-sensitive brain, as
if causeless-»-who can tell how they stand connected with
sins done long ago ? : For nothing here stands alone and
causeless. Every man, with his strength and his weaknesses,
stunted in body or dwarfed in heart, palsied in nerve or
deadened in sensibility, is the exact result and aggregate of
all the past — all that has been done by himself, and all that
has been done by his ancestors, remoteor near. The Saviour
saw in this palsied man the. miserable wreck of an ill-spent
life.
¦' 2. Now quite distinct from these are the moral conse
quences of guilt : by which I mean those which tell upon
the character and inward being of the man who sins. In
one sense, no doubt, it is a natural result, inasmuch as it is
by a law, regular and unalterable, a man becomes by sin
deteriorated in character, or miserable. -Now these are two
fold, negative and positive— the loss of some blessing, or
the accruing of some evil to the heart Loss— as when by
sinning we lose the capacity for all higher enjoyments; for

Christ's Way of Dealing with Sin. 693
none can sin without blunting his sensibilities. He has lost
the zest of a pure life, the freshness and the flood of happi
ness which come to every soul when it is delicate, and pure,
and natural. This is no light loss. If any one here con
gratulates himself that sin has brought to him no positive
misery, my brother, I pray you to remember that God's
worst curse was pronounced upon the serpent tempter. Ap
parently it was far less than that pronounced on the woman,
but really it was far more terrible. Not pain, not shame —
no, these are remedial, and may bring penitence at last — but
to sink the angel in the animal, the spirit in the flesh ; to be
a reptile, and to eat the dust of degradation as if it were
natural food. Eternity has. no damnation deeper than
that. Then, again, a positive result — the dark and dreadful lone
liness that comes from doing wrong — a conscious unrest
which plunges into business, or pleasure, or society, not for
the love of these things, but to hide itself from itself as
Adam did in the trees of the garden, because it dare not
hear the voice of God, nor believe in His Presence. Do we
not know something of a self-reproach and self-contempt,
which, alternating at times with pride, almost tear the soul
asunder ? And such was the state of this man. His pains
were but the counterpart and reflection of a deeper sorrow.
Pain had laid him on a bed, and said to him, "Lie there face
to face with God — and think !" We pass on now to con
sider— II. Christ's treatment of that malady.
By the declaration of God's forgiveness. Brethren, if the
Gospel of our Master mean any thing it means this — the
blotting out of sin: "To, declare His righteousness in the
remission of sins that are past." It is the declaration of the
highest name of God — love. Let us understand what for
giveness is.. The forgiveness of God acts upon the moral
consequences of sin directly and immediately ; on the nat
ural, mediately and indirectly.
Upon the moral consequences directly. Remorse passes
into penitence, and love. There is no more loneliriess, for
God has taken up His abode there. No more self-contempt,
for he whom God has forgiven learns to forgive himself.
There is no more unrest, for. "being justified by. faith, we
have peace with God." Then the fountains of the great
deep are broken up, and unwonted happy tears can come —
as ; with the woman in the Gospels. I pray you to observe
that this comes directly, with no interval — " Being justified

694 Christ's Way of Dealing with Sin.
by faith." For God's love is not an offer but a gift ; not
clogged with conditions, but free as the air we breathe.
¦Upon the natural consequences, not directly, but indirectly
and mediately. The forgiveness of Christ did not remove
the palsy ; that was the result of a separate, distinct act of
Christ. It is quite conceivable that it might never have
been removedat all — that he might have been forgiven, and
the palsy suffered to remain. God might have dealt with
him as He did in David's case : on his repentance there came
to him the declaration of God's pardon, his person was ac
cepted; the moral consequences were removed, but the nat
ural consequences remained. " The Lord hath put away thy
sin, nevertheless the child which is born to thee shall die."
Consider, too, that without a miracle they must have re
mained in this 'man's case. It is so in everyday life. If the
intemperate man repents he Avill receive forgiveness, but Avill
that penitence give him back the steady hand of youth?
Or if the suicide between the moment of draining the poison
ed cup and that of death repent of his deed, will that arrest
the operation of the poison ? . A strong- constitution or the
physician may possibly save life ; but penitence has nothing
to do with it. Say that the natural penal consequence of
crime is the scaffold: Did the pardon given to the dying
thief unnail his hands ? Did Christ's, forgiveness interfere
Avith the natural consequences of his guilt ?
And thus, we are brought to a very solemn and awful con
sideration, awful because of its truth and simplicity. The
consequences of past deeds remain. They have become part
of the chain flf the universe — effects which now are causes,
and will work and interweave themselves with the history
of the world forever. You can not undo your acts. If you
have depraved another's will, and' injured another's soul, it
maybe in the grace of God that hereafter you Avillbe per
sonally-accepted and the consequences of your guilt inward
ly done away, buf your penitence can not undo tlie evil you
have done, and God's worst punishment may be that you
may haVe to gaze half frantic on the ruin you have caused, on
the evil you have done, which you might have left undone,
but which being done is: now beyond your power forever.
This is the eternity of human acts. The forgiveness of God
—the blood of Christ itself— does not undo the past
And yet even here, the grace of God's forgiveness is not in
vain. : It can not undo the natural consequences of sin, but it
may by His mercy transform them into blessings. For ex
ample, suppose this man's palsy to have been left still with
him, himself accepted, his soul at peace. Well, he is thence-

Christ's Way of Dealing with Sin. 695
forth a crippled man. But crippling, pain — are these neces
sarily evils? Do we not say continually that sorrow and
pain are God's loving discipline given to His legitimate chil
dren, to be exempt from which were no blessing, proving
them to be " bastards and not sons ?" And why should not
that palsy be such to him, though it was the result of his
own fault? Once, when it seemed in the light of the guilty
conscience only the foretaste of coming doom — the outward a
type of the inward, every pang sending him farther from
God, it was a curse. Now, when penitence and love had
come, and that palsy was received with patience, meekness,
why may it not be a blessing ? What makes the outward
events of life blessings or the reverse ? Is it not all from
ourselves ? . Did not dissolution become quite another thing
"by the Fall-^changed into death; assuming thereby an en
tirely altered character: no longer felt as a natural. blessed
herald, becoming the messenger of God, summoning to high
er life, but now obtaining that strange name — the " king of
terrors ?" And in Christ, death becomes our minister again :
" Ours," as St. Paul says,." with all other. things." . The cross
of Christ has restored to death something more blessed than
its original peacefulness. A sleep. now: not death at all.
And willriot a changed heart change all things around us, and
make the worst consequence of our own misdoing minister
to our. eternal welfare? So that God's forgiveness, assured
to us in. the cross of Christ, is a complete remedy for sin, act
ing on its natural consequences by transformation indirectly ;
on its moral results directly, by removing them.
Lastly, let us learn from this the true aim and meaning of
miracles. Let us attend to the account our Master gives us
of the reason why He performed this miracle. Read, verses
9, 10. To say, " Thy sins be forgiven thee," was easy, for no
visible result could test the saying. To say, " Take up thy
bed and walk," was not apparently so easy, for failure would
cover with confusion. He said the last, leaving the infer
ence — If I can do the most difficult, then of course, I can do
the easier. Here we have the true character of a miracle : it
is the outward manifestation ofthe power of God, in order
that Ave may believe in the poAver of God in things that are
invisible. Noav contrast this with the popular. vieAV. Miracles art.
commonly reckoned as, proofs of Christ's mission,.accrediting
His other truths, and making . them; which would be other
wise incredible, evidently from God. I hesitate not to say
that nowhere" in the New Testament are they spoken of in
this Avay. When the Pharisees asked for evidences and

696 Christ's Way of Dealing with Sin.
signs, His reply Avas, " There shall no .sign be given you."
So said St. Paul in his Epistle to the Corinthians — not signs.
but " Christ crucified." He had no conception of our modern
notion of miracles — things chiefly valuable because they can
be collected into a portable volume of evidences to prove
that God is love : that we should love one another: that He
is the Father of all men. These need no proofs, they are
like the sun shining by his own light.
Christ's glorious miracles were not to prove these, but
that through the seen the unseen might.be known ; to show,
as it were by specimens, the living. Power which works in
ordinary as well as extraordinary cases. For instance here,
to show that the One avIio is seen to say with power, "Take
up thy bed and walk," arresting the natural consequences of
sin, is actually, though unseen, arresting . its moral -conse- '
quences. Or again,. that He who bade the waves "Be still "
in Galilee, is holding now, at this moment, the winds in the
hollow of His hand. . That He who healed the sick and raised
the dead, .holds now and ever in His hand the issues of life
and death. For the marvellous is to show the source of the
common. Miracles were no concession to that infidel spirit
Avhich taints our modern Christianity, and which can not be
lieve in God's presence,. except it can see Him in the super
natural.' Rather,' they were to make us feel that all is mar
vellous, all wonderful, all pervaded with a Divine presence,
and that the simplest occurrences of life are miracles.
In conclusion. Let me address those who, like this suffer
er, are in any degree conscious either of the natural or moral
results of sin, working in them. It is apparently a proud and
a vain tiling^ for a minister of Christ, himself tainted with
sin, feeling himself, perhaps more than any one else can feel,
the misery of a palsied heart, for such a one to give advice
to his brother-men; but it must be done, for he is but the
mouthpiece of truths greater than himself, truths which arc
facts, whether he can feel them all or not.
Therefore, if there be one among us who in the central
depths of his soul is conscious of a Voice pronouncing the
past accursed, the present awful, and the future terrible— I
say to him, Loseno time in disputing, as these Scribes did,
some Church question, "whether the Son of Man hath power
on earth to forgive'sins ;", nor whether ecclesiastical etiquette
permits you to approach God in this way or in that way— a
question as impertinent as it would have been for the palsied
man to debate whether social propriety permitted him to ap
proach the Saviour as he did, instead of through the door.
• My Christian brethren, if the crowd of difficulties which

Regeneration. 697
stand between your soul and God succeed in keeping you
away, all is lost. Right into the Presence you must force
your way, with no concealment, baring the soul with all its
ailments before Him, asking, not the arrest of the conse
quences of sin, but the " cleansing of the conscience from
dead Avorks to serve the living God ;" so that if you must
suffer you shall suffer as a forgiven man.
This is the time ! Wait not for another opportunity nor
for different means. For the saying of our Lord is ever ful
filled, " The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the
violent take it by force."

XI.
REGENERATION.

"Jesus answered, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be bom
of water and of the Spirit,, he can not enter into the kingdom of God. That
which is born of the flesh is flesh ; and that which is born of the Spirit is
spirit. Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again." — John
iii. 5-7.
The Church of England has apparently selected this pas
sage for the Gospel of Trinity Sunday, because the influences
ofthe entire Godhead are named in different verses — the re
generating influence of the Spirit, the limitations of the Son
of Man, and the illimitable nature ofthe Father.
It is a threefold way in Avhich God has revealed Himself
to man — as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. First, as a Father
in opposition to that doctrine which taught that the whole
universe is God, and every part of the universe is a portion
of God. He is the Father who hath made this universe-
God distinct from us : outside of us : the Creator distin
guished from the creation.
Secondly, God has revealed Himself as a Son, as manifest
ed in humanity, chiefly in Christ. Throughout the ages past
there has been a mediatorial humanity. Man is in a way
the reflection of God's nature— the father to the child. The
prophets, the lawgivers, and especially Moses, are called me
diators, through whom God's name Avas known. The media
torial system culminated in Christ, attained the acme of per
fection in One — the man Christ Jesus — the express image of
His Father. The Son is the human side of the mind of God.
Thirdly, God has revealed himself as the Holy Spirit: not
as a Father external to us, nor as reflected iri humanity still
30

698 Regeneration.
outside us, but as God within us mingling with our being.
The body of man is His temple. " In Him we live and
move, and have our being." This is the dispensation of the
Spirit: He has told us that every holy aspiration, every
thought and act, that has been on the side of right against
wrong, is a part of His holy essence, of His Spirit in us.
This is the threefold manifestation made of Himself to us
by God. But this is not all, for this alone would not be the
doctrine of the Trinity. It is quite conceivable that there
might be one living force manifested in three different Avays,
without its being a trinity. Let us try and understand this
by an illustration.
Conceive a circular thin plate of metal : above it you
would see it such ; at some yards' distance, as an oval, side
ways, edgeways, a line. This might be the account of God's
different aspects : in one relationship to us seen as the Fa
ther, in another as the Son, in another as the Spirit ; but this
is not the doctrine of the Trinity, it is a heresy, known in
old times by the name of Sabellianism or modal Trinity, de
pending on our position in reference to Him.
Further. This is not merely the same part of His nature,
seen in different aspects, but diverse parts of His complex
being — persons: three causes of this manifestation. Just
as our reason, our memory, our imagination, are not the
same, but really ourselves.
Let us take another illustration. A single white ray of
light, falling on a certain object, appears red; on another,
blue ; on another, yellow. That is, the red alone in one case
is thrown out the blue or yellow in another. So, the differ
ent parts of the one ray by turns become visible ; each is a
complete ray, yet the original white ray is but one.
So we believe that in that Unity of Essence there are
three living Powers which we call Persons, distinct from
each other. It is in virtue of His own incommunicable Es
sence that God is the Father. It is the human side of His
nature by which He is revealed as the Son, so that it was
not, so to speak, a matter of choice whether the Son or the
Father should redeem the world. We believe that from all
eternity there was that in the mind of God which I have
called its human side, which made it possible for Him to be
imaged in humanity; and that again named the Spirit, by
which He could mix and mingle Himself with us.
This is the doctrine of the Trinity, explained now, not to
point the damnatory clause of the Athanasian creed, but
only in order to seize joyfully the annual opportunity of pro
fessing a firm belief in the dogmatic truth ofthe Trinity.

Regeneration. 699
We noAV pass on to notice more particularly the revela
tion to us of one mode in which that blessed Trinity works.
This Avill divide itself into two subjects. First, we shall en
deavor to understand what is meant by the kingdom of
God ; and secondly, we shall consider the entrance into that
kingdom by regeneration.
Our blessed Lord says, " Except a man be born again, he
can not enter into the. kingdom of God." Noav that expres
sion — the kingdom of God — is a Jewish one. Nicodemus
Ava*s a Jew ; and we must therefore endeavor to comprehend
how he would understand it
By the kingdom of God, a Jew understood human society
perfected — that domain on earth Avhere God was visible and
God ruled. The whole Jewish dispensation had trained Nic
odemus to realize this. The JeAvish kingdom was a theocra
cy, distinguished from an aristocracy and a democracy. There
were two main things observable in this. First, it Avas a
kingdom in which God's power was manifestly visible by
miracles, marvels, the cloud and fire pillars, and by appear
ances direct from the King of kings. The second matter of
importance in this conception of the Divine kingdom was
that it was a society in which a person ruled. God was the
ruler of this society; her laws all dated from God's will, and
were right because the will of the Ruler was right. "Thus
saith the Lord," was the preface to personal messages from
their King.
Bear in mind, then, that this was Nicodemus's conception
of the kingdom, and we shall understand the conversation.
He had seen in the works of Christ the assertion of a living
Will, ruling over the laws of nature. He had seen wonders
and signs, Therefore he said, " We knoAV that Thou art a
teacher come from God :" he saw that Christ in these two
senses fulfilled the tAvo requisites of a Divine mission. He
had seen a society groAving up in acknowledgment of the
rule of a person : but Christ told him that something more
was needful than, this : it was necessary that the subject
should be prepared for the kingdom. It was not enough
that God should draw nigh to man ; but that man must
draw near, to God. There must be an alteration in the man.
" Except a man be born again he can not enter the kingdom
of God."
In other words, he distinguished between a kingdom that
is visible and a kingdom that is invisible. He distinguished
between that presence of God which man. can see, and that
Avhich man can only feel. This will explain apparent con
tradictions in Christ's language.

700 Regeneration.
To the Pharisee, on one occasion, He said, " If I by the
finger of God cast out devils, no doubt the kingdom of God
is come unto you." But again He said, " It is not lo here,
•nor lo there. For the kingdom of God is within you."
There is a kingdom, therefore, in which the Eternal Spirit
moves, whereof the senses take cognizance. Nicodemus saAV
that kingdom when he gazed on the miracles and outward
signs, and felt that they were evidences, and from these and
from the gathering society around the Lord, drew the con
clusion that no man could do these things except God were
with him.
There was the outward manifestation. But there is
another kingdom which is the peculiar domain of the Spirit,
which " eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor hath it entered
into the heart of man to conceive," into which flesh and
blood can not enter. Of this kingdom Jesus said to Peter,
" Blessed art thou, Simon Barjona, for flesh and blood hath
not revealed it." And of this St. Paul said, " Now this I
say, brethren, that flesh and blood can not inherit the king
dom of God."_
Unless an inward change takes place, though surrounded
by God's kingdom, we can not enter into it. The eye, the
ear, can take no cognizance of this ; it must be revealed by
the Spirit to the spirit.
Pass we on, secondly, to consider. the entrance into this
kingdom by regeneration. As there is a twofold kingdom,
so is there a twofold entrance.
1. By the baptism of water. 2. By the baptism of the
Spirit. Noa^ respecting the first of these, commentators
have been greatly at variance. A«large number of ¦ Prot
estant commentators have endeavored to explain this pas
sage away, as if it did not apply to baptism at all. But by
all the laws of correct interpretation, we are compelled to
admit that " born of water " has here a reference to baptism.
Into God's universe or kingdom we penetrate by_ a double
nature — by our senses and by our spirit. To this double
nature God has made a twofold revelation. God's witness
to our senses is baptism ; God's witness to our spirit is His
Spirit. "He that believeth hath the witness in himself."
Now let us observe the strength of that expression of Christ,
"Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit' he can
not enter into the kingdom of God." A very strong expres
sion, but not more so than the baptismal service ofthe Church
of England. "Born of water" is equivalent to regenera
tion by baptism.
There are those who object to this formulary of our Church,

Regeneration. 701
because it seems to them to tell of a magical or miraculous
poAver in the hands of the priest. In answer to them, avc
point to this passage of the inspired Word of God : let us
try and understand in what sense it is true that a man is
born of water. Now we hold baptism to be the sign, or
proof, or evidence, of a spiritual fact. It is not the fact, but
it substantiates the fact.
The spiritual fact is God's covenant. Let us take an il
lustration. The right of a man tohis property is in right of
his ancestor's will; it is in virtue of that will or intention
that the man inherits that property. But because that will
is invisible, it is necessary that it .should be made manifest
in visible symbols ; and therefore there is a piece of parch
ment by which it is made tangible, and that, though only
the manifestation of the will, is called " the will " itself.
Nay, so strongly is this word with its associations rooted in
our. language, that it may never have occurred to us that it
is but a figurative expression ; and the law might, if it had
been so chosen, have demanded another expression of the
will. There have been cases in Avhich a high-minded heir-at-law
has accepted the verbal testimony of another to the inten
tions, of his ancestor, where there has been no outward
manifestation Avhatever, and so has given away the property
because the inward will of his ancestor was to him all in
all. :
Similarly, baptism is the revealed "will of God : that is, it
is the instrument that declares God's will. God's will is a
thing invisible ; verbally, the will runs thus — " Fear not, lit
tle flock, it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the
kingdom." And just as the instrument which declares a will is called
by a figure of speech " the Avill " itself, although it is but the
manifestation of it, so the ecclesiastical instrument which de
clares regeneration is called regeneration 'in the Bible and in
our Church service. Baptism is " regeneration " as a parch
ment is a " will ;" and, therefore it is that we read in this
passage, " Born of water ;" and therefore it is that St. Peter
says, "Baptism saves us;" and St. Paul says, " Buried with
Christ in baptism."
Lastly, Ave pass on to consider the entrance into this king
dom by a spiritual change.
The ground on which Christ states it is our human nature.
We have a twofold nature — the nature ofthe animal and the
nature of God, and in the order of God's providence we begin
Avith the animal. "Howbeit," says St. Paul, " that is not first

702 Regeneration.
which is spiritual, but that which is natural." Now the mo
ment when these natures are exchanged is the moment of
spiritual regeneration.
A man-is to be born of water, but far rather of the Spirit.
Of this expression there are several interpretations : first,
the fanatical one. Men of enthusiastic temperaments, chiefly
men whose lives have been irregular, whose religion has
come to them suddenly, interpreting all cases by their OAvn
experiences,Jiave said that the exercise of God's Spirit is ever
sudden and supernatural, and it has seemed to them that to
try and bring up a child for God, in the way of education, is
to bid defiance to that Spirit which is like the wind, blowing
" where it listeth ;" and if a man can not tell the day or hour
when he was converted, to those persons he does not seem to
be a Christian at all. He may be holy, humble, loving, but
unless there is that visible manifestation of how and when
he was changed, he must be still ranked as unregenerate.
Another class of persons, of cold, calm temperament, to
whom fanaticism is a crime and enthusiasm a thing to be
avoided, are perpetually rationalizing with Scripture, and
explaining away in some Ioav and commonplace way the
highest manifestation of the Spirit of God. Thus Paley tells
us that this passage belongs to the Jews, who had forgotten
the Messiah's kingdom ; but to speak of a spiritual, regen
erative change as necessary for a man brought up in the
Church of England, is to open the door to all fanaticism.
There is a third class, who confound the regeneration of
baptism Avith that of the Spirit, who identify, in point of
time, the being born of water and of the Spirit. And it
seems to them that regeneration after that is a word without
meaning. Of this class there are two divisions : those who
hold it openly in the Church of Rome, and those Avho do not
go to the full extent of Romish doctrine on this subject.
These will not say that a miracle has taken place, but they
say that a seed of grace has thus been planted. Whichever
of these views be taken, for all practical purposes the result
must be the same. If this inward spiritual change has taken
place at baptism, then to talk of regeneration after ; that must
be an impertinence. But, brethren, looking at this passage,
Ave can not be persuaded that it belongs to the Jew alone,
nor can Ave believe that the strength of that expression is
mere baptism by water. Here is recorded that which is
true not for the Jew or heathen only, but for all the human
race, without exception. " Except a man be born of water
p-nd of the Spirit, he can not enter the kingdom of God."_
In our life there is a time in Avhich our spirit has gained

Regeneration. 703
the mastery over the flesh ; it is not important to know
Avhen, but whether it has taken place.
The first years of our existence are simply animal ; then
the life of a young man is not that of mere instinct, it is a
life of passion, with mighty indignations, strong aversions.
And then passing on through life we sometimes see a person
in Avhom these things are merged ; the instincts are there
only for the support of existence ; the passions are so ruled
that they have become gentleness, and meekness, and love.
Between these two extremes there must have been a middle
point, when the life of sense, appetite, and passion, which had
ruled, ceased to rule, and was ruled over by the life of the
spirit : that moment, whether it be long or short, whether it
be done suddenly or gradually, whether it come like the
rushing mighty wind, or as the slow, gentle zephyr of the
spring — whenever that moment was, then was the moment
of spiritual regeneration. There are cases in which this
never takes place at all ; there are grown men and old men
merely children still— still having the animal appetites, and
living in the base, and conscious, and vicious indulgence of
those appetites which in the child were harmless. These are
they who have not yet been born again. Born of water they
may have been, born of God's eternal Spirit they have not
been ; before such men can enter into the eternal kingdom of
their Father, that Avord is as true to them as to Nicodemus
of old, " Marvel not that I said unto you, Ye must be born
again." Oh ! it is an aAvful thing to see a spectacle such as
that ; an awful thing to see the blossom still upon the tree
Avhen the autumn is. passed and the Avinter is at hand. An
awful thing to see a man, who ought to be clothed in Christ,
still living the life of the flesh and of passion : the summer is
past, the harvest is ended, and he is not saved.
Noav let us briefly apply what has been said.
1. Do not attempt to date too accurately the transition
moment. 2. Understand that the " flesh," or natural state, is wrong
only when out of place. In its place it is imperfection, not
evil. There is no harm in leaves or blossoms in spring — but
in autumn ! There is no harm in the appetites of childhood,
or the passions of youth, but great harm When these are still
unsubdued in age. Observe, therefore, the flesh is not to be
exercised, but the spirit strengthened. This I say then,
" Walk in the spirit, and ye shall not fulfill the lusts of the
flesh," 3. Do not mistake the figurative for the literal.

704 An Election Sermon.
Baptism is regeneration figuratively ; " The like figure
whereunto even baptism doth also now save us (not the put
ting away of the filth of the flesh, but the answer of a good
conscience tOAvard God), by the resurrection of Jesus Christ."
********
The things to be anxious about are not baptism, not
confirmation ; but the spiritual facts for which baptism and
confirmation stand.

XII.
AN ELECTION SERMON.
A FRAGMENT.

"And they appointed two, Joseph called Barsabas, who was surnamed
Justus, and Matthias. And they prayed, and said, Thou, Lord, which know
est the hearts of all men, show whether of these two thou hast chosen, that
he may take part of this ministry and apostleship, from which Judas by
transgression fell, that he might go to his own place. And they gave forth
their lots ; and the lot fell upon Matthias ; and he was numbered with the
eleven apostles." — Acts i. 23-26.
This is the account of the earliest appointment of an apos
tle or bishop over the Church of Christ.
It stands remarkably distinguished from the episcopal
elections of after ages. Every one acquainted with Church
history knows that the election of a bishop in the first
centuries, and indeed for many ages, was one of the bitterest
and fiercest questions which shook the Church of Christ.
[Appointment by the people — Presbyters— Various cus
toms. Anecdote of Ambrose of Milan. Appointment by
the Emperor or Bishop of Rome. Quarrel of ages between
the Emperor and the Pope.]
Contradistinguished from this in spirit was the first ap
pointment which ended in the selection of Matthias. Holy,
calm, wise — presided over by an apostolic and Christian
spirit. It will be • obvious at once why this subject has been
selected. During the course of this week, England will be
shaken to her centre with the selection of representatives
who shall legislate for her hereafter, either in accordance
with, or in defiance of, the principles of her constitution. In
some places, as fiercely as the battle was formerly carried on

An Election Sermon. 705
between Guelph and Ghibelline, or between faction and
faction in the choice of bishops, so fiercely will the contest
rage in the choice of representatives.
Delicate and difficult as the introduction of such a sub
ject from the pulpit must be, yet it seems to me the im
perative duty of a minister of Christ — from which he can
not, except in cowardice, shrink — to endeavor to make clear
t.iu great Christian landmarks which belong to such an oc
currence. But let me be understood. His duty is not to in
troduce politics in the common sense of the word, meaning
thereby the views of some particular party. The pulpit is
not to be degraded into the engine of a faction. Far, far
above such questions, it ought to preserve the calm dignity
of a voice which speaks for eternity, and not for time. If
possible, not one word should drop by which a minister's
own political leanings can be discovered.
Yet there must be broad principles of right and wrong in
such a transaction, as in any other. And, in discharge of
my duty, I desire to place those before you. We shall con
sider —
I. The object of the election spoken of in my text.
II. The mode of the election.
III. The spirit in which it was conducted.
I. The object of the election. To elect a bishop of the
universal Church.
It might be that in process of time the apostle so chosen
should be appointed to a particular city — as St. James was
to Jerusalem. But it is plain his duty as an apostle was
owed to the general assembly and Church of Christ, and not
to that particular city ; and if he had allowed local partiali
ties or local interests to stand before the interests of the
whole, he would have neglected the duty of his high office.
Also, that if those who appointed him considered the in
terest of Jerusalem in the first instance, instead of his quali- ,
fications as a bishop ofthe Church universal, they Avould have
failed in their duty.
In the third century, a bishop of Carthage, Cyprian, in a
celebrated sentence has clearly and beautifully stated this
principle— "Lpiscopatus unus est, cvjm," etc. The episco-.
pate, one and indivisible, held in its entirety by each bishop,
every part standing for the whole. That is, if he were a
bishop of Carthage or Antioch, he was -to remember that it
was not the interests of Carthage over which he had to
watch, but those ofthe Church of Christ; Carthage being
his special allotment out of the Avhole. And in a council
SQ*

706 An Election Sermon.
he was to give his voice not for that which might be good
for the men of Carthage, but for the Church of Christ.
The application is plain.
The nation is one — its life is a sacred life. The nation
is the Christian people, for whom Christ shed- His blood —
its life is unity — its death is division. The curse of a Chris
tian is sectarianism — the curse of a nation is faction. Each
legislator legislates for the country, not for a county or
town. Each elector holds his franchise as a sacred trust,
to be exercised not for his town, or for a faction of his town,
not for himself, or his friends, but for the general weal of the
people of England.
Let me expose a common fallacy.
We are not to be biased by asking what charity does a
candidate support, nor what view does- he take of some
local question, nor whether he subscribe to tractarian or to
evangelical societies. We are, in our high responsibility,
selecting, not a president for a religious society, nor a patron
of a town, nor a subscriber to a hospital, but a legislator for
England. II. The mode of the election.
It was partly human, partly Divine. The human element
is plain enough in that it was popular. The choice lay not
with the apostles, but with the whole Church. One hundred
and twenty met in that upper chamber : all gave in their lots
or votes. The Divine element lay in this, that it was over
ruled by God.
Here is the main point observable. They at least took
for granted that the popular element was quite separate from
the Divine. The selected one might be the chosen of the
people, yet not the chosen of God. Hence they prayed,
" Thou, Lord, which knowest the hearts of all men, show
Avhether of these two Thou hast chosen."
. The common notion is, vox populi vox Dei. In other
words, whatever the general voice wills is right. A law is
right because it is a people's will. I do not say that we
have got the full length of this idea in England. On the
Continent it has long been prevalent. Possibly it is the ex
pression of that Antichrist " who showeth himself thathe is
God;" self-will setting itself up paramount to the will of
God. The vox populi is sometimes vox Bei, sometimes not.
The voice of the people Avas the voice of God when the chil
dren of Israel rescued Jonathan from his father's unjust sen
tence ; and Avhen the contest between Elijah and the proph-

An Election Sermon. 707
ets of Baal having been settled, they cried, " The Lord He is
God."
• Was the voice of the people the voice of God when, in
Moses's absence, they required Aaron to make them a gold
en calf for a god ? Or when, led on by the demagogue
Demetrius, they shouted, " Great is Diana of the Ephesians ?"
Or when, at the , instigation of the priests, led blindfold by
them they cried, " Crucify Him ?"
The politicians of this world eagerly debate the question,
how best to secure a fair representation of the people's voice,
whether by individuals or by interests fairly balanced ? — a
question, doubtless, not to be put aside. But the Christian
sees a question deeper far than these — not how to obtain
most fairly an expression of the people's will, but how that
will shall truly represent the will of God. There is no other
question at last than this.
And we shall attain this, not by nicely balancing interest
against interest, much less by manoeuvring or by cunningly
devised expedient, to defeat the cause which we believe the
Avrong one ; but by each doing all that in him lies to rouse
himself and others to a high sense of responsibility.
It is a noble thought, that of every elector going to vote,
as these men did, for the Church, for the people, for God,
and for the right, earnestly anxious that he and others should
do right.
Else — to speak humanly — this was an appeal to chance
and not to God; and every election, by ballot or by suf
frage, is else an appeal to chance.
All, therefore, depends upon the spirit in which the election
is conducted.What constitutes the difference between an appeal to God
and an appeal to chance ?
IIL The Spirit.
1. A religious spirit. " They prayed and said, Thou, Lord,
which knowest the hearts of all men, show whether of these
two Thou hast chosen." Now, we shall be met here at once
by an objection. This was a religious work — the selectiori
of an apostle ; but the choice of a representative is not a re
ligious work, only a secular one.
Here we come, therefore, to the very pith and marrow of
the. whole question. The distinction between religious and
secular is true in a sense, but as we make it, it is false. It is.
not the occupation, but the spirit which makes the difference.
The election of a bishop may be a most secular thing. The
election of a representative may be a religious thing. St.

708 An Election Sermon.
Paul taught that nothing is profane. Sanctified by tho
Word of God and prayer, St. Peter learned that nothing is
common or unclean.
* *******
[Many relics remain to us from our religious forefathers
indicative of this truth : Grace before meals ; Bei gratia on
coins ofthe realms ; " In the name of God," at the commence
ment of, wills, oaths in court of justice; prayers in universi
ties before election of scholars : all proclaim that the sim
plest acts of our domestic and political life are sacred or
profane according to the spirit in which they are performed ;
not in the question whether they are done for the State or
the Church, but whether with God or without God.]
Observe : it is not the preluding such an election with
public prayer that would make it a religious act. It is re
ligious so far as each man discharges his part as a duty and
solemn responsibility.
If looked on in this spirit by the higher classes, would the
debauchery and the drunkenness which are fostered by rich
men of all parties among the poor for their own purposes, be
possible? Would they, for the sake of one vote, or a hun
dred votes, brutalize their fellow-creatures ?
2. It is implied in this, that it must be done conscien
tiously. Each Christian found himself in possession of a neAV right
— that of giving a vote or casting a lot. ;
Like all rights, it was a duty. He had not a right to do
what he liked. His right was only the duty of doing right.
And if any one had swayed him to support the cause of
Barnabas or that of Matthias on any motives except this
one — "You ought " — he had so far injured his conscience.
The conscience of man is a holy, sacred thing. The worst
of crimes is to injure a human conscience. Better kill the
body. Remember how strongly St. Paul speaks, " When ye
sin so against the brethren, and wound their weak conscience,
ye sin against Christ." And that sin, remember, consisted in
leading them to do a thing which, though right in itself, they
thought wrong.
Now there is an offense against the laws of the State which
all men agree in treating with a smile.
My brethren, bribery is a sin — a sin- against God. Not
because a particular law has been made against it, but be
cause it lowers the sense of personal responsibility, blunts
the conscience, dethrones the God within the man's soul, and
erects selfishness, and greed, and interest, in His stead. And

An Election Sermon. 709
Avhether you do it directly or indirectly — directly by giving,
indirectly by withdrawing, assistance or patronage — you sin
against Christ.
3. It was not done from personal interest.
There were two candidates, Barnabas and Matthias. Now
if the supporters of these two had been influenced chiefly by
such considerations as blood-relationship, or the chance of
favor and promotion, manifestly a high function would have
been degraded.
In secular matters, however, we do not judge so. A man
generally decides according to his professional or his person
al interests. You know almost to a certainty beforehand
Avhich way a man will vote, if you know his profession. If a
man be a farmer, or a clergyman, or a merchant, you can
pretty surely guess on which side he will range himself.
Partly, no doubt, this .is involuntary — the result of those
prejudices which attach to us all from association. But it is
partly voluntary. We know that we are thinking not of
the general good, but of our own interests. And thus a
farmer would think himself justified in looking at a question
simply as it affected his class, and a noble as it affected his
caste, and a working-man as it bore upon the working-
classes. Brethren, Ave are Christians. Something of a principle
higher than this ought to be ours. What is the law of the
cross of Christ ? The sacrifice of the One for the whole, the
cheerful surrender of the few for the many. Else, what do
we more than others ?
These are fine Avords — patriotism, public principle, purity.
Be sure these Avords are but sentimental expressions, ex
cept as they spring out of the cross of Christ.
* * * * * * * *.
Application.I have endeavored to keep entirely unseen my own politi
cal views. I may have failed, but not voluntarily.
Remember, in conclusion,' the matter of paramount import
ance tobe decided this week is,'notwhether a preponderance
shall be insured for one of the great parties which divide the
country or the other. That is important, but it is second
ary. The important thing to be devoutly wished is, that
each man shall give his vote as these men did — conscientious
ly, religiously, unselfishly, lovingly.
Better that he should support the wrong cause conscien
tiously than the right one insincerely. Better be a true
man on the side of wroiig, than a false man on the side of
right.

710 Isaac Blessing his Sons.

XIII.
ISAAC BLESSING HIS SONS,
"And it came to pass, that when Isaac was old, and his eyes were dim,
so that he could not see, he called Esau his eldest son, and said unto him,
My son : and he said unto him, Behold, here am I. And he said, Behold
now, I am old, I know not the day of my death : now therefore take, I pray
thee, thy weapons, thy quiver and thy bow, and go out to the field, and take
me some venison ; and make me savory meat, such as I love, and bring it to
me, that I may eat ; that my soul may bless thee before I die. " — Gen. xxvii. 1-4.
In chapter xxv. we find Abraham preparing for death by.
a last will : making Isaac his heir, and providing for his
other children by giving them gifts while he yet lived, and
so sending them out into the world. In this chapter, the
heir himself is preparing to die. The rapidity Avith which
these chapters epitomize life, bringing its few salient points
together, is valuable as illustrative of what human existence
is. It is a series of circles intersecting each other, but going
on in a line. A few facts comprise man's life. A birth — a
marriage— another birth — a baptism — a will — and then a
funeral : and the old circle begins again.
Isaac is about to declare his last will. It is a solemn act,
in whatever light we view it, if it were only for the thought
that Ave are writing words which will not be read till we are
gone. But it is solemn, too, because it is one of those acts
which tell ofthe immortal. First, in the way of prophetic
prescience. Is it not affecting to think of a human being, not
sick, nor in pain, with his natural force unabated, calmly sit
ting down to make arrangements for what shall be when he
is in his last long sleep ? But the act of an immortal is visi
ble also in that a dead man rules the world, as it were, long
after his decease. Being dead, in a sense he yet speaketh.
He is yet present with the living. His existence is protracted
beyond its natural span. His will is law. This is a kind of
evidence of his immortality : for the obedience of men to what
he has willed is a sort of recognition of his- present being.
Isaac was not left without warnings of his coming end.
These Avarnings came in the shape of dimness of eyes and
failing of sight. You can conceive a state in which man
should have no warnings : and instead of gradual decay,
should drop suddenly, without any intimation, into eternity.
Such an arrangement might have been. But God has in

Isaac Blessing his Sons. 7 1 1
mercy provided reminders. For we sleep in this life of ours
a charmed sleep, which it is hard to break. And if the road
were of unbroken smoothness, Avith no jolt or shock, or un-
evenness in the journey, Ave should move swiftly on, nothing
breaking the dead slumber till we aAvake suddenly, like the
rich man in the parable, lifting up our eyes in heaven or in
hell. Therefore God has given these reminders. Some of
them regular — such as failing of sight, falling out of hair, de
cay of strength, loss of memory — which are as stations in
the journey, telling us how far we have travelled : others
irregular — such as come in the form of sickness, bereave
ment, pain — like sudden shocks which jolt, arouse, and awaken.
Then the man considers, and like Isaac, says, " Behold, I am
old, I know not the day of my death." We will consider —
I. Isaac's preparation for death.
n. The united treachery of Jacob and Rebekah.
I. Isaac's preparation for death. First, he longed for the
performance of Esau's filial kindness as for a last time. Esau
was his favorite son : not on account of any similarity be
tween them, but just because they were dissimilar. The re
pose, and contemplativeness, and inactivity of Isaac found a
contrast in which it rested, in the energy and even the reck
lessness of his first-born. It was natural to yearn for the
feast, of his son's affection for the last time. For there is
something peculiarly impressive in whatever is done for the
last tiriie. Then the simplest acts contract a kind of sacred
ness. The last walk in the country we are leaving. The
last time a dying man sees the sun set. The last words of
those from whom we have parted, which we treasure up as
more than accidental, almost prophetic. The winding up, of
a watch ; as the last act at night. The signature of a will.
In the life of Him in whom we find every feeling which be
longs to unperverted humanity, the same desire is found : a
trait, therefore, of the heart which is universal, natural, and
right. " With desire I have desired to eat this passover with
you before I suffer. For I say unto you, I will not drink
henceforth of the fruit of the vine until that day when I
drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom." It was the
Last Supper.
2. By. making his last testamentary dispositions. Appar
ently they were premature, but he did not defer them: .part
ly because of the frailty of life, and the uncertainty whether
there may be any to-morrow for that which is-put off to-day :
partly, perhaps, because he desired to have all earthly thoughts
done Avith and put aAvay. Isaac lived thirty or forty years

712 Isaac Blessing his Sons.
after this: but he was a man set apart: like one who in
Roman Catholic language had received extreme unction, and
had done with this world ; and when he came to die, there
would be no anxieties about the disposition of property to
harass him. It is good to have all such things done with
before that hour comes: there is something incongruous in
the presence of a lawyer in the death-room, agitating the last
hours. The first portion of our lives is spent in learning the
use of our senses and faculties : ascertaining where we are and
what. The second, in using those powers, and acting in the
given sphere : the motto being, "Work, the night cometh."
A third portion, between active life and the grave, like the
twilight between day and night, not light enough for work
ing, nor yet quite dark, which nature seems to accord for un
worldliness and meditation. It is striking, doubtless, to see
an old man hale and vigorous to the last, dying at his work
like a warrior in armor. But natural feeling makes us wish,
perhaps, that an interval might be given: a season for. the
statesman, such as that which Samuel had, on laying aside
the cares of office, in the schools of the prophets ; such as
Simeon had, and Anna, for a life of devotion. in the temple;
such as the laborer has when, his long day's work done, he
finds an asylum in the almshouse ; such as our Church de
sires, where she prays against sudden death : a season of in
terval in which to watch, and meditate, and wait.
II. The united treachery of Jacob and Rebekah. It was
treachery in both ; in one sense it was the same treachery.
Each deceived Isaac and overreached Esau. But it would
be a, rough estimate to treat the two sins as identical. This
is the coarse, common way of judging. We label sins as by
a catalogue. We judge of men by their acts ; but it is far
truer to say that we can only judge the acts by the man.
You must understand the man before you can appreciate his
deed. The same deed done by two different persons ceases
to be the same. Abraham and Sarah both laughed when in
formed that they should have a son in their old age. But
Sarah's was the laugh of skepticism ; the other, the result of
that reaction in our nature by which the most . solemn
thoughts are balanced by a sense of strangeness or even
ludicrousness. The Pharisees asked a sign in unbelief:
many of the Old Testament saints did the same in faith.
Fine discrimination is therefore necessary to understand the
simplest deed. A very delicate analysis of character is nec
essary to comprehend such acts as these, and rightly to ap
portion their turpitude and their palliations.

