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 1 
 
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 ipnWiU^ 
 
 Jj. J. "flMwdlT 
 
t 
 
 WORDS OF LIFE. 
 
 SEK^Ib^OlsrS 
 
 BY THE 
 
 .^%v. fl. (sJ. fl^owatt,^ 
 
 « 1 
 
 PREACHED IN 
 
 51. PauVs PTe5\)'\^Umu CWtc^v, ^^eto\cloxv, ^. B, 
 
 ••<$a-*<:$H* 
 
 :l 
 i 
 
 "REPORTER" STEAM PRINTING OFFICE, YORK STRBCT » 
 1890* 
 
5 5 6 / — Tvru. /d/ej 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Parliamen:'.o£ Canada, in the 
 year 1890, by Herman H. Pitts, in the office of the ^Minister 
 of Agriculture at Ottawa. 
 
 t 
 
I 
 
 IB 
 
 3r 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 TO send forth this book of sermons has cost me no little 
 canxiety and heart-searching thought, and it is not without 
 a measure of shrinking that I do so, not knowing what awaits 
 me ; but I feel I have been led to take this new step by HIAI 
 who has led me in all the important steps in life I have hitherto 
 taken, and I have this confidence that He will still be with me. 
 For years my sermons have been published from week to week 
 in the local press, and this is but an extension of that work. 
 The sermons make no claims to literary merit. I send them 
 forth as I have been giving them to my people from Sabbath to 
 Sabbath. I have no time to elaborate— no time for fine 
 writing, finished literary work. They have been words of life 
 to some souls. They have helped, cheered, comforted others. 
 They have been a message from Heaven to many. I lay the 
 book therefore at the feet of the Blessed Master, with the 
 prayer that he may use it for His glory. 
 
 St. Paul's Manse, July 1st, 1890. 
 
 ilHiiiHI 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 t'*^^:i^:^.l 
 
 T TTT 1 /. T . PAGE. 
 
 1. Words of Life 7 
 
 T I. Built mto the Lord's House 19 
 
 IIL Words 0/ Cheer 29 
 
 IV. ITearf 8 and Hands for the King's Service.. 40 
 
 V. The Voice Heard and not Heard 49 
 
 VI. The Parable of the Wheat- Grain GO 
 
 VII. Christmas M or ninrj Thoughts 71 
 
 VIII. Under the Figtree 34 
 
 IX. The Story of the Neiv Birth 95 
 
 X. The Soul: its Worth, its Loss 105 
 
 X I. The SouVs Divine Suitor hq 
 
 X[I. The City Sinner Saved. 127 
 
 XIII. Repentance 237 
 
 XIV. Blessedness of Forgiveness 147 
 
 XV. Redeemer and Redeemed 153 
 
 XVI. Man and the Sabbath 159 
 
 XVII. Woman's Church Work isi 
 
 XVIII. Rizpah on the Rock 193 
 
 XIX. Child Influence 204 
 
 XX. Jesus Gathering Lilies 215 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAfiE. 
 
 XXI. Flndmrf the Book 226 
 
 XXII. Ilotiors for Worklngmen 237 
 
 XXIII. The Rawlnr/ of Lazarus 248 
 
 XXIV. Faithful unto Death 258 
 
 XXV. Blunt Tools 2(19 
 
 XXVI. Preaching Christ Crucified 279 
 
 XXVII. Vessels of Honor and Dishonor 288 
 
 XXVIII. Muchliuhhish 300 
 
 XXIX, Fraying without Ceasing 310 
 
 XXX. Stq)s to Jesus 321 
 
 XXXI. The Blessed Dead 332 
 
 XXXII. The End 343 
 
1. 
 
 ISSovb^ of ^ifc. 
 
 " T/ie words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and therj 
 are life."—Jouif vi. 63. 
 
 WE want to know who speaks before we listen to what he 
 has to say. We want to know what authority he has to 
 tlirust his words upon our ears and before our eyes. The power 
 of speech gives the man the right to speak, and so he speaks, 
 insists upon his privilege perhaps. But men do not listen to 
 every one who has the power of speech. He must have skill 
 in the use of words, and he must have thoughts as well as 
 words. He must liave something to say, a message to deliver, 
 words to speak that men need to hear and want to hear, words 
 that have music and meaning in them for human souls. 
 
 One speaks because he is our friend. His love for us ^ives 
 him the right to tell us he loves us. Another speaks because 
 he is our teacher. He knows what we do not know, and he 
 wants us to know it, and so he speaks. Socrates speaks because 
 he is a philosopher, and the wisdom of words drops like honey 
 from his lips. Elijah breaks forth from his seclusion, and as if 
 at the mercy of the message that possesses him for the time 
 being, he gives it utterance and himself ease, and then with- 
 draws again into the awful silences to wait and listen for anew 
 message. Paul speaks because he has the Gospel to preach, 
 and he speaks as one who feels he cannot but speak, dare not 
 
WORDS OF LIFE. 
 
 liut spo.ik. N(?cos.sity is laid upon him, yea woe is unto liini, 
 unless with toji^'uc and poii h«' pi-rach Christ crucilicfl, and hia 
 soul is all on fire with holy zeal and hlcsscid cnthusiasiM as h« 
 ^oos forth and does it. And otlu^rs sj)oak as th«*y can, an<l nuMi 
 wait at tlitur feet to hoar what th(!y havo to say, and call it 
 good, and think thontsolvos all the stronger and wiser and 
 better for their words. 
 
 Now, hero is One who claims the right to speak and be heard 
 alM)ve all others. ITi; individualizes lEimself, jus it were, stand.s 
 ujwirt from and high above all who speak, and sjK'aks with an 
 authority and power that strangt^ly thrill and awe those who 
 hear, and lea<l them to wonder who and what Ho can be that 
 thus speaks. "The words that I speak unto you, they are 
 spirit, and they are life." 
 
 First, the Sj)oaker wlio speaks here, and his special fitness 
 and claims to speak. 
 
 And it was said of him as a speaker by those who heard 
 him speak, that "never man so spake." The admirers of an 
 orator or preacher will sometimes s;iy after a splendid effort: 
 "Never man so spake! Never speaker carried his audience 
 along with him like that! Never preacher thrilled and awed 
 men with his words to equal that!" But it was not his follow- 
 ers and friends who said that of Jesus, but his enemies rather, 
 those who did not believe in him, men who could not be said 
 to be his admirers. 
 
 As a speaker he was quite unique. He had an indi\'idual- 
 ity both as to the matter and manner of discourse that was 
 alike simple and grand, and he drew men to him with a strange 
 sort of influence that held them. He talked rather thaji pi-eached, 
 discoursed rather than sermonized, taught rather than hai'an- 
 gued. He did not sttuid up,and gesticulate, .'uid shout, and work 
 himself up into a frenzy. No. He usually sat cross-legged 
 after eastern fashion and quietly talked in a conversational 
 .style, told his touching and telling illustrative stories, startled 
 men with his home-thrusts and pungent appeals, and give them 
 
WORDS OF LIFE. 9 
 
 to ft'd that Ijo liml a way of his own of ^ottiiii^'at their (hou^'lits 
 and f(M'liiii,'.s that wovo hf>th a suii)ri.s(i ami mystory to them. 
 Tliey womloHid liow it was lio knew just what to say to tit in 
 witli tho thou;^ht that was passinj^ throuLjh their iniii'l at tho 
 timu, and to niuot tho ol)joctioii and answor tht) (lui'stion that 
 wer«! shapin;^ thcMnsolvos into hoin<; dei^p down witliiii thi'iii. 
 
 II(>i thus speaks to men as no other speaks, for he knows 
 theiu as no oth(!r knows them. Knowled;,'e <^ives him who has 
 it botli tho ri<,'lit and nuLjht to speak, a ri^^ht an 1 mi'^lit that 
 nmn aro not slow to perceive and acknowhid^^t^ An 1 .fesus 
 kiK-w. It was said of him as one of the tiuM<,'s that sp"fi;illy 
 ni'irke(l l»'m out from amoni^ others, that "IFe knew what \vn.s 
 in men." The woman at the well was struck witli that alxtut 
 iiim. He s(!emed to know all about \wv. That convince I her 
 of his M 'ssiahship, and so she wont to hor fellow- villa;,' m-s with 
 the ari^'ument th it had had wcn^^dit with herself, and sh"sai<lto 
 them: "Come, seo a man, which told me jull things that over I 
 did; is not this the Christ?" 
 
 He knew men, knew what was in men, l)ecause he was 
 Idmicif a man. He knew what to say to intei-est and iiillu 'iice 
 men, for he knew how they looked at things and felt about 
 thin'^4. Hi knew how to help them with tho vitvy h.^lp they 
 needad, for he was so human himself, and so beset all aroun<l 
 with tho trials and temptations that tried and temi)te I other 
 men. And th' n back of the human in him, and clos.jly linked 
 to it, stretched the awful Divine with its omniscient;, a:i 1 s') 
 when he spoke to men he seemed to say so much, and he 
 knew just whit to siy to get at all there was within tluMn. all 
 the mystery of their life. T\v?y sodu saw how utterly useless it 
 was to keep anythiiif:; from him, for he knew them bettei- than 
 they knew themselves. lEis words searched them througli and 
 through, turned them inside out. And yet h^ was so teudi^r 
 and true towards them that they let him do it, for tli;>v felt 
 thit he kn^w th^m only for their g ):^> I, knnv tli ';u a-i a 
 phvsicim '^nows hi^ patient, knew them as a mother kn »\vs Iut 
 child, knew them witii a view to help them, save them. 
 
lO 
 
 WORDS OF LIFE. 
 
 € 
 
 But better even than to know men, he loved them. He 
 knew them so well, because he lo^ed them so much. He knew 
 them to love them. And what a right, what an authority, love, 
 and especially such a love as his, gives him to speak to men. 
 Love, his love for us, can speak out all its mind to us. It can 
 say what only love can say, what indeed only love has the right 
 to say. It can tell us our faults, call us to our duty, expect so 
 much from us and demand so much from us, and yet be so 
 tender and patient, forbearing and forgiving, because it is love, 
 and such a love as his is. 
 
 Your mother, my hearer, has the right, and she is not slow 
 to as -ert it sometimes, because of all the love she has for you, 
 to speak to you as no one else presumes to speak to you. What 
 liberties of speech she ventures to take with you sometimes. 
 How she lets out upon you vvith her tongue perhaps, not 
 sparing your feelings, searching and even scorching you with 
 lier words, and you take it so meekly. You do not answer 
 back, for a mother's love has great authority, a large license, 
 and you let her say all that is in her heart, for you know there 
 is nothing in her heart but love for you, and you listen and 
 learn. 
 
 And others, too, because of their interest in you and love 
 for you, have a right to speak, a right you do not question nor 
 deny. Those who are over you in the Lord, those whose in- 
 terests are bound up with yours, those to whom you belong 
 more than to yourself, those who would do all they could to 
 serve and save you ; — they have a right to speak to you, and 
 if you only knew what a right and responsibility theirs are, 
 with regard to you, I think you would ^^ant to have them 
 speak so faitliful and earnestly, you would not want them to 
 keep back one word of truth that they felt it be their duty to 
 say. 
 
 Now, he who speaks here loves you. It is because he loves 
 you he speaks, and he speaks as he loves. And how he 
 yoves, and how he speaks ! He loves you as no one else loves 
 
 4 
 I 
 
WORDS OF LIFE. 
 
 II 
 
 « 4 
 
 you, and he speaks to you as no one else speaks to you. His 
 is love beyond a mother's, and what words of tender solicitude 
 drop from his lips, words sweeter than honey, words to win 
 and warn. To say he loves may not be saying much ; but 
 when we look at what his love for us cost him, when we look 
 at the glory he turned his back on for us, when we look at 
 all he suffered for us — the cross he died on, the grave he was 
 buried in, the strange awful darkness that gathered round his 
 soul, then we see what a love his is. The cross is love's 
 greatest sacrifice, her best effort, her perfect work. Beyond 
 that she cannot go, more than that she cannot do, a greater 
 better gift than the blood of God's eternal Son she cannot give. 
 Do you wonder, tnen, that love such as his speaks as it speaks, 
 speaks with so much of right and authority, with so much of 
 tenderness and earnestness, with so much of pathos and 
 power? He speaks down to us from the cross, and as he 
 speaks, it is still felt, and more and more felt as the centuries 
 goby, that no one speaks as he speaks. "Never man spake 
 like this man." 
 
 Secondly, His words, their character and purpose: "The 
 words that 1 speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life." 
 
 The words of a speaker partake of himself, his life and 
 character. Wise words come from wise lips, foolisli words 
 from foolish lips. The fool says every time he opens his mouth: 
 "Behold, I am a fool ! " He punctuates his sentences with oaths 
 perhaps, emphasizes his speech with loud bluster, and pours 
 forth from his lips a stream of words that like deadly waters 
 kill wliatever they come near. The wise man, again, may not 
 have much to say. His words may be few, and they may be 
 said so quietly. But the little he does say will not be wanting 
 of truth and sense, worth and wisdom. What he says he says 
 with a view to help men — to teach, cheer, bless, strengthen, 
 confirm. The words of the wise," says one who was himself 
 so wi.se, "are .^^ goads and nails" — goads to prick up to their 
 duty careless worldly souls, nails to hold fast those who are 
 
IJ 
 
 WORDS OF LIFE. 
 
 ready to drift, who are lacking of stability. How blessed are 
 the lips that speak wise words ! 
 
 Now, the words of Jesus are like himself. They are pure 
 like the lips that utter them. They are true like the truth ^lo 
 is. They are so human and at the same time so divine, for he 
 is both Son of Man and Son of God. They are spirit and life, 
 for, in a very important sense, his spirit breathes, and his life 
 lives, in the words he speaks, the sermons he preaches, the 
 lessons he teaches, the parables he tells. He seems to have 
 the power of projecting himself, so to speak, in some mysterious 
 way, into whatever he says, and even into what others say for 
 him, so that when we have his words we have himself, some- 
 what of himself. They are spirit, they are life. They pulsate, 
 breathe, throb with thought and energy, and are mighty for 
 good. 
 
 Some speak, speak well, speak eloquently, but there is so 
 little of themselv^es in what they say, so little of anything 
 indeed. Their words are the creation of tongue and lip. Tliey 
 open their mouth, and without any effort on their part, there 
 flows forth an uninterruptec^ \m. of words — words too that 
 
 are fitting, pleasing, making 1/ :■ *^f. a sort in human ears. 
 Otiiars dig and dig, slov/ly, weai.'ly dig, as if for ore. Then 
 they fuse what they have thus dug into thought, mould it into 
 golden speech, shape it into words that breathe and live. And 
 then, there comes a day, a great occasion perhaps, when, with 
 lip or pen, and every energy wakened up for the suprema 
 effort, they give forth what they have to say. And their words 
 live. The lips that spoke them and the brain that thought them 
 turn to ashes, but the words spoken live on and speak on. They 
 live in many a noble life, live in many a sclieme of world-good, 
 live in many a spiritual enter^Drise, live in all the push and 
 progress of these modern times, live forever. 
 
 Now, such were Christ's words, and to an extent and fulness 
 that cannot be said of the words of others. Other men's words 
 like themselves are so wanting in spirit and life. Even the 
 
WORDS OF LIFE. 
 
 U 
 
 I 1 
 
 I 
 
 truth they would spccak is moi-e or loss a;lulteratod with error, 
 their wisdom more or less marred with folly. Their iron is 
 iron and clay; their goUl, f^old and dross; their wheat, wheat 
 and chaff, and more chalf than wheat, yea tares. But it ia 
 otherwise with his words. They are the truth without any 
 admixture of error; "gold, and that perfect gold"; not spirit 
 alone, and not life alone, either of which is so good, but s[)irit 
 and life. Oh what words are his! What words for human 
 ears to hear, what words for human lips to speak ! Our ears 
 liear them, our lips speak them. 
 
 But the spirit and life of the words of Jesus are seen to best 
 advantage in their blessed eflects upon dead souls, dead 
 churches, dead nations, the corpse of society, the morally dead 
 masses that wallow in the slums of the great cities, the dead 
 world. What can words do ? — that is what men are asking 
 to-day. It is not the sound of words but their sense they 
 want to hear, not their eloquence but their practical wisdom, 
 their everyday usefulness. And it is just here where the 
 words of Jesus commend themselves so much, ■«- ^ ere they are 
 found to have a spirit and life, a way of getting to men and 
 helping them, that no other words have. Speak the words of 
 men to men, the wise words of the world's sages, the great 
 speeches of the orators, and how little they do to nuike me; 
 wiser and better. They keep on sinning dying, notwithstand- 
 ing all that is said. But speak the words of Jesus, stannner 
 them out in broken barbarous tongues to degraded savages, tell 
 the simple gospel-story to the lost and lapsed of our cities, and 
 there is life where there was death, there is a strange turning 
 away from their evil-doings and sin-service to be earnest and 
 pure-lived. 
 
 The prophet of old word-paints for us a scene that illustrate,^ 
 so strikingly and with such telling effect what words of spirit 
 and life can do for the dead masses of the people. He ia 
 carried away and set down in a valley full of dead men's bones 
 — sun-dried, weather-bleached bones. It is a stranire sad 
 
14 
 
 ■WORDS OF LIFE. 
 
 shuddering sight that meets his view, a most discouraging field 
 to labor in, a hard audience to face and preach to. But he is 
 there with his words of life, and there is hope for those dry 
 bones. In the name of the Lord he is to say, and he says it: 
 **0 j'e dry bones, live"! It does not seem much use to say 
 that there, indeed anything. But scarcely are the words of life 
 out of his lips, when before his wondering eyes, the bones all 
 over the valley are in a strange state of commotion, bone coming 
 to its bone, skeletons shaping themselves. The prophet is 
 encouraged, and goes on speakkig his words of spirit and life, 
 and very soon the skeletons are covered with flesh and skin. 
 And soon from Heaven comes the mighty Breath, and their 
 bosoms heave with a new life, and they live, and stand upon 
 their feet, a consecrated host of living, 'earnest, spirit-filled men. 
 
 Now, that is an Old Testament word-picture, a vision, a 
 prophetic parable; butjbefore our t yes to-day, if we look, we 
 may see it realized. O the dry bones, the wrecks sin and death 
 have made ! Those dry bones are in our homes, our churches, 
 all around everywhere. And how many they are, and how 
 very dry ! We see no hope for them, they are so very dry. 
 They are far beyond the reach of any help we can do for them. 
 They are dead with a death that there seems to be no life 
 for. They are ruined with a ruin that is forever and ever. 
 
 But Jesus does not think so. What a sad state he finds 
 things in when he comes — the world a valley full of dry bones, 
 moral and spiritual death everywhere, a universal death! 
 Judaism dead ! Polytheism dead ! The old faiths dead ! Yea 
 even patriotism dead ! Liberty dead ! Independence, national 
 energy, push, progress, as well as spiritual life, dead ! A wide- 
 spread awful death! But to this universal death he comes, 
 the mighty Christ; and, taking his stand in the very midst of 
 it, bringing his life into touch with the world's death and sin 
 and woe, he speaks, speaks in his own simple earnest way; and 
 while he speaks, his words of spirit and life begin to tell, 
 produce a marvellous efiect. They thrill human hearts, and 
 
 I 
 
WORDS OF LIFE. 
 
 »s 
 
 1 
 
 make their influence felt in men's lives. There is a waking up, 
 a shaking among the dry bones. At first it is only a little 
 shaking, a spirit of wonder, enquiry, discussion. Then it grows 
 more general, emphatic, earnest, until at last it develops into 
 a strange wild commotion among the people. Throughout the 
 land it spreads; from village to village, from town to town, 
 and city to city, it rushes. Up and down the streets of Jerusalem 
 it surges and bellows, and it looks indeed as if the shaking is to 
 ]je disastrous in its effects, revolutionary, bloody, overturning 
 temple and palace, growing to such proportions and to such a 
 cruel rage, that it will be fatal to himself. 
 
 And it comes to that. The Christ dies. Overborne by the 
 wild tumultuous shaking among the dry bones produced by his 
 words of life and spirit he goes down. Oh the shaking around 
 his cross and tomb, the shaking that shakes down Jerusalem ! 
 "What a shaking that was! But it could not be helped. It 
 was the necessary outcome of the gospel, the words of spirit 
 and life that fell from his lips. 
 
 And the shaking is not over yet. It is going on and spread- 
 ing out. It is not wanted perhaps. The nations do not want 
 the gospel, the words of spirit and life Jesus speaks, and his 
 servants speak. They are saying: "Let not those living words 
 come here to set on foot discussion among the people, stir up 
 enquiry, make men restless under their oppressions, teach them 
 the truth, wake up a spirit of independence, and kindle the fire 
 of revolution. "We are satisfied just as we awe. Let well 
 enough alone. We want no prophet with his message of life 
 to shake up our dry bones, to show us the evil of our methods 
 of government, to let in the light of these modern times upo/? 
 our darkness. Leave us as we are. No gospel for us! No 
 words of spirit and life to disturb us ! No open Bible for us 
 No Jesus for us ! No truth and light for us ! " 
 
 And they enact laws to prevent such a calamity, to shut the 
 mouth of discussion and enquiry, to quench the spirit of truth. 
 But how vain! The words of life are coming, nations, with 
 
I6 
 
 AVORDS OF LIFE. 
 
 if' 
 
 their shaking among the dry bones, and in their wake revolution 
 is coming, and modern progress. Be ready for their coming. 
 lie wise, ye rulers, ye statesmen, and hail the light and life. 
 Kiss the feet of tlie miglity Christ, for it is not to hurt but help 
 he comes; it is to save and bless. 
 
 And are there not modern churches as well as states that are 
 afraid of the wortls that are spirit and life? They are afraiil 
 of discussion, afraid of enquiry, afraid of a true revival of 
 religion. They stifle opinion, choke discussion, drug conscience, 
 and keep on hushing the souls of men with a peace that is no 
 peace. 
 
 But it will not do. A new light is breaking upon the world's 
 darkness. A new life is already surging in human veins. The 
 words that are spirit and life are being spoken everywhere, on 
 every shore, in every tongue, and wherever they are being 
 spoken, there will be a shaking among the dry bones that cannot 
 be stopped and silenced. There will be, must be, revolution, 
 new ideas, new methods, old things flung aside as out of date, 
 and new things introduced. 
 
 So many to-day are protesting in their way of it, and saying: 
 "We do not want to have these questions that create discussion, 
 unsettle religious opinion, disturb men's peace, set them at 
 variance, foment revolution, coming up?" But they are coming 
 up, and there is no help for it. It is the inevitable. And let 
 us not fear for the results. What a shaking there may be in 
 this Canada of ours, a shaking that may shake down much that 
 we reverence. Go through Scotland to-day, and you see the 
 ruins of cathedrals and palaces and castles, grand piles of archi- 
 tecture, and the tourist says: "What a pity! What a pity! 
 What fanatics those old reformers were to wreak their ven- 
 geance in such sort upon sacred edifices ! What a rude shaking 
 that need not have been ! " But the shaking that has left in 
 ruins to this day Scotland's cathedrals and palaces was the 
 outcome of th« new life that found its way to the hearts of her 
 people, and all that wild ruin had to be, if Scotland was to be 
 
 I 
 
 t 
 
 i 
 
WORDS OF LIFE. 
 
 i: 
 
 
 \\]);it .Sootlnivl is to-(lav. Aivl if tlio words of s])irit find life 
 I' nil ' to us, the jK'opk' of this liiid, tlici'cwill be n sliakiiig here 
 tiK) that will shake' the churches, and work a sort of havoc that 
 \V(' may dejiloi'e but cannot help. 
 
 A\'hat Ijcautiful ceinetei-ies we have ! AVe take pride in ha\ing 
 tiiciii as beautiful as we can make them. We set up p)lishe<l 
 maible and granite monunu^its. We inscribe them with words 
 a :d t'mblem.s of a fleet ion. We hiy outwalks. We plant trees 
 and tluwers. Wo would say: "What vandalism to overturn 
 a id dis!i:^'ure those monuuHMits, uproot those trees and flowers, 
 d .: up those mounds, burst oj)(m those caskets! There is no 
 n lac to exnress our abhorrenci' for such want of revercaiceand 
 u tri' lack of taste. And yet, when the Lord of gloiy comes 
 yi.iidfr with his words of sjurifc and life, what an overturning 
 t'uM-e will Ijc of stately marl)le, what a ploughing up of graves, 
 what a wrcckin.''' of your Ijeautiful cemeteries! JJut when vou 
 li.ive your loved ones in your arms again, and see their glad 
 resurrection -life, what will you care what becomes of the shapely 
 marble, and the beautiful walks and flowers and trees? 
 
 And so with our tine churches, our grand cathedrals, our 
 ])iles of sacred architecture, our ritualism, our creeds, and nmch 
 else. Oh we are proud of them! We want them to stand 
 f )rever. Init they cannot. The lireath of the Lor<l will wither 
 their beauty. The progress Ol truth will march over their ruins. 
 A new life will come that will tear down all this that we are 
 building up. And better li\ing souls than polished stones! 
 
 () my Kou\, art thou putting from thee the words of spirit 
 and life? Art thou satisfied with this peace of thiiu', this 
 beautiful death? Art thou saying to-day? "I am well enough 
 as I am. L(>t mt^ alone in this comfort, this sweet indulgence, 
 this world-gond." Ah! thou must not bo let alone in thv sin 
 and death, Jesus in mercy to thee comes wdtli his words of 
 sjurit and life, and there is shaking, quaking. There are tears 
 and groans, the Inrth throes of a new life. It is not pleasant 
 perhaps to be thus corn and troubled, to be driven to think and 
 
r8 
 
 ^VORDS OF LIFE. 
 
 ask, to pray an,! woop. But out, of all this w. 1 come a lea 
 peace, the joy of salvation, the eternal rest of Ucwcn. And 
 better even shaking and quaking than this peace that is no 
 peace. Blessed words of life->let them be mine to hear, and 
 mine to speak! 
 
 t 
 
I 
 
 n. 
 
 '23ui[f info the ^or^'d ^ 
 
 oit$e. 
 
 i 
 
 « In whom ye also are huilded together for a habitation of God 
 m the Spirit."— Eph. II., 22. 
 
 TWO great antagonistic moral forcea-havo been at work in 
 the world from the beginning-grace and aim The one 
 IS from Heaven, the other from Hell. The one is as goo<l as 
 the other is bad. The one does all the good it can, the other 
 does all the evil it can. The one builds up, the other pull, 
 down. And so the good grace does, and wants to do, is more 
 or less interfered with, hindered, marred, by what sin doe« 
 We have not grace's best elforts^, and we cannot have them as 
 matters are. Grace cannot do as well as it would like to do 
 for men because of sin's opposition. And, on the otlier hand, 
 sm IS not as bad as it wants to be because of grace. Tlie one 
 works against the other, and modifies what the other does, and 
 so we have a strange state of affairs in the world, a most 
 mixed up state of affairs, a kind of moral chaos. 
 
 You say sometimes : " Show me a real christian, a man I 
 can beheve in. I want to see such a christian. I want to 
 get acquamted with him. I would like to see just what God's 
 grace can really do for a man. I have heard of what it can 
 do, Its trmmphs over sin, and I am so eagerto see a real live 
 specimen of a christian such as it is capable of producing 
 when it is at its very best" ^ 
 
20 
 
 iJUii.T iSTo Tfrr: i.ord's rroLSf-:. 
 
 u 
 
 ( 
 tl', i 
 
 lit' 
 
 ii' 
 
 i' 
 
 But, my lioarer, tlxin^ is not such si cliristiiin .•uiywlifre on 
 ♦'urth. The Ix'st sjx'cimeus in'n t\\v picjduttions of m-acc aiid 
 sin workin;,' aiita^^Mjiiisticiil'y, and they arc rath<'r disappoint- 
 ing!;. SonictijMcs ^'rac(f haH the inastciy, and then it is more 
 hojx'ful with th<^ christian ; then aijain siu has the juhanta^f, 
 and so .soon thiii;.js go to j)icees ■with hiui. I'lit out of all this 
 moral and spiritual thaos the christian at last comes, an<l In? 
 is seen to ]to a j^'cin worthy of a place anioui,' the Kir.y;'.s 
 jewels, thf^ jierfectioTi of grace's work, the triumjih of it« 
 jiatience and skill. Do not des[iise the chiistian then, e\t'n 
 though he come far siiort of yimv ideal of what a clii isti.'iu 
 should In;. He is yet in process (f lieiug jnade something of, 
 and v,v. should not be too fast in ja.«sing judgment (n\ half- 
 iinished work. Some of tliese weak blundeiing christians 
 around us that we think so little of, may yet be hi<.;li up in 
 Heaven. 
 
 lUit what I want to .«;prak of to-dcy specially is gi-ace's 
 building operations. It has undertaken to put ui> a habita 
 tion for God to dwell in, one in every way worthy of Hiu', and 
 1 he material it makes use of for its purpose is the common- 
 ])lace material lying all around — you and T, poor sinners, the 
 wreck and debiis that sin has [lulled down. " In whom yo 
 also are builded together for a habitation of God in tha 
 Spirit."' 
 
 And first, the building that grace is putting up. The text 
 calls it "a habitation of (xod." 
 
 The figure is one we are familiar with. It is tliat of an 
 immense palace or temple in j^rocess of building. To-day 
 there are .some tine temp'es and palaces, noble structures that 
 rise sublimely towards heaven, and impres.s us with their 
 solemn grandeur and lioary anticpiity. St. Paul's of London 
 and St, Peter's of Pvome are indeed piles of sacred architecture 
 that strike with wonder, fill the soul with a strange awe. You 
 whisper as you enter. You go softly. You wjint to k:uel 
 d)\vu and worship. Y''ovi feel as if Gol mu.st be in such a 
 
 ir. 
 
r.UIT.T INTO THE LORD'S HOUSE. 
 
 21 
 
 ► 
 
 ^1 
 
 lKillnw«'tl j)l.ac('. You «'xpoct to hoar His voico, and spo Hh 
 miory lliisli, r»ut it is not in tcMuplos uv.uUi with haiuls. how- 
 WW hii^h and i^i-and, whiTC! thi( living Ood dwi'lls, where lie 
 reveals his presi^nt"! and powei-, but in the tuniplu of conse- 
 c'l'ated human hearts and livini^ human lives. 
 
 Now, there, is, and has l»e«'n, ,i,'oini^ up, through the a'4"s. a 
 w.mdrous unseen temph*, a habitation of (Jod. ft is ch>se })"- 
 side w!iere w(» ai'i' livin.,' our life, and doini; our work, and 
 ^\^•^shij)pin^^ this biiillinij of (!o I is i^oini^ up. JJut wo see it 
 not. Xor do we hi'ar the click of mallet and chisel as the 
 stones and pillars ara boin'.j hewn into shape and wrou<,d)t into 
 beauty, nor the creak of cr.ano as thoy are beini^ hoisted in*o 
 position. .Stdl the work is ,i;oin<^ on, siU^ntly, wondi-ously grow- 
 in;:, the walls ri.siii,:jf hii^htu- and higher, and the various parts 
 f)f th(^ building taking shape. It is to be a grt^at temple, 
 greater than Solomon's, one alongside of which St. Paul's 
 Cathedral of London and St. Peter's of Rome sink into insig- 
 nificance !U\d are nowhere. Jesus Christ is the corner-stone of 
 this temjile. The twelve apostles of the Lamb are the fou:i- 
 dation stones. The fat'iers and martyrs and distinguished 
 saints are the pillars of this sacred ediKce, The humblest 
 christian has a pl.\c(! in it. iUl that is true and good, lovely 
 and pi ecious, in the ives of the Lord's people, goes to beautify 
 and beatify this habitation of God. Every stone has a Ixiauty 
 uU its own, and is a study \w itself. It has its own story 
 as to how it comes to be there to tell, and it is always an 
 interesting, and often a thrilling story. Here faith brings 
 whatever she has to contribute to the adornment, to help the 
 gnnei-a' elTcct. Hero love g'eams and glows, and adds so much 
 towards the tittinij up of the ixreat House of God as a hal)ita- 
 tion, as a home, for a home is ill-furnished indeed where love 
 iswan'ing. ILnv* are treasured the trophies and triumphs of 
 the great good, the bril iant achievemgnts of the heroes of faith, 
 the grand doings of the champions of the truth. Here too are 
 the odors of pi-ayers, the aroma of good deeds, the fragrance of 
 
mm m* 
 
 .,1 
 
 Ja 
 
 BUILT INTO THE LORD'S IIUUSL. 
 
 3Ijiry'.s ulabastcr box of oiTitiucnt, tlui momory of all tlwet ujcs 
 done Jiiul borno for tho truth's sako — such for iiiKtimco as tht 
 cup of cold watcir givtMi iii the name of a disfipk', a visit to 
 tiio widow and lior fathcu'k^ss cliildren, tlio tnar di'opp(Hl at the 
 jitran,L((;r's gravo, tlio sniilo that bi'ought back hopo to tl/«; 
 sinking heart, tho gcxxl tluit is always doing gr)od without 
 knowing it. Oh what a glorious Ilonjo this is that God irf 
 /)uil(ling for ITiniself, so that Ho may dwoU among His jxviplo, 
 find that Hu may \xi their God, and doligiit Himself in 
 them ! 
 
 Again : Tho Material out of wiiich grace* is building Ciod's 
 Habitation. And it is very common})lace material. Th(; 
 stones of tho Lord's temple are dug out of tlu; debris of our 
 natural state. It is out of such rubbish as sin has mad(! of irs 
 that God's glorious teuiple is being built. "In wham ye- also 
 are builded together f(3r a habitation of God in tho Spirit." 
 
 As we stand brtforo some famous temple towering up heaven- 
 wards, so grand in its proportions, soa'l but perfect in beauty, 
 we are curious to know perliaps whore the material was o])t lin- 
 ed out of wliich so wondrous a sacred pile of architecture was 
 l)uilt, and where tho skilled labor cam3 from that built it. 
 And we ai*e taken to a quarry hard by, and we are told that 
 it was out of such unpretentious material as we see every wliere 
 lying there that the great temple was built, and the workm-Mi 
 em})loyed in its construction Avere for the most part the ordi- 
 nary p(M)pIc we meet along the street. But the secret wa»; 
 this : Then* was one irreat Master-mind, and such was his 
 genius, that he was al)le to create this wondrous pile of archi- 
 tecture out of the material lying around, and lie was able to 
 sublime the ordinary efforts of very ordinary workmen so that 
 they could produce so grand a result. 
 
 You remember the story of Neliemiah. He was cupbearer 
 to the King of Persia, a man of great soul, a patriot and hero. 
 Jerusalem and its temple were in ruins, a heap of rubljish. 
 The Bjibyloiiian wars had swept over tl^e once grand city, ai<() 
 
BUILT INTO TIIK LORD'S HOUSE. 
 
 »3 
 
 4 
 
 thorc its fallon groatness lay V)urio(l, aiul a j^ood many liad no 
 faith in itti resurroction. Not so with Nchciiiiah. lit* askt'd 
 and obtiiinod punnission to ^o to Jerusah'ni. As sooii ax ho 
 got there lie wont to work to I'cstoro thi! city, to rrl)uild its fallen 
 j^oatnoss. It was a ht'rculcan task. Hut he was a man that 
 no discourngcmont could discourage, no ditliculty daunt. 
 Others t<Kjk hold with him, inspired by his enthusiasm, set on 
 tiro by his zeal, and out of thti ashes and ruins there slowly 
 arose a new Jerusalem. lie used the material he dug out of 
 the heaps of rubbish, so far as he could use it, the material at 
 hand. He opened quarries close to the walls, and wood was 
 brought from the neighboring forests. And so, out of such matei'- 
 iul as he could get — not always the best perha})s — he was able tc 
 nsbuild a city not unworthy in any respect of the one that had 
 preceded it. Men ridiculed his etlbrts. They criticized his 
 work. They said of the wall he was building that if a fox ran 
 over it, it would tumble down. Still the heroic Nehei,niah 
 kept right on, and he put his critics and enemies to sham«: 
 with what he was able to do. Much that he built was built 
 of the rul)bish that lay all aiound everywhere, but ho took 
 care that it was not rubbish when he came to build with it. 
 He knew how to convert the rubbish, that so many would liave 
 desjnsed and Hung away, into beautiful polished stones tit for 
 a habitation of God. 
 
 And a greater than Neheraiah is at work here among the 
 rubbish of our sins. Grace is at work, Jesus is at work. 
 Had you and I been consulted about the l)uil(ling of the 
 christian church, we would have said : "It is the last place in 
 the world to go yonder to the Lake of Galileo to seek founda- 
 tion stones. What a blunder to select such a rough boukh^r 
 as Peter ! And those others — they are not what is wanted." 
 
 But the wise Master- Builder passes by the polished marble 
 pillars in and around the temple at Jerusalem, the scribes and 
 scholars, and Ho goes to tlie quarries of Galilee, the rough 
 tisher-folk, and He finds there what He wants. He finds ia 
 
 iill 
 
24 
 
 BUILT INTO THE LORD'S HOUSE. 
 
 If I. 
 
 W \' 
 
 H 
 
 Peter a rock. He finds in James and John sul^stantial foun- 
 dation stones. He finds others, unsiglitly blocks as Pie finds 
 them. Tliese He selects, and the Spirit of grace goes to worlc 
 upon them to tit them for tlie important place in the temple 
 tiiey are to occupy. And at first Peter was not so very 
 promising. It took time and patience to sliape liim into any- 
 tiiing spiritually, and the results were some%vhat disappoint- 
 ing. But he came to be something. He turned out to be a 
 grand foundation stone. Xot that he was perfect. Very far 
 from it. He was not without flaws. But, taking him 
 all in all, he was a grand man in his day ; one who had 
 few, if any, equals; just the man for the times he lived in, 
 and the work it was his to do ; a massive christian, a strong 
 character. 
 
 I suppose if he had lived today and here among us, or if 
 we had lived in his day, we would not have thought much of 
 him. I[is failings would have bulked so largely before our 
 eyes that We would not have been able to see his excellences 
 for them. And then somehow it is the misfortune of a gre^it 
 man's cotemporaries not to appreciate him. The Lord Him- 
 self was not appreciated. Men rubbed shoulders with Him 
 day by day on the streets of Capernaum and Jerusalem, and 
 they counted it no privilege. And so with Peter and Paul- 
 There were of course those who had something like a true ;ip- 
 preciation of them, but the people generally saw nothing iii 
 them to wonder at, and, I suppose, they deplored the fact that 
 there were no such men as there used to be, no such preachers, 
 no such leaders of the people, none who were wise to tell men 
 what to do. 
 
 And that is still the case. The work that is being done to- 
 day among and around us, and by ourselves and others, we 
 and others, as a rule, under rat -». We saj hard and uucharit- 
 able things about it. And thus we weaken the hands of those 
 who are doing the vv'ork. But, the truth is, commonplace as 
 all this work is that is being done to-day, commonplace as the 
 
 
BUILT INTO THE LORD'S HOUSE. 
 
 25 
 
 r 
 
 material is, coimnoiiplace too as the v, orkers at work are, n 
 century, or two centuries after this, our work will be appre- 
 ciated as it is not to-day, and men will bless God that we kept 
 at it and did our work. Here there are Peters perhaps, but 
 we do not know tliem ; we live too close to them to appreciate 
 thcur .goodness and earnestness. We see their M'eaknesses, not 
 what is worthy and ti-u8 in them. Here are Phciebes, and 
 earnest and g!)od M.iry.s, and real Marthas, and we see not to- 
 day what they are to the chuucli. But it viill he seen, for 
 their names are written in Heaven, and the odor of their 
 good deeds will yet fill with fi-a,<;-i-ance the Hou.-e of God, and 
 there will be in some shape a niemorial of their morlest ser- 
 vice. 
 
 Uut the point I want to make here is this, that the great 
 temple of the christian church, the habitation of God, is being 
 built out of such material as we are, and by such ordinary 
 workmen as we are. Here are the builders, these humble 
 christian workers, and here lying all around everywhere is the 
 very material wanted. We feel often like going away some- 
 times to seek suitable building material, of importing it from 
 some other place. We say in our way of it that nothing good 
 can be made of these stones, these sinners. They are too hard 
 to work up into anything. We have been at some of them 
 for- years, and they are still about what they were. W^e think 
 if we were elsewhere we could do better, succeed better, find 
 it easier work. P)ut let us not grow impatient. Here is the 
 material out of which the Lord wants us to build His House, 
 His habitation among us. Let us not despise it. Let us keep 
 on working away, and the work will tell, if we are only faith- 
 ful and earnest. The spirit of gr-ace is silently at work, and 
 more of good is being done than we know, and men are nearer 
 the kingdom of Heaven than we know. 
 
 Again : The Puilding up of the material that has been pre 
 pared. " In whom ye also are builded together for a habita- 
 tion of God in the spirit." 
 
 1 
 
 
26 
 
 BUILT INTO THE LORD'S HOUSE. 
 
 
 Ifi 
 
 In Temple-building there are two distinct operations going 
 on. There is tlie getting ready of the material, the quarrying 
 and hewing of the stone, and the preparation of the lumber ; 
 and then there is tlie process of building up the material 
 into tlie building. The two operations go on together, but 
 sometimes the preparation of the material is considerably in 
 advance of the building operations proper. It is not always 
 wisest and best to use some sort of building-material as soon as 
 it is got ready. It may shrink, and so prudent builders let the 
 material season before they put it up. 
 
 80 also in church-building. As a people we are accustomed 
 to have two building seasons in the year, the March and 
 September communion seasons. They are precious seasons to 
 us, and wc look forward to them with no little interest and 
 concern. They are the seasons, and especially the March com- 
 nmnion, when we look for accessions. Then is seen, in a way, 
 what the year's results have been, and sometimes there is great 
 joy because a goodly number are led to come forward and offer 
 themselves as candidates for church-membership, and for any 
 service in connection with the church they may be fitted and 
 w.'inted for. So often however there is disappointment because 
 so many are slow to come. They hold back through the years, 
 and liope deferred makes the heart sick. 
 
 Now, friends, we are approaching another building-up 
 season, and we are hopeful that more will be added to us than 
 usual. But so often we have hoped to no purpose that we are 
 almost afraid to hope. I feel sure however that the gracious 
 Spirit has been at work upon you shaping you for a place in 
 tlie habitation of God. And you know He has been at work. 
 You arc so urgently called, so persuaded, so dealt with, so 
 troubled sometimes, that it is hard for you to keep back. You 
 say to yourself, " I will try and come this time." And then 
 you are afraid. Something says, " Do not go ; you will make a 
 mistake if you go. Wait till the next season. You are not 
 ready yet." And so you hardly know what to do. 
 
BUILT IXTO THE LORD'S HOUSE. 
 
 27 
 
 Ah ! it is just here where so many serious mistakes are made. 
 We may come too soon perhajis. "We may want to be built 
 into the church's walls before we are ready, before we are hewn 
 into shape. \Ve may come as a rough unhewn block. We 
 may come as hay and stul>1jle, the world's trash. But then, 
 on the other hand, we may also be too slow in coming. We 
 may let the years of grace pass, and we may sit here or lie 
 yonder, and we are of no use, rotting in sin and worldliness, 
 letting the moss of idleness and acre disiiijure us. 
 
 Now, I may be mistaken, of course, but it seems tome, that 
 quite a number of you, my people, are ready to ])e built, ready 
 to be built before this, and that what you want, and all you 
 want, to make you what you need to be, vake up your earnest- 
 ness, call out your energy, develop your u,3Gfulness, crown you 
 and bless you, is to be built. 
 
 A stone, you know, may be quarried. It may be hewn into 
 shape. It may be slowly jhisclled into beauty. But all that 
 is not enough. It must be built, if with others it is to be for 
 a habitation of God. And it may not be built. It may be left 
 out, overlooked, lost sight of in some way. And what then ? 
 Ah ! the building goes on without it. Its place is filled by 
 some other stone not so worthy perhaps, not so beautiful and 
 shapely, and at last there is no place for it. It is not wanted. 
 Still it lies there hoping that its turn will come to be hoisted 
 up and placed. It cannot give up. But it has to give up. 
 The temple is finished, and finished without it. The cope-stone 
 is placed. The scaffolding is torn down. The workmen go 
 away. Others come to take away the rubbish and clear up 
 the grounds ; and with the rubbish is carted off and dumped 
 into some neglected spot the unused stone, the stone that might 
 have served some useful purpose, and filled some prominent 
 position. But :das ! it is lost. Yonder it lies where nothing 
 good is. 
 
 And so with you, my hearer, sitting there to-day. A great 
 temple is being built close beside where you are, a habitation 
 
 •n 1 
 
28 
 
 EUILT INTO THE LORD'S HOUSE 
 
 i\ 
 
 ' ! 
 
 for God. Its unseen walls are slowly growing towards coini)l(!- 
 
 tion. The spirit of grace is at work shaping men for this and 
 
 that place in the sacred edifice. One is being made a wall' 
 
 stone, another a piece of coping, a third a pillar, and so on. 
 
 And you are shaped into something as well as othci"s around 
 
 you. The good spirit has not passed you by. The Loi-d has 
 
 iiee<l of you. But you sit there. The word i 5 again and again : 
 
 *' Come and be built. You are needed. Here is thf? place fi»r 
 
 you." But you let the opportunities go, the Ijlessed c(Mumun- 
 
 ion-seasons, the times of putting-up, and you are not built. 
 
 You might shine in some high place. You might be so useful, 
 
 so happy, so good. But instead of that you are nowhere in 
 
 the temple. You are only close by where the Temple is being 
 
 built. You are as near as you can be without being in ; 
 
 you are just outside. But oh ! what will that do for you ? 
 
 There will come a day, a day you will not like, wheii you will 
 
 find yourself taken away from all these opportunit ^s, theses 
 
 blessed communion-seascms, and cast out with the world's refus '. 
 
 Oh ! my hearer, let it not come to that with you. Cojne and 
 
 be builded as one alono- with others into God's haliitation. He 
 
 would dwell aixiong us, and be our God and Redeemer. ILi 
 
 would be at home with us. Oh then, will you not help to 
 
 make Him a House 1 "Will you not be a stone in the temple 1 
 
 You think you are unworthy. But His spirit will lit you for 
 
 the place He wants you to occupy. Let Hhn do all for you, 
 
 and you will not be found wanting when the cop i-stone comos 
 
 to be put in position with shoutings of, " Grace I grace, unto it.' 
 
 Lo ! God is here ! let us adore, 
 
 And own how dreadful is this place ! 
 
 Let all within us feel His )iower, 
 And silent bow before His face ; 
 
 Who know His power. His grace who provo, 
 Serve Him with awe, with reverence, love. 
 
 ?-t 
 
III. 
 
 u 
 
 l^ovb^ of (Sheer. 
 
 **7Je of good cheer; it is I." — Mat. xiv. 27. 
 
 THE disciples are in tryimj; circumstances. They have 
 been out all night in one of those sudden scjualls that 
 now and again break down from the neighbouring hills and 
 gorges ujjon the usually quiet lake of Galilee and toss its 
 l>lacid waters into foam, and they see nothing but death ])e- 
 fore them. But when things are at their worst with them, 
 they are startled at the sight of something in the darkness, 
 they know not what, moving slowly towards them on the tojas 
 of the waves. They are in great fear. They are sure it is 
 .some weird spectre of the nether world come for them. Their 
 blood freezes in their veins. They shriek out. But it proves 
 to be the Master Himself coming to them in this strange way 
 to help them. Over the wild waters they hear His familiar 
 voice, and His sweet words thrill with great joy : "Be of goixl 
 cheer ; it is I." 
 
 Now, my hearers, I find something here for us. These old 
 life-incidents in the history of our Lord and His disciples were 
 not written for them but for us, and we may find in them 
 many a wholesome lesson and many a comforting truth. 
 
 I/O 
 
 There is an infinite variety in men's lives and circumstances, 
 so much so that no one life is joist like another; and yet there 
 is so much of unity and sameness in them, that from one all 
 
30 
 
 WORDS OF CHEER. 
 
 iiuay learn. We are not caught in a squall with the disciples 
 lyondor, and the Christ comes not to our help walking on the 
 ■white-caj)ped waves; still, we have our own trying circum- 
 stances just as they had theirs, and so, in our need, we come 
 here and listen to His words to them, and we are cheered and 
 helped. We feel that He is near us in our darkness and dis- 
 tress, as near us as He was them, and we look up, and still 
 hear Him say in His old familiar voice : "Be of good cheer ; 
 it is I." And we are not mistaken. 
 
 I. OUR TRYING CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 And they are such, so many and varied, that I hardly 
 know where to begin to speak of them. There are placid 
 lives, placid as yonder lake embosomed among the Galilean 
 hills ;lives that seem ever to reflect the calm blue of Heaven; 
 lives full of God's sunshine and peace, so unbroken in their 
 evenness, so sweetly serene and lovely. We wonder at them ; 
 we admire them ; we envy them. But even to the placid life, 
 Pull of God's sunshine and Heaven's peace, comes sometimes 
 the wild weird darkness, the sudden tempest, tossing all the 
 blessed calm into white foam. 
 
 And it is not always easy to say how or why. We are often 
 too fast with our reasons for things. It would be better for 
 as if we would reason less, and trust more. We think we see 
 it as clear as clear can be, when it is not clear at all, and so 
 we miscalculate, misjudge, approve or condemn, where, if we 
 were as wise as we think we are, we would look up, and await 
 His will. 
 
 Did the disciples think ? Did they try to reason things out 
 for themselves as they agonized through that long dark wild 
 night ? Sometimes men are sb put to it that they have no time 
 to ask questions, no time to think and reason, no time to 
 speculate and doubt. They must do or die. And well for 
 them perhaps that they cannot think, for what an agony it is 
 to think when every thought draws blood. 
 
 One said to me, one who had been in the darkness, tossed 
 
 
 I 
 
WORDS OF CHEER. 
 
 3t 
 
 i 
 
 and tried and torn among the waves of a bitter sea, "If I had 
 allowed myself to think in those wild dark days that came to 
 me, I should have gone mad." And so the brave trusting one, 
 because she did not think, and would not think, came through 
 it all walking on the waves with her Lord. 
 
 But not every one can thus shut down on thought. We 
 are sometimes where we have nothing else to do but think. 
 And so we think and think, and the more we think the darker 
 it seems to grow, until there howls around us the wild night 
 of doubt and despair. 
 
 The disciples would have their thoughts. They would think 
 how many times they had crossed the same lake when it was 
 calm to them. And they cared not then perhaps how it was 
 with themselves or with others. They thought not, nor fear- 
 ed, nor prayed. But now when they are wiser and better ; 
 when they are trying to follow Him who has called them to 
 live the life of faith ; when they want to live for some high 
 and holy purpose, they are in trouble. 
 
 And their troubles ^eem to grow the more they try to do 
 good and be good. They were never in all their experience in 
 such trouble as they are now, and they never wanted more 
 than they do now to do their duty and follow the Christ. 
 What does it mean ? And He constrained them to it — con- 
 strained them to do what they did not want to do, and would 
 not have done, had He not been so urgent. Did He know 
 that the storm was coming on ? They had their own fears. 
 They could see it in the lowering evening sky. They could 
 hear it in the fitful moan of the wind. They marked the 
 sheep huddling close together in sheltered nooks. And their 
 experience warned them of the risk of crossing the lake in the 
 face of such premonitions. And they spoke to Him of it. 
 Still, He pressed them to go. And so they went — went to 
 please Him. And this is what has come of it. This is what 
 has come of trying to do the right. This is what has come of 
 doin^ what the Christ commands. 
 
II I 
 
 ■rt; 
 
 I i 
 
 32 
 
 WORDS OF CIIICER. 
 
 Aii'l, my lioarci-s, just hero cuiup to us so man}' perplexing 
 tlioui^'lits. Vs'c iuv i:i tlie way of our duty, or \v(^ want to be. 
 The Chi'ist has come to us, and calh'tl us to ])o for ][im, and 
 th(^ caus<» that is best; and wc have heard His call, and we 
 are following' Mini as we am. We ha\e tur-ned away from 
 the old worldiite we once lived, and we are reachinfj after the 
 lii:^her thin.<j;s of Ifis kini'dom. We are strivinij to do bett(?r, 
 to live diir'M'ently, to be stronj:^' and true, calm and brave, 
 liumble and lioly. And we think we are succeeding. Wo 
 flatter ourselves perhaps that we are making real and satis- 
 factory jirogivss in tlie goo 1 and right M'ay. But the trials 
 come. So sudden, so un'ooked for are they too. AVe do not 
 know what to make of them, or how to roigard them. They 
 meet* us i-iglit in tlie way of our duty. They come to us when 
 and wliej-e we thought wo would not meet them. And 
 they are of a kind too that we can least bear up against. If 
 it was something else than a cyclone, something else than the 
 taking away from us of our child, something else than the 
 wreck of our home, something else than the cruel betrayal of 
 our fi'iend, something else than the hate of men, something 
 else than this darkness that has fallen upon us, then we might 
 be able to stand it. Thus we think, and reason, and talk. 
 
 And yet, so often is it in the experience of Christ's people, 
 that their trials are heaviest, when they seem to need them 
 the least. If the darkness had come, and the storm had burs*, 
 and the wild waves rolled high against us, when we were way- 
 wai'd and wicked, we would have said, and others would have 
 said, it is just as we deserved. Men would have called it a 
 judgment from Heaven, and they would have moralized upon 
 it in their way. l>ut it is not tlius, not often thus. It is the 
 upright Job that is afflicted the most. It is the three pious 
 Hebr-ew children that are put into the fiery furnace. It is 
 tiu; good praying Daniel that is thrust into the den of lions, 
 and thrust there for his praying. It is Christ's disciples that 
 are in the storm. It is the Christ llimsolf who is led into the 
 
WORDS OF CHEER. 
 
 ii 
 
 wilclernoss to be tempted nf the devil. And to-day still, it is 
 the faithful few, tiie children of the kin^'duui, tliat are in the 
 ti'yin<? circumstances, not always the men of the world. 
 
 And let us not be too fast in trvini' to find out the reasons 
 why it is so. We cai\not find them out. Clouds and dark- 
 ne.ss are round about the bni^ht eternal Throne, and there ai-e 
 reasons for things that are not known to us, and ne\('ii' can 
 ))e known by us, (iod's footsteps are in tht^ sea. His 
 thout^hts are too hi<^h for us, and His ways are past tindini^ 
 out. It is ours to love, and ti-ust, and hope. There is a wise 
 and rii^ht purpose in these bittei" thinLfs that In'fall us, and if 
 we are His we shall see it, for we shall see Him. 
 
 tl. OUR COMFORT AND SALVATION. 
 
 Looking through the darkness and storm, the Christ seem- 
 (vl to the discij)les a spectre of the night, some dreadful mon- 
 ster coming to finish uj) what the winds and wa\es had begun. 
 They did not expect their Master to come to them that way. 
 I have no doubt they had been praying to the Tjord all the 
 long night for His comfort and help. But when He heard 
 their prayers, and c^fime walking on the waves to save them, 
 they could hardly believe it to be true. They liad often read, 
 and heard read, and sung, that His way was in the sea, and 
 His path in the deep waters, but not thus literally did they 
 presume to interpret His w(»rd. 
 
 Ah ! is it not to be feared that we lose many a rich promise, 
 and come short of many a blessed privilege, because we hesi- 
 tate to accept them Just as they are put down here ? God 
 walking on the sea ! His arm stretched out for His people's 
 salvation ! His feeding the huntn-v with brejid ! His healin<; 
 His people's diseases ! — all this, and so nmch more, we think, 
 nmst be understood and interpreted parabollically, and so we 
 go on crying up to Heaven for we do not know what, nor care 
 much to know, while it is some great physical eWl, some 
 material woe, that is destroying us. I grant we may be too 
 material. We may only pray when we are sick, or hungry, or 
 
! ! 
 
 34 
 
 WORDS or CHEER, 
 
 I: ' 
 
 in (listrnss. TIic quostifni of (jucstions with us niny 1)o, "Wliut 
 shfill wo oat ? what sliall wo drink ? whorowitlial shall wo 
 l)o chdhcjcl?" and to rol)uk<! our <,'rossnoss and ^'i'( cd, <>ui 
 onrthlinos.s and solfishiu^s.s, our brutishnoss and hasonoss, wo 
 may be sent enij)ty away from His footstooh J Jut, on the 
 (»thor hand, we may ask in vain, for we are not askinj,' what 
 wo fool wo need. Wo are not direct enough in (»ur pr.iyers. 
 "\Vo ask God to come and help us, but we do not look out over 
 the waves of our troubles for His cominfi;, and He does not al- 
 ways come. And when He does come, we are afraid of Him; 
 we do not know that it is Jesus. 
 
 We pray that He might come to our help. Sometimes we 
 cry aloud in our agony to God, We are in earnest. We want 
 to be good. We feel that the evil influences of the wo)ld are 
 taking hold of us, and dragging down our souls, overwhelming 
 us in deep woe. And so in our great and utter need we 
 (igonize at His footstool, beseeching Him to coms to us. And 
 Ho comes. But not always in the way we expect Him to 
 come. He comes as He came to the disciples, in the darkness 
 and storm. His way in the sea, in the furnace of affliction, and 
 we shudder at His approach. We would tlee from Him if we 
 could. We cry out, "O God, not that way ! not that way ! " 
 
 We are prosperous and happy. Our business is spreading 
 out on all sides and bringing us in large returns. Our ships 
 sail every sea, and gather us tieasure from every land. We 
 feel as if disaster cannot come to us. But God's way is in the 
 sea, .and He comes to us in shipwrecks and wide-sweeping dis- 
 asters, and our prosperity is gone from us. We are afraid, 
 amazed, startled. We saiy, as we look out over the w-rathful 
 waters; "That cannot be Jesus. That is some cruel monster 
 of the deep. It cannot bo God's Son, — His love. His mercy, — 
 that is thus coming to us." And we turn away from His face. 
 ^W hide ourselves from His dreadful approach. But over the 
 waste of waters comes a voice, not the shriek of the gale, the 
 roar of the storm, the crash of the billow as it flings itself 
 
WORDS OF CIIEKR. 
 
 3S 
 
 -I 
 
 lii.Lrli on tlio rocks, l)ut the still small voico of Hod's lovo, to 
 cf»mf<»it and save us: "Be of ;^(»o(l cheer; it is I. " 
 
 C)i-, pcihaps we have a darlini; child, an only son, a (laui,'htt>r 
 hlooniin;^ out into woiuanhof»d. Our child is all the woi-Jd to 
 us, the li,i<ht of our home, the on«-i tliiiif^ we live for. It is not 
 too much to say that a child is to many a heart and life a kind 
 of idolatry. Tt is so sweet to love, so satisfying to our deepest 
 wants ; and it seems so ^'ood to lovc^, so reHnin<.^, so up-Hftin<;, 
 so altoHTcther woi-tLiy of us. And yet, there is de^^radation to 
 tiie soul in the cn-ature-love that thi-usts itself in whew only 
 love to fJod should i^low and llame. I'ut «uddeidy the weird 
 jiwful d.ukness falls upon us, and in tlie darkness we lose our 
 clnld. We jxrop(! for our idol. With cries and tears we make 
 the nii4lit hideous around us. Hut our idol is broken. Where 
 beauty bloomed, and joy laughed, and the li<(ht shone, thei'e is 
 a <,'ra\(; perhaps, withered flowers,, bli;^hted hopes, death and 
 despaii". We stand aghast, gazing at the hon-or of daj'kness 
 that stalks across our life-wastes, and we recoil from its hide- 
 ous aspect. But when we come to know what it is, we hear a 
 sweeter voice than our child's coming to us, a voice with a 
 better music in it, and we are happy again — happier than we 
 ever were. We lost a child, but we found the Christ, and we 
 are cheered, comforted, saved. " Bo of good cJieer : it is I." 
 
 Or, we are patriots. Our country and her intei'ests are so 
 n>uch to us. When she has battles to tight we draw the 
 sword for her, and if need be, give our lieart's best l)lood for 
 her. We are interested in her polities. V/e want to see her 
 built up in all that constitutes a nation's real strength. And 
 so when the vote,s of the people come to#be given, we can hard- 
 ly contain ourselves, for we feel that so much depends u])on the 
 man, or men, who are to rule the nation's destiny, who are to 
 guide and control her affairs. But sometimes when we have 
 done our best to have things go right, they go wrong, or what 
 seems to us as wrong. The men come to power who .should 
 not. A policy is adopted that is not politic. We are a'larme/J, 
 
 "^-^ifc^ 
 
■ II 
 
 . ',:! 
 
 30 
 
 WORDS OK cnr.Kk. 
 
 (listrosscd. \\'t' frt'l us if it is nut worth livinjj any l<)iij,'('i', nw 
 if ovcrytliiu^' is ^'oiii^' to the IkkI, us if dur ('(luiitfy's ^'I'uvc hurl 
 bcotMlii;^ uiul licr Ikijk's l)in'i('(l. I5ut uinid the jur^oii of op- 
 |H)sinj/ politicul purtics, tin* clash of intcM'csts, thn \vi d siiri;iii;< 
 <it' iiiol) fulc, the hirth-thi'of of new national ideas, you still 
 hear the; gentle voico of th(i Son of (Jod tcllini,' lis that all is 
 well, for He walks alonu' niajcstically throiii^di the ai^'cs, step- 
 pirn^ fi'om wave-crest to wave-cre.st. •' IJe of ;^o(hI cheer; it 
 is I." 
 
 Or, we are christianH. Th<> church, the cross, the Christ, is 
 all to UK. For them we live; for them too we are willin;,' to 
 die. How int(>rested wo are in everythinj^ of interest to the 
 chuivh. On our knees we cry up to Heaven for her--her 
 nr(»wth aixl e.\t(>nsion, her jiower, her purity, her liheity, Ium* 
 safety. W»' pray as if it all depended on our prayers, and we 
 do as if we had it all to do. A\"e overwhelm ourselves some- 
 times with i-esponsibilities. We assume the care of .all the 
 cliurclies and men's neglected souls. We plead with men. 
 We pi'otest and appeal a;,'ainst the decisions of synods and as- 
 seiiihlies. We go out to where th(» concourse is, and we ciy 
 aloud to men. We jtronounoe anathemas loud and deeiiin tluj 
 name of Heaven. Still, it is not always as we think it oui^ht 
 to he with the church. Not truth, ])ut ei'ror, })revails, in s})ite 
 of all we can do. Infidelity lifts up it« hydra-head. Atheism 
 spreads. Romanisn.tlourishes. TnditK'rence, worldliness, for- 
 ma ity, and all the ten-thousand evils that prey u}")n tla^ 
 cliuicl) abound. And the church's very existence seeris to us 
 imperilled ; and the truth, and the cross. We look out over 
 t'le waste around us, and we think everythin;^ is goin-j; to the 
 l)ul. lint over the heaving, surging, seethiiii^ wators comes a 
 voice, tlu; voice of Jesus, and there is comfoi't in it, and hope 
 and he!}), in these trying anxious times : " Be of good cheei- ; 
 It is I." 
 
 III. OUK DUTY. 
 
 It is ours to hope and trust. We are not to g've up. We 
 are to toil on, pray ou. Our place iDay be a hard one ; our 
 
WORDS (n' niKKu 
 
 37 
 
 fiirnnistvincps ni.av })«• ti'viiiij ; onr (litricultics ni;\v Ito 'Teat. 
 The t;isk, too, limy soj'Iu nu utti'rly hopclrss our. W'li.'it istlu' 
 us«', wo sonuitiiiu's siiy, of krcpin;; u|i, (ltJiL,'j.'in!4 out, prolonjLj- 
 lU'fi, the a^'ony. It is a vivhi .sti'iiL(i,'l»'. Ti»'t ljo. mihI die. 
 
 T doubt not tin' (lisciph's may liavc frit lik»' uivin^' it up us 
 tlic lout,' (lark wi'ii-d ui^dit woit tlu'oui,di. 'Plicy felt like \vt- 
 tin^' <;o tlu*i,' oai-s and lu'Iiii and sails, and llin^in^ tll^Insl^lvfS 
 into tin? s»ia. Tlu' wavrs would ijet tlicin anyhow, and tli«'y 
 ini«,'lit as woll <;('t tlicni Urst as last. hut tln-y did not n'wv 
 up. Tlicy toilod oi\, and piaycd on, and hoped on. And the 
 Master oanie with ifis help. 
 
 So with you, tried one, alHieted one, toiliniij one. It is youi-s 
 to stru<i[;^'le aloni,' doinj.; the best you can. God's eye is upon 
 you in your darkness. You .seem to he forsaken, but you are 
 not for.saken. The waves of sorrow ai'(» wild, but they are 
 Warini; help and comfort to you. Job's foolish wick»'d wife 
 said to him in his nii^dit, " Cur.so God and die." I>ut he did 
 not die. He lived, and it came out all rii^ht with him. The 
 Lord came to him, and his last days were his l)est days. 
 
 And I know not how nor when, but somehow and some- 
 time the Lord will come to you who are now toiling and row- 
 ing through the wild night of your woe. When you think it 
 is about all over with you, there will come a voice to your eari: 
 with comfort and salvation in it : " Be of good cheer ; it is T." 
 
 And not only should we sti'uggh; on, bear on ; we should be 
 hopeful, cheerful, haj py. We should expect the Lord to 
 come. We should keep looking out for His coming. We 
 should listen to catch His words. But that is not the way we 
 do. We murmur. We are impatient, fretful, bitter, sad. 
 We bear, but we do not bear cheerfully. We toil on, but we 
 have not always faith in the success of what we are trying to 
 do. There is a .sort of grim despair in oui' doing, a stubborn 
 doggedness that will hold on ; but ther. there is no light in the 
 face, no joy in the heart, no rapture of s-oul. 
 
 Ah ! so many of us need to cultivate hopefulness, the joy of 
 
38 
 
 WORDS OF CHEER. 
 
 expectancy. Hear what He says : " Be of good cheer.'* He 
 wants us to cheer up. He said this to the disciples when the 
 waves around them were at tlieir iiighest, and the niglit was at 
 its darkest. And He is saying it to us in our darkness. Jt is 
 not easy )>eing ciieerful and hojx^ful when the foundations of 
 thing's around us seem to be shaking, and all seems to be ifoiiiix 
 to pieces. But it is just then that we need to be hopeful, 
 cheerful ; so He comes to us saying, " Be of good cheer ; it is I.'' 
 Let me close with Cowper's beautiful words, words that 
 have cheered and helpetl many a toiling troubled soul in the 
 dai-k hours of life. It is said they were composed after one of 
 tiie darkest experiences in the poet's own history. He had re- 
 solved to drown himself to end his life-woes, and for this pui" 
 p(3se he had hired a cab and asked the driver to put him down 
 at a certain place. The cab-man drove and drove and drove, 
 and after a while he stopped, and came to the poet and said, 
 " I do not know how it is, but I cannot iind the place ; and I 
 know it so well." The poet told liim to drive home, and after 
 he was home he penned this Hymn. So it is said. 
 
 God moves in a mysterious way, 
 
 His wonders to perform ; 
 H'^ p'ants His footsteps in the sea, 
 
 And rides upon the storm. 
 
 Deep in unfathomable mines 
 
 Of never- failing skill, 
 He treasures up His bright designs, 
 
 And works His sovereign will. 
 
 Hi 
 
 f I ' ' ' 
 I'll ■', ' 
 
 Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take 
 Th(! clouds ye so much dread 
 
 Are big with mercy, and sliall break 
 In blessings on your head. 
 
 Judge not the Lord by leeble sense, 
 i'.ut trust Him for His gi-ace ; 
 
 Beitiiid a frowning providence 
 He hides a smiling face. 
 
M 
 
 WORDS OF CHEER. 
 
 His purposes will ripen fast, 
 Unfolding every hour ; 
 
 The V)ucl may liave a bitter taste, 
 I3ut sweet will be the Hower. 
 
 Blind unbelief is sure to err, 
 And scan His work in vain ; 
 
 God is His own interpretf;r 
 And He will make it plain. 
 
 39 
 
IV. 
 
 it m 
 
 i 
 
 J ;!: 
 
 i 
 
 ^l)ccvrf$ anb Sdant>& for ihc ^incij^e -Service, 
 
 '■^ Is thine heart right, as my heart io with thy heart? And 
 Jehouddab answered. It is. If it be, give me thine hayid. 
 And he gave him, his hand" — ii Kings x. 15. 
 
 YOU see the dust lising- yonder on the highv»ay after a flying 
 chariot. That is Captain Jehu, the new-made King, tlie 
 uiatl zea'ot, the furious driver, with a whirlwind of tire and fury 
 in his soul, rushing to sweep from the earth the last vestige of 
 the accursed Ahab race. You had better get off to the roadside 
 when you see Jehu coming, for he would just as soon as not 
 drive right over you. See at what a reckless rate of speed he 
 rushes along! 
 
 In the opposite direction again comes another man on foot, 
 a very quiet retiring sort of man, and he stops, and gets off 
 to the side of the road, when he sees Jehu's chariot coming. 
 His name is Jehonadab, or Jonadab, the Rechabite, a great 
 temperance advoc;ite, and a man of strong sterling character. 
 He was somewhat peculiar in his ideas, but he wasa thorougidy 
 good man, and was nmch respected. Years after he was dead 
 and gone ^/e find his memory still fragrant among his descend- 
 ants, and his views and opinioiLS perpetuated in a sect. 
 
 v 
 
HEARTS AND HANDS FOR THE KING'S SERVICE. 
 
 4» 
 
 Tliis man the reckless captain meets, and onlers his charioteer 
 at once to halt. He salutes him respectfully, and reachiuuoat 
 his hand to him he abruptly asks him the question I am nrik u; 
 my text to-niglit: '"Is thine heart right, as my heart is with 
 tiiy heart?" Jonadab answere I that it was, and they shook 
 hiinds, and he took him into the chariot along with him. an I 
 drove away to finish up his wild work. 
 
 Now, are we not almost surprised to hear such tender words 
 from the lips of the wild mad Jehu? AVe <lid not kncjw that he 
 had a heart at dil. He seemed to be iron, adamrnt, through 
 and through. But the rock divides, stricken with some unseen 
 rod of God, and the w."ter of life spills out on the roadside. 
 
 And bi.d indeed must that man be who has not somewhere 
 in him streaks of g(K)dness. Let us expect to Mnd them. Some- 
 times hi the arid de.-iert you will find a spring of crystal water 
 bubljling up and babbling away on its blessed nussion. Some- 
 times you will find honey in a lion's carcase. Sometimes yi^u 
 will find the most bejiutiful and fragrant flowers blooming over 
 where corruption lies buried. And here in Jehu's words to 
 Jonadab we may find thj perfume of paradise, the water of 
 life, something U) do us good ftjrever, 
 
 I see another King riding forth in meekness and majesty — 
 not Jehu, but Jesus. Blood is bespattered over him, l)ut it i.-; 
 his own, shed to redeem the perishing. Along our streets lie 
 comes, mighty to save. Oh, why is it that men crowd not to 
 tJie feet of this Great Iving to do him honor and serve him? 
 He is not a Jehu with a sword for vengeance, Ijut a Jesus wnii 
 the word of life. He meets men, and he wants them to be his, 
 I feel that I am not making a mere aocommoilation of wcjrds 
 when I put this into his lips as his word to us to-iiight: '-Is 
 thine heart right, as my heart is with thy heart?" 
 
 The thought of the text is, H(?arts and Han^ls for the King's 
 service. Jesus is building a kingdom that is to last forever, 
 and he wants hearts and hands for tliis great work. And he 
 is looking to us for tliem; and we may find here, i tliinlc, souio 
 
 i'l 
 
-;t 
 
 m 
 
 42 HEARTS AND HANDS FOR THE KINGS SERVICE. 
 
 ] lints as to the kind of men he wants, the kind of men any 
 king wants whose kingdom is to be strongly and wisely buiit 
 and its aft'airs to be rightly managed. 
 
 And first here, he wants temperance men. And the want 
 of every kingdom and country is thoroughly temperate men; — 
 men who touch not, taste not, handle not, that which intoxicates, 
 debases, degrades, destroys. 
 
 Captain Jehu was not much of a man himself, nor did he 
 make a gO(^d and wise king, although he had a work of his own 
 to do for tiie Lord; but he was shrewd enough to know, that he 
 needed men to help him, to counsel and do, whose brains were 
 not nuuMled half the time with strong drink. And so he took 
 into his service the greatest temperance advocate of his age, 
 and gave him a high place in the kingdom. 
 
 And the want of our day is men of strong and earnest tem- 
 perance principles. We want them wherever there is responsi- 
 l)ility. You cannot trust any man, no matter how capable he 
 is in other respects, who is given to drink. At the very time 
 when his head should be clearest and his arm strongest, he may 
 be found helpless, incapable, good-for-nothing. And yet, is it 
 not a fact to be deeply deplored that the land is full of 
 drunkards? — drunkards high up in authority ; drunkards making 
 and executing our laws; drunkards on the bench, in some cases, 
 dispensing justice; drunkards ministering at the altar; drunkards 
 educating the hope of the nation, editing our papers, driving 
 our trains, navigating our ships, healing our sick; m a word, 
 doing whatever is needing to be done to build up a nation in 
 that which makes a nation great. Oh, there is a bitter curse 
 hanging over the land because of the woe of drink, and men 
 think they are doing Goi service and helping the nation's good 
 by drinking themselves and ministering to the drink-piission of 
 otiiers! Think of some ei<diteen or twentv million gallons of 
 spirits being consumed year by year in the Dominion, about 
 four gallons for every man, woman, and child ; enough to deluge 
 fclie land with crime and woe. Talk about our heavy taxes, and 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
HEARTS AND HANDS FOR THE KING'S SERVICE. 
 
 43 
 
 i 
 
 the hardness of the times! Tlie heaviest tax we pay is the 
 843,000,000 and norp our liquor costs us. It is our drink that 
 is keeping us nationally poor and bad. O God, when wilt Thou 
 come and deliver us from this terrible curse that is destroying 
 us! Stretch forth Thine Almighty arm, O Jehovah, and bring 
 deliverance to tliose who are bound in the chains of drink ! 
 
 Xow, Jesus wants men in his kingdom to serve him there, 
 and they nmst be temperance men. I do not say they nmst 
 belong to this or that temperance organization. That is not 
 necessary. But they must be tempei-ate in their habits, free 
 from the degradation of drink. He gives us here in liis word 
 a short list of some of those who are disqualitied for holding any 
 place in his kingdom, and drunkards are among them. Here 
 it is! You will tind it in first Corinthians, sixth cliapter and 
 ninth and tenth vei*ses: "Be not deceived, neither fornicators, 
 nor idolators, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of 
 themselves with mankind, nor thieves, nor covetous, nordi'unk- 
 ards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the Kingdom 
 of God." Thus, drunkards are not wanted, and cannot be 
 admitted, into the service of the King of kings. They may be 
 men of ability, men of great influence, men of large experience, 
 men high in authority, men of boundless wealth — they may 
 have so much to commerid them; but they are drunkards, and 
 there is no place for them where Jesus reigns and liis pure 
 Spirit dwells. Away with your drink forever, O drinking man, 
 if you would serve Christ, for he cannot accept such a drink- 
 polluted service as yours! 
 
 Again : He wants men of good character, men of honest report, 
 men that the people of the world respect for their uprightness, 
 to serve him in his Kingdom. 
 
 Nothing is said as to whetlier Jonadab was a lich man or a 
 poor man, but we are led to infer that at least he was a good 
 man, a man noted for his higlv character and sterling worth as 
 a citizen, a man you could trust anywhere and to any extent. 
 Captain Jehu felt that if he could secure the services of the 
 
 (fi 
 
 Ml 
 
44 
 
 HF.ARTS AND IIAXDS TOR Till: KING'S SERN'ICE. 
 
 honest temperate Joiiadab, that itself would ^o a \(n\'^ way 
 
 towai'ds estaljlishiiig his throne. One thoi"ou;4hly ,uood man in 
 
 a goNernment, a man that evtn'ybody respects, is a jiowe?'. Jle 
 
 is worth ten-thousand of those weaklin_<,'s that scpiirm a))()Ut so 
 
 that you cannot tell what they are, noi- when you have them. 
 Honest Jonadab may be plain and blunt, outsjioken and r(!U<,di, 
 
 l)ut he is honest, and when you have him you have him. You 
 
 know just where he is, and he is always where he (jught to be 
 
 in the gi-and essentials that make for righteousness. 
 
 Now, Jesus wants in His kingdom honest men, men of 
 oliaractei-, men of good i'e})ort, men you can trust. Those 
 especially who are to till the prominent places iu }lis kingdom 
 — tlvc pulpit, the })i-ayer-meeting desk, the professorial chair, 
 the elder's position, the deacon's work; — wherever there are 
 responsil)ility, trust, service, he insists upon this as a lirst 
 (jualitication, that they have a good report of them that are 
 without. A man who has no (;haracter, that nobody respects, 
 that no one will trust, can be of no service anywhere. In the 
 church he is only in the way of good bc>ingdone. 
 
 Oh what a drawback it is to a church's prosperity that her 
 membei's have not the respect nor the contidence of the general 
 jiublici In business matters perha])s th(>y are not honest. 
 They are slow to fulfil their engagements. They do not pay 
 their debts. They do not keep their word. Ah! what a dis- 
 honor that is to the name of religion, and how it hurts the 
 trutii, and makes the wounds of Christ l^leed afresh. 
 
 But, on the other hand, how it commends the cause of Christ, 
 and advances the interests of religion and the church, that 
 those who belong to the church and profess religion, are honest 
 men, thoroughly reliable and trustworthy. Men will say — 
 men who do not know anything about re'igion exce})ting what 
 they see of it in those who profess it, that a religion which 
 makes a man thoroughly honest amid the general corruption, 
 must be a good thing to have, and just the thing that every- 
 body sliould have. Now, that is what Christ's religion does 
 
 1 
 
 t 
 
HEARTS AM) IIAXDS FOR THE KlXii'S SERVICE. 
 
 45 
 
 1 
 
 for those who ha\(^ it; itiul if it is >K)t (hiiiii;' it, there must be 
 Komethiug wroii;j; soniewhei'e. We may well (juestion whetliei- 
 we know finvthin<.c about it. ( )iie thiii'' is cleai', w(; do not 
 know much aliout it — we do not know enougli about it to be 
 of any service to the cause of Christ in the woi'kl. 
 
 A^ain : The \\\\v^ wants nuni for service in the Kiniu'dom 
 M'l lose heart is i-i<^'ht with ILis lu'ait. " I.s thine heart right, 
 as my heart is w itli thy heart ?"' 
 
 There is not much luvii't, much less luvirt-rightnoss, around 
 tlie throne. Kini^s lind })lenty obse;[uiousnesK, cringing feai', 
 swming devotedness, eye-service; l)ut r(>al sincerity, genuine 
 lieart-service, that heart-with-iieart rightn«\ss tliat a man feels 
 so .sure of — ah ! tiiere is not umch of that. Captain .fehu felt 
 that. He had crowds around him who woukl shout huzzas all 
 day and run to do his bidding. But there was no heart in it. 
 He could not trust them. He kiiew they said ojie thing, and 
 felt in their heart of liearts something else, and he was sick of 
 such hollow-heartedness and insincerity. 
 
 But there is one man, honest-hearted Jona<lal), that he 
 thinks lie can trust. So he sto})s on th« road to ask the 
 honest man wliether he can or not. T see the king leaning 
 well over the side of his chariot, and witli an intense heart- 
 hunger asking the plain tent-dweller this emphfj.' . iieart- 
 (juestion, " Is thine heart right, as my heart is wiih thy heartf 
 Jonadab looks back his earnest look, and with a frankness 
 e(i[ual to his own tells him, " It is.'' And from that moment 
 they are fast friends, heart-with-heart friends. 
 
 Now, King Jesus asks us to-night a similar ([uestion. He 
 wants iieart-service, not lip-service. He is tired of this weary 
 formality, this outside religion, this seeming devoutness. Oh 
 it makes His truth-loving soul sick within Him to find so little 
 leii lieart-iightness among us. I see Him leaning down 
 over the edge of the glory that divides Him from us, and ask- 
 ing with soul in look and voice, " Is thine heart right, as my 
 heart is with thy heart ?" His heart is right. Oh how he 
 
 !il 
 
t 
 
 'I !' 
 
 46 HEARTS AND HANDS TOR THE KING'S SERVICE. 
 
 jovos! Look at the cross, mid yoii will sfo how lio lovos. His 
 hands, His foot, Ills side, His head, His heait, all tell how Ho 
 loves. But flo wp love as He lovos? That is what He wants 
 to know. He said to Peter over and over again once, "Simon, 
 .son of Jonas, lovest thou me?" "lovcst thou me?" Oh, how 
 he hungers for our poor love ! 
 
 He does not want your money, O rich man, your golden 
 pile; He wants your love, your heart. Give liim your love, 
 and you give him what is more to him, and more to any true 
 soul, than great riches. And you, O poor man, you have not 
 money, you have not lands, you have not honors; you cannot 
 give what you have not. And it is not these small things he 
 asks from you. He asks your love. He wants to know if 
 you \o\'e him as he loves you. "Is thine heart right, as ray 
 heart is witii thy heart?" You can love, and if you can love, 
 that is indeed royal service to him. He asks nothing more, 
 nothing better. Oh let there be here, whatever else there is, 
 a real heart-service rendered to the King, a right royal leal- 
 liearted worship, and he will be pleased, satisfied. 
 