Isaac Blessing his Sons. 713
In Rebekah's case the root of the treachery was ambition ;
but here we find a trait of female character. It is a woman's
ambition, not a man's. Rebekah desired nothing for herself,
but every thing for Jacob : for him spiritual blessing — at all
events, temporal distinction. She did wrong, not for her
own advantage, but for the sake of one she loved. Here is a
touch of womanhood. The same is observable in the reck
lessness of personal consequences. So as only he might gain,
she did not care. " Upon me be the curse, my son." And it
is this which forces us, even while we must condemn, to com
passionate. Throughout the whole of this revolting scene of
deceit and fraud, we can never forget that Rebekah Avas a
mother. And hence a certain interest and sympathy are sus
tained. Another feminine trait is seen in the conduct of Re
bekah. It was devotion to a person rather than to a principle.
A man's idolatry is for an idea, a woman's is for a person. A
man suffers for a monarchy, a woman for a king. A man's mar-
. tyrdom differs from a woman's. Nay, even in their religion,
personality marks the one, attachment to an idea or principle
the other. Woman adores God in His personality, man adores
Him in His attributes. At least that is, on the whole, the
characteristic difference.
Now here you see the idolatry of the Avoman : sacrificing
her husband, her elder son, high principle, her oavii soul, for
an idolized person. Remark'that this was, properly speaking,
idolatry. For in nothing is a greater mistake made than in
the conception attached to that Avord in reference to the
affections. A mother's affection is called, by many religious
people, idolatry, because it is intense. Do not mistake. No
one ever loved child, brother, sister, too much. It is not the
intensity of affection, but its interference Avith truth and duty,
that makes it idolatry. Rebekah loved her son more than
truth, i. e., more than God. This was to idolize. And hence
Christ says, " If any man love father or mother moro than me,
he is not worthy of me." You can only test that when a
principle comes in the way. There are persons Avho Avould
romantically admire this devotion of Rebekah, and call it
beautiful.- To sacrifice all, even principle, for another — what
higher proof of affection can there be ? Oh, miserable sophis
try ! The only true affection is that which is subordinate to
a higher. • It has been truly said, that in those who love lit
tle, love is a primary affection ; a secondary one in those who
love much. Be sure he can not love another much who loves
not honor more. For that higher affection sustains and ele
vates the loAver human one, casting round it a glory which
mere personal feeling could never give.

7J4 Isaac Blessing his Sons.
Compare, for instance, Rebekah's love for Jacob Avith that
of Abraham for his son Isaac. Abraham Avas ready to sacri
fice his son to duty. Rebekah sacrificed truth and duty to
her son. Which loved a son most ?— which was the nobler
love? Even as a question of permanence, which would last
the longer ? For consider what respect this guilty son and
guilty mother could retain for each other after this : would
not love turn into shame and lose itself in recriminations ?
For affection will not long survive respect, however it may
protract its life by effort.
Observe, again: monsters do not exist. When you hear
of great cririiinality, you think of natures originally mon
strous, not like others. But none are liars for the sake of
lying. None are cruel for- cruelty's sake. It is simply
Avant of principle that makes glaring sins. The best affec
tions perverted— that is the history of great crimes. See
here : there is no touch of compunction from first to last.
The Avoman seems all unsexed. She has no thought of her-
defrauded eldest son : none of her deceived husband.
There is an inflexible pursuit of her object, that is all. It
is wonderful how ambition and passion dazzle to all but the
end desired. It is wonderful how the true can become
false, and the tender-hearted hard and cruel for an end.
Nor is this lesson obsolete. Are there no women who
Avould do the same now? Are there none who would
sacrifice a son's principles or a daughter's happiness to a
diseased appetite for distinction? Are there none who
Avould conceal a son's extravagance, foster it, furnish it
means unkngAvn, or in an underhand way, in what is called
the manoeuvring of fashionable life ; and do that for family
advancement from which the strong sense and principle of
a father would recoil and revolt ? And all this, not because
they are monsters, but because their passion for distinction
is inflamed, and their affections unregulated.
Now look at Jacob's sim He was not without ambition ;
but he had not that unscrupulous, inflexible will which
generally accompanies ambition and makes it irresistible.
A bad man naturally he was not : nor a false man : but
simply a pliable and weak man. Hence he became the
tool of another — the agent in a plan of villainy which he
had not the contriA'ance to originate. He Avas one of those
who, if they could, would have what they wish innocently.
He would not play false, yet he would unjustly have. He
was rather afraid of doing the deceit than anxious that the
deceit should not be done. Here was the guilt in its germ.
He had indulged and pampered the fancy; and be sure he who

Isaac Blessing his Sons. 7 1 5
wishes a temporal end for itself, does, or will soon, will the
means. All temptations and all occasions of sin* are power
less, except as far as they fall in with previous meditations
upon the guilt. An act of sin is only a train long laid, fired
by a spark at last. Jacob pondered over the desire of the
blessing, dallied with it, and then fell. Now observe the
rapidity and the extent of the inAvard deterioration. See
how this plain, simple man, Jacob, becomes by degrees an
accomplished deceiver ; how he shrinks at nothing ; how,
at first unable to conceive the plan devised by another, he
becomes at last inventive. At first the acted falsehood — a
semblance ; then the lie in so many words ; then the
impious use of the name, "The Lord thy God brought it
me." How he was forced by fear and the necessities of
begun guilt into enormity : deeper and deeper. Happy the
man who can not, even from the faint shadows of his own
experience, comprehend the desperate agony of such a
state: the horror mixed Avith hardening effrontery Avith
Avhich a man feels himself compelled to take step after step,,
and is aware at last that he is drifting, drifting, from the
great shore of truth— like one carried out by the tide against
his will, till he finds himself at last in a sea of falsehood, his
whole life one great dream of false appearance.
¦Let us apply this briefly.
Doubtless perverted good is always different from origi
nal vice. In his darkest wanderings, one in Avhom the Spirit
strives is essentially different from one who is utterly de
praved. Sensibility to anguish makes the difference, if
there Avere nothing else. Jacob, lying in this way, plunging
headlong, deeper and deeper, was yet a different man from
one who is through and through hollow. Grant this — and
yet that fact of human pervertibility is an awful fact and
mystery. Innocence may become depraA-ed: delicate purity
may pass into grossness. It is an appalling fact. Trans
parency of crystal clearness may end in craft, double-deal
ing, contrivance. Briefly, therefore —
1. Learn to say " No."
2. Beware of those fancies, those day-dreams, which repre
sent things as possible which should be forever impossible.
Beware of that affection which cares for your happiness more
than for your honor.
Lastly, in the hour of strong temptations, throwing our
selves offself, distrusting ourselves, let us rest in Him who,
having been tempted, knows what temptation is ; who " will
not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able, but will
with the temptation also make a way to escape, that we may
be able to bear it."

7 1 6 Salvation out of the Visible Church.

xiv.
SALVATION OUT OF THE VISIBLE CHURCH.
" Now there was at Joppa a certain disciple named Tabitha, which by in
terpretation is called Dorcas : this woman was full of good works and alms-
deeds which she did," etc.— Acts ix. 36.
"There was a certain man in Cajsarea called Cornelius, a centurion of the
band called the Italian band," etc.— Acts x. 1.
Two events are connected with St. Peter's stay at Joppa :
the miraculous restoration of Dorcas, and the vision which
prepared for the reception of Cornelius into the Christian
Church. The apostle was at Lydda, when he was summoned
by the news of the death of Dorcas to Joppa, about twelve
miles distant. Now observe here the variety of the gifts
which are bestowed upon the Christian Church. Four
characters, exceedingly diverse, are 'brought before us in
this ninth chapter : Paul, a man singularly gifted, morally
and intellectually, with qualities more brilliant than almost
ever fell to the lot of man ; Peter, full of love and daring, a
champion of the truth ; Ananias, one of those disciples ofthe
inward life whose vocation is sympathy, and who, by a single
word, " brother," restore light to those that sit in darkness
and loneliness ; lastly, Dorcas, in a humbler, but not less true
sphere of dbjine goodness, clothing the poor Avith her OAvn
hands, practically loving andbenevolent
We err in the comparative estimate we form of great and
small. Imagine a political economist computing the value
of such a life as this of Dorcas. He vieAvs men in masses :
considers the economic Avell-being of society on a large
scale : calculates what is productive of the greatest good for
the greatest number. To him the few coats and garments
made for a few poor people would be an item in the world's
well-being scarcely worthy of being taken into the reckoning.
Let the historian estimate her worth. The chart of time lie's
unrolled before him. The fall of dynasties and the blending
together of races, the wars and revolutions of nations that
have successively passed across the world's stage — these are
the things that occupy him. What are acts like here in the
midst . of interests such as these and of contemplations so
large ? All this is beneath the dignity of history. Or again,
let us summon a man of larger contemplations still. To the

Salvation out of the Visible Church. 7 1 7
astronomeiylifting his clear eye to the order of the stars, this
planet itself is but a speck. To come down from the universe
to the thought of a tiny earth is a fell descent ; but to de
scend to the thought of a humble female Avorking at a few
garments, were a fall indeed.
Noav rise to the Mind of which all other minds are but
emanations — and this conception of grand and insignificant
is not found in His nature. Human intellect, as it rises to
the great, neglects the small. The Eternal mind condescends
to the small ; or rather, with It there is neither great nor
small. It has divided the rings of the earthworm with as
much microscopic care as the orbits in which the planets
move : It has painted the minutest feather on the wing of
the butterfly as carefully as It has hung the firrnament with
the silver splendor of the stars. Great and small are words
which have only reference to us.
Further still : judging the matter by the heart, ascending
to the. heart of God, there is another aspect of the subject :
great belongs only to what is moral — infinitude and eternity
are true of feelings rather than of magnitude, or space, or
time. The mightiest .distance that mind can conceive, cal
culable only by the arrow-flight of light, can yet be meas
ured. The most vast of all the cycles that imagination ever
Avanted for the ages that are gone by, can yet be estimated
by. number. But tell us, if you can, the measure of a single
feeling. Find for us, if you can, the computation by which
Ave may estimate a single spiritual affection. They are abso
lutely incommensurable — these things together, magnitude
and feeling. Let the act of Dorcas be tried thus. When
the world has passed aAvay, and the lust thereof, "he that
doeth the will of God abideth forever." The true infinite,
the. real eternal, is love. When all that economist, historian,
philosopher can calculate, is gone, the love of Dorcas will
still be fresh, and living, in the eternity of the illimitable
Mind. Observe, once more, the memorial which she left behind
her. When Peter went into the upper chamber, he was
surrounded by the poor widows, who showed him, weeping,
the garments she had made. This was the best epitaph : the
tears of the poor.
There is a strange jar upon the mind in the funeral, when
the world is felt to be going on as usual. Traffic and pleas
ure do not alter when our friend lies in the upper chamber.
The great, busy worldrolls on, unheeding, and our egotism
suggests the thought,' So will it be when I am not. This
Avorld, whose very existence seems linked with mine, and to

7 1 8 Salvation out of the Visible Church.
subsist only in mine, will not be altered by my dropping out
of it. Perhaps a few tears, and then all that follow me and
love me now Avill dry them up again. I am but a bubble on
the stream : here to-day, and then gone. This is painful to
conceive. It-is one of the pledges of our immortality that
Ave long to be remembered after death ; it is quite natural.
Now let us inquire into its justice.
Dorcas died regretted : she was worth regretting, she was
worth being restored ; she had not lived in vain, because she
had not lived for herself. The end of life is not a thought,
but an action — action for others. But you, why should you
be regretted ? Have you discovered spiritual truth, like
Paul? Have you been brave and true in defending it, like
Peter ? or cheered desolate hearts by sympathy, like Ananias ?
or visited the widows and the fatherless in their affliction,
like Dorcas ? If you have, your life will leave a trace behind
which will not soon be effaced from earth. But if not, what
is your worthless, self-absorbed existence good for, but to be
swept ¦ away, and forgotten as soon as possible ? You will
leave no record of yourself on earth, except a date of birth;
and a date of death, with an awfully significant blank be
tween. The second event connected with St. Peter's stay at Joppa
was the conversion of Cornelius.
A neAV doctrine Avas dawning on the Church. It was the
universality of the love of God. The great controversy in '
the early history, of Christianity was, not the atonement, not
predestination, not even, except at first, the resurrection, but
the admissibility of the Gentiles to: the, Church of Christ.
It was the controversy between Christianity, the universal
religion, and Judaism, the limited one. Except we bear this
in mind, the Acts of the Apostles and the. Epistles will be
alike unintelligible to us.
The germ of this truth had been planted by Stephen. St.
Paul was now raised up as his successor, to develop it _ still
further. So that now a very important crisis had arrived.
For it has been well observed,1 that had- St. Peter's, accept
ance of this truth been delayed by leaving it to- gradual
mental growth, the effects would, have been incalculably dis
astrous to Christianity. A new apostle had arisen, and a
new church was established at Antioch; and had St. Peter
and the rest been left in their reluctance to this truth; the
younger apostle would have been necessarily the leader, of a
party to which the elder apostles Avere opposed, and the
Church of Antioch Avould have been in opposition to the
Church at Jerusalem : a timely miracle, worthy of God, pre-

Salvation out of the Visible Church. 7 1 9
vented this catastrophe : at the very, crisis of time St. Peter's
mind, too, was enlightened with the truth.
The vision was evidently in its form and in its direction
the result Of previous natural circumstances. The death of
Stephen must have had its effect on the apostle's mind.
That truth for which he died, the transient character of
Judaism, must have suggested strange new thoughts, to be
pondered on and doubted on ; add to this, the apostle was
in a state of hunger. In ecstasy, or trance, or vision, things
meet for food presented themselves to his mental eye. Evi
dently the form in which this took place was shaped by his
physical cravings, the direction depended partly upon his
previous thoughts concerning the opening question of the
Church. But the eternal truth, the spiritual verity conveyed
by the vision, was clearly of a higher source. Here are the
limits ofthe natural and the supernatural closely bordering
on each other.
And this is only analogous to all our life. The human
touches on the- Divine, earth borders upon heaven — the lim
its are not definable, " I live," said St. Paul. Immediately
after, he corrects himself: "yet not I, but Christ liveth in
me." Man's spirit prays; yet is it not "the Spirit making
intercession for us with groanings Avhich can not be uttered ?"
As if the mind of man were hardly to be distinguished from
the mind of God. We are on the brink of the world unseen
— on the very verge of the spirit-realm. Everywhere around
us is God.
Now the contents of this vision were — a vessel let doAvn
from heaven, full of animals, domestic and wild, clean and
unclean. This was let down from heaven, "and taken up to
heaven again. All bad come from God, so that the truth
conveyed Avas clear enough. These distinctions of clean and
unclean were but conventional and artificial, after all — tem
poral arrangements, not belonging to the unalterable. God
had made all and. given all. The analogy was not difficult
to perceive. God is the Creator of mankind.- He is the
universal. Father. All have come from Him. Sanctified by
Him, there can be no man common or unclean.
Against even the first part of this St. Peter's mind revolt
ed — "Not so, Lord." It is not a little remarkable that the
two first to whom this expansive truth was revealed were
bigoted men: St. Paul the Jewish, St. Peter the Christian
bigot. For St. Peter Avas a Christian, yet a bigot still. • Is
this wonderful and rare ? or are we not all bigots in our
Avay, the largest-minded of ns all ? St. Peter Avas willing to
admit a proselyte : the admission of an entire Gentile was a

720 Salvation out of the Visible Church.
stumbling-block; afterwards he could admit a Gentile, but
hesitated to eat with him. There are some of us who can
believe in the Christianity of those- who are a little beyond
our own Church pale ; some who even dimly suspect that God
may love the Jew ; some, too, who will be ready, with quali
fications, to acknowledge a benighted Roman Catholic for a
brother; but how many of us are there who would not be
startled at being told to love a Unitarian ? how many who
would not shrink from the idea as over-bold, that he who is
blind to the Redeemer's Deity, yet loving Him with all his
heart, may pej-chance have that love accepted in place of
adoration, and that it may be at our peril that we call him
" common or unclean ?" Oh ! there was a largeness hi the
heart of Christ, of which we have only dreamed of as yet —
a something, too, in these words, " God hath showed me that
I should not call any man common or itnclean," Avhich it will
require, perhaps, ages to develop.
At the same, or nearly the same time when this was taking
place at Joppa, a manifestation, someAvhat similar, was going
on at Csesarea, a day's journey distant. Remark here the
coincidence. There was an affinity, it seems, between the
minds of these two men, Peter and Cornelius — a singular,
mysterious sympathy. Nay, more than that, very shortly
before, a similar phenomenon had' been felt in the mind of St.
Paul, more than a hundred miles off, in a valley near Damas
cus ; concerning all which we can say little, except that it is
very plain there is a great deal more going on upon earth
than our ordinary life conceives of. In the scientific world,
similar coincidences perpetually take place : discoveries, ap
parently unconnected, without any apparent link betAveen
the minds which make them, are announced from different
parts ofthe world almost simultaneously. No man, perhaps,
has been altogether unconscious of mental sympathies, coin
cidences of thought; which are utterly inexplicable. All that
I deduce from this is the solemn awfrtlnessof the universe in
Avhich we live. We are surrounded by mystery. Mind is
more real than matter. Our souls and God are real. Of the
reality of nothing else are we sure: it floats before us, a fan
tastic : shadow-world. Mind acts on mind. The Eternal
Spirit blends mind with mind, soul with soul, and is moving
over us all with His mystic inspiration every hour.
In Cassarea there was a cohort of soldiers, the body-guard
of the governor who resided there. They were not, as Avas
the case in other towns, provincial soldiers, but, being a
guard of honor, were all Romans, called commonly the Ital
ian band. One of the centurions of this guard Avas Cornelius

Salvation out of the Visible Church. 721
— " a devout man." A truth-loving, truth-seeking, truth-find
ing man ; one of those Avho would be called in this day a
restless, perhaps an unstable man ; for he changed his religion
tAvice. He had aspirations Avhich did not leave' him content
ed with paganism. He found in Judaism a higher truth, and
became a proselyte. In Judaism he was true to the light he
had : he Avas devout, gave alms, and even influenced some of
the soldiers of the guard, as it would appear (ver. 1). The
result Avas as might have been expected. "He that hath,
to him shall be given." Give us such a man, and we will
predict his history. He will be ever moving on ; not merely
changing, but moving on, from higher to higher, from light
to light, from love to love, till he loses himself at last in the
Fountain of Light and the Sea of Love. Heathenism, Juda
ism, Christianity. Not mere change, but true, ever upward
progress. He could not rest in Judaism, nor anywhere else
on earth.
To this man a voice said, " Thy prayers and 'thine alms
are come up as a memorial before God." Prayers — that we
can understand ; but alms — are then works, after all, that by
which men become meritorious in -the sight of God? To
answer this, observe : Alms may assume tAvo forms. They
may be complete or incomplete. Alms complete — works
which may be enumerated, estimated — deeds done and put
in as so much purchase — ten times ten thousand such will
never purchase heaven. But the way in which a holy man
does his alms is quite different from this. In their very per
formance done as pledges of something more; done with a
sense of incompleteness ; longing to be more nearly perfect
— they become so many aspirations rising up to God ; sacri
fices of thanksgiving, ever ascending like clouds of incense,
that rise and rise in increasing volumes, still dissatisfied and
still aspiring. Alms in this way become prayers — the high
est prayers ; and all existerice riielts and resolves itself into a
prayer. " Thy prayers and thine alms ;" or if you will, " Thy
prayers and thy prayers," are come up" to be remembered ;
for Avhat were his alms but devout aspirations of his heart to
God? Thus, in the vision ofthe everlasting state which John saw
in Patmos, the life of the redeemed presented itself as one
eternal chant of grateful hallelujahs, hymned on harps whose
celestial melodies float before the Throne forever. A life of
prayer is a life whose litanies are ever fresh acts of self-devot
ing love.' There was no merit in those alms of Cornelius:
they were only poor imperfect aspirations, seeking the ear
of God, and heard and anstvered there.

722 Salvation out of the Visible Church.
All this brings us to a question which must not be avoided
— the salvability of the heathen world. Let us pronounce
upon this, if firmly, yet with all lowliness and modesty.
There are men of whose tenderness of heart Ave can not
doubt, who have come to the conclusion that Avithout doubt
the heathen shall perish everlastingly. A horrible conclu
sion : and if it were true, no smile should ever again pass
across the face of him Avho believes it No moment can,
with any possible excuse, be given to any other enterprise
than their evangelization, if it be true that eternity shall
echo with. the myriad groans and agonies of those who are
dropping into it by thousands in an hour. Such men, how
ever, save their character for heart at the expense of their
consistency. They smile and enjoy the food and light just
as gayly as others do. They are too affectionate for their
creed; their system only binds their views; it can not con
vert their hearts to its gloomy horror.
We lay down two principles: No man is saved by. merit,
but only by faith. No man is saved, except in Christ.
"There is none other name under heaven given among men
whereby we must be saved."
But Avhen we come to , consider what is saving faith, Ave
find it to be the broad principle of trust in God, above all
misgivings, living for the invisible instead of the seen. In
Hebrews xi. we are told that Noah was saved by faith.
Faith in what ? In the atonement ? or even in Christ ?
Nay, but in the predicted destruction of the world by water;
the truth he had, not the truth he had not. And the life he
led in consequence,- higher than that ofthe present-seeking
Avorld aroundr him, was the life of faith, " by the Avhich he
condemried the Avorld, and became heir of the righteousness
Avhich is by faith." Salvation, therefore, is annexed to faith.
Not necessarily faith in the Christian object, but in the
truth, so far as it is given. Does God ask more?
Again:, the Word revealed itself to men before it was
manifested in the flesh. Before this universe was called into
being, when. neither star nor planet was, the Father was not
alone. From all eternity He contemplated Himself in
Another— Himself in Himself; else God had- not "been love.
For another, is required for love. To lose and find one's self
again in another's being, that is love. Except this,- we can
not conceive love' possible to Him. But thus with the other,
which Avas His very self; in language theological,* the Eter
nal Son in thebosom of the Father ;, God thrown into objec
tivity by Himself. There Avas a universe before created uni
verse existed; there Avas love when as yet there Avas nou?

Salvation out of the Visible Church. 723
except Himself on whom that affection could be thrown ;
and the expression of Himself to Himself, the everlasting
Word, filled eternity with the anthem of the Divine solilo
quy. Now this word expressed itself to man before it min
gled itself with flesh. " Before Abraham was, I am." Read
we not in the Old Testament of revelations made to men in
visions, trances, day-dreams, sometimes in voices, articulate
or inarticulate, sometimes in suggestions scarcely distin
guishable from their OAvn thoughts ?
Moreover,. recollect that the Bible contains only a record
of the Divine dealings Avith a single nation ; His proceedings
Avith the minds of other people are not recorded. That large
other world — no less God's world than Israel was, though in
their bigotry the Jews thought Jehovah Avas their own ex
clusive property— scarcely is — scarcely could be named on
the page of Scripture except in its external relation to Israel.
But at times, figures, as it were, cross the rim of Judaism,
when brought in' contact with it, and passing for a moment
as dim shadoAvs, do yet tell us hints of a communication and
a revelation going on unsuspected. We are told, for exam
ple, of Job — no Jew, but an Arabian emir, Avho beneath the
tents of Uz contrived to solve the question to his heart which
still perplexes us through life — the co-existence of evil with
Divine benevolence ; one who wrestled Avith God as Jacob
did,' and strove to know the shrouded Name,' and hoped to
find that it Avas love. We find Naahian the Syrian, and
Nebuchadnezzar the Babylonian, under the providential and
loving discipline of God. Rahab the Gentile is saved by
faith. The Syrophenician woman by her sick daughter's
bedside, amidst the ravings of insanity, recognizes, without
human assistance, the sublime and consoling truth of a uni
versal Father's love in the midst of apparent partiality. The
"Light av h ich Jighteth every man that cometh into the
Avorld" had not left them in darkness.
From all this we are constrained to the conviction that
there is a Church on earth larger than the limits of the
Church A-isible ; larger than JeAv, or Christian, or the Apostle
Peter, dreamed; larger than our narrow hearts dare to hope
even now. They whose soarings to the First Good, First
Perfect, and First Fair, entranced us in our boyhood, .and
whose healthier aspirations are acknoAvledged yet as our in
structors in the reverential qualities of our riper manhood — '¦
will our hearts allow us to believe that they have perished ?
Nay. "Many shall come from the east and west, and shall
sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the king
dom of heaven." The North American Indian Avho wor-

724 The Word and the World.
shipped the great Spirit, and Avas thereby sustained in a life
more dignified than the more animalized men amongst his
countrymen ; the Hindno who believed in the rest of God,
and in his imperfect way tried to " enter into rest," not for
getting benevolence and justice — these shall come, Avhile
"the children of the kingdom" — men Avho, with greater
light, only did as much as they — " shall be cast out."
Thesej with an innumerable multitude whom no man can
number, out of every kingdom, and tongue, and people, with
Rahab and the Syrophenician Avoman, have entered into
that Church which has passed through the centuries, absorb
ing silently into itself all that the world ever had of great,
and good, and noble. They were those who fought the bat
tle of good against evil in their day, penetrated into the in
visible from the thick shadows of darkness which environed
them, and saw the open Vision which is manifested to all, in
every nation, who fear God and work righteousness — to all,
in other words, who live-devoutly towards God, and by love
towards man. Aud they shall hereafter " walk in Avhite, for
they are Avorthy." * * * *. It may be that I err in this. It
may be that this is all too daring. Little is revealed upon
the subject, and we must not dogmatize. I may have erred ;
and it may be all a presumptuous dream. But if it be, God
Avill forgive the daring of a heart Avhose hope has given birth
to the ide'a; whose faith in this matter simply receives its
substance and reality from things hoped for, and whose con
fidence in all this dark, mysterious world can find no rock to
rest upon amidst the roaring billows of uncertainty, except
"the length, aiid the breadth, and the depth, and the height,
of the love which passeth knoAvledge," and Avhich has filled
the universe with the fullness of His Christ.

XV.
THE WORD AND THE WORLD.
"And it came to pass, that, while Apollos was at Corinth, Paul haying
passed through the upper coasts came to Ephesus ; and finding certain disci
ples, he said unto them, Have ye received the Holy Ghost since ye believed?
And they said unto him, We have not so much as heard whether there be
any Holy Ghost," etc. — Acts xix. 1, 2.
We consider, to-day, the nineteenth chapter of the Acts
of the Aoostles, but first we must make some preliminary
remarks.

The Word and the World. 725
The second missionary journey of St. Paul was done, and
he had left Europe for Asia. Trie object of his travel Avas
threefold. 1. To complete in the temple of Jerusalem the
vow Avhich he had begun at Corinth (xviii. 18, 21); 2. To
visit Antioch, the mo'ther-church of Gentile Christianity,
vvhere his presence Avas much needed (xviii. 22). 3. To re
visit the churches of Galatin, and strengthen those who had
been tempted by false teaching in his absence (xviii. 23).
The last two of these objects were connected with one sin
gle point of interest. It was the Jewish controversy, which
Avas then at its height. The council of Jerusalem had de
cided that a Gentile was not dependent for salvation on the
Jewish law (xv. 23-29). But another question remained
still open: Was a Christian Avho did not obey the law on
the same level as a Christian who did obey it ? Was it not
a superior religious standing-ground, to add the ritual life
to the life of faith?
With this question the whole of the Epistle to the Gala-
tians is occupied. That epistle does not deal with the ques
tion, whether the ritual law is necessary for salvation ; but
with this — whether a Gentile Christian became a higher man
than.before by a ceremonial life ; Avhether, in St. Paul's Avords,
"having begun in the spirit," he could be " made perfect
through the flesh."
At Antioch that question assumed a practical form. The
Jewish and Gentile Christians had lived in harmony, until
certain zealous ritualists came from Jerusalem, where St.
James presided, Then a severance took place. The law-ob
serving disciples admitted these new converts to be Chris
tians, but would not admit their standing in the Church to
be equal to their own. They denied their complete brother
hood. They refused to eat with them. A Christian, not ob
serving the ceremonial law, Avas to a Christian Avho did ob
serve it very much Avhat a proselyte of the gate was to an
ancient Jew.
Two men of leading station yielded to this prejudice,
though it was destructive ofthe very essence of Christianity.
These Avere St. Peter and Barnabas. The " dissimulation,"
as St. Paul calls it, of these two apostles suggests tAvo in
structive lessons.
The yielding of Barnabas reminds us of the insecurity of
mere feeling. Barnabas was a man of feeling and fine sensi
bilities. He could not bear to have his relative Mark severe
ly judged (Acts xv. 36-39, and Col. iv. 10). It pained him
-to the heart to see that Paul, Avhen he first essayed to join
himself to his disciples, Avas misunderstood (Acts ix. 26, 21).

726 The Word and the World.
He was a " son of consolation." He sold his property to dis
tribute to the Christian poor (Acts iv. 36, 37). He healed
many a. broken heart. But he wanted just that firmness
which men of feeling, so often Avant — the power of standing
steadily by a principle.
The unsteadiness of St. Peter exhibits a different truth.
It tells that a fall, however it may qualify a man for giving
advice to others similarly tempted, does not qualify for future
consistency, nor for the poAver of showing mercy in the high
est Avay. No doubt St. Peter's fall, after his conversion, pe
culiarly fitted him for < strengthening his brethren. But sin
weakens the power of resistance. He who yields once Avill
more easily yield the second time. He Avho shrunk from
standing by his Master found it fearfully easy to shrink from
abiding by a principle. Sin indulged breaks doAvn the bar
riers between good and- evil, and turns strength into weak
ness ! And failure does not make men merciful to others.
St. Peter is just as hard to the Gentile Christians, expelling
them from Christian society for that which he knew to be in
different, as if he had always been firm in his OAvn integrity.
He only can judge of error and show mercy, Avho has been
" tempted, yet without sin." This nineteenth chapter is di
visible into three chief subjects : ,
I. The baptism of John's disciples.
II. 'The burning of the "Ephesian letters."
III. Tlie tumult occasioned by the worshippers of Diana.
I.' When St/Paul came to Ephesus, he found twelve disci
ples of John, (bearing the name of Christians, but having a
very imperfect form of Christianity. Noav the baptism of
John, which was all these men kneAV, means the doctrine of
John— that cycle of teaching which is briefly symbolized by
the chief ritual act of the system. The system of John was
contained in a very narrow range of truth. It Avas such
truth as we might have expected from a man Avho had been
so disciplined. It was John's lot to be born into the world
in a period of highly-advanced society; and in that hot-bed
of life-fictions, Jerusalem, the ardent mind of the young man
found nothing to satisfy the cravings of its desire. He want
ed something deeper and truer than the existing systems
could afford him. He Avent to the Sadducee and the Phari
see in vain. He found no life in the Jewish ritual— no assist
ance from the rabbis. He went into the wilderness to
commune Avith God, to try what was to be learned from Him
by a soul in earnest, without church, ministers, or ordi
nances. The heavens spoke to him of purity, and the river by

The Word and the World. 727
his side of God's eternity. Locusts and honey, his only food,
taught him that man has a higher life to nourish than that
which is sustained by epicurean luxuries. So disciplined
John came back to his countrymen. As might be expected,
no elaborate theology formed any part of his teaching. " We
want a simpler, purer, austerer life. Let men be real.
Fruits worthy of repentance — fruits, fruits^ not profession.
A new life. Repent." .That was the burden of John's
message. - •
A preparatory one evidently, one most incomplete in itself.
It implied the need of something additional, as St. Paul told
these converts. " John verily baptized with the baptism of
¦repentance, saying unto the people that they should believe
on Hint who should come after him, thatis, on Christ Jesus."
And none felt more distinctly than John that his was mere
ly an initial work. That- was a touching acknowledgment of
the subordinate part he had to perform in the construction of
the world's new life. "He must increase, but I must de
crease." The work of John was simply the work ofthe axe.
" The axe is laid to the root of the trees ;" to destroy, not to
build ; to cut up by the roots' ancient falsehoods ; to tear
away all that was unreal ; to make a clearance that the light
of clay might come in. A great work, but still not the, great
est. And herein lay the difference between the two baptisms.
John baptized with water, Christ with the Holy Ghost and
fire. The one Avas simply the washing away of a false and
evil past; the other was the gift ofthe power to lead a pure,
true life.
This was all that these disciples kneAV ; yet remark, they
are reckoned as Christians. They are called " certain disci
ples " — that is, of Jesus. They knew little enough of Chris
tianity; they had not so much as heard whether there be
any Holy Ghost. The doctrine of the Trinity they kneAV
not, nor that of sanctification, nor probably that ofthe atone
ment. And "yet in the Word of God they are called disci
ples of Christ.
Let us learn from that a judgment of charity. Let not
the religious m.in be too prone to talk with contempt. of a
legal spirit. Let him not sneer at "merely moral men."
Morality is not religion, but it is the best soil on which re
ligion grows. He Avho lives an honest, sincere, honorable
life, and, has strong perceptions of moral right and moral
Avrong, may riot have reached the highest stages of, spiritual
ity; he may "know only the baptism of John;" he may
aim as yetat nothing higher than doing his duty AA*ell, " ac-

728 The Word and the World.
cusing no man falsely, being content with his Avages," giving
one coat out of two to the poor; and yet that man, with
scanty theology and small spiritual , experience, may be a
real " disciple " in the school of Christ, and one of the chil
dren ofthe Highest..
Nay, it is the Avant of this preparation which so often
makes religion a sickly plant in the souL Men begin with
abundance of spiritual knowledge ; they understand well the
" scheme of salvation ;" they talk of religious privilege, and
have' much religious liberty ; they despise the formal spirit
and the legal spirit But if the foundation has not been laid
deep in a perception of the eternal difference between right
and wrong, the superstructure Avill be but flimsy. I believe
it is a matter of no small importanqe that the baptism of
John should precede the baptism of Christ ; that is, that a
strict life, scrupulous regularity, abhorrence of evil— perhaps
even something too austere, the, usual accompaniment of sin
cerity at the outset — should go before the peace Avhich comes
of faith in Christ. First the blade, then the ear, then the full
corn in the ear. You can not have the harvest first There
is an order in the development of the soul, as there is in the
development of the year of nature, and it is not safe to force.
Nearly two thousand years Avere spent in the Divine goAr-
ernment in teaching the Jews the meaning of holiness, the
separation of right from wrong. And siicn niust be the or
der of the education of children and of men. The baptism
of repentance before the baptism of the Spirit.
The result which followed this baptism Avas the gifts of
tongues and pjjophecy. On a former occasion I endeavored to
explain what is meant by the gift of tongues. It appeared,
then, that " tongues " were not so much the power of speaking
various languages, as the power of speaking spiritual truths
with supernatural and heavenly fervor. This passage favors
that interpretation. The apostle, was there with tAvelve new
converts. To what purpose was the supposed use of various
languages among such a number,. who already understood
one another? It would seem more like the showing off of
a new accomplishment than the humble character of Chris
tian modesty permits. If this gift simply made them lin
guists, then the miracle was of. a terriporary and earthly
character. But if it consisted in elevating their spiritual in
tuitions, and enabling them to speak, " not in the words
which man's wisdom teacheth, but which the _ Holy Ghost
teacheth, comparing spiritual things with spiritual," then
you have a miracle— celestial indeed^ worthy of its Spirit-
Author. If it Avere only a jrift of languages, then the mira'

The Word and the World. 729
ele has nothing to do Avith us; but if it were the elevating
of the natural faculties by God's Spirit to a higher and di
viner use, then we have a marvel and a truth which belongs
to all ages. The life is the light of men. Give life, and
light follows. Expand the heart, and you enlarge the intel
lect. Touch the soul with love, and then you touch the lips
with hallowed fire, and make even the stammering tongue
speak the words of living eloquence.
This was the gift of tongues that followed the reception
of the Divine Spirit.
II. The second subject in the chapter is the burning of
the " Ephesian letters."
Ephesus was the metropolis of Asia, Its most remarkable
feature was the temple of Diana — one of the wonders ofthe
world. It contained a certain image, misshapen, of a human
form, reported by tradition to have fallen from the skies ;
perhaps one of those meteoric stones, which, generated in the
atmosphere, and falling to the ground, are reckoned by the
vulgar to be thunderbolts from heaven.
This image represented Nature, the prolific nurse and
source of all life, and the worship was a Avorship of Nature.
Upon the base of the statue were certain mysterious sen
tences, and. these, copied and Avritten upon papers and amu
lets, were known far and wide by the name of " Ephesian
letters." This Avas the heathen form of magical superstition.
But it seems there Avas a Jewish practice of the occult art
besides. They used certain incantations, herbs, and magi
cal formulas, said by tradition tb have been taught by Sol
omon, for the expulsion of diseases and the exorcism of evil
spirits. The state of Ephesus, like that of Corinth and Athens, was
one of metropolitan civilization ; and it is nothing strange
that in such a stage of social existence, arts and beliefs like
these should flourish ; for there is ahvays a craving in the
soul. of. man for something supernatural, an irrepressible" de
sire for communion with the unseen Avorld. - Aud where >an
over-refined civilization has choked, up the natural and
healthy outlets of this feeling, it Avill inevitably find an un
natural one. The restless: spirit of those, times, dissatisfied
Avith their present existence, in spite of itself feeling the deg
radation of the life of epicurean indolence and selfishness,
instinctively turned to the other world in -quest of marvels.
We do not Avonder to find atheism and abject Superstition
co-tenants ofthe same town or the same mind. We do not
marvel that in* the very city Avhere reasonable Christianity

73° The Word and the World.
could scarcely find a footing, a mob could be found scream
ing for two hours, " Great is Diana of the Ephesians !" that
Avhen men had "not so much as heard whether there be any
Holy Ghost," wise men and men in authority should be be
lievers in " the image which fell clown from Jupiter." Ephe
sus was exactly the place where Jewish charlatans and the
vendors of " Ephesian letters " could reap a rich harvest from
the credulity of skeptical voluptuaries.
It is difficult to know what to say about this Oriental
magic. Shall we say that it was all imposture ? or account
for its success by the power of a highly-excited imagination ?
or believe that they Avere really making use of some unknown
powers of nature, Avhich they themselves in ignorance sup
posed to be supernatural ? Little- can now be decided.
That the magicians themselves believed in their own art is
plain, from the fact of the existence of these costly " Ephesian
letters," and scientific "curious books," which had appar
ently reached the dignity of an elaborate system ; and also
from the fact that some of them, as the seven sons of Sceva,
believed in Christianity as a higher kind of magic, and at
tempted to use its formula, as more efficacious than their
own. "We adjure you by Jesus whom Paul preachetb."
Had they been only impostors, they Avould have taken Paul
for an impostor too.
Here was one of those early attempts, which in after' ages
became so successful, to amalgamate Christianity Avith the
magical doctrines. Gnosticism was the result in the East,
Romanism the result in the West.
But the spirit of Christianity brooks no amalgamation.
The essence of magic consists in this : the belief that by
some external act — not connected with moral goodness, nor
making a man Aviser or better — communication can be in
sured with the spiritual world ; and the tutelage of God or
some superior spirit be commanded for a mortal. It mat
ters not Avhether this be attempted by Ephesian letters,
amulets, charms, curious books — or by sacraments, or by
Church ordinances or priestly powers — whatever professes to
bring God near to man, except by making man more like to
God, is ofthe same spirit of Antichrist.
The spirit-world of God has its laws, and they are unal
terable. They are such as these : " Blessed are the pure in
heart, for they shall see God;" "Blessed are the merciful —
the peacemakers — the meek — the poor in spirit ;" "If any
man will do His will, he shall know;" "If a man loA'eMe
he will keep My words : and My Father will love him, and
We will come unto hiin, and miike our abode with him."

The Word and the World. 7 3 1
This is Christianity. There is no way of becoming a par
taker ofthe poAvers of the world to come," except by hav
ing the heart right with God. God's presence, God's pro
tection, is the privilege of the humble, the holy, the loving.
These are the laAvs of the kingdom of God's .Spirit, and no
magic can reverse them. The contest was brought to an
issue by the signal failure of these magicians to work a mir
acle — the man possessed leaped upon the exorcisers, and they
fled wounded, upon which there was great consternation in
Ephesus. The possessors of curious books came, confessed
their guilt, and burnt them Avith their OAvn hands in the
apostle's presence.
You Avill observe in all this the terrible supremacy of
conscience. There Avas struck a chord deep in the moral
nature of these men, and it vibrated in torture. They could
not bear their own secret, and they had no remedy but im
mediate confession. It is this arraigning accuser Avithin the
bosom that compels the peculator, after years of concealed
theft, to send back the stolen money to his employer, with
the acknowledgment that he has suffered years of misery.
It was this that made Judas clash down his gold in the
Temple, and go and hang himself. It is this that again and
again has forced the murderer from his unsuspected security
in social life, to deliver himself up to justice, and to choose
a true death rather than the dreadful secret of a false life.
Observe how mightily our moral nature works — for health
and peace, if there be no obstruction ; but for disease and
torture, if it be perverted. But, anyhow, it works, and Avith
living, indestructible force, as the juices of vigorous life, if
obstructed, create and feed gigantic disease.
Consider, in the next place, the test of sincerity furnished
by this act of burning the Ephesian letters. First of all it
was a costly sacrifice. They Were valued at fifty thousand
pieces of silver. In those days, copies were not multiplied
by printing; and the possessor of a secret would take -care
not to multiply it Rarity created costliness. The posses
sion of one such book was the possession of a fortune. Then,
again, there was the sacrifice of livelihood. By these books
they got their living. And a man who had lived to thirty
or 'forty years of age in this mode of life was not young
enough to begin the world again with a neAV profession. It
was to throw themselves almost into beggary. Moreover,
it was the destruction of much knowledge that was really
valuable. ;As in the pursuit of alchemy real chemical se
crets were discovered, soft can not be doubted that these
curious manuscripts contained many valuable natural facts.

73 2 The Word and the World.
To burn them was to waste all these — to give the lore ac
cumulated for years to the winds.
Once more : it was an outrage to feeling. Costly manu
scripts, written with curious art, many of them probably the
heirlooms of a family, many which were associated with a
vast variety of passages in life, old feelings, old. teachers
and companions, these were to be committed mercilessly to
the flames. Remember, too, how many other ways there
were of disposing of them. Might they not be sold, and the
proceeds " given to the poor ?" Might they not at least be
made over to some relative Avho, not feeling any thing wrong
in the use or possession of them, would not have his con
science aggrieved ? Or might they not be retained, the use
of them being given up, as curious records ofthe past, as the
treasure-stores of so much that Avas beautiful and wise?
And then conscience arose with her stern, clear voice.
They are the records of an ignorant and guilty past. There
must be no false tenderness ; the sacrifice must be real, or it
is none. To the flames with them, till their ashes are strew
ed upon the winds, and the smoke will rise up to heaven a
sweet savor before God.
Whoever has made such a sacrifice as this — and every
real Christian in the congregation in some shape or other
has — will remember the strange medley of feeling which ac
companied the sacrifice. We should err if we expected such
a deed td be done with feelings entirely single. ' There is a
mixture in all such sacrifices. Partly fear constrained the
act, produced by the judgment on the other exorcists ; part
ly genuine remorse ; partly there was a lingering regret as
leaf after leaf perished in the flames ; partly a feeling of re
lief, and partly a heavy sense of loss in remembering that
the work of years was obliterated, and that the past, had to
be lived afresh as a time wasted ; partly shame, and partly
a wild tumult of joy, at the burst of new hope, and the pros
pect of a nobler life. We can not, and dare not, too closely
scan such things. The sacrifice was made, and He who
knows the mixture of the earthly and the spiritual in His
creatures' hearts doubtless accepted the sacrifice.
There is no Christian life that has not in it sacrifice, and
that alone is the sacrifice Avhich is made in the spirit of tho
conflagration of the "Ephesian letters," without reserve,
without hesitation, Avithout insincere tenderness. _ If the
slaveholder, convinced of the iniquity of the traffic in man,
sells the slaves on his, estate to the neighboring planter, the
mark of sincerity is wanting ; or if the trader in opium or in
spirits quits his nefarious commerce, but first secures the

The Word and the World. 733
-value, of all that remains in his warehouse or in his ships,
again there is a something which betokens the Avant of a
heart true and honest ; or if the possessor of a library
becomes convinced that certain volumes are unfit for his
shelves, immoral, polluting the mind of him that reads them,
and yet can not sacrifice the brilliant binding and the costly
edition without an equivalent, what shall we say of these
men's sincerity ?
Two things marked these Ephesians' earnestness — the vol
untariness of their confession, and the unreserved destruction
, of these records and means of evil. And I say to you, if there
be a man here before me with a sin upon his heart, let him
^remember" conscience will arise to do her dreadful work at
last, It may be when it is too late. Acknowledgment at
.orice, this is all that remains for him to relieve his heart of
its intolerable load. If he has wronged a man let him ae-
knoAvledge it and ask forgiveness; if he has defrauded him
of his due, or kept him from his rights, let him repair, restore,
niake up ; or, if the guilt be one with which man inter-
meddleth not, and of which God alone takes cognizance, on
his bended knees this night, and before the sun of to-morrow
daAvn, let him pour out the secret Of his heart, or else, it may
lie that in this world, and in the world to come, peace is ex
iled from his heart forever.
III. We shall consider, thirdly, the sedition respecting Di
ana's worship. First under this, head let us notice the speech
of Demetrius — in Avhich observe :
1. The cause ofthe slow death which error and falsehood
die : shot through and through, they still linger on. Existing
abuses in Church and State are upheld because they are in
tertwined with private interests. The general good is im
peded by private cupidity. The welfare of a nation, the es
tablishment of a grand principle, is clamored against because .
destructive ofthe mouopoly of a few particular trades. The
salvation of the world must be arrested that Demetrius may
continue to sell shrines of Diana. This is the reason why it
takes centuries to overthrow an evil, after it has been proved
an evil.
2. The mixture of religious and selfish feelings. . Not only
" our craft," but also the worship of the great goddess Diana.
Demetrius was, or thought himself sincere ; a man really-
zealous for the interests of religion. And so it is with many
a patriotic and religious cry. " My country " — " my church "
— " my religion "—it supports me. " By this craft avc have
our wealth."

734 The Word and the World.
3. Nunjbers are no test of truth. What Demetrius said,
and the tOAvn-clerk corroborated, was a fact — that the whole
Avorld worshipped the great goddess Diana. Antiquity, uni
versality, popularity, Avere all on her side ; on the other, there
were only Paul, Gaius, Aristarchus. If numbers tested truth,
Apollos in the last chapter need not have become the brilliant
outcast from the schools of Alexandria, nor St. Paul stand in
Ephesus in danger of his life.
He who seeks Truth must be content with a lonely, little-
trodden path. If he can not worship her till she has been
canonized, by the shouts of the multitude, he must take his
place with the members of that wretched crowd who shout
ed for tAvo long hours, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians!"
till truth, reason, and calmness were all drowned in noise.
Let us notice the judicious speech of the town-clerk, or
chamberlain more properly, in which observe —
1. The impression made by the apostle on the Aviser and
calmer part of the community; The Asiarchs, or magistrates,
Avere his friends. The town-clerk ex<3ulpated him, as Gallio
had done at Corinth. Herein we see the power of consis
tency. 2. The admitted moral blamelessness of the Christians.
Paul had not " blasphemed " the goddess. As at Athens, he
had not begun by attacking errors, or prejudices, or even su
perstitions. He preached truth, and its effect began to be
felt already, in the decline of the trade which flourished by
the sale of silver models ofthe wondrous temple — a statistical
fact, evidencing the amount of success. OA'ercome evil by
good, error by t#uth. Christianity — opposed by the force of
governments, counterfeited by charlatanism, sneered at by
philosophers, cried down by frantic mobs,1 coldly looked at
from a distance by the philosophical, pursued with unrelent
ing hatred by Judaism, met by unions and combinations of
trades, having arrayed against it every bad passion of human
ity — went swiftly on, conquering and to conquer.
The continental philosophers tell us that Christianity is
effete. Let this, narrative determine. Is that the history of
a principle Avhich haSinit seeds of death ? Comes that from
the invention of a transient thought of man's, or from the
Spirit of the everlasting ages ?

Solomon's Restoration. 735

xvi.
SOLOMON'S RESTORATION.
"Did not Solomon king of Israel sin by these things? yet among many
nations was there no king like him, who was beloved of his God." — Nehem.
xiii. 26.
There is one study, my Christian brethren, which never
can lose its interest for us so long as Ave are men : and that
is, the investigation of human character. The deep interest
of biography consists in this — that it is in some measure the
description to us of our OAvn inner history. You can not un
veil the secrets of another heart without at the same time
finding something to correspond with, and percharice explain,
the mysteries of your own. Heart ansAvers here to heart.
BetAveen the wisest and the AvorSt there are ten thousand
points of marvellous resemblance ; and so the trials, the frail
ties, the bitterness of any human soul, faithfully traced out,
ever shadow out to us a portraiture of our OAvn experience.
Give but the inner heart-history of the most elevated spirit
that ever conquered in life's struggle, and place it before the
most despicable that ever failed, and you exhibit to him so
much of the picture of his own very self, that you perforce
command his deepest attention. Only let the inarticulate
life of the peasant find for itself a distinct voice and a true
biographer, let the inward struggles which have agitated
that rough frame be given faithfully to the world, and there
isnot a monarch whose soul will not be thrilled with those
inner details of an existence with which outwardly he has not
a single thought in common.
It is for this reason that Solomon's life is full of painful
interest. Far removed as he is, in some respects, above our
sympathies, in others he peculiarly commands them. He
Avas a monarch, and none of us know the sensations which
belong to rule. He was proclaimed by God to be among
the wisest of mankind, and few of us can even conceive the
atmosphere in which such a gifted spirit moves, original, in
quiring, comprehending, one to Avhom Nature has made her
secret open. He lived in the infancy of the world's society,
and we live in its refined and civilized manhood.
And yet, brethren, when Ave have turned away wearied
from all those subjects in which the mind of Solomon expati
ated, and try to look inward at the man, straightway avc

^36 Solomon's Restoration.
find ourselves at home. Just as in our own trifling, pefty
history, so we find in him, life Avith the same unabated, mys
terious interest ; the dust and the confusion of a battle, sub
lime longings, and Ioav weaknesses, perplexity, struggle ; and
then the grave closing over all this, and leaving us to marvel
in obscurity and silence over the strange destinies of man.
Humbling, brethren, is all this, at the same time that it is
most instructive. God's strange dealings with the human
heart, when shall they cease their interest for us ? Whcii
shall it be that life, with all its mysteries, Avill tire us to
look upon ? When shall it be that the fate of man shall
cease to wake up emotion in man's bosom.
Now, we are to bear in mind that the career of Solomon is
a problem which has perplexed many, and is by no means an
easy one to solve. He belongs to the peculiar class of those
who begin we'll. ?id then have the brightness of their lives
obscured at last. His morning sun rose beautifully ; it sank
in the evening, clouded, and dark with earthy exhalations—
too dark to prophesy with certainty how it should rise on
the morrow.
Solomon's life was not Avhat religious existence ought to
be. The life of God in the soul of man ought to be a thing
of perpetual development ; it ought to be more bright, and
its pulsations more vigorous every year. Such, certainly, at
least to all appearance, Solomon's Avas not. It was excel
lence, at all events; marred with inconsistc ncy. It was orig
inal uprightness disgraced by a fall, and that fall so prolong
ed and signal that it has always been a disputed question
among commentators whether, he ever rose from it again at
all. But the passage which I have selected for the text, in
connection with one or tAvo others, seems to decide this ques
tion. " Did not Solomon king of Israel sin by these things ?"
that is, marriage with foreign wives ? " Yet among many
nations was there no king like him who was beloved of his
God." Now there can be no doubt of the view given us in
this verse. Six hundred years after Solomon had been sleep
ing in earthly dust, Avhen all contemporaries were dead, and
all personal feeling had passed away, Avhen history jcould
pronounce her calm A'erdict upon his existence as a Avhole,
Nehemiah, in this passage, gave a summary of his character,
He speaks to us of Solomon as a saint — a saint in whom
saintliness had been wonderfully defaced — imperfect, tempt
ed, fallen; but still ranked among- those, Avhom God's love
had pre-eminently distinguished. " . ¦'-,.-
Noav let us compare with this the 'prophecy' which had
been uttered by Nathan before Solomon was .born. Thus

Solomon's Restoration. 737
he spoke in God's name to David ofthe son Avho was to suc
ceed him on the throne : " I will bo his father, and he shall
be my son. If he commit iniquity, I will chasten him with
the rod of men," — i. c., the rod as a human being uses it, for
correction, not everlasting'destruction — " and Avith the stripes
of the children of men. But my mercy shall not depart aAvay
from him, as I took it from Saul." In this we have a distinct
covenant, made prophetically. God foretold Solomon's terri
ble apostasy ; and with it He foretold Solomon's restoration.
And there is one point especially remarkable. He parallels
Solomon's career with Saul's. Saul began well, and Saul
cn'ded ill. Just so it was with Solomon. Here was the par
allel. But farther than this, God distinctly warned, the par
allel did not go. Saul's deterioration from good was perma
nent. Solomon's deterioration, dark as it was, had some
point of essential difference. It was riot forever. Saul's life
darkened from morning brightness into the gloom of ever
lasting night. Solomon's life darkened too, but the curtain
of clouds was rolled aside at last, and before the night set in
the sun shone out in serene, calm brilliancy.
We take up, therefore, for our consideration to-day, the life
of Solomon in these two particulars.
I. The Avanderings of an erring spirit. " Did not Solomon
king of Israel sin by these things ?"
II. The guidance of that spirit, amidst all its wanderings,
by rGod's love. " There was no king like unto him avIio was
beloved of his God."
¦I. "Did not Solomon king .of Israel sin by these things?"
This is the first point for us to dwell on — the Avanderings of
a frail and erring human spirit from the right Avay. That
Avhich lay at the bottom of all Solomon's transgressions Avas
his intimate partnership with foreigners. " Did not Solomon
sin by these things ?" that is, if we look to the context, mar
riage with foreign Avives. The history of the text is this :
Nehemiah' discovered that the nobles of Judah during the
Captivity, when law and religious customs had been relaxed,
had married Avives of Ashdod, of Ammon, and of Moab ; and
then, in his passionate expostulation Avith them, he reminds
them that it Avas this very transgression Avhich led to the
fall of the monarch Avho had been most distinguished for
God's favor. In the whole Jewish system, no principle Avas
more distinct than this — the separation of God's people- from
partnership with the world. Exclusiveness Avas the princi
ple on which Judaism was built. The Israelites Avere not to
mix Avith the nations; they Avere not to marry Avith them;

738

Solomon's Restoration.

they were not to join with them in religious fellowship or
commercial partnership. Every thing was to be distinct —
as distinct as God's service and the world's. And it was this
principle which Solomon transgressed. He married a prin
cess of Egypt. He connected himself with wives from idola
trous countries — Moabites, Ammonites, Edomites, Sidonians,
Hittites. And then Nehemiah's argument, built on the eter
nal truth that friendship with the world is enmity with God,
is this: "Did not Solomon sin by these things?"
That Jewish laAV, my brethren, shadowed out an everlast
ing : truth, God's people, are an : exclusive nation ; God's
Church is forever separated from the world. This is her
charter, " Come out from among them, and be ye separate,
saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I Avill
receive you, and will: be a Father unto you, and ye shall be
my sons and daughters, saith the Lord Almighty." God's
people may break that charter, but they do it at their own
peril. And we may be very sure of this, when a religious
person begins to feel an inclination for intimate communion
with the world, and begins to break down that barrier which
is the line of safety, the first step is made of a series of long,
dark wanderings from God. We are to be separate, breth
ren, from the world. Mistake not the meaning of that word.
The world changes its complexion in every age. Solomon's
Avorld Avas the nations of idolatry lying round Israel. Our
Avorld is not that. The world is that collection of men in
every age who live only according to the maxims of their
time. The world may be a profligate world, or it may be a
moral world. : j^.11 that is a matter of accident. Our world
is a moral Avorld. The sons of our world are not idolaters,
they are not profligate, they are, it may be, among the most
fascinating of mankind. Their society is more pleasing, more
lively, more diversified in information than religious society.
No marvel if a young and ardent heart feels the spell of the
fascination. No wonder if it feels a relief in turning away
from the dullness and the monotony of home life to the
sparkling brilliaricy of the world's . society. No marvel if
Solomon felt the superior charms of the accomplished Egyp
tian and the wealthy Tyrian. His Jewish countrymen and
countryAvomen were but homely in comparison. What won
der if the young monarch felt it a relaxation to emancipate
himself from the thraldom of a society which had little to
interest his grasping and restless mind, and to throw himself
upon a companionship which had more of refinement, and
more of •cultivation, and more, of that enlargement of mind
which his own gifted character Avas so fitted to enjoy ?

Solomon's Restoration. 739
It is no marvel, brethren. . It is all most natural, all most
intelligible — a temptation which we feel ourselves every
day. The brilliant, dazzling, accomplished world- — Avhat
Christian with a mind polished like Solomon's does not own
its charms ? And yet now, pause. , Is it in wise Egypt that
our highest blessedness lies ? Is it in busy restless Sidon ?
Is it in luxurious Moab ? No, my Christian brethren. The
Christian must leave the. world alone. His blessedness lies
in quiet work with the Israel of God. His home is in that
deep, unruffled tranquillity which belongs to those who are
trying to know Christ. And when a Christian will not learn
this — when'- he will not understand that in calmness, and
home, and work, and love, his soul must find its peace — when
he will try keener and more exciting pleasures-i-when he
says, I must taste Avhat life is while I am young, its feverish-
ness, its strange, delirious, maddening intoxication, he has
just taken Solomon's first step, and he must take the whole
of Solomon's after, and most bitter experience, along with it.
The second step of Solomon's wandering was the unre
strained pursuit of pleasure. And a man like Solomon can
not do any thing by halves. What he did, he did thorough
ly. No man- ever more heartily and systematically gave
himself up to the pursuit. If he once made up his mind
that pleasure was his aim, then for pleasure he lived. There
are some men who are prudent in their epicureanism. They
put gayety aside when they begin to get palled with it, and
then return to" it moderately again. Men like Solomon can
not do that No earnest man can. No; if blessedness lies
in pleasure, he Avill drink the cup to the dregs. Listen to
Avhat he says: "I sought in mine heart to give myself unto
wine, yet acquainting mine heart with Avisdom ; and to lay
hold on folly, till I might see what was that good for the
sons of men, which they should do under the heaven all, the
days of their life." That was a pursuit of pleasure Avhich
was at least decided and systematic — manly. Observe,
brethren, we have none of the cool, cautious sipping of en
joyment there. We have none of the feeble, languid at
tempts to enjoy the Avorld Avhich make men venture ankle-
deep into dissipation, and only long for courage to go a lit
tle farther. It is the earnestness of an impassioned man, a
man who has quitted God, and thrown himself, heart and
soul, upon every thing that he tries, and says he will try it
fairly and to the full.
" Let us see Avhat the world is worth." Perhaps some
minds amongst us now are not altogether strangers to a
feeling such as this. There is many a soul, formed for high-

740 Solomon's Restoration.
er and better things, that has, at one time or another, lost
its hold on God, and felt the impulse of its OAvn desires urg
ing it on forever, dissatisfied, restless, panting fora celestial
fruit which seems forbidden, and half expecting to find that
fruit in life's excitement. These arc the Avanderings of an
erring spirit
But, my brethren, let us mark the wanderings of an im
mortal soul infinite in. its vastness. There is a moral to be
learnt from the wildest worldliness. When we look on the
madness of life, and are marvelling at the terrible career of
dissipation, let there be no contempt felt. It is an immortal
spirit marring itself It is an infinite soul, which nothing
short of the Infinite can satisfy, plunging down to ruin and
disappointment. Men of pleasure, whose hearts are as ca
pable of an eternal blessedness as a Christian's, that is the
terrible meaning and moral of your dissipation. God in
Christ is your only Eden, and out of Christ you can have
nothing but the restlessness of Cain ; you are blindly pursiir
ing your destiny. That unquenched impetuosity Avithin you
might haA'e led you up to God. You have chosen! instead
that your heart shall try to satisfy itself upon husks. '•:• :
There Avas another form of Solomon's worldliness. It
Avas not Avorldliness in pleasure, but Avorldliness in occupa
tion. He had entered deeply into commercial speculations;
He had alternate fears and hopes about the return of his
merchant-ships on their perilous three-years' voyage to India
and to Spain. He had. his mind occupied with plans for
building. The architecture of the Temple, his own palace,
the forts and towns of his iioav magnificent empire, all this
filled for a time his soul. He had begun a system of nation
al debt and ruinous taxation. He had become a slaveholder
and a despot, who Avas compelled to keep his people down
by armed force. Much of this was not wrong, but all of it
was dangerous. It is a strange thing how business dulls the
sharpness of the spiritual affections. It is strange how the
harass of perpetual occupation shuts God out. It is strange
hoAV much mingling with the world, politics, and those things
which belong to advancing civilization — things which are
very often in the way of our duty — deaden the delicate sense
of right and Avrong. Let Christians be. on their guard by
double prayerfulness when duty makes them men of business
or calls them to yjosts of worldly activity. Solomon did
things of questionable morality which he never would have
dono if he had not had the ambition to distinguish himself
among the princes of this Avorld. Business and worldliness
dried up. the springs of his spirituality. It Avas the climax

Solomon 's Restoration. 74 *
of Solomon's transgression that he suffered the establishment
of idolatry in his dominions.
There are writers avIio have said that in this matter Solo
mon was in advance of his age — enlightened beyond the nar-
roAvness of Judaism, and that this permission of idolatry was
the earliest exhibition of that spirit which in modern times
we call religious toleration. But, my brethren, Solomon
Avent far beyond toleration. It is written, when Solomon
Avas old his wives turned aAvay his heart after other gods ;
for he went after Ashtoreth, the goddess ofthe Zidonians,
and after Milcom, the abomination of the Ammonites. The
truth seems to be, Solomon Avas getting indifferent about re
ligion. . He had got into light and worldly society, and the
libertinism of his associations Avas beginning to make its im
pression upon him. He Avas beginning to ask, Is not one re
ligion as good as another, so long as each man believes his
_ OAvn in earnest ? He began to feel there is a great deal to be
' said for these different religions. After all, there is nothing cer
tain ; and why forbid men the quiet enjoyment of their own
opinion? And so he became what men call liberal, and ho
took idolatry under his patronage. There are few signs in a
soul's state more alarming than that, of religious indifference,
that is, the spirit of thinking all religions equally true — the
real meaning of Avhich is, that all religions are equally false.
II. We are to consider, in the last place, God's loving
guidance of Solomon in the midst of all his apostasy. My
Christian brethren, in the darkest, Avildest Avanderings^ a man
to Avhom God has shown his love in Christ is conscious still
of the better way. In the very gloom of his remorse there
is an instinctive turning back to God. It is enumerated
among the gifts that God bestowed on Solomon, that He
granted to him " largeness of heart." Now that largeness
of heart which we call thoughtfulness and sensibility, gen
erosity, high feeling, marks out, for the man who has it, a
peculiar life. Life becomes an intense thing : if there be
guilt, then his life will be desolating remorse ; if love, then
the very ecstasy of blessedness. But a cool, commonplace
life he can, not have. According to Scripture phraseology,
Solomon had a great heart; and therefore it was that for
such a one the discipline which was to lead him back to God
must needs be terrible. " If he commit iniquity, I will chas
ten him with the rod of men." That was God's covenant,
and with: tremendous fidelity was it kept.
You look to the life of Solomon, and there are no outward
reverses there to speak of. His reign Avas a type of the reign

742 Solomon's Restoration.
ofthe poAver of peace. No Avar, no national disaster, inter
rupted the even flow of the current of his days. . No loss of
a child, like David's, pouring cold desolation into his soul —
no pestilences nor famines. Prosperity and riches, and the
internal development ofthe nation's life, that Avas the reign
of Solomon. And yet, brethren, with all this, was Solomon
happy ? Has God no arrows winged in heaven for the heart,
except those Avhich come in the shape of outward calamity 'i
Is there no Avay that God has of making the heart gray and
old before its time, Avithout sending bereavement, or loss; or
sickness? Has the Eternal Justice no mode of withering
and' drying up the inner springs of happiness; while all is
green, and wild, and fresh outAvardly ? We look to the his
tory of Solomon for the answer.
The first way in which his aberration from God treasured
up for him chastisement, was by that weariness of existence
Avhich breathes through the whole book of Ecclesiastes. _
That book bears internal evidence of having been written
after repentance and victory. It is the experience of a ca-
reer of pleasure ; and the tone Avhich vibrates through the
whole is disgust with the World, and mankind, and life, and
self. I hold that book to be inspired. God put it into the
heart of Solomon to make that experience public. But, my
brethren, by " inspired," I do not mean that all the feelings
to which that book gives utterance are right or holy feel
ings. St. John could not have written that book. St. John,
who had lived in the atmosphere of love, looking on this
Avorld as God looks on it — calmly, with the deep peace of
heaven in his scjul, at peace with himself, and at peace with
man — could never have penned the book of Ecclesiastes.
To have written the book of Ecclesiastes a man must have
been qualified in a peculiar Avay. . He must have been a man
of intense feeling — large in heart; as the Bible calls it. He
must, have been a man who had drunk- deep of unlawful
pleasure. He must have been a man in the upper ranks of
society, with plenty of leisure: and plenty of time to brood
on self. Therefore, in saying it is an inspired book, I mean
the inspired account of the workings of a guilty, erring, and
yet, at last, conquering spirit. It is not written -as a wise
and calm Christian would write, but as a heart would write
which was fevered with disappointment, jaded: with passion
ate attempts in the pursuit of blessedness, and forced to God
as the last resource.
My younger brethren, that saddest book in all the Bible.
stands before you as the beacon and the warriing frorn a God
who loves you, and would spare you bitterness if He could.

Solomon's Restoration. 743
FoIIoav inclination noAv, put no restraint on feeling — say that
there is time enough to be religious by-and-by — forget that
noAV is the time to take Christ's yoke upon you, and learn
gradually and peacefully that serene control of heart which
must be learnt at last by a painful wrench — forget all that,
and say. that you trust in God's love and mercy to bring all
right, and then that book of Ecclesiastes is your history.
The penalty that you pay for a youth of pleasure is, if you
have any thing good in you, an old age of weariness and re
morseful dissatisfaction.
Another part of Solomon's chastisement Avas doubt Once
more turn to the book of Ecclesiastes. "All things come
alike to all : there is one event to the righteous and to the
wicked ; to the good, and to the clean, and to the unclean ;
to him that sacrificeth, and to him that sacriflceth not." In
this, brethren, you Avill observe the querulous complaint of a
man who has ceased to feel, that God is the Ruler of this
world. A blind chance, or a dark destiny, seems to rule all
earthly things. And that is the penalty of leaving God's
narroAV path for sin's Avider and more flowery one. . You lose
your way; you get perplexed; doubt' takes possession of
your soul. And, my Christian brethren, if I speak to any
such, you know that there is no suffering more severe than
doubt. There is a loss of aim, and you knoAV not what you
have to. live for. Life has lost its meaning and its infinite
significance. There is a hollowness at the heart of your ex
istence. There is a feeling of weakness, and a discontented
loss of self-respect. God has hidden His face from you be
cause you have been trying to do Avithout Him or to serve
Him with a divided heart.
But now, lastly, we have to remark, that the love of God
brought Solomon through all this to spiritual manhood.
" Let us hear the conclusion of the Avhole matter : Fear God,
and keep his commandments : for this is the whole duty of
man." In this, brethren, we have the evidence of his victory.
Doubt, and imprisonment, and worldliness havepassed away,
and clear activity, belief, freedom, have taken their place. It
Avas a terrible discipline, but God had made that discipline
successful. Solomon struggled manfully to the end. The
details of his life were dark, but the life itself was earnest;
and after. many a fall, repentance, with unconquerable' pur
pose, began afresh. And so he struggled on, often baffled,
often down, but never finally subdued ; and still with tears
and indomitable trust, returning to the conflict again. And
so when we come to the end of his last earthly work, Ave find
the sour, smoke, which had so long been smouldering in his

744 Solomon's Restoration,
i
heart and choking his existence, changed into bright, clear
flame. He has found the secret out at last, and it has filled
his whole soul with blessedness. God is man's happiness.
" Fear God, and keep His commandments : for this is the
Avhole duty of man."
And now, brethren, let us come to the meaning and the
personal application of all this. There is a way — let us not
shrink from saying it — there is a way in which sin may be
made to minister to holiness. "To whomsoever much is
forgiven the same loveth much." There was an everlasting
truth in Avhat our Messiah said to the moral Pharisees :
" The publicans and the harlots go into the kingdom of
God before you." Now these are Christ's words ; and we
will not fear to boldly state the same truth, though it be
liable to much misinterpretation. Past sin, brethren, may be
made the stepping-stone to heaven. Let a man abuse that
if he will by saying, " Then it is best to sin." A man may
make the doctrine absurd, even shocking, by that inference,
but it is true for all that. "All things work together for
good to them that love God." All things, even sin. God
can take even your sin, and make it work to your soul's
sanctification. fie can let- you down into such an abyss of
self-loathing and disgust, such life-weariness, and doubt,
and misery, and disappointment, that if He ever raises you
again by the invigorating experience ofthe love of. Christ,
you will rise stronger from your very fall, and in a manner
secured against apostasy again. Solomon, king of .Israel,
sinned, and, by the strange poAver of the cross of Christ,
that sin gave him deeper knowledge of himself, deeper
insight into tfte mystery of human life, more marvellous
power of touching the souls of his brother-men, than if he
had not sinned. But forget not this, if ever a great sinner
becomes a great saint, it will be tlirough agonies which none
but those who have sinned know.
Brethren, I speak to those among you who know some
thing about what the world is worth, who have tasted its
fruits, and found them like the Dead Sea apples — hollowness
and ashes. By those foretastes of coming misery which
God has already given you, those lonely feelings of utter
wretchedness and disappointment when yea have returned
home palled and satiated from : the gaudy entertainment,
and the truth has pressed itself icy cold, upon your heart,
" Vanity of vanities " — is this worth living for ? By all that,
be warned. Be true to your convictions. Be honest with
yourselves. Bo manly in working out your doubts, as
Solomon was. Greatness, goodness, blessedness, lie not in

Joseph' s forgiveness of his Brethren. 745
the life that you are leading noAV. They lie in quite a
different path: they lie in a life hid Avith Christ in God.
Before God is compelled to write that upon your heart in
disgust and disappointment, learn " what is that good for
the sons of men which they should do " all the days of
their life under the heaven. Learn from the very greatness
of your souls, which have a capacity for infinite agony, that
you are in this world for a grander destiny than that of
frittering away life in uselessness.
Lastly, let us learn from this subject the covenant love
of God. There is such a thing as love Avhich rebellion
can not Aveary, which ingratitude can not cool. It is the love
of God to those whom He has redeemed in Christ. " Did
not Solomon, king of Israel, sin ? and yet there was no
king like him Avho Avas beloved of his God." Let that, my
Christian brethren, be to us a truth not to teach carelessness,
but thankfulness. Oh ! trembling believer in Christ, are
you looking into the dark future and fearing, not knoAving
what God will be to you at the last ? Remember, Christ
" having loved His own Avho are in the world loved them to
to the end." Your salvation is in the hands of Christ; the
everlasting arms are beneath you. The rock on Avhich your
salvation is built is love, and the gates of hell shall not
prevail against you.

XVII.
JOSEPH'S FORGIVENESS OF HIS BRETHREN.
"And when Joseph's brethren saw that their father was dead, they said,
Joseph will peradventure hate us, and will certainly requite us all the evil
which we did unto him. * And they' sent a messenger unto Joseph, saying,
Thy father did command before he died, saying, So shall ye say unto Joseph,
Forgive, I pray thee now, the trespass of thy brethren, and their sin ; for
they did unto thee evil : and now, we pray thee, forgive the trespass of the
servants oi" the God of thy father. And Joseph wept when they spake unto
him. And his brethren also went and fell down before his face ; and they
said, Behold, we be thy servants. And Joseph said unto them, Fear not :
for am I in the place of God ? But as for you, ye thought evil against me ;
but God meant it unto good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much
people alive. - Now, therefore, fear ye not : I will nourish you, and your little
ones. And he comforted them, and spake kindly unto them. "¦ — Gen. 1. 15-21.
Christianity is a revelation of the love of God — a de
mand of our love by God based thereon. Christianity is a
revelation of Divine forgiveness — a requirement thereupon
that Ave should forgive each other. 32

746 Josephs Forgiveness of his Brethren.
" A neAV commandment I give unto you, That ye love one
another ; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another "
(John xiii. 34) ; " Ye call me Master and Lord : and ye say
well, for so I am. If I, then, your Lord and Master, have
Avashed your feet ; ye also ought to Avash one another's feet.
For I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have
done to you" (John xiii. 13-15) ; "Forgive us our debts, as
Ave forgive our debtors " (Matt. vi. 12) ; " Beloved, if God so
loved us, we ought also to love one another" (l Johniv. 11) ;
" Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, even as
God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you" (Ephes. iv. 32).
Now these duties of love, forgiveness, service, are called
" new commandments." But we should greatly mistake if
Ave suppose that they are neAV in this sense, that- they Avere
created by the Gospel, and did not exist before. The Gospel
did not make God love us ; it only reA'ealed His love. The
Gospel did not make it our duty to forgive and love ; it only
revealed the eternal order of things, to transgress Avhich is
our misery. These belong to the eternal. order and idea of
our humanity. We are not planted by Christ in a neAV ar
bitrary state of human relationships, but redeemed into the
state to which we were created.
So St. John says, " I write no neAV. commandment unto you,
but an old commandment which ye had from the beginning.
The old commandment is the word which ye have heard from
the beginning. Again, a new commandment I write unto
you, which thing is true in him and in you ; because the dark
ness is past, and the true light now shineth " — old, because
of the eternal order of love ; new, because shown in the light
of the love of Christ. Christianity is the true life — the right
humanity. Now the proof of this is, that ages before Christ appeared,
they who gave themselves up to God to be led instead of to
their own hearts, did actually reduce to practice, and mani
fested in their lives, those very principles which, as princi
ples, were only revealed by Christ.
Here^ for instance, three thousand years before Christ, Jo
seph, a Hebrew slave, taught by life's vicissitudes, educated
by God, acts out practical Christianity — one of its deepest
and most difficult lessons. There is nothing in the New Tes
tament more childlike than this forgiveness of his brethren.
Some perhaps may be shocked at dwelling on this thought :
it seems to them to derogate from Christ. This is as if they
thought that they honored Christ by believing that until He
came no truth was known — that He created truth. These
persons tremble at every instance of a noble or pure life

Joseph's Forgiveness of his Brethren. 747
Avhich can be shown in persons not enlightened by Christian
ity. But, in truth, this is a corroboration of Christianity.
Christianity is a full revelation ofthe truth of life, into which
every one Avho had been here had, in his measure, struck his
roots before. It is simply " the truth, the same yesterday,
to-day and forever." And all instances of such a life only
corroborate the truth of the revelation.
We divide our subject into tAvo parts :
I. The petition of the brethren.
II. Joseph's forgiveness.
1. The petition Avas suggested by their own anticipations
of vengeance. Now whence came these anticipations ? I
reply, from their OAvn hearts. Under similar circumstances
they Avould have acted so, and they took for granted that Jo
seph Avould. We suspect according to our nature, we look
on others as Ave feel. Suspicion proves character, so does
faith.- We believe and suspect as we are. But unless there
had been safety for them in Joseph's heart, a guaranty in the
nobleness of Joseph's nature, their abject humiliation would
have saved them nothing. Little they kneAV the power of
hate, the sweetness of revenge, if they fancied that a grudge
treasured up so many years would be foregone on the very
verge of accomplishment for the sake of any satisfaction,
prayer, apology.
Now the error of Joseph's brethren is our error towards
God. Like them, we impute to God our own vindictive feel
ings, and, like them, we pray a prayer which is in itself an in
sult or absurd. We think that sin is an injury, a personal
affront, instead of a contradiction of our OAvn nature, a de
parture from the Divine harmony, a disfigurement of Avhat
is good. Consequently we expect that God resents it. Our
vindictive feelings we impute to God: we would revenge,
therefore we think He Avould. And then in this spirit, " For
give us," means, " Forego thy vengeance. Do not retaliate.
I have injured Thee ; but lo ! I apologize, I lie in the dust.
Bear no malice, indulge no rancor, O God!" This is the
heathen prayer which we often offer up to God. And just
as it must have been unavailing in Joseph's case except there
were safety in Joseph's character, so must it be useless in
ours. unless in God's nature there be a guaranty which we
thirik our prayers create.- Think you that God, if revenge
ful, can be bought off by prayer, by rolling in the dust, by
unmanly cries, by coaxing, or flattery ? God's forgiveness is
the regeneration of our nature. God can not avert the con
sequences of our sin.