 Still further, the King wants hands for service in the king- 
 dom as well as hearts. And if the heart be there, the hand 
 will be there too. "Give me thine hand." 
 
 How beautiful it is to see Jehu and Jonadab giving one 
 another tlieir hand in pledge of their heart-with-heart 
 rightness ! And how soon, too, the compact is matle ! They 
 meet unexpectedly on the road. It strikes the impulsive 
 captain that here is the very man he wants. So he stops and 
 tells him so in the abruptest, directest fashion. That was the 
 captain's way- No ceremony, no palaver, no policy. "Is 
 thine heart right," he asks, "as my heart is with thy heart?" 
 It is a hard question to answer. But Jonadab is equal to the 
 grand occasion. He answers, yes ! And they shake hands, 
 and Jonadab gets up into the chariot, and goes with Jehu the 
 King to the duties and difliculties, the responsibilities and 
 rewards, and the retribution too, of reigning. It is all done 
 
 4 
 
 I 
 
 •1 
 
 If 
 
HEARTS AND HANDS FOR THE KING'S SERVICE. 
 
 47 
 
 in five minutes. Thus suddenly sometimes the great Ike- 
 questions are settled. 
 
 Anil here we are to-night to moot the King. See. He 
 comes! He wants to know how it is with our hearts, whether 
 W3 lovo him as he loves us. It is a hard question he asks, a 
 solemn question, a question with far-reaching results. We 
 hesitate perhaps. Oh how unworthy ! Jonadab did not hesi- 
 tate. — "We do not know whether we love him or not." — Ts 
 that the answer we give tiie King? Do we try to evade his 
 searching glance,, and his hard words? Ah! we cannot. He 
 sees cle ir down to tiie bottom of our hearts, and still he asks 
 pleadingly, "Lovest thou me?" "Is thine heart right, as my 
 heart is with thy hearJ" Oh! perhaps we want to say with 
 Peter : " Lord, Thou knowest all tilings — tiiou knowest that I 
 love Thee." But we are afraid to say it, lest wo may not love 
 him as he wants us to love him. And it means so much to 
 confess our love. We would like to be left alone, left in our 
 state of indecision, left where we are neither for nor against. 
 But we cannot be left there. Here is his hand, pierced for us, 
 and he wants us here and now to seal our lov>? for him by 
 putting our hand in his, "Give me thine hand," he says, and 
 there is such earnestness in his look as he awaits our answer. 
 O soul, it is thy King's hand, and why sliould there be a 
 moment's hesitation ? Thy destiny hangs on thine answer, thy 
 weal or woe. Draw back, and thy King can have no pleasure 
 in thee. Thou art anworthy of him and his love. But yield, 
 and to-night thou shalt ride away in triumph and joy, saved, 
 honored, happy. 
 
 I have been asking you, O my hearers, in the King's name 
 to come and be liis, to come and confess his name, to give your 
 hand to this blessed heart- vith-heart compact he wants to enter 
 into with you. And some are coming to be for the King's 
 service. I rejoice with him that .some are coming, a little band. 
 But still, I am asking myself, and I think I hear him 
 asking too: " Are there no more out of all there are here who 
 love the King, no more who have the courage to come out 
 
I 
 
 ■y 
 
 48 HEARTS AND HANDS FOR THE KING'S SERVICE. 
 
 bcfon^ tlio woi'ld anil own tli(!in.selve.s his, no more \vho am 
 ready to put their hand into his and be his, acce|)t liis happy 
 service ? " 
 
 Oh, my hearers, tliese are surc^ly solemn persrmal considera- 
 tions that we ought not lightly to fiing aside, and I leave them 
 \vitli you to ])onder over. I have no hesitation in saying to 
 you, tliat if you do not love the King, nor care for Him, then 
 you had better not come. Your coming will do no good to 
 yourself nor anybody else. Tf you cannot trust him, and if you 
 aie not })repaied to follow and serve him ; then stay where you 
 are, for if you do not want him, he doe; not want you. But 
 oh w liat you have lost ! You have lost the favor of the King, 
 and all that that means. You have lost a royal position, and 
 such a position is not to be had every day. It will uike you all 
 «»ternity to find out what you have lost by rejecting the King 
 of Glory. lUit I do hope that not a few of you love the 
 King, and you want to be his; but you arc not sure that you 
 love him well enough. Oh ! if you love him at all, come, and 
 lie will teach you to love more and more. Put your hands to 
 Jus service, and you will find it a glad service. If you honor 
 him, he will honor you. If you confess him before men, he will 
 confess you before his Father in Heaven. Hear, then, his word, 
 siiiner, as he reaches down that pierced hand of his to you 
 to-night : '* If it be, if it be that you love me, if it be that your 
 heart is right as my heart is with thy heart; — if it be, give me 
 thine hand." 
 
 And it need not take you long to decide the matter. Decide 
 at once. To-night go with the king. Take hold with him 
 upon the duties and difficulties, the honors and rewards, of the 
 King's service. It is not always an easy service. There may 
 be both tears and blood in it for you, but there will be a glory 
 to come to crown all. Come, then, and be the King's now and 
 forever, and take hold with him in the happy holy .service of 
 saving others. ,•- '- •' ' 
 
 [,1 f.^S'- 
 
V. 
 
 ^hc ^25oicc -Sbcar^ axxb xxoi -Sbcairb. 
 
 *'And I fell unto tite ground, and heard a voice saying unto 
 me, Saul, Saul, why persectUest thou me'i And I answered, 
 who art f/iou, Lordi And he said unto ms, I am Jesus of 
 Kozareth, tchom tluni persecutest. And they that utere 
 tvith tne saiv indeed the light, and were affaid] hut they 
 heard not the voice of him that spake to me." — Acts xx-m. 
 7—9. 
 
 IT is mid-day. A blazing Syrian sun is pouring his effulgence 
 on the heads of Saul and his band. They are now come to 
 the village of Kaukab, or the Star. There one of the loveliest 
 and most picturesque views to be seen on earth bursts upon 
 them — lovely even to-day, but lovelier far that day. All the 
 morning they have been journeying through a most uninterest- 
 ing waste, bare and bleak. But now a very paradise, such as 
 we may suppose the paradise of God to have been, lies bloom- 
 ing in beauty before them. 
 
 The Orientals call Damascus "a terrestrial reflection of para- 
 dise, a handful of pearls in its goblet of emerald, the Eye of the 
 Desert." The Damascenes themselves believe the Garden of 
 God to have been there, and that Adam was made of clay taken 
 from the banks of the Abana. "The white city looks," says 
 
1:^ ,t 
 
 50 
 
 THE V .Id. HE RI) AND N( )T H ARD. 
 
 Olio, "like a diumoiul set in tlio (lurk ^I'ccii (»f fiuitful ;t,';ir(lpns. 
 TIm'so gurclniis atJ<l orchanls cxUmuI scvci'hI niilrs aioiuul the 
 city, and are a marvel of ffitility. The HcMs of wheat, and 
 VwirU^y ami bivins are shadn*! hy fruit and forest ti'CMvs — tlu^ 
 IM)pIar, tho cyprasa, the pahn, the waltiut, the citron, the 
 jKdiK'granate, the orange, the apricot, the Hi(-tre»% arrayed in a 
 rich variety of colors, laden with golden fruit, and tilling the 
 ail- with sweet fragrance. The soil is refreshed by perennial 
 streams of abounding water from the mountain." 
 
 Such is the beautiful paradise; Saul and his nuiii are about to 
 enter, not with the gospel of peace and grace, Heaven's nu^s- 
 sage of joy to the wretched, the light and gladntjss of the peo- 
 ple's homes, the comfort and strength of declining ywus, men's 
 hope and triumph in the hour of death; but, on the contiary, 
 with the sword of the cruel persecutor, and the hot hate of the 
 mad bigot. And good men are on their knees praying that 
 the waster may not come, that some judgment of Ilwaven may 
 Htrike him down. 
 
 And Heaven strikes. Suddenly a light flashes, outshining 
 far the noonday sunlight, a dazzling blin<ling glory. Instant- 
 ly they are all unhorsed and prostrate. Then a voice speaks. 
 It is the voice of the Son of God calling to a better life. All 
 hear a sound, and are more or less affected by what they hear, 
 but only Saul hears and lives. 
 
 1. THE VOICE UEARD, 
 
 In all the ages a voice has been heard, the voice of God's 
 love. That voice was heard amid Eden's pristine loveliness. 
 Adam heard it, and Eve, uttering the protevangel. Abel 
 heard it as he stood reverent and woi*shipful beside his altar. 
 Enoch heard it coming to him over the waste of waters. Abra- 
 ham heard it far away in Ur of the Chaldees, and he followed 
 where it led. And Moses heard, and Israel, and they .shook 
 off the tyrant's yoke, and followed through the Sea, and over 
 the deathful wilderness. David, too, heard, and rapt Isaiah, 
 a^d the weeping prophet, and all the wise and good of the old- 
 
THE VOICE HEARD AND NOT HEARD. 
 
 J« 
 
 ' 
 
 en timo, and tlie voicc! tlioy licivrd fired their stiuls to noble 
 W(»rds and no))l«» d«eds. 
 
 L«'^ us study the voice as Saul heard it yonder at Pamaseus, 
 for there are iiidivd both music an<l iiieanin;,' in it for us. 
 
 And this learu, the voice was Christ's. As he lay prostrate 
 ►Saul encjuired whose the voice was he heard, for he did not 
 know, and this answer came to him, leavin<^ luiver after any 
 douht in his mind that it was Jesus \v\u> was speaking to him: 
 **I am Jesus of Nazareth, whom thou persiicutest." 
 
 There are voices and voices, so many voices. What a tu- 
 mult of voices, a IJahel of tonj^'ues, all along the street. JJusi- 
 ness utters his voice, and has so nmch to .say to men as to 
 what he can do for them. And pleasure sings and shouts to 
 the idle throngs, and has many willing ears. Vice, to(», and 
 lust and crime — they have ill something to say, and men hear, 
 and are lost. 
 
 And there are voices within, voices deep in the soul — de.sires, 
 drwims, passionate loii_rings, hungerings to be great, visiotiary 
 yearnings after it is not known what. These voices of the .soul 
 keep on calling, calling, and men listen to them, ajid wonder 
 what they are, and whence they come. Ah ! they do not all 
 speak the language of Canaan. They are not all the voice of 
 the 80 n of God. 
 
 Now, it is wise in us as well as Saul to ask who it is that 
 speaks to us. The voice of truth and love has nothing to con- 
 ceal, and hastens to satisfy every earnest enquiry. "I am 
 Jesus of Nazareth, whom thou persecutes^" How simple, 
 straight-forward, .satisfactory ! Ah ! that voice every true soul 
 wants to hear. Only Jesus has the truth to tell — the truth 
 that saves, blesses, crowns. Only to the voice that comes down 
 from the most excellent Glory — only to that voice should men 
 give ready ear, for only that voice among all the voices has 
 the glad news of grace to tell; — news of salvation, news of 
 peace to the earth and goodwill to men, news of hope and 
 Heaven, 
 
5« 
 
 THE VOICE HEARD AND NOT HEARD. 
 
 lil 
 
 Thus to Saul the voice was a real living voice; — not a fancy, 
 an uncertain sound, an indistinct and unintelligible noise 
 There were words, clearly expressed idejus, utterances distinct 
 and u(>tinite, instructions given, truths taught. Men to-day 
 talk learnedly about (rod im the Great First Cause, the Al- 
 mighty Somewhat or Sonie One, the Inlinite and Absolute. 
 Ah ! is that all you know of CtO(1, ye wise of the schools ? The 
 stricken Saul can tell you tlmt He utters His voice, speaks, 
 teaches, connnands. You hear the babbling of brooks, the 
 crash of waves breaking along the shore, the weird slii'iek of 
 the gale, the groan of th.e e^irthquake, and, startled, yoa say, 
 •'That is God's voice ! that is God's voice!" But that is not 
 God's voice. Gfxi is not in the wind, the earth<piake, the tire. 
 His voice is words, the still small voice that teaches, tells mens 
 hearts of His love for them, leads them in the way of duty and 
 life, convinces of sin and points to the Cross. "I am Jesus of 
 Xazareth, whom tiiou persecutest." 
 
 Next, le^irn here, the voice Saul hears leaves him in no un- 
 certainty as to how it is with him, and as to what he should 
 (k). It tells him that he is a sinner. It charges him with the 
 greatest of crimes, persecuting Jesus, lighting against God. 
 It opens his eyes to views of himself that he ha<i never seen 
 before, and nevei- could have seen without the voice from 
 He ven to him. It unveils his true character in all its hide- 
 ous moral deformity, and lets him and all the werld see wliat 
 he is, and what we all are without the grace of God to renew 
 us. Saul, up to this moment, thought he was doing God ser- 
 vice, and fulfilling his true mi.ssion, so little did he know of 
 G(xl. But the voice tjiught him something verydiderent. 
 
 And just here we may stop to remark, that we had better 
 look well to ourselves. We think we are so right and good, 
 and we may be neither. Many are strong for their church, 
 zealous for the faith as they hold it, earnest workei's for Gck] 
 as they think, and, like Sanl, they are as wrong as they can 
 well be. We cry out against the faith of others, and their 
 
 
 I. 
 
THE VOICE HEARD AND NOT HEARD. 
 
 53 
 
 creed and church, but there comes a voice from Heaven to us, 
 and it says to our stricken heart, "Wliy persecutest thou me ?" 
 
 The voice not only convinces Saul of sin ; it shews him what 
 to do. It would be little use to be told how wrong we are, 
 and how bad, if we were not also told how to be right and 
 good. But God's voice to men^ as we would expect, unless 
 He were only Force, Law, the awful Absolute, the Great Un- 
 searchable, makes it plain to them what to do. "Lord, what 
 wilt thou have me to do 1 " asked the trembling sinner yonder, 
 and he was told just what to do.. 
 
 If any of us is in ignorance as to how it is with. us,, and as 
 to wl.at we s'iould do to be right with God, and to be right 
 too wi:h ourselves, it is not the voice's fault, for its teachings, 
 are full and clear, and the way it points out is easy to tind and 
 not so very hai-d for stumbling feet to walk on. To the earn- 
 est truth-seeking soul the light that shines is above the bright- 
 ne.ss of the sun shining in his strength, and the way of .«alva- 
 tion hi such that no one need err in it. The God of wisdom 
 (xv.d love has not left His straying children to the dubiety ol 
 8il)ylline leaves, the mazes of a perplexing labyrinth, the mys- 
 teries and mutterings of signs aiul voices. No-; He has sent 
 His Son to speak to men, and in words simple and loving — 
 words that we learned to lisp at our mother's knee. He tells 
 us what to do. 
 
 Again, Saul hears the voice — hears and does. Blind aiid 
 weak he gives his hand to those with him, and they lead hint 
 where there is one who knows how to instruct him in the truth. 
 One Ananias, a devout christian, is the Lord's instrument to 
 open his eyes and show him the way to t;'ke. And that way 
 he takes, and keeps it. 
 
 Thus, the voice is life from the dead to him. It gives him 
 new ideas of duty and destiny. It is his to follow Christ now, 
 his to preach the gospel, his to save — ni)t destroy, his to speak 
 for Christ with a soul on tir'^ and with wliat an unquenchable 
 zeal he ever after lives and labors for the cross. How trans- 
 
 ! 
 
 
54 
 
 THE VOICE HEARD AND NOT HEARD. 
 
 V < 
 
 
 f7guring the voice is to Sc*ul ! What it makes of him, and 
 does for him, and insoires him to do and dare for others! Ah ! 
 < he secret is, he hears the voice — hears and does. It takes 
 hoM of him, lives in him, breathes in his great soul. 
 
 And the voice m ist ever be heard, understood, obeyed, lived 
 out in eariieetfife, if it is to be to us a voice from Heaven, a 
 call. 
 
 II. saul's band, or the voice not heard. 
 
 "And they that were with me saw indeed the light, and were 
 afraid; but they heard not the voice of him that spake to me." 
 
 Those >/ith him were struck with the light as well as him- 
 self. They were unhorsed, and felled to the earth. But it 
 <lid not affect them as much as it did their leader. The 'Ight 
 blinded him, but not them. And as to the voice, they heard 
 indeed a noise, but they could not tell what it was. So f a " as 
 they knew, the voice might have been thunder, or the groan 
 of an earthquake, or the moan of tlie v/ind. The voice had 
 no meaning to tliem, said nothing, taught nothing — it was 
 only a noiso. That is what we are to understand Saul to mean 
 wlu^n he tells us that "they heard not the voice of him that 
 spake to me.'* 
 
 Now, one reason why they heard not the voice was because 
 it was not for th^m— it was for their leader. They were 
 there beside him, and still they heard not. To him the voice 
 was so loud, so cleir, so full of meaning— every word distinct, 
 emphatic, eloqiien ; bat to them it was only sound — no sense. 
 
 Tiiereare voices that ears cannot hear. They are heard on- 
 ly in the deep heart. It is not so much what is said as what 
 is heard that do^s the good. You hear a voice, and to you 
 the e is very little in it — so little that you give no attention 
 to it, and straig'itway forget it; but some one beside you is 
 thrilled, moved to tears, inspired, God-called. Like Saul, 
 your fellow-hearar rises up from beside you, and goes forth to 
 live a new life, the inspiration of tli^ Blessed Spiiitin him and 
 upon him, and all his soul kindled to a blaze. You wonder at 
 
THE VOICE HEARD AND NOT HEARD. 
 
 55 
 
 it. You say, "I heard nothing ; it was exceedingly common 
 place and uninteresting." Ah! it was the hearing, not the 
 speaking, that did it. 
 
 We often mangle God's blessed truth in trying to pre<ach it. 
 We speak too loud or too low. We pitch our voices to a key 
 not natural to us. We hesitate, stannner, tear into tatters all 
 the dictionaries and grannuars that were ever made, say what 
 we did not intend to say and leave unsaid the very thing we 
 wanted to say, and we slink away home so heart sick, lament- 
 ing that we have made such a sad mess of it. But sometimes 
 a poor trembling soul comes weeping to thank us for the words 
 of Jesus. We wonder. But no great wonder. It was the 
 iu^aring, not the speaking, that God blessed. Good hearing is 
 just as important as good preaching. Let us thank God for 
 the ears in the deep soul that can hear more than t he most 
 eloqu'^nt words can tell. 
 
 I grant there are messages from Heaven for one and not 
 for another. It was Saul that was called yonder at Damascus 
 by the voice, not those with him, and, having no interest in it, 
 they heard not. And so still. The voice of God still speaks 
 specially to men, and they hear and believe. But may we not 
 be too fast in saying, " It is not for me V We may say that 
 of everything. 
 
 Life is ful' of opportunities to us all if we would bestir our- 
 selves and avail ourselves of them. Here is work for stron<; 
 and willing hands, renmnerativo work. Here are high offices 
 for those who are able to till them. Here are thrones for the 
 kings of men to sit on. But we may stand by, and see them 
 all go past us, and tliere may be only for us a back seat. 
 
 80 too in God's Kingdoni. The words of God come to us as 
 we sit here. We hear sin denounced, shams exposed, wrongs 
 condemned. We h^ar promises given, invitations held out, 
 glori<»us things spoken. We hear of Jesus and His love, hope 
 and Heaven, gi-ace and peace, mercy for sinners and joy for 
 saints. But to all we keep saying, " That is not for me I That 
 
 !f 
 
 ■k'N 
 
56 
 
 THE VOICE HEARD AND NOT HEARD, 
 
 tt 
 
 is not for me !" And sure enough, we wake up at last to find 
 there is nothing for us — not'nng good, only lost opportunities, 
 wasted privileges, rights forfeited forever. 
 
 Again, Saul's attendants heard not the voice, because there 
 was no earnestness in their soul to care to hear or know any- 
 thing beyond the mere routine of their work. They would be 
 Levites, most likely, whose business it was to wait upon the 
 priests in whatever service they were required, and they went 
 on the mission to Damascus, not because they liked it, or had 
 the least interest in it, but because they were sent, or hired to 
 go. Perhaps they were men that could be hired to go any- 
 where or do anything. There are such men, weak-principleil 
 soulless creatures, wliose idea of responsibility is to do what 
 they are told and what they are hired to do. It was noth'ng 
 to them what the voice had to say, and so it had nothing to 
 say to them. 
 
 And to so many the preaching is nothing, a meaninglesii 
 sound. It is all the same to them who preaches and what is' 
 said. Ask them what was said — the text, the subject, the 
 purpose of the preacher in his discourse, and they do not 
 know. They heard something, and yet they heard not. They 
 are like Tennyson's northern farmer who hears only a bum- 
 ming over his head as he sits in his pew half-asleep, his poor 
 wits sadly muddled with strong ale. 
 
 Ah ! if we want to hear the voice of God and conscience, the 
 call of Christ, tliere must be in us a hungering to hear, a long- 
 ing to know. Saul was all wrong, tei'riljly wrong, but he was 
 in earnest. He wanted to l>e right, and he wanted to do as 
 far as he knew. And the Lord had mercy on him and taught 
 him to know l>etter and do better. But those with him 
 neither wanted to know nor tlo, and there was no word for 
 them. 
 
 Oh let us hear what there is to Ix; heard I The Lord still 
 speaks. His voice rings from ten-thous.ind puljuls loud and 
 clear. And men are hearing Uis voice. They know they ai^e 
 
 ^ 
 
 ll 
 
1« 
 
 THE VOICE HEARD AND NOT HEARD. 
 
 57 
 
 R 
 
 :■) 
 
 I 
 
 
 not mistaken. The deep living hold it takes of their hearts 
 and lives, and the good it is doing them, make them feel they 
 are hearing, not men's poor meaningless words, but God's 
 truth. Across tlie waste of their years it comes, and soon 
 there blooms for them a paradise, like the paradise of God, a 
 Damascus embosomed amid fragrant groves and gardens, and 
 ciystal waters. Thus it was with Saul, and thus it will be 
 with us. 
 
 And yei again, they heard not, for they did not. It is not 
 hearing at all that results in no doing. They saw the liglit 
 and felt its effects, and they heard a noise, but no deep last 
 ing impression was made. They seem never to have asked a 
 question about it. Certainly they 'did not go to Ananias to 
 enquire what they should do. What became of them we 
 know not. All we know is this we have here from the lips of 
 their leader : " And they that were with me sav/ indeed the 
 light, and were afraid ; but they heard not the voice of him 
 that s[iake to me." 
 
 And how many, still, see a light, and hear a voice. They 
 are afraid like those with Saul. Like Felix they tremble 
 Tiiey feel the influences of the world-to-come taking hold up- 
 on them, and they are uncomfortable, troubled, anxious. Per- 
 haps they even resolve to live a better life. But the vision is 
 soon passed, and straightway they forget about it. The im- 
 pression made is obliterated, and they are just what they al- 
 ways were — worldly^ worthless, Godless, Christless. They 
 hear Vjut they do not. 
 
 Ah ! my brethren, it is the liearing without the doing that 
 we have to deplore here. The light is here, the Great Light. 
 And the voice is here. The gospel is preached. And there 
 are sometimes deep and anxious thoughts. But men go away, 
 and that is the end of it. They hear, but do not. They are 
 not born again. They believe not in Jesus, nor rise up in the 
 Rtrength of the new life and do for Him — follow Him, preach 
 His word, do His wil', glorify His name, devote themselves to 
 His cause j and so, nothing comes of all they see and hear. 
 
 I 
 
58 
 
 THE VOICE HEARD AND NOT HEARD. 
 
 It is the hearing with the doing that makes Saul Paul, that 
 converts the persecutor into the mighty apostle ; but the lu^ar- 
 ing without the doing leaves those with him just where they 
 were. Oh they were so near the Kingdom that moment! The 
 glory of the exalted Lord was around them and upon them. 
 His voice was in their ears. But they were satished to re- 
 main outside, and see and hear there, and the blessed oppor- 
 tunity was lost to them. It is very doubtful indeed, if they 
 were any time afterwards, so near the Kingdom of light and 
 peace and bliss, as they were there at Damascus, when their 
 master was called. 
 
 And am I saying more than I am warranted in saying when 
 I say, that some of us have seen about all of the Kingdom (tf 
 (Jod we will ever see, or perhaps that we care to see ? We look 
 at it from the church pew, and we are glad, or perhaps we are 
 afraid, and we stay where we are • we enter not and enjoy 
 Ah ! little will tliat do for us. There are no Pauls there, nor 
 Johns ; no earnest consecrated lives, no renewed hearts, no 
 saved souls. We must come in ; we must hear and do. 
 
 In cl(»Hing, then, let me press upon you to make the best of 
 the oj)pt>rtunities you have. You may say, " The voice is not 
 for me !" And there are voices not for you. But there is a 
 voice for us all, a call for every one of us as well as Saul. 
 " Whosoever will, let him take of the water of life freely." It 
 is the soul that has the courage to say, *' There is something 
 for me, even me !" — it is that soul that finds the good. Jesus 
 speaks to you to-day, and He says, " Come ! Why go on sin- 
 ning ? Why go on persecuting me 1 — me, the only true Friend 
 you have ? Why fling your life recklessly to ruin ? Why fight 
 against God? There is no good in that for you, nor for me. 
 Come, then, to me, and be mine. Your poor life I will sub- 
 lime with good here and glory hereafter. Come ! come !" 
 
 Oh ! are you coming ? Cast away the weapons you are fight- 
 ing the wild battle of wrong with, and let the love of Jesus 
 
 ri I 
 
THE VOICE HEARD AND NOT HEARD. 
 
 59 
 
 lead you into the Kingdom of peace and bliss. He will re- 
 ceive you, save you, bless you. 
 
 He who hath felt the Spirit of the Highest 
 Cannot confound, or doubt Him, or defy ; 
 
 Yea, with one voice, O world, though thou deniest, 
 Stand thou on that side —for on this am I ! 
 
 I 
 
r 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Srhc ^wirabtc oj iUe "^hcai-CSrain. 
 
 " Verily, verily, I say unto you, "xcevt i corn of ivheatjall 
 into the ground and die, it ahideth alone, but if it die, it 
 bringeth forth much fruit" — John xii. 24. 
 
 WE are glad spring has come with her song-birds and 
 liowers, chasing wliite-footed winter far away over the 
 hills. She comes with health for the sick, joy and hope for the 
 satl, courage and help for the poor, and rich lessons of truth for 
 us all. Soon again we shall see the sower going forth to sow 
 his seed, not without tears perhaps as he thinks of the risks he 
 runs, and yet not without liopes. 
 
 And it iS spring yonder, the sowing-time of the year, the 
 sowing-time indeed of the centuries, and our Lord, with the 
 shadow of the cross on his soul, that lovely April morning of 
 the long long ago, tells his wondering hearers so sadly the parable 
 of the wheat-grain. And there are thoughts and life- lessons 
 here for us this solemn anniversary season, precious thought- 
 seed for the ages. " Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a 
 corn of wheat fall into the ground ard die, it abideth aluue, but 
 if it die, it bringeth forth much fruil." 
 
 1. THE WHEAT-GRAIX. 
 
 Our Lord Himself is the wheat-grain. He is telling us here 
 his own sad glad life-story, illustrating the mystery of hi^ own 
 destiny. 
 
 I 
 
THE PARABLE OF THE WHEAT-GRAIN. 
 
 6i 
 
 But you ask, " Why take a single <rrain ? Take a bushel, ten 
 of them, a hunrheil, a thousand, many thousamls." 
 
 All ! we live far down the broad and ever broadening stream 
 f>f time and pioijress, and our ideas of things a.'e large. But 
 theie was, and has to be, a begiiniing to things, and it is not 
 tof) much to say — is it? — that the vast wheat-fields of the worhi 
 t(»-(lay began away back somewhere and sometime with a single 
 wln>at-grain. At all events, it is no violence to human thought 
 to think so. 
 
 But however that may be, we know this, that our Lord is 
 one, the only-begotten of the Father. Go far back to the 
 beginning of things, and you come at last to the one wheat- 
 grain, the aone spiritual life-germ, whence must spring, if at 
 all, all the life and joy that are yet to quicken and gladden 
 the eons. 
 
 " One ! " you say, " one wheat-grain, one 1 ife-germ, one Lord, 
 one Christ ! Oh what if that one should somehow f.-iil ! Think 
 of the world's bread, the bread of millions of homes, the bread 
 of countless ages, dependent on a single grain of wheat ! And 
 think, too, of the world's redemption dependent on one life, the 
 strength of one right arm, the faithfulness of one soull How great 
 the risk ! too great a risk ! a cruel risk ! " 
 
 And then the wheat-grain is so little. It is a small seed, 
 small compared with some others of less importance. And our 
 Lord, in some respects, is little. Look at him yonder in the 
 manger, and how little he is ! He does not look to you as if 
 he would ever do nmch for the world. What can such human 
 helplessness as that is, such utter need, such born poverty and 
 meaness, ever do ! Thus, when you are told that the hope and 
 happiness of the ages, the world's good an<i men's salvation, 
 depend on the Babe of Bethlehem, you shudder, for so little 
 would quench that spark, so little would put out forever that 
 feeVjle flickering light. But, as we shall see, there is a wondrous 
 energy, a mighty vitality, mysteriously bound up in the little 
 wheat-grain^ tlie humble Nazarene. The tyrant's sword did 
 
 
62 
 
 THE PAR AHLE OF THF WHEAT GRAIN. 
 
 ill 
 
 in? 
 
 l! 
 
 11 
 
 what it coulil to how out of cxL^tHnco tiio ono Lifo, the world's 
 one hope Jind help. IJut it failed. The Life that was to be 
 the life of the world lived andgrew. Nothing could extinguish it. 
 
 II. THK WHKAT-fJUAIN ALONK. 
 
 ** Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it 
 abideth alone." 
 
 I have supposed, that far back soinewljere, .sometime, there 
 would be a single wheat-grain; — no doubt a beautiful oik-^ 
 perfect in its kind, .so plump and full, so richly golden-amber ; 
 but alone, just one, no brother. And I can imagine the happy 
 possessor of that one wheat-grain saying to hims»'lf : " T will 
 keep it. This is the only one of its kind in nU the universe, 
 and I will preserve it as a great natuivil curiosity. I will have 
 a box of most curious workmanship made for it, and I will lock 
 it up there, and hand it down to the wondering ages as the 
 first and only wheat-grain. It will not do to risk the one only 
 wheat-grain in the earth, where it might grow to be many, or 
 cease to be even one. But better one than none. Sol will 
 hoard my one treasure. I will bury my one tiilent, and thus 
 keep it in its entirety, its aloneness." 
 
 Now, our Lord is one, the only-begotten of the Father, 
 dwelling alone and apart in the bosom of eternal Love. 
 
 And the one son, you know, the one child, the only-begotten, 
 is such a home-treasure. The one child is so loved, so made of, 
 so cared for, so petted, too nmch so ft>r his own good or any- 
 Ixxiy's good. He must not be exposed in any way, he must 
 run no risks. If anything should happen that one precious life, 
 the hope of the family would be gone. Their coal would be 
 (juenched. And so, as far as possible, he must be kept alone 
 .•ind apart. And yet, over-much care is about as bad as too 
 little. The risk is as great. Something must l)e ventured, if 
 : is to be won. Sa 
 
 anything is to 
 
 Lose it, and you save it. 
 
 your 
 
 you 
 
 And God the Father's- one Son is such a treasure to him, 
 
THE PARAHLK OK TIIK WIIEAT-CIRAIN'. 
 
 63 
 
 -t 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 such a joy. Will lu' tlien-fon* kt'op him yoiulor in his hosoiii, 
 kvvp him in the alonciu'Ks and ajKiitru'SS h»' rnjoys then'? 
 
 O mother, you want to keep your one son in your own arms; 
 you want to hold him there throuj^h all the hard testin<^ years 
 of his inexj)erience. You think ha is safer there than anywhere 
 else. 
 
 And what if the Father in Hoiiven keep to himself hia 
 one Son ; and what if the One Son should he only too hajtpy to 
 abide there, enjoyi?\g the rapture of his l^'ather's love, and 
 dwelling apart in the awful loneliness of (lodhead? Ah! the 
 loss, the loss of being alone, the loss of being alone with God 
 even ! It is not Cliiist-like, Godlike ; and so the Son of God 
 cannot abide alone in the glory eternal. The one wheat-grain 
 must not be boxed up, for then it must ever ab";d(^ alone ; an<l 
 to be ever alone is to lose itself, to lose the grandeur of its 
 blessing-bringing being ! No. Let the one wheat-grain \)e 
 sown ; let it fall into the rich loam prepared for it. And let 
 the one Son of God, the Only-Begotten of the Father, come 
 forth from the aVjiding alone in his glory, to share his life with 
 others, to give it for others. And God gave his one Son. He 
 kept him not to himself. " For God so loved the world, that 
 lie gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him 
 should not perish, but have everlasting life." 
 
 III. THE WHEAT-GRAIN .SOWN. 
 
 *' Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall 
 into the ground and die, it abideth alone." 
 
 There is something touching, almost painful, reckless, in the 
 sowing process. You see the farmer yonder, or you will see 
 him in a few days, going to the bin where the precious wheat 
 is stored. How fondly, tenderly, proudly, he takes the rich 
 amber grains into his hands, and looks at them. He thinks 
 there is no wheat like his, and there is a soreness at his heart 
 when he comes to part with it. He wishes he could keep it 
 where it is. But he knows the proverb : — nothing venture, 
 nothing win; so, with a tear stealing down his cheek,, he fills 
 
64 
 
 TIIK PARABLE OF THE WIIEATC.RAIN. 
 
 liv 
 
 1 
 
 :ii 
 
 
 
 If, 
 
 .1 
 
 
 i 1 
 I i 
 
 1 
 
 . ' 
 
 liis bosom with it, and stronf^ in faitli, he strides across his 
 iici'cs, n^ckhissly .soNvin;jf his wheat. 
 
 You tan fancy how hard it must have been, away back at 
 tlic ii(':,'iiinin<;, for th«i man who had the one first grain of wheat, 
 to sow it. lit" w(Mid«!rs whcither he will box it up, and thus 
 kf'cp it, or take it out to his little field and risk it there. Birds 
 may i>rey upon it. Spiing frosts may blight it. Inclement 
 skies m.'iy ruin its promise. Ten-thousand evils may happen to 
 it. Still, the hungi'y ages nnist have bread, and their bread is 
 stor<'d up in that one wheat-grain, and, to get it out, it must 
 be sown. So, wcoping, he goes forth bearing his precious seed, 
 and with a tender solicitude he drops it carefully into the 
 receptive earth. 
 
 Now, the sower who went forth to sow is our Lord, and the 
 one wheat-grain is himself, his precious word, his precious 
 blood. I set; him weeping as he sows. The rains drench him- 
 The cold chills him. The sun scorches him. The weary way 
 blisters his feet. The hungry wilderness preys upon him. The 
 devil tempts him. Tlie cruelty of men hurts him. The 
 unfaithfulness of friends betrays him. The forsaking of his 
 Father gives the last fatal blow to his worn-out young life. Ah ! 
 the sowing the Christ had to do, that the ages might have the 
 bread of life, was sore sowing. 
 
 And were there no risks in this sowing as well as in other 
 sowitigs ? You do not like the word perhaps. Y''ou say there 
 was never any doubt as to whether the Christ would succeed. 
 He never had any doubt himself as to his ultimate success. 
 And yet, so human was the Christ, so conditioned by the 
 ■world's circumstances, so influenced and affected and environed 
 was he by all that influences and affects and environs dust and 
 ashes, that it is not so out of place perhaps to talk here of risks 
 with regard even to him. I ask, were there no anxieties around 
 his cradle such as there are around other cradles ? Were there 
 no fears lest Nazareth's wicked streets might somehow corrupt 
 his boyhood and youth, and blight the promise of early years 1 
 
THE rARAHLE OF THE WIIEAT-GRAIN. 
 
 6S 
 
 Ah ! doubtless tlicro wore, and more prrlmps tlian tlioro wa.s 
 iMiy rwvi\ for. I think 1 s('(» tljo angels Imvcring anxiously over 
 that weird struy;!,dt' in tlio wilderness, and doubtful as to what 
 the issue is to be. Is it not, I ask, with blanched cheek, and 
 liated breath, he himself enters the lists with the grim f oo ? 
 What mean those tears of his, the unutterable groanings of his 
 human soul, his prayer's in the garden, his wailing on the cross, 
 it there were no i-isks, or something of the kin<l, in his sowing? 
 And even yet tliei'e aie risks of a kind. We know not often- 
 times how it is to lie with the Lord and his cause, in so far as 
 concerns us, and we are not without our anxieties as t<j the 
 issue of tlm struggle that is still bi'ing fought out in the world. 
 ( )n our knees we gather close around the sown wheat-grain, and, 
 with our tears and prayers, we watch and water it, and wonder 
 whether it will die or grow. 
 
 Oh this sowing of the wheat-grain ! We have something to 
 do with it, and it is not without toil and trouble, teiirs and 
 risks, it is still done. With much weeping the preacher still 
 bears forth the precious seed in his bosom, and sows it on rock- 
 land and wayside, ami<l choking weeds and sj)iny thorn-, and 
 his faith and faithfulness, his risk and recklessness, arc nou 
 always for miich of seeming good. 
 
 And you too, my heai-er, in your home yonder, sow the 
 precious wheat-grain; and around it, on your knees, you wait, 
 and watch, and weep, and work, night and day, for its growing. 
 And you sometimes fear it is not going to grow at all. Then 
 there are other sowers of the precious wheat-grain, earnest 
 christian workers, men and women of faith and prayei', who go 
 far forth to sow the world's waste-lands, who find their way to 
 the haunts of the wretched and wicked, and there they risk it. 
 There nmst ))e more or less of risk, if any good is to be done) 
 if the world is to be won for Christ. The grain of wheat must 
 be sown. 
 
 Sowing the seed with an aching heart, 
 Sowing the seed while the tear-drops start, 
 
66 
 
 THE PARABLE OF THE WHEAT GRAIN. 
 
 aft I, 
 
 m 
 
 Sowinif in liope till tlio roapcrs como 
 CJladlv to tiathcj" the liarvcst-lioinc. 
 Oil what shall the harvest Ix'? 
 
 IV. Tin: DYIXCi OF THK WHICAT-fiHAlV. 
 
 "Except a corn of wheat fall int(? the gi'uuud and die." 
 
 The moisture and warmth of the soil cause the wheat-grain 
 sown in it to grow, and growth means decay. The life-germ 
 fli'rives its nourishment fi-om the body of the wheat-grain, unti' 
 it has .x^nt forth a little rootlet into the surrounding soil, and 
 by that'tinui the grain itself is gone. You look for it, but it 
 cannot be found. The life and growth from itself have used 
 up all its substa»nce. It is dead, gone. And only 1 y thi.- 
 self-dying, strange to say, can it live. The wheat-grain must 
 itself die, perisli utterly, if there is to be from it another 
 better life. 
 
 And that is true of all life and growth. It is out of the 
 graves of last year's beauty, out of the death of last year's life, 
 that this year's is to come. Last year's Howers had to fade if 
 we are to have flowers this year ; and, so unselfish, so self- 
 saorifieing, were last year's flowers, that they bowed their justly 
 admired heads, and hid themselves in the earth, died, that other 
 flowers might rise in their stead this season, and be admired in 
 theii- turn. 
 
 ' There is something sad in all this. Here is a beautiful 
 flower. It looks as if it came out of the garden of (Jod, so 
 lovely is it. You sax', I must keep this beautiful flower. Why 
 may it not bloom on and on through the years? But you cannot 
 keep your tlowtM*. In a few days it fades, and i."-> gone. It falls 
 into the ground and dies, and there is a tear of disappointment 
 .standing in your eye, and I hear you say bitterly ; " What is 
 the use of flower-raising ; ju-;t as soon as I get them to bloom 
 well, they begin to fa e and die." 
 
 In your lionu' bh oms out a beautiful flower, an rn^y flower 
 perhips. How ,-weet tha*^ flower to you I With what care 
 and tenderness y u have giown it to the perfection it has 
 
 '[ 
 
 tfi 
 
 
THE I'ARALLE OF THE WHEAT-GRAIN'. 
 
 ^7 
 
 " 
 
 come. Its beauty and fragrance gladden all your home and 
 lieart, and you say in your way "I will keep this lovt^ly thiwer-, 
 and let it bloom to please me." But your neigldxjr over thr 
 way has seen, and admired, and loved your one tlower. And 
 there comes a day when he asks you to give lidm your one tlowei* 
 to bloo-^ for him. It is hard. You turn away your head to 
 hide a tear. You knew it would come, nmst coiue, to this, in 
 some shape or other, and there is an unutterablentvss of grict' 
 in your heart. 8till, you bring youi-stslf to feel that it is the 
 way of flowers to be plucked, and with a noble uus^;llishn(^ss 
 you give up your one tiower, and there is in your home and 
 heart as if a kind of grave had been opened, as if a cortin had 
 been brought in, and as if there had been said this: "Earth 
 to earth, ashes t(j ashes, dust to dust ! " 
 
 God had one Son. And what a Son, so good, so glorious! 
 In his bosom dwelt that one Son, and the joy, the rapture, o^ 
 His dwelling there, were such as no human tongue can tell. 
 But there came a time when He must be given up. And He 
 was given up, and the Eternal Father's bosom was empty ; no 
 8on there. Far down amid clouds and darkness, sin and sor- 
 row and woe, the Son of Ood lived and toiled, wept and w(»rk- 
 ed, suffered and sacrificed. At last an awful pall was spread 
 wide over the heavens. God's One Son was dead ; the ( )idy- 
 Begotten of the Fatlier still in the sombre silence of the t(jmh. 
 
 And Hi'i death was necessary. Just as the wheat-grain's 
 dying is necessary ; so the Christ's dying is necessary. You 
 say; "Hold there, O muiil-rers ! Stay that spiking, that pieic- 
 ing, that mocking, that scourging, that crucifying of yours ! 
 Let the Christ live ! Let Him weep, and work, and love, and 
 live ! " 
 
 But God said : "Let the spiking and piercing go on ; let the 
 Christ die ! There is no other way for the world's good ami 
 men's salvation to be wrought out. Let the cruel crucifixion 
 go on." 
 
 And He did die. See ! they bear Him pale, helpless, still, 
 
 f,.,i 
 
 3 
 
68 
 
 THE TAKAULE OF THE \VHLAT-(JR MN. 
 
 (U»a(l, to Jlis burial ; .-'ikI, wrapped in the snowy linen i,n'avo- 
 clothes that loving hamls have provided, with tears in theif 
 eyes, and sore sad hearts, they lay Him gently to sleep tlu; 
 sleep of death, in the sombre silent tomb, till the nurning oi 
 the resurrection. 
 
 V, THE MUCH FRUIT 
 
 "R'lt if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." 
 
 The one wheat-grain die-;. It ceases to be. You look for it-, 
 l)ut you cannot find it. You find perhaps an empty hu-^lc, a 
 east-oir skin. JUit in its stead, and out of its grave, out of its 
 dtvith, comes forth the nmch fruit — the thirty-fold, iho sixtv 
 fold, the hundred-fold. And is it not better to have the thirty- 
 fold, the sixty wheat-grains, the hundi'ed, than but the one '/ 
 I s it not bettor to-day to have the world's vast wheat-fi'dds, 
 the millions fed, than the one wheat-grain all alone away back 
 in the remote past? Yes ; let the one wheat-grain die, since it 
 is to ha\e so grand a resurrection. 
 
 And the Christ dies on the cross, and goes down into the 
 grave, that there may be the much fruit of the gospel, the mil- 
 lions saved, the woi'ld redeemed. How dreadful, liow shud- 
 dering, the dying ; but how grand, how blessed the rising ! 
 The wheat-grain is not lost. The Christ lives, lives evermore, 
 lives in milliwis of resurrected lives. 
 
 The grandeur of Christ's resurrection is not, that on the 
 third morning after His death He burst asunder the bands of 
 death, unseahul the toml), and camt; forth in p(>\vei- to live and 
 love. It is this rather, that in Him, and with Him, and be- 
 oiuseof Him, thej-e arises so much — the ages, the nations, a 
 «lea«l wo!-M, an inimmera))le nuiltitude of living earnest souls. 
 Everywhere we see a glad resurrection going on, a putting ofl' 
 of the death of sin, and a putting on of a new glad lift\ The 
 r(>ason is, the dead Christ lives, lives in all this wi le woi-ld- 
 life, this vast church-work and spiritual energy, this waking 
 up to pitwer that throbs and pulsates in all lands. 
 
 Thus, out from yonder sepulchre, wliere lay the dead Son 
 
 It 
 
THE PARABLE OF THE WIIEAT-GRAIX. 
 
 69 
 
 of God, burst forth tlie glad harvests of the world's salvation, 
 and the glory to come, and how uiuoh the fruit. 
 
 Now, in conclusion, wa may tind hoi'c, I think, two or three 
 practical thoughts. And one is, let us not spare ourselves. 
 God did not spare His one Son. Our Lord did not spare His 
 one life. His blood, Himself. AVe think we have the wheat. 
 No such wheat as oui*s. We have more of truth than others 
 have. We have ability, genius, skill, talent. Yes, we have 
 the wheat that no one else has, and we are proud of it, and we 
 want to keep it. We put it in a box of curious design, and 
 only now and again we bring it out, not to sow it, but to let 
 it be seen , to make a display of it, to let the gem of our 
 genius sparkle, to let our talent dazzle the eyes of the wonder- 
 ing gaping world. 
 
 Ah ! wheat is not to be kept ; it is to be sown. Gold is 
 not to be hoanltHl. Talents are not to be buried; they are to 
 be used. If y(ju have ability in any way, let the world have 
 the benefit of it. If you have something to say that others 
 necid to heai-, it is laid upon you to say it. If you have an 
 eloijuence in your soul, voice it in some way. If you have 
 thoughts that are throbl)ing within you for utt<'rance, tell them 
 ()!■ write them, and let the woild ha\e the benetit of them. 
 You cannot do a worse thing for yourself, nor for the w(jrld, 
 than to bury your tahmt, hoard your gold, cover up your light, 
 box up your wheat, spare yourself, save your life. You are 
 standing in youi- own light, (juenching the fire of your own 
 genius, losing all the gramleur of life. Our Lord wisely says : 
 (Save your life, and you lose it ; lose it, for J lis sake, and you 
 .save it. And you can understand that : Kee}) your wheat, and 
 after a while you lose it; l)ut s((w it, and then you tind it. 
 And so with genius, ability, worth, truth. If you want youi' 
 gold to shine, keep it in circulation. And if you want to 
 shiiui yourself, do all the good you can, spare not yourself, 
 lletter to wear out tlian I'ust out. 
 
 "It abidetli alone." If the first wheat-grain had been con- 
 
 Ifv* 
 
70 
 
 THE PARABLE OF THE WHEAT-GRAIX. 
 
 tent to abide alono, what a loss to tlie world, what a curse t > > 
 to itself! If the Christ had been satisfied to abide ahjne ; if 
 lie had kept himself to himself, and not tried to do any j^ood, 
 to save any one, to help any one, what a loss to the world, and 
 what a loss to himself I See him yonder with adoi'ing myriads 
 of redeemed souls around him ! Oh the joy ! 
 
 And are you, my hearer, content to aV)ide alone, to live for 
 youi- poor little wretched self ? You are not trying in any way 
 to do good, to sweeten i»ny bitterness, to help any one to a 
 b(>tter life, to befriend any cause. No one ever takes you by 
 the hand J and says : " Th.-uik you for that kindnes** ; you cannot 
 understand how it helped me in my need. Thank you for 
 those earnest words ; they saved my soul ; I owe all I am oi- 
 ever will be to them. When T stand at God s right hand, I 
 will tell the Lord that next to himself, you are my saviour." 
 
 Think of going alone to Heaven. People will ask who he is 
 as they see you on the streets of the new Jerusalem, forpeop'e 
 are known therefor the goo<^l they di«l, and no one will knov/ 
 you. Yuu relieved no want. You cheered no sad life, no 
 comfortless home. You visited no sick one. Your money 
 found its way to no charity, no mission sclienie. You did no 
 good, and you are alone. Oh let not such a curse be mine ; 
 let it not be youre ! Let us '^•ow ourselves. Thus may the 
 story of the wheat-grain teach us, insfiire us: "Verily, verih', 
 I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground 
 and die, it abid»'*!i alonCj but if it diej it bringeth forth much 
 fruit." 
 
 i 
 
VIL 
 
 (Shridimae ^Ttornin^j "(i^hoiuitUtd, 
 
 " What think ye of the Christ ? Whose son is he ? "—Mat. 
 XXII. 42. 
 
 THESE questions our Loi-d put to tlie Pharisees at some 
 jjjathering of theirs. They were the questions of the day, live 
 questions, questions tliat, in some shape and in some connec- 
 tion, Avere everywhere coming up, and being discussed and 
 Nvrangled over, iind by all sorts of people, and of course ^videly 
 dillerent conclusions were being reached with regard to them. 
 And these same (questions come up in every age, and nmst 
 come up. They are being asked over again this season as all 
 eyes turn towards liethlehem, and as the old story of the 
 angels and the shepherds and the wondrous birth in the cattle- 
 iihll yonder is told and re told, and we have to think them out 
 for ourselves, and tind an answer to them for ourselves, the 
 san»e as if they had never been asked and answered before. 
 Here and now, as yonder and then, the Lord asks, an.l He 
 %vaitsfor and wants an answer, our answer: "What think ye 
 of the Christ 1 Whose son is He 1 " 
 
 Now, let us see what is implied in the first question welm-e 
 here : "What think ye of the Christ?" 
 
 Were I to ask you, my hearer, what you think of Stanley, 
 
 i 
 
73 
 
 CHRISTMAS MOI«L\i\(; lIIOUGIir.S. 
 
 1 
 
 tho eminent African exiiloror, .about whom tlu' woilil Ii.is hi 
 much to sfiy to-day, you iiii^'ht say t(j me : "XN'rll, thf tiiitli v-, 
 1 have not troubletl myst'lf about him. I have \wrn so busy 
 discovering liow to make ends meet, how to make six dollars a 
 week feed and clothe six of a family, that \ have mjt ki-jtl my- 
 self very well jxwteil in rej^ard to mattci-s ti-anspiriiiii on tl o 
 other side of the glol)0. Stanley? Stanley? the nanvc sounds 
 familiar-. IJut who is he, pray?'"' 
 
 Oi', 1 might ask you what you think of I)i-(»wning the j)iH't 
 who died the other day and your (jucstions and answci's .-dxiut 
 him might make it clear that you had never even heard of 
 such a man, nor of his no less brilliant wife. 
 
 And who would blame' you for not knowing about such peo- 
 ple? After all one camiot km)w everything. Even tlu' most 
 learned of men, the walking Encyclopanlias, who astonish you 
 with vhe vastness of their information, and the thoi-oughness 
 of their knowledge, liave to confess, that there are some things 
 they do not know, some important matters of knowledge they 
 have not even heaixl of, some questions and subjects thoy havo 
 not studied up and so have no opinions to advance with re- 
 garfd to *''3m. Ignorance of some things, yea of many things, 
 is rather .a virtue. It is bliss. At all events, it is no sin. 
 But ignorance of some other things, the things we ought to 
 know, the people with w4iom we have to do, those who love us 
 and are devoted to our intorests, the friends to whom we owe 
 jvl) we are and over shall be, is cul})able ignorance, lyase in- 
 gratitude, a want of kuo^v ledge that is fatal. 
 
 Xow, my hearer, here is One you ought to know. Here is 
 One whom not to know is culpable ignorance, base ingratituile, 
 a want of knowledge that is fatftl. Here is One whom not to 
 know, is not to kiiow your best friend. Not to know Jesus is 
 not to know, not only the One whose name is above every 
 name, who has done more for the workl than all the scholars 
 and sages and statesmen together, but in whom your interests 
 and surcce.':^ aud happinetiii are bound up. Here is One who 
 
 11 
 
CHRISTMAS MOkMXG THOUGHTS. 
 
 73 
 
 4 
 
 
 has oxploHMl the dai'k oontinont of yourf.-illon huin.uiity, Oiu> 
 who ha.staui,'ht thi- world tlif sorii,' of the angt'ls, ( )ii(' who has 
 given His life to save yours, ( Mu- wlio is, and oui^dit to !)•', Ix-- 
 cause of the interest He has taken in you, .-lud the h>ve He has 
 foi' you, more to you tlian you are to yourscilf, the lUessrd 
 Chii>t of God, and He asks hcM-e what you think of Him. 
 Ho is not putting to you a hai'd (jutrstion. lie is not taking 
 advantage of your ignorance, nor exposing it. He is seeking 
 rather to awaken your interest in Him, to draw you out and 
 help you. Ht! takes for granted that you kncjw Him, that ycju 
 have hwird and road about Him, and that you have youi' mind 
 ma(h' u[) with, regard to Him, that you have, and ought to 
 ha\e. vour own tlioughts and i(U\'is of Him. Souit^thing like 
 that is implied in the question we have here : "What think 
 ye of the Christ ? " 
 
 Again : What you think of the Christ, the idea and opinion 
 you have of Him, depends to some extent, very much indeed, 
 upon the knowledge you have of Him. 
 
 If you do not know Him at all, if you hu-ve never read tlu^ 
 .story of His love and life as we have it told here; then, of 
 course, it is no use to ask you what you think of Him, for He 
 is to you as though He were not. 
 
 And there are those who have not as yet heard of Him, in 
 whose hands there is as yet no Ijible, to whose ears there has 
 as yet come no note of the angel's song, no gospel nmsic, no 
 thrilling story of redeeming love; and they do not know Him, 
 and so have no thoughts of him. His love over-arclies them ; 
 altl around them is his care; speaking to them with ten-tlious- 
 and ttjngues, if they had oars to hwir and hearts to undei-stand, 
 is liis voice ; and all their good is out of his full hand ; and yet 
 they do not know him. They have never so nmch as heard 
 that there is any Christ. Thus it is with millions of benight- 
 ed heathen, and we are to blame for their sad ignorance. They 
 jlo not know, but we know, and it is ours who know to tell to 
 those who do not know ; and if we do not, we will be held re- 
 
 i 
 
I 
 
 I' 
 
 74 
 
 (.IKJSI'.MAS :.I<JUMM. rilULlililS. 
 
 spo!;s'.l)l»' for their i;,':inr;uiff\ ;ui(l the cousecjuoncos of their 
 
 I);it iiulrcd tli('r<' arc people li\in<iiii this christian country, 
 liroui^ht up in this i,'ospel-fa\oie.l laiitl, who arc us ii^norant of 
 Christ as the heathen I have hearil of a poor woman in No\a 
 Neotia, and woukmi are not usually as igncji'ant of Christ as 
 men ai'e, who said, when sj)oken to hy a lionie niis.siuuary 
 about Jesus, in woids t^) this ed'ect : "Jesus Christ? Je.'sus 
 Clirist? J have heard the naiue somev hci-'^. And you say lu; 
 is (lead Wi^y, how "vy suv W" Ji* He die of?" The 
 missionaiy !;oon found that he i^iA t;> ■ 'ijin away back at the 
 very be;^inninj^ of the gos])ei-sto; v.iil -hut ]ioor woman, to 
 teaih lier the A B C of salvation, if Jie wa,^ r)do anything for 
 lier. 
 
 And New Brunswick is not far, if any at all, behind such 
 simplicity and ignoi-ance. A minister of our own Presbyter-y 
 had an ex{)ei'ience like this : He was preaching the gos})el to 
 a little gatlnM'ing of people out in the backwoods, and when 
 Jie had concluded the service, he was taken aback, and felt as 
 if he had iieen sudden'y transported to the dark oontinent, 
 when oik; of the audience got up, and deliberately moved a 
 vote of thanks to the speaker for his entertaining address. 
 
 Now, ask such people what they think of Chi-ist, and they 
 do not know what to think, for they do not know anything 
 about him. I suppose, if I were to take the audience that 
 statedly gather here, and one by onejDut this question to them, 
 their answers, in more cases than we have any idea of, would 
 reveal a grossness of ignorance, a want of thought and a want 
 of knowledge, worthy of jumple living in the heart of Africa, 
 and this audience, for intelligence, will compare favorably with 
 any in the land. Oh if we do not know Christ, how can we 
 liave the thought and idea and opinion of him we ought to 
 liave, and that is alike worthy of him and of us ! 
 
 Again : The more you know of Christ, the more you will 
 tliink of him, the better opinion you will have of him. If men 
 
 ( 
 
 i 
 
( 
 
 CHRISTMAS MORNING TIIGl'GIITS. 
 
 7$ 
 
 Iiivo a poor opinion (»f Dirist, if tlipy <l«»sJtl^<o an;l dishonor 
 liijii, if tlu'v furs*' and rrncify hint, it is in part, at least, h(' 
 cause tlM'V do not know liiin. Tliat is tlif way he himself ac- 
 eounts foe their cru.d conduct towards him, as is clear from his 
 pray(»r on rh!» cross for his murderers: ''Father, forj,dve th«ni, 
 for they know not what they do." 
 
 The more you know of some men the more you think of then), 
 and the more you kn^.w of some other men the less you think 
 <»f then 'laere are men you have come to know fiom what 
 you have heard and read about them. Their praises have l)een 
 sung in your ears Ijy their fri<'nds and admirers. Their vir- 
 tues nave been extolled, their brilliance and power portrayed 
 in th ! most gloriijus coloriii;/, their gifts and graces s" *- before 
 you in word i)ictures so striking and graphic and . vi> hat 
 the} seemed to live and move Viefore you, and yo fel -i if 
 you knew them so well and loved ami adminrd t) n : ^ much. 
 I'ut som(>times it has fallen to your lot to see those ert and 
 good men with your own <'yes, to heai* their e' 'ueMcc with 
 viiur own ears. an<l t«» bask in the sunshine of th, ir brilliani .\ 
 tor a season, and you have been almost s(»rry, for you thought 
 more of them, you had a better opinion of theii* ability an<l 
 worth, before you s;iw and heard them, than ixilv.v yuu saw 
 and hcaid them. 
 
 And tlu'ii, on the other hand, has it not sometime.'? happen- 
 ed, that you have conceited a sort of prejudice against a pub- 
 lic man, a dislike that was hard to get o\-er, bceau.se of what 
 you have heard others sav al)out him? You have Ijeen accus- 
 tomed to hear him describi-d as utterly dtivoid of principle, a.H 
 wjinting «)f every virtue. You have grown up with the idea 
 that \iv was al)out as bad as he could l)e, as ugly in looks as ho 
 was in life, an infamous character. iJut perhaps when you 
 came to know him for y«)urself, to be thrown into his .society, 
 to have to do with him as a puV)lic man, you found you had to 
 modify your opinion of him; you found hun a gentleman; you 
 found him upright, straight-forward; in fact, a very superior 
 sort of man. 
 
 
 U 
 
r 
 
 I ! 
 11 
 
 75 
 
 fTTT'i-TMv^ MDKMNc; Tiioniiir.-;. 
 
 Tims Nviiat otlicrs sav is not always fouml to IjtMM'rfcctlv re- 
 Jial»l«'. Tlicv may Ix' prciudictMl in favf^r or a^^ainst. Tlioy 
 may ovcr-statr or undcr-stato. They may not know as nuicli 
 as tlicy think they knt*w, or they may have somt; intfrt'st in 
 colorint,' their st;i(rments. (^r, perhaps it may he your knowl- 
 e(l;;e that is at fault. You may he ju(li,'ini,' hastily. When 
 you c(tme to know more, you may thvl that their opinion and 
 youi'.sare, in the main, at one. 
 
 L«'t us not for^'et that no two can see alike. We set- thi*oui;li 
 ('Vf.«, thit are ;,'ieen or ;,'rey, hlue or I'fd. and thos«' we sco aiv 
 to us, not as they ai'e, hut as wesw^tln'm. You .say, I tiattei-, 
 falsity, in the desci-iptions T give; and T think, you minimize, 
 disH<,'ure, in your descriptions; l)ut the truth is we canimt srt' 
 with (*ne another's eyes, and so the dilFerence of opinion is as 
 much in tlm seeini; as in tlie ohject seen. 
 
 And then wo see and judge very nmch as we happen to feel. 
 You say to me, as you mecit me down the street, and in y«)Ui' 
 face is enough of sunshine for two faces : "A lovely morning I 
 r)h a gloriftus day ! " But to me perhaps who feel nithei- Mon- 
 dayish after j)reaching two |H>or sermons the day iM'fore, the 
 day is wretched, chilly ; the sky leaden ; no sunshine, no bright- 
 ness. Ah! it is very much as we see things, and feel for the 
 time alxmt things and people, that they are to us as they are. 
 
 N»tw, in nmch the same way, we know and think of tin- 
 Christ. The knowledge ami impression we have of him we 
 have deiived from others. Some of us know him and think of 
 him in connection with a dtsar christian mothi-r. We knc^w 
 and think of him as our mother's Friend and Saviour, and .so 
 we have the highest reverence for him. She dwelt at his foot- 
 stool, drank in of his Sj)irit, fed her soul upon his Word, and 
 seemed to live in daily comnmnion with the unseen Jesus, and 
 we felt how good and pure and lovely and wonderful he nmst 
 be, since she was so good and pure and lovely. As far hack 
 as our memory can carry us, she talked to us about Jesus, 
 told us the sweet story of his birth, till we seemed to see him 
 
 
 i 
 
 ili 
 
 ^ 
 
CHRISTMAS MORMNCi I ll< -L (.Itrs. 
 
 77 
 
 
 i 
 
 Iviiig on his stniw prillct, >uul till \v(^ smiivd Hi heir the aiju'tvs 
 sin;;, nn<l we loved him. She told us, with tears in her eyes, 
 and with ticrnulous tones of voice, the sad stoi'v of the dr'tii.il 
 and the hetraval, the cross and th(» tomb; how he lived and 
 died to save us from our sins, and how n'uch he saeritieed and 
 suffered for us. And then shetauiih' us to kneel down l)y \\>v 
 kiie*', and .say after her a little jd'ayer to him, and to i-ejicat 
 Koine of his own jtrecious .savings, the sweet words of promise 
 and invitation and love that fell from his sacred lips. And so 
 \\i' «;rew up, and to us theie i.s nf>ne like Jesus, and as throui^li 
 the years we come to know him for ourselves, know him as we 
 find him revealed to us in his Word, know him as we learn of 
 him in f)ur own spiritual exj)erience, we find that ou»- dcai- 
 sainted mf)thei' was not ndstaken nbout him, l»ut that rather 
 the half was not t<)ld us of the j^lory of his excellences, tlm 
 loveliness of his life, and tlu* might of his name. 
 
 Witli others, however, it has been so different. The first 
 words they can remember were words spoken in deiision of 
 Christ, curses, blasphemies. They knew of him ojdy from hear- 
 in*^ their parents and others curse him, sweai- by his name, 
 scoff at ins servants, sneer at his church and people. He was 
 the song of the drunkard, the butt of the vile-tongued scofFer, 
 the taunt of the loose living libertine. Do you wonder, then, 
 that young people grown up in an atmosphere of blasphemy, 
 taught to regard Christ as a wicked imposter, and His people 
 Ks fanatics and hvpocrites, and his Word even as a book not 
 fit to be put int^) the hands of youth because of the innnor- 
 ality with which it is saturated from (lenesis to Kevelatioii; 
 — do you wonder, I ask, that such people iiave not much of an 
 o])inion of Christ ? 
 
 I have listened with shuddering at the free way some young 
 people have spoken to me of the liibleand its inspired writers. 
 They spoke of it as a book that had seen its best days, as away 
 behind the times, as out of harmony with the spirit of the age, 
 as condoning crime, as countenancing immorality, and, upon 
 
 I. 
 
 
 ?! I 
 
tii'l 
 
 
 7V CIIP.ISTMAS MURNINt; THOLCHITS. 
 
 the wholr, iiH a very human and doubtful sort of l)Ook. And 
 the Christ of the gospi.'Js to them was an impossibh^ sort of 
 st(»ry hero, a man tliat never was and never could be, that 
 never said what it is said lie saiil, that never did what he is 
 jsaid to have done. 
 
 And so they go on. But it is because of a stupid prejudice, 
 oi' what is even worse, a wicked ignorance, that they speak as 
 they do. They think they know, but they do not know. T1h«v 
 think they have read the Bii>le, but they have only skiinined 
 over its mystery-pages, its truth-filled leaves. They think 
 they know Christ, but they do not know Him, and it is be- 
 cause they do not know Him, that they have such a low and 
 erntneous opinion about Him. 
 
 They look at Christ through eyes of distorted vision. They 
 think Him bad, because they see Him badly. He is to them, 
 not as He is, but as they see Him, and they have grown to see 
 Him as they .see Hini, and every day they 'see Him worse and 
 worse. Jiut the trouble is in tliem, in their seeing, in t heir- 
 training, in their knowledge of Him, in their bad heart, not in 
 Him. If they could see Him as He is, if the scales would 
 fall from their eyes as from Saul's, they would hav<^ a veiy 
 different opinion respecting Him from the one they have. 
 
 And let us not forget, my hearer, that we cannot as yet see 
 the Christ as He is. We see through a glass darkly. We 
 know only in part. We look at Him as we have been trained 
 to look at Him. It has been our misfortune and loss, that 
 those of His people we have known and conie in contact with, 
 were people of no character, hypocrites, worldlings under the 
 guise of christians, loud professors but sadly deficient of princi- 
 ple, and it was natural for us to judge of Christ by His people. 
 We had no other way of judging of Him. 
 
 And then we look at Him through the more 01 less colored 
 eye-glasses of our church, our creed, our syst^^m of doctrine. 
 With us Christ was a Presbyterian, and all His followers 
 Presbyterians, except Judas. With others He was a Baptist ; 
 
ri::'.:sT:.iAS morninx; thoughts. 
 
 79 
 
 with othprs, a Methodisjt, ami so on. And no Christ is a littU) 
 different to uh from what H«' is to others. liut the dinert^ico 
 is in our soeinj^, not in Him. 
 
 W'e thus think of Him, my hearer, as we see and know 
 Hiiu. And we do not as yet see Him fac»« to face in the ilear 
 light of Heaven. We do not as yet know Hitn as He knowM 
 us. We know hut in |»;u't. We e.'innot now thcrc'fore think 
 of Him as He is wortliy to Im* thoui^ht of, and as we will come 
 to think of Him when we come to kimw Him hetter. 
 
 Again : The opportuniti -s we have of knowing th«^ Christ, 
 and so of forming a sound opinion of Him. And we are in- 
 deed favorably circumstan -ed in this respect. Wa ar»' in n 
 position that is specially giMul to say what we think of Him, to 
 give a good and intelligent answer to the (juestions asked here. 
 
 You think perhaps, my hearer, that if you had lived some 
 two thousand years ago, lived when He was born, lived when 
 He lived, lived when He did His work, you would have been 
 in a nmch better position than you are in now to take up theso 
 questions, and discuss them, ami deci<le about them ; scittle for 
 yourself the problems that come up in connection with hisi 
 birth and life and death, his character and work and worth. 
 But that is a mistake. A mountain is not seen to best ad- 
 vantage at its foot, under its overhanging and towering cliffs. 
 You must go away off, if you would see and take in its mas- 
 sive cloud-piercing grandeur. And so it is with great men as 
 with great mountains. Their cotemporaries did not appreciate 
 such men as Abraham and Moses, the grandeur of their 
 character, the sublimity of their lives, and the importance of 
 their work. And so too, with the Christ. W(! see him now as 
 those who lived with him could not see him. They saw him- 
 self, looked ii ohis eyes, heard his words as they fell from his 
 lips, and came into contact with his personality. And there 
 was something iii that, but not as much perhaps .as we think. 
 There was nothing so very striking about him as men saw him 
 day by day on tho street. But what we lose in that, is tnore 
 
 - 
 
 
 uUl 
 
8o 
 
 CHRISTMAS MORXIXG TIIOUdlTS. 
 
 l! 
 
 
 than made up to us in the advantage we enjoy of liaving a 
 wi(i(U' view of the woi-king out of his life and <loctrine.s. 
 
 It is well to find out, if we can, what his coteniporai'ies sai<l 
 of the Christ, wjiat his friends thought of him, what his 
 enemies thought of hiin. And we are not in the dai-k here. 
 AVe have authentic records about him that claim to have been 
 written by Ids friends and coternporaines, by men who heard 
 with their own ears what he said, and saw with their own eyes 
 what he did. We have four lives of the Cluist, the four 
 gospels. "NVe have twenty-three other books that more or less 
 jofcr to his life "nd work. These books were written by nine 
 <lirt"erent authors, and in the main they agi'ee. They exhibit 
 I>oeuliarities of style ; th(;y go into details ; they relate inci- 
 dents ; they report speeches and sermons and talks, and so on. 
 
 I know infidels will tell us they are forgeiies, that no such 
 man as the Oirist ever livetl, that he never said what he is 
 said to have siud, that he never did what he is said to have 
 (kme. But somebody must have told those wondei'ful parables, 
 preached those wonderful sermons. And the man who did so 
 must have been no ordinary man, a genius indeed. If they 
 are forgeries, we would like to know their author, so that we 
 might kiss his feet, for he must have been a man of extni- 
 ordinary brilliance. But the truth is, it is a good deal easier 
 to believe the truth, as ^lattlunv and IMark and Luke and 
 John give it to us, than the lie the infidels would make us be- 
 lieve. 
 
 And then we have the extant writings of many who lived 
 from the apostolic age till some two or three hundi-ed years 
 afterwards, and those writings are full of Chi'ist, full of ex- 
 tracts from the gospels, full of references to ti\e words and 
 works of Christ. Are all these writings for'geries? Some of 
 the.se writers lived near enough the time of Christ to know 
 some who had seen him, and learned the tiuth at his feet. 
 Ah ! those infidel writers who today would throw discredit 
 on the gospel narratives, and who would undertake to prove 
 
 
 Hi 
 
CHRISTMAS MORNING TII( .UuIITS, 
 
 Si 
 
 tlip historic Christ ;i myth, find they h.-ivc inorr on tlicir h.ui'l.s 
 th;in they can jjot thniutfh with, a hard h<^)i»t'h'ss task, and tho 
 most respectabh' of them have felt tliein>clvos coinjicllfd to 
 shift tht'ir ^ixnind. They now aihnit that Christ lived, but 
 they lalmr to prove that both he hims(df and his frien<l> were 
 mistaken as to what h«^ was. He v^•ls a j^o<»d and ciT.it man, 
 Ijut he mistook his mission, made claims that he had no ri^^dit 
 to make. In other- W(»rds, he was a fool. J»ut it is a ^'ood 
 deal easier to acce})t, that tliey are fools vlio say he is fool, 
 tjjan that he was a fool. 
 
 But then, apart from all tho.se (juestions and disputations 
 with rei^'ard to the credil)ility and autlicntieity of tin' iji^spel 
 narratives and the sacred writer.s, and the apostolic fathers 
 and their prodi<;ious tomes, we have to-day within our reach, 
 all ai'ound us everywhere, the etl'ects and results of the life tlir 
 Christ lived, the words he sj)oke, the doctiini's he tau^dit. the 
 works he did. There was the Christ of manv eenturit's ai'o : 
 but there is the Christ of today. We .sec him in tlir li\t's ot 
 his peopl(\ AV(» see him in their hopes and joys. We s.f him 
 in their devotion and earnestness. We see him in a 1 they are 
 <loing to help others, to lift up tlie fallen, to save thf world 
 We see him in the churches that are l)uilt to his honor, tiie 
 congregations that gather for his worship, the missions ijiat 
 are carried op. in his name. We see hijn in all the i;lori(Jus 
 push and progress of the age, 
 
 I do not Itelieve in Christ, and you do not believe in Chii.-t, 
 because Matthew and Mai'k and Luke and John ha\«> w rittm 
 his life. We have a knowledge of (.ui- own with ifgird to 
 him, an experience of our o\vr\, and wt- know him f<»i' oiii>fI\es, 
 and think of him for <»urselves ; and we know from our own 
 knowledge of Christ, that Matthew and .Maik and Luke and 
 John and Paul and Petei* ami James and Jude h;i\(> written 
 nothing but the truth about him. 
 
 O my hearer, believe in tlie Christ for yourself ; go to him 
 H'ith your burdens, your sins, your sorrows, youi" dillieultie.s ; — 
 
 I 
 
S ) 
 
 (■iii;i.-i.\:.\> .M()U.\i.\(. TiinLiiirrs. 
 
 .J 
 
 <j;n t"i liiiii tlius, aiiil vnii will I'hi.1 ?vi)\n tlic litlp lie liriii!:;^ V'li' 
 ill yi'iir lu'i'd, till' li.\(' he li;i.-> to you, tiic way lie ccXfa!- Iiiiii- 
 sclt' to Miiir soiil, ami the niiraclrs of urace and ii.cir\ and 
 \jit\\ T and. lo\r !ii' work-, for you tint he i.-., and not only is, 
 hut is all that yoi. ari- told he is lirrc in tlif.M' .sai'icd pa;;''.-, 
 \'ou do not wondiT that he raised tlic d.cad after what he lia- 
 «ioni' ill lai.-ii,^ uji your own d.i'ath, ami t !u' aw ful d< atli of .^ii* 
 ;iil around uljout you in .-ocicty. ^'on do not wond.a that he 
 Wallird on the waxes, \\i\- he conies loyou perhaps today acro.-.s 
 wide ^treti'lies of oeeaii wiLli his help, and you are .•sure h" 
 eoaii-. I'^xery christian has thus in his own spiritual exjieri- 
 ciice the witness, t!ie evidence and pro.ii'. of the ti'Utli he 'iiiid> 
 in the- L,'ospel. " If any man will d(t hi^ will, he slrdl know of 
 the 'loctrine.'" l*ut hisw(»rd to the test, and you w ill lind how- 
 true it is, how true its proiiiisi>s, how true loo its threats. J*ut 
 him to the te.-.t, trust him, Jira)- to hiiu, and then you will he 
 ahle io tell for youl■.-^e!f what you think of Christ. 
 
 Xow. in conelusi(Mi, we are ready for t he apjilicat ion ; we 
 are I ady to answer what wc think of (.hrist, ami wdiose So.i 
 he is. 
 
 It was to the old l^hurisees, the church foiinalists of his day, 
 he put these (|Uestions: " Wdiat think ye of Christ? Whosi' 
 Son > he .'"" And they thouudit they knew allahout it. They 
 had ill"' llilileat t he t ip of t hcii- toiu;iie, and t hey aiisw ereil s(- 
 pat ; ■• I>a\id's son." Ihit they did not kii(»w as much •i>they 
 thoi;,!it they knew, and when he jiointi'd out a dilliculty, 
 vheii he asked how Maxid's son could lie l)ot h I >a\ id's son and 
 .Lord, they were iion plu^sed, they were .shut uj>. He could 
 he Pan id's Son centuries after l>a\il was in his ;.,'ra\e; hut 
 then, liow could he. ill sUi'h a ca>e, lie his Ijord? 
 
 And w('ha\(' oui- answer pat as the Phariscos had theirs. 
 AVe lind nodilliculty here. ( )ur orthodoxy, our crocd, jtutsthe 
 riuiir answer into our li]is, and we an-^wcr riijht nil': " Tlu' 
 Chrit is lioth (ioil and man ; as C!od, he i.s l.)a\id".s Lord, as 
 jiian, I >a\ id'.s s(.)n. 
 
CHRISTMAS MOKNINC. THOUGHTS. 
 
 r»ut tlicii, my lirat'cr, .'iiiil lifif is wIhtc tin- jiindi comos in, 
 if lie is (jIckI as well ;is iii.iii, it'tliat is wliat \i)U think of him, 
 >vhv is it you (Kt imt lii'iif\c in him ? W'hv is it v<>u (h» not fall 
 fit his fe«»t and say: '* .Mv Lofl and ?mv (!odI"' and then ^o 
 and live youi- life in tlit- li^dit of that coid'cssion, in the lii,dit 
 of tliat hh'ssod truth ! ]5ut you do not. 1 l,'o to youi' lift', your 
 works, your fliaractcr and rond.uct, youi' liomc, your husim-ss, 
 your social life, youi- j)ul)li<- life, ami I lind mo Chi-ist then-. 
 {*5o far as you arc concerned, that stoiy of I'etlihhcm, so heau 
 tiful and touchiiiij; and sweet, is a fahh". ^'ou do not l)elic\c 
 it. The way you live, jrivcs the lie to wjjat you say with your 
 li[)s and think with your thoui^hts. 
 
 < >h ! it is imjiortant. my hearer, what vt»u thitik of Christ, 
 and \vhr).s(» Hon he is to you. haNid's or (Jod's; foi', as yon 
 think, you will (hi ; as you think, you will try ami li\e JUit 
 what can /te think of tlic Christ who l)las|ihemes his na)ne ? 
 A\'hat i-an /<<? tlnnk of the Chi'ist wlio ne\er l)ows the knee be- 
 fore lum ? Wliat can he think of Cliiist wlio ne\<'r confesses 
 liim l)ef.)re men, wIk) is aliscnt when \\e sit (lown to cat and 
 drink according to liis eonnnandment at liis t.al)lc .' Wliat i-an 
 //« think of (lie Clir-ist wlimlrinks with the druukmi, who li\t's 
 in sin, who breaks the Salihath, wlio uses his day for his own 
 jijcasure or |)r(»tit ; who, in a word, crucilies liini afresli .' < >h I 
 my liearer, you liad better ildnk the matter ovoi- ai^ain, and 
 ask yourself this solemn (jucstion on your knees and in tiic 
 liuht of tJic life you are JivifiLr : " What think ye of tlie Christ 1 
 Wliose Son is he ?' 
 
 Soon, periiaps so .s(jon, we may set' him on iiis thi'oiie the 
 glorious Son of Gofl, our Judj;*', and then it will be every' hin;^' 
 to us tjiat we wore rigiit aUmt (.'hrist, that we had ligliT 
 thou;,dits, and li\«'d t^^t• right life. I.,et us, then, think these 
 questions over for oursehcs, and answer them for ourselve.s. 
 T\u' Lord, in patience and pity, waits your answer, and what 
 is it to bo ?— " niuU think ye 0/ tU Christ ? Whose /b'on is He r 
 
 i 
 
 . li 
 
1 1 
 
 V[TT. 
 
 i 
 
 '•■iiti 
 
 ill 
 
 i 
 
 ^5^^^^'^* ^^^^' ^^iijt^*cc'. 
 
 "/ie/ure that Plixlip called tlifc, irhen thou -vast muhn' the. fij- 
 tree, I saw the.fi," — John I. 4S. 
 
 NATJf AXAF''r/S iiititxluction to Jesus is to me one of tlic 
 Ix'fuitiful ifu-idt'nts in the life of tlu; Lord, •,vm\ (die tli.i', 
 is till! of instruction. Evorytliinij; about it is so siin])le ;in{l 
 natui'ul, so utterly informal, nn<l there is so much of the hu- 
 m in about it, that I never tire of it. No pretence here ; wo 
 alVectation ; none of the wretched (li,i,'nity of posiiio?i on tlu? 
 one side, nor the fawning syc(»phaney of ])i-etende(l humility 
 on the other; but the <;uil<'les.sness of true heart-, .ind the 
 manliness of men who are simply themselves. 
 
 Philip of Jjcthsaida. a warm fi-iend of his, has liccii led 1o 
 follow Jesus, and like a true friend he wants his friend to 
 share with him the joy he feels and the ;L,'<X)d he i.s sure he has 
 found. »So he seeks out Nathanael, an<l tells iiini that th(» 
 Christ has at last appea»'ed, .'\nd he wants him to know it. 
 
 The comiiiir of the Chi'ist was the gi-eat j)olit ico icliifious 
 (juestion of the day. It was the talk of the street. It was 
 the thei'" .f diseussion wherever men cam(> toirether. Tli« 
 people were in suob h Ptite of excitement and expcMtancy with 
 U'gard to the Ui.titorj that they were reatly, too ready, to give 
 
UNDER Till: FIGTREE. 
 
 85 
 
 Hiomsf'lws away to any .jkI r\tM'y protnulor who e.inio ;vli)ii;4. 
 Ai::«iii ajnl again liail tlu'y Ixtu tooled, suil'tM'ini; t'-iiihly for 
 tlicii- n-cilu'ity, but stil tliey liopfd on. 'J'liis l»'il the more 
 c<»ns<M'vativ«' anl soliri- 'nindcil of the pcopli* to In* cautious, 
 
 jMM'liaji.s o\('r-c'autious, ;t- 
 
 one of the cautious ones. 
 
 At« 
 
 to the Chiist. And Nathanacl wa- 
 
 if 
 
 test ([ucstion with regard to the ( hrist wa.s tlie ylaco ot 
 His hirth. and as Philip had spoken of llini as of Xazai-eth, a 
 mean ( ialilean village, Xatlianael at once a>ked : "Can any 
 good thin-jf conie out of Na/areth ?" Fhili)> saw the drift of the 
 (juestio:i. and knew what a tangle of discussion tliere was 
 alu)Ut it. and no he a(h(jitly said to liini : ''Coiiie and see." 
 Tiius, what discussion never could have done, a simple ])rac- 
 tical '•('onie and see " did so (jui<'tl) and (jaickly. And .>o 
 often. still may heated discussion ami unproHtal)le controversy 
 be avoided in the same simple way. .Men ha\eonlyto come 
 and see in so niany things to h(^ won ()\er. I )o not argue with 
 tljem on points of doctrine, l;ut in\ite them along with you 10 
 come and see for themselves, and what your arguments c«mld 
 never do, their own seeing will do 
 
 I think Philip felt sure of Xathanael wtien he had persua*!- 
 ed him to coin<' and see, .and it was with a sort of quiet tri- 
 umjih he led him to where Jesus was. Yoa see tiiem coming 
 — the tw(> fiiend;-. How simple it is, and yet what graiifl 
 issues hang on these simple things! The few stej)S Nathanael 
 fc:»ok that morning with JMiilip led him t(j >o much — led him 
 t'»Je>us, an<l t(» all that desus leads to. As they ;■ »ach, 
 Jesus remarks loud enough foj' Nathanael to hear, 'd >ld an 
 I>i-aelite indeed in whom is no guile!" Nathanael if»'l.s an<l 
 knows at once tluit the remark is made for liim. 1' rhaps it 
 iits so neatly into his own though' that he is sui'pii- it what 
 men would call tin <;oincidence, the hajijiy coinci' .1 e. Put 
 it seems to him something mi>retlian a coincidence , .mi he ask.-> 
 with ni» litrle curiosity how it is that He knows sowed of him: 
 '•\N'hence knowcst thou tno V Jesus tells him, aiu' telj.s liijji 
 
I 1 
 
 •> I 
 
 ! II 
 
 1 1! 
 
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 U 
 
 ■i * 
 
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 86 
 
 rxr)::R tiif, i igtrei . , 
 
 ill a w.iv tli.it l('.-i\('s iii> iIuuKt ill Xatlianacr.s Miiiid, tliat lie 
 is iiidci'd till- Cliri^t : "Ili't'orc that I'liilij) railed tlirc, wlicii 
 tlidU u.isl under tlir Hl,' I ice, I saw tlicf." NatliaiaiTs an- 
 swer is a i.nMc coiit't'Ss'Mii : "Ivaljhi, tliuu art the Stiii cf (I«k1 ; 
 tlinii art t he kiiiir of Israt-I.'' 
 
 Now, I lia\t' clioscii for my text this iiiiiriiiii:/ t he words of 
 .Jt'sus to Nathaiiat'l which rt'\ral('(l llim to i!ii' cinniir.'r 
 "Px'forc that IMiilii) caUrd thi-r, when thou wat uiidir tin" 
 li^trec, I .saw thee."' 
 
 And, you will o!)scr\(' Ihmc, in the (ir.--t pl.acc, ihit .Ic^u.s 
 saw N.ithanarl in some xery .'-jiccial .sense win n he w.i- uiiiicr 
 the li^tree. 
 
 The tinirce is one of the eoinnioncst trers in P.ilestine. If 
 U'rinvs everywhere l>oth as a shade-tree .•ind;i friiit-t i( i- it has 
 ever heeil Uiueh esteeined. "I'lider tlie ll^'iree is einh!eni.i t ie 
 of rest, coi'ifort, iii-dltat ion, j^eju'e. Iiouie. If a ni.in in rales- 
 tine yonder \v;!n' mI t > !>-■ ••ilone ; it' he w ;ilite. I lo re ,1 all'! I'l'.id; 
 if he w ante.l lo jiriy and nied.it.ite ; he would id ire w ii iiin tin' 
 uinltr;i;;'eous folia;,.' if hi, li-ii'ee, and llieie he would lind a 1 
 the seclusion he wanted. Nowhere could he lind a Itetler 
 pl.ice for -11' h ;', jiurp' '-.e. 
 
 Now, we are not told wh;;t Nat h.i n;ie! was doinif whi'ii he 
 vv;m under the liLCt fee that inoiniii-'. lull we can uiK s^. lie 
 was at his niorninu' de\oi ions. lie \\ ;in .done w ii h <m.i1. uicdi- 
 tatiii'^oii his word, and cailin;;,' u|ion his n;iii)e in jira\rr. I 
 tiiink it not unlikely tliat tin .linne of ld> in 'dit.-il ions w.ms 
 .lacoh's (h'e.ain. The (h 'ci; of ihe jial:i:i|eh thai h d to his 
 lli-lit he felt was w i- l;ed, and he jir.iyed ih.a! he liini.>elf ini_;lit 
 lieser yield to such wie r\\r(\ inithods to u'.iin hisen<!s. lie 
 waii.ed to lie .lacol) without his i;uile. his di'.plicity. and -n 
 Jesus said of him, not .'i.^ a com|idment , hut heciu.^e it was true; 
 *'r.fhol(l an Israelite indeed in whom there is no i^uile." .\nd 
 tlieii he th(<uuht i:f .)acol»',> ladder, reachin;^ from the i .irth lo 
 ll(;>\cn, with ti.e aiiu'cls comiiiL,' aiirl p'oiiin" ujion its shining 
 I'ounds, and of .ill the lT'kiiI th"re was for .j.acoh. and he wouM 
 
 H 
 
 I 
 
UXDKR '17.IE MGTREi:. 
 
 S7 
 
 f 
 
 i 
 
 xN'oiidor, if tli(M'<* \v;is fnr liini, niidci- the fi^'trpo, any unxoii 
 l;i(l(li'i', ;iii(l ;iiiy of tlir l:(»(m1 t licic \v ;is for t hi' p.iiriaii'li. -\iid 
 s(t Iris tli'iiinlits slia]HMl t lu'!iiscl\ cs iiit<ta pi'ayi r, u sorL of v.ak- 
 iiiu' dream, Ji hoautifid rcNcric, tha.L lir'd liiin sih-II '.iduiid, aii<l 
 he liiiLfcrt'd imflfi' tin- ti-ticc ns .lacol) liriLjcicd \v1htc lir .--aw 
 1 lu' (Ircaiii-laiMcr and pilccl up a sui-' i\'! iiiiiiiuiii''!it so lliat iui 
 )iii;_dit iic\cr aftiTwards foi';,'i'l the lia||>v liallowi-d plai-i'. 
 
 |5iit as Xatliaiiacl tliiis tlioiiu,lit ami }p>ay<'d and drcaiiird. lio 
 was .suddt'idy and ludrly called by I'liilij). His iiiediiai ions 
 weie so sweet tjiat lie was almost soriv. cidss, that liewa> eall- 
 ed, hut Hiere wa^iio iielji for it. And so with reluetant >te|is 
 he wjihdrew from his fa\orite ictreat to join his friend, and 
 learn Wiiit lie waiiird. And he was wantecl, as \\eh;;\e >e<.'n, 
 to see .).>u>, th.- red ladder; and so his dreain heeanie a 
 Mr-;.' I experience, his jir.tyer fully, Lfi'andly answered, lie 
 came to know, like Jacol), that he was not. so unseen under 
 the ti'^iree as he thou:;-Iit he w;i.s. Ileeanie to know tli;; tht? 
 Son of ( Old was neir, that he was lookiie^ on as he th r.i^ht 
 and <Ireanied, as he ja-.iyed and wept, and he did not know it 
 at the time. That '.vas how he felt as he h,"' e'voi" fell be- 
 fore, so strani^ely iiajipy, so tilled wilh desire a. ;d jh*;ico, so up- 
 lifted in thoui^dit and feellnL;. Many a t inie ii'' had been under 
 the tV:ti'ee, tryiii;;' to think aiul pray, s\ hiMi il was a wearJne.»s 
 tohi'u. and w hei\ he wanted to hurry rhrou;:!i his d''\d;ions 
 and LCet away Itaek to the world getaway to hiisiness (.r plea- 
 sure. iMaiiy a tian- he h.ad to mourn the coldness and "iead- 
 ness of Ids fc 'lin;,-^, and the earlhliness of his di'sires, aiul was 
 led si™metim(\s to eom-lude that ii was no \(-,e for him to I'l'ny, 
 tlu't it w.is l)"tter ftii' liiin not to ]iray at all th; n to pray a> he 
 did pfay. Still he ki-pi i.n prayin.;', .and th ' l:;;'Iit has i/rokon 
 in uji'Mi him at la-l, and .Jesus ha-, ma le ail s.i jilairi to !ii.m 
 i!i the-f words : " 11 ( fore that riiilip called thee, when tliou 
 \V,\st under the li;ft fee, I saw tile;'"' 
 
 AN'hat a KMc'.ation to him was this that .JivnUs said: "I saw 
 tlieo.' You say, and J say, lu a friend, and there Is uftea .so 
 
 II iiii»«iiiiM"i|iltliriMwWiTlii'PiifKi 
 
I 
 
 8S 
 
 r.vDER THE ricnkEE. 
 
 i 
 
 little in it : "T s;i\\ you." FUit tlu'ic iiiuy 1)C sunictiincs so 
 imU'Il ill it. We tliKtiLcllt |irlli;ij).S wc wcic hitldcll. W »' "liil 
 lint know that any our .s.iw us, and we wnc «'urno.st. \\'t' weit^ 
 tiyiii;.' in (Hir jiour way to do sonu' ijDod, to siifve .sonn' ii>ft'ul 
 juiijiox', to 1)«' hnnc an<l true, to llinjjj tVoni u.s t('ni[)lalion, t<' 
 \siili>tanil wfonif, and we liada .stni;,'i,di'. Hut .sonic ()ntM'ouu's 
 f.<» u>. and with a look of coiujiicndat ion, alnutst adniirutioiu 
 .says to us : ''I .saw you." Wr blu.sli pciiiaps; wt* wonder liow 
 and where he .saw us; hut we feel lu' did see us, and sft now we 
 know uhere to look t"oi' one wli<)l<nows us, and can feel foi' us, 
 and has a hi. ■ idea of OB. So with XathanaeL He fidt he 
 Iiad lieeu (loin;,' under the ti;,'ti'00 uothiiiLf to Ixv ashamed of 
 He had l)een in earnt'st tliei'e, ids .soul in an a:,'ouy of lu)ly <h'- 
 .^i^e. He had heen weej)in«^ and j)raying. Aiul now when 
 there stood liefore him ( )ne who .saw him as lu' wanted to l>e 
 seen of (iod, lio felt he eould trust that One, lie could look to 
 lim as to a fiioiul, he could btdieve in him as the great Coming- 
 V\u', the Christ. 
 
 .\iid. i: JM'arers, J»?sus sees us. We have no figtree in our 
 ;:;arden, but we may have a favorite tree of soni" kind, or a 
 some place, where we like to go to he alone sometimes. When 
 the work and the woii-y of the ilay are over, w(> gj> tlu're foi- 
 tin hourortwo, t«>thii ^ jjerhafWy to j)laii new jjiojects, to ilream 
 i)ur dreams <.)f wealth lUid fame, to weep over our lo.sses, to 
 curse our luck or hle^K our stars. We go there to sleep ofT 
 our indulgence |)erhaj).s, to w hilF a cigar or snioko a pi]»e, to 
 read a silly Injok, to waste the <|uiet of an utterly woi'ldly life. 
 
 We go then' for something else than to pray arid meditate. 
 And .Jesus .sees us, hut not as he saw tlu; good Xathanael. Jit 
 .sees us, hut not approvingly. He sees us, l)ut 1% makes him 
 sad to .see us, and it makes ui> sad to know lie sees us. No- 
 thing would pain .some of us more than tt> have some one in- 
 terested in us to come and say to us, when w»,' had heen doing 
 something unworthy of us, yitddingto tem])tation, trilling with 
 iluty and rosi>ouKilji'ity, falling into sLii : "-I siivv you." And 
 
 
 
i'Ni)i:ii THL I i(/nu:E. 
 
 S'i 
 
 yot tlio (loarost frifiwl wi- lunc. tlu' l)I;^.so<l S<in of (Jixl, soon 
 us N\ licM wf arc iloiii;,' wimiy; as wrll as whcii \v».' ai'«' doiiiut 
 I'iglit, and tlif Any v ill roinc wlicji \\») will have? to staiul Ijt*- 
 forc liiiii, and licai- him sav to us with his «>wn t«>rril)l<' words: 
 *'[ saw tlu'f."' I'^xtUM's will jiot do. A Hat denial will not do. 
 Pn'vai*i<ation will not dj. Tliis will .s»'ltlo ii forever iMid for- 
 cvt-r : "1 saw thco." 
 
 You will olisi-rvt' aj^'ain hnf. that Jt'«us.saw Xathaiiacl, anil 
 had to do with him, Ix't'oif Philip i;nlhMl him, and hot'oir Na- 
 thanat'l was introtluccd i.» IJim, ami IxdUivt^l in Hint. "1h'- 
 foiT that Philip cnllud lhe«', wlu-n thuu wast under tho tigtrri', 
 I saw iht'c. ' 
 
 Wt' H(lmii«3 Philip's dilii;t'nti» and tuirnestnt'ss in .seckin;; out 
 new fon\(its. \\"»' ^ivc him the trodit of NathanHL'l'.s hccoin 
 ing a chri.->liun. And 1 have nodoul)t »it all that Philip would 
 take to him.sclf the whole iMcdit of it. He; set out ui his own 
 accord to seek for Nathanael. H** put hiuKstdf to .some trouhh- 
 to tind him. lie called him out This retrtiat. He persuaded 
 him to come and .see. And he held on to him till he had him 
 face lo face with Jesu.s. Thus he w;us dispiKsed to hv. pi'oud of 
 his success. 
 
 And then Nathanael himself would want to share with Philip 
 somewhat in whatovor j^lory th"i»' was iu it. He was not hard 
 to hring, nor hard to win. He w;us easily made a clu'istian. 
 Some are hai'd to ^jet hold of. You havtj to j^o after them a 
 gi'cat many tiuie.s, and aftei-you have them, as you think, they 
 bivak away, and it is a mo.^t di.>ctjui"ai,dn,<^ undisrtakin^' to win 
 them. ]>ut not so with Nathanael, and he would f(M'l its if that 
 ■was a j{(»od deal to his credit. 
 
 JJut the Mastei" shews them ijoth here, and shews us all, how- 
 little they had to do in it, and how much he had to do in it 
 "JJefore that Philip called thee, when th<^u wast und»'r the 
 tiytree, I .saw thee.' He .saw Nathanael hefort Philip calletl 
 him, and Ix^fore Nathanael .s*iw hijn; in otiier uoi-ds, had it \U)t 
 been fur him, neither Philip nor Nalluuiael would have done 
 
' 
 
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 UNnr.K Tin: i ictrki:. 
 
 ni'.cli. It wns hpc'.'iiisc .frxu.s Iwi'l ".fcM Natlinn.-icl. .mi n liim in 
 his own Im\ iii'4 sprciul way, that IMiilip ii;ul l»r«Mn.'|it liim -.d 
 • •risilv, aiiil il ua-. t'ni' the siiiiit' r«'a.>.nii (hat lie had c diic ^'» 
 
 ''^'(•ha\c mil chtKcii me, l»;;r I haxc rlio^fri voii," .r«'-.U'> 
 saiil til ihr t\sc|\c tnw.iiik ih' iIm^i- lit his niitiistiA' niiinii:; 
 ihi'iii. ^'l)ll Ml- tlniii (IdUii liv ihi' sivishniT, tuiliiiL; mit t'ur 
 tlniiiNcKcs t hi' lian- iirri'>.sarirs i»f lit".- from day to liav, ami 
 v.ilhoiit aiiiliitjiiii to he iilhiM' than what thi-y aif, (;alil«'aii 
 l;>h»MMit'M. lint t hill' niiiiis alon-^' ( )ii(', and he tal!;^ to thos(» 
 rouL^h li>hi'iiiM'ii lit' iijMiitanic aiiil faith, thf kiiii;(hini to coim' 
 and t hr rxiH'itcd Mrs.-iah. 'I hi'V art' int«'r<st«'d. At la>t \oii 
 sec thi-ni Ininin;^' (hcii- hat ks on thrir old lift-, and foHowin'^ 
 hill Mill yoii wondci' how it is. \'oii t ly to arcoiint for it in 
 Vfair ]iiioi' htinian way. And thi-n^i.s a liuniaii side to all thi-. 
 Lfooil wdiK-. ^'ou liml thry ha\t' Imcm listcnin^^to thi' iiiojihrt 
 of t ill' w ildfini'ss as wit li an r!iii|U('ni'(' that thrllh'd *iln' |iim[i1i' hi' 
 jirrachi'd rrjirntant r, ami you find ti.at some of thini had 
 hfcoiin' his disciples. \'ou I'md tlh ni, too. sn-kiiii,' out one 
 anoth'T. Amiii'w srckin^,' out liis l.iothi'i- Simon, I'hiliji M't-kini; 
 out Natlian.ii'I, and IradiiiLj tlicia to Jesus, and you think you 
 h,i\e the secret of how it w;i^ the\- eiid)raced tlie new religion 
 so I'cadily. I5ut there is a. l);.i k^round to all this ^.q-and human 
 elloi'l, and the liackLCrouml is, the election of (Jod, the choosin;^ 
 
 of .Jesus. " ^'e h,i\e Hot clio en Uie, liUt I have cIiom n VoU." 
 
 "Ileforethat Philip called thee, when tlmu wast umiei' the 
 lii; t ree. I saw thee.'' 
 
 Ami let us understand here that it is not so nau-h our I'allinu', 
 as his seein!,^ his choosiiux, if nn ii come, and ln'Iieve, and are 
 .s.iM'd. We Lfive ('-.edit, and we i;et credit, for so much that we 
 ne\er do. We c.'ill, and w (> call -,o lou I, with a \oice ><t lilled 
 with earnest ness, a \iiice cliokel with te;ir.>. a \oicc ,somu->ical 
 anil attract i\(', that men come, and they tell us, and tell the 
 World, that it was just because we called them that they ha\e 
 'ome. .Vnd wc are jiroud of our sucfe.s.s, proud of our calli/r,', 
 
 
'?■ 
 
 L'NnF.R TIIF; IKVIKEK. 
 
 91 
 
 ;IIh1 we flcUolUlff ntlllTS t'nf tlicic IlllsUCCOSsful P..'lillL'. Alltl, 
 
 iinlfnl. thru- is ;i liiiiiiaii >'v\i' to all this i^'ond that is hcinvj 
 <l»ni<-. l!iit let ii-> lint lliiiik f">i( nnicli (it' u hat \\f aif <loini(, 
 <<r trviii'.' to (In. |'.rt'.»r<' we lii'i'aii, utht-rs in.av haxc li.-fii 
 (I'Mii!:,', faitl'.fiil jifcachcrs sowiii'^ the i,'"<''l scfd of thf kingdom, 
 th"' inavMvs all"! roiinsfl^ and !ii>t iiirt imis and trvirs <»f rhi'istijin 
 liinlh'i>, and liark nt' all, tin- \n\i- of i<>»\, and ih^' tt-nd-M" 
 inl^•^t•^^ of .Icsus. " iScfnri' tli it l'liili|i i-alh-d thfc, u h.-n thou 
 wast nndcf tin' ti^'trrc I saw tln-c." 'I'Ih- tenth is, we had Imt 
 an iii-i.fnith-aiit part in th<- :.;oo<| \voi-k that is doni>, and (hat is 
 l)i'iii;( don<', wiifn it tunics to he htokcd into, lMiilii>> caliini^ 
 is iin)».'iifant, nio>t inijioi-tant. It muld not have Imcu dis- 
 jM-nscd uiih, ■;o inii>oitant is it. Ihit it is insii,'nitiraiil after 
 all aIoiii>idf of Christ's .scriiij^ still rarliri'. If the ('hri^t had 
 not -scfii, I'hiliji's call would liavc hccn utdiccdcd 
 
 t^)liscr\c here, aLTain, what cncoura'.^'rnn rit iIkm'c is for us to 
 do our part, to call as Philip called, to preach, to pray, t.) 
 (rouiisel, to warn, to instruct, and to do so much els, . .since we 
 nro suie tliat Christ hinistdf is tlicro l)ef()r<' us with his l>i\ ine 
 
 doinu'- 
 
 "Why do we plouijh and sow? Why are we up so early, and 
 at it >o late, .ill the spriuij season .' ."<iiiiply liecau^i- we are 
 sure, that the (!nd in whose Iwiiids an* the year's results, la< 
 liecn iM fore us doin*; his idl-inijiortant ]>art in the crdwnin:^' of 
 t he vear with ''oodiu'ss foi- us. It would lie no use for us to 
 ploui^h. no use to sow the send, no use to do anything; a» ;dl, if 
 (lod^i'iil no spring, .and no sun->hine, and no slK)Wei's. Hut 
 we lind th.it he is always there liefore us when we ^^o to do 
 our part. 
 
 And so ovcrvwhere else. You want coal. You want LfoM. 
 ^'Mi want so nnich else th.at is necess.ary to your comfort and 
 success. And sometimes you are jierjilexed ;is to wh;it is to he 
 done. You .s;iy tlio trees .are heinij all cut down, and wh.at are 
 we i^oint,' to do for fuel? Hut (!od h.is thoui,dit out tint 
 pr«>hlem Ion;.; before you wen? born, and he has stored away 
 
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 UNDER THE FIGTREE. 
 
 enough coal in the bowels of the earth to do us after the woods 
 have failed us. And before tlie coal is exhausted, there will 
 be something else to keep us warm. Thus, in that direction, 
 and in every other direction, we lind that the Great Father is 
 far ahead of us, foreseeing and pro\iding, and so nuiking our 
 j)Oor blundering doing a success. 
 
 And thus it is, too, in this work of saving men. ^Ve some- 
 times say : "I am not sure about trying to do any good to that 
 poor fallen fellow-mortal. I am afraid it is no use calling him 
 to coni(! and see Jesus. It will be utterly fruitless wcjik to ti'V 
 and do any good ho'e." But sometimes when we try, we tind 
 that God has been there before us, long years before us, ami 
 our part is easy. xVt the lirst call almost he comes. AVe 
 wonder at our success. But why wonder? Jesus has been 
 there before us. That explains all. 
 
 A Scottish parish minister set out to visit everybody in the 
 parish, some G,000 people, and he visited them all excepting 
 one poor wretch who lived alone up three llights of stairs. 
 This man, he was told, was lost to every virtue, and he might 
 receive rough treatment at his hands. At last the minister 
 made up his mind he would call and see him. He knocked at 
 his door, and hearing a rustling within lie gently opened it. 
 The man was crouching at the grate, and glared upon him like 
 a wild beast. He fiercely asked him what he wanted, and was 
 told that as the parish minister he was ma'-ing his calls. The 
 man told him he would kick him down stairs, if he did not 
 leave. The minister told him that he had a call to make up 
 the other flight, and he must not kick him down till he came 
 back, as it would put him to a good deal of trouble to climb up 
 again. " I will come in as I come down," said the minister, 
 "and if you think it worth while to kick me down stairs 
 simply because I called to see you for your good, you can do 
 it." So he went up and paid his visit. Then he came down 
 again, and the man asked him if he really came to see him. 
 The minister told him that that was what he- came for. At 
 
UNDER THE FIGTREE. 
 
 93 
 
 this tlio poor 'vvretcli broke down, ealHn,;j^ In'mself tlio most 
 (iod-furs ikfu iiuiu on the (■;iilh. And so he \v;is won, and so 
 easily won. Ah I Jesus had been there before the minister 
 called. 
 
 Oh what encouragement the text gives me to call to you to- 
 day as I stand before you I I want to realize it just now. I 
 am not calling into vacancy. I am not beating thin air. I 
 am not h(M;e on a mere ^■enture. I am speaking to meii whom 
 Jesus has seen in his own loving way. hie is dealing with you. 
 His Spirit is at you sooner than I can get at you. That is 
 why I am emboldened, encouraged, to preach. You will hear 
 me, because Jesus was to see you. That is how it is you are 
 here. You have more anxious thoughts about these ii'i-eat 
 questions than I think you have, and than you yourself would 
 care to acknowledge. You are often so deeply exercised about 
 vour salvation. Your heart is so troubled, so lilled with loni'- 
 ings, so swept with a strange unrest. Your conscience is ill at 
 ease. You wonder wdiat is the matter with you, for you were 
 not always thus. You could be careless, sinful, worldly, and 
 sleep at nights, and sleep here, for that matter. Ah ! the 
 Spirit of God is dealing with you. You are wanted at the feet 
 of Jesus. And so I come to you today, like another Phidp, 
 and I ask you to come with me and see Jesus, and that will 
 put so many things right for you. In a ft/*^^ days we are to 
 receive again another Ijand of followers into the fellowship of 
 the church; come, then, and see about that, and from one thing 
 to another you will be led on, till you see the Son of God in 
 His g ory and power. 
 
 And there is one thing more here, ere I close M'hat I have 
 had to say to you. It is this, how good it is for us, like Na- 
 thanael, to get away alone with God sometimes. We live 
 to-day in a whirl of excitement. It is the day of fa-;t 
 trains, fast boats, fast walking, fast running, fast every- 
 thing. It is rush with the crowd. And even religion, 
 is of that character as well as other things. It is going to 
 
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 94 
 
 UNDER THE FIGTREE, 
 
 (•lini'c]i, i;<iiiif5 to pmyer-mecting, goin<jf to somotliiiiL; ovt-rv 
 iii-lit in ilu! wtvk. Now, tli<at is not spintuiilly lu.'.iltlifiil to 
 us. A\'-' !U'('(l to 1)0 alono, much alone, if we want to sco Jesus 
 US Nathanael saw him, and it' wo want to bo thou'^'litful an. I 
 earnest. ]t is a sIk'Uow i-eli^ion that is grown u}) in the n<ase 
 find (xrltement of p.hlic reli^i^ious gatherings, a thing of wt<id.-< 
 r.itlici' inaii jjrinciple. It is not strong, deep, histing. Lt-t u.- 
 be much, like Xathanael, under the figtree, studying our lUlile, 
 thinking and meditating, praying in secret. Jesus will see us 
 there ;is he will not see us here. He likes to sec us here too, 
 and we need to be here and ought to be here, but we need also 
 to be there. We should come from there here, and we would 
 receive more good than we often do. 
 
 But let us grasp this truth, that Jesus is interested in us, 
 as interested in us individually interested in you and me, as in 
 Kathanael yonder under the figtree. He sees us. He knows 
 all about our troubles to be better than we are. When we go 
 away alone to weep that we are so weak and wicked ; when we 
 retire to pray and think ; when we bravely tling from us the 
 evil that comes to us, and try to do the good we find to do, he 
 sees us, and he helps us more than we know. Let us come to 
 him then, that we may know him better. 
 
 
 Ill 
 
I 
 
 IX. 
 ^Uc S>iov^ of fhc OTTciP ^iifh, 
 
 •' F■er^7^, verily, I say unto thee, except a man he born arjniv, 
 he cannot see the kingdom of God."— Jon^ ITI. ;i. 
 
 THE story of a soul's spiritual l^irth ought to l)o of tlwili- 
 ing interest to us. If our natural birth is so important 
 to us, a never-to-be-forgotten event; our spiritual l)iri]i is, i;, 
 some respects, a still more important event. To Ik. ]:,.,■» i, 
 but to die perhaps ; to be born again is to live foivve... To 
 be born is so often to add one more burden to the \v.,rhl'. 
 over-burden of guilt and woe, one more note to its dir-e .f 
 sorrow, one more rill to its river of tears ; to be born noain is 
 to help the world's joy, lessen its sorrows, ccntriluite" .c r ,. 
 thing to the working out of the blessed To-Be. All the h rp^ 
 of Heaven strike up and make music, when a soul is l;o: u 
 again. Oh may that be to-day as we tell and hear this sweet 
 gos|Tf 1-story ! 
 
 First, a word or two about Kicodemus. And he was a 
 member of the Sanhedrim, the great judicial court of the Jews 
 in the old days, one of the seventy or seventy-one who were 
 supreme over the people in judicial matters. ^ He was also •., 
 teacher, and well versed in Jewish law and lore. Home mak. 
 out, or try to, that he was eminent as a teacher, second only t.. 
 
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 96 
 
 THE STOKV OF THE NEW BIRTH. 
 
 the great Gamalit»l, with whom, they claim, he v.'as on the 
 most intimate terms. lie bflonged to tlie sect of the Phari- 
 sees, tlie leading sect among the Jews, but unlike the sect he 
 belonijed to he was a man of broad and liberal ideas. He 
 loved truth, and he was willing to go beyond his sect to fhid 
 it. Though a teaclier himself, and more or less eminent as a 
 teacher, he was willing to learn the truth from whoever was 
 able to teach him. And then, he seems to have been a man 
 of considerable influence and wealth, one of the foremost men 
 of his day. Such was Nicodemus, 
 
 He lived and taught in Jerusalem, and when Jesus came to 
 the city to introduce his new doctrines there, he was among 
 the first to come under his instruction. I suppose he had 
 sometimes seen the prophet of Nazareth on the streets, and 
 may have som.etimes listened to him as he talked to the people 
 inthetemplecourts,and he came to the conclusion that l.j was no 
 ji'dinary man, that he had something to say that was good to 
 say and good to know. So he was curious to know more of 
 him and to learn more of his doctrine. Accordingly he found 
 out where Jesus put up when he was in the city, and he 
 sought a private interview with him. Some think he went by 
 night because he was ashamed to be seen going by day. 
 
 And there may have been something in that. It v/as not 
 easy for a public man like Nicodemus to break with the party 
 he belonged to, and with so much, all at once, and come out 
 boldly and openly in favor of the despised Nazarene. He Imd 
 to be very sure of his ground before he could do it, and in- 
 deed before he could be expected to do it. And it is very 
 evident that he was not sure of his ground, that he was only 
 feeling his way. It did not do in the time of Nicodemus, and 
 it does not do to-day, to go after every new thing that conn s 
 along and calls itself good. The man who does so will s^oon 
 not know where he is or what he believes. Hence, I am dis- 
 posed to reirard his comin2f to Jesus bv ni^ilit i)) a liiucli luoie 
 favorable light than some do. I think it shewed him to be a 
 

 THE STORY OF THE NEW BIRTH. 
 
 97 
 
 pnulent man, and one anxious to discover the truth for him- 
 self. And the Lord found no fault with him for coming to 
 see ''ira under cover of darkness. 
 
 And just here, learn this, that the Lord wants us to come 
 to him, and we must, if we would be taught the doctrine of the 
 new birth. He alone can teach us that. The drawing of 
 his love persuades us, the might of his grace enables, and the 
 spirit he breathes upon us quickens us into life and energy, and 
 so we are born again. Oh then, let us with Nicodemus yon- 
 der come to the feet of the mighty, loving, wise Christ, and 
 there learn to-day for ourselves the same blessed lesson he 
 learned in the long ago ! 
 
 We have here, in the next place, his coming to Jesus and 
 his interview with him. 
 
 Nothing can be more interesting, and more important, than 
 a soul's setting out to know Jesus and the truth. And so 
 simple is it very often, so interwoven perhaps with the ordin. 
 nry every-day matters of this poor earthly life of ours. 
 
 You see Nicodemus coming home after his public duties 
 perhaps, and telling his wife to hurry up supper as he is going 
 out for the evening. His wife thinks nothing of that ; she is 
 used to it» She imagines he is going to attend a special meet- 
 ing of the great council, or some committee-meeting. He has 
 little to say, for his thoughts are busy. Taking his staff, he 
 remarks that he may be late, and out into the night he walks. 
 We cannot follow him. Possibly he goes over to Bethany 
 where Jesus usually stops. Or, it may be only along the street 
 ?i little way. But whether long or short, there is much to come 
 out of that walk. It is fraught with interest, results. I 
 suppose that is the greatest walk he ever took in his life. So 
 much depends on it. What are his thoughts ? No doubt he 
 has thoughts, deep, anxious, brow-knitting, as alone he walks 
 alons: the dark streets. 
 
 By and by he reaches the place, and his heart beats strangely 
 as he lifts his hand to knock. Perha.ps he hesitates, feels 
 
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 THE STORV OF THE NEW BIRTH. 
 
 oing riglit ? 
 
 almost liko goin<^ back without going in. I;h he d 
 AVho is tliis Jesus of Nazareth ? Is it not dannorous, wroncr. 
 for such as he to talk with him? And it is not always wise, 
 nor right, nor safe, to talk with some men. But his mind is 
 made up, and Nicodemus knocks, and is ushered in where 
 Jesus is. After the usual salaams, he is seated. There is a 
 pause. Jesus waits for the rule.* to tell his errand, and he 
 begins in a far-off, non-committal sort of way. He wants to 
 feel his way. He is keen-witted, sharp as a lawyer, as hard to 
 corner as a full-tledged politician. " Rabbi, we know that thou 
 art a teacher come from God, for no man can do these miracles 
 that thou doest, except God be with him."' 
 
 He wants to be complimentary, and yet he does not want 
 to commit himself to anything more than what almost every- 
 
 body will admit. " We know "- 
 
 -" ive " 
 
 he does not say, /. 
 
 Biit perhaps it is only fair to Nicodemus to say, that he came 
 as near the point he wanted to get at as he knew how, for it is 
 not likely he knew just what he wanted to get at. 
 
 And just here we may learn something that may help us. 
 You think I am leading you a round-about way to the doctrine 
 of '.'.-' new birth. And so I am, and I am doing so on purpose. 
 It .dy by a round-about way we get at such doctrines. We 
 do not go straight to them. We feel our way. We are led 
 along, led often we know not how nor why. We stumble in 
 a dark path to the feet of him who is the Light and Life of 
 men. 
 
 I think preachers sometimes make a mistake in the way they 
 preach these great doctrines of our faith. They preach them 
 usually as they find them in systems of theology, and as they 
 learned them at college. They formulate them, and then they 
 give them to their people to swallow whole. And they do not. 
 They take them indeed, or seem to, but when they get out to 
 the door they spit them out. They do with them as some 
 patients do with doctors' drugs. They do not like the nauseous 
 stuff, and so they measure it out drop by dtop, or teaspoon ful 
 
 
THE STORY OF THE NEW BIliTH. 
 
 99 
 
 i 
 
 J)y to.nspoonful, as dii-octed, and then throw it out of tlio witulow, 
 yUiid if tlu'V get well they got well, and if thoy die thoy die. 
 
 Now to-day T want to tell you th« story of u sniils Wirtli, 
 {ii^.d a most iiitere,sting story it is. It is not dry doctrine T an\ 
 te ling, and it o«g)jt to ooux^ home to you, because it is true. 
 This Sal)I)ath morning perhaps, as the church-])ells rang out 
 in the wintry air, calling the worshippers to the Ilouse of God, 
 something siiid to you that you had l)ett«r go. You <lid not 
 care about it. You seldom do. You feel tired after the week's 
 work, and the services are so dull and stupid. Still, something 
 or other kept at you, till you made up your mind you would go. 
 And so you are here at the feet of Jesus, Or, Wednesday 
 night comes, and your wife says, " John, come to the prayer- 
 meeting with ma" You do not know what to think about it. 
 Y''ou were ntver at prayer-meeting in your life, and it does not 
 S3em to be just the place far a map. of the world, such as you 
 ;ire, to be at. Still, after a while, with a little more urging, 
 you make up your mind to go. And you ga You feei very 
 nervous about it, Yoa are afraid of the people's i-emarks. 
 ♦Sttmebody may smile, or sneer. But step by step you are led 
 on almost against your will, and you are at the prayer-meeting, 
 and face to face with Jesus and so much. 
 
 Now, my hearer, it is in just such commonplace ways as these 
 that men have found, and do find, their way to the feet of Jesus 
 and to the truth. They do not intend anything. But he intends 
 so much. It is to while away a useless hour you are here, t<j 
 meet a friend ; perhaps you cannot tell why you are here. But 
 Jesus is here, and he has something t© say to you, something 
 of awful interest to your souL 
 
 Thus it is we ai-e all led, and so simply too, so naturally, just 
 as we are led in other things ; and yet, out ^of such simple lead- 
 ing, out of such stumbling and blundering on our part, corner 
 to us God',? grand eternal good. 
 
 But this leads me to take up, still further, Christ's words to 
 Kicodemus and to us. And here opens up to us so much ; here 
 open up to us all the hard questions of the new birth. 
 
If 
 
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 THE STORY OF THE NEW BIRTH. 
 
 And notico this, notic** how abruptly He comes to close 
 (|U.'irtor.s with him. " V^eriiy, Aeri'y, I say unto th(M'." Nico- 
 'I(Miius hud .said in his distant way, *' we know " ; but Jesus at 
 '>nce narrow.s it down to themselves two. *'/ .say uuto thee." 
 Ah ! we like to lo.se ouriwjlves in the crowd when tlnnv i.s a duty 
 to d<», a rtoponsibility pre.'ising itself home upon us, a question 
 that is uncomfortably per.sonaL But we cannot thus loso 
 ourselves. Face to face with Jesus here, we are not allowed 
 to shoulder any responsibilities upon others. He siiii^des u.s 
 out, and with a directness that there is no eluding he brings the 
 tiuth straight home to us: •* Verily, verily, I wiy unto thee," 
 
 This is a matter for you, niy hearer, a personal matter, just 
 as much so aa for Nicodemus. You think peihaps you aro 
 good enough, as g(X)d as others. You pay your debts. You 
 have no bad habit.9. You are straight ^ith the woild, You 
 fear God, and walk in the way of hi.s connnandnients. What 
 more, then, i» wanted ? Ah ! Nicodemus was as good as you 
 are, better perhaps. He did not go to Jesus because he had 
 fallen into bad habits that had gained the mastery over him, 
 and were dragging him down in spite of himself. He did not 
 go to him as a sinner crying for mercy. No. He went to 
 Jesus as. one teacher goes to another to compare notes. He 
 wants to find out what Jesus knows that he does not know. 
 But Jesus soon shews him, and he shews you, that neither he 
 nor you perhaps, had yet begun to l>e good — that the lirst lesson 
 of true knowledge about being good and doing good iiad yet 
 to be learned, " Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man 
 he born again, he cannot see th*' Kingdcm of God. ' 
 
 We know what it is to be born. There was a time when we 
 were not, and them there comes a time when we are. We begin 
 to be, very small at first, but we grow and grow, grow physi- 
 cally, grow intellectually, until we come to be what we are. 
 But to be born again, born anew born of God, born when we 
 are old — what is that 1 Nicodemus asked in wonder what this 
 Bort of birth was. And after niiieteen centuries of blessed 
 
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THE STORY OF THE NEW DIRTII. 
 
 lot 
 
 £josp»'T sunlight nioii still woDflcr what it is. It is Romothiiii,' 
 t)Uf ojiliii.'uy irjt»'lli,i;«'nL'o cannot instt'uet us about. The schools 
 canniit trach it to us.. Science is puzzled here, l^o not he 
 KUiprist'd, then, if I cannot make it very clear to you what it is. 
 It is snnietliing you must expei-ienci' to know. You must he 
 F)<)in, and Ijorn Home tiin« too, before you can know wiiat it is 
 to be Ikh'ii. An<l you njust l»e horn a<;ain, and horn aj^aiii for 
 some time, before you can know what it is to l»e horn a;,Min. 
 
 Al)Out all that the christian can say with rei^'ard Us it is this : 
 "C)ncc I was blind, now I see. Once I was dead, now I live, 
 live evermore.. Once I cared only for tiie world, its follies 
 j)leasui'es, wealth,, honors, and I followed after tluim with all 
 the mi,L,dit I had ; but now I seek the things above, I desire 
 (jod, I hun<^ei' and tJiiist after ri<,diteousuess, I d(!light in 
 lioliness " 
 
 Nico<lemus was l)oni again. That interview led to it. Paul 
 was born again, l>oni on tlie road to Damascus, horn at the 
 feet of the Ltird.. I trust that men are being bora again here 
 to-day. As they listen to this that I am trying to tell thenj, 
 the Spirit of Jesus comes upon them, and they are born again. 
 
 Frojn this moment there is in them a life, a mysterious 
 divine life, that will slowly, but s'lrely, grow up to the fulness 
 of stature that is in Christ Jesus. The Spii-it is the producing 
 cause. The Word of God^ the truth of the gcjspel, brought 
 home to the conscience, is ihe chief inistrument, James says: 
 " Of his own will Jiegat he us by the word of truth." 
 
 Tiie new birth is God's act, a sort of new creation, and i* 
 instantaneous It is done for us, not by us. And yet there 
 are means to be used. Nicodemus used means when he went 
 to see Jesus. We are using means when we are here to-day, 
 nnd at the prayer service on Wednesday evening. We are 
 using means wlieu our ears andi hearts are attentive' to. the 
 word preached. 
 
 Means are so weak, and can accomplish so little, and yet, 
 w'itJiout mean;;, without our poor instrumentality, God accom- 
 
102 
 
 niE STORV OF THE SEW VAKTIL 
 
 
 f: > 
 
 i 
 
 jrlifcliPN riotliin^j of ^'0(mI for US and the world. TIhto is ^'o(tJ 
 for us, V)ut \v«' nuiKt di^' it, urid it wuinot be ours till wo <lii; it. 
 AV'liut li!irveBt« in our fiflds for uh ! I'ut if tlifjy uro to bctours 
 w(; must plough and sow and wait. What i)ossil)ilitioK of^'ood 
 and ^Mfatncsw tliore are in tlips<i hfads and JK^wts of ours! 
 But thorfr is notliin;^ till wo laboriously work tlwn) Oiit. So 
 with this thing, the new bii'th. T cannot tell you how or why, 
 but this T knf)W, that if we wiil make use r>f such means as wo 
 have, we will bo born ai^ain ; bot if we noglwct such nii'ans as 
 we luive, we will never bo born uffain. 
 
 Here is a grain of wheat, a. Vjushcl of stu-li f,'rains. I look at 
 it, so rich in color, so plump and fully ripe, just such wheat as 
 a farmer would like to sow. Now, 1 cannot tell whether the 
 vitjil principle is in that wheat. T have no doul)t it is, Itut I 
 cannot see it, I cannot feel it. But I have a field, ami lato 
 and early I have toiled in it to prepare it for the wheat 1 have^ 
 and some beautiful morning in May I go and sow my wheat. 
 And it grows, and in the autumn I reaj) twenty where I sowed 
 one. But suppose I keep my wheat instead of sow it. I keep 
 it dry and nice. How long do you think it wou d be in yield- 
 ing me twenty -fold there? Nevei, never. 
 
 Now, here I am such as I am. I cannot tell what the Lord 
 has done for me. I know not whether my name is in the book 
 of life. I know not whether I am one of the elect. I know 
 not whether the regenerating principle is in me. And more- 
 over, it is none of my business. My business is to go to work 
 to use such means as I have, to sow myself, to work out my 
 salvation, to seek Jesus. And I do so, and find. 
 
 But suppose some one far wiser than I am, some one skilled 
 in dialectics, comes to me here, and demonstrates to me the 
 utter uselessness of means. He tells me to go home and wait 
 for the vivifying breath of God to wake me up. And so I go 
 home, and wait yonder in a careless world-state for the power 
 of God to do something for me and with me. Ah ! when thus 
 would I come to know the trutli or be any good here or hei^- 
 after 1 Never ! never ! 
 
 y 
 
Tiifc: STORV or tiik new birth. 
 
 103 
 
 It is in r»\!4('n(M'uti()ii fis it is in (»tlu'r tliin'j;s. T ditl not know 
 Avht'tlicr (lu'iT W(vs unythiniL; in iin' wlu'ii I s»'t out to wor-k nut 
 wlifit I wantt'd to Ix? iit. 1 did not ktu)\v whctlifrr I liiid bruins 
 fi.ou^^h to puzzh' out the lessons tliiit lay Ix'twocn uw ami my 
 litY'-work. Ami lor a lonj^' wliilf it scjMued a <iU('stion. l»ut I 
 tried, and 1 am tiyinij still, and \ am ;,'or!ii; to try to tlif end. 
 
 And so with you too in what vou are ti'viii-' to work out. 
 Tn tlie same way, tlien, let us woi-k out oui' salvation. Hiirlit hero 
 at the feet of Jesus is wjieie to he^dn, and ri^ht now is whm 
 to begin, and on and on tiirouf^h the days and the years keep 
 at it, and when the results of life come to be made up, you will 
 find that tliere is something for you, a crown for your head, a 
 ring for your finger, a i)lace at CJod's right hand. 
 
 Now, you think, .some of you, that I aai making just a little 
 too much of means, more than a Calvinist (aight to make. You 
 say to me: "That is works, works." Ah ! I do not think we 
 can make too much of means, for God makes so much of them. 
 Tell me of anything he does for us, and he does all for us that 
 is done; — but tell me of anything he does, without means. 
 You know liow it is with regard to every (biy matteis. It 
 does not do to neglect means there. The sun shines, and the 
 showers fall, but if the sunshine and the showers are going to 
 fill your barns, you must be up and at it with all the might 
 you have. Y''our means cannot do much, but they do so much 
 that there can be no harvest for you without them. 
 
 And so in the higher matters of life and destiny as M-ell. 
 You want to be born again. You want to be saved. Yuu 
 want to be yonder at God's i-ight hand. Well, my hearer, you 
 must use the means. But perhaps you do not believe in means. 
 You waste your Sabbaths. Y'ou would not go to a prayer- 
 meeting for a good deah You do not read your Bible. \''ou 
 do not pray. Y''ou keep Heaven and all that is good out of 
 your thoughts. Ah ! you are using means, let me warn yov . 
 yes, you are using means — the means to blast your hope, \ . 
 wreck your life, to damn your soul, and such means alas ! wid 
 be terribly effectual. 
 
 hi 
 
Hi a 
 
 104 
 
 THE STORY OF THE NEW BIRTH. 
 
 O my hearer, rise up to-day in the strength of a holy purpose, 
 and, w ith the help of God, set out for Heaven. On your knees, 
 asfk, with such words as you have, and with such ideas of truth 
 as you have, the Almighty Son of God to teach you the first 
 lesson of the Dinne life, namely this : " Except a man be born 
 again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." And he will, and 
 you will be born again. 
 
 We are close to salvation now, close to Jesus, so close. And 
 perhaps we are feeling as if we would like to be saved. Guv 
 heart is tender. We are troubled, anxious. We know we 
 have not been doing right, walking in the fear and favor of 
 God, and here to-<:Iay we see the folly of such a course, and 
 how it mus^ end. Lut still we hesitate. We are slow to yield 
 to the holy pen^uasion that is taking hold of us. Jesus says : 
 " Yield now." The Spirit says : " Yield now." The word of 
 God says : " Yield noAv." The people ot God say r " Yield now." 
 But other things, business, pleasures, companionship, society's 
 influence, and so on, say : " Do not yield ; it is weak ; take 
 more thne ; next Sabbath will do as well as this ; next year 
 will do better than this." And there we are, pulled different 
 ways, and we know not what to do. Thus it was with Nico- 
 demus, and thus it is with every man. But he let the truth 
 lead him, and lie was saved. And let us do as he did, and we 
 will come to know the blessedness of being born again. 
 
 jMy hearer, I have been setting before you in a simple 
 practical way the way of life ; and now I say to you. Come I 
 Come as you are ! Come now. Let this be your spiritual 
 birthciiiy, the beginning of days to you. With your heart 
 bowed, say to Jesu« : O Jesus, teach me how to h& saved ; 
 leaoli me what it is to be born again I 
 
 fi 
 
X. 
 
 "^hc ^3oiil- ifd Q^orih, ii» ^00$. 
 
 " Fo)' what is a man profited, if he shall gain the wliole worlds 
 and lose his own soul ? or what shalla man give in exchange 
 for his soul ? " — -Matt. xvi. 26. 
 
 OUR Lord had been setting before his disciples what it is 
 to be his followers. There \va.5 danger of them building 
 tueniselves up with t)ie idea that he was going to do much for 
 them in the shape of mere worldly good. There was danger 
 of their taking him to be a king like the kings of men, 
 regarding his kingdom like the kingdoms of the nations, 
 cherishing utterly mistaken conceptions as to what he was to 
 do for them and the world, and so losing the good of the mission 
 he canio to woi'k out. He wjuits therefore to disabuse their 
 minds of any false notions they might be entertaining with 
 regard to what following him was, and what it was going to do 
 for them, and to tell them just what it was. It was self- 
 renunciation. It meant the cross. " If any man will come 
 after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and 
 follow me." 
 
 I*ut then, it i" objected here, that such a life is not much of 
 an improvement Oi life as it is. It is death rather than life. 
 \'< ;.-: os'nvj, uiif'^ iit< '.',<< t,,'\ve I'., aiid you 'lo [\<jX .save what you 
 
 if 
 i 
 
in 
 
 iji 
 
 1 06 
 
 THE SOUL: ITS WORTH, ITS LOSS. 
 
 lose. If following Christ leads to the cross, that is about the 
 worst sort of life-losing one can meet with. The conclusion is 
 therefore inevitable : If you want to save yourself, if you want 
 to live ; then keep clear of Christ, do not be a christian. 
 
 And there is some truth in that. If you want to have it 
 easy, no hard work to do, never to be tired or sick, no cross to 
 bf^ar, no temptations to withstand, why then following Christ 
 is not much of a way for you. AVliere he leads is the way of 
 the cross, and a hard way it was for him, and a hard way it is 
 for his, but not so hard for his as him. 
 
 Now, he answers the supposed objection by a reference to 
 an old proverbial saying, a sort of wise maxim, to the effect, 
 that losing one's Ufe is the way to save it, and saving one's life is 
 the way to lose it. "For whosoever will save his life shall 
 lose it, and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find 
 it." In other words, the best way to take care of one'sself is not 
 to take the best care of one's self , and the best way to save one's 
 life is not to save it. We all understand how that is. We 
 may save our life in some respects only to sacrifice it in some 
 other respects. We may sacrifice the '»"ifher for the sake of 
 the lower. We may sacrifice the soul Jie sake of the body. 
 We may sacrifice the Forever for the '=^1' ; oi 1. e Now. "For 
 what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and 
 lose his own soul ? or what shall a man give in exchange for 
 his soul ? " 
 
 Now, in further illustrating the text, observe first here, that 
 there is about each of us what we call our self, our soul. We 
 stand up, erect, strong, our feet on the earth, and our head 
 pointing heavenwards, and we say, /. Perhaps indeed that is 
 where we get the I, a letter in the alphabet that is more to 
 some of us than all the rest. 
 
 What, then, is that / of ours? And perhaps it is the what 
 I have as well as the what I am. At least some of us would 
 like to think so, and we act so. With us /is not onlv our little 
 self, but the ground we stand on, and the much or little of 
 
 ' 
 
 •ii 
 
THE SOUL: ITS WORTH, ITS LOSS. 
 
 io7 
 
 sp'ico we fill with our importance and self-consequence. It is 
 what we own as well as what we are — our house, our shop, our 
 farm, our wide estate, our kingdom. 
 
 I may put my feet close together, and thus standing on the 
 smallest possible portion of this earth, and therefore all the 
 more erect, and all the higher up toward Heaven, I may say, 
 I ! Or, on the other hand, I may spread out my feet just as 
 far as I dare spread them, and thus uncomfortiibly sprawled 
 out, and standing with difficulty, and of course not very high 
 up towards Heaven, I may say, I ! ! 
 
 And indeed it is easy for us to fall into the habit of identify- 
 ing men by what they have rather than by what they are. AVe 
 think and speak of them as possessed of this and that, as thus 
 and thus titled and honored, as related to So-and-So. We 
 think of a man's business or profession rather than himself — 
 the acres he cultivates, the house he lives in, the position he 
 occupies, the dre«ss he wears, the crown on his head, the sword 
 that dangles by his side, the money he counts and clinks, and 
 much else of that sort. 
 
 And, it must be granted, that in a world such .. ours, a 
 world where appearances go for so much, the things a man has, 
 or seems to have, go a long way towards making him what he 
 is, and it is not always e^isy for us to discriminate between 
 what is his and himself. What would many a man of great 
 prominence be without the money he happens to have, the 
 accidents of birth and station, the age he belongs to, the place 
 he lives and does his work in, the position he occupies, those 
 around him and with whom he has so much to do, the congre- 
 gation he ministers to, the people he represents and reigns over^ 
 yea even the clothes he wears — the gold lace or lawn 1 These 
 and such like things make him. We cannot see and know 
 what a man is apart from what he has, and so we look at what 
 he has to see what he is, and thus we form our estimate of him. 
 
 But it is evident there is a wide difference between what a 
 man has and is. Across a rich man's life may sweep the tornado 
 
 lU 
 
 IIP 
 
!»<fi 
 
 i i 
 
 IMr, 
 
 ¥ i'^ 
 
 1 08 
 
 THE SOUL: ITS WORTH, ITS LOSS. 
 
 of disaster as in the case of tlie Patriarch of Uz, and all he has 
 is gone, only what he is left. And how changed he is to his 
 acquaintances ! They regard him with askance looks, and 
 spe^k to him with harsh words. Ah ! it was what he had they 
 took off their hats to and respected — his vast wealth, his fine 
 clothes, his dignity and importance, not himself. And every 
 day we make the same mistake that Job's friends made, and it 
 is a serious mistake. 
 
 Let us get nearer a man than the front door of his fine house, 
 the shop he does business in, his official public life. We do not 
 know him looking at him so far off". Seeing him only thus, we 
 have no proper estimate of his real worth. And sometimes 
 God helps us to see what a man is apart from what he has. It 
 is a sore process, but it is sometimes necessary both for himself 
 and his friends. He did that with Job ; sometimes he does it 
 with others. 
 
 A man is a king perhaps ; so God stirs up rebellion around 
 him, and with rude traitorous hands tears off his crown, strips 
 oft' his royal purple, lets us see him a simple unofficial plain 
 man. If he has wealtli, sometimes He lets disaster come, wave 
 after wave tumbling high over one another, until he is strip- 
 ped so bare that there is only his poor naked self left. And 
 then it is seen what a grand manhood was back of what he had. 
 
 But you can come nearer still. And so, as in Job's case, 
 the Lord lets disease pick his bones, the worms feed upon his 
 flesh, until there is almost nothing left of him but a bare soul. 
 And now, at this last analysis, we get at the very self of a 
 man, his best if there is any best about him — his glory and 
 power, that about him which neither the chances nor changes 
 of the years can give or take away, his I, his soul. Job could 
 rise up from amid the ruins of all he had been in the days of 
 his prosperity, and with only enough left to him to hold his 
 soul, he could say, I ! And now he can say it as he could not 
 when there was so much piled around him that was his, not 
 himself. Thus the soul of a man is the I am of every man. 
 
m 
 
 THE SOUL: ITS WORTH, ITS LOSS. 
 
 io<3 
 
 , 
 
 Again : The worth of the soul. That the soul is of groat 
 worth, that it has a value beyond human arithmetic to calcu- 
 late, is c'tar from what the Lord Himself says. His argu- 
 ment implies that. It is based on that idea. "For what is a 
 man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his 
 own soul ? Or, what shall a man give in exchange for his soul V' 
 
 You often hear men talking about what a man is worth. 
 They rate him according to what he has rather than what he 
 is. He has so much property, so much money invested, and 
 he is worth so many thousand dollars. 
 
 And men get into the way of rating themselves according 
 to what may be called their commercial value, and so they 
 rate themselves too hiofli or too low. One thinks he is such a 
 great man, worth so much, because he has houses and lands and 
 wealth, whereas in real soul value he may not count for much,, 
 Another may say of himself sadly : "I am a poor man, a very 
 poor man. I do not own one foot of land. The house I live 
 in is not my own. I have no money in the bank. I have no- 
 thing." 
 
 But, poor man, you have a soul. You have a life within you 
 that can never die, and that may be an eternal rapture. You 
 have thoughts perhaps that can range the universe over, and 
 a, capacity to enjoy whatever is worth having there. At your 
 feet rises a mystic ladder reaching up to God, and up that lad- 
 der you can climb to where God is, and Christ shines, and the 
 seraphs sing. With a soul, then, of such possibilities, such 
 wide-ranging and high-reaching capabilities, a man is not poor, 
 need not be poor. The universe is his. Heaven and earth are 
 his. They are his to cull satisfaction from, to reap harvests 
 of good from, to possess and enjoy. The millionaire is poor 
 compared with the man whose soul is what a soul is capable of 
 possessing and enjoying of good and glory, power and progress. 
 
 The soul's worth is seen, too, in this, that it is the soul that 
 gi\es to material things whatever of value and usefulness they 
 have. Before there was a living huiuan soul there was a 
 
f 
 
 m 
 
 M 
 
 p 'I 
 
 no 
 
 THE SOUL: ITS WORTH, ITS LOSS. 
 
 world, and in its mountains were mines of gold and glittering 
 gems, its valleys wore capable of yielding abundant harvests, 
 out of its timber and rocks might be hewn fleets and built up 
 cities, and out of its natural forces might be developed so much; 
 but all was waste and useless till God breathed into the clay 
 He shaped into the human form, and man became a living 
 soul. If gold has any preciousness, it is the soul that gives it 
 its preciousness. It is the soul's ingenuity that extracts it 
 from its darkness, puiilies it of its dross, shapes it into a crown, 
 weaves it into lace, and makes it all it has come to be in this 
 age when the dollar is all but omnipot. .it for good or ill. But 
 it is not the dollar, but the soul unseen behind it that is the 
 power. The lightning wreathed the cloud with its fiery links 
 from the days of Noah, but not until these modern times was 
 it found out how to utilize its flashing fleetness, and make it 
 the useful, yea the indispensable thing it has come to be. And 
 so with everything else of usefulness and worth in the world. 
 Thus how great the worth of the soul, when all that is, owes 
 whatever^ it is, and whatever of worth it has, to the soul. 
 
 But it is when we come to the cross we see as we cannot see 
 anywhere else the soul's priceless worth. We find blood and 
 agony here. We find here the dying soul of God's own Son. 
 "My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death." Ah ! not 
 gold nor gems avail here. Not crowns nor thrones can ran- 
 som the soul. And so from Heaven comes down the Son of 
 God, and He gives Himself, His blood, His life, for the soul. 
 
 Now, there is much here to contemplate^ much to think 
 about, but this must strike us, how much the soul is worth in 
 God's eyes, when he would give his Son to die on the cross for 
 it. Only he who made the soul, gifted it with all its powers, 
 endowed it with all its graces, made it capable of so much 
 gladness and glory, gave it something of Himself, knows its 
 true value. If the soul were what some would have us believe 
 it is, a material something, a thing of dust and to return to 
 dust, a life like the insect life that buzzes itaelf out in a sum- 
 
 
 I 
 
IllE S(.)L'l.: ITS WORTH, ITS LOSS. 
 
 lit 
 
 
 \ 
 
 Is 
 le 
 
 mer day find is no more, would tliero have been any cross and 
 any Christ? No. The soul would not have been worth any 
 such expenditure. Thus the cross means to nie that my soul 
 is worth niuch; it is worth the Son of God's dyinj^ for. 
 
 Again : The Loss of the Soul. If the soul is worth .so much, 
 what a loss to lose it. "For what is a man profited, if he 
 shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul ? " 
 
 There are things you lose, and you say : "Let them go ; they 
 are not of much account any way ! " And you put yourself to 
 no ti'ouble and expense to seek and find them. But there arc 
 other things you would not lose for a great deal. You put 
 yourself to no end of trouble, and you spare yourself no ex- 
 pense, to recover them. What you would not do to vindicate 
 your honor, maintain your good name, regain your health, save 
 your life ! I think you would part with every dollar you had. 
 You would sell your houses and lands. To save your life, to 
 regain your lost health, to re-establish your character, what 
 would you not do that could be done ? 
 
 Sometimes it comes to be with a man in a very rude sort of 
 way : "Your money or your life !" And his money is much to 
 him perhaps. Through busy weary years he toiled for it and 
 gathered it. he saved and scraped dollar after dollar till he 
 had co.ne to be rich. And he doe aot like to lose his money; 
 it is hard to lose it. But it is still harder to lose his life. Life 
 is more to him than his thousands, more to him than millions. 
 So, because life is more to him than his money, he parts with 
 his money. He tries to compromise. He hands over $500, 
 then 81000, then §10,000, and then at last all, and he thanks 
 the Lord that he gets away with his life. 
 
 But the soul is more to a man than even his life. His life 
 is only for a biief time, a few years at the most, but his soul 
 is to live forever. If, then, a man will part with all he has 
 for his life, what will he not part with for his soul 1 That is 
 the way you and I would reason about it, and in some such 
 way our Lord reasons about it. He asks in" strong words : 
 
 ,.!' 
 

 ^ I 
 
 
 1^ 
 
 4|: 
 
 tI2 
 
 THE SOUL: ITS WORTH, ITS LOSS. 
 
 "For wli.'it is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, 
 and l(»s(! his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange 
 for his soul?" 
 
 And yet, somehow, our reasoning is lame ; it does not hold. 
 Afost men alas ! think but little of their soul. Tiiey value 
 money, and they value life, but they do not value the soul. 
 For the sake of money and life they will lose their soul. 
 
 Once a rich young man came to our Lord with the question 
 how he could have eternal life; in other words, how he might 
 save his soul. Just then, it would appear, something had led 
 him to concern aliout his soul. Our Lord told him that to save 
 his soul he must part with all he had. It was with him : 
 "Your money or your soul ! " He looked at the hard alterna* 
 tive, and then he went away. His wealth was more to him 
 than his soul. That young man would have sold all to save 
 his life ; but he did not sell all nor anything to save liis soul. 
 
 And that young man was no exception. To save their life 
 men will suft'er almost everything, if it is necessary. They 
 will cross continents to do so. They will go out of business, 
 resign lucrative positions, part with all they have in the world, 
 to live perh.ips ten years. But these same men, were you to 
 ask them, as the Lord asked the rich young man, to make a 
 sacrifice for their soul's sake, would think it a cruel sort of 
 exaction, a thing too hard for them to do. Men who are earn- 
 ing day by day fair wages, making money, growing in wealth, 
 set so little value on their soul, and all that is being done for 
 their soul, tliat perhaps they give less than ten cents a Sab- 
 bath to religious pui'poses. You think that is not a fair way 
 to put it, and you object to it. But that is one way of put- 
 ting it, and it reveals to us an aspect of the question that is not 
 pleasant to contemplate. Cheap souls ! the cheaper the better 
 with s(jme of us 1 But the Creator oi souls and the Redeemer 
 of souls do not think them cheap. " For what is a man pro- 
 fiied, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul ? 
 or what sha I a man give in exchange -for his soul ?" 
 
t:l 
 
 THE SOUL: ITS ^^■ORTII, ITS I OSS. 
 
 n3 
 
 ^ow, the soul is in danger of boing lost — my soul, your 
 f^oul. And to lose the soul is more than to lose life. It is to 
 lose the greatest treasure we have ; it is to lose all. 
 
 We lose our soul, in a way, when we forget we have a soul, 
 or do not know that we have a soul. A man m.ay have what 
 he does not know he has. Somebody rummaging among his 
 old books and papers may discover a gem of a book, a l)ook 
 that in its faded pages contains what the whole literary world 
 has been in search of for centuries. Or, in his garret, buried 
 up among dust and lumber, is an old picture, the chef dwuvre 
 of one of the old masters, ar ' that lost work of art is worth 
 more in money value than all his wealth. 
 
 Now, in you and me, buried perhaps amid worthless rub- 
 Insh, the dirt and dust of wasted years, lost to all that is grand 
 and good, is a soul, a gem alongside of which the famous Koh- 
 i-noor is of no account, a work of art of infinite value. We 
 are so busy with life, so absorbed in everything else but the 
 right thing, so taken up with pleasure and the world and the 
 things of time and sense, that we hardly know we have a soul 
 at all. At all events, we do not know the worth of the soul 
 we have, and so its worth is lost to us. What it might he to 
 us and the world, were it where and such that it could shine, 
 and make its light and power felt ! What a gladness and glory 
 it might be ! Instead of grovelling where we are amid mean 
 earthly gratifications and sensualities, herding with hogs, com- 
 panionating with fools, we might be stars shining in the night, 
 the light and guide of others. But our soul is as though it 
 were not, and so is lost to us and others. It is hidden, ne- 
 glected, undeveloped, and therefore worthless. 
 
 But there comes One, a shining One, who loves souls and 
 knows their worth, and who wants us to know their worth, 
 ^nd he seai-ches among what we call our trumpery and trash, 
 our neglected garret; and out from dust and darkness, after 
 much searching, he brings forth the lost soul, still bearing, 
 though sadly defaced, marks of its divine origin. He is sure 
 
 if 
 
f ! 
 
 : 
 
 
 
 f 1 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 
 ; 
 
 114 
 
 THE SOUL: ITS WCRTII, ITS LOSS. 
 
 i< i' 
 
 he has foun<l something iK^ttor than gold or diamomls. S'o 
 he patiently cleanses it of its dust. \)y a slcill all his own he 
 restores its faded beauty, develops slowly, slowly its wondrous 
 powers of love and light, and reveals to the world the glory of 
 his discovery. He has found what was lost, and there is great 
 
 joy- 
 Men lose their souls in their efforts to gain the world. They 
 
 barter away their souls for gold. They say : " Soul, I want tu 
 make money, and I care not much how I make it so long as I 
 make it, and you must keep out of the way while I am doing 
 it. It is inconvenient to have you around just now, question- 
 ing, and fault-finding, and meddling." 
 
 And they make their money, make it in ways that it does 
 not do to enquire too particularly into, and they make lots of 
 it. Tiiey gain the world. But what about their soul 1 What 
 about love, conscience, faith, hope, reverence, and all that goes 
 to make a soul ? Lost ! lost ! And what is a man profited by 
 gaining the world and losing his soul ? 
 
 There comes a day in his history when he can make no more 
 money, when he is old and must die, when judgment and 
 eternity are upon him, and now he begins to think about his 
 soul. It was inconvenient once to have a soul, but now he 
 needs it. Oh how he seeks ! You hear him crying in the 
 night. But his soul is lost. He has only money, and money 
 ■wrongly gotten, stolen, squeezed out of the hard earnings of 
 the honest poor, and it cannot help liim. It is a torment to 
 him. Now he knows what this means : *' For what is a man 
 profited, if ho shall gain the whole world, and lose his own 
 soul?" 
 
 The soul lost ! Origen thinks psyche, the Greek word here 
 for soul is derived from another Greek word which signifies to 
 grow cold, and his idea is that the soul is cal'ed so, " because 
 it has waxed cold from the fervor of just things." But it is 
 not so cold but that it may be kindled up again to its original 
 holy glow.. 
 
 ! 
 
THE SOUL: ITS WORTH, ITS LOSS. 
 
 115 
 
 e 
 
 
 e 
 
 s 
 
 Tliere is n hoautiful (J rook romance about Psycho, generally 
 l)oli(!vecl to bo a talo of the human soul. A king had tliroo 
 (lau!,'htors, the youngest of whom was Psycho, who was very 
 beautiful. This l)eautiful princess was hated l)y Venus be- 
 cause of her beauty, and she did all she could to oH'ect her 
 ruin. She tried to get her married to a monster. 13ut in this 
 she failed. At last Psyche, who was too much given to listen 
 to .silly stories, got into ti'ouble, and she wanted to put an end 
 to heiself. IJut nothing in nature could destroy her. She 
 couhl live, but not die. At last poor P.syche fell under the 
 intluence of a sleep from the infernal world, and she sl(!pt and 
 «lei)t on in the dangerous sleep. But hope came to her, and 
 j)Ui-iHed through suffering, she awoke to a new and happy life. 
 
 Thus runs the old Greek tale, and how true that the soul is 
 ready to be lost. How true that a dangerous sleep has fallen 
 upon the soul, and it sleeps on through the awful earnest 
 years. But the Redeemer of souls comes, and he loves the 
 soul, and .awakes it to a new life of love with him. He mar- 
 ries it to himself, and wins its love and devotion, and takes it 
 to Heaven with him. 
 
 But alas ! that is not true of every soul. There is a loss 
 Ijeyond even his tinding, a loss that is so forever. And a lost 
 vsoul, a soul in HbII, who can picture the horror of it ? 
 
 Sad world indeed, ah ! who can bear 
 
 Forever there to dwell, 
 Forever sinking in despair. 
 
 In all the pains of hell ? 
 
 Conscience, the never-dying worm, 
 
 With torture gnaws the heart ; 
 And woe and wrath in every formi, 
 
 Is now the sinner's part. 
 
 
■ ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 "©he ^011^0 ;?ipinc ^uHor, 
 
 " / aleep^ hut my heart ivaJceth : 
 It is the voice of my beloved that knocheth, saying : 
 Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undcjiled : 
 For my head isfdled tviih dtw, 
 My locks with the drops of the night. 
 I have put off my coat ; how shall I put it on? 
 I have washed my feet ; how shall I dejile them 'i 
 
 — Song of Sol, v. 2, 3. 
 
 WE have here the tender and thrillinf^ love-story of the 
 Lord's dealings with careless half-awakened souls, and 
 the unkind and heartless way their carelessness leads them to 
 act towards him. If then, my hearer, I can interpret the 
 passage to you, shewing that the picture so faithfully sketched 
 here is that of yourself, and so true to what you are, it may 
 Iielp to awaken you to a new earnestness, and lead you to be 
 his as you have not yet been his. That is what I want to do, 
 if the Lord will help me, his spirit inspire me. 
 
 I am not sure that even the genius of Solomon, gifted and 
 
THE SOL'l/S DIVINE SL1T<.R. 
 
 117 
 
 wiso and Uiilliaiit as li»^ was, jEjr'.sjXMl tli«' full import (if what 
 hv wrot<' wIm'U \\v Nvri)tt' this Soii;^ of snnt,'s. JJut iiulcrd sn 
 often men find that tho Lord niak»'s so niiu-h more of thrii- pooi 
 \\i'nk wr)i(ls than they intcndt'd when they s[i(tk«M)r wrote them. 
 Solomon sin«;s away oi hi.s loves, voicing' the nuisic of Ids ;,'reat 
 Koul in ihythnde words, but little does ho know perhaps that 
 the S{)iiit of Go<l touches Ids lyre, and so we have here; the 
 honey and the fiankinoense and spice and myrrh of the <,'ospel, 
 the thrilling story of how souls are won to (Jod, and men are 
 saved. We do lujt interpret the book aright, we do not get at 
 its beauty and sweetness, if we do not spiritualize its themes. 
 A gi-eator than Solomon is iiere, and it is yours and mine to 
 catch the inspii/ition of his Divine pi-esenco. 
 
 Now, in further illustiating the text, you will observe, we 
 liave here, in the first place, an expressive and suggestive 
 description of the spiritual state, in whiih, it seems to me, s(t 
 many among us are Just now. It is desciii)ed as that sort of 
 sleep where the sleeper is more or less conscious of what is 
 going on around, and yet not sutKciently awake to take hold 
 and do. " I sleep, but my heart waketh." 
 
 There are different sorts of sleep. There is the sleep that 
 hears nothing, sees nothing, fears nothing, is utterly uncon- 
 scious of all that is going on, and cares not what happens. 
 There is the sleep that all night long dreams happy dreams, 
 and wakes only, if it wakes at all, to tell them, and when it 
 has told them, shuts its eyes and dreams again. And then 
 there is the sleep that we have here, the sleep that protests 
 it is awake, and yet it is not awake enough to get up and go 
 to work. " I sleep, but my heart waketh." 
 
 My young hearer, you know all about this sort of sleep- 
 You have had experience here. You are called in the morn- 
 ing in good time, but perhaps you have been up late, and you 
 find yourself so overcome with sleep. You hear the call, the 
 loud call of duty. It rings in your ears, and finds an echo in 
 your heart. It is a call you know you should heed, and you 
 
 i|" 
 
.fiSi 
 
 *' 
 
 
 
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 ' .'I ■ 
 
 118 
 
 THE SOUL'S DIVINE SUITOR. 
 
 mean to do it. And so with your eyes still shut, and from 
 under the bed-clothes somewhere, you answer: "All right ! T 
 !tni awake ; I will be up presently." But perhaps the one who 
 calls you is not so sure, and the calling continues louder and 
 louder. You are annoyed, vexed, angry. You protest with 
 harsli words that you are awake, that you hear, and that there 
 is no need of so much calling. But you do not get up ; you 
 sleep on. 
 
 This is the sort of sleep that sleeps in church, and sees 
 nothing out of place in doing so. You will see the sleepy 
 christian, as the sermon dr.ags its slow lengtli along, put his 
 head on the book-board, as if to pray ; or stretch himself out, 
 lying well Ijack in his pew, as if to tiike it all in, hear all the 
 better. But soon his eyes are seen to close, and his mouth to 
 open ; he is asleep. Wlien however you come to rally him on 
 his being asleep in church, and on the undignilied appearance 
 he presented, he will stoutly protest perhaps, that he was not 
 asleep at all, that he heard every word the preacher said, that 
 he only shut his eyes so that he might hear all the better, and 
 that it is a virtue rather than otherwise to sleep as he slept. 
 It was only his eyes that were asleep, asleep so far that they 
 'A ere closed to the things that were gointr on around him, and 
 that would have, had he seen, distracted his thoughts and 
 interfered with his worship ; but his mind, his soul, his heart, 
 his coiiScience, all that is best about him, were not asleep ; they 
 were wide awake and deeply interested. " I sleep, but my 
 heart waketh." 
 
 But it is the spiritual state described here that we have to do 
 with specially. And this is not the sort of soul-sleep that hears 
 nothing, sees nothing, feels nothing, fears nothing; the soul- 
 sleep that no preaching can disturb, no warning words can 
 wake up to concern. Nor is it the soul-sleep that dreams of 
 Heaven, makes itself believe that all is well when all is not 
 well, rejoices in a wretched self-security, and has so much to 
 tell of how it feels, the peace it enjoys, the hai'pincss it has 
 
 I 
 
THE SOUL'S DIVINE SUITOR. 
 
 ri9 
 
 i 
 
 ■I 
 
 I 
 
 that others have not. Those are dangerous spiritnnl sh^cp- 
 states to be in, anfl there is not ninth to hope iov those who 
 fall into them, yiehl themselves to their fatal influence. The 
 spiritual sleep we have here,ba(l as it is, is far more hopeful than 
 either the dead-asleep state or the dream-sleep state. Tt is halt' 
 awake, and half-awake may soon be wide-awake, if we only 
 keep at it. If, however, we let it alone, it may soon settle down 
 to the dead asleep state, or, what is quite as bad, it may fall to 
 dreaming and trifling. 
 
 The spiritual sleeper described here is more or less conscious 
 that he is not what he ought to be, and that is a hopeful sign. 
 He is awake enough to know and feel he ought to b<' w'uW 
 awake, and not only wide-awake, but also u^; and doing. He 
 hears the call of duty, and it makes him so uncomfortal)le to 
 hear it. He turns over, rubs his sleepy eyes, makes as thitui;li 
 he would get up, means to some time, but he does not always. 
 Before he knows where he is he is back to sleep again, and 
 sometimes the grand opportunity is lost to him. 
 
 O my hearer, you are that sleeper. Let me tell you what 
 makes me think so. You hear, aid you are more or less inter- 
 ested, and sometimes no little troubled. You are rather sensi- 
 tive to what is said. The call of the gospel ringing in your 
 ear day by day is disturbing, annoying. It vexes you some- 
 times. You feel like getting out of the reach of it. Ah ! 
 thank God that your conscience is not yet seared, that your 
 heart is not yet dead to the nobler and better impulses of what 
 is good and right. 
 
 But then, you want to believe yourself, and you want others 
 to believe, that you are not so bad after all, not so careless and 
 unconcerned, not so asleep as you seem to be. You have your 
 own serious thoughts, your own anxious times, your own liour:5 
 of earnest wakefulness, your own misgivings and perplexities, 
 your own tears and troubles. You admit you are not what 
 you ought to be, not as earnest and anxious as you ought to be, 
 not as awake as you ought to be. You admit you are asleep, 
 
 ^1 
 
 m 
 
 !a i 
 

 hi 
 
 '<: I 
 
 IP 
 
 
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 1 20 
 
 THE SOUL'S DIVIXE SL'ITQR. 
 
 moi-e or less .asleep, too much asleep ; but then you want as to 
 kiiOH' that you are not so asleep as some think you are, not so 
 asleep that you care not how it is with you nor what becomes of 
 you, not so asleep that your heart has ceased to beat. Your 
 eyes sleep, but your heart keeps awake, and so there ar& life 
 and hope for you. " I sleep, but my heart waketh.'^ 
 
 A,i,'ain : Christ at the door, knocking, calling, urgent. " Tt 
 is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me 
 my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled ; for my head is 
 iilled with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night." 
 
 The picture here is that of a lover who comes to visit his 
 intended bride somewhat later than he is wont, and he finds 
 her retiretl and asleep. He knocks, and calls gently, addi-ess- 
 ing her in the most endearing terms, and trying to tell her how 
 uncomfortable he is out in the chilly dewy night-air. He wants 
 her to get up and receive him, even though it is somewhat late. 
 But while she is not so asleep as not to hear at aJl, she is too 
 much asleep to appreciate the warmth and devotion of his love, 
 and so she lets him knock and call and ui'ge in vain. He even 
 tries the door, so urgent is he. But at last the knocking and 
 calling cease. He goes away. And then she wakes up in 
 great concern, and attires herself, and even ventures out into 
 the dark streets to seek him. 
 
 But the love of Christ foi- our souls is more wonderful still. 
 It is that story, my hearer, so thrilling and romantic, that we 
 have told us here in these tender human v/ords. Oh I think 
 when the whole story comes to bo told of how the Beloved Son 
 of God won us to be his ; how he found us living our careless^ 
 sinful, worldly life, sleeping the sleep that is hard to wake up 
 to anything that is good, indulging in an ease that is slow to 
 put itself to any trouble for any purpose that is in the direction 
 of our own salvation or that of others ; and how with intinite 
 patience and devotion he kept at us, knocking at the door of 
 our heart, calling us v.-ith the sweet love-tones of the gospel, and 
 at last persuiiiding us to yield ourselves to be his, it will be 
 
 
THE SOUL'S DIVIXE SUITOR. 
 
 121 
 
 1^ 
 
 fo jiul to be ta romance of love tlie like and equal of Avhich has 
 n('\t'i' been put into human words ! What beloved is like thy 
 1 clnxi'd, O my soul ! None can be conipared to him. He is 
 thi' chief among ten-thousand. He cannot be equalled mu' 
 surpassed for the glory of his perfections, the splendor of his 
 \ irtues, the excellences of his character, the riches of His giacc, 
 tlie wealth of his love. He has no equal. He stands alone, 
 r.urivaded, unsui'[)assed. He is perfect in loveliness. He is 
 so l()\ely that he is altogether lovely. 
 
 J5ut, to keep the picture we have here of him, you see, mj, 
 hearer, a loving one, a ])rince of most noble bearing, standing 
 kiineking at a humble door, and not only knocking, but call- 
 ing, urging, pleading. It is night, and the coldniight-dews 
 chill and wet him. Still he knocks on, and in words that ought 
 t(j win for his love a warm reception, he pleads, and calls, and 
 urges his suit : " Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my 
 undetiled ; for my head is hi". ;d with dew, my locks with the 
 drops of the night." 
 
 O my soul, thou art that half-asleep, half-awake one tlio 
 Prince of Glory has come to woo and win with his love. It is 
 in ^'ery humble circumstances he finds thee, and thou art not 
 worthy of him. Still ne loves thee, for there is no accounting 
 for love, and because he loves thee, he seeks thee where thou 
 art, and calls thee by so many sweet love-names, and counts 
 thee so precious. For love of thee, O soul, he has turned his 
 hack upon Heaven's glory, uncrowned his radiant brow, exiled 
 himself ; and, so poor, so emptied of all he was, he wanders far 
 forth into this waste-land world, exposing himself to hardship? 
 and dangers, the misunderstandings of friends and the bitter 
 cruelties of enemies, the crushing burdens of the poor and the 
 despair and death of the cross, and he comes as a suitor, a 
 su])})liant, to thy door, seeking to enjoy thy confidence and love. 
 
 And how is he received ? Ah ! he finds thy door locked 
 against him, and the one he loves with so much of love, and 
 for whom he has given up so much to seek and find, to woo 
 
ir>[ii 
 
 1/ .' 
 
 
 [ 
 
 122 
 
 THE SOUL'S DIVINE SUITOR. 
 
 and win, retired, and asleep, and indifferent. He is worthy of 
 a very different reception. Why is it, O soul, that thou art 
 not waiting, watching, with open door, and open arms, to 
 receive thy beloved ? That is the reception due him from thee. 
 That is the reception he has a right to expect. He had sent 
 thee word that he was coming, and to wait for him. l>ut 
 instead of waiting his coming, thou puttest out thy light, niul 
 lockest thy door, and retirest to sleep, and when he comes, 
 weary and wet, he finds he is not wanted, and nothing goes to 
 the heart of love like that. Not wanted ! not wanted ! 
 
 But he does not at once turn away from thee. He pities 
 thee, pities thy indifference. He wants thee to know his lo\o, 
 the good he can do thee, the help he can bring thee. He is 
 sure it is because thou knowest not who he is, and what he can 
 do for thee, and the love he has for thee, that thon art so cold 
 and indifferent towards him. So he comes to thv door, and he 
 stands there and knocks. "Behold, T stand at the door "ud 
 knock." 
 