748 Joseph's Forgiveness of his Brethren.
We must get rid of these heathen ideas of God. God's
forgiveness is properly our regeneration. You can not by
prayer buy off God's vindictiveness ; for God is not vin
dictiveness, but love. You can not by prayer avert the
consequences of sin, for the consequences are boundless,
inseparable from the act. Nor is there in time or eternity
any thing that can sever the connection. If you thirik that
you can sin, and then by cries avert the consequences of
sin, you insult God's character. You can only redeem the
past by alteration of the present. By faith in God's love,
by communion with His Spirit, you may redeem yourself;
but you can not win the love of God by entreaty unless that
love be yours already — yours, that is, Avhen you claim it.
2. Next, observe the petition Avas caused by their father's
insisting on their asking pardon.
He recognized the duty of apology. For Jacob knew
that Joseph bore no malice. Not to change Joseph, but to
fulfill their obligations, he gave the charge that required sat
isfaction. We knoAV how false conceptions are of satisfac
tion : in the language of the old duel, to give satisfaction
meant to give one Who had been injured by you an opportu
nity of taking your life. In the language' of semi-heathen
Christianity, to satisfy God means to give God an equivalent
in blood for an insult offered. No wonder that with' such
conceptions the duty of apology is hard — almost impossible.
We can not say, "I have erred,"- because it gives a triumph.
Noav the true view of satisfaction is this— to satisfy, not re
venge, but the law of right. The sacrifice of Christ satisfied
God, because it /exhibited that which alone can satisfy Him,
the entire surrender of humanity. The satisfaction of an
apology is doing the right — satisfying — doing all that can be
done. It may be our lot to be in Jacob's circumstances : we may
be arbiters in a dispute, or seconds in a quarrel. And remem
ber, to satisfy in this sense is not to get for vour friend all
his vindictiveness requires, or to make him give as little as
the other demands, but to see that he does' all that should of
right be done.
His honor ! Yes ; but you can not satisfy his honor by
glutting his revenge, only by making him do right. And if
he has erred or injured, in no possible way can you repair his
honor or heal his shame except by- demanding that he shall
make full acknowledgment. " I have erred" it is very hard
to say ; but because it is hard it is therefore manly. You are
too proud to apologize, because it will give your adversary an
advantage ? But remember, the advantage is already given

Joseph's Forgiveness of his Brethren. 749
.to him by the wrong that you have done, and every hour
that you delay acknowledgment you retain your inferiority ;
you diminish the difference and your inferiority so soon as
you dare to say, " I did Avrong ; forgive me."
3. Plea — as servant of the same God (ver. 17). Forgive
ness is not merely a moral but a religious duty. Now re
member this was an argument which Avas only available in
behalf of the Jews. It could not have been pleaded for an
Egyptian. Joseph might haA'e been asked to forgiA'e on
grounds of humanity ; but not by the sanctions of religion,
if an Egyptian had offended him. For an Egyptian did
not serve the God of his fathers.
Hoav shall we apply that? According to the spirit in
which we do, we may petrify it into a maxim narrower than
.Judaism, or enlarge it into Christianity. If by " servants
of the God of our fathers," we mean our own sect, party,
church, and that Ave must forgive them, narrow indeed is the
principle we have learnt from this passage. But Judaism
Avas to preserve truth — Christianity to expand it. Christian
ity says, just as Judaism did, "Forgive the servants ofthe
God." Its pleas are, " Forgive : for he is thy fellow-servant.
Seventy times seven times forgive thy brother." But it ex
pands that word "brother" beyond, what the law ever
dreamed of — God is the Father of man. If there be a soul
for which Christ did not die, then that man you are not, on
Judaistic principles, bound to forgive. If there be one whom
the love of God does not embrace in the Gospel family, then
for that one this plea is unavailing. But if God be the
Father of the race, and if Christ died for all ; if the Avord
" neighbor " means even an alien and a heretic ; then this
plea, narrowed by the law to his nation, expands for us to all.
Because the servant of our Maker and the child of our Father,
therefore he must be forgiven, let him be whosoever he may.
II. Let us consider, in the second place, Joseph's forgive
ness. 1. Joseph's forgiveness was shown by his renunciation of
the office of avenger — " Am I in the place of God ?" Now
this we may make to convey a Christian or a heathen sense,
as we read it. > It might read — we often do read it — we often
say it thus : " I will not avenge, because God will. If God
did not, I would. But certain that He will do it, I can wait,
and I will wait, long years ; I "will watch the reverses of for
tune ; I will mark the progress of disease ; I will observe the
error, failing, grief, loss ; and I will exult and say, ' I knew it,
but my hancl Avas not on him; God has revenged me better

750 Joseph's Forgiveness of his Brethren.
than I could myself.' " This is the cold-blooded, fearful feel
ing that is sometimes concealed under Christian forgiveness.
Do not try to escape the charge. That feeling your heart
and mine have felt, Avhen Ave thought we were forgiving, and
were praised for it. That was not Joseph's meaning. Read
it thus : " If God does not, dare I avenge ? ' Am I in the
place of God ?' Dare I
" ' Snatch from His hand the balance and the rod,
Rejndge His justice, be the God of God ?' "
So speaks St. Paul, " Vengeance is mine." Therefore wait,
sit still, and see God's wrath ? No ! " Therefore, if thine en
emy hunger, feed him ; if he thirst, giA'e him drink." This is
the Christian revenge.
I say not that there is no such thing as the duty of re
dressing wrongs, especially those of others. There is a keen
sense of wrong, a mighty demand of the heart for justice,
Avhich can not be put aside. And he who can not feel indig
nation against wrong can not, in a manly way, forgive injury.
But I say, the only revenge which is essentially Christian is
that of retaliating by forgiveness. And he who has ever
tasted that Godlike feeling of forbearance when insulted;
of speaking well of one who has slandered him (pleasure all
the more exquisite if the slanderer does not know it) ; of
doing service in requital of an injury ; he, and only he, can
know how it is possible for our frail humanity, by abnegating
the place of God the Avenger, to occupy the place of God
the Absolver.
2. Joseph forgave, or facilitated forgiveness, 'by observing
the good results of what had seemed so cruel (ver. 20).
Good out of evil — that is the strange history of this world,
Avhenever we learn God's character. No thanks to you.
Your sin dishonored you, though it will honor God. By our
intentions, and not by the results, are our actions judged.
Remember this tenaciously : forgiveness becomes less diffi
cult, your worst enemy becomes your best friend, if you trans
mute his evil by good. No one can really permanently in
jure us but ourselves. No one can dishonor us : Joseph was
immured in a dungeon. They spat on Christ. Did that sully
the purity of the one, or loAver the Divine dignity of the
other ?
3. He forgot the injury. He spake kindly to them, com
forted them, and bade them fear not. An English proverb
has joined forgiving and forgetting. No forgiveness is com
plete which does not join forgetfuiness. You forgive only so
far as you forget But here Ave must explain, else we get

Joseph's Forgiveness of his Brethren. 751
into the common habit of using Avords Avithout meaning.
To forget, literally, is not a matter of volition. You can by-
Avill remember — you can not by an act of will forget — you
can not give yourself a bad memory if you have a good one.
In that sense, to forget is a foolish way of talking. And
indeed to forget in the sense of oblivion would not be truly
forgiving ; for if Ave forgive only while Ave do not recollect,
who shall insure that with recollection hate shall not return ?
More than that In the parable of the forgiving debtor,
you remember his sin in this sense was not forgotten. Fresh
sin Avaked up all the past. He Avas forgiven ; then he Avas
reminded of the past debt, and cast into prison. Not for his
new offense, but for his old debt, Avas he delivered to the
tormentors — it Avas not forgotten. But the true Christian
forgiveness, as here in Joseph's example, is unconditional.
Observe — he did not hold his brethren in suspense ; he did
not put them on their good behavior ; he did not say, " I
hold this threat over you if you do it again." That is for
giving and not forgetting. But that Avas a frank, full, free
remission — consoling them — trying to make them forget —
neither by look or word showing memory, unless the fault
had been repeated. It Avas unconditional, with 110 reserve
behind. That was forgiving and forgetting.
To conclude. Forgiveness is the work- of a long life to
learn. This was at the close of Joseph's life. He would not
have forgiven them in youth — not when the smart was fresh
— ere he saw the good resulting from his suffering. But-
years, experience, trial, had softened Joseph's soul. A dun
geon and a government had taught him much; also his fa
ther's recent death. Do not think that any formula Avill
teach this. No mere maxims got by heart about forgiveness
of injuries — no texts perpetually on the tongue will do this —
God alone can teach it : By experience ; by a sense of human
frailty ; by a perception of " the soul of goodness in things
evil ;" by a cheerful trust in human nature ; by a strong sense
of God's love ; by long and disciplined realization of the aton
ing love of Christ : only thus can we get that free, manly,
large, princely spirit which the best and purest of all the pa-
.triarchs, Joseph, exhibited in his matured manhood.

752 A Thanksgiving Day.

XVIII.
A THANKSGIVING DAY.
"Afterward Jesus findeth him in the temple, and said unto him, Behold,
thou art made whole : sin no more, lest a worse thing come unto thee. The
man departed, and told the Jews that it was Jesus, which had made him
whole." — John v. 14, 15.
The man to whom these words were spoken had been
lying, only a few days before, a helpless, hopeless sufferer
among the porches of' Bethesda, together with a number of
others affected in a similar manner. By a singular, unex
pected, and miraculous event, he was rescued from his calam
ity, while the remainder were left to the mercies of public
charity, or to avail themseh'es of the mysterious spring of
Bethesda. It was a time of festival in Jerusalem, the streets were
probably echoing with the voice of mirth and festivity, with
the sounds of them that kept holiday : but it was to this con
gregation of the sick and the miserable that the Redeemer
bent his steps ; it Avas what might have been expected from
the Son of Man — "The whole need not a physician, but they
thr,t are sick." It was the office of the Man of SorroAvs to
soothe tbe wretched ; and of all the crowded scenes that day
enacting in the Holy City, the "great multitude of impotent
folk, of blind, halt, withered," found that their abode was the
most congenial atmosphere to the soul of the Redeemer.
And in all this we have but a miniature representation of
the world as it is hoav. Jerusalem contained within its walls,
within its proud battlements, and amidst its stately temples,
as much wretchedness and as much misery, separated only
by a thin partition from its abodes of luxury and state, as
our own metropolis does now. It is a miniature representa
tion of the world in this, so full of outward shoAv and of in
ward wretchedness. It is a representation of the Avorld we
live in, inasmuch as it is a place where selfishness prevails;
for there was affixed a certain condition to the healing ofthe
spring, that the man should be the first; if he were "not the
first, no miracle took place, and there was one more friend
less wretch.
This man had no one to give him the little assistance re
quired. For thirty-eight years he had been lingering here,
and there appeared to have been no visitor who would sup-

A Thanksgiving Day. 753
ply what was wanting of the ties of blood or relationship.
It is, I say, but a representation of what this world is, when
the love of God has not touched the heart of man. It is a
representation of the Avorld, too, in this, that with suffering
there is frequently appointed the remedy. The remedy is
often found side by side with the pain it may relieve, if we
could but make use of it. It is so in both bodily and spirit
ual maladies — there is a remedial system, a pool of Bethesda,
everywhere springing up by the side of sin and suffering.
It is a representation of the world, also, that the presence
of the Son of Man should be felt rather in scenes of' sorrow
than of joy. It is not in the day of high health and strength,
when our intellect is powerful, our memory vigorous, when
we feel strong in our integrity and our courage, but Avhen
our weakened powers have made us feel that we are " a
Avorm and no man ;" when our failing faculties convince us
that, except for our connection with immortality, our minds
would be as nothing ; when we feel temptation getting too
-strong for us, and that we are on the brink of falling— then
it is that we are taught there is a strength not our oavh, be
yond any thing that we possess of our OAvn. It is then that
the presence of the Son of Man is felt ; then is the day of our
merciful and mysterious deliverance.
And there is another resemblance to be noted. The Sa
viour of the world went into the Bethesda porches, and out
of the great number of sufferers he selected one — not because
of his superior righteousness, not for any merit on his part,
but for reasons hidden within His own Almighty Mind. , So
it is in the world — one is taken, another is left; one nation
is sterile, another is fertile ; one is full of diseases from Avhich
another is exempted ; one man is surrounded with luxuries
and comforts, another with every suffering Avhich flesh is heir
to. So much for the miniature of the world exhibited by
the pool of Bethesda.
Now in connection Avith this subject there are two branch
es in which Ave will arrange our observations.
I. The cause of this man's disease.
II. The history of his gratitude.
I. Concerning the cause of his disease, we are not left in
any doubt, the "Redeemer's own lips have told us what it was
— " Sin no more, lest a worse thing come unto thee." So Ave
see there was a strange connection between this bodily mal
ady and moral evil, a connection that Avould have startled all
around if it had been seen. No doubt the men of science,
versed in the healing art. would have found some cause for
32*

754 A Thanksgiving Day,
his malady connected with the constitution of his bodily
frame; but the Redeemer Avent beyond all this. Thirty-
eight years before, there had been some sin committed, pos
sibly a small sin, in our eyes at least, of which the result had
been thirty-eight years of suffering ; and so the truth we
gather from this is, there is a connection between physical
and moral evil ; a connection, my Christian brethren, more
deep than any of us have been accustomed to 'believe in.
But most assuredly, many ofthe most painful forms of dis
ease that come upon the body depend upon the nervous con
stitution ; and the nervous system is connected inseparably
Avith the moral state more than men suppose. Often where
Ave have been disposed to refer the whole to external causes,
there ^ias been something of moral disorder in the character
which makes that constitution exquisitely susceptible of suf
fering and incapable of enjoyment. Every physician will
tell us that indulged passions will lead to a disturbed state
of body ; that Avant of self-control in various ways will end in
that Avretched state Avhen the light that falls on the eye inflicts
torture, the sounds that are heard in the ear are all discord,
and all this beautiful creation, so formed for delight, only
ministers to the sufferings ofthe diseased and disorganized
frame. Thus Ave see that external suffering is often connect
ed with moral evil, but we must carefully guard and modify
this statement, for this is not universally the case ; and it is
clear this was the Saviour's opinion, for when the disciples
came to Him on another occasion asking whether the blind
man or his parents did sin, He answered that neither had
sinned, plainly showing that there Avas sometimes physical
suffering for which there was no moral cause. In that case
it was not for his OAvn sin, or even that of others— it baffled
all the investigations of man to explain it.
Now, Ave must remember this when we see cases of bodily
suffering : we must consider that there is a great difference
between the tAvo senses in which the word punishment is
used. It may be a penalty, it may be a chastisement : one
meaning of punishment is, that the law exacts a penalty if it
is broken — notice having been given that a certain amount
of suffering would follow a certain course of action. All
the laws of God, in the physical world, in the moral world,
or in the political Avorld, if broken, commonly entail a penal
ty. Revolutions beset a nation, shaking its very founda
tions, owing to some defects in the justice or wisdom of its
government, and we can not say that all this comes from the
dust, or springs out of the ground. There are causes in the
history of past events that will account for it. The philo-

A Thanksgiving Day. 755
sophical historian of future years Avill show the results of
some political mistake, continued perhaps for centuries, by
the rulers of this nation. So in the moral and in the physi
cal world there are laws, as it were, that execute themselves.
If a man eat a deleterious herb, Avhether he does it willing
ly or unconsciously, the penalty will fall on his body. If a
man touch the lightning-conductor, not knowing that the air
is charged with electricity, no holiness on his part will pre
vent the deadly stroke. But there is another kind of law,
Avritten in the hearts of men, and given to the conscience,
Avhen the penalty is awarded as the result of moral trans
gression, and then it becomes a chastisement, and the lan
guage of Scripture then becomes the language of our hearts.
It is the rod of God that hath done all' this.
There is another thing that Ave must bear in mind, that
there are certain evils Avhich fall upon man over which he
can have no control. They come as the result of circum
stances over which he has no power whatever. So, we read
in the Second book of Kings, the child of the Shunammite
Avent out amongst the reapers ; he was suddenly seized with
a deadly pain in his head, was taken to his mother, sate upon
her lap, and died at noon. A sunstroke had struck that
child ; but to say that from any fault of his he was selected
as the object of suffering, when the rest of the reapers were
spared, Avould be as unjust as to say that those upon Avhom
the Tower of Siloam fell were sinners above all the Gali
leans. Moreover, to understand this we must recollect that the
laws of God. and the penalties of God are not miracles. If
the penalty comes as the consequence appointed by God
Himself, to follow certain sins, it is a natural punishment, but
if it comes with no connection, it is then an arbitrary punish
ment. So, if a man educates a child ill, and he turns out a
bad man, there is the natural connection between the penalty
and the guilt. But if a man, pursuing his journey, is struck
Avith lightning, there is no penalty there. Now, in the Old
Testament we find a natural punishment falling on Eli. He
allowed his children to grow up without correction, and the
contempt and scorn of the whole nation fell upon that family,
and the father actually died in consequence of the shock of
his children's misconduct. But if the father had died in bat
tle, or by an accident, then it would have been unjust to say
that there was any connection between his misconduct and his
sudden death ; it would have been an arbitrary connection.
The punishments of God are generally not arbitrary : each
laAV, as it Avere, inflicts its own penalty. It does not execute

756 A Thanksgiving Day.
one that belongs to another. So, if the drunkard lead a life
of intoxication, the consequence will be a trembling hand
and a nervous frame ; but if he be drowned in the seas when
sailing in the storm, he is punished for having broken a natu
ral law, not a moral laAV of God. Let us then bear in mind
that if the ship convey across the ocean the heavenly-mind
ed missionary and the scoffing infidel, if the working of the
vessel be attended to, and there is nothing unusual in the
Avinds and the waves, they will convey the one to his desti
nation as safely as the other.
Now, the application Ave must make of all this is, if a man
perish when out on a sabbath-day, we have no right to say
that he dies because he has broken the sabbath. If famine
or pestilence visit the land, it may be explained by the in
fringement of some of God's natural laws; the earth may
notbe rightly cultivated, sanitary means have not been
taken to stop "the pestilence ; but we have no right to say
that they come in consequence of political relations which
are not to our mind, or of regulations of policy, of which Ave
disapprove. There is one thing more. It is perfectly possible that
transgressions against the natural laAvs of God may, in the
end, become trespasses against His moral law, and then the
penalty becomes chastisement. The first man that drank the
fermented juice of the grape was perfectly innocent, even if
it caused intoxication ; but when he found how it affected
his brain, it became sin to him thenceforward. The first
time that a man enters into society which he finds hurtful
to his religious feelings, he may have done it innocently ;
but Avhen he sees hoAV it loAvers the tone of his character, he
must mingle amongst them no more. So want of cleanli
ness in some Alpine regions may result from ignorance of
the laws of nature ; but when, in more crowded populations,
it is ascertained that it is productive of disease, and injurious
to those around them, then the infraction of the natural' laAV
is stigmatized as a higher degree of turpitude. That which
was a penalty becomes something more of chastisement from
the wrath of God. So it is that science goes on enlighten
ing men more and more as to the laws of God's physical
Avorld, and telling them Avhat they must and what they must
not do, in order to lessen the amount of bodily suffering
around us.
My Christian brethren, we have spoken of these things at
some length, because all these considerations have been
brought into our view by that pestilence,* from Avhich we
* The cholera.

A Thanksgiving Day. 757
¦celehrate our deliverance this day; partly the result of
causes over which man has no control, and partly the result
of the disregard of natural laws ; partly, also, from the pres
ence of moral evil amongst us. That these three distinct
classes of causes have been present may be proved by tra
cing its history. They who have made it their duty to trace
out its progress tell us that its origin was in 1818, in Bengal,
Avhen it arose during the overflow of the River Ganges ; and
then, dividing into two streams of pestilence and death, it
passed through the world ; one going to the east, the other
to the west. The eastern current passed on till it reached
the shores of China ; the western moved slowly on with gi
gantic tread, decimating nations as it went, cutting off nine
thousand of the British army ; and passing through Persia
and Arabia, it destroyed twelve thousand of the pilgrims to
Mecca, till it paused mysteriously and strangely on the very
verge of Europe — as if the voice of God himself had said,
" There is danger near; set thine house in order." By 1830
it had reached the metropolis of Russia. In 1831 it was do
ing its dreadful work in our own capital, while eighteen
thousand fell in Paris alone ; and it then passed on, as a
winged messenger, across the ocean to America.
There Avas then a strange disappearance of the pestilence
for four or five years, till 1837, when it appeared first in the
southern parts of Europe, and gradually rolled its relentless
course onward to our shores. In all this you will perceive
something over which we have no control. It has pursued
its way not guided by moral evil or by physical causes, but
by some cause, explain it as you will — as electricity, or any
other conjecture — it is one that baffles every effort to stay
its progress. It has taken the same road, too, that it took
on its former visitation. The common food of man seems
changed into something poisonous, the very air is charged
with contagion ; every thing proclaims it as a visitation from
the Almighty. And in the very character of the disease
there is something that marks it out from all other diseases :
it has been truly said, that in its worst cases there is but one
symptom, and that one is death. A man is full of health
and strength, and in tAvo hours he is gone. It is a disease
which in its best form is terrific. That being Avho just now
stood before you in perfect health, is in a moment a cold,
livid, convulsed mass of humanity, fighting with the foe
that threatens to overcome him.
But yet Ave find, in spite of all this, that in the progress of
this strange disease, great mistakes have been made by man.
From the circumstance of the poorer classes being the chief

758 A Thanksgiving Day.
sufferers, they fancied that it was inflicted by the higher-;
and in some places they rose against them, accusing them of
poisoning the wells. And we find Christians so mistaken as
to look on all this suffering, not as the natural connection
between sin and its penalty, but as having some arbitrary
connection with the sin of others, from Avhich they them
selves and their own party are free.
But, in the next place, Ave find that it really has been
caused in some degree by the transgression of the laws of
nature ; for whatever may have been the secret origin of the
disease, whatever may be the mystery of its onward course,
still we know that there are certain conditions usually neces
sary to make it destructive. So we find that in India it was
the natives who for the most part suffered, those whose con
stitutions had less stamina than our own. And here we see
that debility produced by over-work, bad air, crowded dwell
ings, have been the predisposing causes ; and this tells us,
if ever visitation could speak, that affliction cometh not out
of the dust, neither does sorrow spring from the ground. It
has no direct connection with moral character, except on pe
culiar points. Place a worldly man and a holy man in the
same unfavorable circumstances for receiving the disorder,
and you will not find the one has any charm to escape the
fate of the other.
But we do find that this disease is increased and propa
gated by human selfishness. We read of the crowds at
Bethesda, of whom it was said, there was no man to put
them into the water ; and so it is now. The poor, the helpless,
the neglected, ha/e been the chief sufferers. Out of two hun
dred and forty-three Avho in this place have suffered from that
and similar causes, one hundred and sixty-three were re
ceiving parish relief. And in this there is something that
tells us not merely of ignorance, but of selfishness ; for when
commissioners went through the length and breadth of the
country to examine into the statistics of the disease, we were
met by the startling fact that medical science, that careful
nursing, could do nothing while our croAvded graveyards, our
teeming and airless habitations, our worn-out and unhealthy
population, received and propagated the miasma ; and every
time that a man in the higher classes perished, it was as if
the poor neglected man had spoken from the grave; or, as
if God himself had been heard to speak through him. He
seems to say, " I can prove to you now my relationship.
lou can receive evil from me, if nothing else has ever passed
between us ; the same constitution, the same flesh and blood,
the same frame were once ours; and if I can do it in no oth

A Thanksgiving Day. yen
er way, I can prove, by infecting you, that I am your broth
er still."
Once more : it has been produced in a degree by moral
evil ; vice has been as often the predisposing cause as any
other external circumstance, in certain cases. I say in cer
tain cases, not in all. A man might have been a blasphem
er, or a slanderer, but neither of these sins would affect
him ; but those sins Avhich are connected with the flesh, sen
suality, drunkenness, gradually pervade the human frame,
and fit it for the reception of this disease.
II. But Ave will pass on to consider the history of this
man's recovery, and of his gratitude. The first cause for
gratitude was his selection. He alone was taken, and others
Avere left. He had cause for gratitude, also, in that he had
been taught the connection between moral evil and its pen
alty. He had been taught the certainty of God's laws, how
they execute themselves, and, more blessed than all, he had
been taught that there was a Personal Superintendence over
all the children of men. The relief had come from the per
sonal interposition of the Son of Man. He Avent and told the
Jews that it Avas Jesus who had done this. And this ex
plains to us the meaning and the necessity of a public ac
knowledgment of our gratitude. It is meant to show this
nation that it is not by chance, nor by the operation of
science, nor by the might of man, that we have been rescued,
but that our deliverance comes direct from God.
Let lis observe the popular account (for John gives us the
popular account) of the angel troubling the water. It mat
ters ngt whether it is scientifically to be proved or not, the
secret causes lie hid beyond our investigation ; but this you
can observe, that it was a religious act, that it was not done
by chance, that there were living agents in the healing pro
cess. The man of science in the present day Avould tell you
Avhat were the ingredients in the spring — how it told on the
cellular tissue, or on the nervous fabric ; but whatever he
may make of it scientifically, it is true morally and relig
iously ; for Avhat is eA-ery remedy but the angel, the messen
ger of God sent down from the Father of all mercy, the
Fountain of all goodness ? So when we celebrate a day of
national thanksgiving, it is but the nation's voice, arising in
acknowledgment of a Parent's protection — that these things
come not by chance, but that there is personal superintend
ence over this world, and this . deliA^erance is the proof of a
Father's love.
Once more : a day of thanksgiving is meant to be a warn-

760 A Thanksgiving Day.
ing and a reminder against future sins. " Sin no more, lest
a worse thing come unto thee." And it has ever been so,
that the result of panic has been reaction. After excitement
comes apathy ; after terror has been produced, by danger
especially, comes indifference, and therefore comes the warn
ing voice from the Redeemer — " Sin no more, lest a worse
thing come unto thee."
But we may perhaps say, "My sin did not produce this
disease. It was no doing — no fault of mine; it. came from
causes beyond my control. The pestilence now has wreaked
its. vengeance ; I find I had nothing to do with it, and I may
dismiss the subject from my riiind." My brethren, let us
look into this a little more deeply. It was not directly your
sin that nailed your Redeemer to the cross, but the sin of
the cruel Pharisees, of the relentless multitude ; yet it is
said, "The Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity of us all." It
arises all from this circumstance, brethren — there are two
worlds, a world of evil and a world of good; • The Son of
Man came as the perfect and entire representation of the
kingdom of holiness. He came in collision with the world
of evil ; He died for sinners — for the sins of others — of all
who partake of the nature of moral evil : and therefore by
their sin they nailed the Redeemer to the cross. All those
Avho opposed themselves to Jesus wouldhave opposed them
selves to Moses, Zacharias, and Abel ; they allowed the deeds
of their fathers, and were partakers of the blood of alt the
prophets that had been slain upon the earth.
The men who join in a crowd, aiding and abetting the
death of any individual, by. the law of every country are
held guilty; and noAV, though there may have beenjio dis
tinct act of selfishness by which any man has perished at
your hands ; though there have been no distinct want of
care for the poor— still I may fearlessly ask you all, Christian
brethren, does not your conscience tell you hoAV little the
welfare and the comfort of others has been in your thoughts?
As far as we have taken a part in the world's selfishness ; as far
as we have lived for self and not for our neighbors ; as far
as we have forgotten the poor sufferers lying in the porches
of Bethesda— not directly, but indirectly, all that has fallen
upon this land may have been sent as a chastisement to us.
And there is this to be explained — " Sin no more ;" mean
ing apparently, that if a man did not sin, nothing more
would happen. Are Ave to understand, then, that if a man
has been blameless he will never suffer from sorrow or sick
ness ? or that if a man will avoid sin, he will never be visit
ed by death ? To have said that Avould have been to contra-

Christian Friendship. 761
diet the history of the Redeemer's own life and death. He
died, though He sinned not. Hoav then, brethren, can avc
underitand it ? Why, Ave can understand it but in this way,
by recalling to our memory Avhat has been already said of
the difference between the punishment and the penalty. If
a man live a humble and holy life in Christ Jesus, there is no
promise that if plague visits his land it shall not come nigh
him. Live in purity, live in unselfishness; there is no
promise that you shall not be cut doAvn in a day ; there is
nothing in religion that can shield you from what the world
calls trouble — from penalty ; but there is this — that which
would have been chastisement is changed into penalty.
The Redeemer suffered death as a penalty ; but by no
means as chastisement ; on the contrary, it Avas the richest
blessing which a Father's love could bestow upon His well-
beloved Son, in Avhom He Avas well pleased. So it Avill be
with every one of us. He Avho lives to God, rests in his Re
deemer's love, and is trying to get rid of his old nature — to
him every sorrow, every bereavement, every pain, Avill come
i-.harged with blessings, and death itself Avill be no longer the
king of terrors, but the messenger of grace, the very angel
of God descending on the troubled waters, and calling him
to his Father's home.

XIX.
CHRISTIAN FRIENDSHIP.

"Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another: and the
Lord hearkened, and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before
him for them that feared the Lord, and that thought upon his name." —
Mal. iii. 16.
The first division of our subject is suggested by the word
" then." When ? They did thus in the times of Malachi.
It is only in reference to those times that Ave can extract the
true lesson from the conduct of the holy men whose behav
ior he praises. We will consider—
I. The times of Malachi.
II. The patience of the saints in evil times.
X Not much is knoAvn of the Prophet Malachi, or his exact
date. We are sure, however, that he Avas the last prophet
of the old dispensation. He lived somewhere between the
restoration from captivity and the coming of Christ.

762 Christian Friendship.
Thus much Ave know of those times from history: The
Jcays were restored. From chap, iii., ver. 1 0, Ave learn that the
Temple had been rebuilt. But Israel's grandeur Avas gone,
although still enjoying outAvard prosperity. The nation had
sunk into a state of political degradation, and had become
successively subject to' the Persians, Syrians, Romans. It is
precisely that political state in which national virtues do not
thrive, and national decay is sure. * * * *
Italy — Spain.
They had a glorious past. They had the enlightenment of
a present high civilization. But with this there was a want
of unity, manhood, and simple virtues. There was just suf
ficient gallingness in the yoke' to produce faction and sullen-
ness ; but not enough curtailment of all physical comforts
to rouse the nation as one man to reconquer freedom. It
Avas a state in which there was no visible Divine interfer
ence. Compare this period of Israel's history with all which had
preceded it. These four hundred years belong to profane
history. The writings of that period are not reckoned in
spired, so Avidely do they differ from the Scripture tone.
/There were no prophets, no flood of light, " no open vision."
The Word of God Avas precious as in that time between the
death of Joshua and the calling of Samuel.* Except this soli
tary voice, prophecy had hushed her harp.
Now, Avhat was given to Israel in that period ?
I repi}', retrospect, pause, and prospect.
Metrospect, in the sublime past which God had given her
for her experience. " They have Moses and the prophets, let
them hear them. ' On them they were to live — their nation's
sacred history ; God's guidance and faithfulness ; the sure
truth that obedience was best.
Prospect, in the expectation of better times.
Dim, vague hints of the Old Testament had pointed them
to a coming revelation — a day in whichGod should be near
er to them, in Avhich society should be"mOre pure. An ad
vent, in short.
And between these two there was a pause.
They were left by God to use the grace and knowledge al
ready given by Him.
Now this is parallel to God's usual modes of dealing. F01-
example, the pause of four hundred years in the land of
Egypt, between the bright days Avhen Abraham talked with
God, and the deliverance by Moses.
The. pause in Canaan when the Israelitish commomA-ealth
* Four hundred and thirtv-one vears.

Christian Friendship. 763
was left, like a building, to settle" down before being built
higher, between the times of Joshua and of Samuel.
The pause in the captivity, and now again a pause.
A pause after each revelation until the next.
So; in the natural world. Just as in summer there is a
gush of nature's forces and a shooting forth ; and then the
long autumn and winter, in which is no growth, but an op
portunity, taught by past experience, for the husbandman to
manure his ground, and sow his seed, and to wait for a new
outpouring of life upon the world.
And just as in human life, between its marked lessons
there. is a pause, in which we live upon past experience —
looking back and looking on. Experience and hope, that is
human life : as in youth, expecting manhood, and then look
ing for future changes in our condition, character, so in all
God's revelation system there have been periods of " open
A'ision," and periods of pause — waiting ; when men are left
to experience and hope.
It is in vain that we have studied God's Word if we do
not perceive that our OAvn clay and circumstances are parallel
Avith those of the prophet Malachi. We live in the world's
fourth great pause.
Miracles have ceased. Prophecy is silent. The Son of
God is ascended. Apostles are no longer here to apply in
fallible judgment to each neAV circumstance as it arises, as
St. Paul, did to the state ofthe Corinthian Church.
But we are left to the great Gospel principles which have
been already given, and which are to be our food till the
next flood of'God's Spirit, the next revelation — that which
the Scripture calls "the second advent."
And the parallel holds in another respect. The Jews had
but undefined hints of that which was to be. Yet they kneAV
the general outlines and character of the coming time ; they
knew that it would be a searching time, it was to be the
"Refiner's" day; they knew that He should turn the hearts
of the fathers to the children : and they knew that the mes
senger age must be preceded by a falling back on simpler
life, and a return to first principles, as Malachi had predicted,
r.nd as John the Baptist called them to. They knew that it
^ was an age in which the true sacrifice would be offered.
And so now — we know not yet what shall be; "but we
know that when He shall appear we shall be like Him, for
we shall see Him as he is." " And every man that hath this
hope in Him purifieth himself."
We knoAV that it Avill be the union of the human race—
they will be "onefold."

764 Christian Friendship.
This is the outline and character of the revelation'; and
Ave may Avork, at least, towards it. " Ye are not in darkness,
that that day should overtake you as a thief. : Ye are all the
children of the light, and the children of the day." " Where
fore comfort yourselves together, and edify one another,- even
as also ye do." To strive after personal purity and attempt
at producing unity, that is our work.
We rest on that we have, and hope for that Ave see not.
And only for the glimpse that hope gives us of that, is life
Avorth having.
II. Let us consider the conduct of different classes in these
evil times. .
1. Some lived recklessly.
Foremost among these Avere the priests, as has been al-
Avays found in evil times. The riot of a priest is worse than
that ofthe laity. Mutual corruption. Against the priests
Malachi's denunciations are chiefly directed.
He speaks of the profanation of the sacred places (chap.
i. 6, 1). Of sacrifice degraded (ver. 12, 13). Vice honored
(chap. ii. 1 1). In that they called good evil and evil good.
By these men belief in God was considered ridiculous.
And then it was that one of those glorious promises was
made, to be fulfilled in after-times. Malachi foresaw that
the Gentiles would take up the neglected service (chap. i. .10,
11), and the vision of a universal kingdom of God became
the comfort of the faithful few.
2. Others lived uselessly, because despondingly.
The languor and despair of their hearts is read in the
words (chap. in. 14, 15); and indeed it is not surprising: to
what point could good men look with satisfaction ? The na
tion was enslaved, and Avorse — they had become slaves in
spirit. Their ancient purity was gone. The very priests
had become atheists. Where was the promise of His coming ?
Such, too, is the question of these latter times. And our re
ply is from past experience.
That dark day passed, and a glorious revelation dawned
on the world. From what has been, we justly infer Avhat
will be. Promises fulfilled are a ground of hope for those
yet unfulfilled. Where is the promise now of holierjimes ?
Yes, but remember the question seemed to be just as unan-
answerable then; it was just as unanswerable in the days of
the Judges, and in the captivity in Egypt and in Babylon.
This " Scripture was written for our admonition, on whom
the ends ofthe world are come." Then the consolation of
St. Peter becomes intelligible, " We have a more sure Avord

Christian Friendship. 765
of prophecy ; whereunto ye do well that ye take heed, as
unto a light that shineth in a dark place, until the day dawn,
and the day-star arise in your hearts."
3. But in these evil times there were a feAv Avho com
pared with one another their hopes, and sought strength in
Christian communion and felloAVship. Of them the text
speaks. This communion of saints is twofold : it includes church
fellowship and personal friendships.
It is plain that from church fellowship they could gain lit
tle in those days. Unity there was not, but only disunion.
Over that state Malachi lamented in that touching appeal —
" Have we not all one Father ? hath not one God created us ?
why do we deal treacherously every man against his brother,
by profaning the covenant of our fathers ?" Israel had for
gotten that she Avas a family.
And it is true that in our day church fellowship is almost
only a name. The Christianity of the nation does not bind
us as individuals. Well — does the Church ? Are there many
traces of a common feeling ? When church privileges are
insisted on to produce unity, do they not produce division ?
Are not these words of the prophet true of us ? Where are
the traces of Christian brotherhood ?
Here — in this town ? here — in this congregation ? at the
holy supper Avhich we join in to-day ? Shall we meet to get
private good, or to feel we are partakers of the same Body
and the same Blood ? Therefore to insist on church union
as the remedy would be to miss the special meaning of this
verse. . The malady of our disunion has gone too deep to be
cured by you or me.
We will consider it, therefore, in reference to Christian
friendship. We find that within the outward Jewish Church
there was an inner circle, knit together by closer bonds than
circumcision or the passover — by a union of religious sym
pathies. "Then they that feared the Lord spoke often one
to another :" they " thought upon His name."
Let us consider the blessing of Christian friendship. In
such times it discharges a double office.
1. For the interchange of Christian hope and Christian
feeling. It is. dreary, to serve God alone; it is desolate to
have no one in our own circle or family from whom we can
receive sympathy in -our hopes. Hopes die.
2. It is a mighty instrument in guarding against tenipta
tion. It is a safeguard, in the way of example, and also as a
standard of opinion. We should become tainted by the
world if it Avere not for Christian friends.

766 Reconciliation by Christ.
In conclusion, cultivate familiar intimacy only with those
who love good and God. .
Doubtless there are circumstances which determine inti
macies, such as rank, station, similarity of tastes. But one
thing must be paramount to and modify, them all — com
munion in God. Not in a sectarian spirit. We are not to
form ourselves into a party with those who think as we do,
and use the formulas that we do. But the spirit" of the text
requires, us to feel strongly that there is a mighty gulf "be
tween those Avho love and those who do not love God. To
the one class we oAve civility, courtesy, kindness, even tender
ness. It is only those Avho love the Lord who should find in
our hearts a home.

XX.
RECONCILIATION BY CHRIST.
"And you, that were sometime alienated and enemies in your mind by
wicked works, yet now hath he reconciled." — Col. i. 21.
Theke are two, and only two kinds of goodness possible :
the one is the goodness of those who have never erred ; the
other is the goodness of those who, having erred, have been
recovered from their error. The first is the goodness of those
who have never offended ; the second is the goodness of those
who, having, offended, have been reconciled. In the infinite
possibilities of foci's universe, it may be that there are some
Avho have attained the first of these kinds of righteousness.
It may be that amongst the heavenly hierarchies, there are
those who have kept their first estate, whose performances
have been commensurate with their aspirations, who have
never known the Avretchedness, and misery, and degradation
of a Fall. But whether it be so or not' is a matter of no
practical importance to us. It may be a question specula
tively interesting, but it is practically useless, for it is plain
that such righteousness never can be ours. The only religion
possible to man is the religion of penitence. The righteous
ness of man can not be the integrity of the virgin citadel
which has never admitted the enemy ; it can never be more
than the integrity of the city which has been surprised and
roused, and which, having expelled the invader Avith blood
in the streets, bas suffered great inAvard loss.
, Appointed to these two kinds of righteousness there are

Reconciliation by Christ. 767
two kinds of happiness. To the first is attached the blessing
of entire ignorance ofthe stain, pollution, and misery of guilt
— a blessed happiness : but it may be that it is not the great
est. To the happiness resulting from the other is added a
greater strength of emotion ; it may not have the calmness
and peace of the first, but, perhaps, in point of intensity and
fullness it is superior. It may be that the highest happiness
can only be purchased through -suffering: and the language
of the. Bible almost seems to authorize us to say, that the
happiness of penitence is deeper and more blessed than the
happiness of the righteousness that has never fallen could
be. There are two kinds of friendship — that which has never
had a shock, and that which, after having been doubted, is
at last made sure. The happiness of this last is perhaps the
greater. Such seems to be the truth implied in the parable
ofthe prodigal son : in the robe, and the ring, and the fatted
calf, and the music, and dancing, and the rapture of a father's
embrace : and once more, in those Avords of our Redeemer,
" There is more joy among the angels of heaven over one
sinner that repenteth, than over ninety and nine just persons
that need no repentance." All these seem to tell of the im
measurable blessedness of penitence. And this, then, is our
subject — the subject of reconciliation.
But the text divides itself into two branches:
I. Estrangement.
II. Reconciliation.
Estrangement is thus described: "You that were some
time " (that is, once) " alienated and enemies in your mind
by wicked works :" in which there are three things. The
first is the cause of the estrangement — wicked works ; the
second is the tAvofold order ; and thirdly, the degree of that
estrangement ; first of all, mere alienation, afterwards hostili
ty, enmity.
And, first of all, we consider the cause of the estrange
ment — "wicked Avorks." Wicked Avorks are voluntary
deeds ; they are not involuntary, but Aroluntary wrong.
There is a vague way in which we sometimes speak of sin,
in which it is possible for us to lose the idea of its guilt, and
also to lose the idea of personal responsibility. We speak of
sin sometimes a* if it were a foreign disease' introduced into
the coristitution : an imputed guilt arising from an action
not our own, but of our ancestors. It is never so that the
Bible speaks of sin. It speaks of it as wicked Avorks, volun
tary deeds, voluntary acts ; that you, a responsible individ-

768 Reconciliation by Christ.
ual, have done acts which are wrong, of the mind, the hand,
the tono-ue. The infant is by no means God s enemy ; he
may become God's enemy, but it can only be by voluntary
action after conscience has been aroused. This our Master s
words teach, Avhen He tells us, " Suffer' little childreri to
come unto me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." And
such again is the mystery of Christian baptism. It tells us
that the infant is not the child of the devil, but the child of
God, the member of Christ, the heir of immortality.' Sin,
then, is a voluntary action. If you close your ear to the
voice of God, if there be transgression of an inward Iuav, if
you sacrifice the heart and intellect to the senses, if you let ease
or comfort be more dear to you than inward purity, if you
leave duties undone, and give the body rule over the spirit-
then you sin; for these are voluntary acts, these are wicked
Avorks. The result of this is twofold. The first step is simply the
step of alienation. There is a difference between alienation
and hostility : in alienation Ave feel that God is our enemy ;
in hostility we look on ourselves as enemies to God. Alien
ation — "you that were sometime alienated" — Avas a more
forcible expression in the apostle's time than it can be to us
now. In bur modern political society, the alien is almost on
a level with the citizen. The difference noAv is almost noth;
ing; in those days it Avas very great. The alien from the
Jewish commonwealth had no right to worship with the
JeAvs, and he had no power to share in the religious advan
tages of the JeAvs. The strength of the feeling that was ex
isting against the alien you Avill perceive in that proverbial
expression quoted by the Redeemer, " It is not meet to take
the children's bread, and cast it to the dogs." In the Roman
commonwealth,' the word had a meaning almost stronger
than this. To be an alien from the Roman commonwealth
was to be separated from the authority, and protection of
the Roman law, and to be subjected to a more severe and
degrading kind of penalty than that to Avhich the Roman
citizen was subject. The lash that might scourge the back
ofthe alien offender might not fall on the back of a Roman
citizen; and this it was that caused the magistrates of Phil
ippi to tremble before their prisoners when the Apostle
Paul said, "They have beaten us openly, uncondemned, be
ing Romans." The lash was the alien's portion.
On reference to the seeond chapter of the Ephesians we
find a conception given of alienation in the twelfth verse,
where the apostle, speaking of the Ephesian converts, says,
" That at that time ye were Avithout Christ, being aliens

Reconciliation by Christ. 769
from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers from the
covenants of promise, having no hope, and without God in
the world." This, brethren, is alienation, exclusion — to
have no place in this world, to be without lot or portion in
the universe, to feel God as your enemy, to be estranged
from Him, and banished from His presence : for the law of
God acts as its OAvn executioner within our bosoms, and
there is no defying its sentence, ; from it there can be no ap
peal. My Christian brethren, hell is not merely a thing here
after, hell is a thing here ; hell is not a thing banished to
the far distance, it is ubiquitous as conscience. Wherever
there is a worm of undying remorse, the sense of having
done Avrong, and a feeling of degradation, there is hell be
gun. And noAV respecting this. These words, " banishment
from God," " alienation," though merely popular phrases,
are expressions of a deep truth — it is true they are but pop
ular expressions, for God is - riot wrath. You are not ab
solutely banished from- God's presence. The Immutable
changes not. He does not become angry or passionate
Avhenever one of the eight hundred million inhabitants of
this wrorld commits a sin. And yet you will observe there
is no other way in which we can express the truth but in
these popular words. Take the illustration furnished to us
last Sunday : it may be that it is the cloud and the mist that
obscure the sun from us : the sun is not changed in conse
quence : it is a change in our atmosphere. But if the phi.
losopher says to you, the sun in its splendor remains the
same in the infinite space above, it is only an optical delu
sion Avhich makes it appear lurid : to what purpose is that
difference to you? to you it is lurid, to you it is dark. If
you feel a darkness in your eye, coldness in your flesh, to
Avhat purpose, so far as feeling is concerned, is it that philos
ophy tells you the sun-remains unchanged ? And if it be that
God in the heaven above remains love still, and that love
warms not your heart ; and that God is Light, in whom is
no darkness at all, yet He shines not in your heart ; my
Christian brethren, let metaphysics and philosophy say what
they will, these popular expressions are the true ones, after
all ; to you God is angry, from God you are banished, God's
countenance is alienated from you.
The second step of this estrangement reaches a higher de
gree still; it is not merely that God is angry, but that we
have become enemies to God. The illustration of the pro
cess of this Ave have seen in our common everyday life.
It is sometimes the case that strength of attachment set-
33

770 Reconciliation by Christ.
ties down to mere indifference, even changes to hatred. The
first quarrel between friends is a thing greatly to be dread
ed ; it is often followed by the cessation of all correspond
ence, the interruption of that intercourse which has gone on
so long. Well, a secret sense of self-blame and of wrong
will intrude, and the only way in which Ave can escape it is
by throwing the blame elsewhere. You see by, degrees a
cankered spot begins, and you look at it and touch it, and
irritate it until the mortification becomes entire, and that
Avhich was at first alienation settles down into' absolute ani
mosity. -
And. such is it in the history of the alienation of the soul
from God. The first step is ,to become indifferent, com
munion is interrupted, irregularity is begun, sin by degrees
widens the breach, and then between the soul and God there
is a great gulf fixed. Observe by what different ways dif
ferent classes of character arrive at that. Weak characters
have one way, and strong and bold characters have another.
The weak mind throws the blame on circumstances ; unable
itself to subdue its own passions, it imagines there is some law
in the universe that so ordains it ; insists that the blame is on
circumstances and destiny, and says, "If I am thus it is not
my fault ; if I am not to gratify my passions, why were they
given to me? . 'Why doth He find fault, for who hath re
sisted His will ?' " And so these weak ones , become by de
grees fatalists ; and it Avould seem, by their language, as if
they were rather . the patient victims of a cruel fate, the
Jblame belonging not to them, but to God.
The way in which stronger and more vicious characters
arrive at this*"enmity is. different. Humiliation degrades,
and degradation produces anger ; you have but to go into
the narrow and: crowded streets ofthe most degraded por
tions of our metropolis, and there you will see the outcast
turning with .a look of defiance and hatred on respectability,
merely, because it is respectable : and this, brethren; many
of us have seen, some of us have felt,- in our relation towards
God.- That terrible demon voice stirs up within us, "Curse
God and die." Haunted by furies, we stand, as it were, at
bay, and: dare to bid defiance to our Maker. Nothing so
proves the original majesty of man as this terrible fact, that
the creature can bid defiance to the Creator, and that man
has it in him to become the enemy of God.
We pass on, in the next place, to consider the doctrine of
reconciliation. We need scarcely define what is meant by
reconciliation. To reconcile is to! produce harmony Avhere
there was discord, unity where before there was variance.

Reconciliation by Christ. 771
We accept the apostle's definition of reconciliation. He says
that " Christ hath made of twain one new man, so making
peace." Now the reconciliation produced by Christ's atone
ment is fourfold :
In the first place, Christ hath reconciled man to God.
In the second place, He hath reconciled man to man.
In the third place, He hath reconciled man to himself.
And in the fourth place, He hath reconciled man to duty.
In the first place, the atonement of the Redeemer has rec
onciled man to God, and that by a twofold step : by exhibit
ing the character of God ; and by that exhibition changing
the character of man.
Brethren, the sacrifice of Christ Avas the voice of God pro
claiming love. In this passage the apostle tells us that
"Christ has reconciled us to God in the body of His flesh
through death." We will not attempt to define what that
sacrifice Avas — we will not philosophize upon it; for the
more we philosophize the less Ave shall understand it. We
are well content to take it as the highest exhibition and the
noblest specimen of the law of our humanity — that great
law, that there is no true blessedness Avithout suffering, that
every blessing we have comes through vicarious suffering.
All that we have and enjoy comes from others' suffering.
The life we' enjoy is the result of maternal agony; our very
bread is only obtained after the toil and anguish of suffering
myriads"; there is not one atom ofthe knowledge we possess
now which has/not, in some century of the Avorld or other,
been 'wrung out of Nature's secrets by the SAveat ofthe brow
or the sweat of the heart. The very peace Avhich we are en
joying at this present day, how has that been purchased ?
By the blood of heroes whose bodies are noAV lying moulder
ing in the trenches of a thousand battle-fields.
This is the law of our humanity, and to this our Redeemer
became subject — the law of life, self-surrender, without which
reconciliation was impossible. And when the mind has com
prehended this,'thatthe sacrifice of Christ was the manifesta
tion of the love of God, then comes the happy and blessed
feeling of reconciliation. When a man has surrendered him
self in humbleness and penitence to God, and the proud spirit
of self-excuse has passed away : when the soul has opened
itself to all His influences and known their power : when the
saddest and bitterest part of suffering is felt no longer as
the wrath of the Judgeibut as the discipline of a Father:
Avhen the love of God has melted the soul, and fused it into
charity : then the soul is reconciled to God, and God is
reconciled to the soul : for it is a marvellous thing how the

772 Reconciliation by Christ.
change of feelings within us changes God to us, or rather
those circumstances and things by which God becomes visi
ble to us. His universe, once so dark, becomes bright : life,
once a mere dull, dreary thing, " dry as summer dust,"
springs up once more into fresh luxuriance, and we feel it to
be a divine and blessed thing.
We hear the voice of God as it was once heard in the
garden of Eden whispering among the leaves : every sound,
once so discordant, becomes music, the anthem of creation
raised up, as it Avere, with everlasting hallelujahs to the
eternal throne. Then it is that a man first knows his im
mortality, and the soul knoAvs what is meant by infinitude
and eternity ; not that infinitude which can be measured by
miles, nor that eternity which can be computed by hours ;
but the eternity of emotion. Let a man breathe but one
hour ofthe charity of God, and feel but one true emotion of
the reconciled heart, and then he knows forever what is
meant by immortality, and he can understand the reality of
his own.
The second consequence of the Redeemer's atonement is
the reconciliation of man to man. Of all the apostles, none
have perceived so strongly as St, Paul that the death of
Christ is the reconciliation of man to man. Take that one
single expression in the Epistle to the Ephesians — " For He
is our peace who hath made both one." Observe, I pray
you, the imagery with which he continues, " and hath broken
down the middle wall of partition." The veil or partition
Avail between the court of the JeAV and Gentile was. broken
asunder at the crucifixion. St. Paul saw in the, death of
Christ a spiritual resemblance to that physical phenomenon.
Christ was not only born of woman, but under the law ; and
He could not become, as such, the Saviour of the Avorld ; but
when death had taken place, and He was no longer the JeAV,
but the Man, no longer bound by limitations of time, an d
place, and country, then He became, as it were, a Spirit in
the universe, no longer narrowed to place and to century,
but universal, the Saviour of the Gentile as well as the Mes
siah of the Jew.
Therefore it was that St. Paul called the flesh of Christ a.
veil, and said the death of Christ was the taking down of
"the middle Avail of partition" between Jew and Gentile:
and therefore it is by the sacrifice of Christ, and by that
alone, man can be thus reconciled to man : and on no other
possible basis can there be a brotherhood of the human race.
You may try other ways .- the men of the world have tried,
and doubtless will go on trying, until they find that there is

Reconciliation by Christ. 773
no other way than this. They may try by the principle of
selfishness, the principle of moral rule, or the principle of
civil authority. Let the political economist come forward
Avith his principle of selfishness, and tell us that this is that
by which alone the wealth of nations can accrue. He may
get a nation in which there are a wealthy few and miserable
many, but not a brotherhood of Christians. Suppose you
.say, men should love one another. Will that make them
love one another ? You may come foiward with the crush
ing rule of political authority. Papal Rome has tried it and
failed. She bound up the masses of the human race as a
gigantic iceberg ; but she could give only a temporary prin
ciple of unity and cohesion.
Therefore we turn back once more to the cross of Christ :
through this alone we learn there is one God, one Father^
one baptism, one Elder Brother in Avhom all can be brothers.
Bnt there is a something besides, a deeper principle still.
We are told in this passage we can be reconciled to man by
the body of Christ through death. And now, brethren, let
us understarid this. By the cross of Christ the apostle
meant, reconciled by the spirit of the cross. And Avhat was
that spirit ? It was the spirit of giving, and of suffering, and
of loving, because He had suffered. Say what we will, love
is not gratitude for favors Avhich have been received. Why
is the child more beloved by the parent than the parent by
the child ? Why did the Redeemer love His disciples more
thin they loved their Master ? Benefits will not bind the
affection; you must not expect that they will. You must
suffer if you Avould love ; you must remember that " it is
more blessed to give than to receive." The Apostle Paul
felt this when he said reconciliation Ay as produced through
the body of the flesh of Christ by death.
Once more : man becomes by the Redeemer's atonement
reconciled to himself.
That self-reconciliation is necessary, because we do not
readily forgive ourselves. God may have forgiven us, but
Ave can not forgive ourselves. You may obtain a remission
of the past, but you can not forgive yourself and get back
the feeling of self-respect, unity within, rest, by sitting still
and believing that God has forgiven you, and that you have
nothing left to look for ? My brethren, there is a spirit of
self-torture within us which is but a perversion of nobleness,
a mistake of the true principle. When you have done
Avrong, you Avant to suffer. Love demands a sacrifice, and
only, by sacrifice can it reconcile itself to self. Then it is
that the sacrifice of Christ replies to this, answers it, satisfies

774 Reconciliation by Christ.
it, and makes it plain. The sacrifice of Christ was suffering
in love, it was surrender to the will of God. The Apostle
Paul felt this : when that Spirit was with him he was recon
ciled to himself. He says, "I am crucified with Christ,
nevertheless I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me." If
ever you devoted yourself to another's happiness or amelio
ration, so far and so long as you were doing that you forgave
yourself; you felt the spirit of inward self-reconciliation ; and ,
Avhat we want is only to make that perpetual, to make that
binding Avhich we do by fits and starts, to feel ourselves a
living sacrifice, to know that we are, in our highest and best
state, victims, offered up in love on the great altar of the
kingdom of Christ, offered by Him to God as the first-fruits
of His sacrifice; then we are reconciled to ourselves "by the
blood of His flesh through death."
And lastly, through the atonement of the Redeemer, man
becomes reconciled to duty. There is no discord more terri
ble than that between man and duty. There are few of us
who fancy we have found our own places in this world ; our
lives, our partnerships, our professions, and our trades, are not
those which we should have chosen for ourselves. There is
an ambition within us which sometimes makes us fancy Ave
are fit for higher things, that we are- adapted for other and
better things than those to which we are called. But we
turn again to the cross of Christ, and the mystery of life be
comes plain. The life and death of Christ are the reconcilia
tion of man to the duties which he has to do. You can not
study His marvellous life without perceiving that the whole
of its details are uncongenial, mean, trivial, wretched cir
cumstances — from Avhich the spirit of a man revolts.
To bear the sneer of the Sadducee and the curse of the
Pharisee ; to be rejected by His family and friends ; to be
harassed by the petty disputes and miserable quarrels of His
folloAvers about their own personal precedence ; to be treated
by the government of His country as a charlatan and a dema
gogue ; to be surrounded by a crowd of men, coming and
going without sympathy ; to retire and find His leisure in
truded on and Himself pursued for ignoble ends— these were
the circumstances of the Redeemer's existence here. Yet in
these it was that the noblest life the world has ever seen Avas
lived. He retired into the Avilderness, and one by one put
down all those visions that would have seduced Him from
the higher path of duty ; the vision of comfort which tempt
ed Him to change the stones of this world into bread ; the
vision of ambition which tempted Him to make the king
doms of this Avorld His own bv seeking good throuo-h evil;

Reconciliation by Christ. 775
the vision Avhich tempted Him to distrust God, and become
important by pursuing some strange, unauthorized way of
His own, instead of folloAving the way of submission to the
will of God.
He ascended into the transfiguration mount, and there His
Spirit converses with those of an elder dispensation, who had
fought the fight before Him, Moses and Elias, and they spoke
to Him of the triumph which He had to accomplish in death
at Jerusalem. And He went doAvn again with calm, serene,
and transfigured faith, and there, at the very foot of the
mount, He found His disciples engaged in some miserable
squabble with the Scribes and the Pharisees about casting
out a devil. , And this life of His is the only interpretation
of thislife.of ours — the reconciliation of our hearts with what
Ave have to do. It is not by change of circumstances, but
by fitting our spirits to the circumstances in which God has
placed us, that we can be reconciled to life and duty. If the
duties before us be not noble, let us ennoble them by doing
them in a noble spirit ; we become reconciled to life if we
live in the Spirit of Him who reconciled the life of God with
the lowly duties of servants.
And now one word in conclusion. The central doctrine of
Christianity is the atonement. Take that away and you ob
literate Christianity. If Christianity were merely the imita
tion of Christ, Avhy then the imitation of any other good man,
the Apostle Paul or John, might have become a kind of
Christianity. If Christianity were merely martyrdom for
truth, then, ¦with the exception of a certain amount of degree,
I see no difference between the death of Socrates and the
death of Jesus Christ. But Christianity is more than this.
It is the At-one-ment of the Soul. It is a reconciliation which
the life and death of Christ have wrought out for this world
—the reconciliation of man to God, the reconciliation of man
to man, the reconciliation of man to self, and the reconcilia
tion of man to duty.

776 The Pre-eminence of Charity.

xxi.
THE PRE-EMINENCE OF CHARITY.
" And above all things have fervent charity among yourselves : for charity
shall cover the multitude of sins." — 1 Peter iv. 8.
The grace of charity is exalted as the highest attainment
of the Christian life by St. Paul, St. Peter, and St. John.
These three men were very different from each other. Each
was the type of a distinct order of character. And it is a
proof that the Gospel is from God, and that the sacred writ
ings are inspired from a single Divine source, that personal
peculiarities are not placed foremost in them, but the fore
most place is given by each to a grace which certainly was
not the characteristic quality of all the three.
It is said in these modern days that Christianity was a
system elaborated by human intellect. Men, they say, philos
ophized and thought it out Christianity, it is maintained,
like ethics, is the product of human reason. Noav had this
been true, we should have found the great teachers of Chris
tianity each exalting that particular quality which was most
remarkable in his own temperament. Just as the English
honor truthfulness, and the French brilliancy, and the Hin
doos subtlety, and the Italians finesse — and naturally, be
cause these are predominant in themselves — we should have
found the aposMes insisting most strongly op those graces
which greAv most naturally in the soil of their own hearts.
Indeed, in a degree it is so. St. John's character was ten
der, emotional and -contemplative. Accordingly, his writings
exhibit the feeling of religion and the predominance of the
inner life over the outer.
St. Paul was a man of keen intellect, and of soaring and
aspiring thought which would endure no shackles on its free
dom. And his writings are full ofthe two subjects we mighi
have expected from this temperament. He speaks. a great
deal of intellectual gifts ; very much of Christian liberty.
St. Peter was remarkable for personal courage. A soldier
by nature : frank, free, generous, irascible. In his writings,
accordingly, we find a great deal said about martyrdom. ¦
But each of these men, so different from each other, exalts
love above his own peculiar quality. It is very remarkable.
¦Not merely does each call charity the highest, but each names

The Pre-eminence of Charity. 7-77
it in immediate connection with his own characteristic virtue,
and declares it to be more Divine.
St. John, of course, calls love the heavenliest. That we
expect from St. John's character. " God is love. He that
dwelleth in love dwelleth in God ;" " No man hath seen God
at any time : if Ave love one another God dwelleth in us."
But St. Paul expressly names it in contrast with the two
f clings for which he was personally most remarkable, and,
noble as they are, prefers it before them. First, in contrast
with intellectual gifts. Thus, "Covet earnestly the best
gifts: and yet show I unto you a more excellent way:
though I speak Avith the tongue of men and of angels, and
have not charity, it is nothing." Gifts are nothing in com
parison of charity. Again, "We know that we all have
knowledge : knowledge puffeth up, but charity buildeth up."
Knowledge is nothing in comparison.
Next, in comparison of that liberty which was so dear to
him. Christian liberty permitted the converts the use of
meats, and the disregard of days from which the strict law
of Judaism had debarred them. Well, but there were cases
in which the exercise of that liberty might hurt the scruples
of some weak Christian brother, or lead him to imitate the
example against his conscience. "If thy brother be grieved
with thy meat, now walkest thou not charitably." Liberty
said, You have a right to indulge ; but Charity said, Refrain.
So that, according to St. Paul, there is one thing, and one
only, to which Christian liberty must be sacrificed. That
one is Christian love.
Now let us see how St. Peter does honor to the same
grace, at the expense of that which we should have expected
him to reckon the essential grace of manhood. Just before
the text, we find the command, " Be sober, and watch unto
prayer." This is a sentence out of St. Peter's very heart
For in it we have prayer represented as the night-watch of a
warrior, armed, Avho must not sleep his watch away. " Be
sober, and watch" — the language ofthe soldier and the sen
tinel ; words which remind you of him who drew his sword to
defend his Master, and who in penitence remembered his own
disastrous sleep when he was surprised as a sentry at his
post. But immediately after this — "And, above all things,
have fervent charity amongst yourselves." Sobriety, self-
rule, manhood, courage, yes ; but the life of them all, says
St. Peter, the very crown of manhood, Avithout which sobriety
is but prudent selfishness, and courage is but brute instinct
-—is love.
Now I take that unanimity as a proof that the Gospel comes
33*

77*8 The Pre-eminence of Charity.
from one Livino- Source. How came St. Peter and St. John,
so different from each other, and St. Paul, who had had
almost no communion with either of them, to agree, and
ao-ree so enthusiastically, in this doctrine — love is over all
and above all; above intellect, freedom, courage — unless
there had streamed into the mind and heart of each one of
them light from One Source, even from Him the deepest prin
ciple of whose being, and the law of whose life and death,
were love ?
We are to try, to-day, to understand this sentence of
St. Peter. It tells us two things —
I. What charity is. -
II. What charity does.
I. It is not easy to find one word in any language Avhich
rightly and adequately represents what Christ and His apos
tles, meant by charity. All Avords are saturated with some im
perfect meaning. Charity has become identified with alms-
' giving.' , . LoAre is appropriated to one particular form of hu
man affection, and that one Avith which self and passion mix
inevitably. , Philanthropy is a Avord too cold and negative.
Let us define Christian charity in two sentences: 1. The
desire to give. 2. The desire to bless.
1 . The desire to give. Let each man go deep into his OAvn
heart Let him ask what that mysterious longing means
which we call love, whether to man or God, when he has
stripped from it all that is outside and accidental ; when he
has taken from it all that is mixed with it and perverts it.
Not in his worst . moments — 'but in his best, what did that
yearning mean ?* I say it meant the desire to give. Not to
get something, but to give something. And the mightier, the
more irrepressible this yearning was, the more truly was his
love love. To give— whether alms in the shape of money,
bread, or a cup of cold water, or else self. But be sure,
sacrifice, in some shape or other, is the impulse of love, and
its restlessness is only satisfied and only gets relief in giving.
For this, in truth, is God's OAvn love, the will and the power to
give. " It is more blessed to give than to receive." There
fore God is the only blessed One, because He alone gives and
never receives. The universe, teeming with life, is but God's
love expressing itself. He creates life by the giving of Him
self. He has redeemed the world by the giving of His Son.
" God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten
Son." The death of Christ was sacrifice. The life ofGod is
one perpetual sacrifice, or giving of Himself and shedding
forth of His Spirit. Elsj it Avould not be love.

The Pre-eminence of Charity, 779
And so, when the poor sinful woman gave her costly oint
ment with a large profuseness, Christ saw in it an evidence
of love. " She loved much." For love gives.
2. The desire to bless. All love is this in a degree. Even
weak and spurious love desires happiness of some kind for
the creature that it loves. Almsgiving is often nothing
more than indolence. We give to the beggar in the street,
to save ourselves the trouble of finding out fitter objects.
Still, indolent as it is, it is an indolent desire to prevent pain.
What we call philanthropy is often calm and cool — too
calm and cool to waste upon it the name of charity. But it
is a calm and cool desire that human happiness were possi
ble. It is, in its weak way, a desire to bless. Now, the love
Avhereof the Bible speaks, and of which we have but one
perfect personification — viz., in the life of Christ — is the desire
for the best' and true blessedness of the being loved. It
wishes the .well-being of the Avhole man — body, soul, and
spirit ; but chiefly spirit.
Therefore, He fed the poor with bread. Therefore, He
took His disciples into the Avilderness to rest when they were
weary. - Therefore, " He gave Himself for us, that Ave, being
dead unto sin, might live unto righteousness." For the king
dom of God is not bread only and repose, Avhich constitute
physical happiness, but goodness, too ; for that is blessed
ness. And the highest love is, therefore, the desire to make men
good and Godlike ; it may wish, as a subordinate attainment,
to turn this earth into a paradise of comfort by mechanical
inventions; but far above that, to transform into a kingdom
of God, the domain of love, where men cease to quarrel and
to envy, and to slander and to retaliate. " This, also, Ave
wish," said St. Paul, "even your perfection."
Concerning this charity we remark two points: 1. It is
characterized as fervent. 2. It is capable of being cultivated.
1. "Fervent." Literally intense, unremitting, unwearied.
Now, there is a feeble sentiment which wishes well to all so
long as it is not tempted to wish them ill, which does well to
those who do well to them. But this, being merely senti
ment, will not last. Ruffle it and it becomes vindictive. In
coritrast with that, St. Peter calls Christ's spirit, which loves
those who hate it, "fervent" charity, which does not tire,
and can not be worn out ; which loves its enemies, and does
good to them that hate it. For Christian' love is not the
dream of a philosopher, sitting in his study, and benevolent
ly wishing the world Avere better than it is, congratulating
himself, perhaps, all the time on the superiority shown by

780 The Pre-eminence of Charity.
himself over other less amiable natures. Injure one of these
beaming sons of good-humor, and he bears malice : deep, un
relenting, refusing to forgive. But give us the man who,, in.
stead of retiring to some small, select society, or rather as
sociation, where his own opinions shall be reflected, can mix
with men where, his sympathies are unmet, and his tastes
are jarred, and his views traversed, at every turn, and still
can be just, and gentle, and forbearing;
Give us the man who can be insulted and not retaliate ;
meet rudeness and still be courteous ; the man who, like the
Apostle Paul, buffeted and disliked, can yet be generous,
and make allowances, and say, "I will very gladly spend and
be spent for you, though the more abundantly I love you,
the less I be loved." That is " fervent charity."
2. Again, it is capable of being cultivated. We assume
that, simply because it is enjoined. When an apostle says,
"Have fervent charity among yourselves," it is plain that it
would be a cruel mockery to command men to attain it if
they could do nothing towards the attainment. . It Avould be
the same insult as saying to the deformed, " be beautiful."
For it is wanton cruelty to command where obedience is im
possible. •
How shall we cultivate this charity?
Noav, I observe first, love can not be produced by. a direct
action of the soul upon itself. You can not love by a resolve
to love. That is as impossible as it is to move a boat by
pressing it from within. The force with which you press on
is exactly equal to that with which you press back. The re
action is exactly equal to the action. You force backward
exactly as muclf as you force on. There are religious per
sons who, when they feel their affectioris cooled, strive to
Avarm them by self-reproach j or by unnatural effort, .or by the
excitement of what they cali revivals — trying to work them
selves into a state of warm affection. There are others who
hope to make feeble love strong by using strong words.
Now, for all this they pay a price. Effort of heart is fol
lowed by collapse. Excitement is followed by exhaustion.
They will find that they have cooled exactly in that propor
tion in which they Avarmed, and at least as fast.
It is as impossible for a man to work himself into a state
of genuine fervent love as it is for a man to inspire himself.
Inspiration is a breath and a life coming from . without
Love is a feeling roused not from ourselves, but from some
thing outside ourselves. There are, however, two methods
by which we may cultivate this charity.
1. By doing acts which love demands. It is God'e mer-

The Pre-eminence of Charity. 781
ciful laAV that feelings are increased by acts done on princi
ple. If a man has not the feeling in its warmth, let him not
Avait till the feeling comes. Let him act with such feeling
as he has ; with a Cold heart if he has not got a warm one ;
it will grow warmer while he acts. You may love a man
merely because you have done him benefits, and so become
interested in him, till interest passes into anxiety, and anx
iety into affection. You may acquire courtesy of feeling at
last, by cultivating courteous manner. The dignified polite-
¦ ness of the last century forced man into a kind of unselfish
ness in small things, Avhich the abrupter manners of to-day
aaiII never teach. And say what men will of rude sincerity,
those old men of urbane manners were kinder at heart with
real good will, than we are Avith that rude bluffness which
counts it a loss of independence to be courteous to any one.
Gentleness of manner had some influence on gentleness of
heart. So, in the same Avay, it is in things spiritual. If our hearts
are cold, and Ave find it hard to love God and be affectionate
to man, we must begin with duty. Duty is not Christian
liberty, but is the first step toward liberty. We are free
only when Ave love what we are to do, and those to whom
Ave do it. Let a man begin in earnest with — I ought — he
will end, by God's grace, if he persevere, with the free bless
edness of— I will. *Let him force himself to abound in small
offices of kindliness, attention, affectionateness, and all those
for God's sake. By-and-by he will feel them become the
habit of his soul. By"-and-by, walking in the conscientious
ness of refusing to retaliate when he feels tempted, he will
cease to wish it : doing good and heaping kindness on those
who injure him, he Avill learn to love them.. For he has
spent a treasure there : "And where the treasure is, there
will the heart be also."
2. The second way of cultivating Christian love is by con
templating the love of God. You can not move the boat
from within ; but you may obtain a purchase from without.
You can not create love in the soul by force from within it
self: but you may move it from a point outside itself. God's
love is the point from which to move the soul. Love begets
love. Love believed in, produces a return of love : we can
not love because we must. " Must " kills love ; but the
law of our nature is that we love in reply to love. No one
ever yet hated one whom he belieA-ed to love him truly.
We may be provoked by the pertinacity of an affection
which asks what Ave can not give ; but we can not hate the
true love Avhich does not ask but gives. Noav this is the

782 The Pre-emine7ice of Charity.
central truth of Christ's Gospel : "We love Him because He
first loved us ;" " Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought
also to loA-e one another;" "God is love."
It is the one, almost only struggle' of "religious life, to be
lieve this. In spite of all the seeming cruelties of this
life; in spite of the clouded mystery in which Godjias
shrouded Himself; in spite of pain and the stern aspect
of human life, and the gathering of thicker darkness and
more solemn silence round the soul as life goes on, simply to
believe that God is love, and to hold fast to that, as a man
holds on to a rock with a desperate grip, when the salt surf
and the driving waves sweep over him and take the breath
away — I say that is the one fight of Christian life; compared
Avith which all else is easy: when Ave believe that, human af
fections are easy. It is easy to be generous, and tolerant,
and benevolent, when we are sure of the heart of God, arid
Avhen the little love of this life, and its coldnesses, and its un-
returned affections, are more than made up to us by the cer
tainty that our Father's love is ours. But Avhen we lose
sight of that, though but for si moment, the heart sours, and
men seem no longer worth the loving : and Avrongs are mag
nified, and injuries can not be forgiven, and life itself drags
on, a mere death in life. A man may. doubt any thing and
every thing, and still be blessed, provided only he holds fast
to that conviction. Let all drift from him. like sea-weed on
life's ocean. So long as he reposes on the assurance of the
eternal faithfulness of the Eternal Charity, his spirit at least
can not drift. There, are moments, I Humbly think,- when we
understand those^triumphant words of St. Paul, " Let God be
true, and every man a liar."
1 ¦
II. What charity does.
It coArereth a multitude of sins.
Now the only question is, whose sins does charity cover ?
Is it that the sins ofthe charitable man are covered by his
charity in God's sight? .Or is it the sins of others over
which charity throws a mantle so as not to see them?
Somewise and good men have said the first. Love oblit
erates sin in the sight- of God; and assuredly it might he
this that St. Peter meant. No doubt Avhole years of folly
we outlive "in His unerring sight, who measures life by
love." Recollect our Master's own words— "Her sins, which
are many, are forgiven her : for she loved much."
Nevertheless, that does not seem to be the meaning of
this passage. A large number of deep thinkers have been
convinced that St. Peter is here describing Christianity, and

The Pre-eminence of Charity. 783
the description which he gives of it as most characteristic is,
that it hides out of sight, and refuses to contemplate, a mul
titude of sins Avhich malevolence would delight to see. It
throws a veil over them and covers them. At all events,
this is true of Christian charity : and Ave shall consider the
passage in that sense to-day.
There are three ways, at least, in Avhich love covers sin.
1. In _ refusing to see small faults. Every man has his
faults, his failings, peculiarities, eccentricities. Every one of
us finds himself crossed by such failings of others, from hour
to hour. And if he Avere to resent them all, or even notice
all, life would be intolerable. If for every outburst of hasty
temper, and for every rudeness that Avounds us in our daily
path, we Avere to demand an apology, require an explanation,
or resent it by retaliation, daily intercourse would be impos
sible. The very science of social life consists in that gliding
tact which avoids contact, with the sharp angularities of
character, which does not argue about such things, does not
seek to adjust or cure them all, but covers them, as if it did
not see.
Exceedingly wise was that conduct of the Roman pro
consul at Corinth which we read of in the Acts. The JeAvs,
Avith Sosthenes at their head, had brought a charge of heresy
against the Christians, and tried it at the Roman law. Gal-
lio perceived that it was a vexatious one, and dismissed it;
drove them from the judgment-seat. Whereupon the Greeks,
indignant at the paltry virulence ofthe accusation, took Sos
thenes,. in his way from the judgriient-seat, and beat him eAren
in Gallio's presence. It is written, " Gallio cared for none of
these things." He took no riotiee. He would not see. It
Avas doubtless illegal and tumultuous, a kind of contempt of
court — a great offense in Roman laA\'. But Gallio preferred
permitting a wholesome outburst of healthy indignation, to
carrying out the law in its letter. ¦ For he knew that in that
popular riot human nature was throAving off an incubus. It
Avas a kind of irregular justice, excusable because of its
provocation. And so Gallio would not see. He covered the
transgression in a. Avise and willful blindness.
That which the Roman magistrate did from wise policy,
the Christian '.spirit does in a diviner Avay. It throws over
such things a cloak of love. It knows when it is wise not to
see. That microscopic distinctness in which all faults ap
pear to captious men, who are forever blaming, dissecting,
complaining, disappears in the large, calm "gaze of love.
And oh ! it is this spirit which our Christian society lacks,
and Avhich we shall never get till Ave begin each one Avith his