 He is surprised at himself, surprised that he should be whore 
 he is, surprised that he should ever have to suffer such indigni- 
 ties for love's sake. " Btlwld, I stand at the door and knock ! '' 
 But love can do what nothing else can do, and bear what nothing 
 else can bear, and so he stands at the door that should be open 
 to receive him, and where he should be welcome, and he knocks, 
 and knocks. 
 
 And not satisfied with knocking, he calls, urges, pleads. He 
 makes use of the most endearing terms. " Open to me, my 
 sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled," He tries to awaken 
 the soul from its lethargy and heartless indifference. He 
 would interest it in him, stir up its sympathies, touch its pity, 
 tap the fountain of its tears, if it has any tears to weep for him, 
 any heart to feel for him. *' ]My head is filled with dew ; my 
 locks with the drops of the night." 
 
 O my soul, is this the way thou conductest thyself towai'ds 
 thy Redeemer? Is it thus thou rewardest liis love and self- 
 
 
THE SOUL'S DIVINE SUITOR. 
 
 123 
 
 ■If- 
 
 sacrifice and devotion ? O awake to tlie true sense of thy cruel 
 ingratitude, and make haste to cast thyself at his feet, for he 
 is iniinitely worthi(;r of thee than thou art of him. 
 
 Again : Empty Excuses. "I have put off my coat ; how 
 shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I detile 
 them?" 
 
 AVe saw, my hearer, the soul, yours and mine, in a sort of 
 half-asleepj half-awake state, a common enough state alas ! for 
 souls to be in. We saw the fair one — she thought she was 
 fair — shut and bolt her door when she knew her Divine Suitor 
 was coming to visit her, and how he had to stand out in the 
 chill night-air, and knock, and call, and plead. We saw how 
 she had retired to be out of the way, and was more or less 
 asleep, or perhaps she feigned sleep. We saw how she heard 
 the knocking, and the calling, and the urgent pleading, but she 
 did not want to wake up. She lay still, and seemed as though 
 she heard not. And yet she was not uninterested in what she 
 heard. She had some compunctions of conscience. She began 
 to feel she was acting an unworthy part ; she was trifling with 
 and ill-using a love that she could ill afford to trifle with and 
 ill-use. And so she began to relent somewhat, and to muse 
 thus : "I sleep, but my heart waketh ; it is the voice of my 
 beloved that knocketh." 
 
 But then she had her excuses, such as they were, for not 
 getting up, and any sort of excuse is better than none. She 
 was undressed, and it was such a trouble to dress again : "I 
 have put off my coat ; how shall I put it on ?" And then she 
 had washed her feet before retiring, and to get up, and go 
 down stairs, and open the door, would undo all that had been 
 done. " I have washed ray feet ; how shall I defile them ?'• 
 You and I would say, they were rather lame excused, not much 
 in them, altogether too thin. 
 
 But that is just the point. The best excuses are no excuses 
 at all. Ask men Vv'hy they are not christians, and they will 
 urge a var^ Ly of reasons. Perhaps they will rail against the 
 
 'M 
 
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 11 
 
 1 1 
 
 124 
 
 THE SOUL'S DIVINE SUITOR. 
 
 people of God, and bLame them for it call. The short-comings 
 and inconsistencies of christians have indeed a great deal to 
 answer for. Or, perhaps they will excuse thems&lves on the 
 ground that they are too busy to give attention to so weighty a 
 matter. Or, perhaps there are questions of grave importance, 
 doctrinal (juestions, points of nice distinction, and they want 
 to have them all settled. But, one and all, they are empty 
 excuses, wretched subterfuges, that are of no weight whatever 
 when the salvation of the soul is at stake, when it comes to 
 the reception or rejection of Christ. 
 
 O men, do you let such reasons as you urge for your not 
 being up to your duty here, your not being christians, your 
 not being members of the church, and so on, stand in your 
 way in other things 1 Because, for instance, somebody you 
 know, some fellow-citizen of yours, some one who lives on the 
 same street and goes to the same church, makes a terrible 
 failure of it in business, cheats his creditors, turns out to be 
 an arrant scoundrel, and gives the whole city a bad business- 
 name : — does that, I ask, deter any energetic business-man 
 from going into business 1 You know it does not. You say : 
 " I will go into business right over the ruins of his failure, and 
 I will guard against the mistakes he made, and so succeed 
 where he failed." And you do it. 
 
 Why, then, are you not doing it here 1 The truth is, my 
 hearer, you are not awake to your duty, your soul is still 
 asleep. If you were wide awake, if you were really concerned, 
 if you were in earnest and realized how matters were, you 
 would not sit still and die in your sins there. You would say : 
 *' Here is life ; I must have it ! Here is salvation for my poor 
 soul ; I must get it. Here is my duty, the door of opportunity 
 for me ; oh to be saved ! oh to be Christ's ! Is he near 1 Is 
 Jesus at my door standing knocking ? Oh let me to his arms! 
 Not a moment will I keep him out in the cold of the night 
 waiting on me. Jesus, blessed Jesus, welcome, welcome !" 
 
 Oh this cruel ease of ours, this wicked indulgence, that talks 
 
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THE SOUL'S DIVINE SUITOR. 
 
 125 
 
 it 
 
 like this : "T have put off my coat ; how sliall I put it on? 
 The best friend I have is out at my door knocking. ITe has 
 come miles and miles throuf'h tlie ni<dit to see me. He loves 
 me, and wants to help me. T know his rap so well. How 
 urgent he is ! But really I do not feel like seeing him to- 
 night. He can come again some other time, and perhaps I 
 will feel more like seeing him. If I let him in to-night, it 
 may not be pleasant for Him nor me. And then, I am not 
 prepared to receive visitors. Hark ! that is his word ; Open 
 to me, my sister, my love, my dove ! Open to me, and let me 
 in out of this dreary night ; my head is wet with the dew, my 
 locks with the drops of the night !" 
 
 But your ease prevails. You let Jesus stand and knock. 
 You let him plead in vain. He has to go away, wet and 
 weary. He has to go away from your door with his dripping 
 locks and moist garments. He has had to die on the cross to 
 do what he has done for you, come to your door with words of 
 invitation and grace and love, still he has to go away, and the 
 great opportunity is lost to you. 
 
 Am I speaking to you in parables ? O ray hearer, so often 
 you have said in your own way: "I have put off my coat; 
 how shall I put it on ?" You look out Sabbath morning, and 
 it is cold, disagreeable, and so you say to yourself : " I will 
 not go to church to-day. I know Jesus is to be there. He is 
 to be there to meet with me, to wash away my sins, to renew 
 my heart, to lead me in the way of life, to open for me the 
 door into Heaven. Still, another day will do as well as this." 
 And then you think you can have a word with him in your 
 own chamber. You can read a chapter, and that will do as 
 well ; or a sermon perhaps, or some good book. And so Jesus 
 comes and goes, and he is not yours, and you are not his. 
 
 Why is it, my hearer, you are still without an interest in 
 Christ, still unsaved, still a stranger to all that is good 1 I 
 will tell you why it is. It is because you have been trilling 
 and fooling with your opportunities straight along ; and if 
 this is to go on with you, you are lost. 
 
 I: i 
 
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• 
 
 126 
 
 THE SOUL'S DIVINE SUITOR 
 
 K. 
 
 Does a physiciran say, when some one comes after li'm in the 
 night, and rings and shouts him up out of bed ; "I havf put 
 off my coat; how shall I put it on?" Xo. Pei-haps half a 
 dozen times he is waked up, and waked up \eiy uiuieuessaiily 
 sometimes; still, he puts on his coat, and stumbles out iutu 
 the darkness to do what he can. 
 
 Does a business-man stay at home from his shop, because 
 the weather is somewhat unpleasant 1 No ; that is not th« 
 way to make money, that is not the way to success. 
 
 Oh if we would attend to religion as men attend to business, 
 if we would be as earnest and eager to embrace opportunities, 
 it would be very much better with our souls to-day than it is ! 
 But how can we be saved, trifling and fooling with our oppor- 
 tunities as we are 1 Is it much of a wonder that we hnd our- 
 selves making a failure of life ? The wonder is, that we have 
 not made more of a failure than we have. Oh away with these 
 utterly empty excuses ! They are the bane of souls, the things 
 that wreck lives, lose Heaven to us. No longer tritie. No 
 longer delay. No longer neglecl. To-day if you will hear his 
 voice, harden not your heart. To-day Jesus calls. To-day he 
 knocks at your door. To-day he is saying to you, O my 
 hearer, " Open to rae ! open to me ! " Oh then, let not your 
 ease keep the door shut against hira ! It is that, and nothing 
 else, that is in the way of your salvation. 
 
 And opportunites do not v/ait. Jesus knocks at your door 
 to-day, and his word is : " Open to me ! " But to-morrow he 
 may have gone. No more of his knocking for you ! No more 
 calling ! Ah ! then how anxious and earnest you will l^e. But 
 it will be too late. Then you will seek him, but you will not 
 find him. You will call, but he will not answer. Too late ! too 
 late ! Oh let it not come to that with any of us 1 And yet, it 
 is so easy to let it come to that. 
 
XII. 
 
 ^hc ®iig--Sinner -Sapcb. 
 
 U' 
 
 ly 
 II' 
 
 It 
 
 "And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven." — Luke 
 vri. 48. 
 
 A PHARISEE had invited our Lord to dine with him. 
 His name was Simon. He was evidently the most 
 narrow-minded and bigoted of his sect — hard, unsympathetic, 
 self-righteous, prejudiced. There seems to have been quite a 
 compjiny present, men of his own stripe. I suppose it was 
 simply for the sake of discussion that Simon had invited the 
 Lord to his house, for he neglected to extend to him the com- 
 monest courtesies that every eastern guest has a right to ex- 
 pect. Simon wanted to hear Jesus talk. He hoped perhaps 
 to have the opportunity of breaking a lance with him himself 
 in argument, and thus shew his skill in dialectics; and he 
 took good care to have at his table those who were in sympathy 
 with his views, and who would not be slow when the occasion 
 offered to put in a word for him. Now, it was while the en- 
 tertainment was going on that the incident occurred which I 
 am making the basis of what I have to say to-night. 
 
 I. The Sinner. " And, behold, a woman in the city which 
 was a sinner," 
 
r^f 
 
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 TIIK CITV-SfXXICR SAVED. 
 
 H(>\v few and simplo thn woivls, l)ut wlmt a story of sin ami 
 \v(K' tlicy tell. A fallen womiii ! I'eniity wroekod ! Tho lily 
 
 trailed in the niij'o of the stroot ! Ah ! there i 
 
 s no picture o 
 
 f 
 
 sin more hideous than that. I see her v<»iuI<m', hor hair dis- 
 licvelleil, her eyes swoUeii and blood-shot, lier youn;^ face 
 bloated, her dress untidy, everything,' about her betokening t lie 
 hard life she has been living. She is well-known in the city, 
 too well-known, and eveiything good and pure keeps out of 
 her H'ay. Once it was far otherwise, r)nc(^ perhaps she vv'as 
 loved, adn)ired, courted, honored, the belle of society, the light 
 and life of every gay circle. None dressed so gaudily, danced 
 so sprightly, sang so sweetly, laughed so merrily, talked so 
 charmingly, and was in every way so entertaining. ]>ut the 
 dark hour of temptation came, and now the belle of society is 
 a woman of the city who is a sinner. 
 
 It has been asked whether this woman was INlary Magdalene, 
 or Mary of Bethany. And much has been written, and long 
 stories have been concocted, to identify her with one or the 
 other, according to the fancy of the writer. But there is not 
 a particle of evidence to sliow that she was either. She was 
 one of the many that the Christ found deep in sin, ruined, 
 lost, fallen, and lifted ur to live the new life of faith in him 
 and love for Him. Excepting from what we can glean here, 
 we know nothing of her, either what she was before, or what 
 became of her after. But what is written is enough to teach 
 lis how willing and able the Christ is to save sinners, and that 
 is what we want to know. If he can save a fallen woman, 
 there is no one he cannot save. 
 
 The poor lost one had somehow come to know about the 
 Christ. Perhaps she had heard Him preach out on the hills, 
 or she may have listened raptly to his talks with the publicms 
 and sinners in the back streets. And his words had gone to 
 her heart, thrilled her soul, awoke in her sweet memories of 
 better days, brought the blush back to her cheek, made her 
 feel so wretched, and yet gave her hope and help. Again and 
 
Tlin CITY-SIXXER SAVED. 
 
 125 
 
 nfjiun sho had stolen back to licar iiioro, and sho liad tliou;,'ht 
 and \v('i!t and prayed, until sho luul come to f«M'l that she must 
 cast herself at his feet and pour <»ut her lioart to him there. 
 Hov kuiirj she may have been scM'kinij for an opportutiity to d<t 
 so, we have no means of knowiuL'. Tin,' story of a sinner's, 
 return to (lod is often a lon<:f story — resohitions madt» and 
 broken, strui,'L,'los to rise and deepei- falls, tears wept and 
 jM'ayoi's prayed, ani^uish unuttei'al)le, woe like unto the /;^naw- 
 in,<,'s of the worm that never dies and the l)urninrrs of the tire 
 uiKjuenchablo. P.ut now at last she is at his fe(!t. Sho luul 
 watched her opportunity, and unbidden she had come to thr 
 feast. 
 
 O my hearer, do you know anything of sin 1 Has it (b'aggiH^ 
 you down from some; high soei.al position, and left you sc 
 wrecked and lost that cold cruel Phaiisees of the church brush 
 past you and with high looks disdainfully say : " Pie is a man 
 of the city who is a sinner ! " Perhaps you are feeling sc 
 crushed and heart-broken to-night as you sit over there, and 
 all you might have been, but are not, comes rushing in upon 
 you. And church-members are so stiff and cold, and minister- 
 so unlike him they pi-each about. They do not understand you 
 and cannot feel for you, and so they drive you farther into sin 
 instead of drawing you from it. But here at the feet of Jesus you 
 need not perish, for he is so willing and able to save sinners. 
 
 II. The Sinner's Penitence : " And, behold, a woman in 
 the city, wliich was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at 
 meat in the Pharisee's house, brought an alabaster box of 
 ointment, and stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began 
 to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs 
 of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the 
 ointment." 
 
 The woman at the feet of Jesus said nothing. She was a 
 silent worshipper. She may have intended to say so much — 
 to tell him what a sinner she had been, what a wicked, wretched 
 life she had lived, low sorry she was and all that. But when 
 
 'M 
 
XJO 
 
 I HI' CITV-SIXNER S.W'ELV. 
 
 ; ii 
 
 kIic was fit fiis f(»ot kIh' could not lind word.s to say nnyt/iiiiy' 
 ift'i' ^'r'icf made her spcci-hlcss. P.ut lur tears \v(to olo(|iUMit. 
 Tlit'v di'()j)|i('d like rain on tlic naked dusty feet of ilw L(jrd, 
 and >lie wiped tlieni oH" with liei' loii,i< hair*. And then ht'i 
 hand found its way to tho folds of hor (h'css, /md sh(Mlrow fortli 
 a l)ux of the costly spikenard, pejliaps, and with thcj I'ich oint 
 nient she nnointe(I his feet, and ton(h'i'Iy kissed them. It wa.n 
 n toucliiri^', melting' scene, the \Ton»ftn'a hitterness of soul ex- 
 pressiuj^ itself in j!;5i'eat silent teardrops, the sinner's penilenct 
 eoniin«3'out in deeds of (ove and tenderness at tlie feet of the 
 Lord. 
 
 I»ut hard cold looks and crUel thousifhts were there towards 
 the weeping penitent. The guests felt themselves insulted by 
 her rude intrusion. Simon himself saw, as he thougiit, an 
 unansweral)lo argument against the Christ's Ixiing tlu; pro})het 
 he claimed to be : " This man, if he wen; a prophet, would 
 have known who and what manner of woman this is that 
 touc'heth him, for .she is a sinner.'' 
 
 Ah I what sinners iiave to put up with from an unpitying 
 world when they would come back t(j the right. Men have 
 no faith in their tears. As they come up with painful strug- 
 gling effort on hands and knees out of the deep pit where they 
 have been mired, men stand coldly by and give them no help- 
 ing-hand. Rather indeed do they push them back to their 
 perdition. Oh the cfuelty to penitents that society and the 
 church have to answer to God for ! How many woaid have 
 come back from their sins but for those cold Pharisaic looks, 
 cruel words, withering rebukes ! 
 
 And yet we are all sinners, all in the same condemnation, 
 all under the curse, all in need of repentance — you and I, 
 Simon as well as the city-sinner ; and God, looking down upon 
 lis from his high throne, sees very little difference, no differ- 
 ence at all to speak of, no essential difference. "There is no 
 difference," says the Apostle Paul, " for all have sinned, and 
 come short of the glory of God." And our Lord, by means of 
 
 ! 
 
THE CITY-SIXNKR SAVED. 
 
 131 
 
 d I, 
 
 ipon 
 fter^ 
 no 
 and 
 of 
 
 \.i\n' of his inimitahN' j)Hml)lo.s shewn Simon that, lio has loss 
 than h<' thiriks \w has to l)(>ast of ; that hn and th(^ woman ho 
 frowns at across tho tahhi ai'c not so far apart nioi'ally and 
 spii-itually ; that, i!\ fact, she has rather the advanta^'o, forslio 
 is at his foot, pcnitont, huml)h'd, l«)ving much, and he is not. 
 
 " Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee There was 
 
 a certain creditctr whicli had two debtors ; the one owed h\'e 
 hun(hf'd pence and the other rtfty. Hut wlien they had nothing 
 to pay, he frankly forijavo them both. Tell me therefore which 
 of them will love him most." 
 
 "Simon answered and said, I suppose that ho to whom he 
 f(»r'^ave most." 
 
 *' And he said unto him. Thou hast rightly judcjed. And 
 lie turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, .seest thou this 
 woman ? I entered into thine house, thou fi^vest me no water 
 for my feet ; but she hath washed my feet with teai-s, and 
 wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me nc 
 kiss, but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased 
 to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint ; 
 but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment. 
 Wherefore I say unto thee, her sins, which are many, urtt for- 
 given, for she loved much; but to whom little is forgiven, the 
 same loveth littla" 
 
 Now, here we are, all debtors. Some of us owe more, others 
 less ; but we are alike in ^liis that neither of us can pay wlvat 
 we owe. We are hopelessly in debt to God. And yet, we 
 stand on our dignity — dignity indeed ! dignity with the bottom 
 out ! because we owe, or think we ow«, a few cents or a few 
 dollars less than our neighbor over the way. He drinks, 
 drinks hard, poor fellow. He starves his children, abuses his 
 wife, reels on the pu^ilic streets, does not know how to take 
 care of himself, and is an eye-sore to society. He pays five 
 cents a glass for drugged liquor in the den.s, and figures before 
 the police court as a city-sinner. He is poor, and cannot 
 aflFud to drink respectably, drink like a christian, buy liis 
 
 1 f ' 
 

 ^^i 
 
 1 
 
 hi: 
 
 .1 
 
 ?! 
 
 
 
 ;f; 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^2 
 
 THE CITV-SrXXI::R SAVED. 
 
 li(^^^or wholosnie, find go to bed -vvitli it for a wcok ur a time. 
 But God up yondeM-, looking down froia his liiudi tlii-onc upon 
 us ;ill, seos no difference in us. The poor city-si nii(-r.s owe 
 more perhaps, but they weep more, pray more. Oh the tears 
 they shed at Christ's feet, on Christ's feet ; while we, with oui- 
 little sins, our respectabilities, our false ide;vs of reliL^ion, our 
 great church import.-ince, sit here, and growl and growl, if Ijad 
 men and worse women come to worship and weep neai- where 
 we are ! 
 
 F)ut the sinner yonder is penitent. See her tears flow ' 
 Behold her humility ! 8he is at the Christ's feet, washing 
 them with her tears, wiping thenj with her hair, kissing theuA 
 with her praying, per itential lips, anointing them with the 
 fragrant ointment. That ointment was worth three hundred 
 pence perliaps 840 or -$50 of our money. Oh ! are we penitent "? 
 Where ai-e our tears 1 When did ever we pour fifty dollars on 
 or at the feet of the Lord ? We blow away our money, his 
 money, in nauseating smoke. We .spend dollars and dollars 
 for liquors and cigars and useless luxuries. We anoint our 
 heads with aromatic ointments and highly perfumed oils. We 
 are good to ourselves, spare no amount of money to gratify 
 •)ur own mean pampered seltishness. But when we come here 
 to worship and weep at the feet of Jesus, we have no tears for 
 Inm, no ointment of nard for liis head much less his feet, no 
 lollars for- his suffering cause. 
 
 But then we think he does not care. What cares he for 
 the penitent's tear-washing and hair-wiping and kissing and 
 ."ostly anointing ? But does he not care 1 Did he not mind 
 that SimcMi put himself out so little on his account, received 
 him so coldly, treated hun so disrespectfully 1 Ah I He does 
 care. He is grieved, hurt, because we come here to his feet 
 to worship and weep, and we bring no tears, no ointment. 
 Like Simon, on the contrary, we are here to argue, to tin I 
 fault, to have a fling at the preacher or the people, to air our 
 %iportiince. Oh ! is it to be wondered, that we go home sour. 
 
 
THE CITY-SINNER SAVED. 
 
 m 
 
 [11(1 
 loes 
 
 cross, worse than wo came 1 "Wo may owe loss indood, but we 
 love less, we weep fewer tears and we give loss. Ah ! we may 
 well hi've doubts, serious doubts, of our penitence and faitli, 
 with eyes so dry as ours, and hearts so cold, and self-sacrilioe.s 
 so small. 
 
 III. The Sinner Forgiven. " And he said unto her, thy 
 sins are forgiven." 
 
 It reads as though it was because she wept much, gave 
 much, loved much, tliat her sins were forgiven : " Her sins, 
 which are many, are forgiven, for hhe loved much ; but to whom 
 little is forgiven, the same loveth little." That reads very 
 much like salvation by works — does it not 1 — tears and prayers 
 and gifts ])uying absolution. But when we look deeper into 
 the whole passage, we find that such a view is not consistent. 
 Christ clearly teaches that we are debtors— Simon, the city- 
 sinner, you and I — and that we are debtors, so deeply in do})t 
 that we cannot pay our debts. " And when they had nothing 
 to pay he frankly forgave them both." 
 
 What Jesus wants to illustrate and explain here is, how it 
 comes that Simon loves so little and the city-sinner so much. 
 And it is because Simon feels he has nothing to be grateful 
 for, he has no sins of any account to be troubled a])out, and he 
 does not trouble himself much a1)0ut them, lie needs no 
 Saviour to save him ! Why should he weep ? Vv'hy should he 
 give to the Christ? He has no debt of gratitude to pay. The 
 Christ has done nothing for him and needs to do nothing,'. 
 How small a thtng it is for God to forgive him, for he has so 
 little to be forgiven. But it is otherwise with the woman. 
 She is such a great sinner, so deeply in debt, so utterly ruined. 
 She needs to liave so much done for her, so much forgiven. 
 She needs a whole Saviour all to herself. 
 
 And that is just where the trouble with so many of us is. 
 We are so good that there is no special need of any Saviour 
 coming dov/n from Heaven and dying on the cross for us, no 
 need of all this church-expenditure for us. We aro about as 
 
 i 
 
 
 .. -J**"*' 
 
if 
 
 fr' ! 
 
 
 il IJ 
 
 ,1 • 
 
 il 
 
 ill 
 
 134 
 
 THE CITY-SINNER SAVED. 
 
 All we Wcant 
 
 good now as we can be, as there is any need for. 
 is a little something or other to give us a help. 
 
 What could Christ do for such a self-satisfied man as 
 Simon ? And what can he do for so many church-goers to-day ? 
 They are too good for him to do anything for. But the truth 
 is, we are not good, we are hopeless, helpless debtors in the 
 hands of law, and unless Christ stand good for us, we are un- 
 done. Oh that our eyes were opened to see ourselves as that 
 kvoman at the feet of Jesus saw herself ! ITow soon there would 
 Vj tears in our eyes, and I think we would try tx) get round to 
 where that woman stood penitent, and perluips we would feel 
 that we owed more than we have been giving and doing ! All 
 over this church, men and women would be saying — respectable 
 people : " God, be merciful to me a sinner !" If there is to be 
 any hope for us^ we must come to thir -" Me a sinner !" And 
 when we do come to that, how soon this follows : "Thy sins 
 are forgiven." "I acknowledged my sin unto Thee, and mine 
 iniijuity have I no*" hid I said I will confess my transgression 
 unto the Lord, and Thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin." 
 
 Forgiven ! "What a word from lips divine for a sinner to 
 hear ! The black past like a waste stretching away back over 
 her life ! Not a flower to cheer ! !Not even a tuft of moss to 
 keep hope alive in the bosom ! All ashes, scoria?, lava, and so 
 hot, blistering, for naked feet to walk on ! But now how 
 changed ! Across her life-path, and away back over it ever so 
 far, shining, gleaming, glorifying, forgiveness flashes like a 
 light from Heaven, and the sinner is a saint. 
 
 I do not know whether she understood, realized, felt) what 
 Christ said to her when he said, " Thy sins are forgiven." She 
 stood there as if she heard not, the tears still in her eyes, the 
 anguish of woe written in her face. It is not always at the 
 moment of forgiveness that the soul leaps into the light, and 
 there is che rapture of the new life. In general, it comes 
 slowly, gradually, like the dawning of the morning breaking 
 in glory over the eastern hills, like the first feeble pulsations of 
 
THE CITYSIXXER SAVED. 
 
 '35 
 
 ang 
 
 LS of 
 
 life restored after one has been down to the very bottom of 
 disease. 
 
 O my hearer, have you hoard these blessed words of the Sou 
 of God, *' Thy sins are forgiven T They are for the penitent ; 
 not for the Pharisee. They are for the soul now at Christ's 
 feet ; not for the proud and good, the self-sufficient and self- 
 righteous. To the one hen; to-night, bowed and broken- 
 hearted, humbled and penitent, crying for mercy and trusting 
 in his grace, Jesus says, " Thy sins are forgiven." 
 
 IV. Peace. " Go in peace." Such were Christ's parting 
 words to the penitent at his feet. He gave her his benediction 
 and dismissed her. He saw that a stonny discussion was 
 about bo arise, wich regarii to forgiveness ; — a discussion that 
 would be most unprofitable to the new convert, that would do 
 her no good but much harm. So he sent her away to enjoy 
 her new-found peace. He did not want to have her weak faith 
 hurt, and her spiritual comfort disturbed by a noisy talk about 
 words, a doctrinal controversy, a war of diverse opinions on 
 matters of faith. 
 
 Oh these discussions on questions of faith and points of 
 doctrine that men raise — I suppose they are necessary. ^Ve 
 cannot do without them in the church in her ])resent stfl,te. 
 But precious little good are they in general. They unsettle 
 men's aiinds, shake their faith in God and the truth, give o 
 handle to the enemy to prey upon weak souls, and sow the 
 seed of discord and dissension far and wide throughout society. 
 How many have almost made spiritual shipwreck because of 
 discussions on justification by faith, and the doctrines of elec- 
 tion and God's decrees ! But the kind, wise Master dismisses 
 the young in years and experience with his benediction of 
 peace ; and, if there must be discussion, let it be among the 
 mature in age, the well-grounded in the truth, those fed on the 
 strong nieat of the word, and among the men of the Simon- 
 atamp who have no faith to shake xind no religion to hurt, 
 r.iothing to risk or lose. 
 
 >; ! 
 

 »iia 
 
 t.^ 
 
 THE CIT\'-SIXXER SAVED. 
 
 "Go' in poaco," He said. She had come to his feet so 
 troubled, her sovd dying with sin and woe, her life a waste, a 
 Sahara of wretchechiess ; but, staying there weeping ajid woe- 
 begone. He had given her to feel that there was ho})e for lusr, 
 help in Him to save and bless ; and now as she goes away to 
 do better, His last word is — peace ! And it was no lie He 
 told her, no false hope He inspired her soul with, no counter- 
 feit coin He put into her lean hand. As she walked away^ 
 she felt so unspeffkamy happy, so comfoi'teil, so cheered and 
 li^Ijjed. 'The peo|)ll%i(toting her on the street could see in her 
 facea light they had never seen tliere before, and they winild 
 ■say t6 one another : " What has happened to the woman in 
 the city which was a sinner?" And some one would say, 
 "Did you not hear 1 She had a talk with the Christ at the 
 liouse of Simon, and He sent her away with his peace." And 
 the people would say. "Did you ever? wonders will never 
 cease ! " 
 
 • Oh ! has Christ a word of peace to saj?- to us to-night as we 
 rise to go away from His blessed feet ? Perhaps we came up 
 liere troubled, sad, sinful, a woe deep within our hearts that 
 only Gk)d knows of, a lust preying upon ui that we feel is 
 dragging us down to perdition. O thanks to the great mercy 
 oFGod in Christ Jesus, there is help for us, salvation, forgive- 
 ness, peace. To the penitent at His feet to-night He says» 
 "Thy sins be forgiven ; thy faith h;ith saved thee, go in peace." 
 
 Peace, God's peace, Christ's peace, we may have. But not 
 Avith sin unforgiven ; not living far from Christ's feet ; not 
 yonder in the world, sinning, sorrowing. No. It is here, 
 weeping, humbled, penitent — here side by side with the woman 
 which was a sinner. Oh let us all go away with Chrift's bene- 
 diction of peace abiding in our hearts ! "Peace I leave with 
 YOU, my peace I give unto you ; not as the world giveth give 
 T unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it bt 
 piraid." "Go in peace!" 
 
 II:! 
 
XIII. 
 
 ;iicpcntwincc, 
 
 icer 
 not 
 not 
 
 nan 
 lene- 
 Ivith 
 
 ;ive 
 It bfe 
 
 " Hepent, for the kingdom of Heaven is at hond" — Liat. 
 IV. 17. 
 
 IXyi taking you back to-day to first principles, T know 
 that one of the sacred writers has told us to get away from 
 them, to go on. This is what he says : "Therefore leaving the 
 principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfec- 
 tion ; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead 
 works, and of faith towards God." 
 
 And it is to be deplored that so many never get beyond the 
 A B C of anything. They are all their days in the primer. 
 And especially is this the case w^ith regard to the best of all 
 knowledge, the knowledge of the truth. They are ever learn- 
 ing, ever listening and learning, but they never seem to be 
 able to get hold of the gospel's simplest teachings. They only 
 naif learn what they leai-n, and hardly that. And so it is 
 stannnering, stu)nl)ling, spelling all the way tl'iruugh the 
 solemn lessons of life with them. 
 
 You have heard grown-up people trying to read who had 
 oulv half-jeanu'd their (irst lessons m rc;i.ding. Thov stumble 
 nuii .-ituiamer aL a word of four letters, aud ha\c to stop aad 
 
 1 
 'I 
 
 'I'll; 
 
M 
 
 % 
 
 
 ir; 
 
 s : 
 11 ,■ 1 
 
 138 
 
 REPENTANXE. 
 
 spell it before they can read it, and they do not always ^d it 
 right even then. Thus thoy go on spelling their slow way to 
 the end of the chapter. But what good is there in it ? If we 
 would make progress in reading, or in anythijig else in fact, it 
 is very clear, we must learn well, thoroughly, the first lessons. 
 
 And so it is wise every now and again to go back <and review 
 from the very beginning. We will lie surprised how much we 
 have forgotten, or never learned. I have known men, men 
 who have been tlirough college, men who wear proud academic 
 titles, hard pressed in Reduction. And some of us who think 
 we can teach others the sublime doctrines of the cross need 
 ourselves to be taught the simplest elementary truths. I am 
 glad therefore to go back with you to the very beginning, and 
 learn over again the simple first-lessons of the gospel. If we 
 want to get on with our spiritual learning, and make real and 
 rapid progress in the acquisition of the knowledge that makes 
 wise unto salvation, then it is of the utmost importance that 
 we be thoroughly grounded in the great fundamental princi- 
 ples. And so we are to take up to-day, and try and master, the 
 first lesson of the gospel: " Ilepent, for the kingdom of 
 Heaven is at hand,*' 
 
 And we have two things here, a command, and a reason for 
 it. 
 
 First, we are to repent. Both the Received and Revised 
 versions have "Jlepent." And the word repent is not a hard 
 word for us to understand. We think we know all about it ; — 
 know it as well as we know our A B C, and so we should, for 
 it is the A B C of the gospel ; — know it somewhat too well, 
 for we have to repent pretty often. We do not need to go 
 and turn up our Worcester or Webster to find out what it 
 means, for its meaning has been beaten into us so often that 
 there is not much danger of our ever forgetting it. 
 
 And yet we may not know its meaning as well as we think 
 we do. Sometimes the very frequency with which we use a 
 word and hear it used, weakens its force, spills out all its 
 
REPENTANCE. 
 
 139 
 
 it 
 
 lat 
 
 woalth of mcfvning. Ami that is about how it is with the 
 word repent. 
 
 I suppose the word comes to us from a Koman Catholic 
 source. That church lays great stress upon penance. She in- 
 sists upon her mcmhers, when they do wrong, bearing certain 
 punishments oi' penalties for the wrong they liave done. This 
 is sometimes rejieated many times. Hence, they are said to 
 rej^fnt, or bear over and over again tlie penalty. 
 
 The sorrow after sin is a sort of re-ppualty. AVhen we do 
 wrong, our conscience is quick to disapprove of it,and so there 
 is trouble within, wretchedness, a sense of guilt. Now, that 
 sense of guilt, that wretchedness within, is a sort of punish- 
 ment for the sin. And we are in danger of thinking, that be- 
 cause we are punished for our sin, because we are made unhap- 
 py by it, we are tlierefore relieved of it; in other words, it is 
 atoned for. And so re-penalty is repentanc(>: with us. 
 
 And that is too often all it is, sorrow for sin, the bearing of 
 penalty until it is supposed to have been borne long enough to 
 atone for itself. But such a repentance is a poor sort of re- 
 pentance. That sort of repentance goes o and on, sin and then 
 sorrow, sin and then sorrow, more sin and more sorrow, ever 
 and ever deeper into sin and sorrow, until there d?i ' ':ns down 
 around the soul an eternal night of woe. 
 
 When we go back to the original Greek, however, we obtain, 
 I think, a very much clearer idea as to what it is that the 
 Christ enjoins. The original word is literally a change t»f 
 mind or purpose. You have been following out, let us suppose, 
 a certain course of conduct or life, not the wisest perhaps, not 
 the best. By and by you come to find out, or perhaps you 
 knew it oM along, that it was not such a course as any right- 
 thinking and wise-doing man should follow out. It became 
 impressed upon you that you should change your mind. And 
 so you changed your mind Your mind or purpose was at one 
 time to live for the world — its follies, its honors. You looked 
 only at the present ; you cared not for ♦:he great issues of life 
 

 m 
 
 t> :. 
 
 ■1' 
 
 i; 'i 
 
 
 140 
 
 REPEXTAXCE. 
 
 und (losliny. But now you begin to soo liow unwiso it miis 
 ultini!it(!ly l)e to follow out such a purpose, and so you give it 
 uj> for ;i better. You purpose to li\-e now ;uul ever after in 
 the Lord's fear and favor. Now, it is such a change of mind 
 fti- j)Ui-pose that we liave here commanded and commended. 
 
 AVe have it well illustrated in the case of the Prodigal. You 
 see him going off with his father's money and his father's hap 
 piness to the far country. His mind is away to the world, 
 his purjiose to live the gay woild-life. 80 he goes on living 
 out his purpose. lie knows it is not a noble life-purpose. I 
 doubt not he has his qualms of conscience, and di-ops some 
 tears, ami is sorry. You would call that a kind of repentance, 
 l^ut there is no change of purpose as yet. On down he goes 
 i-ecklessly till he fetches up beside the hcg-trough. There he 
 wakes up to see Avhat a fool he has been. He is sorry now 
 that he ever left home. He sees now too what a sinner he is, 
 how cruelly he has treated the best of fathers, and grie\ ed the 
 forbearance and patience of Heaven. So lie changes his pur- 
 pose. A complete revolution of mind and purpose comes to him, 
 and now he goes home to be a true son to his father. 
 
 "We see the same thing, or nmch the same, in Saul, who 
 afterwards was called Paul. His mad purpose was to upi'oot 
 Christi;inity. His whole heart and soul were given over to 
 this vicious purpose. But his purpose w.'.s changed, turned 
 right re ind about — so changed that the persecutor of the 
 gospel became the preacher of the gospel, so changed that the 
 chief of sinners became so suddenly and so completely the 
 chief of saints. 
 
 Now, the special thing I want you to take a note of here is 
 this, that the change called for is one of the mind. It is not a 
 surface something, a sort of skin-deep experience, a lopping oft' 
 here and there from our life of certain deformities and unsight- 
 ly excrescences. No, it is more. It is a thing of the mind. 
 The understanding sees the need of it ; the judgment approves 
 of it ; the heart is in full sympathy with it ; all the faculties ot 
 
REPEXTANCE. 
 
 141 
 
 10 
 
 I'OOt 
 
 to 
 
 ■ncd 
 
 the 
 
 the 
 
 the 
 
 iiul. 
 
 )VOS 
 S t'f 
 
 the soul liave to do with it. It is sucli a e!iaii,c,'e as cjofs elear 
 down to the very t'ouuilations of a man's Ix'iun;, and alVeets all 
 he is;in<l docs in every relation of life. < )f eourse there is no 
 little feelini,' awakened often. You cMiinot undergo such a 
 clian^'t> as the one here conten)i)]ated without more or less feel- 
 int,'. iiut it is not a thing of niero feeling. Tt d(jes not begin 
 and (Mid tlu're. It is deeper than tlu^ feelings. It abides 
 when the feelings iiave suVisided. It is a radical change, a real 
 revolution within. It is very much like the change that Jesus 
 told Nicodemus he must experience: "Y(! nuist bo born again." 
 Tt is such a change as the prophet ui-ges when he says :" "Cast 
 away from you all your ti-ansgressions, whereby ye have trans- 
 gressed ; and make you a new heart and a new spirit." 
 
 llepentance and I'egeneration diil'cr in this, that the latter, 
 regeneration, is the underground, the foundation, of the form- 
 ei'. Regeneration is the seed sown in the heart by the 
 Spirit ; repentance is one of the blessed effects of the growing 
 seed. Kegenei-ation is a creative act and instantaneously done; 
 repentance is a slow process usually, a life-iong tui'iiing away 
 from evil. God regenerates ; the sinner repents. lUit the sin- 
 ner repents because God i-eg(merates. Regeneration is a change 
 of heart ; repentance a change of mind or purpose. 
 
 Repentance differs more or less according as individuals dif- 
 fer. With some, it is sudden and violent, tearful and tempestu- 
 ous ; with others, it is slow and gradual and gentle in the way 
 it acts. The jailer is waked up with an earthquake at midnight, 
 and is anguish-^riven. His change of mind is so sudden, so 
 abrupt. 80 also with many others. They are going in one di- 
 rection, and when they find they are wrong, they wheel right 
 round and go in the oppc site direction ; w^th otliers, however, 
 it is a long curve — their -epentance — a wide arc that reaches 
 across long years. They get round in the right direction 
 after a while, but the greater portion of t tieir life is gone before 
 they get round. We are glad wdien they do come to make up 
 their minds to be good, but we would have been gladder if thev 
 
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 142 
 
 REPENTANCE. 
 
 had 1)0031 n,l)lo to makoup thoii* mitids sctinowliat soonor. Wliilo 
 tlioy are tliiiikiti*^ /ilxmt turning, tho })r()(li<^al is homo, and 
 Paul is pi-oaching, an<l tho thitif is in Heav(!n. 
 
 And just liere I would say to some of you, that you are too 
 long in gotting round to where you ought to be. We havf 
 heen waiting on your coining round for years, and you are not 
 round yet. When you do change your mind, I suppose you 
 moan to stay changed ; not like some we wot of who changes 
 with the moon or the wind. But then your opportunities may 
 he gone, life gone, all gone, before you get round. Suri'ly you 
 ought to be able to make up your mind very much sooner, and 
 tell us where you are. Oh let us be in earnest in this matter ! 
 It is all-important that we be right here, for so much depends 
 on it. Our soul's salvation depends cm it. Our happiness for- 
 ever depends on it. Down from Heaven to all of us peals a 
 trump^'t-voice, the voice of the Son of Uod. Let us give earn- 
 est heed to it. The voice says : "Repent ! " 
 
 We come now to the next point, the reason urged for repent- 
 ance. Tlie reason is, the near approach of the Kingdom of 
 Henven. "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand." 
 
 In order to enjoy the good of any great measure or move- 
 ment, whether of a political, educational, scientific, commercial, 
 or religious character, it is necessary for the people to be con- 
 verted, so to speak, to the idea of such a measure or movement. 
 ResponsiVjle government is a fine thing. But give responsible 
 government to a people just emerging out of a state of semi- 
 barbarism, a people who have grown up under the heel of de- 
 spotism, a people who do not know anything about responsi- 
 bility, and it will not be what it is with us. It may mean 
 lawlessness, anarchy, and a whole horde of national evils, and 
 so become a curse instead of a blessing. 
 
 Our Free Schools again is a grand institution. If however 
 the people were not prepared for such a measure — and it is 
 not always easy to get them to know what it means in so 
 many directions for them, it wouVd not be the good it is. To 
 
 m 
 
REr-ENTA. 
 
 14J 
 
 :ver 
 is 
 
 so 
 To 
 
 'i 
 
 liiany I't inonns incro.isrrl taxution, for what caro tlioy for odu- 
 cation. Tliry know not one letter from anotlua', and do not 
 care to know, and cducjitioii to them is a modijrii way of ex* 
 tortiiii,' their money from them, a sort of brigaiuhige, and they 
 do not like it. Tliey .say, "Givti u.s back the good old dayH 
 when there were no fi-ee schools, no railroads, no tfdegrajihs, 
 Iio newspapers ; the good old days when ghosts and witches 
 wandered forth abroad and played such pranks ; the good old 
 ilays when superstition was religion, ignorance tlie mother of 
 devotion, might was right, and man disputed >vith the beast 
 the freedom of the wilderness." 
 
 Oh it recjuires no little converting to bring some people 
 round to believe in anything different from what they have 
 been brought Up to and have been used to ! The old way of 
 doing e\erything is the way for them ! Anything else is wrongj 
 unnecessary, unscriptural. The old log-hut. the old saw-mill 
 astride the stream, the old coach crawling up the hill, the old 
 neglected school-house and church and graveyard for them ! 
 No new ideas, no improvements, no advance on what has been, 
 no progress ! 
 
 Jesus was a great innovator in his day. He came full of 
 new ideas for the world. The old way of getting along and 
 doing things was not the way to get along ; so he came to 
 make known a better. He came to found the Kingdom of 
 Heaven amid the wrecks and rubbish of the old despotisms, 
 the etleteand worn-out systems of government that had been 
 hugely grappling witli the subtle questions of the world's good 
 and doing so little with them. It was a mighty undertaking 
 he was attempting, an enterprise hard to do. The old 
 theocracy had failed ; at all events, it had to be abandoned. 
 J>ut he came to re-esta1)lish it on a broader and better basis. 
 And so, to prepare the people for the new theocracy, the King- 
 dom of Heaven, he preached to them repentance, a change of 
 mind or purpose, rtew ideas. 
 
 He found men's ideas all for this world. It was how to 
 
 1.. 
 
 hi 
 
M4 
 
 REPEN'TAXCE. 
 
 iii.'ikc nioiioy, how tr» do busim ss so tli.at it would pay, how to 
 tct't on in the world, how to In; hoiionnl and hjijipy. Ho found 
 mm with low Hn<l unworthy ideas of what was rif^ht, little tir 
 iiu iei,'n,rd f(jr thes truth, utterly false notions of n'lij^dori, and 
 with none of the fear of God in their hearts. Ho found them 
 .iway l»ehind in everything' that concerned their lii^dieat hap- 
 |«ine>is arul ultimate blessedness. So ho set about to (ko what he 
 
 • •(tuld t/Of^ive thorn hi^dieridoas of lifeiind duty, toeducate them 
 up fc<i something j)urer and nobler. ][e talked to tlunn of the 
 Kint^'dom ho wante<l to see founded in the earth. Heexplain- 
 <tl to them what it wa.s. He called upon them to follow him> 
 self, acce})t his ideas, believe what lie tiiu<;;ht, do ttf5 he thd, 
 love iusti^'id of hate, be self-sacriiieini^ rather than solf-seekinj^, 
 live for others rather than for thenvselves ; — in a word, brin^ 
 
 • lown Heaven to earth, or rather perhaps, bring up earth to 
 be a sort of Heaven. 
 
 Thus, what a complete revolution in men's ideas there was 
 necessary to bring about what he proposed. The wise of that 
 age said: "It was madn&ss to attempt such a thing. It could 
 not be done, never done. None but a fool, a fanatic, would 
 attempt it." 
 
 But he was earnest about it. He knew it could l^e done. 
 80, ivgar-dless as to what men thought or said, he kept tlie 
 object he had in view before him, and went on straight and 
 steadily toward it. And there were those who came to lieliove 
 in him and his ideas. They gave up their own and adopt^.d 
 his. Tliey identified themselves with his cause. They called 
 themselves by his name. They foUowed him — followed him ae 
 weak sin-laden men can follow the Son of God. And indeed it 
 is wonderful what men cam do, even such as we are, when they 
 are inspired by so great an e»aimple as he set before them, and 
 when they are upheld in their doing and bearing by so mighty 
 an arm as his. And so the good goes on. He has himself 
 entered the unseen glory, but his presence is ever felt, and the 
 new and better theocracy is slowly but surely spreading far 
 
 i 
 
 hi: a 
 
i 
 
 kLrENTANCE. 
 
 u$ 
 
 far 
 
 Tind w'\(\c ill tlip hearts of in<»n. Tt is not such a kini;iloni an 
 the kiiii^dnins of tlu' world. Tt is a ki)i.i;<loin of hearts, and so 
 it is a chan<;(M)f mind and heart that is ncccssury to its Ixnn^ 
 set up. "Tho Kiniichini of CJod is within you." '* Rrpent " — 
 vhan;,'!' your mind, get a set of new i<h»a8, now principlos, a 
 new heart ; "for th(^ Kin^'dom of J leaven is at hand." It is 
 not yonder in the l)lue ethereal somewhere, yonder in the jjjlory 
 eternal, yonder in -otljer hinds and fairer clinu's than ours. No ; 
 it is neai- ; it is here ; it is whei'e there ar(> hearts to receive it, 
 faith to believe it, lives to live it. Tlie Kinj,'d()m of God is at 
 hand— it is within you. "Verily, verily, I say unto the<% 
 Excei)t a man lie born again, he cannot see the Kingdom of 
 God." 
 
 If you want to belong to st)me other kingdom than the king- 
 (!(tm of (»reat Diitain, you have to change your location. You 
 must cross over to the United i^tates, or go to Fiance <ir (I«'i'- 
 many. .Ikit if you want to entei the Kingdom of Heaven, the 
 new theocracy of grace and nicey, it is not necessary 
 that you change your loi tion, but it is necessary that you 
 change your ideas. And so it is n •change of heart that you 
 need ; it is repentance, a change of mind or pui'pose, a ciiango 
 of i-deas. *' Re})ent, ft:)r the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand." 
 
 Kow, in conclusion, I Nvant to ask you how you stand with 
 regard to this Kingdom tlKit the Christ is setting up in tho 
 t^irth. Have you i-epented? You tell me you do not need to 
 repent. You are not a sinner ; you are not a drunkard ; you are 
 not a lawless, Godless wrongdoer. Go antl preach that docti-ine 
 elsewhere than here, to others rather than to us. But Nico- 
 <lemus was n good man, a, very respectable man, a man who 
 knew how to behave himself, and yet he needed to be born 
 again, he needed repentance. I do not say you are so bjul ; 
 but this I do say, and it ought to be clear, that you need new 
 ideas about the Kingdom of God. You are not in it, and if 
 you had right ideas about it you would be in it. It is a change 
 'jf ideas, some of us need -so much. And so Jesus comes to u€ 
 
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 146 
 
 REPENTAXCE, 
 
 and calls upon us to change our minds, our ideas, and wit]/ 
 such a change would come so much of a change, a real i-evolu- 
 tion. Oh ! let us not go on forever making ourselves believe 
 that because we are not as Ijad as this one and that one, we are 
 all right, or not far from being all right. That is not it at all- 
 Here is a King, and here is a Kingdom, and the point is, are 
 v/e the King's ? are we in the Kingdci 1 No ; and moreover 
 you do not care to be in the Kingdom. Now there must be a 
 change there for you, a change of mind — of heart, a change of 
 ideas ; — in a word, repentance, regeneration. 
 
 And this blessed heart-kingdom is so near you. Tt is close 
 at hand. Perhaps your heart is all but ready to receive it 
 now. You can see it or all 'out. Oh take hold, then, and you 
 will find it, and you will say how good it is when you have 
 found it. "Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand." 
 
! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 '33(csi$ct>nc)$Si of ^or^ 
 
 ipenc$o» 
 
 " Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is 
 covered, 
 
 Bhssed i,the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquit., 
 And in whose spirit there is no guile." 
 
 —Psalms xxxii. 1, 2. 
 
 AS earlyas the days of Origen there havebeen whatareknovvu 
 as the Seven Penitential Psalms, and the text is the open- 
 mg lines of the second of these so-called Penitential 
 Psaln>s They are Psahns vi, xxxii, xxxviii, li, cii, cxx, cxxx, 
 cxlm. They were early selected as appropriate to the cere- 
 mony of sprinkling the leper seven times in order to his cleans- 
 ing. 
 
 This Psalm has always been a general favorite. It takes 
 mnk in this respect along with perhaps che twenty-third. 
 Every Bible-reader knows and loves it, and so many have 
 been able to repeat it almost as far back as they can remem- 
 ber. And this is not a new thing. The old saints thought as 
 much of It as we do. Augustine, an eminent father of the 
 church was specially fond of this Psalm. It is said he often 
 t^ It in his later years with weeping eyes and a broken 
 
 
 Pi. 
 
 li! 
 
JW! 
 
 ! 
 
 I i;- 1 
 
 148 
 
 BLESSEDNESS OF FORGIVENESS. 
 
 heart. And when the good old saint came to die, he Jiad it 
 written out on his chamber wall, where his eyes, when they 
 were open, could rest upon it, and of course we have here some 
 of his last words. He used to say in his own Latin: "The 
 first knowledrr. is to know thyself to be a sinner." 
 
 David, the author of this gospel Psalm, had fallen into gross 
 sin, and he puts on record liere some of his bitter expeiicnces 
 while he continued in the state of unpardoned guilt. Oh how 
 wretched he was — wrttched beyond what words can express ! 
 He had no rest for his soul day nor night. No small tempest 
 lay upon him; he was tossed and troubled. But at last he 
 bowed down on his knees before the Lord, and confessed his 
 sin, acknowledged his guilt, and so soon after he foui^'l pardon 
 and peace. And nov.- he breaks forth into a song extolling the 
 blessedness of foi-givoness. "Blessed is he whos(» transgression 
 is forgiven, whose sin is covered. Blessed i.= the man unto 
 whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in whose .spirit 
 there is no guile," 
 
 Now, this is a theme of great interest to us all, and, with 
 (rod's help, I want to present it to you, and so interest you 
 in it, that you too may joiii with David iit singing of the bless- 
 edness of forgiveness. 
 
 But, as old Augustine used to say, the first thing is to know 
 that we are a sinner. If we are not sinners, or if we do not 
 know we are sinners, even though we are ; if we ha^ e never 
 done any wrong, never transgressed, never come shoit, never 
 failed in a duty ; then, of course, forgiveness and its blessed- 
 ness can be of no interest to us. There is joy in Heaven among 
 unf alien angels over penitent sinners. They are interested in 
 the blessedness of forgiveness, because whatever is of interest 
 to God whose servants thev are is of interest to them. On 
 their viewless wings they come here to see if there are any 
 tears in our eyes, any brokenness of heart, any interest in God's 
 forgiving mercy ; and, if there is, what a joy it is to be the 
 iirst to report the tidings of it in Heaven. But why should we 
 
 *l 
 
BLESSEDNESS OF FORGIVEXESS- 
 
 149 
 
 it 
 
 111 
 •est 
 On 
 
 be interested in what is of no interest to us? Away with mat- 
 ters and (juestions tliat belong to the other si'le of the world or 
 other wo. Ms, for what have we to do with tliem! 
 
 And yet, if any question is of interest to us because of the 
 interest we have in it and its importance to us, then forgive- 
 ness ought to be of very great interest to us, for we need it, 
 we are sinners. I do not say that sin has broken out with 
 any of us as with David, and led us into the violent commis- 
 sion of odious crimes ; and because it has not, we think we are 
 not sinners, and need neither repentance nor forgiveness. 
 lint if sin has not bi"(jken out in our lives as with others, it is 
 not because we have no sin, but because we have not been 
 exposed to the temptations of others. We have enjoyed a 
 ))i'tter home-training. We have been surrounded all our lives 
 with intluences and restraints that have held in check the evil 
 within us. No thanks to us, then, if we are not worse than 
 we are. The root of corruption, out of which grew so much 
 of guilt and crime, violence and bloodshed, lust and revenge, 
 in the case of David, and so many others in every age, is in 
 your heart and mine, and ali it wants to develop it, is an oc- 
 casion, and sooner than we thiidc, and where we do not expect, 
 the occasion may occur, and we may turn out to be so bad. 
 
 Oh my hearer, I know you think it impossible for you ever 
 to do anything so bad and black as you condemn in others. 
 "Impossible," you say, "for me ever to become a/ thief, a 
 bloody assassin, a libertine !" And yet it is not so imi)os.sil>le 
 as you think. Let restraint be taken away. Lot c^■il inllu" 
 ences gather around you. Let the devil at you with all his 
 malice and. cunning. And with the smouldering hell within 
 you that is in every one of us, there is no sort of evil you may 
 not do, no crime you may not be guilty ci, no foulnens and 
 badness you may not stoop to. Thus, the ciU(\stion of forgive- 
 ness '1^ one we have a very great personal interest in, for we 
 are all sinners, and our only hope is in our being foi-given. 
 
 Again : The forgiveness of sin — what it is, and how ours. 
 
 *it 
 
 m 
 
 
 u 
 

 
 
 I 
 
 ■ I I 
 
 
 
 4! 
 
 I It 
 
 no 
 
 BLESSEDNESS OF FORCHVEXESS. 
 
 Sin is hero spoken of by words of difTerent sliadcs of mean- 
 ing, and it i.s both interesting and instructive to note the 
 shades of dilference. It is called transgression, sin, iniquity, 
 
 guile. 
 
 Transgression is open sin. It moans departure ft'om God, a 
 breaking of his covenant, a malicious forcible opposition to 
 him. It is rebellion, disloyalty, disobedience. 
 
 The woi'd sin, again, means a coming short of the mark. 
 You are supposed to be aim-ing at a mark. The word in the 
 ctriginal is used in reference to the seven hundred leftdianded 
 J5onjamites, who could sling stones at an hair-bi-eadth, and not 
 miss. A mark is set up, a mark so small that from where the 
 slingc stands he can just see it, and to miss it even by a hair- 
 br(?adth h. lo miss it. Now, to miss the mark of rectitude 
 that God has set up as an aim of life even a hair-broadth, is 
 to s.!i. You think you are a good shot if you strike the bull's 
 eye forty-nine times out of tifty, and still better, if ninety-nine 
 times out of a hundred. And yet, to miss at all, to miss by a 
 liair-br(>adth, is to miss ; it is to come short of the mark, to 
 sin. A good many would say : " To sling within a hair's 
 breaflth is good enough slinging. No need for any better. I 
 would think myself j^erfect if I could do that." And yet, 
 yonder are no fewer than seven hundred sons of Benjamin who 
 can sling better than that with their left hands. They can 
 sling at a mark no thicker than a hair as seen at a huudred 
 paces, and never miss, O my soul, what is to become of thee, 
 sinci' thou comest short of the mark of rectitude, not only by 
 a hair-breadth, but so wide of it ! 
 
 And then again iniquity and guile bring out the idea of the 
 guilt and wickedness of sin. AVe talk about little sins and 
 great sins, and it is scrii)tural to do so ; and yet, the least sin 
 means death and condcnnnation, darkness an<l death. " Every 
 sin deserves God's wrath and curse, both in this life and that 
 which is to come." Thus, how sad the condition of the sin- 
 ner, how wretched and hopeless his state ! Over his head 
 
 
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BLESSEDNESS OF FORGIVEXESS. 
 
 r^i 
 
 by 
 
 he 
 mil 
 
 M-y 
 
 hangs tho wrath of (J(xl ; at, his foct yawns tho Ijottomloss-pit, 
 of eternal woe. Do you wonder that David was wretehed .^ 
 The woncler is that we are not as he was. Poor sinner I how 
 is it that thou art so indifferent, .so callous, so tearless ? 
 
 ]>ut it is not of sin I want to speak here, but of tlie forgive- 
 ness of sin. Sin is indeed a terril)le fact in the world. It 
 faces us on eveiy hand. Tt conies up in eveiy (jueslion that 
 concerns the world's progress and men's good. Evciy now and 
 again society is shocked, and there is a groan of anguish all 
 around the world, because of .some horrible outbreak of sin in 
 the shape of murder, revenge, outrage, tyranny, black-hearted 
 villany. But then ov(m- against the world's sin stands thii-i 
 other fact, the forgiveness of sin, and it is no less a fact than 
 the other, and it is as wonderful for what is good as the other 
 for what is evil. Let this go wherever sin has gone with its 
 blighting blasting ett'ects ; let it ring on every shore and 
 throughout every land, that there is forgiveness of sin, and a 
 forgiveness as complete in its way as sin in its way. "Blessed 
 is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered 
 Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord in)puteth not iniquity, 
 and in whose spirit there is no guile." 
 
 Now, forgiveness is described here in different ways to let us 
 see what it is, how goc>d it is, how complete and real it is, and 
 how it may be ours. It is called here the forgiving of trans- 
 gression, or as in some versions, the taking away of transgres- 
 sion. It is also called the covering up of sin. Then it is 
 called the not-imputing of iniquity, the non-reckoning of guilt 
 where guilt is. 
 
 AV(,' all know what forgiveness is. We have forgiven others, 
 and been forgiven ourselves often and often. We have some 
 times done wrong. We have been disoljedient, wilful, bad. 
 Our mother told us to do something for her, and wo forgot all 
 al)out it, we negl(>cted it, we put it oil' till it was too late, or we 
 never inten<led to do it. By and by it was found out, and we 
 ivere asked about it, and dealt with fur it, The thing was a 
 
 i 
 
1! 
 
 : 
 
 
 
 'I ;■ 
 
 l! I: 
 
 152 
 
 BLESS LDXESS OF FORGIV-EXESS. 
 
 sore trouble to us. It cost us tears. It meant sufterin,!,'. It 
 nieniit the alienation of a mother's favor, the light of her face. 
 ])Ut we came to see how wrong we had done in neglecting to 
 ilo as she had told us^ and how wilful and disobedient and 
 wicked we had been ; and so we came to her and we said*, 
 "^lother,! did veiy wrong, I see it all now, aivd I am sorry 
 for it, and hope I iiKiy never do the like again. A\'ill you for=- 
 give me?" And the mother forgives, and that puts the matter 
 right between them. 
 
 Now, our Father in Heaven tells us what to d®, and what 
 mot to do. liut so often we neglect, we disobey. We go and 
 do what we ought not to do, and we neglect to do what we 
 ought to do. And there is trouble. Au evil course, broken 
 laws^ transgression, sin, crime, lead to great trouble. We 
 find ourselves in jail perhaps. We fiad tlie evil effects of our 
 dissipation and wrong-doing breaking out upon u« in different 
 ways ; — in the shape of loss of health, loss of character, loss of 
 position, and so on.. We find it too in the want of peace, in an 
 evil conscience, in wretchedness of soul,, in. restlessness and 
 fear^ in the consciousness that Heaven is frowning upon us, 
 that God is angry with us. Thus it was with David : "My 
 bones waxed old through my roaring all the day long. Foir 
 day and night thy hand was heavy upon me;, my moisture was. 
 ehanijed into tbe drougiit of summer." 
 
 But David was led, and we may be led,, to see our folly and 
 wickedness, and to confess ourevil<loingat the footstool of th«j 
 Divine mercy. AVe bow down on our knees, and with tears in. 
 our eyes and a broken heart, we say : ''<) God,, forgive us our 
 transgressions." And he forgives us.. We rise up from our 
 knees perhaps, and we know that we are forgiven, that the 
 load of guilt crushing us has been lifted, and that God is- at 
 peace with us. A mother's forgiveness is a very real thing to 
 a child. And God's fcngiveness is no less real. It is felt that 
 there is light where there was darkness, peace where there was 
 alienation. Now you want to walk differently. Now you 
 
 ' 
 
 \^ 
 
BLESSEDXESS OF FORGIVt:XESS. 
 
 »5.^ 
 
 
 to 
 
 want to keep God's laws, to obey his word, to do his will, to 
 
 dwell in his favor. Oh what it is to be forijiven! 
 
 But you want to know more about it. It is not quite clear 
 
 to you. And so we have here anotln-r view of it: "Whoso 
 
 sin is covered." 
 
 Whenever a man sins he wants to cover it. What efforts 
 the murderer makes to cover up his tracks, to wash the blood- 
 stains fron;> his hands, to hide his guilty so that it cannot bo 
 traced and found out. 
 
 And this idea of covering up sin is no new thing. It is as 
 old as sin. No sooner had Adam and Eve sinned, than feeling 
 the sense of their exposure they l)egan to invent some means 
 to cover themselves, and so they made themselve.'i,«fig-leaved 
 garments. But so insutHcient was this method of covering to 
 themselves, that the next we hear of them, they were trying to 
 hide, to cover themselves, from the Lord, amid the shrubl)ery 
 of the garden. Poor naked souls! how ill it was with them! 
 
 But then, as now, the Lord comes to their help, and he him- 
 self covers them in his own way. He makes them skin gar- 
 ments. He teaches them the A B C of the cross, the great 
 atoning sac- ilice for sin. He reveals to them how that the 
 blood of his Laxub, his Son, so covers up sin, that it cannot be 
 found. 
 
 There are thus two ways of covering up sin — man's way and 
 God's way. Man hides his sin. He conceals it, belittles it, 
 excuses it, denies it, tries to get out of it, seeks to make some 
 sort of compromise, and so on, and so on. But all such cov- 
 ering up of sin only exposes it all the more. When he thinks 
 it is nicely covered up, it re-appears perhaps worse than ever. 
 And so it goes on. Eveiy now and again we hear of the 
 Indian tribes burying the hatchet, and thus settling their 
 (litliculties and disputes. But so soon the buried hatchet is 
 resurrected, and hostilities ivsumed. Ah ! it is not the hatchet 
 that should be buried, but the hate, the sin, that wields the 
 luitchet. 
 
 ^f 
 
154 
 
 P.I.ESSF.DXESS OF FORGIVENESS. 
 
 :H 
 
 ri 
 
 m 
 
 r.ut lioro in tlin text, and /ill tlirou;_'h the Word of Ood, thp 
 Lord tftu'lics us, tli.at sin can bo succossfully covered. The 
 Mood of Jesus Chi'ist cleanses from all sin. That is the oidy 
 way sin can be covered, and so successfully covered is it in this 
 way, that it cannot bo found. It is buried as in the depths of 
 the sea— l)uried where no one can di-ag it up and thrust its 
 i,n"i>u horror Ijefore the adVii^dited soul. 
 
 ])a\id tells us in the fifty-llrst Psalm, which refers to the 
 same sad incident, the sin of his life, and which was probably 
 written first, that his sin is ever Ix'fore him. " My sin is ever 
 lM,'fore me." He caruiot get away from it, noi- dismiss it fi-om 
 his .iiiiid, banish it from his thought?;. It haunlshim, dogs his 
 footsteps eveiy whore, shadow;-; iiis s^oul, robs him of his peace 
 and co]i\fort, hunts liis life. When he sits down to eat, it is 
 thert' with hirii. and its bloodv flnwrs louch his food, and he 
 cannot eat. A\'hen lie lies down to sleep, it .seems to take its 
 jjlace on his pillow, and all night long it scares him with dreams. 
 Oh he is in a wretched plight, a must j-itiable state! But now 
 he lias been led to the feet of God's mercy and grace, and he 
 has f(amd that even his sin can be covered, covered with the 
 blood of atonement, so covered that he can .sleep again and not 
 dream al)out it all nii^ht, so covered that the tlu>uirlit and 
 mcnuny of it do not torment him. Oh what the cross can do 
 for sinners, criminals, evil-doei's of all sorts ! O wretched trans, 
 gressors, if your sins are a Avoe to you, come to the mercy of 
 (!od in Christ, and he will cover them for you, cover 
 them with the blood of atonement, the precious blood of his 
 8on, and give you to feel that ther:.- is ho])e for you, that life 
 can have its interest for you again, and its comfort and jcy and 
 usefulness, yea its blessedness ! '• Blessed is he whose trans- 
 gression is forgiven, whose sin is covered." 
 
 But there is still a third way here oi looking at forgiveness. 
 ^'Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity." 
 
 AVe can understand ho.v important it is,, when a crime has 
 been committed, that it be laid to the charge of the proper 
 
BLESSEDNLSS OF FORGIVENESS. 
 
 '33 
 
 the 
 
 not 
 
 and 
 
 n do 
 
 ans. 
 
 cy of 
 
 over 
 
 liie 
 
 life 
 
 and 
 
 •ans- 
 
 less. 
 
 ity." 
 
 lias 
 
 party, and how dreadful it must be, if some wholly innocent 
 person is accu.s«'(l, and madt- sufrcr for it. And yot, it sonu-tinies 
 happens, that a crime is so committed, that it is hard to tiare it 
 home to the ,i,'uilty one. In oi-dcr to comm* uj) his crimi', he .so 
 commits it, that it looks as if som<>ljo(ly else did it. 
 
 H(? knows perhaps that you do not like so and so. TI(; has 
 heard your threats, your it's and l)ufs. So he takes advantagf^ 
 f>f that and otlifr tinners, and he murders the man you hate, and 
 everyl)f)dy at once says, You did it. And you ar'e chariLf*'il with 
 the crime, Miid jx-rhapsyou are convicted, and the death-penalty 
 carried out, wjiereas you may l>e iinioc<*nt. 
 
 It is so natural f(.»r us all someliow to pass o\'er our delin(}uen- 
 cies and ne;;leet^ and shortcomin,t,rs to the Iji'oad shoulders of 
 some one ei.se. ft' a leadim; man comes to be blamed, then all 
 the wron;^' that has been done is laid to i lis charge. Everybo<ly 
 th.it li.is ;niy fault to find, or whether or not, comes and lays 
 it to his acci)unt. Thus he becomes the .scape-goat of all e\ il- 
 doers of the township, or city, or country. We know how that 
 woi'ks. 
 
 Let the minister get into trouble, and all that is wrong in 
 the church is at once attributed to him. Everybody that comes 
 sliort in his duty, neglects his salvation, is living an evil life, 
 <'xcuses himself on the ground that his minist(M' was no good- 
 And so it comes U) pass that the guilt of the really guilty on*; 
 is imputed to, laid to the account of, some one that is innocent ; 
 and then, on the other hand, his innc-cence, his right(^ousness, 
 is reckoned to the guilty party. 
 
 Sometimes, too, there are found those who would willin<,dy 
 .suffer for the sake of others, save them, if they could, by taking 
 their law-place, bear the ry hum of their guilt, and all the punish- 
 ment, even to the death-penalty. There are mothers who would 
 be only too glad to give their gray hairs and old worn-out life 
 to save the neck of their guilty child. There are tlK>se who get 
 themselves into trouble to help otiiers out. They endorse notes, 
 go security, involve tliem.selves, for the sake of a neighbor, a 
 
 m 
 
I 
 
 u 
 
 \ 
 
 156 
 
 BLESSEDNESS OF FORGIVENESS. 
 
 friciul, and tluni find themselves bot.-ayed, left in the lurch, 
 and ruined. 
 
 Now, Cjod takt^s advantage of such a piincipli; to work out 
 the salvation of the sinner. He linds a su))stitute for him in 
 the person of his own Son, and he imputes tiie sianei'"s guilt to 
 his iimocent substitute, and the substitute's rigl.tcousness to 
 the guilty sinner. In other words, ho reckons with the sub- 
 stitute. 
 
 Men in business know all about that. Here is a note signed 
 by somebody who is worth nothing, but it is endorsed by some- 
 })ody who is worth nmch. Ho you reckon with the man who is 
 good for the amount, not with the poor sinner who really owes. 
 Ah I well for the poor wretch that you have not to reckon with 
 him, for you would skin him alive, your law would take him 
 by the throat and you would not s[)are him. Ami so the 
 psalmist says here : Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord 
 imputeth not ini([uity. In other words, I [appy is the sinner 
 the Lord does not have to reckon with for his sins ! 
 
 And there is no crookedness, no guil in 0(jd's method of foi'- 
 giveness. It is such as will bear all the light that will yet blaze 
 around it. For you, my hearer, to pay another man's debts 
 for him, does not always improve his honesty, nor help his 
 circumstances. But when God for^^ives sin, he does it in a way 
 SO that the sinner hates the sins he once loved, and the evil 
 life lie once lived. 
 
 Thus, forgiveness, when we look at it all round about, 
 is indeed a master-piece of Divine wisdom, a marvel of grace. 
 It glorifies alike the justice of God and his mercy, his Son and 
 the sinner. 
 
 But let me hasten to speak a few closing words on the bless, 
 edness of forgiveness. 
 
 And forgiveness is blessed because in itself it is straight 
 No crookedness here. No excusing guilt. No tampering with 
 justice. Every interest is sacred, every right respected ; neitii- 
 er Creator nor creature wronged, neither God nor man dishon- 
 ored. 
 
 I 
 
 \'i' lU 
 
BLESSEDNESS OF FORGIVENESS. 
 
 "57 
 
 Fcr^ivonoss is blos^od fic'nin, boc.auso thfrn is such a tliini^. 
 There ini;^lit liiivc Ix'cii no such thinj,'. There inii^'ht have been 
 (uiy amount of sin nntl the woe of sin, but no forj^ivenoss, and 
 none of the blessecbiess of fori,'iveness. I'ut it is otherwiso. 
 Oh tell it to every sinner, tell it to every fallen one, tell it to 
 the guilty and doomed, that there is forgiveness for sin, deliv- 
 erance for their souls! Sin has been and still is the world's 
 woe. There is not a land where it has not found its way to, not 
 a shore where it has not come to stay, not a home it has not en- 
 tered, not a creature it has not cursed. It fills our Jails and 
 work-houses with poor wretches. It darkens the land with 
 crime. It blights and blasts happy lives. It dooms and dannis 
 souls. But across all this wretchedness gleams the light of the 
 cross with the Son of God lifted upon it; high over all this 
 deluge of ruin arches the promise of God ; and from land to 
 land, and shore to shore, ring out the glad tidings of salvation, 
 ti'lling of hope and Ileaven. Oh what a blessed thing it is 
 that there is forgiveness! 
 
 And then forgiveness is blessed, because the fruit of it is 
 blessed.iess. It takes tlie groan of woe out of the sinner's heart 
 and out of his mouth, and it puts in its place a great joy, a 
 ])salm of thanksgiving. It turns his night into day, his dark- 
 ness into light. It makes life a gladness, a gleaming glory. It 
 brings back to the world its lost Eden. Oh then we do not 
 wonder, that the forgiven psalmist takes his pen and writes, 
 and takes down his harp, and sings in a key that is too seraphic 
 
 f )r us: "O the b'essednesses of him whose transgression is for- 
 given, whose sin is covered ! O the blessednesses of the man 
 unio whom the Lorrl will not impute iniquity, and in whose 
 spirit there is no guile I" 
 
 But, my heai-er, ad this may be nothing to you, no good tid- 
 ings to you, no blessedness to you. Your sins are no grief of 
 h'?art to you. They cost you no tears, no sleepless nights. 
 They are not yet re])ented of, not yet forgiven. It is still with 
 you darkness and guilt, and you know it not, nor care. It is 
 still sin, sin, soon to be woe, woe. Oh ]>oor sinner ! may God 
 have mercy u[)on thee, and let thee see thy sin and guilt, and 
 his blessed forgiveness ! 
 
 1 1' 
 
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f 'I 
 
 ^i 
 
 1 
 
 ' ' ' 11 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 ( 
 
 I 
 
 I ii 
 
 -^.1 I: 
 
 XT. 
 
 "IHciJocmcr autJ ^^ctlccmcD. 
 
 " liut ivhen the fulnei^s of tht time ivns come, God sent forth 
 his iSoii, iiuule of a innndn, made 'under the laiv, to redeem them 
 thtit u-ere under the law, that we miyht receive the adoption oj 
 sonsr — Oal. IV. 4, T). 
 
 MY text to-(liiy is full to ovortlowiiijif ; my thenio a large 
 one. I WHiit to speak of the Kedeeiuer and the re" 
 (U'liiie:!, and it is just the theme for the precious occasion tha 
 has broui,'ht us to<j;ether. Oh for a ton,i]jue to tell, and a heart 
 to feel, all v <^ liave here ! Oh to realize in some adequate 
 measuiv what the Blessed Jesus has done and suffered for us, 
 so that we might b(! what we are and where we are to-day! 
 If we have any tears to-day, let us weep them. If we have a 
 tongue to-day to speak and sing of what he is and has done, 
 let us freely use it, for he is worthy of the tribute of praise 
 we bring. If we have a mouth to-day to taste his sweetness, 
 to eat and drink at his table, to feast at the banquet his love 
 has spread for us, let us open it wide^ and lie will fill it. 
 But, O Redeemer of sinners, how is it that thou art so little 
 to us when we are so much to thee ? 
 
 I. THE REDEEMER. 
 
 And every word here that tells us of Him is full of mean- 
 ing, rich with the truth we need to know, the wonders of his 
 wisdom and grace. We liave here when he came — " When the 
 
Krnr.FMr.R and redeemed. 
 
 no 
 
 fn/iifins of the time was came." Wo havn hero who lio was and 
 who scut Inm — •* Gud asat foi'th Ilis Son." W(» havt« hero 
 how h« caino ; — ^'jnntle of a wnuian^ made under the late." AN't* 
 have h«Mo why ho canio; — '*<o redeem them that were under the 
 lmi\ that we rnifjht receive the ad<)])tion of sons." 
 
 When the Redeeyner came: And fio camo whoii the workl 
 was ready for his coming— not a moment too soon, not a mo- 
 ment too late. Tluire is a ripeness of tilings, and Je<sus camo 
 when things were ripe for him. (Jod makes no mistakes with 
 regard to anything. He does what he does at the right time, 
 and in the i-ight way, and so he sent tho redeemer '* when the 
 fulness of the time was come " 
 
 It seemed a long wait, four thousand years, for those who 
 were waiting in the old days for his coming, and many a wean* 
 waiting heart was ready to faint, and cried so often up to 
 Heaven this cry : "Lord, how long? how long?" And yet, the 
 long wait through those weary milleniums was someho\v 
 necessary. Judaism and the old idolatries had a work to do 
 for the world, and they must have ample time to do their 
 work in. It nmst be seen what they can do — the best they 
 can do. And full time was given them, and t!iey did what 
 they could. They had reached their zenith before the Christ 
 came, and were sloping to their setting .as lights in the 
 spiritual heavens. The shekinah of Judaism had vanished. 
 Great Pan was dead. The Delphic oracles were dumb. 
 They had served out their day ; tiiey had done their best and 
 passed away. Or, if they still lived, it was only as old woni- 
 out systems, relics of bygone times, things that had seen other 
 and better days. 
 
 At the time Christ came, the world was ripe for change. 
 It had lost faith in the old religions, and was looking up and 
 listening for the angels to sing ; or, it had grown utterly 
 sceptical, and lived only for the hour. And tlien, too, in other 
 things, the world was ripe for tho Great Coming One and his 
 sweet evangel. It was a time of peace ; at all events, there 
 
 (■ 
 
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 I 
 
 
 t 
 
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 jl';j, 
 
 1^ 
 
 REDEEMER AND REDEEMED. 
 
 M-as a lull between the storms. Rome was triumphant. Her 
 iron-shod foot was on tiie neck of the prostrate nations. Th«; 
 sword was reposing in its scablxinU The temple of Janus, 
 loiii,' closed, was opened for a brief space. The fulness of the 
 time was come, and a new era dawned upon the world. Then 
 it was when the Kedeemer came. 
 
 Again: Who the Redeemer was and wlw sent Ilim. "God 
 Kent forth his Son." 
 
 We speak sometimes, in our blundering way of speaking, as 
 if God the Father was the Just One, and the Son of God the 
 Merciful One, liut the truth is, the Father loves us, as well 
 as, .ind as much as, the Son. If the Son is the Sent One, the 
 Father is the Sender. If it was hard for the Son to l)e given 
 up, it was hard for the Father to give up. We speak of the 
 Son's sacrifice ; but, h.ad the Father no sacrifice to make ? 
 Read this and it seems to bring cut the truth that the Father's 
 sacrifice was as great as the Son's : *' For God so loved the 
 world that he gave His Only Begotten Son." 
 
 You know the touching story of Abraham's offering up his 
 son Lsaac. You see the father with a heart inwardlv bleedin;' 
 with unutterable sorrow journeying to the fatal mount. You 
 see him with his own hands building the altar on which his 
 own flesh and blood is to be the victim. You see him laying 
 the .vood in order. You .see him binding the boy aa he would 
 a lamb. You see him raising the glittering knife to slay Sarah's 
 darling, his son and heir. Ah ! the father's sacrifice was as 
 great as tiie son's. And that strange scene that comes down 
 to us from the patriarchal age, is just the old way of illustrat- 
 ing the gospel, telling men the thrilling story of how God gave 
 up his Son for their sins. 
 
 Do not, I ask, that age-stricken father and mother make a 
 sacrifice as great as their only son does, when they say to him 
 with breaking hearts and tear-streaming eyes ? — " Son, your 
 I'ountry calls you to take up arms in In r defence, and fight, 
 ind if need be, die for her. We need you in our old age. Wo 
 
REDEEMER AND REDEEMED, 
 
 l6l 
 
 u 
 
 r 
 
 lo 
 
 low- ynu, We tromUlo for your procious life. It is a soto 
 sacrillce for us to make to part with you, but we make it. We 
 lay you upon ourcounlry's altar as our sacrifice for her. She 
 needs your i-erviees even more than we need them. She nee<ls 
 your blood more than we need your life. Go then, son of our 
 olrl age, go ! We give tl;ee^ we send thee." But how great a 
 •icritice is tlieirs, almost greater thari his. They remain at 
 home, lonely, desolate, weeping, while he figlits, bleeds, dies, 
 on the battle-fiekh 
 
 -And the great eternal Father makes more of a sacrifice than 
 we know in sending his Son. The^ sending is as hard to the 
 Father as the being sent is to the Son. This at all events is 
 evident, that the great redemption-scheme, not only in its ori- 
 gin, but also in the carrying out, is as much the Father's as the 
 Son's. The Father sends, the Son is sent. Oh the gretit 
 Sender anpl the great Sentl 
 
 God did not send an angel, a Vjright seraph. He has myri- 
 ads of (h^m, and they are so ready and swift and strong to do 
 all his will. But he did not send an angel or an embassy of 
 angels charged with this mission. No. He sent his one Son, 
 liis co-equal and co-eternal. Out of his bosom he comes forth 
 to teli us and show us what a love is God's love, how interest* 
 ed he is in our interests. 
 
 He sends the Son bt c luse our redemption is so important. 
 It is too important to be put into any other hands. To some 
 of us \t is a small affair. We think so little of it. We do not 
 put ourselves out nmch for it. We will hardly go as far as 
 the churclvpew perhaps to hear about it. We trifle with it. 
 We hesitate about accepting it, so little account is it to us. 
 You have almost to compel men to it, so slow and careless arc 
 they with regard to it, and so small is their interest in it. But 
 it is otherwise with God. He sends liis Son .to work out our 
 redemption, for only he is worthy. Oh do you know, that this 
 gospel I am preaching with so little fervor, and that you are so 
 slack about hearing; this salvation that it is so hard to get 
 
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 ■:l'l 
 
.pf 
 
 |: 
 
 llii 
 
 l] 
 
 ^i 3 
 
 162 
 
 REDEEMER AND REDEEMED". 
 
 you ko accept at all, and that you turn up your nope at ami de- 
 .s[)ist>, cost God his Son, and the Son his life? 
 
 T suppose an angel might have come in the huniaji form, 
 iiiiglit have concealed his brightness with earth's dull ro1:»e.-, 
 T sup})oae he might have maintained his angelic purity while 
 here., walked untarnished tln'ough the wilderness of tempta- 
 tion, fought with devils and associated with sinners of mankind 
 ;uul breathed the world's pollut<}d atmoespliere without defile- 
 ment. I suppose an angel miglit liave been of some service 
 too. He might have wrought miracles, heaUnl the sick, fed 
 the hungry, calmed the waves, and miidstered help and com- 
 fort to the wretched. But there was one thinf; the mightiest 
 angel could not do — he could not die to save sinners. Only 
 (lod's Son could do that^ and so God did not send an angel ; he 
 «ent his Son. 
 