784 The Pre-eminence of Charity.
own heart. What we want is, in one word, that graceful
tact and Christian art which can bear and forbear.
That was a rude, " unpardonable " insult offered by Pe
ter to his Master when he denied Him. In His hour of trial,
he refused to seem even to know Him. We should have said,
I will never forget that. The Divine charity covered all.
Ask ye how ? " Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me ? Feed
my sheep."
2. Love covers sin by making large allowances. In all
evil there is a " soul of goodness." Most e'vil is perverted
good. For instance, extravagance is generosity carried to
excess. Revenge is sometimes a sense of justice which has
put no restraint upon itself. Woman's worst fault is per
verted Self-sacrifice. Incautioncomes from innocence. Now
there are some men who see all the evil, and never trace,
never give themselves the trouble of suspecting the root of
goodness out of which it sprung. There are others who love
to go deep down, and see why a man came to do wrong,
and whether there was not some excuse, or some redeeming
cause : in order that they may be just. Just, as " God is
just, and the justifier of him that believeth in Jesus."
Not as the passage is sometimes quoted — just, and yet the
justifier ; as if there were some difficulty in reconciling God's
justice and God'§ mercy : but just and the justifier, just and
therefore the justifier. Merciful because just.
Noav human life, as it presents itself to these two different
eyes, the eye of one who sees only evil, and that of him who
sees evil as perverted good, is two different things.. Take
an instance. Not many years ago, a gifted English writer
presented us wifli a history of ancient Christianity. To his
eye the early Church presented one great idea, almost only
one. He saw corruption written everywhere. In the his
tory ofthe ascetics, of the nuns, of the hermits, of the early
bishops, he saw nothing noble, nothing aspiring. Every
where the one dark spectacle of the Man of Sin. In public
and in private life, in theology and practice, within and with
out, everywhere pollution. Another historian, a foreigner,
has Avritten the history of the same times, with an intellect
as piercing to discover the very first germ of error, but with
a calm, large heart, which saw the good out of which the er
ror sprung, and loved to dwell upon it, delighting to trace
the lineaments of God, and discern His Spirit working where
.another could see only the spirit of the devil. And you rise
from the two books Avith different views of the world ; from
the one, considering the Avorld as a devil's world, corrupting
towards destruction; from the other, notAvithstanding all,

The Pre-eminence of Charity. 785
feeling triumphantly that it is God's world, and that His
Spirit works gloriously below it all. You rise from the study
Avith different feelings : from the one, inclined to despise your
species ; from the other, able joyfully to understand in part
Avhy God so loved the world, and what there is in man to
love, and what there is, even in the lost, to seek and save.
_ Now that is the " charity which covereth a multitude of
sins." It understands by sympathy. It is that glorious nature
Avhich has affinity Avith good under all forms, and loves to
find it, to believe in it, and to see it. And therefore such
men — God's rare and best ones — learn to make allowances ;
not from weak sentiment, Avhich calls wrong right, but from
that heavenly charity Avhich sees right lying at the root of
wrong. So the Apostle Paul learned to be candid even to
wards himself! " I obtained mercy, because I did it igno
rantly, in unbelief." His very bigotry and persecuting spirit
could be justified by God, and by men Avho see like God. It
Avas Avrong, very Avrong ; he did not palliate it ; he felt that it
had made him " the chief of sinners," but;he discerned that his
had been zeal directed wrongly— not hate, but inverted love.
So too, over the dark grave of Saul the suicide, the love
of friendship could shed one ray of hope. He who remem
bered of Saul only his nobler nature and his earlier days,
when his desolate character was less ambiguous — the man
after God's own heart— twhose love refused to part Avith the
conviction that that light which was from God was not
quenched forever, though it had set in clouds and thick dark
ness — dared to say, " Saul and Jonathan were lovely in their
lives, and in their deaths they Avere not divided." Would
you or I have dared to hope over a graA'e like Saul's ? So,
too, over the grave of the prophet whose last act Avas disobe
dience, love still dared to hope, and the surviving prophet
remembered only that he had shared the gift of prophecy
with himself. " Alas, my brother /" A sinner, who had died
in sin, but as our own burial service nobly dares to say, in
the hope of intense charity, " To rest in Thee, as our hope is
this our brother doth." And so, lastly, in the blackest guilt
the earth has seen — in memory of which we, in our Christian
charity, after eighteen hundred years, ;brand, the descendant
Jews with a curse, Avhich is only slowly disappearing from
our minds — there was one Eye Avhich could discern a ground
on which to make allowance, "Father, forgive them ; for they
know not Avhat they do."
Let us dismiss from our minds one false, suspicion. The
man Avho can be most charitable is not the man who is him-

786 The Pre-eminence of Charity.
self most lax. Deep knoAvledge of human nature tells us it
is exactly the reverse. He who shows the rough and thorny
road to heaven is he who treads the primrose path himself.
Be sure that it is the severe and pitiless judge and censor of
others' faults on whom, at a venture, you may most safely fix
the charge, "Thou art the man !" I know not Avhy, but un
relenting severity proves guilt rather than innocence. Hoav
much purity was proved by David's sentence of an imagin
ary criminal to death? How much by the desire of those
Pharisees to stone the woman taken in adultery ? Convicted
by their own consciences, they went out one by one; yet
they had longed to stone her. No : be sure you must be
free from sin in proportion as you would judge with the al-
loAvance and the charity of Christ Jesus. " Tempted in all
points, yet Avithout sin." " Wherefore also, He is a merciful
High-priest." 3. Lastly, charity can tolerate even intolerance. Let no
man think that he can be tolerant or charitable as a matter
of self-indulgence. For real charity and real toleration he
must pay a price. So long as they are -merely negative — so
long as they mean only the permission to every one to think
his OAvn thoughts and go his oavii Avay — the world will bear
them. But so soon as charity becomes action, and toleration
becomes earnest, basing themselves on a principle, even this
— the conviction that at the root of many an error there lies
a truth, and within much evil a central heart of goodness,
and below unwise and even opposite forms, the same essen
tial meaning — so soon charity and toleration exasperate the
Avorld secular, or so-called religious. •
For instance,*5f, with St. Paul, you affirm, " He that ob
serveth the day, observeth it to the Lord ; and he that ob
serveth not the day, to the Lord he observeth it not," toler
ating both the observance and the non-observance, when you
perceive the desire of doing God's will existing in both, you
can not avoid the charge of being careless about the question
of the sanctities of a day of rest. Or if, Avith St. Paul, you say
of some superstitious idolatry, that men ignorantly worship
God in it, their Avorship being true, their form false — you can
not avoid the stigma of seeming for the time to be tending
to that idolatry. Or if, with the Son of God, you recognize
the enthusiasm of nature, which passion had led astray in de
vious paths, you can not escape the imputation of being " a
friend of publicans and sinners." This is the price which a
man must pay for charity. His Master could not escape the
price, nor can he.
And then comes the last and most difficult lesson of love,

The Unjust Steward. 787
to make allowances even for the uncharitable. For surely
below all that uncharitableness which is so common, there is
often a germ of the life of love ; and beneath that intoler
ance, which may often wound ourselves, a loving and a can
did eye may discern zeal for God. Therefore St. Paul saw
even in the Jews, his bitterest foes, that " they had a zeal for
God, but not according to knowledge." And therefore St.
Stephen prayed, with his last breath, " Lord, lay not this sin
to their charge." Earth has not a spectacle more glorious
or more fair to shoAv than this — love tolerating intolerance ;
charity covering, as with a veil, even, the sin of the lack of
charity.

XXII.
THE UNJUST STEWARD.

" And the lord commended the unjust steward because he had done wisely .-
for the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children
of light. And I say unto you, Make to yourselves friends of the mammon
of unrighteousness ; that, when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting
habitations." — Luke xvi. 8, 9.
There is at first sight a difficulty in the interpretation
of this parable ; apparently there is a commendation of evil
by Christ. We see a bad man is held up for Christian imita
tion. Now let us read the parable.
"And He said also unto his disciples, There was a certain
rich man, which had a steward ; and the same was accused
unto him that he had wasted his goods. And he called him,
and said unto him, How is it that I hear this of thee? give
an account of thy stewardship ; for thou mayest be no longer
steward. Then the steward said Avithin himself, What shall
I do ? for iriy lord taketh awTay from me the stewardship : I
can not dig ; to beg I am ashamed. I am resolved what to
do, that, when I am put out of the stewardship, they may re
ceive me into their houses. So he called every one of" his
lord's debtors unto him, and said unto the first, How much
owest thou unto my lord ? And he said, A hundred meas
ures of oil. And he said unto him, Take thy bill, and sit
down quickly, and write fifty. Then said he to another, And
how much owest thou ? And he said, A hundred measures
of wheat And he said unto him, Take thy bill, and write
fourscore. And the lord commended the unjust steward be
cause he had done Ayisely : for the children of this world are
in their generation wiser than the children of light."

788 The Unjust Steward.
The difficulty Ave have spoken of passes aAvay Avhen we
have learned to distinguish the essential aim of the parable
from its ornament or drapery. There is in every parable the
main scope, and the ornament or drapery. Sometimes, if we
press too closely the drapery in which the aim and intention
of the parable is clothed, we get quite the contrary of our
Redeemer's meaning. For example, in the parable of the un
just judge there is the similarity, that both God and the un
just judge yield to importunate prayer; but there is this
difference, that the judge does it from weariness, and God
from love. The judge grants the widow's request, lest, he
says, " by her continual coming she weary me ;" — and God
answers the petitions of His people from love : and encour
ages earnestness and sincerity in prayer because it brings
nan nearer to Him, elevating and ennobling him, Avhile it
makes him feel his entire dependence on God.
So here in this parable : it is the lord— it is not Christ, but
the master — who commended the unjust steAvard. And he
did so, not because he had acted honorably, faithfully, grate
fully, but because he had acted wisely. He takes the single
point of prudence, foresight, forecast.
Let us consider the possibility of detaching a single quali
ty from a character, and viewing it separately.
So do we speak in everyday life. We quote a passage ad
miringly, from an infidel writer — for example, Gibbon; but
thereby Ave do not approve his infidelity. We may admire
the manly bearing of a prisoner in the dock or on the scaffold,
while we reprobate the crime which brought him there. We
may speak enthusiastically of a great philosopher ;¦ wedo not
therefore say heris a great man, or a good man. Perhaps we
are charmed by a tale of successful robbery ; we wonder at
its ingenuity, its contrivance, feel even a kind of respect for
the man who could so contrive it : but no man who thus re
lates it is understood to recommend felony. We admire the
dexterity of a juggler as dexterity.
So it was with this parable of Christ. He fastened on a
single point, excluding (all other considerations. The man
had planned, he had seen difficulties, overcome them, marked'
out his path, held to it steadily, croAvned himself with suc
cess. So far he is an example. The way in which he used
his power of forecasting may have been bad ; bnt forecast it
self is good. Our subject to-day includes :
I. The wisdom of this world.
II. The pattern of Christian consistency.
I. The Avisdom sof this world. There are three classes

The Unjust Steward. 789
of men. Those Avho believe that one thing is needful, and
choose the better part, who believe in and live for eternity ;
— these are not mentioned here: those Avho believe in the
world and live for it ; and those who believe in eternity, and
half live for the Avorld.
Forethought for self made the steward ask himself, "What
shall I do ?" Here is the thoughtful, contriving, sagacious
man of the world. In the affairs of this world, the man who
does not provide for self, if he enter into competition with
the world on the world's principles, soon finds himself thrust
aside ; he will be put out. It becomes necessary to jostle
and struggle in the great crowd if he would thrive. With
him it is not, first the kingdom of God ; but first, what he
shall eat, and what he shall drink, and wherewithal shall he
be clothed.
Note the kind of superiority in this character that is com
mended. There are certain qualities which really do elevate
a man in the scale of being' He who pursues a plan steadi
ly is higher than he Avho lives by the hour. You can not but
respect such a one. The value of self-command and self-de
nial is exemplified in the cases of the diplomatist who mas
ters his features while listening ; the man of pleasure who is
prudent in his pleasures ; the man of the world who keeps his
temper and guards his lips. How often, after speaking hastily
the thought Avhich was uppermost, and feeling the cheek
burn, you haA'e looked back in admiration on some one who
held his tongue even though under great provocation to speak.
Look at some hard-headed, hard-hearted man, with a front
of brass, carrying out his worldly schemes with a set tlec'r plan,
and a perseverance which you perforce must admire. There
may be nothing very exalted in his aim, but there is some
thing very marvellous in the enduring, patient, steady pur
suit of his object.
You see energies of the highest order are brought into play.
It is not a being of mean powers that the world has beguiled,
but a mind far-reaching, vast ; throwing immortal powers on
things of time ; on a scheme, perhaps, which breaks up hke a
cloud-phantom or melts Uke an ice-palace.
It is a marvellous spectacle — a man reaching forward to se
cure a habitation, a home, that will last. A man counting his
freehold more his own than the pension for life : sagacious,
meeting with entire success : the success which always attends
consistency in any pursuit. If a tradesman resolve to save
and be frugal, barring accidents, he will realize a competency
or a fortune. If you make it your business to please, you
will be Avelcome in society. So we find it in this parable.

790 The Unjust Steward.
This man, one of the world, contrived to secure for himself a
home. And the children of this world are consistent; and
force the world to yield them a home. It is no use saying
the people of the world are not happy.
I shall now endeavor to explain this parable. The term
" steward " is not to be taken exactly in its modern meaning.
The tenants paid their rents, not in money, but in kind, that
is, in produce, and the rent was a certain proportion of the
crop, and Avould therefore vary according to the harvest.
Say, for illustration, the landlord — here called " the lord " —
received as rent the tenth part of the crop ; then, if the
produce of an olive-yard was -a thousand measures of oil,
" the lord " was entitled to a hundred measures. And sim
ilarly in the case of an arable farm, a rent of a hundred meas
ures of wheat would represent a crop of a thousand measures.
According to the parable, it appears that it depended on the
good faith of the tenant to state truly the amount gathered
in ; and against false returns the chief check was provided in
the steward. If he acquiesced in the deception, there was
generally no detection or check. We read in this case he
permitted the bill to be taken, and an account given, in the
one instance of eight hundred, in the other, of five hundred
instead of a thousand measures. Thus he got gratitude from
the tenants^ who considered him a benevolent man^ and count
ed his expulsion an injustice. We have here a specimen of
the world's benevolence and the world's gratitude. Let us
do the world justice. Gratitude is given -profusely. Help
a man to build his fortune, and you will win gratitude.
Th>*? steward got commendation from his lord for his world
ly wisdom. Su#h is the Avisdom of this Avorld — wise in its
contriving selfishness ; wise in its masterly superiority ; wise
in its adaptation of means to ends ; wise in its entire success.
But the success is only in their generation, and their Avis-
dom is only for their generation. If this world be all, it is
Avise to contrive for it and live for it. But if not, then con
skier— rthe word is, " Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be
required of thee ; then whose shall those things be that thou
hast gotten ?"
II. In contrast with the wisdom of the children of this
world, the Redeemer shows the inconsistencies of the chil
dren of light. "The children of this world are wiser in their
generation than the children of light."
This is evidently not true of all. There have been men
who have given their bodies to be burned for the truth's sake ;
men Avho have freely sacrificed this present Avorld for the

The Unjust Steward. 791
next. To say that the wisest ofthe sons of this world is half
as Avise as they, were an insult to the sanctifying Spirit.
But " children of light " is a wide term. There is a dif
ference between life and light. To have light is to perceive
truth and know duty. To have life is to be able to live out
truth and to perform duty. Many a man has clear light who
has not taken hold of life. Many a man is the child of light
who does not Avalk as the child of life.
So far as a man feels that eternity is long, time short, so
far he is a child of light. So far as he believes the body noth
ing in comparison with the soul, the present in comparison
Avith the future ; so far as he has felt the power of sin, and
the sanctifying power of the death of Christ ; so far as he
comprehends the character of God as exhibited in Jesus
Christ — he is a child of light.
Now the accusation is, that in his generation he does not
walk so wisely as the child of the world does in his. The
children of the world believe that this world is of vast im
portance. They are consistent with their belief, and live for
it. Out of it they manage to extract happiness. In it they
contrive to find a home.
To be a child of light implies duty as well as privilege.
It is not enough to have the light, if we do not " walk in the
light." " If we say we have fellowship -with Him, and Avalk
in darkness, we lie, and cio not the truth."
And to hold high principles and live on low ones is Chris
tian inconsistency. We are all more or less inconsistent.
There is no man Avhose practice is not Avorse than his pro
fession. No one who does not live below his own standard.
But absolute inconsistency is, when a man's life, taken as a
Avhole, is in opposition to his acknowledged views and prin
ciples. If a man say that " it is more blessed to givethan to
receive," and is forever receiving, scarcely ever giving, he is
inconsistent. If he profess that to please God is the- only
thing worth living for, and his plans, and aims, and contriv
ances are all to please men, he is wise for the generation of
the children of the Avorld ; for the generation of the " chil
dren of light" he is not Avise. See, then, the contrast. -
The wisdom of the steward consisted in forecasting. He
felt that his time was short, and he lost not a moment.^
Every time he crossed a field it was with the feeling, This is'
no longer mine. Every time he left his house he felt, I shall
soon leave it to come back no more. JEvery time he Avent
into a tenant's cottage he felt, The present is all that may be
o-iven me to make use of this opportunity. Therefore, he
says Avith dispatch, "Take thy bill, and write clown."

792 The Unjust Steward.
Now the Avant of Christian wisdom consists in this, that
our stewardship is drawing to a close, and no provision is
made for an eternal future. We are all stewards. Every
dav, every age of life, every year, gives us superintendence
over something which we have to use, and the use of which
tells for good or evil on eternity.
Childhood and manhood pass. The day passes : and, as its
close draws near, the Master's voice is heard. — "Thou mayest
be no longer steward." And what are all these outward
symbols but types and reminders of the darker, longer night
that is at hand.? One by one, we are turned out of all oui
homes. The summons comes. • The man lies down on his
bed for the last time; and then comes that awful moment,
the putting down the extinguisher on the light, and the grand
rush of darkness on the spirit.
Let us now consider our Saviour's application of this parable.
" And I say unto you, Make to yourselves friends of the
mammon of unrighteousness; that, when ye fail, they. may
receive you into everlasting habitations. He that is faithful
in that which is least is faithful also in much : and he that is
unjust in the least is unjust also in much. If therefore ye
have not been faithful in the unrighteous mammon, who will
commit to your trust the true riches ? And if ye have not
been faithful in that which is another man's, who shall give
you that which is your own ?"
There are two expressions to be explained.
1. "Mammon of unrighteousness." . Mammon is the name
of a Syrian god, who presided over wealth. Mammon of un
righteousness means the god Avhom the unrighteous worship
— wealth. »
It is not necessarily gold. Any wealth ; wealth, being
weal or well-being»..»Time, talents, opportunity, and author
ity, all are wealth. Here the steward had influence.
It is called the mammon of unrighteousness, because it is
ordinarily used, not well, but ill. PoAver corrupts men.
Riches harden more than misfortune.
2. " Make friends of." This is an ambiguous expression.
Those who knoAV it to be so scarcely are aware how widely
it is misunderstood. To make friends of, has, in English, two
meanings. To make friends of a man, in our idiom, is to con
vert him into our ally. We meet with those who imagine
that the command is to make riches our friends instead of
our enemies.
But the other meaning is " of," i. e., out of, by the use of,
to create friends — in a Avord, to use these goods of time in
such a Avav as to secure eternal well-being.

The Unjust Steward. 793
"Make to yourselves friends." I will explain "friends"
as a home. There may seem to be great legality in this in
junction. Yet on this, subject the words of Scripture are very strong.
" Sell that thou hast, and give unto the poor, and thou shalt
have treasure in heaven ;" "Provide yourselves bags that wax
not old; a treasure in the heavens, that fadeth not away;"
" Lay up for yourselves treasure in heaven, Avhere neither
moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break
through and steal." Do not be afraid of the expression.
Let it stand in all its bold truthfulness. Goodness done in
Christ secures blessedness. A cup of cold water, given in
the name of Christ, shall not lose its reward.
Merit in these things there is none. Oh, the man who
knows the torment of an evil heart, and the man who is
striving to use his powers wisely, is not the man to talk of
merit in the sight of God. There is no truth more dear to
our hearts than this — not by merit, but by grace, does heaven
become ours.
But let us put it in another Avay. Wise acts, holy and un
selfish deeds, secure friends. Wherever the steward went
he found a friend. The acts of hjs beneficence Avere spread
over the whole of his master's estate. Go where he would,
he would receive a welcome. In this way our good actions
become our friends.
And if it be no dream which holy men have entertained,
that on this regenerated earth the risen spirits shall live
again in glorified bodies, then it were a thing of sublime an
ticipation, to know that every spot hallowed by the recol
lection of a deed done " for Christ, contains a recollection
Avhich would be a friend. Just as the patriarchs erected an
altar when they felt God to : be near, till Palestine became
dotted with these memorials, so would earth be marked by a
good man's life with those holiest of all friends, the remem
brance often thousand little nameless acts of piety and lOve.
Lastly, they are everlasting habitations.
If the children of the world be right, it is not all well with
them ; -. but if the children of light be right, it is well ever
lastingly. Nothing is eternal but that which is done for God and
others. ' That which is done for. self dies. Perhaps it is not
wrong : but it perishes. You say it is pleasure, well— enjoy
it. But joyous recollection is no longer joy. That which
ends in self is mortal; that alone which goes out of self into
God lasts forever. U .

794 The Orphanage of Moses.

XXIII.
THE ORPHANAGE OF MOSES.
A SERMON PREACHED ON BEHALF OF THE ORPHAN SOCIETV.
" And when she had opened it, she saw the child : and, behold, the babe
wept. And she had compassion on him, and said, This is one of the Hebrews'
children. ' Then said his sister to Pharaoh's daughter, Shall I go and call to
thee a nurse of the Hebrew women, that she may nurse the child for thee?
And Pharaoh's daughter said to her, Go. And the maid went and called the
child's mother. And Pharaoh's daughter said unto her, Take this child away,
and nurse it for me, and I will give thee thy wages. And the woman took
the child, and nursed it." — Exod. ii. 6-9.
This is the account giveri of the discovery, of a foundling
orphan. Moses was an orphan — opipavbc, bereaved; ordi
narily it means one bereaved by death. But it matters not
whether it is by death or otherwise ; it is truly an orphan
if it be in any manner deprived of a parent's care. Here
the child Moses was not bereaved by death, but by political
circumstances. In the book from whence our text is taken, we are told that
three laws were enacted against the liberties of Israel:
1. To keep down the population the political economy
of those days devised, as a preventive check, the slaughter
of the males.
2. To prevent their acquiring any political importance,
the officers set over them were Egyptians. No Israelite was
eligible to any office — not even as a taskmaster.
3. To prevent their acquiring knowledge, they Avere pro
hibited from the slightest leisure : their lives were made
bitter with hard bondage, in brick and mortar.
No penal statutes were ever more complete . than these.
If any penal statutes could have prevented the growth of
this injured nation, these must have succeeded. Numerically
limited, rendered politically insignificant, and intellectually
feeble, the slavery of Israel Avas complete.
But wherever governments enact penal laws which are
against the laws of God, those governments or nations are,
by the sure and inevitable process of revolution, preparing
for themselves destruction. As when you compress yielding
water, it burst at last.
Pharaoh's laAvs were against all the laws of Nature, or,

The Orphanage of Moses. 795
more, properly speaking, against the laAvs of God: and Na
ture was sloAvly working against Pharaoh. He had made
God his enemy.
Against these laws of Pharaoh a mother's heart revolted.
She hid her child for three months. Disobedience to this
Egyptian law, we read, was faith in God — so says the Epistle
to the Hebrews. " By faith Moses, when he was born, was
hid three months of his parents, because they saw he Avas a
proper child ; and they were not afraid of the king's com
mandment" At last concealment Avas no longer possible, and the
mother placed her child in an ark among the reeds of the
river Nile. And there a foundling orphan he lay, who Avas
to be the future emancipator and laAVgiver of Israel.
In order to understand these verses, I divide them into
two branches :
I. The claims of the orphan.
H. The orphan's education.
And first. By apparent accident, if there be such a thing
in this world of God's, the, daughter of Pharaoh came down
to the river to wash, and, among the reeds she saw the chest
in which lay the child.
Noav the first claim put forward on her compassion Avas
the claim of infancy.
The chest was opened. The princess " saw the child."
That single sentence contains an argument. It Avas an
appeal to the Avoman's heart. It mattered not that she Avas
a princess, nor that she belonged to the proudest class ofthe
most exclusive nation in the world. Rank, caste, nationality,
. all melted before the great fact of womanhood. She was a
woman, and before her lay an outcast child.
Noav, let us observe, that feeling which arose here was
spontaneous. She did not feel compassion because it Avas
her duty so to feel, but because it was her nature. The law
of Egypt forbade her to feel so for a Hebrew child.
We commit a capital error Avhen we make feeling a matter
of command. To make feelings a subject of laAv destroys
their beauty and spontaneity.
When Ave say ought — that a woman ought to feel so and
so — we state a fact, not a command. We say that it is her
nature, and that she is unnatural if she does not. There is
something wrong — her nature is perverted. But no com
mand can make her feel thus or thus. Law, applied to feel
ing, only makes hypocrites.
God has provided for humanity by a plan more infallible

796 The Orphanage of Moses.
than system, by implanting feeling in our natures. It was a
heathen felt thus.
Do not fancy that Christianity created these feelings of
tenderness and compassion by commanding them. Chris
tianity declares them, commands them, and sanctions them,
because they belong to man's unadulterated nature. Chris
tianity acknowledges them, stamps them with the divine
seal ; but they existed before, and were found even among
the Egyptians and Assyrians. What Christianity did for all
these feelings Avas exactly Avhat the creation of the sun, as
given in the Mosaic account, did for the light theri existing.
There was light before, but the creation of the sun Avas the
gathering all the scattered rays of light into one focus.
Christian institutions, asylums, hospitals, are only the reduc
tion into form of feelings that existed before.
So it is, that all that' heathenism held of good and godlike,
Christianity acknowledges and adopts — centralizes. It is
hu man — Christian — ou rs .
2. Consider the degradation of this child's origin. " This
is one of the Hebrews' children." The exclusiveness of the
Egyptian social system was as strong as that of the Hindoo.
There was no intermixture between caste and caste — between
priest and merchant. This child was, moreover, a Hebrew —
a slave — an alien — reckoned a hereditary enemy, and to be
crushed. In these rigid feelings of caste distinction the princess
was brought up. The voice of society said, It is but a
Hebrew. The mightier voice of nature — no, of God— spake
Avithin her, and said, It is a human being — -bone of your
bone, and shariitg the same life.
That moment the princess of Egypt escaped from the
trammels of time-distinctions and temporary narrowness,
and stood upon the rock of the Eternal. So long as the
feeling lasted, she breathed the spirit of that kingdom in
which there is " neither Jew nor Gentile, barbarian, Scythian,
bond, nor free." So long as the feeling lasted, she breathed
the atmosphere of Him Avho " came'not to be ministered unto
but to minister."
She Avas animated by His Spirit who came to raise the
abject, to break the bond of the oppressor. She felt as He
felt, when she recognized that the very degradation of the
child was a claim upon her royal compassion.
3. The last reason we find for this claim was its unpro
tected state — it wept. Those tears told of a conscious
want — the felt Avant of a mother's arms. But thev sug
gested to the Egyptian princess the remembrance* of a

The Orphanage of Moses. 797
danger of which the child Avas unconscious — helpless ex
posure to worse evils — famine ; the Nile flood ; the croco
dile. And the want of Avhich the exposed child Avas con
scious was far less than the danger of Avhich it Avas uncon
scious. Such is the state of orphanage. Because it is unprotected,
it is therefore exposed to terrible evils. There are Avorse
evils than the Nile, the crocodile, or starvation. -
Suppose the child had lived. Then, as a boy in the hands
of a taskmaster or slave-driver, he would have become cal
lous, hard, and vicious, with every feeling of tenderness dried
up. Nothing can replace a parent's tenderness. It is not
for physical support merely that parents are given us, but
for the formation of the heart. He Avept notv; but the
fountain of the orphan's tears would have been withered and
dried up, and instead of the tender man Avhich he afterwards
became, he would have become a hard-hearted slave.
Let us suppose, again, the case of a girl orphaned. Then
you have the danger infinitely multiplied. There Avould have
been no one in all the land of Egypt to redress the wrongs
done to a HebreAv maiden. There are men in this world to
Avhom, putting religion out of the question even, the very fact
of wanting protection is cause sufficient for them to render
protection. There are men to Avhom defenselessness is its
own all-sufficient plea : there are men in whose presence the
Avoman and the orphan, just because they are unshielded by
any care, are protectee! more than they could be by any
laws. But remember, I pray you, that there is another spirit in
the Avorld — the spirit of oppression, and even worse ; the
spirit against which Jewish prophets rose to the height of a
divine eloquence when they pleaded the cause ofthe father
less and the widow ; that spirit Avhich in our own day makes
the daughter of the poor man less safe than the daughter of
the rich ; that spirit of seduction, than, which there is nothing
more cowardly, more selfish, more damnable. For alas! it
is true that to say that a girl is unprotected, fatherless, and
poor, is almost equivalent to saying that she Avill fall into sin.
II. We pass on hoav to consider the orphan's education ;
and first I notice that it was a suggestion from another.
The princess felt compassion, and so far was in the state
of one who has warm feelings, but does not know how to do
good. Brought up in a court, born to be Avaited on, nursed
in luxury, ignorant of life and how the poor lived, those feel
ings might have remained helpless feelings.

798 The Orphanage of Moses.

1, in the providence of God, one stood by who offered
estion how she might benefit the child, " Shall I go.and

Then,
a suggestion how she might benefit the child, " Shall 1 go.i
call a nurse ?" In other words, she suggested that it would
be a princely and noble thing for Pharaoh's daughter to
adopt and educate it.
And now observe the value of such a suggestion : what
Ave want is not feeling — emotions are common, feelings super-
abound. In the educated classes, feeling is extremely refined,
but is much occupied with imaginary and unreal troubles ;
and the reason why, with such warm feelings so little good is
done, is that Ave want the suggestion hoAV to do it.
Observe Iioav differently the Bible treats this, from what
the painter or the novelist would have done. A painter
would have sliOAvn the majesty and beauty of the royal
actor. A romance would have given a touching history of
womanly sentiment. But the Bible, being a real book, says
little of the emotion — merely mentions it — i;nd passes on to
the act to which the feeling Avas meant to lead.
Brethren, we often make a mistake here ; Ave are proud of
our emotions, of our refined feeling, of our quick sensibilities ;
but remember, I pray you, feeling by itself is worthless — it is
meant to lead to action, and if it fails to do this it is a danger
rather than a blessing ; for excited feeling that stops short
of deeds is the precursor of callousness and hardness of heart.
Your sensibility is well — but what has it done?
We feel the orphan's claims, and now comes the question,
hoAV shall we do them good ?
Let us observe that Moses was nursed by a HebreAV matron.
She Avas one of his own grade. It would have been a capital
error to have %iven him to an Egyptian nurse. Probably,
the princess left to herself would have done so. But then
he Avould have been weaned from his own race. In heart,
sympathies, feelings, he would have been an Egyptian. Nay,
he Avould have been more exclusive ; for the hardest are
almost ahvays those who have been raised above their for
mer position. The slave's hardest taskmaster is a negro. The
one Avho is most exclusive in his sympathies is usually the
raised merchant, or the one recently ennobled.
This great thing is to emancipate the degraded through
their own class. Only through their own class can they be
effectually delivered ; the mere patronage of the great and
rich injures character.
So it was with Judaism; so it was with Christianity.
The Redeemer Avas made of a Avoman — " born under the law
to redeem them that were under the laAv." He Avho came
to preach the Gospel to the poor, Avas born of a poor woman.

The Orphanage of Moses. 799
But it Avas not only a HebreAv nurse to whom Moses was
given, it was a mother — his own mother — who nursed him;
and from her he heard the story of his people's history.
From her he learned to feel his country's wrongs to be his
OAvn. In the splendor of Pharaoh's court he never could
forget that his mother was a slave, and that his father was
working in brick and mortar, under cruel taskmasters.
From the princess he gained the wisdom of Egypt — he
Avas taught legislative science. From hardship he learned
endurance and patience. Instruction ends in the school-room,
but education ends only Avith life. A child is given to the
universe to educate.
Now let us see the results of this training on his intellect
ual and moral nature.
1. Intellectually. We will only notice the spirit of inquiry
and habit of observation. To ask " Why ?" is the best
Christian lesson for a child. Not the " why " ivhich is the
language of disobedience, but that "why" which demands
for all phenomena a cause. It Avas this which led Moses on
Mount Horeb to say, " I will turn aside and see this great
sight, why the bush is not burned." So it was that Moses
found out God.
2. In the moral part of his character we note his hatred of
injustice and cruelty; ever was he found ranged against
oppression in whatever form it might appear. He stood
ever on the side of right against might, whether it Avas to
avenge the wrong done by the Egyptian to one of his
Hebrew brethren, or to rescue the daughter of the priest of
Midian from the oppressing shepherds. He became, too, a
peacemaker. Thus we get a glimpse of the moral and
intellectual nature of the man who afterwards led Israel out
of Egyptian bondage, and who, but for the education he had
received, might have become as degraded as any of the
nation he freed from slavery.
At the present day, that child Avho might have become so
degraded, stands second but to One in dignity and influence
in the annals of the human race. Take, for one example, the
Jewish sabbath. Thousands upon thousands of that nation,
fond of gain and mammon as they proverbially are said to be,
yet gave up their gains yesterday, and voluntarily surren
dered that one day in addition to this day which, by the law
of the land, they are obliged to keep holy. And. all this in
obedience to the enactments of that orphan child, who three .
thousand years ago commanded the sabbath-day to be kept
holy. In those days the Pharaohs of Egypt raised their
memorials in the enduring stone of the pyramids, which still

800 The Orphanage of Moses.
remain almost untouched by time. A princess of Egypt
raised her memorial in a human spirit, and just so far as spirit
is more enduring than stone, just so far is the work of that
princess more enduring than the work of the Pharaohs ; for
Avhen the day comes, Avhen those pyramids shall have crum
bled into nothingness and ruin, then shall the spirit of the
laws of Moses still remain interwoven with the most hallowed
of human institutions. So long as the spirit of Moses influ
ences this Avorld, so long shall her work endure, the Avork of
that royal-hearted lady who adopted this Hebrew orphan
child. .
It now only remains for me to say a word on the claims
of that institution for which I am to plead to-day — the Fe
male Orphan Asylum in this town. It was established in
1823, and for years its funds flourished; lately they have
fallen off considerably, and that not in consequence of fault
in the institution itself, but simply for - this cause, that of
those who took it up warmly once, many have been removed
by death, and many have altered their place of residence, and
also because many fresh calls and institutions have come for
ward, and thus have excluded this one. The consequence
has been a sad falling off of funds. Last year the expend
iture exceeded the receipts by one hundred pounds.
Within the walls of that institution, now almost dilapida
ted and falling into decay, there are twenty-four female or
phan children, received from the age of six to sixteen ; not
educated above their station, but educated simply to enable
them " to do their duty in that state of life to which it has
pleased God to call them."
And now I earnestly desire to appeal to you for this object
by the thoughts that have to-day been brought before you.
Because they are children, I make an appeal to every moth
er's, and woman's ; heart ; because they are females, young
and unprotected, I make an appeal to the heart of every man
Avho knows and feels the evils of society ; because they be
long to the lowest class, I make an appeal to all who have
ever felt the infinite preciousness of the fact that the Saviour
of this world was born a poor man's child.
My beloved Christian brethren, let us not be content with
feeling; give, I pray you, as God has prospered you.

Christianity and Hindooism. 80 1

xxiv.
CHRISTIANITY AND HINDOOISM.
A FRAGMENT OF AN ADVENT LECTURE.
" Hear, O Israel : The Lord our God is one Lord : And thou shalt lovo
the Lord thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thv
might."— Deut. vi. i, 5. 3
It is my intention, in giving the present course of lectures,
to consider the advent of our Lord in connection with the
cause of missionary labors. This connection is clear. His
advent is the reign of God in the hearts of men; and it is
the aim of the missionary to set up that kingdom in men's
hearts. There is also a more indirect connection between
the two, because at this time the Church Missionary Society
is celebrating its jubilee. It is now fifty years since the first
mission was established at Sierra Leone, where, although
they Avho composed that little band were swept off one
after another by jungle fever — their groans unheard, them
selves unwept, and almost unhonored — yet there rose up
other laborers after them ; and a firm footing was at length
gained in that dark heathen land.
On the Epiphany of next year we are to celebrate this ju
bilee in Brighton ; and it has seemed to me a good prepara
tion, that Ave should occupy, in thought, some field of mis
sionary exertion, and look at the difficulties which those
have had to contend against, who have gone out in that
work. There can be' no doubt as to which shall be first cho
sen for our contemplation. India, with its vast territories
and millions of people, comes first, both as being one of our
own possessions, and by the heavy responsibilities attaching
to us on account of it.
We; propose, therefore, to give some account of Hindoo
superstition ; and here I Avould remark, there are three ways
of looking at idolatry.
I. There is the way of the mere scholar — that of men Avho
read about it as the school-boy does, as a thing past — a cu
rious ' but worn-out system. This scholastic spirit is the
worst ; for it treats the question of religious Avorship as a
piece of antiquarianism, of no vital consequence, but just cu
rious and amusing. 34*

802 Christianity and Hindooism.
II. There is the view taken by the religious partisan.
There are some men who, thinking their religion right, de
termine therefore that every one who differs from tnem is
wrong. They look Avith scorn and contempt on the religion
of the Hindoo, and only think how they may force theirs
upon him. In this spirit, the Avorld can never be evangel
ized. A man may say to another, " I can not understand
your believing such folly," but he will not convince him so
of his error. . It is only by entering into the mind and diffi
culties of the heathen that we can learn how to meet them
and treat them effectually.
III. There is the Avay of enlightened Christianity. In this
spirit stood St. Paul on the hill at Athens. The beauty of
Greek worship was nothing to him. To him it was still idol
atry, though it was enlightened ; but he was not hard
enough not to be able to feel for them. He did not denounce
i t to them as damnable ; he shoAved them that they were
feeling after God, but blindly, ignorantly, wrongly. " Whom
ye ignorantly worship, Him declare I unto you."
The religion on which Ave are going to dwell to-day is
one of the most subtle the world has ever received. It has
stood the test of long ages and of great changes. The land
has in turn submitted to the Macedonian, the Saracen, the
Mohammedan conqueror; yet its civilization, and its ways
of thinking, have remained always the same — in stagnation.
We marvel how it has happened that their religion has re
mained sufficient for them. Let us look at it
I. We take, as the first branch of our subject, the Hin
doo conception of Divinity. We start with the assertion,
that the god Avhom a man worships is but the reflection of
himself Tell us what a man's mind is,' and we will tell you
what his god is. Thus, amongst the Africans, the lowest
and most degraded of mankind, forms of horror are rever
enced. The frightful, black, shapeless god, who can be
frightened by the noise of a drum, is their object of worship.
Our Scandinavian forefathers, whose delight was in the
battle- and the sea-fight, worshipped warlike gods, whose
names still descend to us in the names given to the days of
the week; they expected after death the conqueror's feast in
Walhalla, the flowing cup, and the victor's wreath.
Look at Christianity itself.. We profess to worship the
Father of our Lord JesuS Christ, but we do not all worship
the same God. The God of the child is not the God of the
man._ He is a beneficent being — an enlarged representation
(to him) of his oavii lather. The man whose mind is cast in

Christianity and Hindooism. 803
a stern mould worships a God who sits above to administer
justice and punishment The man who shrinks from the
idea of suffering Avorships a placable God, who combines the
greatest possible amount of happiness for the race with the
least possible amount of pain.
[Now, consider the man who worships God as He appears
in Jesus Christ]
There are two things distinctly marked in the Hindoo re
ligion : The love of physical repose ; and mental activity,
restlessness, and subtlety. Theirs are ideas passing through
trains of thought which leave our European minds marvel
ling' in astonishment
Their first principle is that of God's unity. We are told
by some that they have many gods, but all those Avho have
deeply studied the subject agree in this — that they really
have but one. This Hindoo deity is capable of two states —
1. Inaction; 2. Action. The first state is that of a dream
less sleep, unconscious of its own existence ; all attributes
have passed aAvay — it is infinite nothing. We remark in men
generally a desire for rest ; in tbe Hindoo it is a desire mere
ly for indolence. Far deeper lodged in the human breast
than the desire of honor or riches is seated the desire for
rest : there are, doubtless, eager, earnest spirits, who may
scorn pleasure, but, nevertheless, they long for rest. Well
and rightly has the Hindoo thrown this idea on God ; but
he has erred in the character of that repose.
There are two kinds of rest : 1st. There is the rest de
sired by the world. 2d. There is the rest we find in Christ.
The active mind, if out of its proper sphere, corrodes itself,
and frets itself Avith plans and projects, finding no rest. The
rest of Christ is not that of torpor, but harmony ; it is not
refusing the struggle, but conquering in it; not resting from
duty, but finding rest in duty. •
The sabbaths of eternity have kept the Supreme Mind in
infinite blessedness : on our restless, unquiet, throbbing
hearts, God has been looking down, serene and calm. When
chaos took lovely form and shaped then that rest began —
not iri the torpor of inaction, but in harmonious work. " My
Father worketh hitherto." God works in all the smallest
objects of creation, as well as in the largest. Even in mid
night stillness harmonious action is the law ; when every
thing seems to slumber, all is really at work, for the spirit of
life and the spirit of-death are weaving and unweaving for
ever. ¦* •' -
We remark that to this god of Hindostan there rises no

804 Christianity and Hindooism.
temple throughout the length and breadth of the land. If
you ask in astonishment, why is this ? the Hindoo replies,
" Pure, unmixed Deity is mind, and can not be confined to
place ;" and Avell does he here teach us that God is a Spirit :
but in his idea there is an exhibition of a god Avithout quali
ties — a deity whom man may meditate on, and be absorbed
in, but not one to be loved or adored.
Here is his first error; here Ave can teach him something
— that God is a personal Being.
Personality is made up of three attributes — consciousness,
character, will. Without the union of these three, the idea
is imperfect. Personality the Hindoo Deity has none •? there
fore he can not be loved.
Now Avhen we look at God as revealed in Jesus Christ,
He appears to us as having a mind like ours ; the. ideas of
number, of right and wrong, of sanctity, are to God precisely
Avhat they are to man. Conceive a mind without these, and
it may be a high and lofty one, but there can be no com
munion Avith it. But Avhen Christ speaks of love, of purity,
of holiness, Ave feel that it is no abstraction we worship.
II. We shall consider as the second branch of our subject
the Hindoo theory of creation.
We have spoken of the Hindoo Deity as capable of two
states — that of perfection, or rest ; that of imperfection, ov
unrest. The Hindoo thinks that a time arrives when rest
becomes action, and slumber becomes life ; and when, not
Avilling to be " alone, feeling . solitary in his aAvaking, God
Avishes to impart life ; therefore He creates.
Here again, Ave recognize a partial truth. In the Scrip
tures we never read of a time when God was alone. What
is love but this, to find ourselves again in another? The
" Word," Ave read, " was with God " before the world began.
What .the Avord is to the thought, that is Christ to. God.
Creation was one expression of this — of His inmost feelings
of beauty and loveliness ; whether it be the doleful sighings
ofthe night-wind, or the flower that nestles in the grass,
they tell alike of love. So has He also shown that love on
earth, in the outAvard manifestation ofthe life of Christ— not
only in. the translated Word Avhich we have— beautiful as it
is, but in the living Word. Read, without this, history is a
dark, tangled >veb, philosophy a disappointing thing. With
out this light society is imperfect, and the greatest men small
and insignificant. From all these Ave turn to Christ ; here is
that perfect Word to which our hearts echo, where no one
syllable is Avrong.

Christianity and Hindooism. 805
. There are two Hindoo theories of creation : the gross
view held by the many ; the refined one held by the philoso
pher and the Brahmin. Yet these two so mix and intermin
gle that it is difficult to give to European minds a clear no
tion of either of them separately. We will leave the popular
view for another time, and we will try to deal now with the
metaphysical. and transcendental one. It is this — creation
is illusion — the Deity awaking from sleep. The universe is
God: God is the universe; therefore He can not create.
The Hindoo says, You, and I, and all men, are but gods —
ourselves in a wretched state of dream and illusion. We
must try to explain this in part by our own records of times
which we can all remember, when we have lain in a state
between dreaming and waking — a phantasmagoric state,
changing, combining, altering, like the kaleidoscope, so that
Ave hardly knew realities from unrealities. " Such," says the
Hindoo, " is your life— a delusion." I merely tell of this be
cause it colors all Hindoo existence ; the practical results wo
shall consider another time. For this the visionary con-
templator of Brahm, and the Fakeer, sit beneath the tree,
scarcely eating, speaking, or thinking ; hoping at length to
become absorbed into that calm, dreamless, passive state
which to them represents perfection.
One truth we find acknowledged in this theory is the un
reality of this world. Nobly has the Hindoo set forth the
truth that the world is less real than the spirit. " What is
your life ? it is even a vapor." Ask you, what we are to live
for ? The child, on whose young face the mother now gazes
so tenderly, changes with years into the man with furroAved
brow and silvered hair; constitutions are formed and broken,
friendships pass, love decays, who can say he possesses the
same now that blessed him in his early life ? All passes
Avhilst we look upon it. A most unreal, imaginative life.
The spirit of life ever weaving — the spirit of death ever un
weaving ; all things putting on change.
In conclusion, we observe here a great truth— the evil of
self-consciousness. This self-consciousness is all evil. He
Avho can dwell on this and that symptom of his moral nature
is already diseased. We are too much haunted by ourselves ;
Ave project the spectral shadoAV of ourselves on every thing
around us. And then comes in the Gospel to rescue us from
this selfishness. Redemption is this — to forget self in God.
Does, not the mother forget herself for a time in the child;
the loyal man in his strong feelings of devotion for his sover
eign ? So does the Christian forget himself in the feeling that
he has to live here for the performance ofthe Avill of God.

806 Rest.
[And now contrast the Hindoo religion with the Chris
tian.] The Hindoo tells us the remedy, for, this unreality is to be
found in the long unbroken sleep. The Christian tells us the
remedy is this, that this broken dream of life shall end in a
higher life. Life is but a sleep, a dream, and death is the
real aAvaking.

XXV.
REST.
"Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me ; for I am meek and
lowly in heart : and ye shall find rest unto your souls." — Matt. xi. 28, 29.
No one, perhaps, ever read these words of Christ without
being struck Avith their singular adaptation to the necessities
of our nature. We have read them again and again, and we
have found them ever fresh, beautiful, and new. No man
could ever read them without being conscious that they rea
lized the very deepest and inmost want of his being. We
feel it is a convincing proof of His- divine mission that He
has thus struck the key-note of our nature, in offering us rest.
Ancient systems were busy in the pursuit after- happiness.
Our modern systems of philosophy, science, ay, even of theol
ogy, occupy themselves with the same thought ; telling Us
alike that "happiness is our being's end and aim." But it is
not so that the Redeemer teaches. His doctrine is in words
such as these : " In the world ye shall have"— not happiness;
but — "tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome
the world ;" " In Me ye shall have peace." Not happiness
— the outward well-being so called in the world— but the in-
Avard rest which cometh from above. And He alone who
made, this promise had a right to say, " Take my yoke upon
you, and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart ; and
ye shall find rest unto your souls." He had that rest in Him
self, and therefore could impart it; but it is often offered by
men who have it not themselves. There are some> high pro
fessors of religion too, who have never known this real rest,
and who at fifty, sixty, seventy years of age, are as much
slaves of the Avorld as when they began, desiring still the
honors, the riches, or the pleasures it has to give, and utterly
neglecting the life which is to come.

Rest. 807
Wheri we turn to the history of Christ Ave find this repose
characterizing His whole existence. For example, first, in
the marriage-feast at Cana, in Galilee. He looked not upon
that festivity with cynical asperity ; He frowned not upon
the innocent joys of life : He made the Avine to give enjoy
ment, and yet singularly contrasted Avas His human and His
Divine joy. His mother came to Him full of consternation.
aud said, " They have no wine :" and the Redeemer, with
calm self-possession, replied, " Woman, what have I to do
with thee ? mine hour is not yet come." He felt not the de
ficiency which He supplied.
We pass from the marriage-feast to the scene of grief at
Bethany, and still there we find that singular repose. Those
words which we have seen to possess an almost magical
charm in soothing the grief of mourners congregated round
the coffin of the dead — " I am the resurrection and the life :
he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he
live ; and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never
die" — speak they not of repose? But in the requirements Of
these great matters many men are not found wanting ; it is
when we come to the domesticities of their existence that
we see fretting anxiety comes upon their soul. Therefore it
is that we gladly turn to that home at Bethany where He
had gone for quiet rest. Let us hear his words on the sub
ject of everyday cares : " Martha, Martha, thou art careful
and troubled about many things ; but one thing is needful."
We pass on from that to. the state in which a man is tried
the most : and if ever we can pardon words of restlessness
and petulance, it is when friends are unfaithful. Yet even
here there is perfect- calmness. Looking steadfastly into the
future, He says, "Do ye now believe ? Behold, the hour
cometh, yea, is now come, that ye shall be scattered, every
man to his own, and shall leave Me alone : and yet I am not
alone, because the Father is with Me."
Once, more, we turn to the Redeemer's prayers. They
are- characterized by a calmness singularly contrasted with
the vehemence Avhich we sometimes see endeavoring to lash
itself into a greater fervor of devotion. ' The model prayer
has no eloquence in it ; it is calm, simple, full of repose.
We find this again in the 17th chapter of St. John. If a
man feels himself artificial and worldly, if a man feels rest
less, we Avould recommend him to take up that chapter as
his best cure. For at least one moment, as he read it, he
would feel in his soul calmness and repose ; it would seem
almost as if he .were listening to the grave and solemn words
of a divine soliloquy. This was the mind of Him who gave

808 Rest.
this gracious promise, " Come unto Me all ye that labor and
are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." We repeat these
words as a matter of course ; but I ask, Has that repose been
found ?— has this peace come to us ? for it is not by merely
repeating them over and over again that we can enter into
the deep rest of Christ
Our subject this day will be to consider, in the first place,
the false systems of rest which the world holds out, and to
contrast them with the true rest of Christ. The first false
system proposed is the expectation of repose in the grave.
When the spirit has parted from the body after long-
protracted sufferings, we often hear it said that the release
Avas a happy one ; that there is a repose in the grave ; that
there " the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are
at rest" Nay, at times, perhaps, we find ourselves hazard
ing a wish that our own particular current of existence had
come to that point, when it should mingle with the vast
ocean of eternity.
There is in all this a kind of spurious Pantheism, a sort of
feeling that God is alike in every heart, that every man is
to be blessed at last, that death is but a mere transition to a
blessed sleep, that in the grave there is nothing but quiet,
and that there is no misery beyond it. And yet .one of" the
deepest thinkers of our nation -suggests that there may be
dreams even in the sleep of death. There is an illusion
often in the way in which we think of death. The counte
nance, after the spirit has departed, is so strangely calm
and meek that it produces the feeling of repose within us,
and Ave transfer our feelings to that of the departed spirit,
and we fancy^that body no longer convulsed with -pain, those
features so serene and full of peace, do but figure the rest
which the spirit is enjoying ; and yet, perhaps that soul, a
few hours ago, Avas full of worldliness, full of pride, full of
self-love. Think you that now that spirit is at rest — that it
has entered into the rest of Christ? The repose that be
longs to the grave is not even a rest of the atoms composing
our material form.
There is another fallacious system of rest which would
place.it in the absence of outward trial. This is the world's
peace.. The world's peace ever consists in plans, for the "re
moval of outward trials. There lies at the bottom of all
false systems of peace, the fallacy that if we can but produce
a perfect set of circumstances, then we shall haVe the perfect
man ; if we remove temptation, we shall have a holy being:
and so the Avorld's rest comes to this— merely happiness and
outward enjoyment. Ay, my Christian brethren, Ave carry

Rest. 809
these anticipations beyond the grave, and we think the
heaven of God is but like the Mohammedan paradise — a
place in Which the rain shall beat on us no longer, and the
sun pour his burning rays upon us no more. Very often it
is only a little less sensual, but quite as ignoble as that fabled
by Mohammed.
The Redeemer throAvs all this aside at once as mere illu
sion. He teaches just the contrary. He says, " Not as the
world giveth, give I unto you." The world proposes a rest
by the removal of a burden. The Redeemer gives rest by
giving us the spirit and power to bear the burden. " Take
my yoke upon you, and learn of Me, and ye shall find rest
unto your souls." Christ does not promise a rest of inaction,
neither that the thorns shall be converted into roses, nor that
the trials of life shallbe removed.
To the man who takes this yoke up in Christ's spirit,
labor becomes blessedness — rest of soul and rest of body.
It matters not in what circumstances men are, whether
high or Ioav, never shall the rest of Christ be found in ease
and self-gratification ; never, throughout eternity, Avill there
be rest found in a life of freedom from duty : the paradise
of the sluggard, Avhere there is no exertion ; the heaven of
the coward, where there is no difficulty to be opposed, is not
the rest of Christ. "Take my yoke upon you." Nay, more
— if God could give us a heaven like that, it Avould be but
misery ; there can be no joy in indolent inaction. The curse
on this world is labor ; but to him who labors earnestly and
truly it turns to blessedness. It is a curse only to him Avho
tries to escape from the Avork allotted to him, who endeavors
to make a compromise with duty. To him who takes Christ's
yoke, not in a spirit of selfish ease and acquiescence in evil,
but in strife and stern battle with it the rest of Christ
streams in upon his soul.
Many of us are drifting away from our moorings ; Ave are
quitting the old forms of thought, and faith, and life, and are
seeking for something other than what satisfied the last gen
eration : and this in a vain search for rest.
Many are the different systems of repose offered to us,
and foremost is that proposed by the Church of Rome. Let
us do her the justice, at all events, to allow that she folloAvs
the Redeemer in this — it is not happiness she promises, she
promises rest. The great strength of Romanism lies in this,
that she professes to answer and satisfy the deep- want of
human nature for rest. She speaks of an infallibility on
Avhich she would persuade men, weary of the strain of doubt,
to rest. It is not to the tales of miracles, and of the per-

Cio Rest.
sonal interference of God Himself; but to the promise of an
impossibility of error to those within her pale, that she owes
her influence. And we say, better far to face doubt and
perplexity manfully ; to bear any yoke of Christ's than be
content with the rest of a Church's infallibility.
There is another error among many Dissenters ; in a dif
ferent form we find the same promise held out. One says,
that if we will but rely on God's promise of election our
soul must find repose. Another system, tells us that the
penalty has fallen upon Christ, and that if we believe we
shall no longer suffer. Narrowing their doctrines into one,
as if all the want of the soul was to escape from punishment,
they place before us this doctrine, and say, believe that, and
your soul shall find repose.
We have seen earnest men anxiously turning from view
to view, and yet finding their souls as far from rest as ever.
They remind us of the struggles of a man in fever, finding no
rest, tossing from side to side, in vain seeking, a cool spot on
his pillow, and forgetting: that the fever is within himself.
And so it is with us ; the unrest is within Us : we foolishly
expect to find that tranquillity in outward doctrine which
alone can come from the calmness of the soul.
We will not deny that there is a kind of rest to be found
in doctrine for a time : for instance, when a man, whose only
idea of evil is its penalty, has received the consoling -doctrine
that there is no suffering for him to beain-'but the unrest
comes again. Doubtless, the Pharisees and Sadducees, when
they went to the baptism of John, found something of repose
there ; but think you that they went back to their daily life
with the resit of Christ ? We expect some outward change
Avill do that which nothing but the inward life can do — it is
the life of Christ within the soul. which alone can give repose.
There have been men in the Church of Rome arid in the
ranks of dissent who have indeed erred grievously, but yet
have lived a life of godliness. There have been men in the
true Church — as Judas, who was a member of the true
Church — who yet, step by step, have formed in themselves
the devil's nature : the rest of Christ pertains not to any one
outward communion.
Before we go farther, let us understand Avhat is meant by
this rest ; let us look to those symbols about us in the world
of nature by which it is suggested. It is not the lake locked
in ice that suggests repose, but the river moving on calmly
and rapidly in silent majesty and strength. It is not the
cattle lying in the sun, but the eagle cleaving the air with
fixed pinions, that gives you the idea of repose combined with

Rest. 811
strength and motion. In creation, the rest of God is exhibit
ed as a sense of power which nothing wearies. When chaos
burst into harmony, so to speak, God had rest.
There are two deep principles in nature in apparent con
tradiction — one, the aspiration after perfection ; the Other,
the longing after repose. In the harmony of these lies the
rest of the soul of man. There have been times when we
have experienced this. Then the winds have, been hushed,
and the throb and the tumult of the passions have been blot
ted out of our bosoms. That Avas a moment when we were
in harmony with all around, reconciled to ourselves and to
our God; when we sympathized with all that Avas** pure, all
that was beautiful, all that was lovely.
This was not stagnation, it was fullness of life — life in its
most expanded form, such as nature witnessed in her first
hour. This is life in that form of benevolence Avhich expands
into the mind of Christ. And when this is working in the
spul, it is marvellous how it distills into a man's words and ,
countenance. Strange and magical is the power of that col
lect wherein we pray to God, " Who alone can order the un
ruly wills and affections of sinful men, to grant unto His
people that they may love the thing which He commands,
and desire that which He promises ; that so among the
sundry and manifold changes of the world, our hearts may
surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found."
There is a wondrous melody in that rhythm; the words are
the echoes of the thought. The mind of the man who wrote
them was in repose — all is ringing of rest. We do not won
der Avhen Moses came down from the mount on which he
had been bowing in adoration before the harmony of God,
that his face was' shining with a brightness too dazzling to
look upon.
Our blessed Redeemer refers this rest to meekness and low
liness. There are three causes in men producing unrest : 1.
Suspicion of God. 2. Inward discord. 3. Dissatisfaction
Avith outward circumstances. For all these meekness is the
cure. For the difficulty of understanding this world, the
secret is in meekness. There is no mystery in God's deal
ings to the meek man, for " the secret of the Lord is with
them that fear Him, and He will show them His covenant ;"
there is no dread of God's judgments when our souls are
meek. The second cause of unrest is inAvard discord. We are
going on in our selfishness. We stand, as Balaam stood,
against the angel of the Lord, pressing on whilst the angel
of love stands against us. Just as the dove struggling

5 1 2 Rest.
against the storm, feeble and tired, is almost spent, until
gradually, as if by inspiration, it has descended to the lower
atmosphere, and so avoided the buffeting of the tempests
above, and is then borne, on by the Avind of heaven in entire
repose : like that is the rest of the soul. While we are un
reconciled, the love of God stands, against us, and, by His
will, as long as man refuses to take up that yoke of His, he
is full of discord; he is like the clove struggling with the
elements aloft, as yet unconscious ofthe calm there is beloAv.
And you must make no compromise in taking up the burden
of the Lord.
Lastly, unrest comes from dissatisfaction with outward
circumstances. Part, perhaps the greater part, of our misery
here comes from over-estimation of ourselves. We are slaves
to vanity and pride. We think we are not in the right sta
tion ; our genius has been misunderstood; we have been
slighted, Ave have been passed by, we have not been reward
ed as we ought to have been. So long as Ave have this false
opinion of ourselves, it is impossible for us to realize true
rest Sinners, in a Avorld of love, encircling you round on every
side, with blessings infinite upon infinite, and that again mul
tiplied by infinity : God loves you : God fills you with en
joyment ! Unjustly, unfairly treated in this world of love !
Once let a man know for himself what God is, and then in
that he will find peace. It will be the dawn of an everlast
ing day of. calmness and serenity. I speak, to, some who
have felt the. darkness, the clouds, and the dreariness of life',
whose affections have been blighted, who feel a discord and
confusion in* their being. To some to whom the world,
lovely though it be, is such that they are obliged to say, "I
see, I do not feel, how beautiful it is."
Brother men, there is rest in Christ, because He is love ;
because His are the everlasting verities of humanity. God
does not cease to be the God of love. because men are low,
sad, and desponding. In the performance of duty, in meek
ness, in trust in God, is our rest — our only rest. It is not in
understanding a set of doctrines ; not in an outward compre
hension ofthe " scheme of salvation;" that rest and peace are
to be found, but in taking up, in all lowliness and meekness,
the yoke of the Lord Jesus Christ.
"For thus saith the high and lofty One that inhabiteth
eternity, whose name is Holy ; I dwell in the high and holy
place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit,
to revive the spirit ofthe humble, and to revive the heart of
the contrite ones."

The Humane Society. 8 1 3

xxvi.
THE HUMANE SOCIETY.
A SERMON PREACHED ON ITS BEHALF.
" While he yet spake, there came from the ruler of the synagogue's house
certain which said, Thy daughter is dead ; why troublest thou the Master
any further? As soon as Jesus heard the word that was spoken, he saith
unto the ruler of the synagogue, Be not afraid, only believe. And he suffered
no man to follow him, save Peter, and James, and John the brother of James.
And he cometh to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and seeth the
tumult, and them that wept and wailed greatly. And when he was come in,
he saith unto them, Why make yo this ado, and weep ? the damsel is not
dead, but sleepeth. And they laughed him to scorn. But when he had put
them all out, he taketh the father and the mother of the damsel, and them that
were with him, and entereth iri where the damsel was lying. And he took
the damsel by the hand, and said unto her, Talitha cumi ; which is, being
interpreted, -Damsel, (I say unto thee;) arise. And straightway the damsel
arose, and walked ; for she was of the age of twelve years. And they were
astonished with a. great astonishment. And he charged them straitly that
no man should know it ; and commanded that something should be given her
to eat."— Mark v. 35-43.
I plead to-day for a society Avhose cause has not been ad
vocated in this chapel for many years. It is now exactly ten
years since a collection was made in Trinity Chapel for the
Humane Society.
Its general objects, as every body knows, are the preser
vation of the life of downing' persons, by precautions pre
viously taken, and by subsequent remedies. But this vague
statement being insufficient to awaken the interest which tlie
society- deserves, I propose to consider it in its details, and
to view these—as in the pulpit Ave are bound to do— from'
the peculiar Christian point of view.
It is remarkable that there is a Scripture passage which,
point by point, offers a parallel' to the Avork of this Society,
and a special sariction and a precedent, both for its peculiar
Avork and the spirit in which it is to be done. I shall con
sider —
I. This particular form of the Redeemer's Avork.
II. The spirit of the Redeemer's work.
I. We find among the many forms of His work —
1 . Restoration from a special form of death. I can not
class this case With that of Lazarus.

8 14 :The Humane Society.
The narrative seems to distinguish this from the other mir
acle. Christ says, " She is not dead, but sleepeth." Hence
this particular case Avas one of restoration from apparent
death. The other case Avas that of restoration from real
death. Here, then, is our first point of resemblance.
Before this- society was formed, -persons .apparently suffo
cated Avere left to perish. ' Myriads, doubtless, have died who
might have been saved. But the idea of restoration Avas as
far from. them as from the friends of Jairus. They would
have laughed the proposer " to scorn." But, Christlike, this
society came into the world with a strange message — re
vealed by science, but vitalized by love — a Christlike mes
sage : " Be not afraid : he is not dead, but sleepeth."
Now the sphere of the society's operations is thus defined :
" To preserve from premature death persons apparently
dead from either drowning, hanging, lightning, cold, heat,
noxious vapors, apoplexy, or intoxication." They are, con
sequently, large, taking cognizance not merely, of cases of
drowning only, but all of the same generic character — sus
pended animation, apparent death, asphyxia.
[Causes— foul air, in drains and brewers' vats, accidental
hanging, mines, cellars, Avells.]
In; England their causes are more peculiarly extensive, be
cause of our sea-girt shores, and - because of the variable
climate, which to-day. leaves the ice firm and to-morrow has
made it rotten and unsafe.
2. -Here" wasthe, recognition of the value of life. The force
of the whole petition lay in one single consideration — "she
shall live."
It has been often said that Christianity has enhanced the
value of life, and our charitable societies are alleged in evi
dence; our hospitals ; the increased average of human life,
which has been the result of sanitary regulations and im
provements in medical treatment. But this statement needs
some qualification.
The value attached to life by the. ancient Egyptian was
quite as great, as that attributed to it by the modern English
man. When Abraham went into Egypt he found apeople
whose feeling of the sacredness of life was so great that they
saw God wherever life was ; and venerated the bull, and the
fish, and the crocodile. To slay one of them was like mur-
der.- And again : it could not be said that we owe to Christian
ity the recognition of the honor due to one who saves life.

The Humane Society. 815
The most honorable of crowns was that presented to one Avho
had saved the life of a Roman citizen.
Nay more : instead of peculiarly exalting the value of life,
there is a sense in which Christianity depreciates it. "If a
man hate not his own life he can not be my disciple." The
Son of Man came to be a sacrifice : and it is the peculiar dig
nity ofthe Christian that he has a life to give.
Therefore we must distinguish.
It is not mere life on which Christianity has shed a richer
value. It is by ennobling the purpose to which life is to be
dedicated that it has made life more precious. A crowded
metropolis, looked at merely as a mass of living beings, is no
more dignified, and far more disgusting, than an ant-hill Avith
its innumerable creeping iives. Looked on as a place in
which each individual is a temple of the Holy Ghost, and
every pang and joy of Avhom has in it something of infinitude,
it becomes almost priceless in its value.
And again: Christianity differs from heathenism in this,
that it has declared the dignity of the life of man — not mere
ly that of certain classes. It has not "saved citizens," but
saved men.
[Consider the worth of a single soul.]
Hence this is appropriately called the Humane Society,
that word originally 'meaning human. It is no Brahminical
association, abstaining from shedding animal blood and living
on no animal food, but it recognizes the worth of a life in
which God moves, and which Christ has redeemed.
It is human life, not animal, that it cares for. The life of
man as man, not of some peculiar class of men.
3. We consider the Saviour's direction respecting the
means of effecting complete recovery. He " commanded that
something should be given her to eat"
Observe His reverential submission to the laws of nature.
He did not suspend those laws. It did not seem to.Him that
where law was, God was not; or that the, proof of God's
agency was to be found only in the abrogation of law. He
recognized the sanctity of those laws which make certain
remedies and certain treatment indispensable to health.
[Sanitary regulations are as religious as a miracle.]
And in doing this He furnished a precedent singularly close
for the opei'ations of this society. It is one great part ofthe
object of its existence to spread a knowledge of the right
methods of treatment in case of suspended animation. It
lias compiled and published rules for the treatment of the

8 1 6 The Humane Society,
droAvned, the apparently suffocated, and those struck by sud
den apoplexy.
And consider the indirect results of this, as Avell as the
direct. Such cases occur unexpectedly. No medical aid is near.
Friends are alarmed. Presence of mind is lost. The vulgar
means resorted to from superstition and ignorance are almost
incredible. But gradually the knoAvledge is spread through
the country of Avhat to do in cases of emergency. Many
here Avould be prepared to act if a need arose. I have been
present at such a case, and have seen life saved by arresting
the rough treatment of ignora.nce acting traditionally. But
in that and most cases, the knowledge had been gained from
the publications of this society.
An immense step is gained by the systematic direction of
attention to these matters. Every one ought to knoAV what
to do on a sudden emergency, a case of strangulation, of suf
focation, or of apoplexy ; and yet, this forming no definite
part of the general plan of education, there are comparative
ly few Avho have the least idea what should be done before
medical aid can be obtained. Probably thousands would be
helpless as a child, and human life would be sacrificed.
II. We consider the spirit of the Redeemer's work.
1. It Avas love.
It Avas not reward — not even the reAvard of applause —
Avhich was the spring of beneficence in the Son of Man. He
desired that it should be unknown. He did good because it
Avas good. He relieved because it was the expressic n Of His
OAvn exuberant loving-kindness. •
2. It was a spirit of retiring modesty.
He did not wish that it should be knoAvtw- But his disciples
have made it known to the world.
Now observe, first, the evidence here afforded of His real
humanity. Why did Christ wish to conceal, and the apostles
Avish to publish abroad his miracles ? Take the simple view,
and all is plain. Christ, the man, with unaffected modesty,
shrank from publicity and applause. The apostles, with
genuine human admiration, record the deed. But seek for
some deeper and more mysterious reason, and at once the
Avhole becomes a pantomime, an unreal transaction acted on
this world's stage for effect, as though we should say that He
was wishing to have it known, but for certain reasons He
made as if fle wished it to be concealed. Here, as usual, the
simple is the sublime and true.
Observe, however, secondly : That publication by the apos

The Humane Society. 8 1 7
ties sanctions and explains another part of this society's
operations. Its office is to observe, to record, and to reward
acts of self-devotion. Certain scales of reward are given to
one who risks his life to save life, to the surgeon whose skill
restores life, to the publican who opens his house to receive
the apparently dead body. And every year lists of names
are published of those Avho have been thus distinguished by
their humanity. The eyes of the society are over all Eng
land, and no heroic act can pass unnoticed or unhonored by
them. Now distinctly understand on what principle this is done.
It is an apostolic office. It is precisely the principle on which
the apostles were appointed by God to record the acts and
life of Christ. Was this for Christ's sake ? Nay, it was for
the world's good. That sacrifice of Christ recorded, pro
nounced Divine, has been the spring and life of innumerable
sacrifices and unknown self-devotion.
And so the reAvards given by this society are not given as
recompense. Think you that a medal can pay self-devo
tion ? or a few pounds liquidate the debt due to generosity ?
or even, that the thought of the reward would lead a man to
plunge into the Avater to save life, who would not have
plunged in without any hope of reward ? No ! But it is
good for the world to hear of what is generous and good.
It is good to appropriate rewards to such acts, in order to
set the standard. It is right that, in a country where enor
mous subscriptions are collected, and monuments are erected
to men who have made fortunes by speculation, there should
be some visible, tangible recognition of the worth and value
of more generous deeds.
Tbe medal over the fire-place of the poor fisherman is to
him a title ; and, truer than most titles, it tells Avhat has been
done. . It descends an heirloom to the family, saying to the
children, Be brave, self-sacrificing, as your father was.
3. It was a spirit of perseverance.
They laughed Him to- scorn, yet He persisted. SIoav, calm
perseverance amidst ridicule.
In the progress of this society we find, again, a parallel.
When the idea of resuscitation was first promulgated, it was
met with incredulity and ridicule. Even in 1773, when Dr.
Hawes laid the first foundation of the Humane Society, it
was with difficulty he could overcome the prejudice which
existed against the idea, and he had to bear the whole cost
of demonstrating the practicability of his theory. For one
whole year he paid all the rewards and expenses himself, and
then, attracted by the self-sacrificing ardor Avith which he
35

818 Three Times in a Nation's History.
had given himself up to the idea of rescuing human life,
thirty -tAvo gentlemen, his own and Dr. Cogan's friends;
united together in furtherance of this benevolent design, and
thus laid the foundation of the Humane Society.
Here note the attractive power of self-denying -work; the
Redeemer's life and death has been the living poAver of the
Avorld's work, of the world's life.

XXVII.
THREE TIMES IN A NATION'S HISTORY.
"And when he was come near, he beheld the city, and wept over it, say
ing, If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which
belong unto thy peace ! but now they are hid from thine eyes. Por the days
shall come upon thee, that thine enemies shall cast a trench about thee, and
compass thee round, and keep thee in on every side, and shall lay thee even
with the ground, and thy children within thee; and they shall not leave in
thee one stone upon another ; because thou knewest not the time of thy vis
itation." — Luke xix. 41-44.
The event of Avhich we have just read took place in the
last year of our Redeemer's life. For nearly four years He
had been preaching the Gospel. His pilgrim life was draw
ing to a close ; yet no one looking at the outward circum
stances of that journey would have imagined that He Avas
on His way to die. It Avas far more like a triumphal journey,
for a rejoicing multitude heralded His way to Jerusalem with
shouts — " Hosanna to the Son of David !" He trod, too, a
road green with palm branches, and strewn with their gar
ments ; and yet in the midst of all this joy, as if rejoicing
were not for Him, the Man of Sorrows paused to weep. .
There is something significant and characteristic in that
peculiar tone of melancholy which pervaded the Redeemer's
intercourse with man. We read of but one occasion on
Avhich He rejoiced, and then only in spirit. He did not
shrink from occasions, of hufnan joy, for He attended: the
marriage-feast; yet even there the solemn remark, appa
rently out of place, was heard — " Mine hour is not yet come."
There was in Him that peculiarity which we find more or
less in all the purest, most thoughtful minds — a shade of
melancholy ; much of sadness ; though none of austerity.
For, after all, when we come to look at this life of ours, what
ever may be its outward appearance, in the depths of it there
is great seriousness; the externalities of it may seem to be

Three Times in a Nations History. 819
joy and brightness, but in the deep beneath there is a strange,
stern aspect. It may be that the human race is on its way
to good, but the victory hitherto gained is so small that we
can scarcely rejoice over it. It may be that human nature
is progressing, but that progress has been but slowly mak
ing, through years aud centuries of blood. And therefore
contemplating all this, and penetrating beyond the time of
the present joy, the Redeemer wept, not for Himself, but for
that devoted city.
He was' then on the Mount of Olives ; beneath Him there
lay the metropolis of Judea, with the Temple in full sight ;
the towers and the walls of Jerusalem flashing back the
brightness of an Oriental sky. The Redeemer knew that she
Avas doomed, and therefore with tears He pronounced her
coming fate r " The days shall come that thine enemies shall
cast a trench about thee, and shall not leave in thee one
stone upon another." These words, which rang the funeral
knell of Jerusalem, tell out in our ears this day a solemn les
son ; they tell us that in the history of nations, and also, it
may be, in the personal history of individuals, there are three
times — a time of grace, a time of blindness, and a time of
judgment. This then, is our subject — the three times in a nation's
history. When the Redeemer spake, it Avas for Jerusalem
the time of blindness ; the time of grace was past ; that of
judgment was to come.
We take these three in order: first, the time of grace.
We find it expressed here in three different modes: first,
" in this thy day ;" then, " the things which belong to thy
peace ;" and thirdly, " the time of thy visitation." And from
this we understand the meaning of a time of grace ; it was
Jerusalem's time of opportunity. The time in which the Re
deemer appeared was that in which faith was almost worn
out. He found men with their faces turned backward to the
past, instead of forward to the future. They were as chil
dren clinging to the garments of a relation they have lost ;
life there was not, faith there Avas not — only the garments
of a past belief. He found them groaning under the domin
ion of Rome ; rising up against it, and thinking it their
worst evil.
The coldest hour of all.the night is that which immediately
precedes the dawn, and in that darkest hour of Jerusalem's
night her light .beamed forth ; her Avisest and greatest came
in the midst of her, almost unknown, born under the law, to
emancipate those who were groaning under the law. His life,
the day of His preaching, was, Jerusalem's time of grace.