 Again, The m^sten/ of the Incarnation — "made of a woman." 
 He was the woman's seed that was promised far away back at 
 the fall. His was a supernatural birth, and on that account 
 he was exempted from the imputed guilt of Adam's first sin, 
 and all the hereditary taints and corruption which liow down 
 in human veins through the generations. His being woman- 
 lM)rn secured to him all that was essential as man, and without 
 sin. The Rexieemer of sinners could not be a sinner himself. 
 A.nd so "he was holy, harmless, undeliled, and separate from 
 sinners." Though his virgin-mother was not without sin, yet 
 lu> was. No original sin was deep-rooted in his soul. No 
 liert'tlitary taint poisoned the fountain of his life. And all 
 thnmgh his eventful career, he kept himself sj)otless from the 
 worlds pollutions. 
 
 What a mystery: God's Son made of a woman ! I know not 
 of course, but I cannot help thinking sometimes, that we are 
 the lowest down in the scale of intelligence of all the creatures 
 (lod has endowed with intelligence and a moral nature, througli- 
 out the universe. H we are not at the very bottom, we are 
 not far from it. All the ordei's of angels are above us. And 
 
 i'i 
 
REDEEMKR AND REDEEM '.CD. 
 
 if'J 
 
 1(1 
 lU 
 
 lu' 
 
 ot 
 
 ire 
 
 res 
 
 ire 
 lud 
 
 yet, what do we find? We find the S»in of Ood, wlio i.s high at 
 the h(«ul of all intelligences stooping to our low level; we find 
 God's Son made of a woman. What an infinite contrast we 
 have here — God, woman-born! In him the extremes of intelli- 
 gent moral being meet. And not oidy the widely .separated 
 e.xtremes meet in him, Ijut also all the orders of intelligence in 
 tervening between the extremes find in him the center and 
 type and perfection of their being. Oh there are depths here 
 we cannot fathom, heights we cannot scale! "Without con- 
 troversy great is the mystery of Godliness, God manifest in 
 the flesh." 
 
 Yes, my hearer, our Kedeemer is man, with man's body and 
 sou', with a human heart beating in his breast that ciui feel all 
 our fe<'lings and enter into all our .symj>athies. We cang(»to him, 
 and take him by the hand as a brother, a friend. W(» can 
 look into his face, see the tears of grief in his eyes, tin; w(jrk- 
 ings of sorrow and sympathy in his heaving bosom and cjuivei- 
 ing lip. We can hear his soft sweet words and feel the priis- 
 sure of his hand. And yet within and beyond the man w(; see 
 and hear .'ind touch, there is the awfulness of God, Thus how 
 wonderful a Redeemer is our.s. He has the littleness of man and 
 themightinessof God. His hand is soft andgentleasamotluM''s, 
 but his arm is an arm of Divine power, and therefore his 
 people can safely trust in him. 
 
 Again: There is still a. lower depth of humiliation than 
 being woman-born for the Redeemer of men — "Made under the 
 livW." What does that mean? Does it mean that he was 
 placed in circumstances where he had to obey the law? Ah! it 
 means more tlian that. It was easy for Jesus to obey the law. 
 
 It means to be amenable as one who is guilty. A sinner is 
 under the law. When the law has its heavy foot on our neck, 
 then we are under the law. Tlui whole human race is under 
 law — so under it th.at they cannot of themselves get out from 
 under it. What a state to Ije in, to be under the law ! No 
 peace for the soul there. No good of any kind there. Wrath, 
 woe, darkness, de.spair, death, are under law. 
 
5-1^ 
 
 l-i 
 
 !■ a 
 
 164 
 
 KEDLKMKR AND KEDLIKMLD. 
 
 l)Ut tlion tlic |)ure Son of (lod li;i<l iiO()fi;,'in!il sin aliout (liiii, 
 no iiiij>ut«'(l tjuilt, no actual tr.iiisi^M-j'ssions, to put him uiul»'r 
 law. The iiiystfiy of the incarnation socuicd him from all 
 that. How then doos ho come tob« under law'/ In this way. 
 To redeem sinners, to atone for their sins, he voluntirily taki'S 
 their law-|»lace. For their sakes he lets himself be made un<ler 
 law, he becomes their sul)stitute. 
 
 See here ! Jesu:? is in trouble. He is apprehended and drairujed 
 before the courts. He stands at the bar of outraged law to 
 answer to <;rave charfjes. You do not like to -iee anv one where 
 he is. It has a bad look. People shakt their heads. They 
 ■whisper that they always had their suspicions. Tlu? witnesses 
 come in, and with lots of words they tell what they know, and 
 they do not always know much. Everybody is ai;ainst him. 
 The charge is not sustained, but the judge finding himself con- 
 fi'onted by a howling niol) lets justice — lets something else than 
 justice — have its course against the innocent Christ. (luilty I — 
 that is the word ten-thonsand throats lioarseiy bellow forth 
 around the doon)ed Nazaiene, and it is not easy to keep back 
 tlie populace from rushing upon liim and tearing him to pieces. 
 ( )h it is a terrible thing to be under law ! The Christ fcmnd 
 it so. 
 
 Let us see the end. And we have not long to wait. The 
 executioners come. A ci'oss heavy with the guilt of a world is 
 laid upon him, and amid jeers and scoffs he staggers under his 
 load tow-'-'ls Calvary. See, he faints ! ITe sinks t(» the •'arth 
 under its weight. Will no one bear it for him ? Where are 
 his disciples 1 Peter ! Peter ! thou who wert so brave wlieri 
 there was nothing to fear, so outspoken, so willing to do or to 
 die; — where art thou now, O great fisherman, and thy loud 
 devotion, when thy Master needs thy help ? And John, the 
 beloved disciple — where is he, and all his love, this dark hour? 
 We know indeed he is not far off— he is round somewhere, but 
 heisnoton hand when his loving servicesareso much in demanci. 
 And w:\ere too are all those the Christ healetl, the lepers he 
 
RKDIiKMKR AND Rl- DKKMEL). 
 
 I6S 
 
 (' t\i nsod, tho luiiii^'ry liefo<l, t!io multitudes lu» proaeliod to, tlu^ 
 .siiuicrs lu' saved ; — wIkm-** afc tliev now wlicii by a touch of 
 t'.u'ir hand they may sei-ve liim ? AVIiy ai'e they not by liis 
 .si(U', beai'ini,' with him the i-epioach of the cross, standini^ l)y 
 him and cheerinjjj him with tluur presence? Ah I not one is 
 there, not a hand is stfetched out ou his belialf, and a 
 sti'anij:er has to Ix? pressed into tlie service of bearing his cross 
 afUu" liim. 
 
 lUit the place of skull it*- reached. The tragedy of the cross 
 is |)erpetrated in the face of Heaven. His precious blood is 
 shed - spilh'(l around as if it were of no account. He is lifte(l 
 up to die, and men mock. J»ut Heaven cannot look on un" 
 moved w!ien her King dies. A great darlcnesi* falls, a horror 
 of darkness, and veils tiie shuddering sight. Oh what it was 
 for the Redeemer to be made under the law! What an agony 
 his was, an agony like the dying of a soul. Hark to the wail 
 that bursts fi'om his lips and moans away up to the ears of his 
 l*\ither: "My CJod! my God! wjiy hast thou foi-saken me?" 
 Ifut soon it is all over. It is finished. Finish kd — what a 
 word! It tells us what a success the cross is, what a blesse<l 
 trium|)h. Jfe was made under the law to redeem them that 
 wer<' under the law, and he lias done it. He has gone down 
 to the bottom of man's sin and guilt, made atonement, satisHed 
 the claims of justice, ;uid opened \\\) a way of life through his 
 own l»lood for the sinner. Thus what a Redeemer we have, so 
 rich in mercy, so mighty to save, ^\'e are hei'e to-day to do 
 him honoi-, to express in some weak way our gratitude, to testi- 
 ly our love a!i(l devotioii, for all he has done and sutlered for 
 us. (Jlory to God foi- this pivcimis lli'deemer! Glory! glory 
 forever and forever! 
 
 II. THE HKDKEMKD. 
 
 And the first thought that comes to us here with regard to 
 the redeemed is this, where t!ie I'edeemei* finds them. He 
 finds th( m under thi' law. 
 
 JSoWj it is a blessed thing to be where there i.^ law. We 
 
 \\'\ 
 

 I 
 
 1 .1 . 
 
 ({;; 
 
 
 166 
 
 REDEEMER AND REDEEMED. 
 
 could not do witliout law. The law protects. It tlii-ows its 
 mighty jv^is over our heads, our homes, our property, our in- 
 terests, and we are, and we fed, so safe and happy. The law 
 is a teacher to teach men the ri<,dit, and is a friend to every one 
 who wants to do tiie ri<,dit. The law is thus so good, so ben-fi- 
 cent, so necessary. 
 
 But while it is a blessed thing to have law, it is a dreadful 
 thing to be under law. For instance, the law of gravitation 
 is so beneficent and useful when you are where you ought to 
 be, at your work, with your feet on the earth. But climb to 
 some dizzy height, where you have no business to be, and slip 
 and fall, and what a cruel thing the law of gravitation is. 
 How it seems to enjoy dashing you on the hard ground. 
 
 So with all lasv. Law is all right till we break it, but the 
 moment we break it, it turns against us, and it bn aks u<. 
 To be in prison is to be under law. To be falling dow n head- 
 long is to b3 under law. To be in the grave is to be und«'r law, 
 and with what a sti'ange sortof ci'uel delight death hold.sthedead 
 man down, and wastes him with its devouring jaws. To be a 
 drunkard is to be under law, the law of lust, the tyranny of 
 appetite, and what a fool the law makes of him. ILow it 
 knocks him down, and rolls him in the mire of the street, ami 
 in wild devilish glee cries out : " O drunkard, I have you now ! 
 I have you now !" To be a sinner is to be under law, and wo 
 are all sinners, and so we are under law. When we want to 
 do good, we cannot. Something holds us back. A chain is 
 around us, and that chain is growing longer and longer, and 
 lieavier and heavier. O poor sinner, how dreadful is thy 
 state, for thou art under law ! Thou art falling headlong into 
 a bottomless-pit. Thou art being led away to piison and 
 death. Thou art slowly, surely going down to ruin, and thou 
 knowest it not. Every sin thou committest is a new link 
 a<lded to thy chain, one more step to thy doom, one less chance 
 of hope and help to thee. Thus how dreadful it is to be where 
 ',hou art — under law. 
 
REDEEMER AND REDEEMED. 
 
 £67 
 
 I 
 
 "Rut tlio procioiis "Rorloomor conifts to thoo blioro, and lio jnits 
 out MIS hands to keop thee from fallin<,', he thrusts hiniselt' iu 
 thy way to himler thee from rushing to tliy doom, he gives liis 
 bloo<l to redeem thee. He found thee, C) redeeme<l one, in a 
 very real sort of prison-house, in the bondage of corruption, in 
 the captivity of sin and lust, and he reileemed thee. And 
 to-<lay \w has led thee into his V)an(|ueting-house, and his ban- 
 ner over thee is love, and he is giving thee to realize in some 
 measure what a blessedness it is to be redeemed, 
 
 And tiiat is not alL He redeems the sinner so that In; 
 miglit put him among the children of God, anci give him to 
 be an heir of glory. 
 
 It is a great thing to be redeemed from under the l.»w, to 
 have the cliain of the tyrant broken from otl' us, to be pardoned 
 when our feet are on the fatal platform. But the blessedness 
 of redemption is only one drop in. the full-to-overllowing cup 
 of the redeemed soul's l)lessedness, one note in its antluMU of 
 praise — its doxology, one ray of glory streaming from the full- 
 orbed sun of righte«jusness. 
 
 "When God redeemed his people from their house of bondage 
 in Egypt, he led tliem away to be his own people in their own 
 liappy country. It was a great thing for thera to be out of 
 Egypt, to be across the II(mI Sea, to be at the foot of Sinai, to 
 be under the cloud of his mercy and faithfulness, to l)e across 
 the wilderness, to be at the borders of Cana;in, to be fed on 
 the manna and to drink of the water- from the stricken rock. 
 But God kept on leading them, and d(»ing for tiiein, and giving 
 to tiiem, till lie luid given them rest in Canaan, sonship and 
 heirship and national glory. 
 
 And reileemed one, thy Lord wants to do more for thee than 
 redeem thee. Thou art satislied perhaps when thou :ii't out 
 of thy Egypt, -whem the yoke of thy bondage is broken from off 
 thy neck. Thou art satisfied perhaps because the «1 rink- 
 chain that once held thee down is broken, because the violence 
 of passion and Just iu thee is tamed, because the world has lost 
 its po\yer over thee and can no longer do its will with thee. 
 
T 
 
 H 
 
 M! 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 I OS 
 
 RLL>EEMER .VIvD REDEEMED. 
 
 utul beoaiiRo tliou lins t.istotl soTiiowha*^ of the blf>s.se<lnoss of 
 lihfTty in Christ. Thou .sittest hack t» - lay aiul rejoicest that 
 tliou art one of the re(h»enjpd. But, redeemed soul, thy Lord 
 is n«it satisfied to .see thee where thou art. lie invites thee to 
 His House. He welcomes thee to his table. He puts the rin<^ 
 of adoption upon thy finger,, and calls thee his son and heir. 
 Tliou art saying to-day : "A servant*s place is good enough for 
 me." And thou art .sitting back among the .servants, or re- 
 maining away with the world. But however satisfactory it 
 may be to thee with t' v low " orl 1-ideas of chris*^ian privilege 
 md duty, it L- iiOu sat* 4;. ■;?.)? v I > ihy Redeemer. He redeems 
 thee to adopt thee. H > ad<»| C4 thee to make thee his heir. 
 Thy place is here :unong the clitl'en. He is pleading with 
 thee to come up higher. 
 
 ►Sons and heirs 1 how much of good and gloiy there is in 
 that. It is only as we come fo'ward, and enter in, and rise to 
 the grandeur of all this g'jod, that we know it. Why stay with- 
 out then, when we may Ije within'? Not thus n>en act in other 
 things. If an heirship is to be had, how quick we are to make 
 out some relationship. We leave no stone unturned to push 
 our special claim, or what we regard as our claim. If position 
 wants an occupant, if an office is vacant, if place and power are 
 to be tilled, what a throng of ap})licants. But here is an heii- 
 ship that goes begging. And it is an heii-ship to- agloiious in- 
 heritance, a high throne. Oh! I think, if we knew what it is 
 to be an heir in a spiiitual sense, we would want to make 
 good our claim. And the retleemed are sons and heirs. 
 
 My hearer, art thou re<leemed ? Th(Mi what goo.l and glory 
 open up before thee — all the joy of salvation, all the glory 
 of sonship, all the splendors (\f heirsliip. Lift up thy 
 head, and see what it is to be whci-e and what thou 
 art. "lichold what manner of love the Father hath bestowt-^l 
 upon us, that we should be called the soius of (Jod I . . . . Belor- 
 ed, now are we the sons of God, and it dolh n<»t yet ajipear 
 wrhat we shall be; but we know that, when he shall appear, v*t 
 shall belike him,, for we .shall see him as he i.s»" 
 
 I' 
 
 1 1 
 
XVI 
 
 '* The Sahhath was nicule /or man, and ■..'* mtn Jor tHie >^ah 
 hath ; so that the Son oj man is Iwd e' ^i Of the 6'abbath.' — 
 {Revised Version) Mark ii. 27, 28. 
 
 SABBATH desc!crjiti(tn, bad as it is, r* niucha' it is to be 
 deplored, is not without its uses. It is doing this, at least ; 
 — it is awakeninir public attention to the luatter ; stirrin«^ up 
 discussion; provokinir and evokini^ cf)ncontrated action on the 
 part of christians of every name to secure, where possible, better 
 IcLjislatioo ; and thus arousini; them from their fatal inditference 
 and jiiving them to see the necessity of standinir shoulder to 
 shoulder in the battle beini; waited between the friends and foes 
 of the Sabbath. All this is doing irood. Discussion in pulpit 
 and press, in the halls of legislation and on the public plat-form, 
 is having its effect. Healthier views on the subject are being 
 inculcated. I say, let discussion go on. Ijet the Sabbath- 
 question be looked at, canvassed, criticizjd — if you will — in all 
 its phases. The friends of the Sabbath are not afraid of the 
 issue. Anything is better than dead indilferoncc. While the 
 church sleeps the Sabbath-institution is being undermined. A 
 dangerous and seductive secularism is creeping in upon us that 
 would rob us of the Sabbath. The pL':»-surist wants to have it 
 
 I! 
 
I 
 
 \3 
 
 V ■ 
 
 1 1 ' 
 
 Sm 
 
 I ill 
 
 fc'n 
 
 
 170 
 
 MAX AND THE SADnATII. 
 
 1 inMU'(l irit(> aday fur plr!isiirt';-li'>al iiiL'.yiu'lit inir. fishinpr, rrnii,,iii._f^ 
 li(»rsi'-raei?i_ir, base-ball and crickit mafclus. eoiicvrts. li-eturrs, 
 theatrical jU'rforniaiiees, and wliat-iint. The l)U.siiiess-iiiai» 
 atrain wants it for trade and travel. II.' wantstokeephis shops 
 open, his mills and laet(»rles ^oini;'. In a word, he wants the 
 whole round week for maninion's service. Thus, what with 
 jileasure and husin(!ss tlie Lord's day is iu uo littlo danger of 
 ]»einir utterly secularized. 
 
 Now, in the first plac, we are led to ask here by what author- 
 ity we should ki'ep the Sabbath at all. Is there any ixood 
 warrant frr its observance in any w-^.y ditt'erent from tiie rest of 
 the days? Utdess it can be shewn that there are irood and 
 sufficient reasons for its biOiiL^ kept apart from the or<linary 
 <lays of the week, tlie Sabbath will have to iro. If it has been 
 foisted upon the world, as so many thini^s liavc been, no on; 
 kjiows how, in the times of iLMiorajice and superstition; and if 
 it has been tolerated ever sine out of respect to its anti(iuity 
 and sanctity, and, so to speak, as one of the heirlooms of the 
 old. old past ; then it will have to be triven up before the bett r 
 liuht that is breakini; upon the world. It is no use tryiuL' to 
 hold on to it, for you cannot liold on to a thint; that is a lie 
 i'rom the bei:;inninir, a wretched sham. even though it has the 
 hoariness of antiquity to commend it. But, on the other hand, 
 if it is, as we claim, of Divine authority, and if there is a reason 
 for it in the very nature of things; then the Sabbath will remain 
 as one of the institutions that thechangesand ciiances of coming 
 ages and growing light make only more and more secure to us 
 and more and more of service. 
 
 Now, the Sal)bath, according to Moses, had its origin with 
 the origin of all things. It was instituted when the world was 
 created. " And on the seventh day (lod finished his work which 
 he had made ; and he rested on the seventh day from all his 
 W(»rk which he had made. And (rod blessed the seventh day, 
 and hallowed it; because that in it he rested from all his work 
 which God liad created and made." 
 
 
^ 
 
 MAX AND THE SADDATII. 
 
 «7« 
 
 Till' Sabliatli, you sec. has a jilacf in the very foundation nt' 
 tliin-s. It is one of'tlio World's cornor-sttjnos, and you can no 
 in 
 di>iti.'nsi,' wi 
 
 on- disjdacv' it or dispi'us^^' with it, than you can displace or 
 
 th tl 
 
 w naturi'of thin-^s 
 
 Thf Sahhath law, as I look 
 
 u 
 
 jion it, is not nn-ivly a moral ohliiration, or a sort of al'ti-r- 
 thouirht that was found useful and necessary alter tin 
 
 t xperit nee of some hnmlri'(ls of years; hut it has a plaei' and 
 jturpos • in the wcudd's tu'iiiinal economy, a place and jturpos,' as 
 iuijtorlanL as jrruvitation i»r any oth.-r tiatnral law. It is a 
 natural law as well as u moral law. i»reak the SahhaUi, ami 
 y< 11 hreak in upon nature's wise ](ro\ i.-ions. and dislurh her 
 liai niony. Day and ninht are natural divisions of timi'. So too 
 
 tl 
 
 je montli, the seasons 
 
 tl 
 
 le 
 
 y 
 
 ear 
 
 *o als » the wei 
 
 wi 
 
 th it: 
 
 sacred Sahhath. The week is not any artitieial arhitrary arrateje- 
 nient of till' days, a clever and useful invention of nu'n ; it is a 
 creation <tf (lod. You have noticed so often how wi-ek after 
 week in certain seasons storms re]»eat themselves with almost 
 iinvaryinir reiiJilarity. Sometimes it will storm on Sahhath in 
 the autumn or winter season, and then for five or six weeks there 
 
 wi 
 
 ill lie stormy Sabhaths in successioi 
 
 I k 
 
 IM)W 
 
 that 
 
 «neli a 
 
 weatlur phenomenon is accounted for hy almanac-makers and 
 weathcr-iiro]iliets because of the (jUarterinLT, and halvinu', and 
 
 thr( 
 
 ec-(|uarteriiiu', and chanuini.' t 
 
 d' tl 
 
 le moon 
 
 hut 
 
 is it not far 
 
 more likely to be because of the natural seven-day arran_L:ement 
 accorclini: to which the world and the weather Were created? 
 Then it has been found that both workinu-animals and workinu- 
 men U'Cjuire the seventh-day rest, if they would do thi'ir best, 
 and no other arrangement serves tlie jnirjio^i; so well. And it 
 is said that furnaces and machinery are the b.ftter for a ri'. t 
 and a cool-ofl* every week. They work betttr and they wear 
 better. A y]\\ Ha^nall stated to a Committee of the lions,- of 
 Lords, that when he i:;ave up his former practice of keepint: his 
 lurnacvs uointi' every day of the week, and ke])t Sabbath, lie 
 i' iind aft r a seven year's trial that lioth his furnaces and nii'ii 
 did bjtt^r work. I (piote his own words : •• We have made a 
 
 I 
 
172 
 
 MAN AND THE SABIJATII. 
 
 lurircr fjU.intity of iron than ever, and iron*' on in all our six 
 imn-works niucli more troe from accidintsand inti-rruplions than 
 durini; any prt'codinir Si^voii y^-ars of imr lives. " And I »an 
 understand it, if this fact will he taken into consideration, thi.t 
 the world and all things have been created with a view to a 
 Saldiath rest. 
 
 And another thiu^', from the heiriiniirjir, the Sabhath was made 
 for the doulde purjtoso of rest and worship. God rested on tho 
 Sabbath fr(»m his work of cr.'ution, and he blessed andhallowi'd 
 it, thus setting it apart, so lonir as the worhl is a world, as a day 
 of sacred rest. Thus, the Sabbath has a foundation that ciumot 
 be shaken, and it will abide, fur ynu cannot iret at the world's 
 best, its gold and its hoiu'y, without keejiinuthe Sabbath right. 
 
 Then as we follow the Sabbat h-(jnes| ion down the world's 
 history, we findtln^ J)ivine authority for it growing in strength 
 and clearness. The Sabl)ath was promulgated amid the awful 
 displays of the J)ivine presence and i)ower from the summit ot 
 Sinai as one of the ten eomnuunhnints. And the first word 
 shows the Sabbath to have been no new enact ment. llemember — 
 " reuu'mber the Sabbath day, to keep it holy." and so on. Many 
 look upon tlie Sa))bath as an old Jewi.*<h law, but it was law before 
 the Jewish people were. It was, as we have seen, from the 
 beginning, a bk'ssed day for all nations and all ages. Of course 
 it was adapted in some respects to the needs and conditions of 
 the Jewish people, but in this grand essential it is ever the same, 
 the day of sacred rest. 
 
 But we hasten on to see what ground ofautliority tliereisfor 
 the cliristian Sal)bath. or Sunday, or the Lord's J)ay. The 
 seventh-day Sabbath continued from the creation of the world 
 till the day of our Lord's resurrection, wliich event was a new 
 creation to the world, the inauguration of a new era. From the 
 creation of the world till the Lord's resurrection it was the 
 evening and the niorninu' one day, and the seventh-day Sal)- 
 bath ; from the resurrection on till the end of time it is the 
 morning and evening one day, and the first-duy Sabbath. Tlie 
 
 
MAN AM) TIIF. SAHltATII. 
 
 '73 
 
 Lord rose f'nnii \\\v dead very «:irlv "H tli" first daVof thr WtMk. 
 That I'Vt'iiiiiir tlic diHciplts, ami a I'lW dtlur rhrisliaii I'rit'iuls. 
 iiirl ill tlu'U])iK'r-ro(»ni to taliv ovor tlif situatinii and |»laii fur tin' 
 future. Wliilt' thcv wtTe nu't'tiiiir with clns-d dunrs the Jjtnd 
 appeared in thi^ir midst, and cdeared up fur thein tlu'«|Uesti<»u ef 
 his identity as the risen liord. It was tin- ninrnini: when herose, 
 and it was the eveniui^ when he appeared to them, and so th* 
 ni()rnin<; and tlu! evening madi! the first day, and tluir Sahhath, 
 the L(»rd's Day. Just a week afterwards, they met a'.:ain in 
 the same room. Some were present who "were absitit the wi< k 
 lufnre. All the week they had not seen the Lord. Mut as tiny 
 were meetinir, he airain appeared in their midst, and hlessed them, 
 hreathiuLr on them his Spirit. From that on the Jiord's Pay 
 was the Christian Sahhath. 
 
 Jjet me cite a lew proofs. Paul and his frii nds were seven 
 ilays at Troas, and on the first day ot'the week he preaeluMl, and 
 ])reached lonir into the niudit of that sacred day. A^ain the 
 Apostle tells the Corinthian christians to lay by in store on the 
 first day of the week, as the Lord had pr(»spered them, tlieir 
 ^iviiiL's. for reliirious and benevolent ol)jt'cts. Ther in Revela- 
 tion we find the Lt)rd'K Day mentioned; " I was in the Spirit 
 on tlie Lord's day," 
 
 1 will cite but one passairo from the writ inirs of Justin Martyr, 
 He was born about A. D. 114, and died in KIT) a martyr to the 
 christian faith. In his first Apolofry, I find this passaire : 
 •' Sun(hiy is tlie day on which we all hold our common assembly, 
 because it is the first day on which God, haviui: wrouirht a 
 chantre in the darkness and matter made the world; and Jesus 
 Christ our Saviour on the same day rose from the dead. For 
 ho was crucified on the day before that of Saturn (Saturdiiy ) ; 
 and 'H the day after that of Saturn, which is the day of the 
 Sun, tiavint^ appeared to his apostles and disciples, he tauirbt 
 them these things, which we have submitted to you also for your 
 consideration." 
 
 This passage from Justin shows that in his day christian? 
 
 1 I 
 I ( 
 
 ! I 
 
 fii^ 
 
■illHH 
 
 i I 
 
 w ■ 
 
 til 
 
 »'! 
 
 I. 
 
 174 
 
 MAN AND Tin: SAHnATH. 
 
 kt'|(t tlu' first (l:iy oi" the Wi'ik as their da}- dl'wursliip. Wi-iiiust 
 rniicniln'r tliat ho is writing; to lu-atlu'iis. and su ho sjjcaks ol' 
 tho first (hiy as Sunday, hfcausL) that wasthiMianie thoyii,avi' it. 
 ^\^• do not like Suinhiy hrausL- of its heathen origin, hut we find 
 the (hiy called so hy christians early in the second ce?jtury. 
 
 1 have thus ulance*! briefly at the history of the Sahhath, 
 shewini:' what authority we have for the Sabbath, an authority 
 that cnuKtt be r|Uestioiu!d or shaki'n. 
 
 I eniiu- to speak, in the next j)laee. on the way the Sabballiis 
 to be k( |it. To the qui'Stion. *" ITow is the Sabbath to be sancti- 
 fied ? " it is answered in our excellent shorter cati'chism : "The 
 Sabbath is to be sanctifii-d, by a holy ri'stint; all that day. even 
 from sneli worldly eniiiloynients and recreations as are lawi'ul on 
 other days; and spending the whole time in the public and private 
 ixercises of God's worshij). except so much as is to be taken up 
 in the vtorks of necessity and mercy." 
 
 The Sjibhath has a twcifoid purpose ; it is for both rest and 
 Morship. And the two are not, or need not be, incctnsistcnt 
 Rest from secular btljor is not inconsistent with worship. It 
 may be said, walking to church, sittinu; doubled up in a bard 
 pew, hearing sermons and pi'eaching them, singing and j)raying 
 and so on, is as much work as ploughing and sowing. I have 
 beatd working men say, that they would about as soon })lough 
 Hil (lay as woi'sbip all day. And tliere is more or less of truth 
 in the statement; indeed T grant, a great deal of truth in it. 
 I Jut still, it is rest. Change of work is rest, a kind of rest 
 that is g(X)d for any one, healthful, insj)iring, invigorating. 
 .Mei'e I'est, an all-day stupid half-asleep and half-awakci doze, is 
 not the best sort of rest for an active intelligent man. It is 
 not tlie way to keep Sabbath. I do not think it wrong to 
 sleep more th.it njorning than on other moi'nings. For those 
 who have been hard at it early and late for six days, 1 think 
 (Hod gives a g(>nerous portion of his bK'ssed day for sleep, rest. 
 It is for real rest the Sabljath is given, and in that respect it is 
 jvbcou from Heaven to the liard- working poor man. And I 
 
 I .1 
 
% 11 
 
 MAN AND THE SALDATII. 
 
 /J 
 
 k 
 
 It. 
 
 lis 
 
 I 
 
 think itposKil)le to over-do the day of sacred rest with relii^iou:^ 
 f-ei'vices. Wo may turn the day into a sort of sj)iritual dissipa- 
 tion. From early mornini^ till lat(; into the nii,dit we may Ix^ 
 at religious services of one kind and another, until soul aiul 
 body are crushed undei- a yoke that is hard to bear, a sort of 
 spiritual bondage foreign to the gospel of Jesus Christ, 
 
 l)Ut then, on the other hand, it is easy to err by being tf^j 
 indulgent to ourselves. So many misspend tlunr Satui'day 
 nights. They work unnecessaiily late ; they k(>ep at it till it 
 is close upon twelve o'clock; and they do so, ))ecause the next 
 day is the Sabbath, and they can sleep as long as they like. 
 They thus cheat God by taking out of his day foi' sleep the 
 hours they should have taken out of Saturday-night. And 
 then others give the last hours of the week to pleasure, to drink- 
 ing, to folly and evil, because they have the Sabbath to sleep oiV 
 their debauch. Ah! how we may abuse for a wicketl re;st tlu^ 
 Lord's own hallowed day. He gives us six days for our work, 
 and he keeps but one for his worship, and we cheat him all we 
 can. Oh! is it any wondei- that our Sabbaths are not as bless- 
 ing-bringing to us as they should be? 
 
 Tn the text chosen our Loi-d gives us his views on Sabbath 
 keeping, and it is his to sjiy how the Sabbath is to be kept' 
 "for the Son of ^lan is Lord of tlie Sab])ath,"and he lays down 
 this principle, and emjihasizes it in his teaching, that tl;e Sab- 
 ])ath is made for man — made in his interests, made for his 
 good. "And he said unto tluMu, the Sabbath was mafle for 
 man. and not man for the Sabbath; so that the Son of Man is 
 loi'(l even of the Sabbath," 
 
 Now, there is a profound truth here that we may overlook. 
 AVe have come to undei'stand l)y the phrase "Son of Man" only 
 the Lord Jesus Himself. And he is pre-eminently tlu^ Son oi 
 ^lan. He stands nt the top of manhood, the great 
 Divine Man. J3ut every man is a son of man, and 
 as such is lord of the Sabbath as well fts Jesus, for 
 the Sabbath was made for maix. That is the teaching of the 
 
 J 
 
timm 
 
 176 
 
 MAN AND Tiir: sabhath. 
 
 i . '. 
 
 ^i 
 
 Mastor here, and alt}ioui,'li it may sound strani^o to nnr oa\'<^ 
 un<l may seem to be dani^ornus <,n-()un<l, a slippery place, to 
 venture on; yet we need not fear to follow, so lon^ an we fol- 
 low where he leads. The Pharise(>s held, and many vet hold, 
 that man is not lord of the Sahhath, bat that the Sabbath i.'< 
 lord of him ; he is bound by it, and can oidy do as the Sabbath- 
 Ihw allows. But Jesus holds and teaeh(\s, that any man and 
 ev(»ry man, is lord of the Sabbath, .«k^ that it is for him to say, 
 within eertain limits, how he should keep the Sabbath, so that 
 his true interests may \ye subserved by it. 
 
 Our Lord and his diseij>l«>s, and some oth(>rs!, among whom 
 were certain Pharisees, were goinj^ throu<4h a Held of ripened 
 j.frftin Sabba'h moining, on their way probably to the .syn.v 
 gogue service. The iliscij)les were hunjijry, and as they walked 
 along, they })lucked the ears of grain, and rubbing them in 
 their hands, and blowing away the chafl, they ate the grain to 
 appease their hunger. The Pharisees, who held very strict 
 views of the SabV)ath, called that sabbath-breaking. The 
 rubbing of the ears was work — it was hand-thrashing, and the 
 blowing away of the chati" was a species of grain-winnowing. 
 They therefore calle<l the Master's attention to the sabbath- 
 breaking of his followers. 
 
 Now, you will observe, he did not argue the point with them 
 whether it was sabbath-breaking or not. According to their 
 strict ideas of the Sabbath, of course it was sabbath-bre; king. 
 We would have taken issue with them on tlu' point under debate, 
 and we would have denied that it was sabbath-breaking. Hut 
 Jesus let them have their c.wn opinion on that point, absurd and 
 ridiculous as many of their njdnions were on just such points, 
 and he took the ground that what they were doing was a work 
 of necessity, f<tr they were hungry, and un<h'r such circumstances, 
 they might do still more than tluy weredoiii'j: and not break the 
 Sabbath. And then he reminded them of what J)avid and his 
 band of men did when they vere hungry, how they ale the 
 hallowed shew-bread. The priests, too, every Sabbath slay Iho 
 
 n 
 
MAN AND THE SAKDATlt. 
 
 177 
 
 I 
 
 TJficrlfioo, and still aroLMiiltlcss, for tho ^\'^^k was necessary to the 
 \V(»rshij» (-f the day, and therefore necessary to the riirht keeping 
 of J lie day. 
 
 And just here comes in man's lordship of the sacred day. It 
 is for a man to decide what is tor him a work of necessity. 
 J)rivinj; is work, work lor yourself and your horse; hut if you 
 would keej) the Sahhath riL'ht, it is necessary for you to drive 
 jttrhaps. Thus drivint:' to church is not sahbath-breakinii' but 
 sabbath-keepintr. And so with regard to many other tiiinjjrs. 
 The two disciples and the Master walked to Hmmaus the first 
 Lord's Day, and that was some sixty furloriL's, or between seven 
 «!ul eiirht miles, and they returned the same evenintr in order to 
 }te present at the meetini; in the upper-room. As lords of the 
 Sabbath, it is our privilege to say, within certain limits, what We 
 <aiLdit to do and not do. The Jew must not kindle a fire in 
 his dwellin*; on the Sabbath, but it is necessary for us to have a 
 fire both in our churches and in our homes. The sexto!i of the 
 church and our servants will tell us of the work they have to do, 
 and not all of it may be necessary, but some of it i.s necessary. 
 
 The old }*harisees went so far as to say that dressing for 
 church must be done the day before as well as the co(»kintr. A 
 lamp must not be lit nor put out on the Sabbath ; if a lamj) is 
 necessary, let it be lit on Friday and kept burning: till the Sab* 
 bath was past. Jt;irden-bearin<; on the Sabbath waswrotiLi". and 
 .so the Pharisees in their ultra-strictness went so far as to say it 
 was wron}; to carry a handkerchief in the pocket, or a bunch ot 
 keys, or anytlunir else, Thus, with their ultra-strictness they 
 caricatured the Sabbath prohibitions. Now. the Master would 
 leave it with a man's self, as the lord of the Sabbath, to decide 
 what to do and not do. 
 
 And then works of mercy as well as works of necessity were 
 permitted on the Sabbath, -uch works for instance as relieving 
 distress, visitinji^ the sick heaiinj/ their diseases, and soon But 
 the I'liarisces with tlieir nonsensical and whimsical traditional 
 teachings and regulations had madeoiereya very different thioi^ 
 
J 
 
 
 m 
 
 mi 
 
 ft) 
 
 M 
 
 iii 
 
 I 
 
 17S 
 
 MAN AND THE .SADBATH. 
 
 Iroiii what it is. a priicl- sort of mercy, u uall ami worinwnoi? 
 lucrcy. It was forhiddiu Ky tlu'in to ^ivi' an rinetic, to set it 
 brokoii l)oiu', to j)Ut liat'k a dislocated joint It' one had the 
 tootli-ache, he njii:ht take vinruariii his mouth to relievo it, pm- 
 vidiii'4 he would swallow it. In ease of si sore-throat, there must 
 )>(• uu irariiliiiir. I'hat would hi work. S( methiui; however 
 may he slowly swallowed. Sueh were the Sahbath ideas our 
 Jiord had to eomhat. 
 
 lu the ••yiiai:o,i:ue' there happened to bo a man witli a withered 
 hand, and the Pharisees watched to see what he would do. The} 
 wanted to trap hnu into the doini; ofsonu-thintr they eould brinir 
 up aLiainst lum, and so tlu'y asked hiui if it was riirht to heal on 
 the Sahbath. lie in-<tanei'd tlu; case (d'a sheep fallinir into a 
 pit, and asked them if they would not lift it outdn the Sabbath, 
 He knew they wcsuld ^et over thei»' ultra-strictness to save their 
 property. And then with an emphasis that must have ^one 
 home to his critics, he j)ut it to tiiem, ''How much then is a 
 man better tlian a sheep?" But their false notionsof sabbath- 
 kii jiiiiii; had blini'" ■ lueir eyes and hardened their hearts, go 
 that they had no bowels of compassion for the poor man with 
 liis helpless arm Oh liow cruel and crinjinal is a mistaken 
 faith, a false reli«:ion ! Jesus was vexed with them. Mark tells 
 us. he looked round about ujion them with an.^er, beiuL'trrieved 
 at the hardness of their iieart. And then he healed tiie man. 
 And that was not tlie only instance he healed on the Sabbath, 
 He healed a woman bowed to;fether for eijjrhteen years. He 
 healed the man that lay at the pool of Hethesda. He healed a 
 man if blindness Thus, he shewed that it was rii^ht to do 
 works of mercy on the i^abbath. 
 
 And here again, it is left very much to a man's self as to how 
 far this ouirht to bo carried. I have (dten felt that an abuse 
 wa.> made of this Sabbath privile^rc, and more was done under 
 lb ■ plia of a work of mercy than should be done, A physiei;in 
 on-'. U)\<{ ire — not a Fredericton j)hysician — that the pe<»ple 
 would .^i.'ictiuiijs put off coming to see him, or to send for him. 
 
 
■^-^ 
 
 MAN AND THE SABHATH. 
 
 '79 
 
 lust 
 
 ii;u» 
 
 liiu. 
 
 lill tlic Sabbath, bcoiiuso it saved thomselvcs a day for work to 
 Uih' the Lor Vs day lur tlie purpoHc. But it cost hiui his Sab- 
 bat li privih'i;(.s. Audi niysoU' have I'ound pi'opK' visit iiiir fh.j 
 sick, crowdii '^ up the sick chainl)er, wheu it wciuld have bi'eu 
 more a mercy to the sick, if tliey had stayed at houie, and 
 .•itti'iKknl to their Sabl^ath duties. Still, as <i lord of the Sjib- 
 )»ath, a man must judge for liimseif what a work of mercy f'>r 
 him is, and you can easily unch'rstaud how much more latitu(h' 
 one UMin will allow himself than another. 
 
 The Lord's Day, then, is for rest and worship, exeeptimj in 
 so far as works of necessity aul mercy ari.so to interfere with 
 the sacred purpose, and every man is left very much to himself, 
 according to the teaching' of our Lord, as to how far it is for his 
 |:food he should keep tlie Sabbath. J'.ut this lordship of the 
 •Sabbath, I his personal lilierty (jf Ids, you can easily undei'stand, 
 is liable to Ljreat abuse. One man is cojisci«'ntious, and his 
 works of necessity and inercy are as few as possible, and intej-. 
 ft-re but little with his sacred duties. Anotlierman is free and 
 easy,, and Ids works <;f necessity and mercy so-called make his 
 Sabbuih all liut a w(M'k-day. He sleeps late Sabl)atli mornini,', 
 so late he cannot goto church. Then ho jnust have an extra 
 diimer on that <hiy, and that jueans a busy morning for 
 somebody. Then mercy to himself requires a long constitu- 
 tional in the afternoon, or if h(; has a horse, mercy to himself 
 ujul horse recjuires a drive. P«'rhaps he can g<'t to church in 
 (lie t\cning. Thus, the (hiy of sacred rest i- ittered away, 
 and not the tlay it should )je, and personal li' ty becomes li- 
 centiousness. 
 
 We can sw, then, the necessity there is, ant Jways lias been, 
 for a Sabbath law to restrain tlie lil;erties • t' liose who carry 
 ^licir liberties too far, and to protect tho.st vho want the Sal>- 
 bath for the pur}>ose for which it has been given. 0?ie man 
 iii>?ists it is in his interests to make the day one of pleasuie. 
 Aiurther insists it is in hii interests to go o.i ^•''^h his busi- 
 riess. Hut high overall sudi low worldlv interest? comes »..■.«]■ 
 
 ! ' m 
 
|80 
 
 MAN AND Tlllr: SAM P. ATI I. 
 
 n 
 
 y 1 ■ 
 
 inr,' the old Sal)h.ath-Iii\v : "Ivoiiicniltfr tliR S,'ilil);illi d.iy to !< '<•]? 
 it holy." Only this s.ahh.ith-kccjting is fiu i\\\: lejii intei-osts 
 of Jill. If the Sabbath ia to be a <lay of pleasure, thut j»lras- 
 Uio luoaiis work fur the inon who run the street -cars, 
 and the trains, and the boats. Or if again the Sabbath is to 
 ])(' for business, then pleasure must retire. No rest for eleikSj 
 and shop-boys, and sewing-girls. Thus, the seculaiisni of the 
 Lord's day would mean for the poor man work, work, work, 
 on, on, to the bitter black (>nd of his lost life. 
 
 Jiut are we going to let the day of .sacreii rest go fiom us, 
 the Lord's day with all its liallowed happy memories, the day 
 that tells us of the rest to come? No. Let us more and more 
 hold to it, and more and more use it for the purpose for which 
 it has been given. Let us work harder during the six days of 
 work, that wcs may have less to do in the shape of works of 
 necessity, and moie time for worship and works of mercy, on 
 the Lord's day. We need the Sabbath to keep us from grow- 
 ing wopldly-minded, and the more we devote it to meditation 
 ftnd prayer the moi'e of a good it will be to us. I plead there- 
 fore for better-kept Sabbaths I plead for le.ss work for us all 
 on the Lord's Day, and more time for communion with God. 
 Only thus can we grow in meetness for Heaven. And a well- 
 kept Sabbath is no loss to a man. A man can do more work 
 and better work, working six days and resting and worship- 
 ping the seventh, than working right along. It has been 
 proved. The better we keep the Lord's day, other tilings be 
 ing e(|ual, ^ne better it will be for us in every way. A world 
 without a Sabbath would be like a man without a smile, a 
 summer without flowers, and a home without a gai'.lcn. lie- 
 member, then, the Sabbath to keep it holy. 
 
 t 
 
 
( 
 
 
 'P. 
 
 rl.l 
 
 Ue- 
 
 i 
 
 XVII. 
 
 *' / commend unto you Pluthe our sister, n'ho ts a servant of 
 the church that is (ttCenc'weifr. thut ye recrive her in (he Lord, 
 tvorthily oj the saints, and that ye assist her in tnhatsoever 
 matter she may have need oj'yc\ , 'V she hersejf also hath 
 been a succour er of many, aiui >,. utiZ/w oivu se(/V' — lloM. 
 XVI. 1, 2. 
 
 HKHE is an okltime oortificate of chiircU-moml)orship, and 
 it isj a model certiticute. As a pastijr I sua called upon 
 to write a goo«i many cerLilioates of oiu; kind and another in 
 the course of a year ; — certificates of church-membership for 
 those who are moving away to reside elsewhere, certificates of 
 moral chaiacter, business certificates sometimes, and so on. 
 Indeed, I often wish I had not so many certificates to write, 
 for it is a grief of heart to see the young p(»ople, just when 
 they have come to be of some use in tiit^ church and soci(?ty, 
 go off to swell the memijership of churches already over- 
 crowdf*d, ;ind to add to the populations of cities already con- 
 gested with a foreign population. Uut somehow our young 
 people — ."so m.iuy of them — have got it into their heads that 
 
 
 N Fi.— Thi-^ sermon led to tho orgRuizatiou of St. Paul's Church Ladira' 
 Wo: king Buud. 
 
IS2 
 
 WOMAN'S CHURCH WORK. 
 
 li 
 
 tlieir only liopo of success is in ^oinj,' to the Statns or tlio far 
 "West; and so, every autumn and sj»iin<; there is an exodus of 
 the very cicani of our homes, and chunhes, and country. And 
 their bri;j;ht Ijopes of success are not always realized. In lujt 
 a few cases, they wouhl have done very much better for them- 
 selves to have remained at home ; and (?ven whert; they have 
 succeeded, if they had woiked as hard, and heen as saving and 
 self-denyinj;;, at Imme, as they have had to do and had tt)be 
 away, they would have succeeded ijuite as well, and better 
 })erhaps. 
 
 ■ t this is asid(» from the pctint T atn at. T wanted to say 
 that when our young penple go fiom home, they like to carry 
 with them a certificate from tlu'ir jiastnr. They lind when he 
 has endor.sed them, it is a help to them ; it is as good as cash 
 to them. Hut it is not easy for him to give any sort of certitl- 
 tnte to .some who apply, llow ciin he reconnnend laziness 1 
 1 low can he certify incapacity, utter u.selessne.ss ? ILow can he 
 fnd(jr.se people who have no place in the church 1 He wants to 
 'i I th»! kindest he can, but he simply cannot give a certificate 
 to those who have done nothing, and have tried to do nothing, 
 worthy of connnendation. But sometimes a real modern 
 I'luebe comes along, and then ho can write a certificate like 
 this of Pau " I cojnmend unto you Pha»be our sister, who 
 
 is a .servant « f the church that is at Cenchreje; that ye receive 
 her in the Lord, worthily of the saints, that ye assist her in 
 whatsoever matter she may have need of you; for she herself 
 hath been a succourer of many, and o( mine own self." 
 
 Now, first of all, consider Phabe's relations to the Church 
 at Ccnchrete. 
 
 Cenchiete was the harbor of Corinth, or rather one of its 
 harboi's, for Corinth had two harbors, Cenchreje IxMng the 
 eastern one, on the Saronic (lulf. It was distant some niiu 
 miles from the city, and was quite an important place in Paul'!- 
 lime. A christian church was early plant<Kl here by thr 
 A^wstle, and Phu'lje was one of the leading female uiemljci's, 
 
 t* 
 
WOMAN'S CIIUKCII NVoRIv. 
 
 iSi 
 
 lO 
 
 •u 
 
 its 
 If 
 
 he 
 
 tho only moniboi- we know nnytliiiii,' i»f in fnct. SIh> wa« a 
 iimidcn l.a<ly in well-to-do circuinstfinces. Ilrr luinu' iiHlir.itrs 
 that sju' was of ln',itli('n ori;,'in. Sin* would hr ainonj;tln' tii>t 
 who cniljract'd tin* chiistian faith uikUt Paul'rt prcachini;, and 
 being a woman of vigorous nund she * on heeann'! prominent 
 in every good work. lie sj)eaks of her ten<l<'rly as " ou/" 
 sister." She was a sister iii the faith, and not (♦niy that, she 
 was one eminent for her sisterly alleetion and sympathy for al) 
 who boro thf^ rhrislian nante. She hatl shown her sisterliness 
 in many acts of eiiaiity and kindness towards himself and his 
 co-laborers. Sh«^ was a sistei* indee(l, on<' of those lnrg»*- 
 hearted women, a few of whom are raised up by (Jod in *»very 
 consideral)le conununity alnuKst, whose hands are full of go»K) 
 deeds, and who are never weary in miuisteririg to the comfort 
 and necessities of all wIk) come within the reach of their ujentlf 
 loving hallowe/1 intluenee. Thank (Jod for the Plwjebes I Tlu-y 
 are indeeil light-bearei>; to many a sori'ow-shadowcjd home iuh\ 
 to many a gloom-lilled I'fe. J low ill .ill' the church ami the 
 world would be were it not for the riuebes ! 
 
 Then she is called a s(!rvant of the church : **Who is a, ser- 
 vant of the cliurch at Cenchrea*." Tn the margin the reading 
 is deaconess, and many hold that that reading should be in the 
 text as tlie true readuig. V'eiy earJy In the history of the 
 christian church, it cannot now with certainty be said how 
 vaily, a fejnale order of church otlicials was appointed called 
 deaconesses. Many maintain th«t the order had its origin in 
 apostolic tiniefi, and cite this passage, and some others, as 
 j)roofs. I Jut that is by no means clear, else the translators of 
 the revised \ersioii would have calle<l I'lKebe a deaconess. I 
 find great names and high authorities making her out to have 
 been a deaconess, l)ut T am slow to accept their opinicjn. The 
 original (J reek styles her a deaconess. And she was a dea- 
 coness in fact, foi- we lind her ministering to th*} necessities of 
 saints. All that is so far clear. iUit that she belonged to a 
 ehurch order of such, or that she was the Matron of sucli an 
 
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 18.* 
 
 WOMAN'S CIIL'RCH WORIC 
 
 ■4,'' 
 
 ;) • M 
 
 t>i(l«'r, or that tlierc was any such (»i(l('r sf» early in tlio chnV 
 tian cliurcli, is \ty iiu incaiis «'.stal»lisli('(l. She was a dcacniu'ss, 
 as I tliiiik, not l)(>t'aus«» slu» was set apart by tlio ai)t)stl«' to 
 mu'Ij an otlice, hut IxM-ausn of h«»r own j;iTat-li»>art»'(ln«'ss, Iut 
 own williiiL; niindcd/M'ss. Sho saw all afound Imt woik that 
 she could «h), sullnin;^ ones that slio could fonifort, lu'ccssitou* 
 oiu's that sho t'(»uld l•('li^^\(% strani^crs that sh<^ tt»uld hrfiicnd, 
 orph.iiis and widows tluit sho t'ould hclj), and she was in a 
 jtosition to hcljt tlirni, to he a real trcaconcss to tlu'iu, and slit 
 took upon herself the sweet christian otHce. 
 
 lam aware that there is a ^row in;,' opiidon in the vai'ious 
 l)mnehes oi th(> ehiistian chufch to-day, that the ordei- of 
 Ueaconesses wue existed in the chureh, existed in tht? days of 
 the apostles, and if so,, thrtt it should he ie\ ive<l, and some 
 lucMlern ehurcluis. an? nnivin^ it. JUit the history of such 
 orders show» how liable they are to be abuse(l^ and therefore 
 we should be slow in, ci'eatiiii,' oi'ders that may bring tidul>Ie. 
 1 giant there is need of female help in the chuivh, urgent and 
 growing need of such help. There' is ueed uf aband of Vho'bes 
 in. evwy ehurch, noble disinterested self-sacrilieing christian? 
 ladies at work. But we can have them without oid.iinini; 
 tliem to 1)6 deacones.ses. We may ordain, and then not Iwuc 
 ipuch. TJia Pha'bes are bora, not made — ecclesiastically 
 made. 
 
 Now, it is in my mind, and has been there for sonu- time, t( 
 have a band of christian women in. connection v,ulli thi.s 
 church, who would visit the aged and tlie pcjor as occasion 
 might oiler, read the Word of God or some good book to tho.su 
 who cannot read foi* themselves, minister to their necessities,, 
 stir up the careless to come to church, gatheM* intc^- the Sabbath 
 •School straying waifs, .seek out strangers and people who havt 
 no church home, and do whatever of good their hand can find 
 to dc». 
 
 I think it likely that was the kind of work Phiebe did. T 
 suppose she began to do in a siuij)le way. running iiito sk 
 
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 WOMAN'S CHURCH WORK. 
 
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 noi^li>)or's, ulipii slic lind an (»pj>ortuii.> y, with a word of ooni- 
 fort» or to ;;iv»( a littU" iiclj) U) a rnothfr Nvhos«« child w.is sick, 
 (»r to tt'll an a;,'fd disciplf all she could rciiicmlx'r of I'aul's last 
 scniioii, or to tidy up tlio roon» of oiio who wtw sick uIkmI. 
 And the work ;,'row uinm h»'r, until she found that ahc was do- 
 iu'4 a ;,'icat ;;oo«l W(nk. 
 
 And so here. If yu want to bo a Piio-he here, you can Imj 
 (die as soon as you like. There are n;,'ed people who would bo 
 so ^lad l(» have some one come in with a sunny face in a simple 
 oft'-handed way, and lead to them out of tlie <'oo<l book, or 
 .sinj; them a hymn, oi- tell them some of t\w sermon that did 
 themselves good. And there are pooi* people, motheis with 
 sick childr(?n, strangers, careless t>nes, that Ionc can reach and 
 help ill s(» many ways. And tliei-e ai'i.' childreu not in the 
 .Sal>l)ath School that sliouhl l)e there, jind would be there, if 
 there was some one of tact to ^'o after them. I5ut, let iii" ttll 
 yi)U, it is no use for fussy and o\ci-nice ladies, youni; or old t(» 
 do this work. If you j,'o to h'clure and hector and preach, 
 you had bett<'r not go. If you cannitt beai* what is disagree- 
 able, you had better stay far away. If you are afraid t»f tak- 
 ing some disease, or soiling your ch)tlics, oi- fouling youi' deli- 
 cate fingers, or hurtiiig your social standing, you are no 
 Pluelx', and you are not watited. If you cannot bear a scold- 
 ing for tlui Master's blesst^l sake, th(^ n)Ugh edge of a tongue 
 that is not over-particular in the choicfiof words, and tlu; cruel 
 misunderstanding of those you want to mijiist(!r to, it is no 
 use for you to be a deaconess of tlu^ old Phu'lMi-type. l)ut if 
 you can be a PIkcIx', comii along, and wo will see what can bo 
 done. I would like a do/.cn or a score of re^il willing-hearted 
 and willin^-haiuUHl Pha'bes to voiunt(!er for a season's work. 
 1 think such sanctified work for an hour or two a week would 
 tell immensely for good among us. 
 
 Secondly, Plioj'ni commended to the christian church at 
 Home, ami the n-ception and assistance asked for \nn\ " I 
 couuncnd unto you Phcy'^e our sister, who is a servant of tho 
 
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 church that is at Cenchrejie ; that ye receive her in the Lord, 
 worthily of che saints, and that ye assist her in whatsoever 
 matter she may have need of you ; for she herself also hath 
 been a succourer of many, and of mine own self." 
 
 Whether Phccbe was going to Rome on a business trip 
 simply, or whether she was going there to reside permanently, 
 we are left in doubt. I incline to the opinion that she was 
 removing from Cenchrese to Rome to reside, and to carry on 
 her business, whatever it was, in that wider sphere of business 
 usefulness. And then the business referred to — what was it ? 
 Was it church-business of some kind, or was it some secular 
 business of her own? Here again, you see, there is ample 
 room for much diversity of opinion. Those who believe her to 
 have been the matron of the Corinthian sisterhood of deacon- 
 esses regard her visit to Rome as in the interests of her order, 
 and the text is the apostle's endorsation of herself and her 
 scheme. Perhaps she was on a collecting tour, or to found a 
 new sisterhood. And thtn the reception and assistance asked 
 to be accorded her would correspond to the high position she 
 occupied as mother superioress at Corinth. Thus, if you care 
 to, you can put in all you want into these words of the apostle. 
 You can make her out to be a great lady in the church of 
 those early times, one high up in authority and sanctity, and 
 you can see her entering Rome with great eclat. 
 
 But I have no such opinion about her. I look upon her as 
 an elderly female who has been engaged in business in Cen- 
 chrea?, and who finds it to be for her business interests to move 
 to Rome. She is going there to open a shop, to set up a mil- 
 linery establishment, or something of that sort. She is a good 
 woman, an earnest member of the christian church at Cen- 
 c'hre*, one who has given both her time and money, her energy 
 and large-hearted benevolence, to the furtherance of the 
 gospel. So the apostle very cordially certifies her to the little 
 christian church at Rome, and commends her to them. He 
 asks them to receive her in the Lord, that is, as a christian, 
 
 •'*•* 
 
ill 
 
 WOMAN'S CHURCH WORK. 
 
 1S7 
 
 ^ 
 
 n. 
 
 and in a manner worthy of themselves as saints, christians. 
 And then he wants them to help her all they can, to give her 
 their business patronage, to use whatever little influence they 
 may have in the great city to befriend and favor her. I am 
 not sure that that is just what he means wiien he says ; " and 
 that ye assist her in whatsoever matter she may have need of 
 you ;" but I feel, that to put such a meaning upon the words, 
 and to draw such an inference from them, is quite within the 
 range of probability. 
 
 And here we may learn several practical lessons. AVe may 
 learn that we should take with us our eertitleate of ehurch- 
 membership when we go away, Phoebe took hers, and we 
 should take ours. But so many slip away, and not until years 
 afterwards perhaps do they send for it. Take your certificate 
 with you, and present it where you have gone just as soon as 
 you can. Attach yourself to some christian church, and take 
 hold with them in the work that is to be done there. It is 
 better for them, and it is better for you. The Lord rec^uii-es it. 
 It is both your duty and privilege. 
 
 Then we see here what sort of reception we should give those 
 who come to us certified, commended. We should give them 
 a hearty reception. We should make them feel at home among 
 us. We should open our doors and our hearts, and let them 
 in to all that is sweet and blessed, the very best we have. We 
 are not to receive as the world receives — coldly, suspiciously, 
 but we are to receive as we ourselves would like to be received ; 
 with the utmost confidence, as becomes saints. " That ye 
 receive her in the Lord, worthily of the saints." 
 
 And then we are to help one another in the broadest sense — 
 help one another spiritually, but also help one another in a 
 business way. It is not uncommon, I am told, on the west 
 side of the continent, in San Francisco, and other western 
 towns, for the ministers in reading notices from the pulpit, to 
 inform the people of the congregation that Mr. So and So has 
 come from the East with a letter of reeommeudation, and has 
 
I S3 
 
 WOMAN'S CHURCH WORK. 
 
 opoiiod !\ shop on sueli and such a stropt, and wants a sharo < t 
 the coni^rogation's patronaiji^ ; or that Miss Thus and Thus his 
 set up a millinery establishment, and would bi; hi«,dily doli^^hted 
 if the ladies would call on her and leave their orders. And is 
 it so very wroni^ ? This letter of Paul's was read in tiiechurc'.i 
 at Rome, and Phoebe's certificate was read from thepalpit, in 
 the ears of the congregation, recommending her t(j the lu^lp «»!: 
 the people in her enterprise. I have been criticized and found 
 fault with for reading from the pulpit certain notices that 
 looked like mere business notices. And porhans there wa, 
 good ground for criticism. I do not care to read every notice 
 that is handed me to read, and I sometimes ta^e upon myself 
 to suppress some of them. But where there is somebody to 
 help who seems to be worthy of help, deserving of our patron- 
 age, with Paul to back me here, I do not hesitate to read it. 
 
 Some time ago a Mr. Campbell wrote me to the effect th; t 
 he was to visit Fredericton on a lecturing tour with a camera 
 to illustrate his lectures, and he wanted my pati-onage. I 
 \vrote back to him somewhat curtly. He answered, feeling 
 hurt over what I had said, and giving me some account of him- 
 self. He studied in one of our colleges with a view to t' .^ 
 ministry, and his health gave way so that he had to give* up 
 the idea of his life. After a while he so far recovered that he 
 found he could work out his idea on another line. So he 
 travelled in eastern countrie?^ in Egypt, Arabia, Sinai, and so 
 on, and then he got views of the places, and told the children 
 and people about them all over the church, and in this way 
 preached and worked. He told me his ambition was to 
 visit the church's mission fields, and then come home 
 and tell the Sabbath schools of the church, and show 
 them, as far as pictures could show them, the good work that 
 was being done. When I read his letter, I was sorry for my 
 curt words, and wrote to him to come along, and stop at the 
 nianse when he was in the city, and I would do what I couM 
 for him. And he came, and I fouml him a worthy man, and I 
 
WOMAN'S CHURCH WORK. 
 
 1S9 
 
 he 
 l.l 
 
 nsked the people to go and see and hear what he liad for thoni. 
 And those who went were pleased. But I was criticized for it, 
 and yet I felt satisfied, if my critics knew what I knew, they 
 would have been as glad as I was to help a young man whoso 
 heart was in the Lord's work. 
 
 It is our duty to stand by one another and help one another. 
 Young christians starting out in business, if they are worthy of 
 our help, should receive it. We should countenance and be- 
 friend them; we should patronize and help them all we can. I 
 think that is the teachiiig of the apostle, and if so, we cannot 
 follow a better guide. "And that ye assist her in whatsoever 
 matter she hath need of you."' 
 
 Then, thirdly, the reason or ground the apostle urges why 
 Phoebe should be received and helped by the christians of 
 Home. ''For she hath been a succourer of many, and of myself 
 also." 
 
 The word translated here succourer means patroness or pro- 
 tectress. The idea is something like this. In those old times 
 it was attended with no little risk to be a christian. Paul and 
 those like him, when they went to Corinth and other cities, to 
 do mission work, preach the gospel, plant christian churches, 
 had often to run the gauntlet of the streets, and were mauled 
 and abused often shamefully. And sometimes there was no 
 one to take their part, or show them any kindness. They were 
 afraid to do it, or had not enough of interest in the cause to 
 do it. But this was not the case at Cenchrere. Phoebe early 
 took an interest in the christian cause, and she became the pa- 
 troness of the cause and the protectress of those who preached 
 the gospel. Her house became a sort of an asylum for the hunt, 
 ed and persecuted christian preachers. She had enough of in- 
 fluence in the place, and was in a position because of her stand- 
 ing among the people, to do as she thought she ought to do, and 
 nobody meddled with her. She seems to have been a sort of 
 leading spirit in Cenchrese, and so she saved the apostle and his 
 friends from much popular abuse and priestly interference and 
 
 *" ! i 
 
^r 
 
 190 
 
 WOM.VN'S CHURCH WORK. 
 
 ii 
 
 intrii,'UG. Thus, far and wide she came to be known as the pa- 
 troness and protectress of the christians, and her home came to 
 hv the resort of the missionaries. 
 
 If Paul was sending a christian preaclier to do work at 
 Corinth orCenchrefc, or by the way of Cenchrere to some other 
 }>lace, he would tell them to go to Phoebe's, and they would be 
 made welcome. Thus, I think it likely, her home came to be 
 a sort of minister's home, and she would have lots of enter- 
 taining to do; And she was glad to do it. If there was a 
 warm room in her house, any comfort that she prided herself 
 in, the minister or missionary was treated to it. I have little 
 tloubt she boarded them for weeks together free of charge. 
 Then Paul himself was subject to severe attacks of Olness, and 
 he may have been ill at Phoebe's sometimes, one of the best 
 l>laces to be ill at, if one is to be ill anywhere, and he knew 
 what her tender nursing was and could do, and so he put into 
 the certificate he wrote for her this: "For she hath been a 
 suocourer of many, and of myself also." 
 
 And there are still Phoebes. There are still homes all over 
 the luiul where the preachers are made so welcome just because 
 they are preachers. All over the church we find such homes, 
 and it would not do not to stop there. And they know so well 
 how to cheer and gladden the weary minister. Their couch is so 
 soft. Their table so large and loaded. Their hospitality so 
 free and generous. And you never seem to find them otherwise 
 than glad to welcome you. Of course the times are changing. 
 The modes of travel are changing. Ministers are better sup- 
 ported than they used to be, and some of them are a little uppish 
 in their way, and do not care for the oldtime ministers' homes. 
 They prefer going to hotels where they can do as they like. 
 But let the times change as they may and must, it is one of the 
 best things that can be said of many a christian home : " Given 
 to hospitality," and of many a large-hearted woman : "She hath 
 keen a succourer of many." 
 
 Thus without being a deaconess in the ecclesiastioal sense, a 
 
 K 
 
WOMAN'S CHURCH WORK. 
 
 19 r 
 
 sciipo T must soy I canriot be easily reconciled to, Phoebe could 
 bo, and was, j<o useful to tlie churcli and the Lord's cause and 
 people. We want no laying on of hands, no ordination vows, no 
 consecration of men, to make some women deaconesses. They 
 find their way throui^h their own lari^e-hearted christian bene- 
 volence and loving-kindness to the irood work, and they do it s(» 
 <.'e«tly, so like the Blessed Master Himself, that it is twice the 
 good it would be were it done officially or professionally. To be 
 officially appointed to wait on the sick, to help the poor, to 
 minister to the necessities of saints, and all that sort of work:-— 
 well, in my judgment, it would simply spoil the good of it, spill 
 out of it the grace and grandeur of the good work. If I thought 
 Pha?be was a deaconess, a mother superioress, a min, or some- 
 thing of that sort, 1 would not think half as much of her as I 
 do now. I would say, '' No thanks to her for doing good ! No 
 thanks to her for being a patroness and protectress of christians! 
 That was her work, her business, and she was not true to her- 
 self nor her vows, if she were not." But when I think of her 
 doing what she did voluntarily, outof her own goodness of heart, 
 then I commend her with Paul, and cannot praise her enough. 
 I believe in woman's work in the church. There is so mucli 
 she can do in line with herself as a woman. She need not 
 go out of her sphere to do good. There are a few women spec- 
 ially raised up by God to do a work that is more public and 
 prominent. I am willing to grant that. There was a Deborah 
 in the olden time who led the hosts of God into a sacred battle ; 
 and there are still women, masculine sort of women, heroines, 
 whose place is on the platform and at the head of the people. 
 But woman's work, as a rule, is of a quieter nature, more of a 
 home work. Let her dry tears. Let her nurse the sick. Let 
 her visit the homes of the aged and the poor. Let her be an 
 angel of love and light sweetly, tenderly, soothing the broken- 
 hearted. A woman's voice is not for thepulpitor platform, the 
 great congregation. There are exceptions perhaps ; but that ig 
 the rule. 
 
 :^i M 
 
 
 If 
 
 li: 
 
 li 
 
I«2 
 
 WOMAN'S CHURCH WORK. 
 
 Tlins. let us loarn from Pha'lx' to do <:oocl wIut^ \M*r xvt^ari^ — 
 nt Ci'iicliri'513 or Uonio, iii the liuiiibK' villau'o or tho uiv ii< (Mty, 
 \\n\ K't us sook to do the u;ood tlmt coim-s trtour luirid, tlu'ixood 
 We«an do, not tho i;oo(i we cannot do. Wosonictiini's try to do 
 a i^ood tliat is tt)0 Ijijjjh for us, and so wo do notliini--. Many a 
 woman can do her own lionio work in a way that is to her credit 
 and to the iz;Uiry of Christ, but let her <zo to the prayer-meetini; 
 and try to preach, and at once it is felt sho is out of her spliero 
 and not helpinijj the cause she lias at lieart. May tiie liord raise 
 up among us many christian womcu to sluvrc iu the good work 1 
 
 
XVIII. 
 
 Q^isrpah on the ^2^ocli. 
 
 ** liizpah the dmif/hfer of Aiah took sackcloth^ and spread it 
 
 for her upon the. rock^ from Ifie beylnning of harvest until 
 
 water dropped upo7t them out of Heaven, and suffered neither 
 
 the birds of the air to rest on them by dai/, nor t/ie beasts of 
 
 the field by 7iight."—U Sam. XXI. 10. 
 
 KING Saul in his day had broken faith with the Giboonites, 
 a sort of slave-people amonii Israel, and had attempted their 
 utter extermination. This was one of many impolitic, over- 
 zealous, fanatical acts; and because of it the Lord was displeased 
 with the whole nation, and a good while afterwards, away on 
 towards the closing years of David's reign, he sent a three-year's 
 famine upon the land. 
 
 The Lord takes his own time, and has his own way, of deal- 
 ing with nations and families and individuals for their wrong- 
 doing; but sooner or later he does deal with them, and when he 
 comes to do so he makes them feel his heavy hand. The famine 
 continued year after year, until David and his people saw very 
 clearly that the Lcrd had some controversy with the land. 
 David then went to the Lord about it, and learned that the 
 
 I ■ 
 
 iU 
 
 i 
 
 i; 
 
 N. B — This serinon was preached the Sunday evening before the Scott 
 Ace conieet, November 28ih, 1880. 
 
194 
 
 RIZI'AH OX THE ROCK. 
 
 (';il;in;ity was bocauso of Saul's cnn'l crmduct towarils tlio 
 (jr'ln.(iiiitt'H, This people, when coriHulted as to what would 
 satisfy tlioiu fur tlie wrontj they had sutfori'd, deiminded seven 
 of Saul's sons to be iriven up to them to be luumed. This 
 dtijiaiid the king acceded to. Saul had r» eoncul)ine, Ilizpali by 
 name, by whom lie had two sons, and liis dau,i,'hter Miehal. 
 sometimes called Merub, had five sons; — those seven, two sons 
 and five grandsons, David ordered to be given up to the Gibeon- 
 ites, and they hanged them all together in Gibeah. It was a 
 i-ad act of justice, but it had to be done. Out of it, however, 
 shines forth, like the pure light of heaven, one of the noblest 
 instances on record of woman's devotion. llizpah watching 
 beside her dead sons is one of those touching scenes that the 
 world can never forget ; — one so full of pathos, tenderness, 
 n.manee, and the sublime of love, that painter and poet and 
 preacher have delighted in portraying it, and there is nothing 
 perhaps in all history that better illustrates a mother's love and 
 woman's devotion. 
 
 First: Some Account of Rizpah, She was the daughter of 
 Aiah, but who this Aiah was we do not know. To be the father 
 of llizpah, however, is enough to lift him out of obscurity, and 
 ^•ive him a name that will never rot so long as the beautiful and 
 iirand and good will last. 
 
 Little is known of Rizpah. and the little that is known is so 
 mixed up, so contradictory, so both good and bad, that we 
 hardly know what to think of her. In her early life she was 
 probably a giddy thoughtless girl, a wild flower, who captivated 
 with her smile.>- and the glances of her dark flashing eye, and 
 liked to outrival the queens of beauty and fashion in their own 
 domain. She won the heart of the king, and he married her, 
 but she was never more than a concubine, an inferior wife. She 
 may have been too ignobly born to be the queen. Some think 
 she was of foreign extraction. After the king's death, she was 
 the means of bringing his son and successor Ishbosheth intc 
 trouble with Abuer, the general-in-chief of his army, a circum- 
 
 w. 
 % 
 
m 
 
 RIZPAII ON THE ROCK. 
 
 »9i 
 
 'alanee alike most JiscriMlilaMe to luTSflf and disastrous to al 
 (•urtit't*. 
 
 After this wo lose siirlit of her until she reappears in tin. 
 thrilliui^ incident of the text. The probability is, that tindini- 
 herself thwarted and disiippointtMl in her ambitious desij^n*^, and 
 hunibl(.d and disuraced by her didinqueney, she retired inlc 
 J)rivate life, and LMve herself up with all the intenso enert^y and 
 passionateness of iier nature to the traininir of her two sous, 
 Arnioni and 3Iephiboslioth. She could not be ureat lujrsclf, but 
 if she could make them ixreat and irood and noble, if she could 
 6t them for positions of trust and dii^nity and influence in the 
 nation, then she would have the satisfaction of knowing that 
 her checkertd life had not been lived altogether in vain. And 
 it w;i*i as a mother living and laboring for and lovintr her sons 
 tliat the splendor of her character shone forth. It was when 
 she withdrew from tlie false glare that blazed and dazzled 
 arcund the throne, that her womanhood developed so wonder- 
 fully, and she attained such perfection. 
 
 Again: liizpahon the Mock. She saw with a mother's solici- 
 tude her sons grow up to manhood, and I doubt not they wei-e 
 worthy of the wealth of love and devotion she lavished ui)<)n 
 them, and perhaps her hopes with regard to them may liavr 
 seemed to her as about to be fultilled. But the wild wicked 
 pjvst still haunted her life, and darkened all her future, and at 
 last desolated her home and her heart. The cur-se of Saul fol- 
 lowed her, and when she seems to have least expected it, it 
 burst, and her sons fell victims to it. They were torn from her 
 arms, and hung up in the wilds of Gibeah, and left there for 
 the vultures to eat, the jackals to devour. Not for any wrong- 
 doing of their own were they hung, but simply because their 
 mother had been Saul's concubine and they were his sons. ()\\ 
 it would seem hard ! Poor Rizpah ! how bitterly she would 
 bewail her wild and wayward girlhood 1 But it was too late 
 to be helped now. 
 
 I see her, wild with grief and despair, and wrapped in sack- 
 
 !H- 
 
 f II 
 
 1! 
 
196 
 
 RIZPAII OS THE ROCK. 
 
 cloth, follnwln;?, at sonif cH.stanc<f, tho. rxfoutionors, as tlicy 
 lead h(M' sons awuy to the place of (jxecution. She covers hci' 
 I'yo.s, as tliey are 8wuni,' up, so that she ini>(l»t not see tlieir 
 (leath-Htru^'gle. It is soon all over, and the {x'ople go away, 
 and Kizpah is h'ft all alone in the wildernesH with the ghastly 
 d<vi(l. Slie is riveted to the spot. How can she gt) away and 
 l«vive her chihh'en's Ixnlies to be food for the vultures and tho 
 heasts of the wilderness ? She cannot give tl»eni honorahl*^ 
 burial, but sh(! \v»ill stay and watch and weop. So she spreads 
 the sackcloth she has around her on the top of a bare rock 
 close beside the dea<I, and slu! begins her weary lonely watch. 
 
 Day and night she weeps ami watches on that sackcloth- 
 covered rock, oidy heaving it long enough to gather some wild- 
 fruit to sustain life. The vultures screech around the dead, 
 and swoop down upon them with beak and t«ilon, but with 
 wild gestures and shrieks she drives them away. The jackals 
 anil hyHMias come yelping and growling around in the dark 
 loiM'ly night, but tfie brave Rizpah fights and frightens them 
 ofl". The hot summer-sun beats down upon her unsheltered 
 hejwl day after day, and the chill damps of night drench her, 
 but she civnnot be driven from her watch. Perhaps her friends 
 come to comfort her, and try to break the spell of grief that 
 is upon her and binds her to the spot. But they cannot com- 
 fort her. Nor can they induce her to return with them to 
 her desolate home. All she has on earth, or cares to have, 
 are the bodies of her poor unfortunate children, and she will 
 stay by them and see the end. The bodies blacken and 
 blister and rot, and blow away in dust with the summer- 
 breezes before her eyes, until nothing is left but dry skeletons 
 swinging and rattling in the wind, and she herself but a 
 living skeleton beside them. Still she watches on. From 
 somewhere about the end of April till the middle of October, 
 live months and a half, Rizpah's mother-love and devotion 
 keep watch over her dead. At last David learns of it, and he 
 grants bupiai to the bones of her sons, and her weary watch is 
 
 
RIZPAH OX THE ROCK 
 
 197 
 
 r 
 la 
 
 
 <lon<\ Wliilo howover suns l)uni, and tho worM lasts. a:.c' 
 till" a<^es roll, unci tlu' ;,'()o(l aud glorious li\o, Kizpah's wjitch 
 iM'sidc Ik'I" (l»'fi(l sons will be liuard of as sonu'thing worthy of 
 evei'liistin},' tvnicnibnince. 
 
 Amiiii : The Lessons to be learnedhfi.re. Ami \vo may loaru 
 that there is such a thin:; as woman's dtvution, and i»('rha|)S it 
 is not so uncommon, even where we would not think oi' lookinu' 
 for it. a- we are apt- to think. There was at least one llizpah. 
 and since there was one, there may he others. 
 
 The truth is the world is full of, society is rich and radiant 
 with, Woman's devotion, and it is so modest, so unassuminu; and 
 unprcitentious, so lon<:-sutlerinu" ami u'entle and retirini:", that we 
 seldom hear of it. Our wives and mothers and sisters seem to 
 us rather common-place as they move about in our homes (juietly 
 doinii their work, none of th ' luroine about them. IJut to do 
 that, sweetly, beautifully, willingly, well, demands a decree of 
 devotion, aud has more of the real heroine in it, than we are 
 aware of. 
 
 Men go out into the world, and do bravely, and the world 
 applauds. But women have to sew and sutVer, we«»p and work, 
 at home, in the dulness of a third flat perhaps, and there is no 
 one to say : " Well done ! " 
 
 The Light Brigade plunged into the Valley of Death, and 
 did a deed of daring that all tho world has been \'.'ondering a t 
 ever sinej, and will go on wondering at forever. But where will 
 you find the hero, who would go out into the wilderness, and sit 
 down on a rock, and sit there for five months and a half, and 
 watch beside the dead ? None but woman's devotion could do 
 that. 
 
 Sometimes night after night you will see a light in a window, 
 and if you will watch, you will see the shadow on the window- 
 blind of some weary watcher slowly walking backward and for- 
 ward ? What does it mean ? It means there is sickness up 
 in that upper-chamber ; — a sick child perhaps, a dying son, a 
 daughter wasting away with the wasting Gonsumption, a husband 
 
 i:i' ! i 
 
 ■ V- 
 
198 
 
 RIZPAII ON THE ROCK. 
 
 perhaps who has not been as good and true as he should have 
 been sick and suffering for his own wicked indulgences; and it is 
 woman's devotion, ?ome Rizpah, who is weeping and waiting 
 and watching through the long lonely wilderness night. 
 
 Go to Scutari yonder on the Bosphorus in the days of the 
 Crimean War, and who is it that bravely turns her back on 
 wealth, a life of ease and comfort, the joys of home, the love of 
 friends, in order to minister, in the hospital wards, with her own 
 gentle hands, to wounded soldiers? Audit is woman's devotion 
 in the person of Florence Nightingale. 
 
 Go to Memphis yonder in the Mississippi valley in the days 
 of the plague — that was in 1878 — when thousands were sick and 
 dying, and all were fleeing who could, and this was recorded at 
 the time in the papers: "Parents have deserted children and 
 children parents, husbands have deserted their wives, but not 
 one wife a husband. 
 
 There are men who make marriage a mere convenience, and 
 trifle with woman's aft'ections, and make light of her devotion; 
 but when the great test comes she alone is true. The wives of 
 that Southern town, in those days, were like the wives you will 
 find everywhere, some bad and others good, some black and 
 others white, some ignorant and others educated, some rough 
 and rude and others elegant and refined, but let it not be for- 
 gotten, let it be spoken in praise of woman's devotion, that not 
 a wife deserted her husband. 
 
 Go to Johnstown yonder when the flood came sweeping wildly 
 down through the mountain-gorge, and who is it that sits in the 
 telegraph-ofl&ce, and clicks off message after message of warning, 
 and sacrifices her own life to save others? Ah ! she is another 
 Kizpah, a noble specimen of woman's devotion. 
 
 Learn here also how much woman's devotion can do and dare. 
 Look at the girl Rizpah, with her bewitching ways and capti- 
 vating glances, trifling with men's hearts, and at last throwing 
 herself away where she could never be happy! You would say, 
 she was only a wild-flower, to be plucked, and admired for a little 
 
i 
 
 RtZPAH ON THE ROCK. 
 
 199 
 
 
 while, and then thrown away. And somethinu like that wastho 
 way ujen used the wild beauty of Rizpali. But when she came 
 to be a wife and a mother, when the trials and responsibilities 
 of life took hold of her, when the disappointments and difficulties 
 she met with brouirht and wrou<Jit out the noble womanhood in 
 her, what would she not do and dare for those she loved ? What 
 a devotion must hers have been that could sit down on yon lone 
 rock in the wilderness, with the trrim uhastly dead beside her, 
 and the savage throats of the wilderness growlinti; around hcr'1 
 
 There are young women among us gi'My and thoughtless 
 enough. They laugh at everything, and talk nonsense all the 
 day long, and seem to us incapable of a sober, sensible, sin- 
 cere, serious thought or purpose. They get married perhaps. 
 Life is all a joke to them, and getting married is a part of it. 
 They hand themselves over to some Cheap-Jack to be the 
 whim of his caprice, the toy of his pleasure, the convenience 
 of his life. 
 
 But as with Rizpah, so with them. They soon find that 
 life is not all nor always a joke. It is a serious business. 
 There is a grim reality in it that cannot be laughed away. 
 The troubles come. The clouds gather and thicken and ' 
 darken. The storms of life burst. Poor ^'-'hly-hearted 
 Rizpah ! She is a king's concubine perhaps, a rich man's 
 wife, and yet I see her weeping lier eyes out sad and sorrow- 
 ful. But if there is any true womanhood in her, anything 
 that trouble can work on and with, any heart and soul in her, 
 she will develop into something good and pure and Christ- 
 like. 
 