820 Three Times in a Nations History.
During that time the Redeemer spake the things which be-
lonced to her peace: those things Avere few and simple. He
found her people mourning under political degradation. He
told them that political degradation does not degrade the
man ; the only thing that can degrade a man is slavery to
sin. He told men who were looking merely to the past, no
longer to look thither and say that Abraham was their father,
for that God could raise up out of those stones children to
Abraham, and a greater than Abraham was there. He told
theri also not to look for some future deliverer, for deliver
ance was already come. They asked Him when the king
dom of God should come ; He told them they were not to
cry, Lo here ! or, lo there ! for the kingdom of God was Avith-
in ; that they were to begin the kingdom of God now, by
each man becoming individually more holy, that if each man
so reformed his own soul, the reformation of the kingdom
would soon spread around them. They came to Him com
plaining of the Roman tribute ; He asked for a piece of
money, and said, "Render unto Caesar the things that be
Caesar's, and to God the things that be God's ;" — plainly tell
ing them that the bondage from Avhich men Avere to be de
livered was not an earthly, but a spiritual bondage. He
drew the distinction sharply betweeri happiness and blessed-
ness-^the two things are opposite, although not necessarily
contrary. He told them, " Blessed are the meek ! Blessed
are the poor in spirit !" The mourning man, and the poor
man, and the persecuted man— these Avere not happy; if hap
piness consists in the gratification of all our desires ; but they
were blessed beyond all earthly. blessedness, for happiness is
but the contentment of desire, while blessedness is the satis
faction of those aspirations Avhich have God alone for their
end and aim.
All these things were rejected bythe nation. They Avere
rejected first by the priests. They knew not that the mind
of the age in which they lived was in advance of the tra
ditional Judaism, and, therefore, they looked upon the Re
deemer as an irreverent, ungodly man, a sabbath-breaker.
He was rejected by the rulers, who did not understand that
in righteousness alone are governments to subsist, and, there
fore, when He demanded of them justice, mercy, truth, they
looked upon Him as a revolutionizer. He was rejected like
wise by the people — that people ever ready to listen to any
demagogue promising them earthly grandeur. They who on
this occasion called out, " Hosanna to the Son of David," and
were content to do so, so long as they believed He intended
to lead them to personal comfort and enjoyment, afterwards

Three Times in a Nation's History. 821
cried out, " Crucify Him ! crucify Him !" " His blood be on
us, and on our children ;" so that His rejection Avas the act
of the whole nation. Now, respecting this day of grace Ave
have two remarks to make.
First : in this advent of the Redeemer there Avas nothing
outwardly remarkable to the men of that day. It was al-
. most nothing. Of all the historians of that period, few in
deed are found to mention it. This is a thing which we at
this day can scarcely understand ; for to us the blessed advent
of our Lord is the brightest page in the Avorld's history : but
to them it was far otherwise. Remember, for one moment,
what the advent of our Lord was to all outward appearance.
He seemed, let it be said reverently, to the rulers of those
days, a fanatical freethinker. They heard of His miracles,
but they appeared nothing remarkable to them ;. there was
nothing there on which to fasten their attention. They heard
that some of the .populace had been led away, and now and
then, it may be, some of His words reached their ears, but to
them they were hard to be understood — full of mystery, or
else they roused every evil passion in their hearts, so stern
and uncompromising was the morality they taught. They
put aside these words in that brief period, and the clay of
grace passed.
And just such as this is God's visitation to us. Generally,
the day of God's visitation is not a day very remarkable out
wardly. Bereavements/sorrows — no doubt, in these God
speaks ; but there are other occasions far more quiet and un
obtrusive, but which are yet plainly days of grace. A scruple
Avhich others do not see, a doubt coming into the mind re
specting some views held sacred by the popular creed, a sense
of heart-loneliness and solitariness, a feeling of awful misgiving-
Avhen the future lies open before us, the dread feeling of an
eternal godlessness, for men who are living godless lives now
: — these silent moments unmarked, these are the moments in
which the Eternal is speaking to our souls.
Once more : that day of Jerusalem's visitation — her day
of grace — was short. It was narrowed up into the short
space of three years and a half. After that, God still plead
ed Avith individuals ; but the national cause, as a cause, wae
gone. Jerusalem's doom was sealed when He pronounced
those words. Again, there is a lesson, a principle for us : God's
day of visitation is frequently short. A few. actions often
decide the destiny of individuals, because they give a desti
nation and form to habits ; they settle the tone and form of
the mind from Avhich there will be in this life no alteration.
So it is in the earliest history of our species. In those mys-

822 Three Times in a Nation's History.
terious chapters at the commencement of the book of Gene
sis, we are told that it was one act which sealed the destiny
of Adam and of all the human race. What was it but a very
few actions, done in a very short time, that settled the destiny
of those nations througli which the children of Israel passed
on their way to Canaan ? The question for them was simply,
whether they would show Israel mercy or not ; this was all. .
Once more : we see it again in the case of Saul. One cir
cumstance, .at the most, tAvo, marked out his destiny. Then
came those solemn words, " The strength of Israel can not lie
nor repent. The Lord hath rent the kingdom from thee this
day." From that hour his course was downward, his day
of grace was past.
Brethren, the truth is plain. The day of visitation is aw
fully short. We say not that God never pleads a long time,
but we say this, that sometimes God speaks to a nation or to
a man but once. If not heard then, His voice is heard no
more. We pass on now to consider Israel's day of blindness. Ju
dicial blindness is of a twofold character. It may be pro
duced by removing the light, or by incapacitating the eye to
receive that light. Sometimes men do not see because there
is no light for them to see ; and this was what was done to
Israel — the Saviour was taken away from her. The voice of
the apostles declared this truth : " It was necessary that the
Avord should first have been spoken to you ; but seeing ye
put it from you, and judge yourselves unworthy of everlast
ing life, lo, Ave turn to the Gentiles."
There is a Avay of blindness by hardening the heart. Let
us not conceal ffliis truth from ourselves. God blinds the eye,
but it is in the appointed course of His providential dealings.
If a man will not see, the law is he shall not see ; if he will
not do Avhat is right when he knows the right, then right
shall become to him Avrong, and wrong shall seem to be right.
We read that God hardened Pharaoh's heart ; that He blind
ed Israel. It is impossible to look at these cases of blindness
without perceiving in them something of Divine action.
Even at the moment when the Romans were at their gates,
Jerusalem still dreamed of security ; and when the battering-
ram was at the tower of Antonia, the priests Avere celebrating,
in fancied safety, their daily sacrifices. From the moment
when our Master spake, there was deep stillness over her
until her destruction ; like the strange and unnatural stillness
before the thunder-storm, when every breath seems hushed,
and every leaf may be almost heard moving in the motion
less air ; and all this calm and stillness is but the prelude to

Three Times in a Nation's History. 823
the moment when the east and west are lighted up with the
red flashes, and the whole creation seems to reel. Such was
the blindness of that nation which Avould not know the day
of her visitation.
We pass on noAV to consider, lastly, her day of judgment.
Her beautiful morning was clouded, her sun had gone clown
in gloom, and she was left in darkness. The account of the
siege is one of the darkest passages in Roman history. In
the providence of God, the history of that belongs, not to a
Christian, but to a Jew. We all know the account that he
has given us of the eleven hundred thousand Avho perished
in that siege, of the thousands crucified along the sea-shore.
We have all heard of the tAvo factions that divided the city,
of the intense hatred that made the cruelty of Jew towards
Jew more terrible than even the vengeance of the Romans.
This was the destruction of Jerusalem — the day of her ruin.
And now, brethren, let us observe, this judgment came in
the way of natural consequences. We make a great mistake
respecting judgments. God's judgments are not arbitrary,
but the results of natural laws. The historians tell us that
Jerusalem OAved her ruin to the fanaticism and obstinate
blindness of her citizens ; from all of which her Redeemer
came to emancipate her. Had they understood, "Blessed
are the poor in spirit," " Blessed are the meek," and " Blessed
are the peacemakers ;" had they understood that, Jerusalem's
day of ruin might never have come.
Now let us apply this to the day Ave are at present cele
brating. We. all know that this destruction of Jerusalem is
connected with the second coming of Christ. In St. Matthew
the two advents are so blended together that it is hard to
separate one from the other ; nay, rather, it is impossible, be
cause we have our Master's words, " Verily, I say unto you,
this generation shall not pass till all be fulfilled." Therefore
this "prophecy, in all its fullness, came to pass in the destruc
tion of Jerusalem. But it is impossible to look at it Avithout
perceiving there is also something farther included ; we shall
understand it by turning to the elucidation given by our
Lord Himself. When the apostles asked, Where shall all
these things be? Hi* reply was, in effect, this: Ask you
where ? I tell you, noAvhere in particular, or rather, every
where ; for wheresoever there is corruption, there will be
destruction — " where the carcass is,- thither will the eagles be
gathered together." So that this first coming of the Son of
Man to judgment was the type, the specimen of what shall
be hereafter.
And now, brethren, let us apply this subject still more

824 Three Times in a Nation's History.
home. Is there no such thing as blindness among our
selves ? May not this be our day of visitation ? First, there
is among us priestly blindness; the. blindness of men who
know not that the demands of this age are in advance of
those that have gone before. There is no blindness greater
than that of those who think that the panacea for the evils
of a country is to be found in ecclesiastical union. But let
us not be mistaken : it is not here, we think, that the great
danger lies. We dread not Rome. No man can understand
the signs of the times, who does not feel that tlie day of
Rome is passing aAvay, as that of Jerusalem once did. But
the danger lies in this consideration — we find that where the
doctrines of Rome have been at all successful, it has been
among the clergy and upper classes ; while, when presented
to the middle and lower classes, they have been at once re
jected. There is, then, apparently, a gulf between the two.
If there be added to the difference of position a still further
and deeper difference of religion, then Avho shall dare to say
what the end shall be ?
Once more : Ave look at the blindness of men talking of
intellectual enlightenment. It is true that we have more
enlightened civilization and comfort. What then ? Avill that
retard our day of judgment? Jerusalem was becoming
more enlightened, and Rome was at its most civilized point,
Avhen the destroyer was at their gates.
Therefore, let us know the day of our visitation. It is not
the day of refinement, nor of political liberty, nor of advan
cing intellect. We must go again in the old, old way ; we
must return to simpler manners and to a purer life. We
Avant more firitb, more love. The life of Christ and the
death of Christ must be made the law of our life. Reject
that, and we reject our own salvation ; and, in rejecting that,
we bring on in rapid steps, for the nation and for ourselves,
the day of judgment and of ruin.

Inspiration. 825

XXVIII.
INSPIRATION.
"We then that are strong ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and
not to please ourselves. Let every one of us please his neighbor for his good
to edification. Por even Christ pleased not himself; but, as it is Avritten,
The reproaches of them that reproached thee fell on me. For whatsoever
things were written aforetime were written for our learning, that we through
patience and comfort ofthe Scriptures might have hope." — Rom. xv. 1-4.
We will endeavor, brethren, to search the connection be
tween the different parts of these verses.
First, the apostle lays down a Christian's duty — " Let
every one of us please his neighbor for his good to edifica
tion." After that he brings forward as the sanction of that
duty, the spirit of the life' of Christ. — "For even Christ
pleased not Himself." Next, he adds an illustration of that
principle by a quotation from Psalm lxix : "It is written,
The reproaches of them that reproached thee fell on me."
Lastly, he explains and defends that application of the
psalm, as if he had said, " I am perfectly justified in apply
ing that passage to Christ, for ' whatsoever things were
written aforetime were written for our learning.' "
So that in this quotation, and the defense of it as con
tained in these verses, we have the principle of apostolical
interpretation ;. Ave have the principle upon which the apos
tles used the Old Testament Scriptures, and we are enabled
to understand their view of inspiration. This is one of the
most important considerations upon which we can be at this
moment engaged. It is the deepest question of our day :
the one which lies beneath all others, and in comparison of
which the questions just noAv agitating the popular mind —
whether of Papal jurisdiction or varieties of Church doc
trine in our own communion — are but superficial : it is this
grand question of inspiration which is given to this age to
solve. Our subject will break itself up into questions such as
these : What the Bible is, and what the Bible is not ?
What is meant by inspiration? Whether inspiration is the
same thing as infallibility? When God inspired the minds,
•did He dictate the words? Does the inspiration of men
mean the infallibility of .their Avords ? Is inspiration the
same as dictation ? Whether, granting that Ave have the
35*

826 Inspiration.
Word of God, Ave have also the words of God ? Are the op
erations of the Holy Spirit, inspiring men, compatible with
partial error, as His operations in sanctifying them are com
patible with partial evil ? How are Ave to interpret and ap
ply the Scriptures ? Is Scripture, as the Romanists say, so
unintelligible and obscure that we can not understand it
Avithout having the guidance of an infallible Church ? Or is
it, as some fanciful Protestants will tell us, a book upon
Avhich all ingenuity may be used to find Christ in every sen
tence ? Upon these things there are many views, some of
them false, some superstitious ; but it is not our business
now to deal with these ; our Avay is rather to teach positive
ly thari negatively: we will try to set up the truth, and
error may fall before it.
The collect for this day leads us to the special considera
tion of Holy Scripture ; We shall therefore take this for our
subject, and. endeavor to understand Avhat was the apostoli
cal principle of interpretation.
In the text we find two principles : first, that Scripture is
of universal application ;
And second, that all the lines of Scripture converge to
Avards Jesus Christ.
First, then, there is here a universal application of Scrip
ture. This passage quoted by the apostle is from the sixty-
ninth Psalm. That was evidently spoken by David of him
self. From first to last, no unprejudiced mind can detect a
conception in the Avriter's mind of an application to Christ,
or to any other person after him ; the psalmist is there full
of himself and his own sorrows. It is a natural and touching
exposition of Human grief and a good man's trust Never
theless, you will observe that St. Paul extends the use of
these words, and applies them to Jesus Christ. Nay, more
than that, he uses them as belonging to all Christians; for,
he says, " Whatsoever things Avere written aforetime, were
written for our learning." Now this principle will be more
evident if we state it in the words of Scripture, " KnoAving
that no prophecy of Scripture is of any private interpreta
tion :" those holy men spake not their own limited individual
feelings, but as feeling that they were inspired by the Spirit
of God. Their words belonged to the whole of our common
humanity. No prophecy of the Scriptures is of any private
interpretation. Bear in mind that the word prophecy does
not mean Avhat Ave now understand by it — merely prediction
of future events — in the Scriptures it signifies inspired teach
ing. The teaching ofthe prophets was by no means always
prediction. Bearing this in mind, let us remember that the

Inspiration. 827
apostle says it is of no private interpretation. Had the Psalm
applied only to David, then it would have been of private
interpretations-it would have been special, limited, particu
lar ; it would have belonged to an individual ; instead of
Avhich, it belongs to humanity. Take again the subject of
which we spoke last Sunday — the prophecy of the destruc
tion of Jerusalem. Manifestly that was spoken originally at
Jerusalem ; in a manner it seemed limited to Jerusalem, for
its very name was mentioned ; and besides, as we read this
morning, our Saviour says, " This generation shall not pass
until all be fulfilled."
But had the prophecy ended there, then you would still
have had prophecy, but it Avould have been of private — that
is, peculiar, limited — interpretation ; Avhereas our Redeemer's
principle Avas this : that this doom pronounced on Jerusalem
was uniA-ersally applicable, that it was but a style and speci
men of God's judgments. The judgment-coming of the Son
of Man takes place wherever there is evil grown ripe, when
ever corruption is complete. And the gathering of the
Roman eagles is but a specimen of the way in which
judgment at last overtakes every city, every country and
every man in whom evil has reached the point Avhere there
is no possibility of cure.
So that the prophecy belongs to all ages, from the de
struction of Jerusalem to the end of the world. The words
of St. Matthew are universally applicable. For Scripture
deals with principles ; not with individuals, but rather with
states of humanity. Promises and threatenings are made
to individuals, because they are in a particular state of
character ; but they belong to all Avho are in that state, for
" God is no respecter of persons."
First, Ave will take an instance of the state of blessing.
There was blessing pronounced to Abraham, in which it
will be seen hoAV large a grasp on humanity this view of
Scripture gave to St. Paul. The Avhole argument in the
Epistle to the Romans is, that the promises made to Abra
ham were not to his person, but to his faith ; and thus the
apostle says, " They who are of faith, are blessed with faith
ful Abraham."
We Avill now take the case of curse or threatening.^ Jonah,
by Divine command, went through Nineveh, proclaiming its
destruction; but that prophecy belonged to the state in
Avhich Nineveh was ; it was true only while it remained in
that state ; and therefore, as they repented, and their state
Avas thus changed, the prophecy was left unfulfilled. From
this avc perceive the largeness and grandeur of Scripture in-

828 Inspiration.
terpretation. In the Epistle to the Corinthians, we find the
apostle telling of the state of the Jews in their passage to
Avards the promised land, their state of idolatry and glut
tony, and then he proceeds to pronounce the judgments
that fell upon them, adding that he tells us this not merely
as a matter of history, but rather as an illustration of a prin
ciple. They are specimens of eternal, unalterable law. So
that whosoever shall be in. the state of these Jews, whosoever
shall imitate them, the same judgments must fall upon them,
the same satiety and weariness, the same creeping of the
inAvard serpent polluting all their feelings ; and therefore he
says, "All these things happened unto them for ensamples."
Again, he uses the same principle, not as a private, but a
general application ; for he says, " There hath no temptation
taken you but such as is common to man."
We will take now another case, applied not to nations,
but to individuals. In Hebrews xiii. we find these words
from the Old Testament, " I will never leave thee nor for
sake thee ;" and there the apostle's inference is that we may
boldly say, " The Lord is my helper, I Avill not fear what
men shall do unto me." Now, when Ave refer to Scripture,
we shall find that this was a promise originally made to
Jacob. The apostle does not hesitate to take that promise
and appropriate it to all Christians; for it was made, not to
Jacob as a person, but to the state in which Jacob was ; it
Avas made to all who, like Jacob, are wanderers and pilgrims
in the world ; it was made to all whom sin has rendered out
casts and who are longing to return. The promises made to
the meek belong to meekness ; the promises made to the
humble belon# to humility.
And this it is which makes this Bible, not only a blessed
book, but our book. It is this universal applicability of
Scripture which has made the influence of the Bible uni
versal : this book has held spell-bound the hearts of nations,
in a way in which no single book has ever held men before.
Remember, too, in order to enhance the marvellousness of
this, that the nation from which it emanated was a despised
people. For the last eighteen hundred years the Jews have
been proverbially a by-word and a reproach. But that con
tempt for Israel is nothing new to theworld, for before even
the Roman despised them, the Assyrian and Egyptian re
garded them Avith scorn. Yet the words which came from
Israel's prophets have been the life-blood of the world's de
votions. And the teachers, the psalmists, the prophets, and
the laAvgivers of this despised nation spoke out truths that
have struck the key-note of the heart of man ; and this, not

Inspiration. 829 .
because they were of Jewish, but just because they were of
universal application.
This collection of books has been to the world what no
other book has ever been to a nation. States have been
founded on its principles. Kings rule by a compact based on
it. Men hold the Bible in their hands when they prepare to
give solemn evidence affecting life, death, or property ; the
sick man is almost afraid to die unless the book be within
reach of his hands ; the battle-ship goes into action with
one on board whose office is to expound it ; its prayers,
its psalms are the language which Ave use when we speak to
God ; eighteen centuries have found no holier, no diviner
.language. If ever there has been a prayer or a hymn
enshrined in the heart of a nation, you are sure to find its
basis in the Bible. There is no new religious idea given
to the world, but it is merely the development of something
given in the Bible. The very translation , of it has fixed
language and settled the idioms of speech. Germany and
England speak as they speak because the Bible was trans
lated. It has made the most illiterate peasant more familiar
with the history, customs, and geography of ancient Palestine
than with the localities of his own country. Men who know
nothing of the Grampians, of Snowden, or of SkiddaAV, are
at home in Zion, the Lake of Gennesareth, or among the rills
of Carmel. People who know little about London, know
by heart the places in Jerusalem where those blessed feet
trod which were nailed to the cross. Men who know noth
ing of the architecture of a Christian cathedral, can yet tell
you all about the pattern of the holy temple. Even this
.shows us the influence of the Bible. The orator holds a
thousand men for half an hour breathless— a thousand men
as one, listening to his single word. But this Word of God
has held a thousand nations for thrice a thousand years spell
bound ; held them by an abiding power, even the universali
ty of its truth ; and we feel it to be no more a collection of
books, but the book.
We pass on now to consider the second principle contained
in these words, which is, that all Scripture bears towards
Jesus Christ. St. Paul quotes these Jewish words as fulfilled
in Christ Jesus of Nazareth is the central point in which
all the converging lines of Scripture meet. Again we state
this principle in Scripture language : in the book ot Revela
tion we find it written, " The testimony of Jesus is the spirit
of prophecy," that is, the sum and substance of prophecy;
the very spirit of Scripture is to bear , testimony to Jesus
Christ. We must often have been surprised and perplexed

830 Itispiration.
at the way in which the apostles quote passages in reference
to Christ which originally had no reference to Him. In our
text, for instance, David speaks only of himself, and yet
St. Paul refers it to Christ. Let us understand this. We
have already said that Scripture deals not with individuals,
but with states and principles. Promises belong to persons
only so far as they are what they are taken to be ; and con
sequently all unlimited promises made to individuals, so far
as they are referred merely to those individuals, are necessa
rily exaggerated and hyperbolical. They can only be true
of One in whom that is fulfilled which was unfulfilled in
them. We will take an instance. We are all familiar Avith the
well-known prophecy of Balaam. Tie all remember the
magnificent destinies he promised to the people whom he
Avas called to curse. Those promises have never been fulfill
ed, neither from the whole appearance of things does it seem
likely that they ever will be fulfilled in their literal sense.
To whom, then, are they made ? To Israel ? Yes ; so far as
they developed God's own conception. Balaam says, " God
hath not beheld iniquity in Jacob, neither hath He seen per-
verseness in Israel." Is this the character of Israel, an idol
atrous and rebellious nation ? Spoken of the literal Israel,
this prophecy is false ; but it was not false of that spotless-
ness and purity of which Israel was the temporal and imper
fect type. If one can be found of whorn that description is
true, of Avhom we can say, the Lord hath not beheld iniquity
in him, to him then that prophecy belongs.
Brethren, Jesus of Nazareth is that pure and spotless One.
Christ is perfectly, all that every saint Avas partially. To
Him belongs all: all that description of a perfect character,
Avhich would be exaggeration if spoken of others, and to this
character the blessing belongs ; hence it is that all the frag
mentary representations of character collect and centre in
Him alone. Therefore, the apostle says, " It was added until
the seed should come to whom the promise was made."
Consequently St. Paul Avould not read the Psalm as spoken
only of" David. Were the lofty aspirations, the purity and
humbleness expressed in the text, true of him, poor, sinful, err
ing David? These were the expressions of the Christ within
his heart— the longing of the Spirit of God within Him ; but
they were no proper representation of the spirit of his life,
for there is a marvellous difference between a man's ideal
and his actual — between the man and the book he writes — a
difference betAveen the aspirations Avithin the man and the
character Avhich is realized by his daily life. The promises

Inspiration. 831
are to the Christ within David ; therefore they are applied to
the Christ when He comes. Noav, let us extract from that
this application.
Brethren, Scripture is full of Christ. From Genesis to
Revelation every thing breathes of Him, jjot every letter of
every sentence, but the spirit of every chapter. It is full of
Christ, but not in the way that some suppose ; for there is
nothing more miserable, as specimens of perverted ingenuity,
than the attempts of certain commentators and preachers to
find remote, and recondite, and intended allusions to Christ
everywhere. For example, they chance to find in the con
struction of the temple the fusion of two metals, and this
they conceive-is meant to show the union of Divinity with
Humanity in Christ. If they read of coverings to the taber
nacle, they find implied the doctrine of imputed righteous
ness. If it chance that one of the curtains of the tabernacle
be red, they see in that the prophecy, of the blood of Christ.
If they are told that the kingdom of heaven is a pearl of great
price, they will see it in the allusion — that, as a pearl is the
production of animal suffering, so the kingdom of heaven is
produced by the sufferings of the Redeemer. I mention this
peiwerted mode of comment, becanse.it is not merely harm
less, idle, and useless ; it is positively dangerous. This is to
make the Holy Spirit speak riddles and conundrums, and the
interpretation of Scripture but clever riddle-guessing. _ Put
ting aside all this childishness, we say that the Bible is full
of Christ. Every unfulfilled aspiration of humanity in the
past ; all partial representation of perfect character ; all sac
rifices, nay even those of idolatry, point to the fulfillment of '
Avhat we want, tlie answer to every _ longing — the type of
perfect humanity, the Lord Jesus Christ.
Get the habit — a glorious one — of referring all to Christ.
How did He feel ?— think ?— act ? So then must I feel, and
think, and act. Observe how Christ was a Living reality in
St. Paul's mind. "Should I please myself?" "For even
Christ pleased not Himself;" "It is more blessed to give
than to receive."

83 2 The Last Utterances of Christ.

XXIX.
THE LAST UTTERANCES OF CHRIST.
"When Jesus therefore had recei\-ed the vinegar, he said, It is finished :
and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost."— John xix. 30.
There are seven dying sentences of our Lord's recorded
in the Gospels ; one recorded conjointly by St. Matthew and
St. Mark, three recorded by St. Luke, and three by St. John.
That recorded by the first two evangelists is, "My God, my
God, why hast thou forsaken me?" Those preserved by St.
Luke only are, " Verily, I say unto thee, to-day shalt thou be
Avith me in paradise ;" " Father, forgive them, for they know
not what they do ;" and, " Father, into Thy hands I com
mend my Spirit." The three recorded by St. John are these :
" I thirst ;" " Behold thy mother ; behold thy son ;" and
lastly, " It is finished." And these seven group themselves
into two divisions ; we perceive that some of them are the
utterances of personal feeling, and others are the utterances
of sympathy for others.
These are, therefore, the two divisions of our subject to
day— I. The natural exclamations ofthe Man.
II. The utterances of the Saviour.
The first of "those which we class under the exclamations
of the Man, referring to His personal feelings, is, " I thirst;"
in answer to which they gave Him vinegar to drink. Now
upon first reading this, we are often tempted to suppose,from
the unnatural character of the draught, that an insult was
intended ; and therefore we rank this among the taunts and
fearful sufferings which He endured at His crucifixion. But
as we become acquainted with Oriental history vwe discoA'er
that this vinegar was the common drink of the Roman army,
their wine, and therefore was the most likely to be at hand
Avhen in the company of soldiers, as He then was. Let it be
borne in mind that a draught was twice offered to him : once
it was accepted, once it was refused. That which was re
fused was the medicated potion — wine mingled with myrrh
— the intention of which was to deaden pain, and therefore
when it was presented to the Saviour it was rejected. And
the reason commonly assigned for that seems to be the true

The Last Utterances of Christ. 833
one : the Son of Man Av.onld not meet death in a state of stu
pefaction, He chose to meet His God awake.
There are two modes in Avhich pain may be struggled with
— through the flesh, and through the spirit; the one is the
office of the physician, the other that of the Christian. ¦ The
physician's care is at once to deaden pain either by iusensi-
bility or specifics ; the Christian's object is to deaden pain
by patience. We dispute not the value of the physician's
remedies, in their way they are permissible and valuable ; but
yet let it be observed that in these there is nothing moral ;
they may take away the venom of the serpent's sting, but
they.do not give the courage to plant the foot upon the ser
pent's head, and to bear the pain without flinching. There
fore the Redeemer refused, because it was not through the
flesh, but through the Spirit, that He would conquer ; to
have accepted the anodyne would have been to escape from
suffering, but not to conquer it. But the vinegar or sour
wine was accepted as a refreshing draught, for it would seem
that He did not look upon the value of the suffering as con
sisting in this, that He should make it as exquisite as possible,
but rather that He should not suffer one drop of the cup of
agony which His Father had put into His hand to trickle
down the side untasted. Neither Avould He make to Him
self one drop more of suffering than His Father had given.
There are books on the value of pain ; they tell us that if
of two kinds of food the one is pleasant and the other nau
seous, Ave are to choose the nauseous one. Let a lesson on
this subject be learnt from the Divine example of our Master.
To suffer pain for others without flinching, that is our
Master's example ; but pain for the mere sake of pain, that is
not Christian ; to accept poverty in order to do good for oth
ers, that is our Saviour's principle ; but to become poor for
the sake and the merit of being poor, is but selfishness after
all. Our Lord refused the anodyne that would have made
the cup untasted which His Father had put into His hand
to drink, but He would not taste one drop more than His
Father gave him. Yet He did not refuse the natural solace
Avhich His Father's hand had placed before Him.
There are some who urge most erroneously the doctrine
of discipline and self-denial. If of two ways one is disagree
able, they will choose it, just because it is disagreeable; be
cause food is pleasant and needful, they will fast. There is
in this a great mistake. To deny self for the sake of duty is
right— to sacrifice life and interests rather than principle is
right ; but self-denial for the mere sake of self-denial, tortuie
for torture's sake, is neither good nor Christlike. Renitm-

834 The Last Utterances of Christ.
ber, He drank the cooling beverage in the very moment of
the sacrifice ; the value of Avhich did not consist in- its being
made as intensely painful as possible, but in His not flinching
from the pain, when love and duty said, Endure.,
His second exclamation was, " My God, my God, why hast
Thou forsaken me ?" We will not dive into the deep mysteries
of that expression — we will not pretend to be wiser than
what is Avritten, endeavoring to comprehend where the human
is mingled with the Divine — we will take the matter simply
as it stands. It is plain from this expression that the Son of
God felt as if He had been deserted by His Father. We
know that He was not deserted by Him, or else God had
denied Himself, after saying, " This is my beloved Son, in
whom I am well pleased." And they who maintain that
this Avas real desertion, attribute that to the Lord of Love
which can alone belong to Judas — the desertion of innocence
— therefore we conclude that it arose from the infirmities of
our Master's innocent human nature. It was the darkening
of His human soul, not the hiding of God's countenance. He
was Avorn, faint, and exhausted ; His body was hanging from
four lacerated wounds ; and more than that, there was much
to perplex the Redeemer's human feelings, for He was suffer
ing there, the innocent for the guilty. For once God's law
seemed reversed ; and then came the human cry, " My God,
my God, Avhy hast Thou forsaken me ?"
And now, brethren, observe in this, that it arose apparently
from the connection of the Redeemer's death with sin. When
the death-struggle of the flesh begins, and we first become
aware ofthe frailty of our humanity, then the controversy of
God Avith the* soul is felt to be real by reason of our con
sciousness of sin ; then is felt, as it were, the immense gulf
that separates between the pure and the impure. In the
case of the Son of Man this was, of course, impossible ; con
sciousness of sin He bad none, for He had no sin ; but there
Avas a connection, so to speak, between the death of Christ
and sin, for the apostle says, " In that He died, He died unto
sin once." " He died unto sin ;" there was a connection be
tween His death and sin, though it was not His own sin, but
the sin of the whole world. In that moment of the apparent
victory of evil, the Redeemer's spirit, as it would appear, felt
a darkness similar to ours when sin has hidden our conscious
ness of God. When death is merely natural, we can feel
that the hand of God is there ; but when man interferes, and
the hand of God is invisible, and that of man is alone seen,
then all seems dark and uncertain. The despondency of
the Redeemer was not supernatural, but most natural dark-

The Last Utterances of Christ. 835
ness. The Avords He used were not his otvn, bnt David's
Avords; and this proclaims that suffering such as He was then
bearing had been borne before Him — the difference Avas in de
gree, not in kind. The idea of piety struggling Avith, and victo
rious over evil, had been exhibited on earth before. The idea
Avas imperfectly exhibited in the sufferings of Israel regard
ed as typical of Christ. In Christ alone is it perfectly pre
sented. So also that Avondrous chapter, the fifty-third of
Isaiah, justly describing both, belongs in its entireness to
Christ : He therefore adopted these words as His oavii.
The last personal ejaculation of our Redeemer Avas,
" Father, into Thy hands I commend my Spirit." We take
this in connection with the preceding ; for if we do not, the
two will be unintelligible, but taking them together, it be
comes plain that the darkness of the Redeemer's mind Avas
but momentary. For a moment the Redeemer felt alone
and deserted, and then, in the midst of it, He cried out,
"Father, into Thy hands I commend my Spirit." In that
moment He realized His inseparable union with the Father.
And noAv I Avould observe, if I may do it Avithout being
misunderstood, that the Redeemer speaks as if not knoAviug
where He was going — " Into Thy hands," that is sufficient.
It is as well to look at these things as simply as possible.
Do not confuse the mind Avith attempting to draw the dis
tinction between the human and the Divine. He speaks
here as if His human soul, like ours, entered into the dark
unkrioAvn, not seeing what was to be in the hereafter : and
this is faith, or, if it were not so, there arises an idea from
which we shrink, as if He Avere speaking words He did not
feel. We know nothing of the world beyond, Ave are like
children ; even revelation has told us almost nothing con
cerning this, and an inspired apostle says, " We know not
yet what Ave shall be." Then rises faith, and dares to say,
" My Father, I know nothing, but, be Avhere I may, still I
am with Thee;" "Into Thy hands I commend my Spirit"
Therefore, and only therefore, do we dare to die.
We pass' on, secondly, to the consideration of those utter
ances which our Master spake as the Saviour of the world.
The first is, " Father, forgive them, for they know; not what
they do." From this expression we infer two things : first,
that sin needs forgiveness ; and, secondly, that forgiveness
can be granted.
Sin needs forgiveness, or the Redeemer Avould not have so
prayed. That it needs forgiveness we also prove, from the
fact that it always connects itself with penalty. Years may
separate the present from your past misconduct, but the re-

836 The Last Utterances of Christ.
membrance of it remains; nay; more than that, even those
errors which we did ignorantly carry Avith them their retri
bution ; and from this Ave collect the fact that even errors,
failures in judgment, need God's forgiveness. Another
proof that sin needs pardon is from the testimony of con
science. In all men it speaks, in some in but a feeble whis
per, in others with an irregular sound, now a lull, and then a
storm of recollection; in others, conscience is as a low per
petual knell, ever sounding, telling of the death going on
tvithin, proclaiming that the past has been accursed, the pres
ent withered, and that the future is one vast terrible blank:
In these several forms, conscience tells us also that the
sin has been committed against our Father. The perma
nence of all our acts, the eternal consequences of every small
thing clone by man, all point to God as the One against
whom the sin is committed ; and, therefore, that voice still
speaks, though the thing we have done never can be undone.
The other thing that we learn from that utterance of Christ
is, that the pardon of sin is a thing possible, for the utterance
of Christ Avas the expression of the voice of God — it was
but another form of the Father saying, " I can and I will for
give." Remark here a condition imposed by Christ on the Divine
forgiveness when He taught His disciples to pray : " If ye
forgive men from your hearts, your Father will forgive you ;
but if ye do not forgive, neither will your Father which is in
heaven forgive you." It is natural to forgive on a dying
bed ; yet that forgiveness is only making a merit of necessity,
for Ave can revenge ourselves no more. There is abundance
of good-natuned charity abroad in the world; that charity
Avhich is indiscriminating. It may co-exist Avith the resent
ment of personal, injury, but the spirit of forgiveness which
we must have before we can be forgiven, can be ours only
so far as our. life is a representative of the life of Christ.
Theri it is possible for us to realize God's forgiveness.
The second utterance Avhich our Lord spake for others
rather than Himself was, "To-day shalt thou be with me in
paradise." Now, what Ave have here to observe on is the law of per
sonal influence ; the dying hour of Christ had an influence
over one thief— he became converted. The first thing Ave
remark is, that indirect influence often succeeds where di-:
rect influence has failed. Thus, when the Redeemer select
ed His disciples, and endeavored to teach them His. truth,
that was direct influence ; but Avhen He prayed for them, and
those discipjes. heard Him, and then came to Him with this

The Last Utterances of Christ. 837
petition, "Lord, teach us to pray," that was indirect in
fluence ; and so in this instance, while praying for Himself,
He did influence the mind of the dying thief, though that
influence was indirect. . Indirect influence is often far more
successful than that which is direct ; and for this reason,
the direct aims that we make to convert others may be con
tradicted by our lives, while the indirect influence is our very
life. What we really are, somehow or other, will ooze out,
in tone, in look, in act, and this tells upon those who come in
daily contact with us. The law of personal influence is mys
terious. The influence of the Son of God told on the one
thief, not on the other; it softened and touched the hearts
of two of His hearers, but it only hardened others. There
is much to be learnt from this, for some are disposed to A\'rite
bitter things against themselves because their influence on
earth has failed. Let all such remember that some are too
pure to act universally on others. If our influence has failed,
the Redeemer's was not universal.
The third utterance of our Master on the cross, for others,
not for himself, Avas, " Behold thy mother !" He who was dy
ing on the cross, whose name was Love, was the great philan
thropist, whose charity embraced the whole human race.
His last dying act was an act of individual attachment — ten
derness towards a mother, fidelity towards a friend. Noav
some well-meaning persons seem to think that the larger
charities are incompatible with the indulgence of particular
affections ; and therefore, all that they do, and aim at, is on
a large scale— they occupy themselves Avith the desire to
emancipate the whole mass of mankind. But, brethren, it
not unfrequently happens that those who act in this manner
Are but selfish after all, and are quite inattentive to all the
fidelities, of friendship and the amenities of social life. It
Avas not so, if we may venture to say it, that the Spirit ofthe
Redeemer grew, for as He progressed in wisdom and knowl
edge, He progressed also in love. First, we read of His ten
derness and obedience to His parents, then the selection of
twelve to be near Him from the rest of the disciples, and
then the selection of one, more especially, as a friend. It
was through this, that, apparently, His human souf greAV in
grace and in love. And if it were not so with Him, at all
events it must be so with us. It is in vain for a man in his
dying hour, who has loved no man individually, to attempt
to love the human race ; every thing here must be done by
degrees. Love is a habit. God has given to us the love of
relations and friends, the love of father- and mother, brother,
sister, friend, to prepare us gradually for the love of God ; if

838 The Last Utterances of Christ.
there be one stone of the foundation not securely laid, the
superstructure will be imperfect The domestic affections
are the alphabet of love.
Lastly, our Master said, " It is finished," partly for others,
partly for Himself. In the earliest part of His life, we read
that He said, " I have a baptism to be baptized with ;" to
Him, as to every human soul, this life had its side of darkness
and gloom, but all that was now accomplished : He has drunk
His last earthly drop of anguish, He has to drink the wine
no more till he drink it new in his Father's kingdom. It Avas
finished ; all Avas over ; and Avith, as it were, a burst of sub
dued joy, He says, " It is finished."
There is another aspect in which Ave may regard these
words as spoken also for others. The way in which our Re
deemer contemplated this life was altogether a peculiar one.
He looked upon it, not as a place of rest or pleasure, but
simply, solely, as a place of duty. He was here to do his
Father's will, not his own; 'and therefore, now that life was
closed, he looked upon it chiefly as a duty that was fulfilled.
We have the meaning of this in the seventeenth chapter of
this Gospel : " I have glorified Thee on earth, I have finished
the work which Thou gavest me to do." The duty is done,
the Avork is finished. Let us each apply this to ourselves.
That hour is coming to us all ; indeed it is, perhaps, now
come. The dark night settles down on each day.
"It is finished." We are ever taking leave of something
that Avill not come back again. We let go, with a pang,
portion after portion of our existence. However dreary we
may have felt life to be here, yet when that hour comes — the
winding up ffi all things, the last grand rush of darkness on
our spirits, the hour of that aAvful, sudden wrench from all
Ave have ever known or loved, the long farewell to sun, moon,
stars, and light — brother men, I ask you this di&y, and I ask
myself, humbly and fearfully, What Avill then be. finished?
When it is finished, what will it be ? Will it be the butter
fly existence of pleasure, the mere life of science, a life of un
interrupted sin and selfish gratification ; or will it be, " Fa
ther, I have finished the work Avhich Thou gavest me to do ?"

THE END.

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and the Scenery of the Holy Land. By W. M. Thomson, D.D., Twenty-
five Years a Missionary ofthe A.B.C.F.M. in Syria and Palestine. With
two elaborate Maps of Palestine, an accurate Plan of Jerusalem, and
several hundred Engravings, representing the Scenery, Topography, and
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THE DESERT OF THE EXODUS. Journeys on Foot in the Wilderness
of the Forty Years' Wanderings ; undertaken in connection with the
Ordnance Survey of Sinai and the Palestine Exploration Fund. By E.
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MACGREGOR'S ROB ROY ON THE JORDAN. The Rob Roy on the
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tine and E<*ypt, and the Waters of Damascus. By J. Maoqeegob, M.A.
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MOSHEIM'S ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY, Ancient and Modern; in
which the Rise Progress, and Variation of Church Power are considered
in their Connection "with the State of Learning and Philosophy, aud the
Political History of Europe during that Period. Translated, with Notes,
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COLERIDGE'S COMPLETE WORKS. The Complete Works of Samuel
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aud Theological Opinions. Edited by Professor Sueto. Complete in
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DWIGHT'S (Ret. Dr.) THEOLOGY. Theology Explained and Defended,
in a Series of Sermons. By Timothy Dwight, S.T.D., LL.D. With a
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KRUMMA CHER'S DAVID, KING OF ISRAEL. David, the King of Israi
el : a Portrait drawn from Bible History and the Book of Psalms. By
Frkoeeiok AVilltam Kevmmaohee, D.D., Author of " Elijah the Tish-
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Rev. M. G. Easton, M. A. With a Letter from Dr. Krummacher to his
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