 There are Rizpahs among us in the character of drunkards' 
 wives, and they are suffering want, abuse, wretchedness, dis- 
 grace. They have the curse of the drunkard haunting all 
 their "ife, and shadowing all their future. But their devotion 
 kee.y s them up and cheers them on. How they have been 
 abh3 to come through all they have come through, to bear 11 
 tliey have borne and have to bear, to drudge and woilc, to 
 
 
lir 
 
 I.. 
 
 
 SCO 
 
 RIZPAII. ON THE ROCK. 
 
 suffer and sacrifice, to be cuffed and kicked and abused an^? 
 degraded perhaps, they cannot tell ! It is only, indeed, what 
 a woman's devotion, a wife's truth, a mother's love, can go 
 through. There are women in the world to-day, women in 
 this city, who are sitting on the rock of sorrow and home- 
 desolation, day after day, and night after night, not for five 
 months, but for five years, I was going to say, for fifty years, 
 and they are weeping and watching their weary lives away. 
 Brave true souls ! they are the Rizpahs of to-day. 
 
 Learn here again that the world needs woman's devotion. 
 You may look at Rizpah sitting weeping her eyes out and 
 breaking her heart on yonder lonely rock, and you may say : 
 " What an utter waste of tears ! what a fooliiih expenditure of 
 grief I She cannot do. any good there. Better for her to dry 
 up her tears^ and go home, and make what may still be left of 
 it as bright and beautiful as it can be made.. Her weeping 
 and watching cannot bring baek her sons to life. She may 
 keep off the birds and beasts of prey from tearing and mang- 
 ling with beak and tooth, but she cannot keep putrifaction 
 from doing it." 
 
 And there is somet j in all that. We may grieve too 
 much. We may make jlv abuse of our grief. It does seem 
 almost wrong for Rizpah cO do what she did. And yet we 
 would never have known what a mother's love and a woman's 
 devotion can do^ were it not for such as Rizpah. I think the 
 Lord put it into her heart to sit there, and weep and watch^ 
 and he gave heir the strength and courage to do it, just to 
 show the ages what is in woman, what he can put in woman, 
 when he has a work for her to do, and a grief for her to bear. 
 
 Let us not say that tears are a waste, and grief is wrong, 
 and sitting in sackcloth usele.ss and desolate for months and 
 months is a sin. It may be and it may not be. If the grief- 
 stricken heart feels like it, why let it cherish its grief and 
 lengthen out its sorrow. Such grief is needed. The world 
 needs the ministry of woman's tears. It is out of sorrow and 
 
RIZPAII ON THE ROCK. 
 
 20I 
 
 trouble and grief and woe that woman's devotion is made, and 
 I am very sure the world would not be as good and happy 
 as it is, were it not for woman's devotion. 
 
 We may call Rizpah's weeping and watching a waste, but 
 we will never know till God opens his bottle of tears how 
 much of good she has done, and how much her wonderful 
 mother-love has done to comfort the world's mother-he-arts. 
 We do not know what became of her after that, but it may 
 be she lived long enough to show that her days of grief were 
 well spent. How slie could talk to bereaved mothers ! How 
 she could enter into their sympatliies and weep with their 
 grief ? Rizpah has been ever since the wonder of the world, 
 and no sermon that was ever preached could have the comfort 
 in it that she had. Look at Rizpah on the rock, and take 
 heart, ye stricken ones ; be comforted. 
 
 We sometimes wonder that good christian women are made 
 sit on the rock of tears so long. How is it that the Rizpahs 
 of our homes, whose sensibilities are so keen, whose hciiits 
 feel so much, have so much to suffer '. More than half, pei*- 
 haps two-thirds, of the world's sorrow and suffering is woman's. 
 Now, why? Just because the world needs her devotion and 
 love and patience and gentleness and sympathy, and it is only 
 in and through suffering that these things can be leatued. 
 
 Why is it, I ask, that woman to-day is at the head of the 
 temperance-reform, and so interested in it? Just because she 
 has suffered so much from the curse of drink. I am told that 
 upwards of 1000 women, wives and mothers, sisters and 
 daughters, in the present struggle that is going on in our city, 
 have signed a petition, calling upon their husbands and 
 fathers, brothers and sons and friends, to vote down the liquor- 
 business on Thursday next. The question that is up is one 
 that women have an interest in. It concerns them, for it con- 
 corns the home, and were it in tneir hands as it is in ours to 
 decide it, it would not be doubtful. By an overwhelming vote 
 they would say : " Down with the saloon 1" The day of deci- 
 
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I 
 
 :o2 
 
 RIZPAH ON THE ROCK. 
 
 sion is to be to them a clay of prayer. Wliile men vote, \vomf«n 
 j)ray, and men ought to be slow to vote contrary to women's 
 tears and prayers. 
 
 And everything else that is for the world's good to-day 
 owes so much to women. What would the church be to-day 
 without her. Two-thirds of the church's membership are 
 women. Women keep up our Sunday schools. Women carry 
 on the mission schemes of the church. Christian women are 
 tlie hope of the world, and what woman has had to suffer, and 
 wliat she still suffers, have done so much for her. Thank God 
 fur l{izpah on the rock ! Thank God for woman's tears and 
 trials ! They have made her, and she is making the church, 
 society, the nations, the world. 
 
 L arn once more here what a loving heart God must have, 
 since he has put such a love and devotion into woman's heart. 
 Kizpah's mother-love is but a drop from the ocean of God's love. 
 If there is any good on earth, any love, any devotion, in woman's 
 heart, any truth that cannot lie, any faithfulness that cannot be 
 bribed, any affection that can do and dare anything, it has its 
 source in the heart of God, and the grandest love there has been 
 is but a feeble trickling rill alongside of the river of Divine love. 
 
 You admire Rizpah on the rock yonder — her love, her devo- 
 tion. But what is her love to that of Jesus who died on the 
 cross for sinners. It was hard to sit and weep in yon wilderness 
 where Rizpah sat and wept alone, and the cup of sorrow she 
 drank was as bitter as gall; but Gethsemane was a darker, 
 drearier, lonelier wilderness, and his cup was bitter with the 
 bitterness of God's wrath. And then the hiding of his Father's 
 face on the cross, the awful forsaking of God, who can tell us 
 what it is ? Oh what a love is that of Jesus ! 
 
 Now, that love loves you and me, sinner. It wants to come 
 and put its arm around us, and win us from our evil life. It 
 gees us in danger, and it would save us. We are dead in sin, 
 as dead in some respects as Rizpah's sons, and the love of Jesus 
 comes and watches beside us, not for months, but through the 
 
RIZPAH OX THE ROCK. ^oj 
 
 w.ary years pcrl.aps, and by and by we wake up to live and love 
 n_e are dead, but we are not ,o dead but that Christ's patient 
 nn.uh ty love can make us live. Our hearts are cold and loveless 
 worldly and selfish, but he can put his love into them, and then 
 how we can ove ! We can Inve like Rizpah. We can love like 
 Jesus. Oh for this love ! Sinner, let it love you till you love. 
 
 J 
 
 ; 
 
 11 
 
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XTX. 
 
 Hi: it .1 
 
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 (SliiltJ ^^nflucncc. 
 
 "A little child shall had thetn."— Is. xi. G. 
 
 TIIK text is a part ofa most remarkable prophecy respoctinc' 
 the future glory of Christ's kino,l,.m. It points dowu to 
 our day, and to a state of things still later than our day.. 
 
 The prophet's picture here, or parable, is a bold one, and on« 
 that IS about as unlikely as it can well be. It is somethin- like 
 this: A child has harnessed up a six-in-hand team made up of 
 a wolf and lamb for leaders ; then a leopard and kid ; awd the u on 
 the pole a lion and calf; and, mounted on his boy-chariot,, he is 
 driving them. Now, we all know what fantastic teams boys will 
 sometimes get up. We have seen them perhaps in their child 
 play with a dog and a pet lamb, and a cat and a kid, yoked 
 together ; but the boy of the future, so the prophet tells us here 
 is to beat that. ' 
 
 Now, men of learning have been long askinj? what the pro- 
 phetic parable means. Is it a parable, they ha've asked, or is it 
 to be taken literally ? And they have been more or less divided 
 in their opinions as to how it should be taken.. Some think 
 that wolves and leopards and lions may yet come to be so tame 
 and gentle that the prophecy will be literally fumilcd. And this 
 much may be said in favor of such an idea that the gospel has a 
 
 
CHILD INFLUENCE. 
 
 205 
 
 sub'luinjr cfTV'ct upon both man and boast; and it Is I'nipossiblj 
 to predict, what it may yet do, not only for man. but for the rude 
 beasts of the wilderness. The irospol commission, it seems to 
 me, embraces them: "Go ye into all the world, and preach 
 the <iospel to every creature." And the Apostl' Paul seems to 
 enlarge on the same general idea in these remarkable words of 
 his: "For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for 
 the manifestation of the sons of God. For the creature wnn 
 made subject to vanity, not williniily, but by reason of liimwlio 
 hath subjected the same in liope. B^'cause the creature itself 
 also shall be delivered from the bondage of corrujition into the 
 glorious Uberty of the children of God. For we know that the 
 whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until 
 now." 
 
 It is an indisputable and most hopeful fact, that the gospel is 
 blessing and saving even the lower animals. The society for the 
 prevention of cruelty to animals is one of the many ways in 
 which the gospel is being made to tell for good upon the dumb 
 and involuntary sharers with man in his sin and suffering. As 
 they were mixed up with him in his sin, and helped in his ruin, 
 and suffered with him in all his woe; so it is nothing but right 
 that they should be sharers with him in his salvation. Thus, 
 there may be a goc^ deal more in the literal idea than some 
 may be disposed to grant. 
 
 But the usual view that has been taken of the passage is that 
 it is highly figurative. The wolves and leopards and lions 
 represent man in his natural state — the rude beast-like state 
 of savagism and heathenism, the state of semi-barbarism in 
 which the great portion of our race is to be found, and the 
 world-state in general. And then the little child that leads 
 them, is the child Jesus, the gospel, the ministry of the Word, 
 and all the mighty gentleness of God's love. Such may be re- 
 garded as the orthodox view. 
 
 I am disposed, however, to take a somewhat intermediate 
 view, and to speak specially from the text on child influence. 
 
 f : . ! 
 
 Ill 
 
TCr" 
 
 a 
 
 CHILD INFLUENCE. 
 
 And T would first rcninrk here, that child influence is a 
 cli.iracteristic feature of the gospel age. "A little child' shall 
 lead them." 
 
 It is well-known that under the old state of things the child 
 was not much — not much even in the home, and still less in 
 society and the state. Rather than have the trouble of bring- 
 ing them up, it was no uncommon thing to strangle or drown 
 them. Judaism inculcated sound ideas on the training and 
 right up-bringing of children ; but, corrupted as it was by the 
 gross heathenism crowding in upon it on all sides, it failed 
 here as it did in so many other things, and child influence 
 under the old Judaic system was of small account. Every 
 now and again, however, it would make itself felt, as some 
 (Tod-giftf^l child, some Samuel, or Josiah, or Jeremiah, would 
 speak out against the sins of the age. Still, it must be said, 
 that all the way down the history of Judaism, the child never 
 had much of an influence. It was the strong man the nation 
 looked to as its hope^ the man of massive physique and iron 
 will, the man able to wield well the broad sword and battle- 
 axe and bend the bow. The child was in the way in those 
 old warlike ages, and he must stand aside. 
 
 Towards the transition-state between the old and the new, 
 however, we tind the idea of child influence coming more and 
 more into prominence. But it is rather as a prophecy of what 
 is going to be than of what is. "VVe have the prophecy of the 
 text: "A little child shall lead them." Then still later, 
 Zechariah speaking of the Jerusalem that is to be, describes it 
 as a city full of children : " And the streets of the city shall 
 be full of boys and girls playing; in the streets thereof." And 
 the prophet Malachi later still, predicting the great work that 
 John the Baptist was to inaugurate so successfully, speaks of 
 it as a movement in the direction of doing better for the 
 children. " And he shall turn the hearts of the fathers to the 
 children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers." 
 
 But perhaps it was not until there was heard the wondrous 
 
 ! 
 
ill 
 
 CHILD INTLUEXCE. 
 
 207 
 
 cliilcl-cry in tli<^ st;\l>lo at DcthlcliPin, that the great liiorleni 
 luovoinput of ciiild-iiitlut'iico tliat is to-day so marked a feature 
 of Cliristcndoin really began. The holy child Jesus showed 
 the world, in a new light, what children are. He has conse- 
 crated in a new and gran<ler sense every chilil that has been 
 born since. Men are beiciiniini; to know better now than 
 once that their children are not only their sons but God's sons, 
 and as they take them into their arms with loving tenderness 
 and a reverence akin to awe, they ask devoutly and earnestly, 
 looking up to heaven, " How shall we order the child, and 
 how shall we do unto him ?" And there comes to them this 
 answer from aivine lips : " SulFer little children, and forbid 
 them not, to come unto me j for of such is the kingdom of 
 heaven." 
 
 And then see to-day for a moment whercunto all this has 
 grown, and is growing. Look at the Free School system, and 
 all it will yet do and must do for the world's future. Look at 
 the Sabbath school, and how much of good to the world there 
 is yet to come from that Messed institution. Look what the 
 press is doing in our day — not always wisely I grant — -to provide 
 a child literature. Look what modern art is doing to meet and 
 educate our children's taste for the beautiful. Look what 
 science is doing to break down its great truths and facts so that 
 they may be taken hold of and appreciated by the child mind. 
 Look anywhere you like almost, and one thing must strike you, 
 namely this, what an important element in all that goes to con- 
 stitute modern civilization and progress is child-influence. Thus, 
 it seems to me, there is more of the literal, and less of the 
 figurative, in the text, than the old writers knew or dreamed of. 
 How grandly true even in our day is the text, and we feel that 
 there is more here than we have been able to get at as yet, we 
 cannot know how much more : " A little child shall lead them." 
 
 But again, to come down to particulars, and to be more 
 practical, let us look for a little at a child's home influence. 
 And it is here where a child's influence is first felt and best 
 
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 208 
 
 CHILD INFLUENCE. 
 
 seen. Before it can look, or speak, or walk, it has an influ- 
 ipnce. Its very helplessness is helpful. Its cry is eloquent. 
 Its uninteresting and unint<'lli<;ent face is full of interest to you, 
 and awakens thoughts and filings you never had before. As 
 you gaze upon it, there begins to grow upon you a sense of 
 what a responsibility it is to undertake to mould this undeve- 
 loped shapeless human life into a thing of beauty and a joy for- 
 ever. And you cannot thus think and feel and do, without 
 being so much the better for it. How gentle sometimes and 
 tender it helps to make the rough strong man of the world. 
 Let a child's influence take hold of a man, and his voice comes 
 to be more musical, his temper sweeter, his sternness less 
 stern, and all the rugged and harsh about him becomes sub- 
 dued. Such an influence has the best effect. It makes a 
 young man old, and an old man young. It teaches thrift and 
 industry, love for home, and life-lessons that we cannot other^ 
 wise learn. If anything, I think, will make a man of a man ; 
 if any thing will develop, strengthen, purify, ennoble a man's 
 manhood ; if anything will crown a man with true manliness, 
 lift him out of himself and above himself, and give him a 
 realizing sense of what he is and ought to be, it is this — he has 
 a child at home, and that child is leading him, influencing him 
 for good, and perhaps he knows it not> 
 
 And a child's home-influence grows with it. Every day it 
 comes to be more and more interesting. Its first look, its first 
 smile, its first tooth, its first word, its first step, ai'e events of 
 no little interest in the home, epochs in the child-history and 
 home-life, rills of joy and bliss making a heaven on earth. And 
 every additional child that comes to the home adds a new 
 string to the home-harp, a new life to the bundle of life, a new 
 influence to the web of influences being woven around the 
 happy home-circle so silently and strongly. Thus, in the home 
 the child leads ; it has an influence that is felt and goes so far 
 • towards making the home what it is and ought to be. 
 
 Again, the child has a social influence. We are made for 
 
CUII.n i.NH.UEN'CE, 
 
 809 
 
 le 
 
 ^ 
 ir 
 
 one anotlior. To livo alone, and only for one's self, if it were 
 possible, is to los(! the best half of one's self, for tlu; best half 
 and th<; lar;,'est half of a man is that which is made to act and 
 intei-aet upon others. We are made for others as much as for 
 ourselves, and more; and selhslmess is thtirefore a double 
 wrcm*,', for it is a self-wi-ong and a wrong against society. 
 
 Now, children teach us to be unselfish and social almost 
 whether we will or not. They tap our sellishness on a thous- 
 and sides, and cause it to flow out of us in so many dirtrrent 
 directions, and we are all the better for it. Without the 
 children, society would be something like the rude remains of 
 the old Druid temple that is still to be found at Stonehenge 
 on Salisbury Plain, There is a wide circle of massive weather- 
 worn stones, each one standing up by itself, separate and dis- 
 tinct, cold and unsympathetic, a dumb stolid witness of the 
 cruelties once performed within. But the children, like the 
 little ston&s, till up the vacant places between the great stones 
 of the temple of society, and make its vast walls one lirmly 
 compacted and grand united whole. 
 
 Where children are, social exclusiveness is all but impos- 
 sible. And it is a miserable thing that ought itself to be ex- 
 eluded, banned, ostracized. Children compel neighbors to be 
 neighborly, for in spite of all you can do, they will be in and 
 out, back and forward. He must be strangely constituted 
 indeed who can resist the winning ways of a recklessly intru- 
 sive two-year-old, and slam the door of his house and heart in 
 its face. He may do it a score of times or so, but its persist- 
 ence and simplicity must win the day, and at last obtain the 
 freedom of his house and heart. And it is not a bit of use for 
 neighbors to quarrel and stand upon their dignity with regard 
 to one another where there are children, for they will be to- 
 gether, and you will soon find that there is nothing for it but 
 to get over your difficulty as soon as possible. 
 
 Children, too, are great social levellers. There are the rich 
 and poor, the high and low. the learned and unlearned, and 
 
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 41 
 
 2IO 
 
 CHILD INFLUENCE, 
 
 thoy want to stand aloof from ono unothor. Hut it is not 
 vaay doing so when' thoro are cliildicii. The fliildicn of tlio 
 upp«M* classos conio down, and t\w childn'n of th«' poorer cbissej 
 conid up, and tlwy play togollior so iiappily, and noii(» of your 
 arbitrary class distinctions an; anytliin<^ to tluMn. You havo 
 ajot to wait till your child f^rowa up k'foro you tan toacli it to 
 understand tho vast dill'eronce lu'tww n twoecl and honu'spuii, 
 broadcloth and blouse, culottisin and sans-culottisni. 'JMiUij 
 aocially a little child leads men, and leads them right too. 
 
 Again, a little child wields often a reforming uilluenee. It 
 is not uncommon for fathers wjio have b«!en drifting away into 
 bad habits, who have been learning intemperance, and who 
 have been casting away their manhood and all that is noble 
 about them, to be led back to the right and reclaimed by their 
 shild's influence upon them, Nellie's father a drunkard ! 
 Johnnie's father a bad man ! The thought of such a thing 
 has startled their slumbering consciences, and they have lifted 
 up their hand to Heaven, and solenuily sworn, that, with 
 God's help, they will never drink another drop of tho accursed 
 ^K)ison. And they have held firndy to their resolve. 
 
 Now, it was their child that did it. Its senseless prattle to 
 them, its simple trust in them, its unalTected love for them, 
 3aved them. It preached no sennon. It gave no temperance 
 lecture. It brought no total-abstinence pledge. But it did 
 this: When they came houje from their toil in shop or field, 
 it would be on the look out for them, and it would run to meet 
 them, and beg to be carried home. And they began to feel 
 that it would not do for them to go on drinking as they had 
 been doing. They began to realize, that they were too good to 
 throw away on the drink, too much loved and respected at 
 home to go to the bad. So they prayed to God for help to be 
 a true father to their child, and for grace to be pure and good 
 and noble in their home and everywhere. And God helped 
 them. Their old boon companions wondered what had become 
 of them, and they cracked their stale rough jokes as to how 
 
CHILD INFLUENCE. 
 
 2!I 
 
 eet 
 eel 
 larl 
 to 
 at 
 be 
 lootl 
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 they wrro kopt at homo to nursf* the haby. Hut any Nvay, 
 thcit' lu'i,'au to l)e seen in them a marked chaiiLje for the Ix'tttT. 
 They wrre at theii- work early and late, and did their wmk 
 well. No half-holidays every now and a^'ain as once ! No 
 mysterious ahsenec s fi'om duty! No siek-spclls th;it oidy the 
 initiated knew the meaning of! On the contrary, sobriety, in- 
 dustry, thrift, purity, piety ; and true enou>,d), the l)aby did it. 
 And, r ask, is thenr anythint; unmardy ; anything dishonoralile 
 base, bad, in that? No. It is but fuUlUing a grand old pro- 
 phecy, " A little child shall lead them." 
 
 And just here I would like; to make as strong an appeal as \ 
 can in the direction of a child's reform intluenee. 1 suppose, 
 there ar«^ men here, heads of families, husl)ands and fathers, 
 and they drink sometimes, driak to drunkenness. You can see 
 it in their walk. You can hear it in their talk. It is not 
 hard to see it. Now, I want to ask these men with all tlie 
 kindness I have, whether they want to have their beautiful 
 liappy innocent child, that God has sent down to tliem from 
 Heaven to be a great joy to them, wake up to know, that its 
 fathei', whom it all but worships, who is the ideal to it of all 
 tluit is grandest and best in the universe, is a drunkard ? You 
 love your child, and you want its love. Y'^ou art^, never so 
 happy as when its little arms are clasped around your neck, 
 and when it is trying to testify its admiration for you. Y''ou 
 would not forego its love for a kingdoni. Ami yet, some day 
 it will see a gleam in your eye, and a something about you that 
 does not belong to you and ought not to belong to you, and it 
 will run away from you as from a monster, a dei'>.on, and from 
 that moment you can never be to it what you once were. So, 
 fathers, I beseech you by all that is sweet in your homes, and 
 by all that is tender and loving and good, to turn away forever 
 from the sin of drunkenness. 
 
 But still further, a child has also a religious influence. Now, 
 T do not believe in the theory of child innocence. I am a firm 
 believer iu the orthodox doctrine that David teaches and Paul 
 
 1 ' 
 
 t 1 
 
 
 II 
 

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 I' 
 
 ! "f 
 
 i 1 
 
 212 
 
 CHILD INFLUENCE. 
 
 prjachcs, the ?omcwhat harsh and hard doctrine of oriu'Inal sin 
 and moral depravity. ''Behold, I was sluipen in iniquity, and 
 in sin did my mother conceive me." " There is none rii^hteous; 
 no, not one." Our children come into this world inheriting; a 
 long pedigree of evil which they cannot disown nor help. And 
 alas ! it soon makes itself seen and felt in them in a way in which 
 there is no mistaking it. We call them angels, but they are not 
 angels ; or if they are, they are fallen ones. We dress them in 
 white, and speak of them as pure, innocent ; but they are our 
 children, and our vices .are rooted deep in their tender hearts, so 
 rooted that nothing but the grace of God can uproot them. 
 
 But, while granting all that, a child's whole influence is for 
 reliy-ion. And our Lord in his teachiniis shews us that. II13 
 takes a child in his loving arms, and he simply and profoundly 
 says: "Of such is the Kingdom of God." II j tells us wo must 
 come to be like little children if we would have a placj in his 
 Kingdom. We must rid ourselves of our big manhood ideas, 
 our importance and consequence, our self-assertion and world- 
 worth ; and we must learn to be little with a child's littleness— 
 we must have a child's faith, simplicity, obedience, teachable- 
 ness, love, earnestness. It is not so much our greatness Christ 
 wants, our might to do, our energy to carry through, our ability to 
 perform, our determination to hold out; as it is the child virtues 
 — faith, obedience, simple-mindedness, truth. " Verily I say 
 unto you, except ye be converted, and become as little children, 
 ye shall not enter into the kingdom of Heaven." 
 
 And then a child has a religious influence in this way ; it gives 
 a thoughtful man a deeper sense of his responsibility. IL>re is 
 a child put in his care, a young immortal, one that may yet 
 play a most important part in the world's destiny, the Bisniavek 
 of the future, or the Gladstone, the writer of books that may 
 help or hinder the world's good, the eloquent preacher who may 
 guide souls to glory, the father or mother who may curse or 
 bless some home to be. I grant we may expect too much from 
 our child, aud entertain too high ideas as to what he is to be 
 
CHILD INFLULNXE. 
 
 213 
 
 ks 
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 and tlo. But there i«j a daniier also of not having higher ideas 
 rospueting our cliildreii. Boron's splendid genius was ruined 
 forever perliaps at home. And how many others that might be 
 named. Oh if we could realize as we ought to realize what it 
 is to train up the gonerati«)ns to be, we would be better our- 
 selves. We would feel how much we needed faith, and the 
 love of Christ. There is no prayer in our homes, no earnest 
 study of God's word, no hallowed religious influence pervading 
 the family circle, no dedication of the children to God by 
 baptism ; and. is it to be wondered at, that out of such homofi 
 comt^ men and women who will prove a curse to society ? Oh, 
 brethren, let us more than ever feel how important it is for us 
 to be religious. It becomes those who have charge of the up- 
 bringing and training of the yorld to lay themselves at Christ's 
 feet, and cry mightily for his mercy, for what if they should 
 fail here. 
 
 A few closing words on a child's dying influence. There are 
 few homes where some of the little ones are not, Ijecause GoJ. 
 took them. The poet says : 
 
 " There is no flock, however watched and tended, 
 
 But one dead lamb is there. 
 There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended. 
 
 But has one vacant chair." 
 
 Some of you have had to experience recently the bitter 
 sundeiing from your heart of precious little ones. And you 
 felt it keenly. It was like tearing away a part of your hearts 
 t<> lot them go. But you could not keep them. A voice came 
 down from Heaven, a tenderer voice than yours, a sweet love- 
 c.ill, " Suffer the little children, and forbid them not, to come 
 unto mo ;" and your child heard, and you heard, and now the 
 dear little one is not, for the Master has taken it to be with 
 Him. Short, brief, was its little ministry, but it was swoct, 
 blessed. Anrl it is still doing good. Its influence reaches 
 down to you fi-om the Heaven where it has gone, an<l it is 
 drawing you gently to the skies. It is easier for you to think 
 
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 ■'A H 
 
 ^11 
 
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 CHILD INFLUENCI 
 
 "W'c get to be so 
 
 of Heaven since your child has gone there, 
 eartlily-mindecl, so full of earth's thoughts and cares ; and to 
 lift up our thoughts out of the dust, the Master sends down for 
 the child we love, and takes it to Himself, and now we think 
 more of Him and Heaven than we used to do. We have a 
 new interest in the home above, for our darling is there. 
 
 And shall we mourn for it ? Oh how can we ? Surely we 
 would not have it back here to the sins and sorrows of life. 
 Dr. "Wads worth beautifully says, " The rose does its work as 
 grandly in blossom as the vine with its fruit. And having 
 helped to sanctify and lift heaven-ward the very hearts that 
 broke at its farewell, it has gone from this troublesome sphere 
 — ere the winds chilled or the rains stained it, leaving the 
 world it blessed, and the skies through which it passed still 
 sweet with its lingering fragrance — to its glory as an ever- 
 unfolding flower in the blessed garden of God. Surely pro- 
 longed life on earth hath no boon like this ! For such mortal 
 loveliness to put on immortality —to rise from the carnal with 
 so little memory of earth that the mother's cradle seemed to 
 liave been rocked in the house of many mansions — to have no 
 experience of a wearied mind and chilled affections, but from a 
 child's joyous heart growing up in the power of an archangelic 
 intellect — to be raptured as a blessed babe through the gates 
 of Paradise — ah ! this is better than to watch as an old pro- 
 phet for the car of lire in the valley of Jordan." 
 
Ill 
 
 XX. 
 
 
 <c 
 
 L 
 
 ever sung. 
 
 My beloved is gone down into His garden to gather 
 
 lilies.''' — Song of Solomon vl 2. 
 
 OVE sine's this sonjj of soncjs — the love th.at comes down 
 from K .a ven— and it is the sweetest love-song that was 
 It is a beautiful allegory, and if we will read it 
 right, we will find it is full of Jesus, and his love for his church 
 and people .and their love for him. Jesus is pictured out as a 
 royal bridegroom and the church as his Ijeautiful l)ride. Now 
 you find them in the chamljers clasped in each other's arms and 
 fondly doting on each other's loveliness. Now there is a lover'-s 
 quarrel or something of the sort and a withdrawing from each 
 other, and then the penitent bride, with many sighs and tears, 
 is found going up and down the streets of the city bewailing 
 her loss and seeking her beloved. Now they are reconciled, 
 and walking arm in arm in the garden, rejoicing in the singing 
 of birds aud the blooming of flowers, admiring the putting 
 forth of the figtree's green figs and the vine's tender grapes. 
 Now they are out in the wilderness, where the lions growl 
 around them, and the storm beats upon them, and the weary 
 frightened bride clings close to the side of her husband, as he 
 gently leads hur out of it, and brings Jier to their own bright 
 
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21 6 
 
 JESUS GATHERING LILIES. 
 
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 sind liappy palace-home. Now there is a banquet, the table 
 loaded with luxuries, the friends of bridegroom and bride 
 welcomed, and joy unspeakalile and full of glory. Now again 
 the dai'k night comes on, and the sleep of careless indifference 
 takes the bride, and her belo-ved is gone fi'om her side, and she 
 is left so broken-hearted and desolate.. 
 
 Thus, if yon will follow it out, you will find beautifully 
 pictured out in the richest of oriental imagery, the joys and 
 sorrows, the sunshine and shade, the ups and downs, the 
 sweets and bitters, the loves and hates, of the checkere<:i 
 christian experience. 
 
 Now to-night I want to mtroduce- you to one of the some- 
 what sad scenes of this beautiful allegorical song, Jesus in liis 
 garden gathering lilies. 
 
 And first, let us take a turn round his garden, and have a 
 look at it. His garden is In the midst of a wilderness. In 
 fact, it was all wilderness once, but he I.as reclaimed this 
 beautiful spot, and built a high strong wall iround it to keep 
 out the wild beasts that infest the wilderness. If you climb 
 up and look over the wall, you will see that there is nothing 
 but the wildest waste far as the eye can carry. The lions have 
 their .ten in that dark gulch down there. Yonder are the 
 mountains of the leopards. Anacondas are coiled up asleep in 
 that jungle. The foxes come oat of this thick brake, and spoil 
 the vines that run over the wall. Ruthless robber-bands 
 rendezvous in yonder fearful mountain-pass, and they some- 
 times attack and kill the King's servants, and plunder iiis 
 beautiful garden. But the time will come, sooner or later, 
 when the whole of that vast wilderness will be reclaimed, when 
 the lions and tigers and serpents will be destroyed, and when 
 the dangerous freebooters will be won over to the King's 
 service. How blessed when that wilderness is all like this 
 garden ! 
 
 The King is proud of his garden. He has planted it with 
 tlie choicest fruit-trees and the loveliest flowers. Here are 
 
ill 
 
 JESUS GATHERING LILIES. 
 
 ai7 
 
 orchards of pomegranates, with their splendid hlossoms and 
 pleasant fruits, and birds of every hue, darting about, and 
 building their nests, and carolling their happy lays among the 
 branches. Here are shrubberies of the camphor-plant, with its 
 clusters of delicate lilae-cc^lored flowers, and its odors of para- 
 dise, scenting all the air. Here are beds of spikenard and 
 saffron all abloom, the dai'k flowers of the spikenard contrast- 
 ing with the bright of the salTron, and perfuming all the garden 
 with their delightful fragrance. Here are "roves of thecinna- 
 nion-tree and the calamus, the lign-iloe Mid the myrrh, and all 
 tiie trees of frankincense, and all the spices. Here are great 
 orchards of flgtrees, and every tree loaded with fruitfulness. 
 Here are forests of palms, theii- feathery tops lifted heaven- 
 wards, and rich bunches of dates ready to be gathered hanging 
 teniptingly within reach of the hungry passer-by. Here are 
 miles of shady-walks Ijeneath trellised vines, and they are 
 richly ornamented with splendid clusters of the flnest grapes. 
 Here are beds of lilies, lilies of all kinds, lilies of the valley, 
 lilies outrivalling Solomon's glory with the ruby splendors of 
 their blossoms, and speaking to men of a glory that is heavenly 
 and eternal. In a word, everything that is beautiful to the 
 eye, and swe^t to the taste, and aromatic to the sense of smell, 
 is to be found in the garden of the King. 
 
 The church is Christ's garden. He has planted the church 
 in the world's wilderness, and has fenced it all around with the 
 strong high wall of his commandments and onlinances, and has 
 stocked it with the choicest fruit-trees and the rarest flowers. 
 
 To so many the church is without any beauty whatever. Her 
 ordinances are uninteresting anfl uniiio^ructi^e. Her services 
 have none of the fragrance of Heaven about them. You never 
 hear them singing with David: "How amiable are Thy taber- 
 nacles, O Lord of hosts ! " The vines of the Lord's vineyard 
 are no better to them than the the vines of the wilderness. 
 The Lord's flgtrees are no more fruitful, and the tigs no bette* 
 flgs. The palms ai-e no loftier and no straighter. The Lebanon 
 
 i ! 
 
 I I 
 
 II: 
 
 'lllii 
 
218 
 
 JESUS GATHLRING LILIES- 
 
 v'Pflars are no grander. The lilies are no fairer. They would 
 as soon the grapes and figs, the lilies and roses, of the wilder- 
 ness, as those of the King's own garden. 
 
 But to the King himself there is no place in the world so 
 sweet as his own garden ; no trees so fine as the trees of his 
 own planting ; and no flowers so fair as his own lilies. He 
 loves to walk up and down the flowery walks, feasting his eyes 
 on the beauties of flower and fruit, or stand in the spice-groves 
 listening with rapture to the birds of song as they sing among 
 tlie branches, or sit in the arbor of trellised vines, eating with 
 })leasure the great clusters of ripe grapes that hang temptingly 
 l>efore him. If you want to find Jesus, go to his garden, and 
 you will find him there. 
 
 The bride tells us that she lost her Beloved, lost the sweet 
 sense of his presence and love, and she set out to seek for him. 
 8he went into the city to seek for him, and she walked up and 
 down the crowded streets looking for him. She asked the 
 watchmen who go about the city if they had seen him, but they 
 only mocked her anxiety and abused her confidence. He was 
 not in the great, noisy, wicked city. Where, then, could he be ? 
 Ah ! he was in his garden. He had " gone down into his 
 garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to 
 gather lilies." When she went there she found him. 
 
 O seeking, anxious soul, if you want to find Jesus ; if you 
 want to find that which will bring your soul comfort, peace, 
 light, joy, hope, salvation, go not to the cities of the world, 
 the noise of the streets, to seek for it; go not to the 
 marts of business to seek for it ; go not to the broadways of 
 pleasure to seek for it ; go not to the men of the world to seek 
 for it. They will disappoint and deceive. They will tell you 
 they can make you happy, minister to your relief, heal your 
 soul's troubles, do you good. But give no heed to them, for 
 they cannot. Jesus is not in the city, and it is Jesus you 
 want. You must go into the retirement of the garden if you 
 would find him- You must seek him in his word, in the 
 
 u. I 
 
ll -li 
 
 JESUS GATHERING LILIES. 
 
 219 
 
 ordinances of his church ; you must shut yourself up in the 
 privacy of your chamber, and on your knees seek him there, 
 and you will not seek him in vain. 
 
 But this leads me to speak, in the next place, of Jesus in his 
 
 garden gathering lilies. 
 
 The garden is his garden. Those splendid grapes are his 
 grapes. Those figtrees with their wealth of figs are his. Those 
 beautiful lilies are his lilies. He planted them. His rain 
 watered them. His sunshine warmed them. His glory beau- 
 tified them. He has a right to come into his garden. He has 
 a right to pluck those ripe clusters of grapes. He has a right 
 to shake down a shower of juicy figs from his own figtrees. He 
 has a right to gather the lilies. 
 
 I see the King coming down into his garden. He is glori- 
 ously attired. His robes are white as the light. A crown of 
 the finest gold is on his head, and a jewelled ring is on his 
 finger. There is a smile of ineffable sweetness lighting up his 
 face as he contemplates the beauties around him. He walks 
 slowly and softly along the garden-walks, and in and out among 
 the lovely flower-beds, now stopping to admire the regal 
 splendors of some rare species, now stooping to prop up some 
 fallen spray whose beauty is trailing in the dust, now gently 
 parting the flowery profusion to get a better look at some lowly 
 bloomer, and now bending low down to scent the sweetness of 
 some fragrant blossom. 
 
 But it is to gather lilies he has come down into his garden 
 to-day, and he bends his steps towards the lily-beds. How 
 sweetly and modestly they bow their heads at his approach, 
 and look their loveliest ! Some of them are white and pure 
 like the Heaven they are destined for ; others of them are 
 golden and glorious like the crown on the King's head. Some 
 are tall and stately ; others lowly and lovely. All around 
 about the air is fragrant with their delicate perfume. He 
 stands and admires their beauties, and wonders what flowers 
 he will gather for a garland for himself to-day. Here perliap;* 
 
 i !i III 
 
 i: 
 
 ;. ill' 
 
 iH 
 
220 
 
 JESUS GATHERING LILIES. 
 
 is a very dolicate flower, too delicate to bloom in so wintry a 
 clime; so he puts fortli his jewelled hand and gently plucks 
 that one. Over on tiie other side of the bed he sees a group of 
 lilies all blooming together so sweetly ; so he goes away over 
 and plucks the fairest and sweetest. Sometimes you tind him 
 looking for lilies where you would not expect him to look for 
 them, in out-of-the-way and secluded corners of the garden, and 
 finding them too, and coming back with the choice flowers he 
 has gathered. 
 
 But his chaplet of flowers is not yet complete. He wants a 
 blossom and bud But where will he find just what he wants? 
 He goes from lily-bed to lily-bed as if looking for what he 
 wants, and as if hard to satisfy. By and l)y he comes to a 
 group where he had been before, and so pleased was he then 
 that he comes again. He has found what he wants. His eye 
 rests upon it, and he says softly to himself : " I must have that 
 lovely lily." What a struggle the chosen lily had to be what 
 it has come to be, but the struggle it has had, helped its loveli- 
 ness, perfected its beauty ! Often had he looked at it btfore, 
 and it was felt that the lily was not to be left blooming 
 long here. Again and again had he stretched out his hand as 
 if to pluck it, but again and again had he withdrawn it, and it 
 was left to bloom on until it had come to be so lovely. At 
 last came the day, not looked for, when the lily that was was 
 not, for the King had taken it. 
 
 Then it was said : " Kow will the King be satisfied with 
 gathering lilies from that lily-bed." But he comes again, and 
 his coming was not at first observed. But a choice bud just 
 opening into beauty and fragrance is there, and that bud the 
 King seeks for himself. By and by when his purpose comes 
 to be better understood, it was said : " No ; we cannot spare 
 the bud just yet; let it stay with us, and grow and bloom out 
 more fully. The lily-bed will be so bare without the bud." 
 But the King lingered on ; he did not go away. And at last 
 it was said, though not without tears, " The King shall have 
 
JESUS GATHERING LILIES. 
 
 221 
 
 the bud as well .as the hlossom." For it was roinoniberod that 
 the blossom and bud were strangely, lovingly linked to one 
 another. So, blossom and bu<l are gathered, a5id with th(i 
 Kinj,', where »heir beauty can never fade, and their sweetness 
 can never be other than sweetness. 
 
 Home christians are like the vine, and full of clusters of 
 grapes like the grapes of Eshcol. Some are like the Hgtrce 
 laden to the ground with ripe and juicy Hgs. Some arc like 
 the lofty palms, and some are like the Lebanon cedars. Some 
 are fragrant like the spikenard, and some are fail- like tlu^ 
 lily. They are all difierent, and they ai-e all beautiful. In 
 the Lord's garden there are an Abraham and a Moses, a 
 Joseph and a Daniel, a Samson and a Samuel, a Peter and a 
 Paul, a Mary and a Pluvbe, a Dorcas and a Lydia, a giay- 
 liaired Methuselah with the wei'dit of centui'ies bowing down 
 his Imck, and a young Timothy with his lithe form and laugh- 
 ing face. 
 
 We do not want a garden that is all flower, nor all fruit. 
 A garden that was all vines and yielded nothing but the 
 grapes of Eshcol, or that was all beautiful lilies of the valley, 
 would be very commonplace after a while. 
 
 I would not liue a congregation to preach to that was made 
 up of great-faithed iVbi-ahamSj or mighty-principled Pauls, or 
 sweet-faced Marys of Dethany. I would want to sit down in 
 the pew and let them preach. We want to have in our 
 churches the fruitful vines, the stately palms, tiie wide-spread- 
 ing cedars, the fr.-igrant lign-aloes, and the beautiful lilies, all 
 fruit-bearing, and fragrance-making, and llowering together. 
 
 Jesus looks for gra2>es from the vines in his garden. He 
 expects stateliness in his palms and strength in his cedars. 
 He wants oil from the olive, figs from the figtree, and frag- 
 rance from the cinnamon. But when he goes into his garden 
 to gather lilies, it is not the fruitfulness of the vine, nor the 
 grandeur of the Lebanon cedar, nor the sublimity of the pa m- 
 tree, he looks for, but the beauty and sweetness of the lily. 
 
 I ' ' 
 
 I' I 
 
 i!:! 
 
 i ! 
 
 i 
 
i H. 
 
 i* ■* 
 
 r, 
 
 I ! 
 
 222 
 
 JESUS GATHLRING LILIES. 
 
 Do not let tlie vino witli its great clusters of grapes say : " T 
 am more use to the King than the lily that does notiiing hut 
 hlooni and die." Do not let the Le}>anon cedar boast over the 
 sweet-scented thyne-wood. The King wants to have them all 
 in his gard<»n, and he has a use for them all, and loves thenj 
 all. Sometimes lie goes down into his gard('n, and he passes 
 by the grapes of Eshcol with their tempting cluster's, and 
 goes away past the orchards of pomegranates with their 
 pleasant fruits, and hastens through the groves of cinnamon 
 and calamus as if he did not want to smell their sweetness, 
 and he stops at the bed of lilies to gather them. He is as 
 proud of the lilies in his garden, as he is of his grapes and his 
 cedars. He has a place in Heaven for the flowers as well as 
 the fruits, and a bright place it is too, the brightest place 
 there. 
 
 And are we reluctant to have the lilies taken ? Shall Jesus 
 have nothing that is young and sweet and beautiful 1 nothing 
 but what has served out its day, and ripened into decay ? Is 
 it only the sere and yellow leaf of age that we want Jesus to 
 have ? Is it only the fruit that the world's wintry blasts have 
 shaken down into the grave that the King of glory shall 
 gather ? "Will we place ourselves at the garden-gate, and pro- 
 test will* all our little might against his coming to gather the 
 lilies? No. Jesus shall have the brightest and best. The 
 lilies are his as well as the grapes, and he shall have them. 
 
 The poet Longfellow beautifully paraphrases this thought 
 thus : 
 
 There is a reaper, whose name is death, 
 
 And with a sickle keen. 
 He reaps the bearded grain at a bveath. 
 
 And the flowers chat grow between. 
 
 " Shall I have nought that is fair ?" saith he ; 
 
 " Have nought but the bearded grain ? 
 Though the breath of the flowers is sweet to me 
 
 I will give them all back again." 
 
 
JESUS r.ATHERING LILIES. 
 
 IIo gazod at tho flowors with toarful eyes, 
 H<! kissod their drfxipiiiLj leaves; 
 
 It was for the Lonl of Paradise 
 He bound tlu;m in hi.s sheaves. 
 
 '* My Lord has need of these lloworets gay," 
 
 Th(i Ueapcr said, and sniihid ; 
 " Dear tokons of tlie (^arth are tlioy, 
 
 Where ht; was once a cliild." 
 
 " They shall all bloom in fields of light, 
 
 Transplanted l)y my care ; 
 And Saints, upon their garments white 
 
 These sacred blossoms wear." 
 
 And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 
 The tlowcrs she most did love ; 
 
 She knew she would tind thera all again 
 In the tields of liijrht above. 
 
 223 
 
 rht 
 
 Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, 
 
 The Reaper came that day ; 
 'Twas an angel visited the green earth 
 
 And took the ilowers away. 
 
 There is a sweet comforting thought in the text. It is this. 
 The clu'istian's Beloved gathers the lilies. He is no enemy 
 who has broken over the garden- wall and despoiled the beau- 
 tiful flowerbeds. We look with blinding tears in our eyes at 
 the vacant spot where some dear flower once bloomed so sweet- 
 ly, and we say : "It was the cruel north- wind that did it. 
 It was the terrible death-worm that devoured it. It was some 
 cruel, nruel hand that plucked it." But no, it was a beloved 
 that did it. It was a dear, dear friend that plucked the lily. 
 It was one who loved the lily and loved you that gathered it, 
 and it was because he loved and was loved that he did it. 
 
 And moreover, it seems to me, he is all the more a beloved 
 ])ecause he has gathered the lilies. We do not know how dear 
 Jesus is till he has brought us some great sorrow, and we do 
 
 ii'i 
 
 ! • i i 
 ill 
 
324 
 
 JESUS OATHLKING LILIES. 
 
 not know how near lio is to us till ho has come and nssorted 
 his ri;,'ht to the lilios we tiiMu;,'ht wore> oui-s. Thoy are ours, 
 and ilu'y are his too ; l)iit they are more his than ours. When 
 he comes to g/ither them, we stand l»y with we«'|>in<^ eyes and 
 Ijreakin;.,' he.irts, and we jvsk : " Will y(>u go with Jesus, or 
 stay with us?" and tliey say, ** We will go with Jesus." 
 
 If(!i'«i is a hetiutiful lily that the Lord gave you to giow for 
 him, Jfe said, "Keep it till I come for it." You loved the 
 lily; everybody loves lilievs. You watched its growth. You 
 saw with Joy its opening beauties. Jiut when it had bloomed 
 out, or hardly, the King came for his lily. You met him at 
 tlie garden-gate, and with a trembling at the heart you said, 
 " O King Jesus, come in." But when he said to you, " I have 
 come for that lily of mine," your heart sank within you, and 
 your tears dropped like rain, and you almost wished that the 
 King had not come at all You went to tiie lily, and said, 
 " Here is the King ; will you go with him V And the lily 
 looked its loveliest, and said with a sweet smile : " Yes, I will 
 go with the King." Now, is not the King the dearer to you, 
 and the Heaven where He dwells the nearer to you, because 
 of that gathered lily ? You will want to see that lily again. If 
 it was so fair here, it will be feirer there, >0h to be where the 
 lilies are gathered ! Oh to dwell iu the palace of the King ! 
 
 Thus, when the King comes down into his garden to gather 
 lilies, while it is a time of tears with us, 'it is often a time of 
 much sweet intercourse with the King himself. We get to 
 know him better than we ever did befo/^e, and we can trust 
 him. The more we know him, the better we love him. We 
 do not feel hard towards him now, because he has come and 
 L'athered our lilies. We love him all the more. 
 
 But I must close. And my closing word shall be to the 
 young. O young people, Jesus comes ofteneat perhaps to reap 
 the bearded grain, to pluck the ripened grapes, to shake down 
 the full-ripe tigs ; but sometimes he comes to gather lilies, to 
 take to himself the young, the beautiful, the sweet, the lovely, 
 
JESCS GATIIF.KING I.ILIES. 
 
 9^5 
 
 \)\m<^ wo want to koop for yoars nn«l yonrs. This is a call to 
 us to \w roady. An? wo lilies in his garden, or are we tho 
 world's vih^ weeds'? Tf we an^ weeds lu^ will oonie to mow us 
 down, and east us out of the garden, and hurn us up. If we 
 .lie lilies he will gatlur us, and niak«! a garland of us with 
 which to crown himself. 
 
 Do wo want to bloom in Heaven or burn in Hell ? \\'hioh 
 would we ratlK^r be -lilies or weeds? You have to burn weeds* 
 ^Wi lot us ))e lilies in the garden of the King ! Let us bud and 
 bl((om for the Lord. Let us be so pure and sweet and lovely, 
 that men will b(^ cheered with our fragrance, and gladdened 
 with our beauty ; let us be such that they will bless us while 
 we live, and weep for us when we die. 
 
 There's a beautiful face in the silent air 
 
 Which follows me ever and near, 
 With its smiling eyes and amber hair. 
 With voiceless lips, yet with breath of prayer 
 
 That I feel, Vjut I cannot hear. 
 
 I • 
 
 There's a sinless bro"w with a radiant crown, 
 
 And a cross laid down in the dust ; 
 There's a smile where never a shade comes now, 
 And tears no more from those dear eyes How, 
 So sweet in their innocent trust. 
 
 •!(: 
 
 There's a beautiful region above the skies, 
 
 And I long to reach its shore, 
 For I know I shall tind my treasure there, 
 The laughing eyes and the amber hair 
 Of the loved one gone before. 
 
, -'■* 
 
 XXI. 
 
 ^intUn^ iUc '23ookr 
 
 
 / 
 
 % I 
 
 "And Hilkiah the high priest said unto Shaphan the scribe^ 
 I have found the hook of the law in the house of the 
 Lord.''' — II Kings xxii. 8. 
 
 JOSIAH the Oiild-king is called to the throne of hisy 
 fathers, and at a time when the nation's ailairs are desper- 
 ate. The royal preacher had said in his own expressive way 
 years before : " Woe to thee, O Land, when thy king is a 
 child !" But this child-king is the nation's hope. Propiiets 
 liad foretold his coming as one who would do so much to re- 
 store the nation's waning glory, and rekindle into a blaze of 
 holy zeal the oldtime patriotism and piety. And he is indeed 
 a remarkable child. In him is fulfilled in a striking way the 
 psalmist's words : " Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings 
 hast thou ordained strength " — perfected praise. Called to 
 reign at the early age of eight years, he begins his reign by 
 seeking the Lord, seeking the Lord both for himself and liis 
 people. He is good and wise beyond his years and generation^ 
 and he needs to be, for the work it is his to do requires a level 
 head and a strong hand. But the divinely gifted boy-king is 
 equal to it. At t\\K. age of twelve, when other boys think only 
 of their play, he is into the work of reforming his kingdom- 
 
FINDING THE BOOK. 
 
 227 
 
 
 HI 
 
 He finds idolatry strong in tlie land, and he uproots it in ti.e 
 rudest fasliion. He goes throughout the length and breadth of 
 
 df 
 
 of 
 
 Ins kingdom, and he personally superintends the demolition 
 tlie idolatrous altars and temples, and their desecration. For 
 six years this stern woi'k goes on, until the land is wholly 
 jmrgeil of idolatry. At tlie same time also that he is putting 
 down the bad, he is promoting the good, building up the Lord's 
 cause ; and among the good things he does, he cleanses and 
 re})airs the temple at Jerusalem, Thus, some idea of the ex- 
 tent and ditliculty of the reformation the boy-king undertook 
 and carried out, as well as the thorough cliaracter of it, may 
 })e had from the fact that it took him years to do it — some six 
 years, we might say indeed, some ten years. 
 
 Now, it was while this great r(>form-work was being done in 
 tiie kingdom, and more especially that of repairing and cleans- 
 ing the temple under the superintendence of Hilkiah the high 
 priest, that the incident occurred that I am making the theme 
 of my discourse this morning, namely, the finding of the book 
 of the law. *' And Hilkiah the higli priest said unto Shaphan 
 the scribe, I have found the book of the law in the houso of the 
 Lord." 
 
 And first, the Book. There has been no little discussion 
 among biblical scholars and critics as to the book that Hilkiah 
 found. It is held that the youthful king was well posted 
 previous to the finding of this book in the law of the Lord. 
 He knew his dutv and did it. If then he knew his dutv, it is 
 contended, he must have known it from some source, and that 
 .source must have been either the oral teachings of the priests, 
 or books that he hatl read for himself or had read to him. It 
 is therefore claimed, that this book that Hilkiah found must 
 have been a different book from the one the king had been in- 
 structed out of, for evidently there was much that was new to 
 him in it, much that he had never heard of before. Wg are 
 told that he rent his clothes when he heard it read, and was in 
 much trouble over its contents, and so sent to the prophetes.s 
 
 i I 
 
 |i 
 
 \a^ 
 
H 
 
 228 
 
 FINDING THE BCOK. 
 
 Huldah to learn what he and his people sliould do to escape 
 the judgments that were threatened in the book. 
 
 Some have therefore concluded tliat the book must have 
 been the book of Deuteronomy, which indeed contains the 
 d enunciations that alarmed the king so mucii. And if the 
 b^ok of Deuteronomy, then that book must not have been in 
 the copy of the Pentateuch that the king had been taught out 
 of and was familiar with, and so they have come to the con- 
 clusion that Deuteronomy was not by Moses at all, but that it 
 is a production of a later date. And so we have hafl, and still 
 liave, the Deuteronomic controverP3\ one of the bitterest con- 
 troversies in Biblical criticism that has ever been. 
 
 Others again make out that the book found was the true 
 temple copy of the Pentateuch, the copy that Moses had writ- 
 ten with his own hand, or had authorized, and was therefore 
 genuine and authoritative But I must say that this attempt 
 at explanation seems to me exceedingly weak. I regard it as 
 little else but a makeshift, and not much of a makeshift, not 
 even clever. I admit indeed that it would be a great thing to 
 iind a copy of the Pentateuch that was by Moses himself, or 
 authorized by him ; it would be a great thing today, and I can 
 understand how it might have been quite an event iu Josiah'^s 
 day. Such a copy would be prized, reverenced. But it was 
 clearly the contents of the book, the new and startling things 
 he found in the book, that made such a strong impression up- 
 on the mind of the king ; not anything about the book, its 
 form, its age, its authenticity, and so on. 
 
 Now, I have no intention whatever of leading you into the 
 labyrinth of the Deuteronomic controversy this morning. But 
 it may not be out of place to state in a few simple words my 
 own ideas about the book. I have not the least doubt that 
 the book found was the Pentateuch, the five books of jNIoses. 
 And I think it liad been lost for some time. We must re- 
 member that when Josiah came to the throne, the kingdom 
 was in a gad state. Once there had been schools all over the 
 
 11 
 
FIXDIXG THE BOOK. 
 
 229 
 
 land and books, ])ut years of idolatry had put down tlio>P 
 tliinf,'s. It is doubtful if the young king could read, although 
 he- may have been able to read, for it is said that he real to 
 the peop'e. He had been taught in the law orally l)y the o'd 
 priests and scribes, but they may not have had any complete 
 copy of the scriptures, only fragmentary portions. We can 
 easily understand that. Hence, the king's knowledge of the 
 book of the law may have been, and it is clear it was, imper- 
 fect, incomplete. He knew enough to undertake great re- 
 forms,, but he did not know all there was to be known. His 
 knowledge was traditional, the information he gathered from 
 bis seniors, the truth as he had picked it up from a variety of 
 sources^ ai leaf here and a leaf there that professed to be a copy 
 of selbct J. irtions of the jNIosaic record, and very satisfactory 
 so far as they went, but not the whole truth. He may have 
 heard of such' a book, but no one could tell him where it was, 
 or whether indeed it was, or what its contents were. But it 
 was found, found accidentally, found where and when men 
 were not seeking for it. They found it buried up among the 
 rubbish of the temple. They did not know what it was when 
 they found it,. but they soon learned, and what a revelation it 
 was to them all, but especially to the king. It humbled and 
 alarmed him. It shewed him the true state of matters with 
 the kingdom, given over as it had been to the grossest idolatry, 
 and he was concerned lest it might be too late for him, or in- 
 deed for any one, to do anything to avert the coming doom. 
 
 Thus, the book was God's book, not the book as we have it 
 to-day in its completed form, not the whole sixty-six sacred 
 books bound up together into one volume which we call the 
 Bible ; but the book as it was then, the Pentateuch or five 
 books of Moses, the book of the law. 
 
 Again : The Book lost, and how it came to he lost. If it was 
 found, why then it must have been lost. When you speak of 
 finding a thing, however, you do not necessarily mean the same 
 thing. When you say, " I found it," you may mean you had 
 
 11 
 
 i ! 
 
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 ■J" 
 
K^ 
 
 r 
 
 a ^ 
 
 ^ii 
 
 ) ih 
 
 :i 
 
 'f: 
 
 k : 
 
 i 
 
 230 
 
 FINDING THE BOOK. 
 
 mislaid it, and after seeking for it you found it. Or, you may 
 mean, that while you were at work doing something else, or 
 seeking something else, you accidentally stumbled upon an im- 
 portant find that you had ind(^ed heard of, but was not aware 
 of its being where you were working or seeking. Or, you may 
 mean, your find is a discovery, something never before heard 
 of by yourself or any one else. Now, the finding of the lost 
 Ijook was the accidental finding of what had been heard of and 
 ■was known of, but no one seemed to know just where to look 
 for it, or whether indeed it was in existence. The finding of 
 the book was not a new discovery ; it was the finding of what 
 had l.)cen lost. 
 
 Now, there are books lost, and they are no great loss. The 
 world can get along without them and never miss them. Not 
 a branch of knowledge, neither science nor religion, neither the 
 church nor world, would suffer. I suppose if seventy -five per 
 cent of the books that fill up the shelves of our bookstores and 
 libraries were destroyed or lost, not an interest would be the 
 worse ; rather the better indeed, for they are not worth the 
 paper they are written or printed on. Literary men never 
 cease bewailing the burning of the Alexandrian library by the 
 stupid caliph, who gave as his reason this : " If these Grecian 
 books agree with the Koran, they are useless, and if not, they 
 should be destroyed." But the probal>ility is, the world did 
 not lose so much after all in the burning of the o'd Alexandrian 
 library. If it had copies, as some tell us, but we cannot be- 
 lieve all they tell us, of all the writings then extant, the most 
 of them must have been of no great account, taking our cue 
 from the generality of books to-day. 
 
 There are books lost, however, whose loss is a real loss to the 
 world, an irreparable loss. And especially is this so with the 
 book we read of here, for it was Goci's book. It contained 
 what God had to say to the men of those early times. It re- 
 vealed his will with regard to them, what he was and what 
 they were, what he wanted them to te and how they could be 
 
FINDING THE BOOK. 
 
 231 
 
 the 
 the 
 bed 
 
 re- 
 hat 
 
 lie 
 
 TS'Tiat he wanted them to be. There was no book like it, no 
 book so full of wisdom and comfort, so crammed with the kind 
 of knowledi,'e that all men needed to know, and nmst knt»Nv ir 
 they would come up to their high destiny, and so admir.ibly 
 fitted in every way both to interest and instruct men. What 
 thrilling stories — stories of the world's creation and man's fall, 
 the ark and the flood, the tower of Babel and Sodom's burning; 
 what biography and history — the lives of the ancient worthies 
 and the heroes of faith, the founding of nations and the exodus 
 of the Jews ! Thus, what a book I And yet tliat most preoiouw 
 book came to be lost, the one book the world could not afford 
 to lose. 
 
 A good many in our day would have been glad if it had con- 
 tinued lost. They hate it It clashes with their wise theorie >, 
 their learned notions as to the beginnings of things, and they 
 cannot bear tiie book. And so they are doing all they can to 
 run down the book and its stories. But when their books and 
 learning and theories will have ceased to interest, the old 
 Pentateuch will be ever fresh, like Aaron's rod, ever blooming 
 out anew in tiie recurring ages with a beauty that can never 
 fade. If it were possible to lose the book of God, it would be 
 a loss that would be fatal to the world's good, and a loss that 
 human genius could never repair. And the book of God was 
 lost once. 
 
 It was lost, too, in the temple. You would say that was 
 one of the last places to lose the Bible, for the Book of God is 
 at home there. But it was really lost, and lost in the 
 temple. And it must have been a bulky volume, a great roll, 
 not a small bound book such as we have. You may under, 
 stand therefore what a state for dust and rubbish the temple 
 must have been in, when the pentateuch volume Avas lost 
 among it. The reason why the temple was in such a delapi- 
 dated, filthy state was in this way : The people had been go- 
 ing elsewhere, and a good many of them, I suppose, would be 
 going nowhere. A new religion had come, and the great peo 
 
 II, 
 
 I' 
 
 ii. 
 
 11 
 
« 
 
 
 232 
 
 FINDING THE BOOK. 
 
 ]>](' of the nation favored it, and so everybody went to tlie ncM 
 temple, and the old one was neglected. The old people and 
 tlie poor had continued going on to the old temple, and the 
 stiff ones^ the men and women not given to change. But the 
 tJd people had dieil off, and one left and another left, and so 
 for years the temple at Jerusalent had not been used at all, 
 excepting perhaps by birds to build their nests in, and by the 
 sheep to go in out of the sun. And when the people begaix 
 going to the idol temples, they did not need any more their old 
 Hebrew Bible. They had another bible there, or perhaps they 
 did not need any. They used hymn-books and prayer-books,^ 
 and so it came to pass the book of the law, the book of truth, 
 the book of God, was lost. Only here and there it lived in 
 some old saint's heart, and was a great joy to him. Its light 
 cheered him : its promises helped him. But the book out 
 of which these promises had been culled, and these lessons of 
 truth had been learned,, was lost. 
 
 And, my hearer, there is still some danger of God's- book 
 eoming to be lost. Let me tell you how. 
 
 To some it is all but lost, because they do not know how to 
 read. Our English Bible is in the plainest of Saxon, short 
 simple words, and yet so many people cannot read it to make 
 any sense out of it. They have to spell their way through 
 verse after verse, and the labor is so great they cannot make 
 much out of it when they come to read it. They cannot get 
 hold of what it says, and so they give up trying to read, and 
 the best of all books is to them a sort of lost book. 
 
 To others again it i& lost,, because although they read welt 
 enough, they do not know enough about the Bible to know- 
 how to read it. Ask them to look up the book of Ruth, and 
 they will turn over to Revelation, and so on, and as for find- 
 ing choice chapters and passages they simply cannot. Now,, 
 put a sheep into even a wide pastureland, and it will soon 
 know where to look for the choice feeding-places, and where to 
 find sweet water to q,uench its. thirsty and the shady nooka ta 
 
 ^liHl 
 
FINDING THE COOK. 
 
 23: 
 
 igh 
 
 oon 
 e to 
 
 sloop in, and all tho good there is for it. But there are Bible- 
 readers who have been handling their Bibles for years, ami 
 they do not know where to go to feed on the promises, or 
 quench the thirst of their soul, or find comfort in tlu^ day of 
 trouble, or refuge in the hour of danger. Tiiey are lost among 
 the leaves of their bible, and so it is lost to them. And I am 
 afraid a good many of these clever young people who know so 
 much, can be clean lost in their English Bibles, and perhaps 
 some of the old as well. 
 
 The Bible again is in danger of being lost to-day among the 
 nmltitude of books that conje to us to be read. With not a 
 few, it is only one of tiie many books, and an old-fashioned and 
 commonplace book at that ; and so they read all the new books, 
 but not the old one^ not their mother's Bible. Ask young 
 ladies and gentlemen, if they have re;id " Ben Hur," or " Jess," 
 or " She," or some other of the popular works of our day, and 
 you will find they have : but a>k them if they have read through 
 their Bible, and all its brilliant pages, and you will find they 
 have not. And yet the Bible is the one book we s'^ould read 
 every day of our life, for it is God's book. You cannot be a 
 scholar, and you cannot be a aistian, without being up in the 
 Bible. Shakespeare drank at this fountain. ^Nldton inspired 
 his poetic genius here. Ruskin's pa,, ; are enriched with 
 scripture quotations, and all the best writers have ever been 
 going to the Word of God for some of their finest illustrations, 
 and choicest paragraphs. Thus, what a loss to literature and 
 learning, if the Bible should be lost ; and yet, not a few who 
 would fain be thought something of as both readers and writers 
 have clearly lost their Bible, and so they are clouds without 
 rain, wells without water, books without truth. 
 
 And the Bible may still be lost in the temple as of yore. 
 We have our hymn-books perhaps, but no Bible. In the Union 
 Meetings I have sometimes gone from pew to pew looking for a 
 Bible, and have found all sorts of hymn-books, but no Bible. 
 Now, if the hymn-book is going to displace the Bible, better 
 
 I II 
 
 : 1. 
 
m 
 
 I I 
 
 
 ■- ' I; 
 
 534 
 
 FINDING THE BOOK. 
 
 liavo no liymn-l)Ook, for this is what man says, but tliat is wliat 
 Go.l says, and hotter the words of God than the words of men, 
 liowever rhythmical. And then in the Sabbatli School, what 
 with liyinn-books, and Sabbath School books, and lesion sheets, 
 and lesson hel{)s, there is no room for the Bible smothered up 
 even as it is in our pocket editions. Thus, the Bible is being 
 lost, at iiW events, lost sight of, in our churches. 
 
 Then again the Bible may be lost amid the world's accum- 
 ulating rubbish. So many people who call themselves Chi-is- 
 tian people, are too busy morning by morning, and evening 
 by evening, to read the well-thumbed Bible and have family 
 prayers. They have to hurry up and rush down to the shop, or 
 the store, or the otfice, in the morning, and so the Bible lies 
 yonder on the shelf unread, unused, gathering dust. And this 
 goes on through the years until the old Bible is verily lost. I 
 liave gone into fiimilit^s sometimes, and I have said to them, 
 *'I will read and pray before I go,'" and sometimes T have been 
 handed a book that was not the Bible at all, and sonu^times 
 they have looked all over the house for it and could not find 
 it. It h.'wl got lost, or had strayed, or was stolen. "Ah ! " you 
 say, my hearer, "my Bible is not lost. It lies in gilt and glory 
 on my parlor-table, and no one must touch it." But it may be 
 lost to you for all that. You may never read it, nor know 
 the glad truths for your soul it is full of, and so it is lost to 
 you, as much lost as if it was lying buried up among dust and 
 rubbish in some neglected corner. 
 
 Thus, the Bible may be, with us as well as in Josiah's reign, 
 a lost book, and, lost then, or now, it is a serious loss. 
 
 But again. The Book fouwf, "And Hilkiah the high priest 
 said unto Shaphan the scribe, I have found the book of the 
 law in the house of the Lord." 
 
 It was the blessed revival that the good Josiali was the means 
 of setting on foot in the kingdom that found the Book. The 
 cleansing and repairing of the temple followed, and so the 
 book was resurrected from amid the dust and debris where it 
 
 
FINDING THE BOOK. 
 
 235 
 
 Of 
 
 :'iest 
 the 
 
 W 
 
 liad lain for a good lonij wliilo. And the good book was nv.'' 
 only fi»un<l ; it was read, and its words were heeded, and as a 
 result, the reformation was deepened and extend(Ml. Alont; 
 with the resurrection of th(^ book, canie the resurrection of the 
 nation in every respect. Prosperity nsturnod. Wealth flowed 
 in upon tlie people. Keaven smiled, and there wei-e rich and 
 .abundan* harvests. AVhcn the people did tlu ir duty, God re- 
 membered T[is promises, and there was great joy, Thus, the 
 fin ling of the book in Josiah's reign meant so much that waa 
 good U) the nation. 
 
 And so it ever has done. You have heard, or read, of the 
 thrilling story of the finding of the book in Lufher's day. Ife 
 was a student at College. One day he was rununaging through 
 the College- library, when his hand got hold of an old book. 
 }Ie pulh d it down, and found it was a Latin copy of the Sacred 
 Scriptures. He blew the dust off it, and sat down to look 
 through it. He happened to open it at the story of Samueb 
 and he was interestcvl in the sim[.>le narrative. l[e njad, and 
 his wonder grew as he read. And so day by day he came back 
 to read, and the sacred less(ms were taken into his deep earnest 
 soul. That was the beginning of ihc great reformation-work 
 he was the means of setting on foot in Germany and the workl. 
 Here again, the finding of the book was the waking up of the 
 nations of the world into all the modern life we see. It began 
 yonder, in an important sense, when the German student, quite 
 accidentally to him, succeeded in rescuing from the dust and 
 utter waste of years God's precious book. 
 
 A.nd there are lessons for us here, blessed practical lessons. 
 We need a revival of Bible reading, J>ible study, among us. 
 Get down the old book from its shelf, where perhaps it has 
 lain long unntad, and read it as Luther read it. There is still 
 no book like t. There are still fire and fervor enough to set 
 on foot a glorious nineteenth century reformation. If we 
 would all read the Bible, read it day by day, read it on our 
 knees seeking to understand it, read it whon we go out to work 
 
 »l 
 
 I 
 
fm 
 
 t36 
 
 FINDING THE BOOK. 
 
 and when wc eonio homo nf^jiin, read it as God's inossai;;n from 
 Heaven to ua, it would do to <lay for us what it did for Israel 
 in Josiah's day, and what it did for Gcnnany in Luther's day. 
 
 I am not talking in parahh^'s when T talk ahout finding the 
 book. To all intents and ])urposes it has been lost to us, too 
 much lost to us. It has not had the influence upon us that 
 such a book should have had. It has not disturbed our ease, 
 alarmed our fears, woke up our slumbering energies, quickened 
 us into life. It is very evident, if the book of God was really 
 found — found in our homes and home-life, found here in our 
 church-life, there would be an improvement in every direction. 
 We would pray more, and our prayers would have more power 
 than they have. AVo would do more, and we would do it to 
 better effect. We would give more to the Lonl's cause, and 
 we would enjoy it more than we do. /. new life^ in a word, 
 would surge among us. 
 
 How, are we to find the book ? Are we to find it in the 
 sense of knowing it better, studying it with increased interest, 
 believing and living its blessed teachings as wo have not yet 
 done ? It is only in so far as we live as the Bible tells us how 
 to live, that it is to us what it is. We can know it only in so 
 far as we do it. We find it when we mind it. 
 
 How precious is the Book Divine, 
 
 By inspiration given ! 
 Bright as a lamp its doctrines shine, 
 
 To guide our souls to Heaven. 
 
XXTT. 
 >>bonord for ^^orluni^mcn. 
 
 * Seest thou a man diligent in business ? 
 lie shall stand before kings ; 
 He shall not stand before mean men** 
 
 — Phov. XXII. 20. 
 
 VAST industries at a stand still, business paralyzed, excited 
 bands of idle working-men parading the streets of the 
 great cities agitating for shorter hours and larger wages, two 
 continents in the throes of a kind of revolution ! That is the 
 spectacle our eyes behold to-day everywhere we look, and 
 statesmen and philanthropists, patriots and preachers, are 
 earnestly asking, as they look at it from their own standpoint, 
 whereunto all this is yet to grow. 
 
 I respect the working-man. He is my friend arid I am his. 
 I like to be regarded as such myself. But I very much doubt, 
 if he had it all his own way, that it would be better with him 
 than now. Badly as the nations are ruled, badly as state-aflairs 
 and the world's interests are managed ; it wt)uld be still worse 
 for the world and the people's interests, were some mighty 
 demagogue in the shape of a reckless labor-agitator to come to 
 power. I grant a re\olution is wanted here somewhere, else 
 things would not be as they are, but certainly not sucli a revo- 
 lution as will reverse the natural order of thinffs. The Hebrew 
 
i I 
 
 1 'II 
 
 ajS 
 
 HONORS FOR WORKINT.MEN. 
 
 pi ou J,')) man was callod from his humbl(! farm-lal or to bo king 
 in tlio land; and, tlUi.'d with the Spirit of thr Lord, lie did 
 ^'raiidly for the nation in u critical momont in its history. r»ut 
 the exj)orim(!nt turned out to bo a biund«M' for the nation then, 
 and it would be a blunder now. Hi^di and low are not 
 arbitrary but real distinctions. They have their si<.,'iiificance 
 and importance in the nature of things, and, as a rule, you 
 cannot reverse low and high, putting high low and low higli, 
 without doing violence to nature's wise arrangements and 
 methods, any more than you can plant a tree upsidedown, 
 puttingits branches where its roots should bo and its roots where 
 its branches should be. It would be a mistake to hund)le a 
 ))orn prince to the plough ; but it would be a still greater 
 mistake, to let some clod-hopper, simply because he has so much 
 to say on public questions, and thinks ho knows so 
 nmch, be a ruler in the land. We have too many of such 
 would-lje rulers in our Provincial Assemblies, and they are only 
 tools for others to use. Gladstone can chop trees like a lumber* 
 man, but not every chopper of trees is fitted to guide and 
 control the affairs of state like Gladstone, although not a few 
 perhaps have the idea that they can, and when they have a 
 chance, they are very willing to try, only to let it be seen what 
 fools they are. 
 
 Now, wise Solomon shows us here, how the working-man, 
 working away in his own sphere, may attain for himself 
 distinction, a position of honor and power among men. 
 " Seest thou a man diligent in his business ? he shall stand 
 before kings ; he shall not stand b(?fore mean men." 
 
 I. His Business : Every man should have what he is able 
 to call his business, his trade, his profession, his calling, his 
 work. 
 
 The Jews insisted upon their boys and young men learning 
 a trade. David was a shepherd. Paul was a tent-maker. 
 Peter and John were fishermen. ^latthew wasa tax-gatherer. 
 Nicodemus and Gamaliel were puVdic teachers, and both rose 
 
HONORS FOR .''ORKIN'GMEN*. 
 
 ajo 
 
 to £jt'o,it distinction in tlioir pntfcssion, osppcidlly tlio latter. 
 .r<»,s('j>h and Jesus wnc cai'pputprs. Uarnuhas w/is a farniri". 
 
 The (}crnians, from llic Ivaisor down to tho liunil)l«'st 
 citi/«>n, niust hav«? a tiadr ; )jut tlu'n, as it is made a matter 
 of course, it is too often only a playini; at trade learnini;. 
 Iliat a (Icrnian pi-ince is a printer, anotiier a bookbinder, fi 
 tliii'd a watch-maker and so on, does not usually mean any- 
 thin^'. It is only the name of the thiriLf, and the world wants 
 less of the nominal and mor(! of the real. It is the iuim(! of u 
 thin;,', men playin;^ at a profession, toyini^ with earnest work, 
 amateur this and that, that are working havoc in the trades 
 and professions and businesses. What is wanted are trades- 
 men, artizans, professional men, business-men, teachers and 
 preachers, who fecil they are so into their work, so dependent 
 upon it and bound up with it, that they jnust either sink or 
 swim, do or die. Tlum they will be likely to do something,', 
 make a success of vdiat they are at, crown it, almost glorify it 
 — yes, gloi'ify it. 
 
 The phrase, "his b^'.siness," implies, I think, not simply 
 what a man may happfui to be at in the shape of W(»rk, for a 
 man may have no business to be at the business he is at; but 
 it implies the special work rather he has chosen as his work, 
 the work to which his tastes and habits tend, and for whicli 
 he is fitted. 
 
 Some men have no business. They do such work as comea 
 to hand, working at one thing one day and something else the 
 next. But that is not as a rule the way to do much. It may 
 do well enough in the meantime. It may do as a make-shift, 
 do till one finds out and gets at his own proper work ; Ijut it 
 is not the way to do a life-work, and make it a success. Let 
 jne counsel every boy and young man to find out a business, a 
 tra<le, a work, a calling, a profession, a something or other 
 that he can call his work, and let him believe in it and stick 
 to it. 
 
 Men make mistakes sometimes in the choice of their life- 
 
 . 
 
 1 : 
 1 
 
 1 
 ■ ' ! 
 
 1 t. 
 
 ' . » 
 
 ■ » 
 
 i I' 
 
 1 
 
 : 
 
lS!^ 
 
 240 
 
 HGXORS FOR WCRKIXGMEN. 
 
 lli 
 
 work. One man goes to farming perhaps, and he ploughs and 
 sows through the we. ay years. But he makes no progress. 
 He does not try to improve. He has no faith in the success 
 of farming. He is all the time running it down, giving it the 
 worst name, and praising up every other sort of work. Do 
 ou wonder, I ask, that he does not succeed? It would be a 
 wonder if he did. 
 
 Over the fence, however, lives his neighbor, a born farmer. 
 You do not find him growling and grumbling at things, flying 
 in the face of the weather, running down the country and its 
 backward springs, bewailing the hardness of the times, cursing 
 his luck that he ever settled in New Brunswick, and looking 
 upcn his lot as the hardest of all lots» Very far otherwise. 
 His face is full of sunshine, his life full of hope, his fields full 
 of pron\ise. You cannot be with him ten minutes till he has 
 to tell you what he knows about farming — and there is not 
 much that he does not know about it — and you must go and 
 see his fields and crops, his hogs and fowls, his horses and 
 cattle, his sheep and lambs. He is a plain man, his face sun- 
 browned, his hands hard with toil. He is not the man to 
 send to parliament to legislate for the country, discuss legal 
 questions, darken counsel by words without knowledge, find 
 his way amid the intricacies of finance, understand the effect 
 of this and that piece of legislation, and so on. It is not in 
 his line To send him there is to take him out of his sphere, 
 to make a fool of him. But leave i»im where he is to work 
 out in his own sphere his success, and he will do it, with the 
 blessing of God, grandly do it. His farm is his kingdom, and 
 t/here, with his flocks and herds and fields and family around 
 him, he is a man, a man crowned in a way, honored, respected, 
 a king of men. 
 
 So also with other working-men. Here are carpenters who 
 have faith in their trade. They chose it in preference to every 
 other, chose it in preference to preaching, and they have no 
 thought of going back on the choice they made wlien they 
 
 I 
 
HONORS FOR VVORKINriMKX. 
 
 841 
 
 
 I'! 
 
 ^:vcrc boys m their leens. They know how to keep their tools 
 sharp, and how to marshall them for service. They are at 
 home in their shop or up on the side of a building, and they 
 are strong men there. You go to them with your book-learn- 
 ing, your science and literature, and you think how little they 
 know and liow much you know. But they know more about 
 lumber than you do. They know, as you do not, how to make 
 the most and the best out of a shapeless log, how to erect a 
 house, how to sharpen and set a saw, how to put an edire on a 
 tool. You have to take off vour hat' to r-hem the moment 
 you enter the domain of their special work, their little king- 
 <lom, and acknowledge their superiority. You have to 
 pay } our respect to their better judgment, defer to their 
 opin'jn. Here they know, and you do not^ heie they can do, 
 and you cannot. They are not first-class workmen, if they 
 cannot. " Seest thou," said a king who himself was eminent 
 for his wisdom and greatness, " a man diligent in his bvi->iness ? 
 he shall stand before kings ; he shall noc stand Oeft^ie mean 
 men," 
 
 Very much the same might be said with regard to ever/ 
 other trade and line of work. Are you a blacksmith ? Let 
 your anvil be your throne. Are you a shoemaker ? Let your 
 bench be a throne. Are you a tailor? Let your table be 
 your throne. Never be ashamed of your work. Let it be a 
 business you have respect for, one that you believe in, one that 
 you prefer to every other, and make it your aim to counuand 
 the respect of others by the way you do your work. 
 
 II. Diligence ; Diligence is a word full of meaning. It is 
 from a word that means — to love, to have delight in a thing. 
 To be diligent in one's business implies therefore that one likes 
 it, prefers it above all others. 
 
 Many a boy, when he begins to learn his trade, does not 
 at first like it. It is drudgery, hard work, and he does not 
 t.ake to it. He (inds himself awkward, clumsy, and is shnv to 
 pick it up. But he k« eps at it, and after a while he gets into 
 
 
242 
 
 HONORS FOR WORKIXGMEX, 
 
 t" 
 
 the way of it, and now it gets to be a pleasure to him. The 
 harsh saw, the ringing anvil, the clipping shears, sing to hint 
 as he works, and he sing., with them, and the work goes- 
 merrily on. 
 
 No matter what your business is, like it. Grow fond of it. 
 Fall in love with it. Get to be so taken with it that you can 
 hardly leave it long enough to v at or sleep. Let it be your 
 meat and drink to do your wcw-k. That is the way the Blessed 
 Son of God did his work, and that is the only way a man is 
 going to succeed in his work. If you cannot like your work, 
 get out of it as soon as you can, for you will never do any- 
 thing, if you have to drive or drag yc'.rself to it. Diligence 
 implies that you like your work, that it suits you, is wholly to 
 your taste. 
 
 Diligence has come to mean speciucally assiduity, close 
 attention to business. It means keeping at it with a patience 
 and perseverance that cannot be easily discouraged nor wearied 
 out. Tl.e diligerkt business-man may not be brilliant. He 
 may not have genius, power, that which attracts and as- 
 tunishes. But he plods or>, and so does by means of his 
 plodding industry and faithfulness, an amount of work, and 
 a quality of work, that not even genius can do. The man 
 who depends upon his genius, his brilliance, may shine for a 
 while ; but it is the slow patient plodding man who keeps at 
 it through the weary years, that at last succeeds. 
 
 Dr. James Hamilton, wiio was once pastor of Regent Square 
 Presbyterian Church, London, tli? same church where now the 
 brilliant John McNeill holds forth, relates the incident I here 
 quote : " Long ago a little boy was ntered at Harrow School 
 He was put into a class beyond his years, and where all the 
 scholars had the advantage of previous instruction denied to 
 him. His master chid him for liis dulness, and all his efforts 
 then could not raise him from the lowest place in the class. 
 But, nothing daunted, he procured the grammars and other 
 ekmentary books which his class-fellows liad gone through in 
 
 miKmmmwmm 
 
MOXORS FOR WORKIXGM'N". 
 
 243 
 
 )0l. 
 
 the 
 to 
 
 brts 
 
 ctSS, 
 
 jlier 
 1 in 
 
 previous terms. He dcvotod the liours of r>lav, and not a few 
 of the hours of sleep, to the niasterin;^ of these ; till, in a few- 
 weeks, he gradually ))egan to rise, and it was not long before 
 he shot ahead of all his companions, and became not only 
 leader of the division, l)ut the pride of Harrow. You may see 
 llie statue of that boy, wliose career began with tins tit of 
 energetic application, in St. Paul's Cathedral ; for he lived to 
 be the greatest oriental scholar in modern Europe — it was Sir 
 William Jones." 
 
 The incident tells us that diligence may win the race— win 
 it over the head of biilliance and advantage. Let the ])V)dder, 
 who has to dig and dig day after day for all he has, and then 
 finds he has so little, not be discouraged. Let him keep at it, 
 and he will yet succeed, perhaps not as Sir AVilliam Jones and. 
 others who rose to distinctioii and eminence succeeded, but 
 in a way that will be an ample reward to him for all his efTorft 
 and diligence. 
 
 Diligence accomplishes what nothing else does. You asli 
 sometimes in wonder how it is men have attained to so great 
 a height in all that is grand and good. You look up at them 
 from where you are to where they are, and it is a mystery ta 
 you how they made out to get up to where they are. JJut 
 there is no mystery about it, except the mystery of hard work, 
 sheer effort, plodding patient industry, diligence. 
 
 The heights by great men reached and kept 
 
 Were not attained by sudden tlight ; 
 But they, while their companions slept, 
 
 Were toiling upward in the night. 
 
 One Furius Cresinus, a Roman farmer of the old days — so 
 runs the story — was accused to the judges of practising witch- 
 craft, on the ground, that while his neighbors' fields were 
 yielding little or nothing, his were productive, and nothing but 
 witchcraft, as they thought, coaia account for it. The simple 
 farmer brought before the judges his tools of husbandry — 
 heavy mattocks, weighty ploughshares, full-fed oxen, and his 
 
 m 
 
244 
 
 HON iS FOR WORKINGMEN. 
 
 > 
 
 ^P '» 
 
 (laughter who helped him in the farm-work, and afldressr'd them 
 tlius : " O Quirites, this daughter, these oxen, these tools — 
 these are the instruments of tHie only witchcraft I use. It is 
 my diligence that succeeds, and it is their idleness why my 
 neighbors do not succeed." 
 
 The way to have good crops of grain, the way to success in 
 anything, the way to have grace as well as grain, is simply to 
 be diligent in the use of such means as are close to hand. 
 Diligence Avins in the end ; labor conquers all things. 
 
 Diligence implies, too, steadiness, sobriety, stickativenesa. 
 You never hear of diligence getting drunk, going on a spree. 
 Too many clever workmen, first-class mechanics, are given to 
 tippling and treating. They spend their evenings, and 
 especially their Saturday-nights, in the public-houses and other 
 (juestionable resorts. 
 
 Now, that is bad— bad wiuchever way you look at it. No 
 working man, nor indeed any man, who drinks, can be de- 
 ])ended on. So often when he is wanted, his skill and genius 
 n(?cded, he is not at his post — he is incapacitated for work 
 through drink. You go into a shop where hundreds of men 
 are at it, and you want to see a piece of skilled labor done, 
 but you are told perhaps, in an apologetic sort of way, that 
 the genius of the shop is not himself to-day. Of course he is 
 often excused, but the end is, he is dismissed — is not wanted. 
 Diligonce is the way up for the working-man ; drink the way 
 down — down the street, down to careJess and loose habits, down 
 to idleness and incapacity, down to crime aiid infamy, down to 
 the jail, the poor-house, the mad-house, hell. 
 
 Working-men are clamoring to-day for shorter hours and 
 more pay. And perhaps they are in the right of it. But I 
 do not think much of strikes. They may be necessary, but 
 they are necessary evils. I am very sure diligence does not 
 want to strike. It does not complain much as to long hours, 
 for it likes to be at it. And diligence will get its pay. It 
 may lie wronged, imposed upon, trampled down, cheated out 
 
HONORS- FOR ^VORKIXGME^'. 
 
 245 
 
 
 of its just dues ; but the day will come when it will l)e ap- 
 preciated, and it will not go witiiout its reward, and it will be 
 well rewarded. But with regard to the clamor that is just 
 now filling the streets of tlie great cities, I want to say this, 
 that shorter hours and larger pay to many a workman are 
 only adding to his facilities for self-ruin. Too much leisure, as 
 1 look at it, may be worse for men than too little. It is not 
 their work, but their leisure that is playing havoc with the 
 boys and girls of our cities. The harder at it, and the longer 
 at it, the better it is with them. That is God's way of con- 
 verting the old curse into a new blessing for the world. 
 
 But a new era. is dawning. This is a transition period, and 
 labor is feeling the etiects of the influence as well as other 
 things. Christ's yoke is an easy yoke, his burden a light bur- 
 den. Working-men do not understand it as yet, but the gos- 
 pel is telling here, and there is to be more leisure for the 
 working-man than there has been.; — more leisure, not that he 
 might have more time to drink and smoke and waste in sinful 
 ease and indulgence, but more time for self-improvement. 
 And already we see,.! think, whither the movement, is tend- 
 ing. Last winter night-schools were opened in Montreal and 
 other large cities, and in some cases, so many ''^ere the appli- 
 cations that it was found difficult to meet tiiem. This I regard 
 as a most hopeful sign of tlie times, and if the short-hour 
 movement result in organized effort to turn the hours of 
 leisure into self-improvement, no matter in what direction, it 
 will be a world-blessing the magnitude of which can neither 
 })e predicted nor estimated. 
 
 III. The Cuown of Dllicknce : Tiie diligent man is to 
 stand before kings. He is to have his place among the hon- 
 orable and eminent of the world. "8eest thou a man diligent 
 in his business? he shall stand before kings; he shall not 
 stand before mean men." 
 
 The diligent nm by his own diligence usually attains 
 wealth and position, distinction and honor. We see men 
 
 i^ 
 
 it 
 
 I ! 
 
 I. 
 
J: 
 
 rih MA 
 
 I 
 
 246 
 
 HONORS FOR WORKINGMEN. 
 
 rising fi'om tlio ranks, and by fdrco of charactor pusliincj tlioir 
 way up to the highest j»hices. Let nie instance a few of 
 such. 
 
 "VVe see to-day Stanley, tlie African explorer, within sight 
 of the liighest honors the world can bestow upon him. Start- 
 ing life as a poor boy, away down at the very foot of the 
 social scale, he has, by his own diligence, his pluck antl j)ush^ 
 worked his way up to the j)roudest position a man can occui)y. 
 Cities lionize him. Pot?ntatesdo him honor. It is said he is 
 to be knighted. Two continents sing his praises. And he is 
 good as well as great. T pity him, if in this day of tiiunipli 
 and honor, he has not around him to keep him the Everlasting 
 Arms. 
 
 You know, too, the story of George Stephenson, who, fi-om 
 being a humble collier, worked his way up to the top of the 
 ladder. The railroads of the world are his monument. To 
 such as lie the short hour movement will be an unsjieakable 
 boon, giving opportunities for study, thought, self-improvement, 
 experimenting with a view to inventions, and much also that 
 is good. 
 
 And you know, too, the story of "Watt, and Fulton, anrl 
 Franklin, and Cyrus Field, and Edison, and so many otheis 
 that might be named — men who have crowned themselves with 
 a crown brighter than finy monarch's — men who, by their 
 genius, but specially by their hard work and unwearied dili- 
 gence, have risen to the high places of the world. 
 
 What they have done, then, working-men, you can do, if 
 you will lay hold and be diligent. Do not be satisfied with 
 ■working so many hours. That is not the way up to any true 
 throne. Ask the men who are on the throne to-day, who have 
 succeeded, whose words have weight and whose works have 
 worth, and they will tell you the story of how they were at it 
 early and late. You cannot play yourself up to position atid 
 power, worth and wealth. It is only by grim effort you can 
 do it. The whole secret is here : "Seest thou a man diliirent 
 
 
HONORS FOR WORKIXGMEN. 
 
 247 
 
 111 his business ? he shall st/uul Ix^fore kings ; he skall not stand 
 befoie mean men. 
 
 And then, O working-man, lot your diligenoe look up higher 
 than mere worldly success, money-making, position and inllu- 
 ♦^nce. Look up to Jesus. He was a working-man once, a 
 humbl«» mechanic ; but now he is crowned, throned. And he 
 is interested in your efforts, knows how to feel for you, loves 
 you. Learn from him how to bear the yoke, how to do your 
 work, how to work up. Let the inspiration of his life thrill 
 you. He will do better for you than give you success ; he will 
 save you, glorify you, exalt you to be with himself where he is. 
 With such a patron, there is hope for every working man. 
 
 Ill 
 
 ,, t, 
 
 ; t 
 
 ill 
 
np 
 
 xxin. 
 
 ti t' 
 
 ^hc ^^Haieinj of -£azarxc$» 
 
 " //(? cried widi a loud voice, Lazarus, eome forth. He tTiat 
 was dead came forth, bound hand and foot with grave- 
 clotheSy aoid his faw wan bouv^i about tvith a napkin. 
 Jesus saith unto them, Loose him ami let him go. — John 
 XI. 43, 44. 
 
 I INTRODUCE you to a thrilling- scene tliis morninjif, tl.v 
 raising of Lazarus. The scene is an oldtime ono, almost 
 two thousiind years old, but so long as sickness and sorrow 
 ravaij*^ homes and hearts, and so long as death and the grav & 
 swallow up our loved ones, it can never cease to interest. 
 
 One of the sweetest of cliristian homes has been broken in 
 upon by death, and the choice one of the family, if there can 
 be any choice where a'l are so good, has been taken. The 
 home at Bethany yonder was perhaps as near the ideal of a 
 cliristian home as has ever been realized — every member a 
 cliristian, and the home whore Jesus made his home. And 
 yet, sickness, sorrow, death, come there. Jesrs is miles away, 
 ])ut they send for him in all haste. Strange to s^.y, however, 
 he is in no hurry to come, and when at last he does come, i% 
 is all over with t'ie sick one ; he is dead and buried four days„ 
 and grief and doubt have iia,d their will with the sister*.. 
 
THE RAISING OF L.\ZARUS. 
 
 ur> 
 
 But the Lord has como, and asks the way to tho <:(ravf» where 
 Lazarus sleeps. It is apart from the villacje h httle tlistar.cp. 
 The sisters are there with their teal's and sad qufstioiiiii^s, and 
 their weeping friends from the city. The g^rave is not such as 
 ours; it is a vault hewn out of the limestone elirt, a toinh. 
 When Jesus comes to the grave, lie is deeply, strangely aflerted. 
 He groans and weeps. But after a little he cahns himself, 
 and directs the bystanders to remove the heavy stone shutting 
 the vault. The sisters object, but ho over-rules all objections, 
 and the stone is with dillicultv removtvl. God never does what 
 men can do as well. Then stepping for\.ard to the blade 
 mouth of the vault, and addressing the dead by name, h ; says; 
 " Lazarus, come forth ! " 
 
 Instantly noisy grief is stilled, and there falls upon tho 
 mourning group an awful husii, a hush like the hush of death. 
 In staring wonder and listeningawe every eye looks and *'\, y 
 car listens. Who is he, and what, who thus darf?s speak into 
 a grave ? Is he a fool, or is he God ? He n)ust be one or tho 
 other. Were I to go yonder where white gravestones stand 
 around so silent and cold, and loved forms lie buried — as loveil 
 as Lazarus, and as young and good ; were I to tell the i,Mavc- 
 digger to dig out of a grave the eartli he had tilled in four days 
 before ; and then, were I, when he had reluctantly and with 
 difficulty done it, and the coffin-lid was unscrewed and removed, 
 to open my mouth, and in his name who is the resurrection 
 and life, say with a voice full of all the lung-power I could put 
 into it, " O dead one, so love J <T.nd so wept for, come forth ! " 
 you would say, I think, and you would be justified in saying 
 it, that I was a fool, yea worse, a blasphemer. JJut Jesus is 
 not a fool ; he is the ix^surrection .»nd life, he is God. Hark t 
 down in the darkness of the tomb in answer to his word of 
 power a rustling is heard, as of one new-awakened out of sleep, 
 and slowly and with difficulty making his way up and out to 
 the light. Presently Lazarus emerges wound around with 
 grave-clothes, and so tangled up with them that he is all but 
 
 I. ) 
 
 V ' 
 
 tit 
 
 ■\ 
 
 ' , ' 
 
n« 
 
 •so 
 
 THE RATSIXG OK LAZARUS. 
 
 lu'lploss, and constornation .s( izos upon the bystanders. Some 
 •shriek out with affi i"ht ; otluTs are dunil) with astonislnnont. 
 Some start to run away as from an apparition of the under- 
 worhl ; others are paralyzed, their hhuA frozen in their veins. 
 For a moment all is confusion, consternation, amazi-ment, 
 horror. But Jesus reassures them when lie pleasantly directs 
 them to kjose him and let him "^'o. 
 
 Here however the scene closes just where we would like it 
 to be most minute. Only one remark is made, indicating that 
 unbelief went away from that resurrection-scene as hardened 
 and unbelieving as ever, but others were won. The poet 
 shapes the thought for us thus : — 
 
 When Lazarus left his charnel-cave, 
 And home to Mary's house returned, 
 Was this demanded — if he yearned 
 
 To hear her weeping by his grave ? 
 
 iiii 
 
 i !. I 
 
 ^' Where wert thou, brother, those four days T' 
 
 There lives no record of reply, 
 
 W^hich telling what it is to die 
 Had surely added pri.i3e to praise. 
 
 From every house the neighbors met, 
 
 The streets were tilled with joyful sound, 
 A solemn gladness even crowned 
 
 The purple brows of Olivet, 
 
 Behold a man raised up by Christ! 
 
 The lest remaineth unrevealed ; 
 
 He told it not ; or something sealed 
 The lips of that Evangelist. 
 
 Now, the raising up of Lazarus may teach us of another 
 raising up that we have still more interest in and still more to 
 do with, namely, the raising up of the spiritually dead. Let 
 the dead in their graves yonder sleep on till the resurrection ; 
 they are beyond our reach ; we cannot disturb their repose, 
 nor wake them up. But the other dead, the dead in sin, wc 
 
THE RvMSING OF LAZARUS. 
 
 251 
 
 wc 
 
 are not to let sleop ; wo liavo what will raiso them up, and it 
 is our sacred duty and blessod pnvih'go to raise them up. 
 
 First, then, I remark, that Lazarus in his grave is an apt 
 type of the state in which men are naturally. Men are as dead 
 spiritually in their natural state, as Lazarus was dead physical- 
 ly when he lay in his grave four days. Dead in sin or through 
 sin is a scriptural description of men in their natural and un- 
 regenerated state. The Apostle Paul writing to the Ephesian 
 christians tells them how he found them spiritually when ho 
 came to them with the gospel ; they were in a state of spiritual 
 death. That splendid Asiatic city, as he found it, was a real 
 necropolis, a city of the dead ; — dead mcn'chants doing her 
 business, dead mechanics building her houses, dead farmers 
 ploughing her fields, dead priests ministering at her altars, 
 dead worshippers thronging her temples, the dead everywhere, 
 all dead. 
 
 And we are not to understand, T think, by the 
 apostle's use of the word dead, that ho intended to convey the 
 idea that Ephesus was a specially wicketl city, a city abandoned 
 to idolatry of the grossest kind, a city where society was 
 steeped in every vice and immorality. It was a wicked city, 
 and Paul found it so to his cost, but he does not necessirily 
 mean by the expressive phrase, dead in sin, that as a city it 
 had attained a notoriety beyond all others in wickedness. 
 That was not the case. As a city it had its virtuous people 
 so-called, and its vicious ones, its resp«xtable classes and its 
 criminal masses, and perhaps it had more than its share of the 
 criminal classes, for, as the temple of Diana was there, all sorts 
 of criminals fled to Ephesus to escape the justice that was after 
 them. 
 
 Every one not in Christ is spiritually dead. A man may be 
 living in every other respect, but in relation to Christ and the 
 higher duties of Christian living he is as dead as a dead man 
 is dead to the affairs and business of ordinaiy everyday life. 
 A])gel3 are singing sweetly of peace on earth and Heaven's 
 
25 2 
 
 THE RAISING OF LAZARUS. 
 
 i'i- I 
 
 II r 
 
 
 yoodwill to mon, l>ut tlio sjMiitually t]o:u] nic.n lica:.'^ none of it. 
 A blessed li;,'lit ji))ovo iIip, liilijhtriess of the su!i is shiiiii;;^ .I'.l 
 niound, hut the iii.im dcul in sin orfs it not. A new wuilil is 
 close to him with nil its •jjhjrious spiritual :ul\uiitat,'fs ami 
 jiii\ ih'ijcs, aiul it may he his as it is others', hut ho is in ii state 
 \vhei'(i he can lUMthei- piutit hy it nor (Mijoy it, for he is dead. 
 There was a time when man was not dead. Once he lived in 
 Kden, and talked with (lod, and heai-d the anju;els sini,'. I!ut 
 sin came, and death, and now he is dead- oh so dead ! 
 
 And spiritual dciath lik<« the d(«ath yonder at I»»'ihany turns 
 from bad to worse, from death to corruption. J)ead four* days 
 means more than dead. Deail one day is to be dead enou;j;h ; 
 dead two days is to be still more so, for there are degrees in 
 death : but to be dead four davs— dead ! dead ! df^ad ! Dk.\D ! — 
 how dead that is ! And yet all around about us i\re njen dead 
 in sin, not for days, but for years and years — twenty, thirty, 
 lifly, three-scoi'c-and-ten : and in not a few such cases corrup- 
 tion is far advanccid. AN'e cannot stand still in sin and death ; 
 we cannot hold our gi'ound, and Ijecomi^ luuthor better nor 
 worse. No ; we die, and die, day by day, and yeai* by year, 
 and '.irruption sets in, and grows as coriuption grows, and \vo 
 .'sometimes reach a stage so bad that there is but little of good 
 to hope for us. 
 
 Lazarus, so young, so full of promise, so gifted, is <lead. And 
 not the old only, the good foi" nothing, but the hope and i)r()mise 
 of our homes and churches and country are dead. AVe expect 
 so much of tlu.m, but they disapi»oint us. We say to ourselves : 
 *' wait till they are older and they will be wiser and better." 
 l>ut the older the worse. We look to them to do so much 
 for us, to be true to us in the dark days of life, to be a statl to 
 lean on in our old age, to carry forward to still greater results 
 the life-work we have been trying to do ; but alas ! they are a 
 grief of heart, a broken reed, a cruel disapi)ointment. And 
 tluM'eason is not far to seek — they are dead. What can the 
 dead do for us, for our country, for the church, for any cause 
 
 
 
It 
 
 TIIL RAISING OF LAZARUS. 
 
 253 
 
 And 
 
 )niise 
 
 ives : 
 
 AW." 
 
 much 
 ill to 
 'suits 
 ire a 
 Aiul 
 the 
 ?ause 
 
 
 u'lintovoi? Kuthinij that is ijoofl. The dead can only rot. Oh 
 Kid indeed, if the vouni,' men in <»ur homes and scliools jiro 
 dead to all that is trond, for as sueli they can ihi nothiiii^ for 
 ns I AVe love them, Ijut they do not lov(} us hack. W«> trust 
 them, and they fail us. We hope, hut our hope makes us 
 ashamed. Ah ! we have to bury tiio deail — bury them out of 
 our sight, f<)rget them. 
 
 Af,'ain, I remark, that the raising up of Lazarus from the 
 grave lets us see what can be done for the spiritually dead — 
 what we can do and cannot do. Wo can do this — we can 
 conduct the Christ to wliere the dead are, and wo can roll away 
 the stone from the 'grave's mouth ; but the powei- that wakes 
 up the dead in sin to the life that is in God is Divine power. 
 
 Ignorance is one of the great stones in the way of men's 
 spiritual rising, and in the way too of God's word of power 
 icaching them, very nmch in their way, and we can roll that 
 stone away. It may take quite an edbrt on our part, and may 
 require no little patience, l>ut it can be done, and much is done 
 when that is done. 
 
 Then evil habits are in men's way, and wo can do something 
 towards their removal. How intemperance bars the way to 
 all hope and help for men, and wo may not be doing what wo 
 might to roll away that great stonf; from the rloor of our 
 brother-man's .sepulelii'e ! Ah! our boasted mocleralir :i, our 
 wicked influence and example, our cruel teaching, nh\, 'lO 
 rather holding it ther(\ We niay be sitting with all the weight 
 of our position upon it, and not putting our breast to it and 
 helping to roll it away. You say, " I can drink or let it alone ; " 
 but you do not let it alone, you drink, and .so weak men do 
 what you do, and are lost. You sit securely on the edge of 
 the hell where men are going down by the ten-thousand, and 
 you drink in moderation, and you smack your lips and enjoy 
 the good of it without enduring the woe of it ; but you had 
 better take care, for some day you may tritle a little too far 
 and fal' in. I want to keep away niyself as fui' from danger 
 
 i< 
 
2.54 
 
 Tire RAISING OF I AZARUS. 
 
 i li 
 
 f 
 
 w 
 
 III 
 
 as T cnn, and my counsol to others is to do tlio sarnr, and T 
 think t!i\t tliat is th(; teaching of the Word of Ciod, Tlidn-st 
 fiort of self-control, I humbly aver, is not to see just how far T 
 can sjifely imbibe from the poisoned wine-cup, but to i,'o the 
 whole length, and be out and out alxstinent. Accoi-ding to 
 some, self-control is to drink so far and then stop with modera- 
 tion, but is it not also self-control not to <lrink at all ? 1 I'ead 
 here that I am to abstain from (jveiy appearance of evil, aiul 
 drinking from the cup of drunkenness is admitted on all hands 
 to be, in these times of ours, an awful evil, a curse under which 
 the whole land is groaning ; and therefore, as I reason it out 
 for myself, I am to abstain from that form (A evil, not merely 
 contin] myself in it, but so control myself with regai'd tf) it as 
 toalxstaiu from it altogether. I am not to look upon the red 
 v^ine in the drinking-cup. I am to loathe it. 1 am not t»» 
 touch it, as that which is dangerous to health, and a deadly 
 [)oison to the soul. Oh this great stone at the door of the 
 sepulchre where lie dead and buried men's .souls, their hope and 
 hapj)iiiess, their good and usefulness — this stone that ytands in 
 the way of the church's work in the world, and all true pro- 
 gress, l.'t us do what we can to roll it away ! 
 
 Then our indifference may be another stone barring the door 
 of sepulchres. What we can do in other things when we want 
 to reach men and rouse them ! We goto them where they are. 
 We clijid) fence.s, and wade through new-ploughed fields, and 
 get to them, when we want their votes. We talk hours to 
 them, and make them almost whether they will or not, buy 
 whit we have to .sell, vote for our side in {)olitics, insure their 
 life, subscribe for a book they have no use foi-, and so on. 
 But when it i.s their raising up to a new life of faith and love, 
 we care not. What cruel indifl'eience everywhere ! And .so 
 men are not raised up. Why is it those strt^etsai-e full of <Iead 
 men ? Is it because there is no power in the Word, no might 
 in the gospel of Go<rs Son ? No ; but the stones are not rolled 
 away, and the word of Divine power cannot get at them. No 
 
 )l!: 
 
THE RAISING OF LAZARUS. 
 
 "3 7 
 
 s to 
 
 l)uy 
 lit'ii" 
 
 nil. 
 
 ()\f* 
 
 so 
 
 ii'''i'i 
 
 ht 
 
 lllcd 
 
 N 
 
 (> 
 
 prenchor can lu'lp men who arc not whore he can reach them 
 with his messages. It is ours to do what can be done to brini; 
 Christ, the resurrectiori and life, face to face with oui" (h'ad. 
 And we are not doing that, and the dead are still dead, ami 
 corruption still goes on. 
 
 Now, I do not know how tlie dead are raised up. T know 
 in(k'e<l that removing the stone from th\» grave's mouth is ;i 
 small fiart of it, but, you will notice, that, small a part as it is, 
 there is no raising up of the dead without it. The mighty 
 Christ waits till our poor weak human part is done Ix'fore he 
 does his great part, You are asking pei-haps, with no little 
 concern, why it is the dead in your home, the dead on your 
 side of the street and in your end of the city, the dead y«»u 
 have to do with and are interested in, are not being raised up. 
 But have you done your part ? Perhaps your indifference is in 
 the way, your careless li^"ing, your worldiiness, you yourself, 
 and these stones must be rolled away before Christ can do 
 anything for the dead you have to do with. One thing is clear, 
 if the dead are not raised up the fault is ours, not his. 
 
 You see yonder at liethany what an etlbrt it is for the by- 
 standejs, perhaps half a dozen of them, to roll away the stone. 
 They lift and pull, and have a great deal to say, and perhaps 
 ' ome little wrangling as to how b(,'.st to do it, bcfoi'e they make 
 out to do it, and Christ lets them pull and lift and wrangle 
 away till they <lo it, and after a while they succeed. And thfi: 
 when their part is done, ill or well, soon or late, plea.santly or 
 unpleasmtly, he steps forwar(l, and with a word, and without 
 the least effort, he does his part, and the dead is raised up. 
 
 And so it is in the raising up of the spii-itually dead. We 
 have GUI' part to <lo, and what a time there is /ibout it. What 
 pulling and hauling at the stones in the way. What a wrangle 
 jwid tangle we get into with one another about the doing of <tur 
 part. We pull .against one another, and struggles and scramble, 
 and shout an<l find fault, and make such a fuss. And some- 
 times there is a gieat ecclesiastical row over the rolling away 
 
256 
 
 THE RAISING OF LAZARUS. 
 
 ■ 
 
 ill 
 
 of tliP stonos, n,nfl tlio work is luucli liindfM'od. But wli'^n our 
 part li.'is been done, even though so imperfectly, Christ come » 
 ;uul easily rais(\s up our dead. ITe simply speaks and it is 
 <loiie. Men wake up that we had ceased to hope for, men that 
 we thought had g(»ne too far ever to be saved, and tiiey live 
 anew. By scores and Imndreds sometimes they wake up. and 
 come forth fron) the graves of their sins. 
 
 Again, I i-emark, that the raising up of Lazarus lets us see 
 that all is not done for men they need to have done for them 
 when they are raised up. 
 
 You see how it is with Lazarus. The power that mysteri- 
 ously and mightily turns his death into life for him, and his 
 corruption into healthful vitality, does not rend off from him 
 the cerements of the tomb. Something is left for loving human 
 hands to do to complete his resurrection. "Loose him," the 
 Master says, " and let him go." 
 
 And as with Lazarus, so with the dead in sin. All is not 
 done for them when they are raised up. They are still en- 
 tangled more or less with their old workMife, the habits they 
 had formed, and they need our help to get rid of them. The 
 putting off of tlie old and the putting on of the new, is not at 
 once done. It is often a slow tedious process. A man does 
 not at once leap up out of the grave of sin where he has been 
 companionating with the worms of corruption for years, and 
 serve God with all the glory and power of his resurrection-life. 
 No; he comes up, crawls up, little by little, and others have to 
 help him, and bear with him, till he can do for himself. 
 
 Yt)U expect a man, when he pi'ofesses to have passed from 
 death to life, to be so good, so free from all the entanglements 
 of the world. But when you see him weakly doing things not 
 very consistent with his profession, and yielding to induh^'fMices 
 like others, you denounce him as a hypocrite, and you would 
 expel him from the church and all that is good, if you luul 
 your will. But not so with the Master. Ife wouM say, 
 
 " Loose him and let him go. Loose him and help him, 
 and pray for him. Give him a chance for life." 
 
 V\v 
 
 I 
 
THE RAISING (yP I.AZARUS. 
 
 257 
 
 M 
 
 lot at 
 
 (Iocs 
 
 been 
 
 ami 
 
 4ife. 
 
 Live to 
 
 from 
 
 not 
 t(»ncps 
 Uould 
 
 had 
 
 say, 
 
 T'ty 
 
 What a trouble we all were to those v.ho hail to do with us 
 when we woke up to this natural life of ours. How our patient 
 jnothers worked with us and worried over us, how our teachers 
 almost despaired of being able to teach us anything, and how 
 all who had anything to do with us were worn out of all 
 patience with us, and yet we have come to be of some account 
 perhaps. I do not know that we are worth all the trouble we 
 took to bring us up, but we like to think wo are. If, then, 
 our natural manhood cost so much to make it what it is, let us 
 be patient with the spiritual development of the born again* 
 The spiritual resurrection is a growth. It is a slow patient 
 struggle upward, many a fall back, perhaps, many a seemingly 
 fi'uitless effort ; hut at last the christian comes to where he can 
 do without the help of others. You see him giving help, not 
 asking it. And he comes to be the joy of many, the glory of 
 the church. Oh the wonders of grace, the might of Christ'^ 
 life-giving word ! 
 
 Thus, in conclusion, we see what hope there is for the dead 
 
 in sin, the very worst of men. Christ's word is still mighty — 
 
 mighty to raise the dead. Even in my cold lips it is mighty. 
 
 Let me go on preacliing and teaching and praying it as I can, 
 
 for it must tell, and dead men will be raised up. And you 
 have the word of (rod too ; speak it then, as you can, to those 
 around you, the children at your knee, your neighbor across the 
 street, the poor and tempted you would help, the reckless and 
 firofane who sneer and scoff. Let Christ speak to men by you. 
 Your lips for his words, your tongues for his truth ! And speak 
 as he would speak — not flippantly and lightly, but gravely and 
 wisely — not putting on airs and making an ado, but with « 
 tender burning love in your heart, and there will be good done. 
 And we all need waking and raising up. We have a little 
 life perhaps, but it is not the abundant life that God wants 
 us to have, the life that is full of work for Jesus. We are like 
 Lazarus yonder with his grave-clothes on, and only half out of 
 his tomb. Let us shake off from us the bands of death, the 
 bondage of corruption, and be alive indeed. Hear the voice of 
 Jesus speaking to us with w»i'ds that send a thrill of holy life 
 and rapture throughout our whole being : *' Lazarus, eome 
 forth !'■ 
 
 :♦ ' 
 
 y 
 
 
 
 ■h 
 
 
 *' < 
 
 
 ^A 
 
 
 Hi 
 
 
 r- ] 
 
 
 
 
 il 
 
1 i 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 *' Be thou faithful ujito death, and I ivill give thee the crown 
 of /ife."— llEV. II. 10. 
 
 TT MOXG famous paintings in foreign galleries is said to be 
 Jrj DUO called " Faithful unto Deatii." The scene is laid in 
 Poii:}>'ii the dreadful night of its destruction by an eruption of 
 ]M(juiit Vesuvius. The city is being overwhelmed in a deluge 
 of tir(\ Down the street rages and foams a river of red-hot 
 lava, r'ld poor wretches are seen plunging into it in their vain 
 cH'orts to escape, and are borne down l)y the rushing fiery flood. 
 INIultitudes are seen in the distance throwing up their arms and 
 crowding one another down in a wild panic of fear and rage. 
 The atmospliere is filled with smoke, falling stones and cinders, 
 ])ursting explosives, the debris of the city's ruin. It is an 
 awful scene the artist portrays, a chaos of agony and liorror. 
 In the foreground of the picture stands on guard at the gate 
 of the city an old-time Roman soldier. He is fully armed. 
 On his left arm is his shield ; in liis right hand he holds a spear ; 
 on his thigh his sword is gii'ded ; upon his head his helmet. He 
 is a man of splendid physique, every inch a soldier. Before 
 and around him the citizens are fleeing, or trying to, in the 
 wildest disorder. They are leaviufj everything — their city, 
 
 III ff ''* ji* 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH, 
 
 259 
 
 rage. 
 
 IS an 
 horror. 
 
 I gate 
 [•med. 
 
 jear 
 it. H 
 
 e 
 
 iBoforc 
 I in the 
 city, 
 
 homos, property, friends, pleasures, and they have but ono 
 thouglit, how to escape. IJut the brave Koinan, wlio is a 
 foreiijner perhaps, and who could so easily escape, if he chose 
 to, being at the gate of tlie city, remains, as if rooted to the 
 spot where he stands, iiokling duty to be more sacred than life. 
 Already the waves of lava are splashing their fiery foam around 
 his feet, and a tempest is raining down upon him ; but there he 
 stands, erect, alert, heroic, true, self-forg(3tful, hVjking out, not 
 without interest and anxiety, over the judgment-wasted city. 
 He has indeed his own thoughts of things, his own feelings 
 with regard to things. He is not stone, a statue of cold 
 chiselled marble. Ho breathes, feels, thinks, reasons, remem- 
 bers, hopes, fears, despairs. Perhaps he thinks of a neither, or 
 a wife and child, far away, and he wonders wiiat thvy will do 
 without him. Life too 'lis its interests to him, and the future 
 its awful mysteries. And it is hard to stand there and burn — 
 buiii for those who would not burn a hair of their head for him. 
 It is hard to st;u\d there holding a spear, and let the tides of 
 reddiot lava surge up around I'.im. lUit duty is sacred, and 
 like a hero he will die at his post ; he will yielil himself to be a 
 martyr to what he believes to be his duty, a martyr to faith- 
 fulness — ^^ faithful unto death V^ Brave old llomanl What a 
 lesson thou teachest us as to what we should b(> as christians ! 
 Now, we are exhortetl here to be faithful with the Herman 
 soldiers heroic faithfulness ; we are to ije faithful unto death. 
 Discredit has been cast on the historic allusion of the painting. 
 It has been questioned whether any such incident ever occurred. 
 It is held to be only the clever thought of the artist, the creation 
 of his Mondrous brush. But at all events the thought is a 
 wortiiy one, and it is felt to be true to all that is best within 
 us, and no one can look upon the work of ail witlkout being 
 the braver and better for it. There is a faithfulness that would 
 sooner die than betray, a'ld it is yours and mine to be thus 
 faithful: «* Be thou faithful unto death." 
 
 I. Christian Faitiifulvkss : Faithfulness stands near the 
 head, if not at the very head, of the \irtues. It may bi'^ siud 
 
 \ 1 
 
26o 
 
 FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 
 to be raado up of all tho virtuos blondetl intoono. "You cannot 
 have faithfulness without faith, and love and hope are not want- 
 ing here. Faithfulness implies unswerving uncompromising prin- 
 ciple. It plants its feet on the rock of truth, and it stands 
 there four-square to every wind that blowB. It has a creed , 
 it believes something, and what it believes it believes with a 
 faith that cannot be easily shaken. Faithfulness too implies 
 courage, determination, strength of purpose. Dithcultios cannot 
 deter it. Dangers cainiot affright it. Not even death itself 
 can turn it from its sacrcd puqiose. It can burn, but not turn ; 
 it can die, but not fly. 
 
 Faithfulness is ,iO strong and brave, that, single-handed, it 
 can face a host, defeat an army. It is often, usually indeed, 
 in the minority, the staunch supporter of a cause that the people 
 are not v;ith, the world dead against. But the popularity or 
 unpopularity of a cause is nothing to faithfulness. It may be 
 wrong, but it wants to be right, and when it finds itself wrong, 
 it is swift to put itself right, and it is loud in denunciation of 
 tho wrong it finds itself guilty of. How the wind blows, 
 whither the tide sets, is neither here nor there to faitiifulness. 
 It asks not what the people say, where public opinion veers. 
 It takes its own course, turning to neither left nor right, but 
 pressing straight on. Nothing is more criticized than faithful- 
 ness, and yet to nothing is the world more indebted than to it 
 for whatever of good it has. How faithfulness loves when it 
 loves ; but when it hates, with what an unquenchable fire its 
 hate burns. But it is slow to hate, and swift to love. It wants 
 to love r.'ither than hate, so unselfish is it. Such is faithfulness, 
 and though we may not always agi'ee with it, nor like the way 
 it does things, yet we cannot but respect it for its devotion, its 
 heroic unselfishness, its bi-ave truth-telling and right doing. 
 
 Now, christian faithfulness is the highest type of this noble 
 virtue, jvst as the Christ is the highest type of man. To be 
 faithful as he was is to have christian faithfuhiess. In him we 
 have the ideal of every virtue, every grace, every excellence. 
 
FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 261 
 
 noble 
 
 ?o be 
 
 lim we 
 
 llence. 
 
 TTis fjiithfuhioss shrinks from noduty, shirks no re.?ponsi1tility, 
 fttiips at no (litlic'ulty, fe.ai's no foe, yiukls to no temptation, 
 betrays no trust, <1()ps no wroni^. He loves so clisintoi'cs^^edly, 
 Kaci'ilices so cheerfully, does all that can be done so willinj^ly, 
 and, to crown all, seals liis faithfulness with his own blood. 
 Tlius Christ's is a faithfulness uuto death. 
 
 And we are to be thus frdthful. We are to do our duty 
 where we are, as lie did his where he was. We are not to be 
 HHtisfied with low attainments in ^race, any sort of faitlifulness ; 
 we are to Ije like him. It is not always easy to be faithful. 
 He did not find it so, and we are not going to lind it so any 
 more than he did, if we want to be what he was. It cost him 
 Ins- life to be faithful, and in other days and otlier lands it 
 cost many of his true people their life. They had to be true 
 to him, and true to the truth they held, true to the re'igion 
 they professed, true to their own convictions of what was 
 right, in the face of death, and they died rather than be un- 
 true. And even to-day, we may know, to our cost and sorrow, 
 what it is to be faithful. But let it cost what it will, we are 
 to 1)6 faithful, 30 faithful. " iJe thou faithful unto death." 
 
 II. How WE AUE TO BE Faitiiful : I have been trying to 
 tell you in my poor words what faithfulness is, what a noble 
 thing it is ; now I want to tell you, if the Spirit of the Lord 
 will be with me, how to work it out into actual life results. 
 It is one thing, you know, to talk about faithfulness, to preach 
 it, to extol in eloquent words from pulpit or platform its 
 heioic devotion to duty and all that ; but it is another thing, 
 and quite a different thing, to be, where you and I are, faith- 
 ful,, with the faithfulness that we like to talk about and praise, 
 faithful with the faithfulness tliat would sooner die as the 
 faithful Christ died and as the faithful martyr dies than l)e 
 unfaithful. Now, it is to be faithful, not talk about faithful- 
 ness, our Lord lays upon you and me here. He wants us to 
 iH^Uize the thing. l[e comes to me where I sUmd to-day, and 
 to you, my hearer, where you are, and he says: "Be thou — 
 
2 62 
 
 FAITHFUL UXTO DEATH. 
 
 ■'11 
 
 thoUy O prr.icher, with my words in tliy noutli, the intorof-'ts 
 of the church uiid of all that concorns the spiritual and eter- 
 nal wcll-bcini;; of my ]ieople so nmch in thy hands — ilioii, O 
 cliristian, with the vows of (he Lord upon thy soul, my 
 character in thy keeping — thou, O business-man, with the 
 business interests of the city and of the land weighed and 
 measured by tliy scales and yanl-stick — thuu, O public-man, 
 with the counti-y's pniS})erity and character as a sacred trust 
 connnitted to thee — be thou faithful unto death." 
 
 And here opens u> i'> me, as you will readily perp( ivt;, a 
 -wider field thirt T r i jo >ver in the liii ited time at my dis- 
 posal. All T ■ •. h<'; " to do is to indicate in a general sort of 
 way what ii is un in our widely different positions and 
 
 relations, to i.e faitliful. i le theme is one that has the xin-y 
 widest api)lication, and it is as searching, minute, individual, 
 particular, as it is wide, far-reaching, general. It concerns 
 the Queen high up on the throne ; if possible, it concei'ns her 
 almost mont than any one else in the empire, for she is so 
 great and high. Jt has to do with the mighty statesmen who 
 are at the helm of national aflairs, and into wliose hands are 
 ^.ut such vast interests. It tells our governors, our judges 
 our legislators, our civic authorities, our municipal olKcers, our 
 jnagist rates, our professional people, our business men, the 
 laboi'ing-dasses, tlie errand-boys that carry our messages, the 
 liumble domestics that kindle our fires and tidy up our rooms 
 and cook our meals ; — it tells them all, in a word of two 
 syllables, %vhat they are to be, how they are to do their work 
 and fill their position, and that one word is — -faithful. " Bo 
 thou faithful — ^^ faithful unto death." 
 
 AVhat a word for me where I am ! I want to get at tlic 
 fulness of its meaning. I want to realize it in my ministry. 
 It is something else than to be popular, something else than to 
 be successful. To be faithful may be to be unpopular, to be un- 
 successful. Faithful preaching has driven men out of the 
 pulpit, set the people against them, roused up popular fury so 
 
I ■ 
 
 FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 263 
 
 tlj.it it was too hot for tliom to stav. Tims it was witli tho 
 Christ, .and with many anotlior. Oh it may be want of * ut- 
 .spiikon faithfuhiess on our part that we aro not m<iro (hMiounc- 
 fd and criticized and abused tlian we arc ! 
 
 Y« •! ask perhaps : "Why docs the prr'acher speaK out a:, 
 he does sometimes, slashing tho evils right and left with I - 
 lash words, hi , ill-timed rem.irks, when it would be so much 
 easier for I im, and more to his own personal advantage and 
 the church's interest, to hold his peace ? Let him preacli the 
 gospel ; let him mind his own business. What has he to do 
 with questions of civic interest and political impoitance — tem- 
 perance, commercial dishonesty, bribery, a legislation that 
 means perhaps the most l)are-faced attempt to cover up cor- 
 luption and legalize rascality? He i. in " ig a dog by the 
 ears, and he will sufler for it." 
 
 But here I am, as yonder Roman . t ho gate of the judg- 
 ment-wasted city, a watchman set up '■ .fo on this tower to 
 watch, and as a watchman T am ho e to be faithful. If I see 
 danger threatening, wickedness at ,/ k, inteniperance like a 
 tiery flood surging through the streets, then I am to lift up 
 my voice like a trumpet, and tell the people their sin and 
 «langer. I am not to spare — .spare neither myself nor* the 
 people. To sleep when I should Ijo awake, to be siltiit when 
 I should cry aloud, is to be a traitor. AVoe to Israel when 
 lier watchmen are dumlj dogs ! Oli to be faithful with a 
 faithfulness that would sooner die at the stake for the ti'uth's 
 sake than betray ! I hear the ^NFaster saying to nw as I stand 
 liere Sabbath after Sabbath with his words in my mouth, and 
 so much at stake whether I speak or hold my peace, " I'e 
 thou faithful unto death." 
 
 And, my hearer, this word of the ^Master is for you as well 
 as for me. The other Saljbath you sat there before the Lord, 
 and with the .symbols of his faithfulness to you in your hand, 
 you said with an eloquent silence: "OCreat ^NFaster, I will 
 l>e faithful to Thee as Thou host been to me. I will Ix? true 
 
-'« 
 
 1 
 
 1 ■ 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 2f»4 
 
 FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 to all that is true. I will give thi.s rifjht han<l to no wroni;- 
 doing, this tongue to no evil-spcakiiig, this lif(! tliat Thou hast 
 redeemed by Thy bloo<l to no unworthy purpose, to no base 
 service. So help nie God." 
 
 Y(»u ai*e a parent perhap.s, and as such what it i.s to you and 
 yours to be £(iithful. Y«jur child's future, its forever, dep(;nd.'s 
 KO much on it. In your hands its wondrous uiuU'volopfnl bcini; 
 is like a piece of helj)less plastic clay to be .-shaptMl, wrouijht, 
 developed, almost as you will, and what your faithful ti'ainin:.^ 
 can do for it, or the want of it, the neglect of it, can undo. < > 
 parent, bo thou faithful in this great trust entrusted to thee I 
 
 Not a few of you are in the employ of t)th(?rs in various ways. 
 You are servants, apprentices, shop boys and shopgirls, clerks, 
 and so on. Now, the Master's word is, " P>e faithful." And 
 what is it to be faithful 1 It is to tell no lies — to tell no lies 
 even though your master or mistress want you to tell lies foi- 
 them. It is to do no wrong — to do no wrong even though your 
 eonployer wants you to do wrong in the interests of his Itusiness. 
 It is to be honest as the day, straight in every transaction. It 
 is to do the best you can, shirking no duty, not sparing your- 
 self, not doing as little as you can for the w.iges you get, but 
 always doing the best you can. It is to take your stand oi\ 
 the right, and stan<l there. 
 
 To be faithful may get you into trouble with unprinciple*! 
 masters. They may want you to do what they would not do 
 themselves — some dirty mean business. They may want you 
 to do what your conscience tells you is wrong, and the word of 
 (lod condemns. They may want you to break the Sabbath, 
 to do what neither necessity nor mercy reijuires you to do. 
 iUit let them know, gently indeetl, but firmly, that your idea 
 of being f.-wthful to them is to do right, and they will respect 
 you all the more for it. 
 
 A member of this church told me, perhaps a month ago, 
 that she had had a letter from her son far away on the Pacitie 
 Coastj and among other things he to'd his mother how Liis. 
 
i(»t do 
 It you 
 lord of 
 
 |to do. 
 
 idea 
 L'spect 
 
 •^2;o> 
 tiicitic 
 I.V lu* 
 
 FAITinri. UNTO DIUTII. 
 
 7C>$ 
 
 
 christian fjiithfulnoss had l)t'(Mj |iut to a t(»st. Ifis cinjiloyt'r 
 said totlic liaiids when Satiudav id'dit caujf, " I shall rx'n'ct 
 yitu all hack to-moiiow as I hav»» a lari^f ordcf to till." Thn 
 y<)un;4 man said iiothiii;!,' at the inoini'iit, Imt as In* was Ljoiii'^ 
 away ho took occasioii to say to his<'m)»lt«yci' that lu' would not 
 !>(• Iiack next dav as he did not ht'licvc iu woikin ' on Suudav 
 unless tluM'e was a necessity for it. And lu! kept his word. On 
 Monday niornin*; h(^oxpucte<l tohc disinissod. lUit In- was not 
 dismissed, and the rest of the hands told him that his faithful- 
 ness to fu'incipio had won for hini the ('iindoycr's respect a.s 
 tln.'ir yicldin;,' to his will had not done for thrni. 
 
 Now, it does not always turn out thus iiappily with tin* 
 faithful. Hut in the end christian fai'htulness pays, and in 
 the njime of your Master and niiim I would say to you ; " l>e 
 faithful even though you may be .saciitieed for youi" faithful, 
 ness ; even thoui^h in trying to do light you may lose youi* 
 situation, vour lite." 
 
 Jem Ingleow tells a story to this etleet. In one of the 
 islanils oil' the noi'th of Scotland stands a house in whose 
 wintlow a light is seen every night. Years ago one dark night 
 a Hsherman making his way to the boat-landing near his home, 
 mi.ssed the channel, and was cast away on the reef. His body 
 was borne to his sad home next morning. It was the want of 
 a light that had lost him. His daughter, a girl of fifteen or .so, 
 vowed over the dead body of her father, that no one would ever 
 again be wrecked on that reef for want of a li-dit. So th.at 
 night she lit a lamp, and put it in the window, and from that 
 date till now, some forty or tifty years, it has not faile<I to 
 shine. She is an old woman no\v, but slie sits and .spins and 
 sings, and all night long through the weary years she keeps her 
 light shining out over the dark waters. She does this without 
 fee or reward. Thus what a beautiful faithfulness is hers. 
 
 Now, sonui of us occuj\v pronunent })laces in the church, in 
 society. AVe are placed high up in positions of ti-ust and 
 responsibility. We have great interests committed to us. It 
 
 • L 
 
 !ih 
 
T" 
 
 266 
 
 FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 is ours porliaps to train the youn^. It in ours to touch tli«» 
 poople. It is ours by pon and t(»n;^u«' to sliino far out ovt'i* lantl 
 and soa. Men look to us for guidanco, counsel, help. Tlicy 
 want light, and we havc^ light. Oh ! do wo sloop, and lot tho 
 light in our window burn low, whilo mon around us, and 
 bocauso of our nogloct, are drifting to thoir doath? Unfaitlr 
 fulnosson our pai-t — how eruol it is ! 
 
 The lack of faithfulness in public mon is an alarming feature 
 of the day. Kockloss charges are sometim(»s niado foi" mere 
 jtarty j)uip(tses, cruelly mach? indeed, against government <>Hi- 
 cials, meti high in power in the state; but the very fact that 
 grave charges are made; indicates surely a suspicion, a distrust, 
 that ought not to be. I trembh? fur the future of our country. 
 As I look at it, it seems to me, that both Dominion and Local 
 politics are fast coming to bo anAugc^an stabl(»,and [ fear there 
 ^s no Hercules near who has the courage and might to turn in 
 upon the wide corruption a river of real reform. O ye public 
 men, ye ruU^rs of the people, y(^ who have power and into whose 
 liands are put the destinies of oui- fair country, bo faithful men, 
 though you should be sacrificed, and have to die politically for 
 your faithfulnciss. The day will come when a grateful countiy 
 will build a monument to your momoi'y, lliso above personal 
 and party interests, and do your duty let come what will. Oh 
 for faithfulness in high phices ! 
 
 III. The Rewaui) of Faithfulness : It was the custom to 
 crown a victor in the old-time games with a laurel-leaved 
 wreath or crown, and such a crown was regarded as a groat 
 honor, a reward worth all the eflbrt and skill put forth to win 
 it. But then so soon the athlete's crown faded, and all it 
 symbolized as well — the might, the prowess, the skill, the lleet- 
 footedness on the race-course, and whatever else he was noted 
 for. 
 
 Now, there is an allusion to that old custom here. The 
 faithful christian is a sort of athlete. He is a wrestler, for he 
 has to wrestle with devils. He is a runner, for he has to run 
 
FAITIIFL'L UNTO DEATH. 
 
 267 
 
 tho cll^^•^t^,•ul rnco. TTo is n (I'Jitcr, lirivinff to fi^ht the £»on(l 
 tit^'lit of faith. Ami lu- must ai,'f)Mi/i', if ho is to ovorcomi*. No 
 jtlace for oaso and iiuhilufnco in Christ's sorvioc. Tt is faith- 
 fuhipss to tho rnd, to the last i^Msjt, to tho d.ath, if the crown 
 • if life is to l«' his. " Mf thou faithful unto <lt'a(h, and I will 
 j^ivo tln'o tin* crown of life" 
 
 Tn the old LiMMKvs the suro(•s^fuI coniiictitor was oalh'd to tho 
 front, and th(\judi,'t', with words in |»rais»' of his success, put 
 the laurel Icavod crown upon his head, atul it was a pioud 
 moment for him. It was worth yc.ii-s of .sclf-sacrilin- and 
 )niL,dity effort to be thus crowned. Tt mii;ht cost him and it 
 not unfre<juently did Sfi — such an elloi t. that he miudit iicmm* 
 run at,'ain, never wicsth? more, that he nnirht have to die ; still, 
 all it had cost him — his uf^ony and self -sacrilice, his life even — 
 all was swallowed up in the joy of the i;rand victory. 
 
 Jlut how nuich j^reater the reward of chiislian faithfulness. 
 Tt is not always easy to bo faithful, to stand up for Christ in 
 a i,'0(lless careless woi-ld, to walk with unspotted <;arnM'nts 
 amid the pollutions of .society, to speak tho truth when a lie is 
 w.int(Ml, to do the ri^ht when the wron;; is so popular, to l>e 
 brave and f^ood. lUit a <,'reat reward is to bo his who is faith- 
 ful. At the jud^^ment-.seat of Christ he will be honored. In 
 the presence of tho a.ssendiled universe*, the.JudLje of all, with 
 his own hands, will crown him with tho crown of life. ( )thei' 
 crowns fade, but tho christian's crown will be an amai-anthine 
 crown, an unfadin;^' ,i,'l'"'y> etei-nal life. Oh th.at moment's joy 
 will make him forijjet forever all he had to suffer and .sacrifice 
 in the way of his duty ! Men will see then, as they do not 
 .seem to see now, how blind thoy were to tlunr own best 
 interests, what a cruel mistake they made for themselves, when 
 ^'•r the sake of ease, or j:;ain, or some wretched world-intere.st 
 or other, they wore unfaithful, and .so lost their crown. 
 
 O niy hearer, be thou faithful. How wearing it is to do and 
 do through the years where you are, to bear and boar, to weep 
 and work and be so ill-rewarded for all you are trying to be 
 
 i 
 
HI 
 
 268 
 
 FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 
 
 and do! You feel sometimes like giving it up, and not trying 
 to be good and faithful any more. You see how it prospers 
 with others perhaps who are not faitiiful, how full their parse, 
 how loaded their table with every luxury, how guy and grand, 
 and then you look at your own hard lot, and your heart faints. 
 But look across the years to the great Day of Account, and see 
 ■what it is yours to be. You see Jesus on his glittering Throne, 
 and in his hand a crown. That crown is for you, faithful one. 
 Let his word cheer thee, nerve thee to better braver doin"-- and 
 bearing fo-' him : '* Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give 
 thee a crown qfli/e." 
 
XXV. 
 
 " If thfi iron he blunt, niuf one >h not ichH the fithje, then tnusl 
 he /nit tumore strent/th.'^- Vjclks. x. K). 
 
 SICIt.MONS liavt* boon found in stones .iiid ti<*os ; this one 
 oiiiiie to ine out in the hay field one day. My father and 
 ))n»thers wei-e hand-niow ini,' a rough piece of ;j[rounti, nnd I waM 
 tliere to help, or perha; s hinder. T took my father's seytho to 
 ell liini and amuse nivself, and followed mv ln'otlxMs across 
 
 low once 
 
 aa( 
 
 I I 1 
 
 lave 
 
 8p 
 
 the field as well as I could. I could n 
 conceit t'nou;j:h left in me to think 1 can mow still. After 
 mowinij a certain distance acro.ss the field keeping sli-i)ke with 
 one another, we returned to the starting-place carrying our 
 scythe.s, where there was a concert of whetting for another 
 ellbrt. It was not long liowever befoi-e T mowecl into a stone 
 l}/<ng concealed in the grass. It wa.*^ my unskilfulness, oi* 
 inattentiitn, that did it, and 1 fouml that nmch whetting ami 
 increa.se<l strengtli on my part were neces.sary to do the san»o 
 anioutit of woik I had been doin*'. This brouglit the te.\t to 
 my mind and I went on turning it over in my thoughts anrl so 
 
 Kh 
 
 I 
 
 lap' .1 out the .sernion } am going to preach to-mglit 
 
 li t( 
 
 With 
 
 God's blessing it nuiy be a iielp to us in the highei' matters of 
 the kingdom. It may teach us the truth, preacii t<» us thr 
 
1- . 
 
 270 BLUNT TOOLS. 
 
 p).spol, i,Mvo US liii,'hor ideas of iluty-doin^ and cliristian liviui,'. 
 It is a blessed sj)iritual use I want to tui'n it to, and it is for 
 suc'li a uso it is here. 
 
 And first, you and T, my liearers, as individual christian 
 workers, and this church, are tools of some sort for llie Master's 
 use — a scythe perhaps, a reaping-hook, an axe, a hoe, a spade, 
 a plou;,di, a swoi'd, a tool of some sort. 
 
 ^\'e ari' not all made alike, nor for the same purpose. I 
 think it would be a mistake, a teri'ihle i)lunder, and tlu; world 
 and church's loss, if we were all scythes or swords, all sj)a(U's 
 oi' plouLjIis, all ax«^s and ad/es, all chisels and gouges, ^\'e want 
 all s<»its of tools in a world such as ours, for there are all sorts 
 of work to be done. ho not despise me because I am a p!oui;h 
 pIouLjIiioLC up th(> fallow-ground, and let me not despise you 
 becau^f \()U are an axe to hew down the tangled wild-woods. 
 Theie aie tools in use I neither know the names of nor the 
 purposes they are for. And there are peoph; in the i-hurch, 
 ••uid r am pu/./le<l to know what they aie made for, what use 
 they are serving, and because I do not know, 1 am disposecl to 
 think they are of no use wjiatever, and the church, and the 
 woilij loo, would be better without them than withtluMu. lUit 
 the (!nd who made them knows, and some<iay itwilll)e known 
 why they are, and it will be found they ai'e grandly useful. 
 
 <>iie tool is dull iron, am)thor bi-ight brass, a third glittering 
 steel, a fourth shining silver or bi-illiantgold. It is not always 
 the i-oiiimonplace tool that is the least useful, nor is the brightest 
 the be>r. We all want tlie silver or the gold knife. It takes 
 the eyi'. looks well. lUit for real ust* and (>very-day purjutses, 
 and for standing the wear and tear of use, give me a plain 
 steel knife. 
 
 Ami the silver-tongued oi-ator, the golden-mouthed pi'cacher, 
 e\ t'ryl'ody runs after, and wants to hear, and praises ; but when 
 it comes to real good-iloing, the hai'd and long pull that lifts up 
 the world and saves souls, it is the iron anil steel that men 
 dcs]iise that do it. Let us not bury ourselves because we cannot 
 
BI.UNT TOOLS. 
 
 271 
 
 \' ! 
 
 (Uo 
 tl 
 
 U' 
 
 I Jut 
 
 ;ii()NViv 
 
 1 1 ways 
 •htcst. 
 
 t;il< 
 
 cs 
 
 [loses, 
 plain 
 
 Iwlu'ii 
 
 "is up 
 
 men 
 
 liniiut 
 
 .vliinc. W(^ I'Jin do, and tliat is hotter than to sliiiio. Wo despise 
 not the shining ones in prominent places, hut the shining tliat 
 we admire most is the shining that comes of nmch use. Let 
 ine shine because T jdough so nuich, Ixnause I reap so many 
 golden sheaves, because I am kept so busy. 
 
 I5ut, secondly, it is of the blunt tool I am to speak specially. 
 You know what it is to mow with a blunt scythe, to cut with a 
 l)lunt a.\e, to saw with a Ijlunt saw, to do your work with a 
 bUmt tool. You cannot do your work nearly as easily nor as 
 .satisfactorily for yourself. And indeed he would be a very 
 foolish workman who would do his work with a blunt tool wiien 
 he might have a shaip one as well as not. 
 
 V.>.' ihdls a tool. Knj) your scythe going through the rank 
 gr.iss, ;ind do not stojj to wiiet it, and very soon it will lose its 
 l.i'i'ii ('(Im-c^ and fome to 1)0 so blunt that it requires twice the 
 i r.iiit (o get it t(» cut ut all, not to say well. Keep your axe 
 .s\\ iii;,'iiig into tough-grained knotty trees, and after a while it 
 gris to lie so dull that it will not cut; and you know better 
 tha.i 1 I, in tell you, inch'od there is no necessity to IvW a New 
 llruii^w ilk audience at all, that it is dull hard work to chop 
 %\ith a dull axi>. And moreover, nt) genuine New Brunswieker 
 v>ill <lo >o. Now, use — I speak not here of abuse — stjuare 
 liontst use, has tin; ell'ect of dulling any and every .sort of 
 edged tool. 
 
 And, anothei' thing, the keener-edged a tool i.s, the soom>r 
 an 1 more easily dulled it is. A razor is more easily dulled 
 than a 1 i',ij)ing-ho()k, an axe than a hoe, a sword than a plough. 
 \i>n giul> away with a hoe half a lifetime without sharpi^ning 
 it, liut even a hoe or a plough would be the better of an 
 occasional edge up. Keep your tools sharp is couunon-place 
 a<l\ire, l)ut it is wortJi giving and worth taking. It looks to 
 lie an utter waste (ft time that njight be put to a better pur- 
 pose to be whetting no much, but the whetting is as necessary 
 to good work as the actual work. It is u saviug of both tiuitt 
 and .strength to whot. 
 
 II 
 
t, ' 
 
 !>• 
 
 272 
 
 BLUNT TOOLS. 
 
 And, my hearers, it is none the less true in tlio hi^hor 
 Tnatt<'rs of the Kinf^doni tliat constant use dulls the tools the 
 blessed Kpirit employs for the <loini^ of his work, ami thoy 
 need every now and again whetting of a soil. The pn*ach(!i- 
 of the gospel, the elder, the Sunday School teacher, the clii'is- 
 tian worker, and so on, are the Spirit's to*>ls, and lik(^ otlier 
 sorts of tools they sometimes get dull. They lose; their keen 
 edge. They find peihaps that they caimot do their woi-k with 
 the e^se and heai't and energy with which they once did it. 
 Their zeal cools oil' and sometimes goes altogether out. Their 
 enthusiasm wanes. In a word, they find, that to be hard at 
 it, and always at it, has a dulling effect upon them wliicli is 
 discouraging, and they begin to conclude that they are no 
 good, and have no business to be wliere they are. And they 
 get cut of it. The preacher resigns perhaps, and tries farming, 
 or store-keeping, or editing a newspaper, or something else he 
 thinks he can do. The Sunday School teacher absents himself 
 or herself until their place is filled by some one else. So with 
 all sorts of christian workers. 
 
 Now, we do not fling away a scythe, because, afttM' we mow 
 a swath or two, it l)ecomes somewhat less keen-edged. No; 
 we get out our w'letstone, and we whet it up, and we whistle 
 to the tune our whetstone plays while we do it, and we find, 
 that the scythe is as keen-edged and as ready for woi'k as it 
 was when first tried. It is no evidence that a tool is poor be- 
 cause; constant use dulls its keen edge. That is the w.iy with 
 the very best of tools. 
 
 And, christian workers, let us not lo.se heart and run away 
 from our wojk, because we .seem not to l)e aljle to do it as well 
 as we would like to do it, or as we u.sed to do it, because per- 
 haps a strange dulness has crept in upon us tliat is intei-fering 
 with our usefulness. The Lonl's own reajting-liooks, his 
 scythes, his axes, his swords, get dull somehow. It is with his 
 tools as with ours. And no marvel, for they are of tiie earth 
 as OUTS are. AVe whet ours. AVe whet them often. Tho 
 
r>LCNT TOOLS. 
 
 27J 
 
 «! 
 
 mow 
 No; 
 listlo 
 lind, 
 us it 
 
 with 
 
 foriiii; 
 
 s, his 
 
 ith his 
 
 nirth 
 
 Tho 
 
 rrioro wp work, tho nioro wo wliot. And it is nocoss^ary that 
 thoro be constant whetting,', if the livini,' tools in his hands 
 would be ctHcient, and do the good work and the great work 
 ?je wants tlu m to do, and there is to do. 
 
 T want to Aield the axe of truth with a stronjihand to-niffht, 
 T want to s^*'ing the scythe right cxround the.se pews from one 
 side of the church to the other. I want to miss no one. T 
 want to reap golden sheaves this blessed hour. ( )li what a 
 work this is to do it well ! You wonder why I do n.»t \ isit 
 of toner, and where I go to and what T am donig all the other 
 six days. Ah ! T have to go and whet ut> for my public oflorts. 
 If I am sharp .sometimes, a little too sharp you think, it is 
 often after days of earnest grinding in my study. 
 
 And so with every other church worker as well as the 
 preacher. They need to be con:>tantly wluitting, ptaving, 
 studying, reading, if they would be sharp tools for tho Spirit's 
 use, and do their work efficiently. Some preachers, .some 
 Sunday School teachers, some who take part in prayer iiitctings 
 and so on, think it is great folly, idling away precious time, to 
 study so much, and learn so much. As for them they can 
 preach and teach without any stu<ly, and go right on without 
 stopping to sharpen up their minds and heart.-:, J'ut o\ t-ry one 
 who knows anything about tools will tell you, it is only hoes 
 and grubbers and such like, the meaner class of tools, that do 
 their work without whetting. People soon find out tho preacher 
 wlio does not study, and children soon find out the Sunday 
 School teacher who does not come to them with a keen edge, 
 all bright and sharp. 
 
 But again, while u.se dulls keen-edged t 
 out after a while, it is not use so much 
 them worst and wears them out fastest. 
 scytlie with its keen edge across a rock e 
 will very .soon unfit it for service. An< ■ 
 
 > . and W(>ats thorn 
 
 abuse that dulls 
 
 'f you bring your 
 
 y other swing, you 
 
 1 me mowers seem to 
 
 I 
 
 have the knack of hunting up all the stones in the tield, and 
 colliding .vith them, Some choppers again are always getting 
 
 ; 
 
■ ' 
 
 if 
 
 
 m 
 
 
 
 if 
 
 
 II 1 
 
 i' .1 
 
 1 
 
 274 
 
 BrUNT TOOLS. 
 
 upon nails witli tho face of tlnMr axe, or into fjravel, or whei'P 
 tlioy sliould not get, and so the tool they work with is never 
 otherwise than dull-edged. They are reckless, careless, unskil- 
 ful. They slash away, and never lotk what they are slashing 
 into. 
 
 My hearers, how is it that so many of us are such inelTlcient 
 chuich workers, such good-for-nothing tools, such dull-edged 
 christians? Ah! the trouble is, our face is too much world- 
 wards. Tf we keep our heart and life out amid the dulling 
 influences of the world, the blunting temptations of society as 
 it is all around about us, and if we care not much what we are 
 or do, then wo cannot be otherwise than dull souls, without 
 .spiritual power, useless, good-for-nothing, 
 
 It is all right for the people of God to be up to their eyes in 
 business, to have Ijoth hands full of work, to do with their 
 might what is theirs to do. Business need not necessarily duU 
 their edge for right doing, and christian living, and church 
 work, Jiut there are temptations here, snags that they are in 
 danger of running foul of, that mi^y utt<?rly unfit them for true 
 spiritual n^efulness in: the Master's service. If they over-reach, 
 lie, look solely to their own interests, and are grasping and 
 greedy all through tho busy week; then, of course, there will 
 not be much oi' an edge left on them for spiritual service on 
 the Sabbath, not much heart left in them for the worship of 
 the Lord's House. They will ])e dull hearers to preach to, dull 
 teachers in the Sunday School, dull heartless church work<3r,5, 
 dull christians, du.l souls. 
 
 The pleasures of the world, too, dull the soul for spiritual 
 activity Now, I am not going to slash right and left here. 
 Pleasure has its place. Laughter has its sanctified uses. If 
 •we feel like running instead of walking, jumping instead d 
 sitting or standing, flying instead of creeping, singing instead 
 of sighing, why then let us do so. There is nothing wrong in 
 it. There areright pleasures, an<l there are wrong pleasure?. 
 There are safe pleasures, and there are dangerous pleasures. 
 
BLUNT TOOLS. 
 
 275 
 
 ullin^ 
 
 will 
 ICO on 
 [hip cA 
 io, dull 
 
 liritual 
 here 
 3. It 
 ^ad oi 
 tead 
 
 hs 
 
 in 
 
 )ng 
 
 tsure*. 
 jures. 
 
 There are pleasures healthful to both body and soul, and there 
 are pleasures that areharniful. Tadiuit, too, that you may «^o into 
 })lea.sures that it would not do for me to j^o into. The child, 
 l>ecnuse he is a cliild, can do what it would he very silly, peihaps 
 even sinful, for his grown-up father and mother to do. We can 
 till understand that. And let us not forget that there are 
 child christians, young souls, and their pati«>nt loving Lord 
 wants them to enjoy themselves in a right way. Picnics used 
 to be more to me than they are now. Dancing always seems 
 to nie a very stujiid .sort of pleasure. And there are lots of so- 
 called pleasures that I can see no pleasure in, and that I could 
 not go in for mid enjoy without b<'ing hurt by them. I5ut T 
 am not going to condemn you where I would condenui myself. 
 Still, let us not overlook the fact, that here stretches an en- 
 chanted land wheremany a young promising soul is lost utterly. 
 If we find that our j)leasui"es are huiting our christian useful- 
 ness, mairing our joy, giving us a distaste for the pleasures of 
 the Kingdom, dulling our zeal for Christ's happy holy .service, 
 unfitting us for the real work of =i< christian life; then it is 
 ours to call a halt, and sternly gi\ • op what we find is not good 
 £or us. 
 
 Neglect again, not in use, is about the worst kind of abuse for 
 the tools of the Kingdom. You cannot use your scythe worso 
 than hajig it on the fence, and let it hang then; and rust itself 
 Hway That wiU ruin it as fast as slashing its e(lg(» again.st 
 stones, and faster. It is a good deal better for a tool, a great 
 deal more honorable for it, to wear out than rust out. 
 
 Now, .so many among us are suffering spiritually becaus(^ 
 they are not at work. They hear, hut they do not They 
 have hands, but they handle not They take hold of no church 
 work, no christian enterpri.se, and lielp it along. They have 
 the ability to do so much if they would, but there they are, 
 idling away their years, mi.ssing the great opportunities of 
 jgocMl-doing, letting go from them the glory of .service and the 
 blessedness of its reward. What they might be and do, were 
 
li 
 
 i + -f- 
 
 V7t> 
 
 liLUNT TOOLS. 
 
 tlioy up and <loini,', but sitting; tliere or lounging yonder, tliry 
 will n(^vor ho nor do anything. 
 
 What made Peter? What lifted him out of the obscurity ho 
 was in, and thi'oned him among the princes of the kiiigilom ? 
 Christian service. If, humanly speaking, he had let his splen- 
 did abilities, his enthusiasm, his rugged natural ehxjuence, 
 waste themselves yonder by the (Jalilean lake as he might 
 have done ; if i\wy had remained unchneloped, like undug ore, 
 what a calamity for himself, and the church, an<l the ages. 
 And there are here those who are fitted to be so useful, men 
 and women capable of immense energy and enthusiasm, if we 
 
 ly knew how to haiiiess them to the church's work, and en- 
 list them in the Lord's service. At a gathering for j)leasure, 
 at the working out of some purely world-scheme, in n political 
 camjKiign, they are a whole team. They aie worth ten ordin- 
 ary men perhaps ; they are heroes. But when it comes to 
 work for the church, zeal in the Lord's service, they are no- 
 where, they take a back seat, and all they might be is losi;. 
 'J'hey are undug ore, undeveloped wealth, immense possibilities 
 for good lying idle. Oh I why rust there, ye wi.se heads and 
 great hearts, when you are needed in the Lord's .service ? Come 
 and help us with your push and pluck, your tiict and energy. 
 We are suflfering for want of you, and you are sutlering f«jr 
 want of . It will make us to have you with us in ihe work, 
 and it will make you to be with us. 
 
 Thirdly, how to whet blunt tools, liow to utilize the church'.s 
 latent force. 
 
 Have you ever tried, my hearer, to mow with a ])lunt scythe, 
 to cut with a dull axe, to saw with a s;iw that was not sharp ? 
 Mowing is hard work anyway, Vjut a blunt scythe makes it still 
 harder. So with chopping and sawing. How true as the old 
 preacher puts it : " If the iron be blunt, and one do not whet 
 the edge, then must he put to more strength." 
 
 Mow, I think you will agree with me, that too much of the 
 church's work is done with blunt tools, and that therefore the 
 
BI.rNT TOOI^. 
 
 -/7 
 
 oine 
 for 
 
 •h'» 
 
 the, 
 irp? 
 .still 
 old 
 fhet 
 
 the 
 ; tl»e 
 
 work is very much hiinU'i- to do tlian thoro is .inv nood for. 
 Wliat pushing ami pulling «'Vorywh«'n* in the (;hun.'h to iaf.se 
 the necessary fujids to run the niissions of tlio cliurch, and to 
 support her. Wliat ell'orts to keep the p('0{)h> up to the mark 
 of giving jvs tliey ought to give? How hard it is to kfej* the 
 prayer meeting and the Sunday Sehooi going ellieiently I Nonv, 
 it ought not to Ije hard, if the church, and her oflice-l>eareiN, 
 and the christian workers, and the memoership generally, %ver»» 
 wiiat they should be. IJut they are not what tlu-y k1h»u1<1 hi", 
 and so it i.s liard. As a church and christian workers we have 
 not tlie edge on us we need to have to do the work it is ours 
 t<» do to the best advantage. We are the blunt iron, and so 
 we have to put to the more strength, and the work is harder 
 tlian it neefl Ije to tlie workei*, ind the work is neither well 
 done, nor indeerl done at all. 
 
 What we need is whetting, and the whetting we need most 
 is tlie outpouring of the Divine Spirit. Our Lord told liis 
 followers, as he a.scended from them, to tarry at Jerusalem, 
 not idly indeed, not IndilTerently and carelessly, but on their 
 knees, in an earnest expectant prayerful attitude, for the 
 Father's promise. And that is the way for us to .seek to \n' 
 fitted for our work. If the Spirit would be poured out upon 
 us as on the day of Pentecost, how easy it would Im' for us as 
 a people to give sulKciently to support the church, and to pay 
 ort"our debt as well. And how easy then to preach, and heai-, 
 and work, for Jesus, and what ghu' and grand results. 
 
 The ten days of whetting, prayerful waiting, wei-e not in 
 vain. Then they could work, preach, pray, give, as thi*y never 
 could have done without the whetting. How sharp now 
 Peter's words. They cut like a two-etlged sword right intf» 
 the quick of men's souls. Men were convicted of sin, led to 
 earnest enquiry, bowed down at tlie footstool of the Divine 
 Mercy, and sa\ od. 
 
 And the latent energies of the churcli were developed. New 
 men, with great souU in them, and tiiese great souls Spirit- 
 
 (i 
 
snn 
 
 «78 
 
 BLUNT TOOLS. 
 
 filled, rnmn to tho front, and tlio gospol grow apaco. It I)r(»ko 
 out and spread abroad on every side, and where there used to 
 Imj one wearily and all alone toiling, so sfK)n there were scores, 
 liundn'ds, of willing earnest energetic workers mightily doing. 
 Ah ! my [)eople, we want something like that here. Wo 
 want to have the promise tho Lord gave his disciples fullilled 
 to us, the Spirit poure<l out upon us as a people. Anrl we can 
 have it. Ia^X us do as they did. Let the praying ones, the 
 workers, come together, and consult about thing.s, talk matters 
 over with one anotlu'r, and pray and wait together around tho 
 mercy -seat, and we will not n(?ed to tarry long, I feel sure, till 
 we s(^e what the Lord can do for us, how he can bless us, 
 waken U[) the latent energies of this church, and glorify hiui- 
 Kclf in us. And we are going to begin to night. 
 
 Kevive Thy work, O Lord ! 
 
 CJive j)ower unto Thy Word ; 
 Grant that Thy Vilcsscd gospel ma^ 
 
 In living faith be heard. 
 
 Revive Thy work, O Lord ! 
 
 (live Pentecostal showers : 
 The glory shall be all Thy own, 
 
 The blessing, Lord, be ours. 
 
 ,!> 
 
H1 
 
 XXVT. 
 
 153^reachm^ Cthriot (5rucific«). 
 
 * We preach Christ crucified." — I Cou. i. '2'X 
 
 AMT(iHTYcon<|uerorof otlier days, narnitiiij; to liis fiiond 
 how he subdufHl Asia Minor, liimnically said : " I «anus 
 I saw, I conquered." It was of course ,ii» idld Ijo.ast, Had it 
 not boon for Home's h'^dons at his hack, th«' nni^hty Cn's^ir's 
 ooining and look woukl not have Ikhmi so fonnidahle. 
 
 A cf^ntury later or so, another ef)n(|U«'riii;; hero comes into 
 Asia Minor. He too is a Uonian, hut h«* has lumo of Uonn^'s 
 h'mdons at his hack, lie hius neither th«' Cjesar nanu^ nm- the 
 Cicsiir look, either of which con(|uei's eiv a hlow is struck. And 
 yet, wherever ho comes he concjuers. Asia Minor yields tt» him. 
 He crosses over into Europe, and city aft<'r city — Philippi, 
 Thessah)nica, Corinth, yea Home itself cncm, sul»mit to hiin. 
 That migiity con(jU(>ror is Paul. Ask him how he has achi«*\e(l 
 srch victories^ and he will meekly say, " We preach ChrLst 
 erucilied." 
 
 Now, learn here the kind of preacher and preachinjij needed 
 to-day to win the world for Jesus. We want, in our pulpits, 
 )nen like Paul, who will preach Christ crucitie<l. 
 
 First, preachers must tluMnselves know, in their own spiritual 
 <*xporience, the ppeciousness and power of this great central 
 
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 PREACHING CHRIST CRUCIFIED^ 
 
 truth, Christ crucified, for unless they know the truth they 
 preach, how can they preach it ? 
 
 Paul was this kind of preacher^ eminently so. He had 
 crucified Christ, and the crucified Christ had crucified hiu"., 
 crucified his world-principles and carnal nature, and therefore 
 he could preach Christ crucified as one who knew what he was 
 preaching. 
 
 There are two ways of knowing a thing. You may know a 
 thing theoretically, speculatively. You may have read about 
 it ; you may have heard of it ; you may have been taught it as 
 one of the branches of knowledge and you may have grasped it 
 intellectually, and thus have a pretty full and clear and accurate 
 understanding of what it is, and its relations to other subjects 
 and bearing on practical questions. 
 
 It is thus we know the facts of history. We cannot go back 
 to the beginning of things, and bask with Adam in the 
 unclouded sunshine of Eden, nor can we share with him the 
 accursed apple. We cannot embark with Noah in his great 
 ark-ship, nor can we drown with the antedeluviana. We can- 
 not act a part with ^neas in the fall of old Troy, nor fight 
 with Leonidas and his three hundred Spartans at the pass of 
 Thermopylae. We cannot take sides with Luther in his struggles 
 with the papacy, nor help the liberators of Italy to free her 
 from the despotism of a pope-king. All we can know about 
 the past and its great events is from the records of history, and 
 such a knowledge is necessarily shadowy, uncertain, unreal. 
 It is like a dream of the night, or the fire-light shadows that 
 dance weirdly on the parlor-walls ere the lights are lit in the 
 evening. I do not despise such knowledge. It has its place 
 and uses, and of necessity the most of our knowledge is of this 
 character. 
 
 But there is a better knowledge, the practical, the knowledge 
 we have by doing, suffering, sacrificing, experiencing. To know 
 a battle from a brief telegram, or a brilliant newspaper article, 
 is one thing ; and to know it as the soldier knows it who has 
 
PREACHING CHRIST CRUCH lED. 
 
 2S1 
 
 ^ledge 
 
 been in and through it, who has marched and charged and 
 fought and fallen, is another and very different thing. 
 
 Now, it seems to me that there is too little of that knowledge 
 in the pulpits of to-day. Too many of us preachers are mere 
 theorists. Our knowledge of the great truth, Christ crucified, 
 is speculative, not practical, or if practical, we do not know 
 how to preach it practically. We have been through college, 
 and have studied elocution and theology. We know how to get 
 up a sermon, and speak it off to good advantage. W^e know the 
 history of the doctrines, and their relations to one another. 
 We are supposed to be able to tell you all about regeneration, 
 justification by faith, sanctitication, and so on, and we can 
 preach earnestly and eloquently about the cross. 
 
 And that is all right in its way. I believe in a college 
 training. Such training is all but essential to the modern 
 preacher. It is an immense advantage to have studied theology 
 and to be up in the philosophy of religious thought and life. 
 But when a man goes into the pulpit to speak to men and 
 women who have the battles of life to fight, the temptations of 
 the devil to withstand, the reproach of the world to bear, arul 
 the eternal wants of their souls to look after, he needs to be 
 intensely practical, if he would do them good. 
 
 When I go aboard the cars, I may be told that a master of 
 civil engineering is the driver, one who has gone through college 
 and graduated with all the honors, and I may be expected to 
 feel all the safer on that account. But perhaps I would not. 
 I would be likely to ask with some concern whether he had 
 ever driven a locomotive before, and if I was told he had not, I 
 would not care to trust myself aboard that train. I would not 
 trust my bones to the whole faculty of an engineering college. 
 We want mea of practical experience to drive our locomotives 
 for us. 
 
 And if we want practical and experienced men anywhere, 
 we want them in our pulpits. We want men to guide us in 
 the way of salvation who have been over that way themselves, 
 
 I 
 
I m uriiitmrnfrnm 
 
 282 
 
 PREACHING CHRIST CRUCIFIED. 
 
 and who know therefore all the clangers and difficulties in the 
 way. We want men to preach to us Christ crucified who liave 
 been to the cross, who have seen the tears and blood and woe 
 of the dying Jesus, who have caught «ome of the noble Spirit 
 that animated him in thus laying down his life, and who have 
 had their hearts filled to overflowing with his great deep di vine 
 love. Oh that every puipit in the land had a living christian 
 worker in it, one who goes down into the world's dusty arena, 
 and, sword in hand, grapples with men's foes, and shows them 
 and helps them, as well as tells them, how to overcome ! With 
 what a strange thrilling eloquence a man can preach, who has 
 been bearing men's burdens, fighting their battles, and living 
 out in hard earnest life experiences the great doctrines he 
 preaches. Such was Paul as a preacher, and that was one 
 element in his power. And such should he the preachers of 
 to-day. The world needs them. 
 
 Again : The world needs preachers who are heart and soul 
 into the work of preaching Christ crucified 
 
 Paul was a man of one idea, and that one idea was to live 
 and preach Christ crucified. He was an enthusiast, so much 
 60 that men said he was mad- That great light from Heaven 
 that flashed upon him on the road to Damascus, they said, must 
 have turned his head- And indeed it did turn his head, and 
 his heart too. Up to that time he had been a mad persecutor, 
 and with many that was all right. From that time, however, 
 he was a mad preacher, a preacher whose soul was on fire, a 
 preacher so given up to the preaching of Christ crucified that 
 many thought he ought to be put under some sort of restraint. 
 
 Oh the inconsistency of public opinion ! What the people 
 say, what the people say — how little there is in it1 You can 
 be a mad politician, and let all the little commonsense you ever 
 had get away from you at electi m times, and people generally 
 will think it about as it should be. You may be given up to 
 the making of money, so given up to it that you are near-liand 
 beside yourself about it, and you will be thought a wise business- 
 
 ';r 
 
PREACHING CHRIST CRUCIFIED. 
 
 283 
 
 ill 
 
 in the 
 ) have 
 \ woe 
 Spirit 
 » have 
 h vine 
 •istiaa 
 arena, 
 ; them 
 
 With 
 10 has 
 
 living 
 nes he 
 as one 
 lers of 
 
 id soul 
 
 to live 
 5 much 
 Teaven 
 must 
 4, and 
 ecutor, 
 nvever, 
 fire, a 
 d that 
 straint. 
 people 
 ou can 
 ou ever 
 ne rally 
 up to 
 ar-hand 
 usiness- 
 
 man. You may have some pet scheme of your own that may 
 be of no more practical utility to the world than the man in 
 the moon, and you may be forever parading it before the public, 
 and it will scarcely elicit a single remarh. But get somewhat 
 excited about the salvation of your own soul and that of others, 
 and talk to men about Jesus and his love and claims, and they 
 will gravely shake their wise heads and doubt your sanity. 
 They will call you a fanatic, a wild enthusiast, a mad-man. Oh 
 tliat the world was full of such madness ! It would be better 
 for it. And if men realized as they ought to how much was 
 at stake ; if they could see that destinies were made or marred 
 by the way they are acting just now ; if they knew what the 
 soul was worth and what a tremendous loss to a man's self and 
 to the whole universe of God is the loss of a single soul ; and if 
 they could understand what an awful struggle is going on in 
 the world of spirits with respect to us, Michael and his angels 
 contending with the devil and his angels ; — oh, I tell you, there 
 would be such excitement, enthusiasm, madness, fanaticism, 
 and there would be nothing out of the way in it either ! 
 
 If your house was on fire, your property being destroyed, 
 your dear little children in danger, would you not rush round 
 like a madman, and make yourself heard? Yes, there would 
 be some weeping done, some loud shouting, some shoving people 
 round. Your cool calculating heads would be on fire as well 
 as your house, and none but the veriest fools would blame you 
 for your excitement. 
 
 Well now, men's souls are on fire. A devil-incendiary has 
 kindled up an unquenchable fire in them, and as you sit there 
 in careless ease they are being burned up. By and by the 
 smoke of men's torments will be seen ascending up forever and 
 forever. That is an awful truth. I know you do not believe 
 it. You would not be sitting there so calm and composed, if 
 you believed it. But it is true, and there are those who do 
 belie \«e it, and are greatly excited about it. Paul was one of 
 them. He could not hold his tongue and take things .easy^ 
 
 i! 
 
 HH 
 
 i 
 
i 
 
 
 ff 
 
 Mii 
 
 m 
 
 'i 
 
 i# 
 
 • 
 
 ip^i 
 
 W 
 
 mM 
 
 s^^. . 
 
 284 
 
 PREACHING CHRIST CRUCIFIED. 
 
 How could lie stand Ijy with closed lips and folded arms and 
 
 see poor souls going down to destruction, without doing all in 
 
 iiis power to save them ! Others may do it, but he could not 
 
 do it. He rushed about from place to place, and with a face 
 
 lit up with heavenly earnestness, and a soul on tire with holy 
 
 enthusiasm, he told men their danger, and shewed them how 
 
 to make good their escape, and they believed him and tied to 
 
 Jesus. Oh, how is it, that our pulpits, and our pewii too, are 
 
 not ablaze with an earnestness hot enough to set the world on 
 fire? 
 
 Now, what we want in every pulpit is a man imbued with 
 the spirit of Paul, a man wholly given up to the earnest preach- 
 ing of Christ crucified. Paul would not, could not, do anything 
 else but preach. He durst not do anything else. He told the 
 christians of Corinth that it would be all that his soul was 
 worth to stop preaching. I quote his own M'ords , " Woe is 
 unto me, if I preach not the gospel ! " Tliere are ministers 
 who feel they cm preach or let it alone. They can turn to 
 farming, or teaching, or store-keeping, or politics, or anything 
 else that pays better. 
 
 AVell, all I have to say, it would be better for the church, if 
 they would let it alone. Better be anything else thr,n a preacher 
 whose heart is not in the work, whose soul is not burdened 
 with the world's vast necessities. Such *- preacher is a great 
 stumbling-block in the way of any good being done, and better 
 for a man to be at the bottom of the sea with a millstone 
 around his neck, than be a stumbling-block. There is nothing 
 in the world more despicable than the preacher, to whom the 
 whole work of the ministry is a mere bread and butter question. 
 What good can his preaching do ? What power can he have 
 over the masses ? Away with him ! But oh the grandeur, the 
 dignity, the power, the world-good, of a man who is called of 
 God, and preaches Christ crucified with his soul on fire, and 
 who lives for that one object ! 
 
 Earnest one-ideaed men are always men of might. They 
 
PREACHING CHRIST CRUCIFIED. 
 
 2S5 
 
 I 
 
 ^S 
 
 Thev 
 
 makf their influence felt, and leave tlieir impress on the aujes. 
 Put them unyNvhore, and they will do somethini;. lUit in tlie 
 pulpit, with Clii-ist crucitied ;is the one idea, and with all that 
 is jL^lorious in Heaven and good on earth to l)aek them up in 
 their noble endeavors, they can do wonders. They can make 
 the powers af darkness tremble, and bi-ing people and nations 
 into sweet subjection to King Jesus, and bless the world. 
 Paul did that in his day. Others are doing it to-day. P>ut 
 why not many ? Why not all 1 Let all w;ike up ; let the pulpit 
 wake up, and let the pew wake up, and realizing what it is to 
 preach Christ crucified and hear Christ crucitied, let us be in 
 (^arnest, and how soon the world would be on its knees at the 
 feet of Jesus. I have no hesitation in saying here, that it is 
 our want of earnestness — yours and mine — that the church 
 to-day has so little power in the world. With this grand one 
 idea, Christ crucitied, possessing our souls, burning in our hearts, 
 we ought to be a power. Every pulpit should be a power. 
 Every church should be a power. Nothing should be able to 
 stand before us. 
 
 Again : We want men in our pulpits and people in our pews 
 w ho have faith in the preaching of Christ crucified as that alone 
 which is needed to bring the world back to God. 
 
 Paul preached nothing else. He preached Christ crucified 
 in gay dissolute Corinth. " I determined not to know anything 
 among you, save Jesus Christ, and him crucified." When, he 
 went to the wilds of Asia Minor, that is what he preached, and 
 when he went to the culture of Greece and the might of Rome, 
 it was still Christ crucified. 'He preached it out by the river- 
 side, in the jail of Philippi, and in the splendid synagogues of 
 the great cities. He preached it to the barbarians of Melita, 
 and he preached it to the philosophers of Athens. He preached 
 it to the lowly poor, and to the world's great and mighty, to 
 sinners and saints. And his preaching was the grandest 
 success. He could point to triumphs more glorious than 
 Ceesar's, bloodless triumphs. 
 
 I ' 1 
 
286 
 
 PREACHING CHRIST CRUCIFIED. 
 
 And Christ crucified — tliat is what the world wants to-day. 
 Tell us the story of God's love. Tell us that Christ died for 
 fiinners — died to redeem them. Tell us that the blood of Jesus 
 can wash away our sins, and bring us back to God, and lift up 
 our fallen state. Tell us the old story so simply, so tenderly, 
 so earnestly, for our souls want to hear it. Tell us the same 
 old story over and over again, for we can never tire of hearing 
 it, so sweet is it, so helping, so comforting. It suits every 
 mood ; it fits in everywhere ; it is just what we want. 
 
 After all there is nothing so popular, so powerful, as the 
 simple earnest truth, the preaching of Christ crucified. It is stir- 
 ring men's hearts to-day, and winning their ears, as nothing else 
 can. It goes down to the depths of men's sins and sorrows, 
 and putting its arms around them, tells them of hope and help 
 for them. Oh as a church, as preacher and people, let it always 
 be Christ crucified here ! That is what has done so much for 
 us in the past, and that is what is to do for us all that is to be 
 done and needs to be done. 
 
 Christ crucified — that is the great attraction above, the 
 wonder and glory of Heaven. It is more of an attraction there 
 than here, for there they have an appreciation of what the 
 Christ has done and suffered as we have not here. The 
 Apocalyptic John saw clear up into Heaven, and he tells us 
 what he saw. He saw a lamb on the throne, a Iamb too as if 
 it had been slain. That lamb was the once crucified Christ, 
 and in his glorious person were the marks of the crucifixion — 
 not disfigurements, not blemishes, but honor-scars. To him it 
 was a glorious sight, one of great interest. And as he continued 
 looking, he saw the glorious ones who dwell in that bright 
 world taking off their crowns and casting them down at his 
 feet as one worthy to reign. If, then, Christ crucified is so 
 great an attraction there, what an attraction he should be to 
 us here. 
 
 men and women, I know your souls are burdened with sin 
 and sorrow. Your eyes are often filled with tears, your hearts 
 
' >l 
 
 PREACHING CHRIST CRUCIFIED. 
 
 2SJ 
 
 the 
 
 often sore with sadness nnd woe. You are trying to live right 
 perhaps. You are trying to do your part well in the great 
 battle that is being fought out through the years, and you want 
 to be crowned with the glory to come. You do not want to bo 
 a failure at last. You want to stand in your place in the latter 
 day, if not with Divid and Daniel, Peter and Paul, Luther and 
 John Knox, at least among the lesser lights. In your better 
 moods, when the great deeps within are stirred, your whole 
 being cries out for something — you hardly know what perhaps, 
 to give yon peace, to lift up the fallen in you, to satisfy your 
 heart-hungerings, and to help you up to what you feel you 
 ought to be. It is true indeed, when you get away back again 
 to the world and plunge into its excesses, you feel as if you do 
 not care what you are, or what becomes of you. But that is 
 mere bravado. You do not mean it. You put it on, and make 
 yourself and others think how happy you are. when you are 
 not happy at all, when deep down in your soul you are as 
 wretched as you can be. Oh the anguish gnawing with its 
 cruel fangs at your heart, and making you groan out in unutter- 
 able bitterness : "Oh my God, what shall I do? what shall I 
 do?" 
 
 Well now, I will tell you what to do. Come to Jeeus. 
 Christ crucified is what you want. He will pardon, cleanse. 
 He will fill your heart with the peace of God. He will turn 
 your sorrow- into joy, and make your sighing singing. Oh 
 then, come to him ! When the way of life is hard, when 
 troubles and temptations muster against you, and when all is 
 dark dark, and growing darker darker, then will flash up for you 
 
 the Great Light, and send forward across the waste its cheering 
 beams to meet you, and then you will be able to press on and 
 on. Oh, if there is anything in the world that we can put 
 faith in, it is the cross, Christ crucified. 
 
 The Cross ! it takes our guilt away ; 
 
 It holds the fainting spirit up ; 
 It cheers with hope the gloomy day, 
 
 And sweetens every bitter cup. 
 
 I . ■ 
 
 i 
 
it M 
 
 l'» 51 
 
 XXVII. 
 ''25ce$c[0 of ^oonoi: ant) ^'i&hoxxot* 
 
 *' But in a great Jiouse there are not only vessels of gold and 
 silver, hut also of wood and of earth \ and some to honor, 
 and some to dishonor. If a man therefore purge himself 
 from these, he shall be a vessel unto honor, sanctified, and 
 meet for the master's use and prepared unto every good 
 work:'— 11 Tim. ii. 20, 21. 
 
 PAUL'S Second Epistle to Timothy is of special interest, 
 because it is the last he wrote. He was at the time a 
 prisoner at Rome, and Timothy was pastor of the christian 
 church at Ephesus. He writes to him with regard to his 
 work as a pastor, telling him what sort of a pastor he ought 
 to be. " Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a work- 
 man that needeth not to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word 
 of truth." 
 
 He cautions him as a young man, putting him on his guard 
 agains't dangerous teachers, men not sound in the faith, men 
 who are given to babbling strange doctrines and novel and 
 mischievous theories and opinions, and so deceiving and de- 
 stroying both themselves and those who let themselves be in- 
 fluenced by them. He instances two men of the day, Hymen- 
 aeus and Philetus, who had got astray on the doctrine of the 
 
VESSELS OF HONOR AND DISHONOR. 
 
 d9$ 
 
 Id and 
 honor, 
 himself 
 >,d, and 
 y good 
 
 iterest, 
 
 time a 
 
 iristian 
 
 to his 
 
 ought 
 
 work- 
 
 le word 
 
 guard 
 th, men 
 7q\ and 
 land de- 
 bs be in- 
 [ymen- 
 of the 
 
 ros-.lrrcction, holding and touching that it was past ah'oady. 
 Their intl "uco was most harmful, and it looked as if the 
 church was going to he wrecked. J5ut Paul shewed that there 
 was no (liinger of that. It Was on a sure foundation. Tlio 
 Lord knew Jdis own people, and would take care of them ; hut 
 they must watch against the inroads of evil, and depart from 
 ini(iuity. 
 
 And then he is led to make use of tlic beautiful and su':;ges' 
 tive illustration of the text, we might call it the parable of 
 the vessels, showing how we are all ditl'erent sorts of vessels, 
 and how, according to the use we let ourselves be })Ut to, wo 
 may be vessels of honor or dishonon "Now in a great house 
 there are not only vessels of gold and of silver, but also of wood 
 and of earth ; and some unto honor, and some unto dishonor. 
 If a man therefore purge himself from these, he shall be a 
 vessel unto honor, sanctified, m.eet for the master's use, prepar 
 ed unto every good work." 
 
 First : The great House and its DilTerent vessels. " Now 
 in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and silver, 
 but also of wood and of earths'" 
 
 The great house referred to here may have been the temple 
 at Jerusalem with its furniture, its vessels of gold and silver, 
 and of wood and earth. The Apostle was well acquainted 
 with the temple and all its vessels of many different kinds, and 
 purposes, and qualities. Or, as he was at Rome at the time, 
 he may have had before his mind's eye, the palace of the 
 Cfesars, or Nero's Golden House. 
 
 And we may understand him as referring to the church, or 
 perhaps to the great Roman Empire, or indeed to both church 
 and state. I like to think of the world, with its states and 
 •churches, its cities and temples and palaces, its kings and 
 priests and peoples, as the great house with its many different 
 kinds of vessels. Those high in authority in church and state, 
 kings with crowns of gold on their heads, bishops with their 
 loud assumptions^ golden-mouthed orators and silver-tongued 
 
 II 
 
 l! 
 
2go 
 
 VESSKLS OF HONOR AND DISHONOR. 
 
 proachors, and so on, may bo regarded as the vessels of gold 
 and silver. Then ordinary people, in their many ditiennit 
 positions of service and usefulness, arc the vessc^h of wood and 
 of earth. 
 
 Gold and silver cups have a place and purpose. They are 
 made and kept to be l)rought out only on great occasions and 
 exhibited and used, and every one admires and praises them 
 for what they are, and the showy appearance they present. 
 They are handled with very special care, and watched with a 
 je»ilous eye, lest they may be stolen or injured, and soon they 
 are put away, not to be seen again until another very special 
 occasion. 
 
 And it is well to be, and have, men in authority. They can- 
 not be dispensed with. They have their purpose. We admire 
 them as they sit high up on their seats of honor and power and 
 wealth, a gold crown on their head, a regal sceptre in their 
 hand, and everything so fine and grand about them. They are 
 very precious in their way, and it is only now and again, on 
 splendid state occasions, they let themselves be seen, and then 
 they withdraw within their strong palace walls. 
 
 Beautiful and costly as gold and silver vessels are, however, 
 ordinary delf, plain wooden and earthen ware, are by far the 
 most useful ; and, although usefulness is wanting in attractive- 
 ness, it is more to the world than beauty and brilliance. Who 
 would not rather be a tin-cup, op an earthen mug, with its un- 
 pretentious coramonplaceness, out of which the hard-working 
 poor man drinks a healthful draught from the bubbling spring, 
 and his happy child sups its breakfast of bread and milk, than 
 be a gold or silver goblet glittering uselessly, or very nearly 
 so, in the rich man's cabinet of jewels 1 Some of you might 
 say, I grant : " If I had my choice, I would be the gold cup. 
 But then alas ! I have not much of a choice in the matter, and 
 so I am but a little bit of a tea-cup, that, for some purpose or 
 other, find myself at use about every hour in the day, now 
 ministering healing and comfort to fevered lips, now refresh- 
 
1^1' 
 
 VESSELS C"i- IION(;K AND DISHONOR. 
 
 2'Jt 
 
 I 
 
 Vrt'iit 
 il anil 
 
 By arp 
 IS ami 
 ; them 
 resent, 
 with a 
 n they 
 special 
 
 ,ey can- 
 admire 
 ver and 
 in their 
 ?hey are 
 gain, on 
 nd then 
 
 ing the wo try and hungry, now gossiping with simple f^arrul- 
 OUH nciglilmrs, now ch«H'nng and sohieing the aged and infirm ; 
 or, I happen to be oidy a phiin evtsry-day kettle, sitting pa- 
 tiently in heat and smoki», and singing my simi»h! roundeLiy at 
 the poor man's fireside ; or, I am only an unintcrenting wash- 
 tui) pfM-haps, where, with bare arms, and e^irnest eflort and 
 purpose, the Immble washer-woman toils for bread for her 
 fatherless children." And yet, if there is any truth in the 
 homely adage, that, *' Handsome is that handsome does," and 
 if usefulness is more to the world than glitter ; then, let not 
 the vessels of wood and earth and iron despise themscdvos, for 
 they are more to the Lord, because more to tlie world, than the 
 vessels of gold and silver. But indeed, there is no room for 
 jealousy. The gold and silver vessels are needed, and the 
 wooden and earthen are still more needed ; and .so, what the 
 former lack iu general world-usefulness, is made up to them in 
 .some mt'asure in brilliance, and what the latter lack in brilli- 
 ance, is made up to them, and more than made up to them, in 
 general usefulness, and therefore both stand on about an equal 
 footing, and neither can boast over the other. 
 
 Let us, my hearer, be glad, that at least we can he a vessel 
 of some sort in the palace of the King. We may not presume 
 to be a gold goblet to be carried to his lips, or even a silver 
 cup to be on his table. But we may be a plain earthen cup 
 for his servants and people to sup out of and serve witli, and 
 so, in being of use to them, we are of use to him, and he will 
 not forget us when the rewards come to be distributed. Even 
 the wash-tub and scrubbing-brush, the broom and dust-pan, 
 out in the scullery, unpretentious as they are in appearance 
 and purpose, may do as much, in their own simple way, for the 
 palace, and the King's comfort and glory — may indeed make 
 themselves quite as necessary and useful, as the vessels of gold 
 and silver near his sacred person. We can all understand 
 that, and .so the wooden and earthen vessels have a place in 
 the King's service ; and, in so far as they serve him, they are 
 worthy of honor, and will receive honor at his hands. 
 
 .1' 
 
 i I 
 
 1 ^ 
 
*ii-.y 
 
 292 
 
 VESSELS OF HONOR AND DISHONOR. 
 
 Again : Vessels of Dishonor. " And some to dishonor." 
 
 It has been too much the idea in the world, that to be a 
 ^old or silver vessel is to be a vessel of honor, and, on the 
 other hand, to be a wooden and earthen vessel is to be a vessel 
 of dishonor. In other words, natural endowments, talents, 
 circumstances, positions, birthrights and the like, make us» 
 apart from the life we live, and the use we put ourselves to. 
 
 But that is not the case. There is something, I grant, in 
 the stuff we are made of, in our birthright, and so forth. 
 Clay can never be equal to gold, nor can wood be ever put 
 alongside of silver in value. You and I may have high ideas 
 of ourselves, our worth, the superiority of the material out of 
 which we have been created, our genius and ability and so on. 
 We may lift our heads above others, and ape the great of 
 the earth. But it is not for common clay to assume to be gold, 
 nor is it for the wood we are to aspire to be silver. We would 
 make but indifferent kings, the most of us, and cut a sorry 
 figure indeed on a throne and in a palace. AVhere we are, and 
 as we are, we can be something, yea we can come to bo much, 
 if not vessels of gold and silver, at least as good as gold, as 
 briglit as silver. We may be wanting in brilliance, but we 
 may not be wanting in usefulness, and our usefulness may be 
 as much to the King as another's brilliance and glory. 
 
 Let us not say then, that because we are not a !cing on a 
 throne, or a minister in a pulpit, or an orator on a public plat- 
 form, we are not a vessel of gold and glory ; let us not say 
 that because we are only plain, unimportant, uninteresting, 
 uninfluential sort of people, vessels of wood and earth, it is no 
 use for us to try to be anything, and we cannot but be vessels 
 of dishonor. A lowly position is not necessarily a position of 
 dishonor, any more than a high position is one of honor. To 
 serve well anywhere is honorable ; to serve ill anywhere is dis- 
 honorable, especially on a throne, or behind the sacred desk, 
 or in the place of influence and power. 
 
 What I want to teach here is this, that you and I^ mv hear. 
 
i 
 
 n 
 
 VESSELS OF HONOR AND DISHCNOR. 
 
 293 
 
 be a 
 L the 
 essel 
 ents, 
 e us> 
 to. 
 
 tit, in 
 forth. 
 3r put 
 
 ideas 
 out oi 
 so on. 
 •eat of 
 e gold, 
 
 would 
 a sorry 
 ^•e, and 
 
 much, 
 
 rold, as 
 3Ut we 
 may be 
 
 2 on a 
 ic plat' 
 lot say^ 
 esting, 
 it is no 
 vessels 
 ition oi 
 or. To 
 me is dis- 
 d desk, 
 
 flv hear. 
 
 ?r, are a wondrous vessel for the King of Heaven's service, 
 and yet we may be a vessel of dishonor to him, a vessel that 
 lie can only use, or let be used, for an unworthy world-purpose, 
 riiis body and soul of ours, is a curious piece of Divine handi- 
 work, and of most marvellous design. Look at yourself, study 
 yourself, and that your Maker intends you for a high and holy 
 purpose must be clear to you. It is only by a cruel distortion 
 of our being that we can turn out to be so bad ; but it is done 
 and so easily done too. 
 
 The chalk-artist, the other night, in the City Hall, showed 
 us how that, by a few simple and seemmgly careless chalk- 
 touches on canvas, so much of promise could be quickly lilight- 
 Bil, demoralii . I, demonized. And so with real life. Let me 
 tell you how. 
 
 And an empty vessel, a vessel not m use, is one of dishonor. 
 You know, my hearer, as well as I can tell you, how soon even 
 a pure gold and silver vessel grows dim, loses all its brilliance, 
 and tills up with dust, when it is allowed to stand empty, un- 
 used, idle. 
 
 Xow so with this wondrous manhood and womanhood of 
 ours. Let them be idle, unused ; let your brilliant talents, 
 your splendid natural endowments, your noble powers, lie 
 dormant ; let your manhood hang about the street-corners, and 
 your womanhood dawdle up and down the gay promenades, 
 and you will go to the bad fast enough and far enough. The 
 Lord wants to have nothing to do with the idle vessel, even 
 though it is made of gold. Such a vessel is one of dishonor. 
 
 Then we may be vessels of dishonor by letting ourselves get 
 into bad company. Put even a gold and silver vessel among 
 worthless crockery and the riff-ratF of a lumber-room, and its 
 worth is lost sight of, unknown, and it may come to be put to 
 a use in rude hands utterly foreign to its purpose. A gold 
 sovereign carried in a man's pocket among cents, and scraps 
 of tobacco, . nd such other things as gather there, cfter awhile 
 may lose its identity, and go for a cent, and rather a doubtfuj 
 one at that. 
 
 I ■ 
 
 ' il 
 
 • 
 
I ; ,;, 
 
 VESSELS OF HONOR AND DISHONOR. 
 
 yiy father has for many years kept the cent collections of 
 tlic Harvey Church, not a very responsible position, and he 
 finds it necessary to be very careful when he comes to count 
 them, for the most disreputable coins find their way into the 
 collection plates. One day he found what looked lik , a cen% 
 but he was not sure of it, so begrimed and disgraced did it 
 look. So he examined it with more than ordinary cai'e, rubb- 
 ing and cleaning it to find out its real character, and to his 
 surprise and the church's advantage, it proved to be a five- 
 dollar gold piece. The simple truth was, that gold coin had 
 got into bad company ; it had fraternized so long with cents 
 and cheap rubbish, that it had lost its character and worth, 
 and so had been going about for years perhaps as only a very 
 hard-looking cent. 
 
 Now, so with men and women, the vessels of the Lord's own 
 making. Once perhaps they were in the best society, high in 
 church and state, educated and refined and noble ; but they 
 got down, step by step, and now they are the rubbish of the 
 streets. I am told, that in Boston and New York and San 
 Francisco, you will fim' ^oing the most menial work — street- 
 scavengers, stable-men, . so on — some who were once pro- 
 fessors, judges, membcp f ^arJ ament, doctors of divinity, men 
 of genius and power. Drnik and lust dragged them down, 
 and now they herd and root with the hogs and dt^sof society. 
 
 You open your mouth, my hearer, and you let go down your 
 throat the poison of asps, and so let yourself become venomous. 
 You cannot walk upright ; you creep, you wriggle along, you 
 are filthy. You think your mouth is your own, and you see 
 nothing wrong in letting into it the wine of inebriation. But 
 I want to ask you, if you would like to see the vessels of the 
 sanctuary, the beautiful silver communion-service, used for 
 unhallowed drinking purposes. 
 
 You have often i-ead and heard the thrilling story of how a 
 wicked king of Babylon, the dissolute Belshazzar, at a drunken 
 banquet, dared send for the sacred vessels of the temple at 
 
VESSELS OF HOXOR AND DISHONOR. 
 
 ^9$ 
 
 
 Jerusalem, and attempted to use them for vile drinking pur- 
 poses. It was a daring thing to do, awful sacrilege on his 
 part, and we do not wonder that his madness was rebuked, 
 and that he died. 
 
 But here is a vessel, this wondrous manhood of yours, a 
 vessel more curious in design, and more sn<;red in its purpose, 
 than the cup that holds the wine of the sanctuary, and you 
 carry it down the street to some disreputable drinking-den, or 
 to some great public banquet, and you fill it with beastly in- 
 toxication. Now I ask. Is there no sacrilege in that? Are 
 you not making the vessel of the Lord's House a vessel of dis- 
 honor ? 
 
 You may say, " I am not a vessel of the sanctuary ; I am 
 not a member of the church ] the Lord has nothing to say to 
 me." 
 
 Ah ! who made you what you are ? "Who gave you your 
 mouth ? "Who has done all that has been done for you ? I tell you 
 solemnly, my hearer, it is an awful distortion of your manhood 
 to pervert it into a sort of demijohn ; it is a sacrilege of the 
 worst sort, and the wonder is that Heave loes not write and 
 strike. And Heaven does write and strike. After a while 
 appears the liand writing on the wall in the shape of degrada- 
 tion, the tyranny of drink, the serpent-bite of inebriation- 
 " And some to dishonor." 
 
 But the special way the apostle speaks here of how we may 
 come to be vessels of dishonor, is not so much by what we eat 
 and drink, as by what we hear and believe. "We let teachers 
 o^unsound doctrine, men who have theories of their own on 
 this or that vital point, who deny periiaps that there is to be 
 any resurrection, who question the divinity of our Lord, who 
 do not see any necessity for the atonement, who are unsound 
 on justification and sanctification, who hold infidel views on 
 everything almost that the Bible teaches, poison our minds, 
 and by specious arguments turn us away from the truth and 
 rijjht-livinq. 
 
 ' 
 
ag6 
 
 VESSELS OF HONOR AND DISHONOR. 
 
 :i» :«' 
 
 i 
 
 " "What matter," it is sometimes said, " what men hold to in 
 the sliape of a belief, so long as they live right ?" But that is 
 just it. Error in doctrine leads to loose-living and evil-doing. 
 When, for instance, the serpent got Eve to believe that the 
 fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil was as good as 
 it looked, and that she would not die if she touched and ate it, 
 so soon we find her eating it herself, and persuading her hus- 
 band to eat it with her. Deny the inspiration of the Bible, 
 and then who cares what it says? Noah was afraid of the 
 coming deluge, and so built the ark ; let a man get to believe 
 there is no Hell, and so soon his interest in church-building, 
 and the preaching of the gospel, and missionary effort, cools 
 off. If the heathen are to be saved anyhow, if drunkards and 
 libertines ajid the creatures who wallow in the slums of the 
 great cities are at last to come to glory, why worry about them, 
 and do so much for them ? And if there is to be no Hell, it 
 does not matter much if we are n >t quite straight in a bargain, 
 if we take the advantage when we have the chance, if we do 
 not live the spotless life, if we make ourselves easy with regard 
 to our duties and responsibilities. Oh it does matter very 
 much what sort of doctrine we hold ! Just as a gold cup may 
 hold healing medicine for the sick, food for the hungry, cool 
 clear water for the thirsty, the oil and wine of consecration for 
 sacred uses, and so be a vessel of honor ; or it may hold poison, 
 the wine of inebriation, and thus be a vessel of dishonor ; so 
 you and I, according to the views of truth we hold, the doc- 
 trines we believe^ are vessels of honor or dishonor,, and are far 
 good or evil service in the church and world. 
 
 Take heed, then, what sort of doctrines you hear, what sort 
 of views and opinions you let yourselves embrace. As you 
 believe, so will you live ; as you think, so will you do. So soon 
 the man who lets himself imbibe error is in the devil's service, 
 tempting others, poisoning virtue, persecuting piety, scoffing 
 at religion. The sheep of Christ's fold need dogs to bark and 
 bite them up to their duty; and I suppose we ought to be 
 
VESSELS OF HONOR AND DISHONOR. 
 
 297 
 
 sort 
 
 you 
 
 soon 
 
 rvice, 
 
 offing 
 
 and 
 
 to be 
 
 thankful for Ccarping critics, and slanderous tongues, and the 
 sliarp teeth of those who would destroy the Bible, and the 
 church, and the old faith. But I, for one, do not want to be 
 the devil's dog ; I, for one, do not want to be his slop-dish ; 
 I, for one, do not want to be the street-scavenger even of the 
 New Jerusalem. " And some to disiionor." 
 
 Again: Vessels of honor: "If a man therefore purge him- 
 self from these, he shall be a vessel unto honor, sanctified, and 
 meet for the master's use, and prepared unto every good work." 
 
 Tiie gold and silver out of which the vessels of the Lord's 
 House are made, are found, not in a pure state, but embedded 
 in rock, mixed up perhaps with deleterious earths and foreign 
 substances ; and it is quite a work to quarry thtmi, and purify 
 them, and then convert them into vessels of honor. 
 
 Now, so with the christian. The Lord finds him, as men 
 find gold and silver, in a comparatively worthless state, mixed 
 up with the world, the slave of sin, believing a lie, tossed 
 a})Out with winds of doctrine and waves of opinion, ready to 
 be lost, and he saves and honors him. 
 
 You see Peter yonder, unquarried, a gem in the rough, gold 
 in its native state, throwing away his splendid abilities, and 
 the grand possibilities of his life, catching a few fish, You 
 see Paul again, when he was Saul, a wolf ravaging the Lord's 
 fold, tearing and devouring without mercy. You see Mary 
 Magdalene, devil-possessed, foul and fallen, abandoned to every 
 evil. And to-day you see men and women, who are clever in 
 their way, strong, earnest, and so much else, but it is in the 
 way of evil, in the world's service. 
 
 But there is hope for them. The Lord's glory flashes as of 
 old ; his presence and power are still felt ; his word speaks and 
 his spirit works ; and the Peters, and Pauls, and Mary 
 INIagdalenes, are won over to be vessels of honor. What 
 marvellous transformations, glorious transmutations ! The 
 golden cups that once held only the wine of inebriation, and 
 so often entrapped the weak aiid inexperienced and unwary as 
 
 > i 
 
 li 
 
298 
 
 VESSELS OF HONOR AND DISHONOR, 
 
 they were pressed to their lips, are tarned over to be for the 
 Lord's sacred use, and are now filled with the water of life, 
 the wine of the gospel, the comforts and joys of salvation. 
 
 ]VIany centuries ago a lad was stolen away from his home 
 and sold as a captive in another land. How he bewailed his 
 sad fate ! But at last the truth of the gospel came to the 
 humble herd-boy, and he became a christian. Then came the 
 day when he was called to preach the cross to the people among 
 whom he had been a slave. He was but a rude earthen vessel, 
 utterly wanting of the polish of scholarship, but he was filled 
 with the spirit, and men heard his message, and yielded them- 
 selves to the truth, and many churches were planted, and 
 many thousands were saved. That captive lad became the 
 great St. Patrick, the patron Saint of Ireland. 
 
 The purging process by which a man comes to be a vessel 
 for the Lord's service, is often a long and tedious and sore one, 
 costing many tears, and hard experiences, and perhaps bitter 
 and repeated failures. Still, the harder the process, the more 
 the success and the grander the honor. 
 
 The Lord does not take every sort of vessel. We have here 
 what a vessel in his service, and especially one of honor, is to 
 be. 
 
 And the very first thing that is required in such a vessel, is 
 that it be clean, purged. It is not asked if it is gold, silver, 
 wood, earth ; but it is made an essential prerequisite, that the 
 vessel, whether gold or silver, wood or earth, be clean, be well 
 washed out. " If a man therefore purge himself from these." 
 
 The vessels of the sanctuary, the preacher, the christian 
 worker, who would be useful, who would be a success, must be 
 washed from sin in the blood of Christ. He must have a clean 
 heart. He must be clean in his habits. He must be clean in 
 his beliefs and opinions. He must live the clean life. No 
 smut about him. No stain upon his character. You do not 
 want to drink out of a cup that is nut clean. Nor do you 
 want the gospel from a man of unclean lips, and habits, and 
 life. 
 
VESSELS OF HONOR AND DISHONOR. 
 
 299 
 
 Then the vessel of honor must be sanctified, set apart for a 
 sacred use, consecrated, Spirit-filled. Peter was not only 
 washed from his sins ; he was set apart for the service of God, 
 called to it, consecrated, Spirit-filled. So with Paul. So with 
 every one who would be a power, a vessel of lionor. The reason 
 why the truth, as we preach it, the gospel, as we proclaim it, 
 does not bring men to their knees more tlian it does, is because 
 we are not consecrated from on high, endowed with spiritual 
 power, baptized with spiritual out-pouring and unction. 
 
 Tlien the vessel of honor is one that is meet for the Master's 
 use. The Master despises not the clay at his feet when he has 
 blind eyes to open. But then he works it over in his hands, 
 and mixes it with his spittle while he does so, ere he applies it. 
 Let us not think that we are all ready for the work. We need 
 ineetness for the use he would put us to. Let us be willing to 
 be taught, to be put through the fire perhaps, to be hammered 
 into obedience, to be slowly polished into beauty, to be 
 wrought over and over, till we are just right for the service it 
 is ours to serve, and prepared for every good work — mixed with 
 something of himself. 
 
 Thus you see, my hearer, that if we would be vessels of 
 honor, we must not be satisfied with an easy-going superficial 
 spiritual life. We must aim high. We must set before our- 
 selves an ideal worth} f us, no less an ideal indeed than the 
 perfect Master himself. " Be perfect." 
 
XXVIII. 
 
 Q^iich ^lubbieh, 
 
 nr 
 
 t(;l i 
 
 *' And there is much rubbish." — Np:iiem. iv. 10. 
 
 I HAVE a high admiration for Nehemiah. I like hira for 
 his simple ways, his ingenuousness, truthfuhiess, patriotism. 
 He makes no pretensions, atiects neither greatness nor goodness. 
 Everywhere and always he is himself, brave, true, earnest ; 
 open as the day, honest as the light, straight to the point. And 
 then he has a mind of his own, keeps his own secrets, takes his 
 own advice, forms his own opinions, sees things for himself, 
 acts on his own responsibility. You find nothing weak and 
 small about him, and never anything unworthy. He is above 
 trifling, never forgets that he has a great mission on hand, and 
 shrinks from neither duty nor difficulty. Such is Nehemiah 
 as he appears to me, and taking him for all he is worth he is 
 indeed a splendid man, one of ten-thousand. 
 
 His history is involved in obscurity. We cannot be sure 
 even of the tribe he belongs to. We find him holding the 
 honorable and responsible office of cupbearer to Artaxerxes, the 
 then monarch of the mighty Persian Empire. As cupbearer it 
 was his duty to taste the wine, and then hand it to the monarch 
 to drink. The office was one of trust and responsibility, and it 
 speaks well for Nehemiah, that though a foreigner, he was 
 honored with a place so near the king's august person. But 
 
 
MUCH RUBBISH. 
 
 jot 
 
 sure 
 
 pvon ftmid tlio luxury and lienor of the Persian palace tho j:?oo(l 
 Neheniiali sij,'hed for tlio land of his fathers, and he was grieved 
 to learn of the sad state matters Here in at Jerusalem. The 
 news so preyed upon his mind that his health was iiupairt'dj 
 and he could not hide his trouble from the king. One day the 
 king startl(Kl him by asking how it was he wasso sad. Nehemiah 
 then told the king all about it, and so was given lea\e of 
 absence with a view to visit Jerusalem and put matters to 
 rights there. 
 
 Arriving at Jerusalem in due time he rested for three days. 
 Then one night, when all the city was asleep, he mounted his 
 ass, and attended only by a servant or two, he visited the ruins, 
 examined for hiiiiself the breaches in the walls, formed his own 
 opinions as to the state of matters, and returned to his lodgings. 
 Then he set to work, but the work was great, for there was 
 nmch rubbish. Still, he kept at it with a brave heart, triumph- 
 ing over every difficulty, thwarting the malice and machina- 
 tions of his unscrupulous enemies, and he succeeded. 
 
 Now, my hearers, it seems to me we may learn some use* 
 ful lessons, in living our lives, in doing our work, from the 
 much rubbish that Nehemiah found in connection with liis 
 work of repairing the walls of Jerusalem. 
 
 And first, I remark, that nmch rubbish may imply that 
 much good work is going on and being done, and if so, much 
 rubbish is not such a bad thing ; it is rather a good sign. 
 
 For instance, go into a busy shop, say a carpenter-shop, and 
 you will find it full to the doors of rubbish in the shape of 
 chips, shavings, chisellings, saw-dust, deal-ends, lumber, and 
 work in all stages of progress. You can hardly get through 
 the rubbish, there is so much of it. There seems to be more 
 rubbish than anything else. And then what a confusion of 
 noises — the saw sawing, the chisel chiselling, the augur boring, 
 the axe hewing, the hammer nailing, and the multitudinous 
 din of machinery, all clamoring and clattering together with 
 their harsh tongues : " Rubbish ! rubbish ! " It may indeed 
 
302 
 
 MUCH RUHBISII. 
 
 smut your good clotlies to go into such a shop, shock your ideas 
 of order and neatness, and perchance you may get an ugly 
 blow with a flying deal-end ; hut much rubbish is for all that 
 a good sign, for it means uiuch work, and much work is the 
 hoj)e of the country. 
 
 Suppose it were far otherwise. Suppose you went into a 
 carpenter-shop, and it was swept clean from end to end, not a 
 shaving on the floor, nor a grain of saw-dust, the bright keen- 
 edged tools arranged in their places, no confusion, no unfinish- 
 ed work lying around, no din and dust, but all in first-class 
 order as if the shop was keeping Sabbatli. And I believe 
 in a shop keeping Sabbath on the Sabbath, but not every day 
 in the week. Ah! you say, as you enter, "I like the good order 
 here. I like to be in a shop where I can hear myself speak, 
 and not get my clothes smutted, and my head broken. No 
 rubbish here ! " Yes ; but no rubbish means no work, and no 
 work means workmen's hungry liomes, and want and woe in 
 the land. 
 
 There are cities you go into, and the streets and sidewalks 
 are all lumbered up with this and that, so that you can hardly 
 make your way along through them. Goods are piled up. 
 Buildings are in process of demolition or erection. Sev/ers are 
 being dug, and new pavements are being laid. Narrow streets 
 are being widened and improved, and new ones are being open- 
 ed. Here premises are being extended to meet the growing 
 wants of the firm ; there piles of architecture of the most 
 elegant and substantial character are being put up. And this 
 is going on all over the city. As you walk or drive througli 
 the streets, you remark that it is a city fuller of rubbish than 
 almost any city you were ever in, and you do not like it on 
 that account. But the rubbish means life, energy, business, 
 growth, plenty of work and plenty of money, good times, happy 
 homes, a great and prosperous future. 
 
 And then, on the other hand, there are cities, their streets 
 clean and unencumbered^ their houses all built twenty years 
 
] 
 
 ML'CII Ruunisii. 
 
 303 
 
 ago, no iinprovoments noodcd or wanted, nothing going on to 
 upset and disarrange things, no raih-oads being built right 
 through their gardens, no modern improvements and innova- 
 tions making havoc of oldtime ideas, their peopU> all (hessed 
 as if it was one long holiday with tiiem, and everything about 
 them — their stores, residences, back-yards and out-houses, 
 hotels, churches, jails, and such like. Just so, about perfect in 
 every way. You go along the streets of those cities, and you 
 are in no danger of stumbling over a pile of building material, 
 or of falling into a sewer or cellar that is being dug, or of being 
 run down by somebody in a hurry, or of having your equani- 
 mity disturbed by a street-row or a Salvation-army parade. 
 You will hear good old christian people speaking of the quiet 
 village or town where they were born and brought up, to the 
 effect, that until the railroad and telegraph and telephone, and 
 the free Public School and printing-press came along, it was 
 like Sunday all the week in their stre(5ts — no drunkenness, no 
 fighting, no Sabbath-breaking, no burglary, no divorces, no 
 evil of any kind to speak of, and they never cease bewailing 
 the introduction of the new order of things, and lamenting the 
 decadence of the good old times. 
 
 And yet, good as the old times were, the golden age of other 
 days, the quiet meditative Sabbaths, and sober sedateness and 
 easy-goingness of life in the past, and notwithstanding the rush 
 and rubbish that come with modern progress, who would care 
 to go back to those good old days 1 I grant, and I suppose we 
 are all ready enough to grant, that something has been lost, and 
 had to be lost, in breaking with the past and its quaint old- 
 fashioned ways of living and doing, and it is not for us to run 
 it down and despise it, and compare it unfavorably with what 
 is to-day, as if we have all that is good and our grandfathers 
 had none. It served its purpose and did its work quite as well 
 as these days of ours. If the past was slow, it was sure. To-day 
 we are quick, we rush ; but we are slip-shod, and there is mucli 
 that is rubbish. Still,. there is progress all along the line, and 
 
 i i 
 I! 
 
 i: 
 
304 
 
 MUCH Runmsit» 
 
 c 
 
 If I I 
 
 bettor tlio rul)bis}i of to-day than tho rust of ypstonlay. W*o 
 <lo not liko tlio rubbish, hut after all th«'re may he worse than 
 rubbish. Thus even rubliish has its phiee and use, for you 
 cannot have work and jJi-o-^ress witliout rubbislj, and the more 
 work and prpf^ress the more rubbish* 
 
 And tJiis is so in tho re^'ion of the spiritual as well as that 
 of the secular, in a live and prof:5reHsive church as well as in rt 
 live and progressive city. You cannot have ago-ahead church 
 without rubbish. You do not like to see oM sacred cditices 
 with their dust and cobwebs, their quaint pulpit and angular 
 and uncomfortable pews, their old-time worship and so on, 
 pulled down, or moved out of the way, and their places tilled 
 with modern temples and new methods of worshij) an<l woik. 
 But the rising generation demands it, and .so there is ruljbish. 
 And what makes it so hard is this, that what is sacred to you 
 is rubbish to them, just as what is sacred to them is rubbish 
 to you. You say of organs, choirs, hymn-books, reading-desks, 
 collection-plates, written and read sermons, socials, and so on, 
 " Rubbish ! Rubbish 1" and if you had it your way, you would 
 make short work with them, for with your broom you would 
 sweep them all out of the church as both an innovation and 
 desecration. 
 
 And, of course, much of all this that we deem necessary to 
 carry on the church's work to-day is rubbish. You remember 
 when this church was being built, the builders erected scaffold" 
 ing, and often had recourse to all sorts of things, some of them 
 very insufficient things indeed, to aid them in reaching and 
 carrying forward their work ; and in those days so necessary 
 was the scaffolding, and there was so much of it, that it seem- 
 ed almost more and more important than the building itself. 
 My little children would sometimes ask me when the scaffold' 
 ing was being put up, if that was the church. But when the 
 church came to be built, the scaffolding was all taken down 
 and thrown into a great heap of rubbish to be carried awayi 
 
 And so with all the arrangements we have for carrying on 
 the church's work and building ber up in the world — the 
 
I 
 
 MICII RLUDISH. 
 
 305 
 
 pronrlnncf, tlio singincf, tho Sahbath-day sorvieos, tlio sacn^l 
 cniiiiiiuuioii seasons, tlio luissiunary iii«'<'tii)L;s, \\io woikiiii,'- 
 l>aii(ls, the sessions, tlir jin'shytcries, the synods and asseinl)lies, 
 tho confessions and creeds, the ruisitji,' of money, and so niurh 
 else. They are so necessiry and bulk so much before oui' ey»'s 
 that we are in dan^'er of rei^ardin;,' them nn more than they 
 are, as th»; church itself, and not the scatVoldint,'. lUit they 
 are otdy the scallblding, ami as such will be pulh'd down by- 
 and-by and cast away as rubbish. Let us not despise, however, 
 tJie cund)ersoine pilt; of scatlblding around some churches, and 
 tho amount of ecclesiastical machinery in motion, for usually 
 where there ie much rul)bisl» there is nmch woik. 
 
 But, in the second place, nuich rubbish may be, and often 
 is, a sore evil, a serious dmwback to work, T have sjioken at 
 some length on what may be called the good side of rubbish, 
 but let us not overlook the fact that rubbish has an evil side, 
 a very evil side. I suppose rul)bish is a necessary evil in tho 
 world as we find it. We cannot make things, nor have them, 
 without rubbish ; still, it is so ea«y for the rubbish to gel tho 
 mastery and become a nuisance, a real evil, a plague. 
 
 Nehemiah found it so in his work of repairing the walls of 
 Jerusalem. Jerusalem's sins of other days, the godlcssness of 
 her kings and priests and people, had l)rought upon her the 
 judgments of Heaven. "VVar had come to her, and broken 
 down her walls, l)urnt Ii't temple and homes, and carried off 
 lier people to capuvity. i'ur some seventy years she had lain 
 in ruins, an eye-sore to the nations, a plague spot in the heart 
 of the then world, a heap of rubbish. But days of hope and 
 help were coming back to her, and the captives were returning, 
 and were slowly and feebly re-building their ruined country. 
 The work, however, was heavy, and there was much opposi- 
 tion, and so every now and again the work would come to a 
 stand still. Then it was when Nehemiah arrived mpon the 
 scene with his pluck and push, and in his hands, and under 
 his management and skill, there-building took a fresh start. 
 
 ! I 
 
 I I ' 
 
 I 
 
jo6 
 
 MUCH RUBBISH. 
 
 But he found much rubbish. The debris of the old walls had 
 to be removed, and there were such quantities of it, and so 
 n)any difficulties in the way of removing it, that it was all 
 but a hopeless task. The building np afterwards did not seem 
 to be much compared to the pulling down of the old ruins and 
 the removing of the rubbish. It was work men did not like. 
 Scarcely for either love or money would they do it, and 
 Nehemiah found he had about all he could do to keep his own 
 servants from relinquishing the work in disgust. But he kept 
 them at it, for he worked like a hero hiraself with his own 
 hands, and the rubbish was at last got out of the way. 
 
 And then there was rubbish of another sort that was even 
 harder to remove, the indifference of the people, and in some 
 cases, their active opposition. The authorities did not like to 
 see Nehemiah coming with a commission from the king tc 
 interfere with them and their way of doing things ; and so, 
 some of them, in an underhanded sort of way, did all they 
 could to weaken his hands and drive him from the work. But 
 this rubbish of inditlerence on the part of the people, and 
 opposition on the part of the authorities in the city, and open 
 hostility on the part of outsiders, only tended tc make the 
 good Nehemiah more determined, and so this heap of rubbish 
 was also removed. He had it hard. Only a patriot and a 
 christian could have stood what he had to stand, but he held 
 to it with unyielding determination to succeed, and he succeed- 
 ed. In his hands Jerusalem arose from her ruins, and put on 
 some of her old-time beauty and strength, and it was a very 
 different city when he came to leave it from what it was as he 
 found it. 
 
 Now, my hearers, I think it can be shewn, if you will bear 
 with me, that every truly earnest man, every christian, every 
 man who has a right understanding of his own spiritual needs, 
 every man who hiraself wants to be what he ought to be, every 
 man who wants to build up the church and promote the inter- 
 ests of Christ's -Kingdom in the world, every man who wanta 
 
 
MUCH RUBBISH. 
 
 307 
 
 1 i m 
 I i 
 
 s had 
 ncl so 
 as all 
 , seem 
 IS and 
 t like, 
 t, and 
 LS own 
 e kept 
 is own 
 
 LS even 
 n some 
 like to 
 ang to 
 md so, 
 ,11 they 
 z. But 
 le, and 
 id open 
 ike the 
 rubbish 
 t and a 
 he held 
 iuceeed- 
 I put on 
 s a very 
 as as he 
 
 vill bear 
 1, every 
 1 needs, 
 je, every 
 le inter- 
 10 wants 
 
 to benefit and bless society, every man who is a true citizen 
 *nd patriot, must, like Nehemiah, know and deplore the evil 
 of much rubbish. " And there i'=' much rubbish." 
 
 He has much rubbish in and about himself. There are those 
 who tell us they have got nicely rid of all their rubbish — their 
 sins forgiven, their old habits given up, their old scores settled, 
 the old man with his evil deeds and lusts dead and buried and 
 the new man put on, their virtues and graces all built up, the 
 fulness in Christ attained to ; but the most of us find that we 
 are in a chaos of rubbish, so much so indeed, that it is often a 
 question with us whetlier there is anything else. We have the 
 rubbish that arises from the neglect of years, a wasted youth, 
 lost opportunities, unimproved privileges, to clear away. 
 Then we have the rubbish perhaps of bad habits, idleness, 
 carelessness, drunkenness, lust, uncontrolled passions and ap- 
 petites, evil speaking and profane swear'ng, boastfulness, 
 deceit, dishonesty, revengefulness, a sour and disagreeable 
 disposition, and so much else, to struggle with and overcome. 
 Then we have a multitude of infirmities that we have inherit- 
 ed from an evil parentage and that we have incurred by the 
 prodigalities of a reckless youth — uncleannesses, ailments and 
 diseases, pains and aches, and so on, some of which we will 
 never be able to get clear of while a bit of the old tenement 
 sticks together ; — this heap of rubbish we may have to stumble 
 over and fret with the rest of our days, for it is not likely we 
 will get clear of the whole of it. Men tell us about perfection 
 and what they have done and are, through the mighty power 
 of God's grace working in them ; but there are thorns in the 
 flesh, rubbish and dirt so in us, that they have to stay there, 
 and the only thing we can do with them is to bear them, and 
 in that way triumph over them. This was Paul's experience, 
 and it is the experience of many eminently good men. What 
 is the man with one leg to do, or with one hand, or with one 
 lung, or with a body twisted up into deformity, or with a soul 
 anything but well-balanced, or with the best part of his life 
 
 If: 
 
 I \ 
 
— ..JtJ — 
 
 308 
 
 MUCH RUBBISH. 
 
 7^1 f* 
 
 i i 
 
 h ■;.! 
 
 haunting him the rest of his days with memories of evil he 
 can never get away from ; — I ask, what is such a man to do 
 with all this rubbish ? Ah ! he has to bear with it, and do the 
 best he can with it. And some of these very imperject men 
 are doing better for society, better for the church, better for 
 the world, better for the ^Master than the so-called perfect 
 ones, much of whose time is taken up with self-admiration. 
 
 Then society is full of rubbish, and it is every true man's 
 place and privilege to help away with the heaps of rubbish 
 that disfigure and encumber and curse our modern social life. 
 There, for instance, are the drinking usages of society, the 
 pride and folly and fashion, the indolence and indulgence, the 
 utter uselessnesa of a life lived for society, the evils of caste 
 and class, and so much else. It is one endless round of 
 parties — dinner-parties, five-o'clock tea-parties, quadrille- 
 parties,garden-parties,euchre-parties, champagne supper-parties, 
 and parties the less said about the better, and so it comes to 
 pass, that this solemn earnest life of ours is utterly frittered 
 away, and nothing worthy of it done, or attempted. Now, I 
 want to be understood, that I have no quarrel with many of 
 these things in themselves, and kept in their proper place, but 
 it is the endless round of them that makes them rubbish. 
 There are young people who are at some sort of amuse- 
 ment every night in the week, and that too for weeks together, 
 and it goes without saying, that those young men and women, 
 unless they give up such an empty frivolous life, will never be 
 good for this world or the next. Oh, as earnest men and 
 women, as those who have the welfare of the city at heart and 
 the future of our country, as those who love the young and 
 Avant to see them do well and live usefully and noljly, let us 
 set ourselves to cast away from us this mountain of rubbish, 
 that has been gathering and heaping up until it will bury us, 
 if we do not burn it. 
 
 Then the church, our own beloved Zion, our Jerusalem, is 
 cumbered with much rubbish, I spoke a little ago of the 
 
ML'CII PUBBISII. 
 
 309 
 
 necessity of a certain amount of rubbish. Wliore a church is 
 alive an aggressive and progressive churt'h, there will be, and 
 must bo, rubbish. 8onie of you call rubbish what others are 
 trying to do to advance the interests of the cause, and build 
 up the church. And I agree with you. liut it may be necessary 
 rubbish, the scaffolding necessary to carry on the woik. We 
 cannot do at all without more or less rubbish. TIkm-c is 
 rubbish, however, that is not necessary, and is in the way of 
 every good work. Our opposition — a good deal of it — is 
 rubbish. Our criticism and fault-tinding, our standing in ihc 
 way with folded arms when others with sleeves rolled up are 
 earnestly at work, our stupid prejudice, and so on, I call 
 rubbish. 
 
 And then so often a church drifts away from the right, and 
 lets gather in upon her so much that is not of her — the world's 
 policy, doubtful expedients, dangerous influences, rags of 
 heathenism or Judaism or some other ism equally corrupting. 
 Then churches c^et into careless ways of managing their business. 
 They k^t debt pile up. They get out of repair. The members 
 quarrel. Troubles gather and gather, and soon there is much 
 rubbish, little in facl but rub))ish. 
 
 I notice in the spring of the year how much of the city's 
 rubbish fhids its way to the river. The ice is unsightly with 
 heaps and heaps of rubbish. But the spring-floods comt\ and 
 the ice is broken up, and the rubbish is all swept away and. 
 seen no more. And what we want in our spiritual experience 
 and church-life is a blessed flood-time of grace every now and 
 again to sweep away our I'ubbish. A true re\ival is a great 
 good, and to be earnestly sought for. Let us {»ray for times of 
 refreshing to visit us, so that we may l)e swept clean of the. 
 world's unsightly rubbish, and that w(.' )nay be awakened to 
 a new and holy energy as a chui'ch and jjeoplc Oh the rubbish 
 of sin ! But Jesus' blood cleanses away from us all this vile 
 rub')ish, and fits us for his service on earth and his glory in 
 Pleaven. 
 
, 
 
 
 'I 
 
 
 I 
 
 XXIX. 
 ^ragin^ ^USSiihoxii ©caein^. 
 
 " Pray without ceasing." — I Thess. v. 17. 
 
 GROUPED together here are some thirteen simple, terse, 
 epigrammatic exhortations bearing on living questions, 
 enunciating practical every-day christian dutit3 and privileges, 
 and the text, as is fitting perhaps, occupies th middle place of 
 the group. We like them because they are so sliort and sen- 
 tentious; they say so much in such few words, multum in 
 parvo. We like them because they are easy to remember and 
 repeat, and they are so forceful and expressive. We like them 
 because of the clear ring of truth and commonsense about 
 them ; they iingle like rhyme, read like proverbs, are straight 
 to the point. We like them because they fit in almost any- 
 where, suit every mood and tense of our varied spiritual ex- 
 perience, are always appropriate, always acceptable, never or.t 
 of place, never obtrusive, never stale. After you have filled a 
 letter full of loving messages and good counsels to a son or 
 daughter far away, there is always room in some corner or 
 other to stick in one of these brief apostoiic epigrams, and 
 often with the happiest and most telling effect. 
 
 Now, we are to study to-day the exhortation that occupies 
 the central position in this interesting group of apostolic ex- 
 hortations, and it is on how to pray. " Pray without ceasing.'' 
 
PRAYING WITHOUT CEASING. 
 
 5it 
 
 pies 
 ex- 
 
 I. Prayer — what it is : Here is something we are to do 
 without ceasing, and we want to know about it. It must be 
 a very important something, a very essential something, since 
 we are enjoined to do it without ceasing. Not many things 
 can we do without ceasing. Work is very important in its 
 own place, very essential to the most of us, but we cannot 
 work without ceasing. We have to stop, no matter how bu^- 
 we are, to rest, eat, sleep. Nor can we play even without 
 ceasing. Much as play is to some of us, we cannot keep at it 
 all the time. We want to do something else sometimes. And 
 we cannot eat and drink, we cannot filcop and dreara, without 
 ceasing. And so witli most things we do. We cannot keep 
 at them continuously, unceasingly. But there are some other 
 things, a very few things, we can do, and must do, all the time, 
 if we are to be and do at all. 
 
 For instance, we have to breathe without ceasing. To cease 
 to breathe is to cease to live. When we were born we befff.n 
 to breathe, and we have been at it ever since. Night and day, 
 sleeping and waking, resting and working, at home or abroad, 
 we keep on breathing. And so with some other things about 
 as, such as the circulation of the blood, the process of nutri- 
 tion, and so on. These things are so essential to us that we 
 cannot do without them, we cannot stop using them. 
 
 Now, ray hearer, just as breathing without ceasing is neces- 
 sary to the body, to our physical life, so praying without ceas- 
 ing is necessary to the soul, to the spiritual life. As the poet 
 puts it ; 
 
 Prayer is the Ohristian's vital breath, 
 The Christian's native air. 
 You say of a man who had been so r>oftrly dead tlmt you 
 thought he was dead, who had been all but drowned or suffo- 
 cated perhaps, and with whom you had been working hard to 
 restore animation ; — you say of him as you see some feeble 
 signs of returning life : " Behold he begins to live, for he 
 breathes, he bre>athes !" And when a poor sianer, in whose 
 
312 
 
 PRAYING WITHOUT CEASIXa 
 
 
 if: 
 
 ■ I-; 
 
 sad spiritual case you had been deeply interested, and for 
 whom you had been doing all you could to reclaim and save, 
 begins to show some signs of spiritual concern, no matter how 
 insufticient, you are so excited, so anxious, and when he falls 
 on his knees, and in an agony of earnestness cries up to 
 Heaven for help and meroy, you can hardly contain yourself as 
 you voice your joy in words of this import : " Behold there is 
 hope for his soul ; he prayeth, he prayeth !" 
 
 Prayer is thus to the spiritual life something like wliat 
 breath is to the natural life. We breathe to live the natural 
 life ; we pray to live the spiritual life. Every time we breathe 
 we take in something of the unseen above and around us ; we 
 feed on heaven, as it were, and so we liv3 and are strong to do. 
 So with prayer. Every true prayer we send up draws down 
 into our souls something of the unseen holy above and around 
 us, something of Heaven, something of God, and so we live and 
 grow upward, God-ward, and we are all the stronger to do the 
 right, all the braver to resist the wrong. 
 
 Prayer is so simple ; it is as simple and easy as breathing. 
 You breathe, and you do not know you are breathing. You 
 breathe unconsciously, without any effort. You can sleep and 
 breathe. You can breathe and not be heard, only a gentle 
 heaving of the bosom. If breathing costs an effort, if it is at- 
 tended with more or less of a struggle, if it makes itself heard, 
 then it is not healthful breathing. Loud and labored breath- 
 ing is not usually a good sign, although there may be occasions 
 when it may simply indicate that a very special effort has been 
 put forth for a good and grand purpose. 
 
 Now, praying like breathing is best perhaps, most natunil 
 and healthful, when it is without effort. And sometimes the 
 christian finds it so easy to pray, just as easy as to breathe. 
 The soul lies prostrate at the feet of God, happy and ti'ustful, 
 looking up, and without almost any effort whatever, waiting 
 on him. It resigns itself to his will, tells its wants into a 
 Heavenly Father's ear, and is sure that all is well with it hov;- 
 
PRAYING WITHOUT CEASING. 
 
 31; 
 
 ever it is with it. It koops within touch of God all tho time, 
 smd quick as tliouL,'ht, ami just as easy as breatiiinr^, it can 
 avail itisolf of his power, Uee to his arms for protection, com- 
 fort and strengthen itself 'with his promises, and know the joy 
 of his presence. 
 
 But prayer is not always thus easy. Sometimes men of 
 earnest purpose pray with strong crying and tears, agonizing 
 at the footstool, wrestling like Jacob all night and refusing to 
 let the Prayer-Hearer go till he has granted their reijuest. 
 Thus CInist iiiniself prayed in the garden in the dai-k hour of 
 agony that came to him there. Thus prayed Elijah for the 
 rain, and the windows of Heaven were opened in answer. Thus 
 prayed Daniel for his captive countryiuen. Thus prayed Knox 
 for Scotland. Thus prayed Luther in the dark days of the 
 Reformation when it looked as if tlio gates of Hell were going 
 to prevail. And thus prayed in awful earnestness many a 
 strong faithful soul, crying aloud to God, laboring as if in tho 
 l)irth-throes of a great purpose that meant a glad new life or 
 the horror of despair, and taking Heaven by a kind of vio- 
 lence. But then such are evidently exceptional and special 
 cases, and not always healthful. As a rule prayer is the 
 ])reathing of the soul, as gentle as breathing, as easy as breath- 
 ing, as natural and necessary. 
 
 Prayer usually shapes itself into words. It tells its wants 
 when it knows them, voices its sins and sorrows, urges reasons 
 and arguments for what it would have. " Take with you 
 words," says the prophet of old, "and return unto the Lord." 
 The Heavenly Father likes to hear his children pratth; their 
 little wants and plead their case for themselves at his knee_ 
 It is good to put our prayers into words. Put we can pray 
 without words, and sometimes we pray best when we have no 
 words to tell how we feel — only tears and groans. We may 
 l)e ablt; only to lie at the feet of the Divine mercy, so un- 
 speakably Slid and sore-ho:irted, and look up, and wait, and 
 hope. "We may pray when we do not know we are praying. 
 
 ii 
 
3U 
 
 PRAYING WITHOUT CEASING. 
 
 1 I 
 
 I 
 
 It is well to have seasons of prayer and places for prayer, but 
 the christian can pray anywhere, any time. As he walks along 
 the street, toils at his work, sits or stands, alone or in com- 
 pany, he can pray. The good Nehemiah prayed, when he 
 stood before the king of Persia with the wine-cup in his hand. 
 I can pray as I preach. I can pray between the sentences and 
 paragraphs as they go forth from my lips on their Divine 
 mission. And you can pray as you hear, pray as the words of 
 truth come ringing to your ears. 
 
 How hard to pray ! how easy to pray ! Some one may say: 
 *' I cannot pray. Ask me to do anything else but pray. It 
 puts me into anguish of spirit to pray. I cannot pray." And 
 hear some men pray, and what an ado they make of it. How 
 much of an effort ! They shout so loud ; they seem to take 
 Heaven by violence. They think they will be heard for their 
 loud and much speaking. But, on the other hand, to one who 
 has learned how to pray, learned it perhaps in the school of 
 hard spiritual experience, learned it in the hot furnace of 
 affliction, learned it out among the wildly tossing waves of 
 doubt and temptation, nothing is easier. It is a look up to 
 Heaven. It is the breathing of a true soul. It is talking to 
 the Lord who is felt to be close by, and it is listening to him 
 as he talks back in gracious loving answers. O the precious- 
 ness of prayer ! what a privilege ! what a power ! He who can 
 pray well can move the hand that moves the universe. 
 
 II. Praying Without Ceasing : "Pray without ceasing!" — 
 who can pray without ceasing ? it is asked. And so men have 
 questioned and cavilled here, and have piled up their objections 
 and difficulties. Praying is not much to their mind anyhow. 
 They are only too glad when they can find an excuse, however 
 lame, to cover up their neg'ects, and be a reason of some sort 
 for their delinquencies. But it will not do. There stands be- 
 fore us here in all its exacting strictness, almost formidable- 
 ness, the apostolic injunction — "pray without ceasing ;" and 
 cverv true earnest soul will want to know, not how to evade 
 
PRAYING WITHOUT Cl'ASING. 
 
 315 
 
 but 
 
 him 
 
 the demand as far as possible, but rr.ther how near np to all 
 that is enjoined and required it can come. 
 
 Now, note here this sound scriptural principle, that doctrines 
 and duties, the things to be belifived and done, the responsi- 
 bilities laid upon us and the lessons of life assigned us to learn, 
 are not made for us as easy as possible, but rather as hard Jis 
 possible. 
 
 For instance, you do not find it written anywhere here in 
 God's Book : " Take it easy. No need for so much rush. 
 To-morrow will do as well as to-day. Our God will not be 
 hard on us. He is love, therefore if we indulge the flesh a 
 little, if we sleep, if we are not all we ought to be, not quite 
 up to the mark, it will be all right." 
 
 It is getting to be fashionable to-day in some pulpits to 
 preach how easy it is to be a christian, how little is essential 
 to salvation and true religion. In other words, the tendency 
 is to lower the standard to-day. It is the gospel made easy, 
 the gospel made easy ! While the standards of education and 
 morality are rising, the standards of truth and religion are 
 being lowered, which is anything but a good sign. 
 
 But, my hearer, that is not the way here. Open your bible, 
 and what fervency, what urgency ! It is here : " Flee for your 
 life ! escape ! escape ! look not behind thee ! To-day, if ye will 
 hear His voice, harden not your heart. Strive to enter the 
 strait gate." 
 
 And then as to duty-doing and christian living, not any sort 
 of doing and life-living will pass. You are not to be good as 
 others are good, live as others live, love as others love, satisfy 
 yourself with low attainments. No. Far otherwise. You 
 are to be good as God is good. You are to love as He loves, 
 love your enemies as he love his, bless your persecutors, do 
 good to those who work you all the harm they can. It is not 
 much of a goodness that does good to those only who are good, 
 nor a very high style of love that loves only its friends. 
 Everybody does that. Publicans and sinners do that. The 
 
 J 
 
3i6; 
 
 PRAYING WITHOUT CEASING. 
 
 ! I 
 
 .^;l 
 
 worst of men do that. I»ut you are to aim I.'i;lier. You are 
 to aim at nothing short of perfection in gtjudness and grace. 
 «' J5o perfect." 
 
 The same great Bible principle, then, is to guide you in 
 praying as in otlier things. It is to be perfection here also, 
 the very best, the praying indeed that seems to be clear away 
 out of sight of what you can i)()ssibly attain to. But the im- 
 possible is something the christian is not to know anything 
 about. What can he not do, God helping him ! What can 
 ho not attain to in the direction of spiritual attairiinents ! 
 
 My hearer, you are not simply to pray. You tliink you do 
 well when you pr.ay at all, perhaps. But it is not umch to do 
 that. Almost everybody pra^s more or less. The heathen 
 pray, pray hard. The greatest scoundrel, I suppose, prays 
 sometimes. There are times that come to every human ex- 
 perience, times so full of pain, so dark with sorrow, so terrible 
 with woe, that men are driven to tlieir knees, even bad men, 
 and they pray. Wiien we want to succeed, when we want to 
 be crowned with the world's empty greatness, when we want 
 our plans to be carried out — plans perhaps that have no higher 
 end in view than our own personal aggrandizement, we pray. 
 The rumseller prays that he may succeed in his business. The 
 thief p" lys that he may not be caught. The assassin prays 
 that he may shoot straight. The politician prays that he may 
 come to power, and all the time perhaps he is doing the most 
 crooked things to gain his ends. IMo, my hearer, to pray is 
 not always a sign of great jilcty. Praying sometimes pays^ 
 and for the sake of the pay me:i [ •ay. 
 
 Others again pray as a matter of duty and habit, pray at 
 stated times and places. I like men who make prayer a 
 matter of duty. They may not have any special object in view 
 in praying. They may not expect any special blessing. It is 
 not because it pays they pray, but because they feel it to be 
 their duty. And they are very conscientious about it. Every 
 Lord's Day they are in their place in the sanctuary with bow- 
 
PRAVING WITHOUT CEASING. 
 
 3t7 
 
 P(l lioids and lioiu'ts wnitiiii,' upon (iod. Twico every tliy 
 tlirouu'li tlu! yc.-irs they arc on their kneos. Some thrice — 
 niorninLf, noon, ni^dit. Others still oftener. ''Seven times a 
 day," said the Psalmist, "do I praise theo because of thy 
 rii^hteous judi^ments. ' And yet, niakin;^ prayer a matter of 
 duty, and bein;^ thoroujL^hly conscientious about it, and most 
 punctilious in its p(»rfoi'mance, may not be all it seems to ho. 
 1 1 may bo cold, formal, heartless, commonplace prayiui,', pray- 
 ing' that is a long long way short of the mark. And so the 
 Apostle would wake us up, give us higher ideas of our tluty at 
 the footstool than a onc(!-a-week service, or a twice or thrico 
 or even sev(m times a day prostration before God. There is a 
 beyond to all that devotion, heights towering high above duty 
 and formality, and he wants us to get on to the glad Ijeyond 
 of prayer ; he wants us to climb to the very tip-top of the 
 blessed privilege, and therefore he exhorts: "Pray without 
 
 ceasing. 
 
 I do not think, however, we are under any necessity to in- 
 terpret the words of the Apostle literally. To do that would 
 be to make nonsense, yes the most arrant nonsense, of what 
 he says. No writer is to be taken in a cold literal sense, and 
 especially such a writer as the Apostle whose soul is on fire 
 with enthusiasm. When he enjoins us to pray without ceasing 
 it is his strong way of telling us never to neglect the duty and 
 privilege of prayer, a thing l)y the way we are very apt to do. 
 
 So many, it is to be regretted, set out to pray very well, but 
 then they do not hold out. They are regularly and consci- 
 entiously here for a while, seldom absent indeed. At the 
 week-day prayer-service, too, they are most attentive. And 
 twice a ^ay they are on their knees perhaps, or oftener. But 
 that does not continue. They gi-ow careless. The world comes 
 in and interrupts their attentiveness at the footstool. Their 
 place is empty in the sanctuary and at the prayer-meeting. 
 They are so busy family worship is ch'opped, and secret prayer 
 is neglected. Ah ! spiritual declension has commenced and 
 
fl' 
 
 '.? « ! 
 
 ri 
 
 tili:; 
 
 t!( 
 
 i' 
 
 !:i 
 
 3>8 
 
 PRAYING WITHOUT CEASING. 
 
 iij.a<l(» fearful licivdway with thorn, and soon there will bo a 
 j,'rievou.s fall. Tlu; ApostU; knows how easy it is to grow care- 
 less at tlio footstool and neglect prayer, and he knows too how 
 fatal it is to grow careless and neglectful there, and so in his 
 own strong and terse way of {)utting things ho says hero : 
 '* Pray witliout ceasing. Never stoj) praying. Let no oppor- 
 tunity for worship bo neglected. Bo instant in season and 
 out of season at the footstool. Keep the tiro burning Ijrightly 
 on the altar ; never let it go out." 
 
 Thus, praying without ceasing means neither more nor less 
 than tliis, that men are to be faithful and diligcnit at tlui foot- 
 stool, not like sonio who give up praying after a while, and are 
 seldom or never on their knees. Still, while something like 
 that is all that is meant here, and that is much, it is right for 
 us, I think, to get at all the fulness of the blessed privilege, 
 and the more nearly we can do just as we are told to do here 
 the better. So often we interpret scripture to suit ourselves, 
 to comport with our own low ideas of duty and truth, and so 
 we miss the grandeur of its spiritual meaning. 
 
 Now, is there not a sense in which we can pray without 
 ceasing ? I think there is, and I have already indicated, in 
 speaking of the nature of prayer, the direction in which almost 
 unlimited attainments are within our reach. Prayer is not so 
 much a physical as a spiritual attitude, not so much a lifting 
 up of the hands as a lifting up of the heart, not a mode but a 
 mood, and we are to cultivate the spirit of prayer, keep in the 
 mood, live in the atmosphere of devot. .m*, so that we can pray 
 anywhere and always. There is such a close living to God, 
 such a dwelling in his presence, such a felt nearness, so much 
 of communion with the unseen Jesus, that it is almost unceas- 
 ing praying. And it is not as hard to attain as it looks. I 
 have to confess that I do not know very much about it, not as 
 much indeed as one in my position should ; but I can easily 
 understand from what I know, that it is not hard at all for 
 some of the Lord's people to pray all the time. It is as easy 
 
be a 
 
 care- 
 D how 
 ill his 
 horo : 
 Dppor- 
 iii and 
 ightly 
 
 or less 
 o foot- 
 lUtl are 
 jg like 
 s^ht for 
 ivilege, 
 lo here 
 rselves, 
 and so 
 
 vithout 
 
 ited, in 
 
 almost 
 
 4 not 30 
 
 lifting 
 e but a 
 > in the 
 in pray 
 to God, 
 10 much 
 unceas- 
 >oks. 1 
 I, not as 
 n easily 
 ,t all for 
 
 as easy 
 
 PRAYING WIIIIOIT CEASING. 
 
 3'9 
 
 for thorn to pray as it is to breathe, so close to the Lord and so 
 much in conmiunion with hiiu do they live. It is keeping in 
 touch with the unseen Jesus, living ns in his pi'esenot' ; and 
 many times a day, unceasingly almost, they find themselves 
 looking to him for somethiiig or other, asking his htilp and 
 guidance, feeling after him to know if he is n«'ar, and rejoicing 
 in the light of his countenance, the blessed sweetness of his 
 love. 
 
 III. The Benefits of Uxceasing Puayinp. : — And unceas- 
 ing praying implies a high-toned spiritual life. You cannot 
 pray without ceasing, if you are slack in your duty, if you are 
 careless, if you are worldly, if you are living in any sin. It 
 implies earnestness, faithfulness, conscientiousness, duty- 
 doing, being right up to the mark in christian living. Pray 
 well and you do everything else well ; you cannot come far 
 short in any grace, nor in any christian service. 
 
 How vigorous and healthy the spiritu.al life where there is 
 unceasing praying. " Prayer," says one, " is the spiritual pulse 
 of the renewed soul ; its beat indicates the healthy or un- 
 healthy state of the believer. Just as the physician would 
 decide upon the health of the body frora the action of tho 
 pulse, so would we decide upon the spiritual health of tho soul 
 before God, by the estimation in which prayer is held by the 
 believer." 
 
 One in vigorous health can walk and work unharmed amid 
 the diseases and pestilence that mow down others in broad 
 swaths of der,th, because such is his vitality that he can throw 
 off the malaria that would destroy him. And so with the 
 christian whose soul is in vigorous spiritual health, who keeps 
 up unbroken fellowship with the living Lord by prayer. Such 
 a christian fears not temptation. He can walk and work 
 unspotted and unhurt amid the world's evils, the allurements 
 of pleasure, the inducements of business, the dangerous and 
 seductive influences of society. He keeps close to God, and 
 he is safe, strong, brave. Again and again the great enemy 
 
/I 
 
 
 i! 
 
 w 
 
 520 
 
 PRAYING WITHOUT CEASING. 
 
 assails only to be foiled. The harder put to it he is, the more 
 he draws upon the Lord's infinite resources, and so he is able 
 to stand — he neither flees nor yields. Thus, how good it is 
 to be able to pray without ceasing, for such a christian cannot 
 be taken by surprise, nor caught napping. 
 
 Suppose, however, a christian could only pray on Sabbath 
 and at church, cared only to pray when it was the season for 
 prayer, how ill it would be with him. Between-tiines the 
 Destroyer might come upon him with his deadly assaults, and 
 fiis poor soul would be in a sad case. Before the hour of prayer 
 could come round, before he could run to the sanctuary, it 
 might be all over with him, the enemy might have his will 
 with him. Ah ! my hearer, it is praying without ceasing we 
 need. Keep the Prayer-Hearer within reach all the time, if 
 you would be safe and strong. There is power in prayer. It 
 links itself to Omnipotence, and nothing is too great for it to 
 do, nothing too good for it to have. Hear the message of the 
 Apostle : " Pray without ceasing." 
 
■e 
 
 XXX. 
 
 ^fcpe io ^csifs. 
 
 'Now when they heard this, they were prlcJced in their heart, 
 and said unto Peter and to the rest oj the Apostles, men and 
 hrethren, what shall we dol" — Acts ii. 37. 
 
 WE are naturally far off from Jesus, some farther off 
 than others, but all very far off from him. He once 
 said of one, it is true, that he was near the Kingdom of Heaven, 
 but near as he was, and he was near only in so far as Go<J's 
 <rrace had brought him near, he was not near enough to bo saved. 
 Jesus has come near us all with the kingdom of grace, But 
 nearness will not do. It is not enough. We must have some- 
 thing better. Thousands have been almost christians whose 
 torment-smoke is ascending to Heaven to-day, and thousands 
 to-day are almost christians who will never be christians. We 
 must not only get near the Kingdom of Heaven, but into it, 
 if we would be safe, 
 
 Now, I want to point out, in a simple practical way, some 
 of the leading steps from our far off natural state to Jesus. 
 
 I. Preaching and Hearing the Gospel: God himself 
 makes the first advances towards the sinner, never the sinner 
 towards God. We are not only fr r off from God, but we are 
 content to be far off from him, and the general tendency of 
 
322 
 
 STEPS TO JESUS. 
 
 t -i 
 
 our heart and life in a state of nature is to get as far off from 
 liiin as possible. No one would even think of turning his face 
 heavenwards, and seeking to come to God, if God did not first 
 Keek iiim. The sinner wants to live and die in sin, and far off 
 from the love of God, But God will not let him. He sends 
 for him to come back home. 
 
 Something like this is the way he deals with sinners. He 
 sends his servants to them with messages. Sometimes the 
 burden of their message is : " Repent ! repent ! " Sometimes 
 it is, " Come to Jesus ! " Sometimes it is earnest entreaty ; 
 sometimes, fervent expostulation ; sometimes, bitter denuncia- 
 tion. 
 
 Peter's address to the Jews on the day of Pentecost was an 
 explanation of the wonders of the morning — the rushing mighty 
 wind, the cloven tongues of fire, the moving eloquence of 
 unlettered Galileans, fcliowed up with an earnest and affection- 
 ate home-bringing to their consciences o: their guilt in crucify- 
 ing the Lord of glory. It was a stirring address, full of power, 
 ana He people heard it with more or less attention, I suppose, 
 with breathless attention. Every word told. They were held 
 as if spell-bound ; they heard, felt, believed. 
 
 Now, we hear the word with more or less attention, listlessly 
 enough sometimes, with dull ears and hearts ; but sometimes 
 with more interest. It is by the way we hear, however, God 
 would come to us to awaken our sleepy consciences, and arouse 
 us from the torpor of spiritual indifference. He has other 
 ways of reaching sinners. He reaches them by means of losses 
 and crosses, the calamities of life, sore afflictions, and so on. 
 P)Ut the simple preaching of the gospel is his great means. 
 r.Iore are saved that way than in any other. Affliction after 
 affliction, calamity after calamity, war and fainine and pesti- 
 lence, and all the woes and miseries that befall our race, have 
 been from time immemorial sweeping ov^er and over again the 
 benighted heathen, but they have not made them better, nor 
 brought them nearer God. Not until gospel missionaries carry 
 
 •mm 
 
STEPS TO JESUS. 
 
 323 
 
 tliom tlie sweet story of God's love in Christ are they helped 
 and saved. 
 
 Since therefore the gospel is the great means of salvation, 
 one important step is to get men within reach of it. Unless 
 men can be persuaded to come and hear for themselves, little 
 can be done for them. That of itself is insufficient, but then 
 it is God's means, and as such it cannot be surpassed. 
 
 II. Conviction : — In hearing the gospel tiie most of hearers 
 are more or less affected. When tiie Lord's servants, in his 
 name, charge them with gross sins, as Peter did the Jews on 
 the day of Pentecost ; when they shew them the neglect of 
 important duties ; when they accuse them of hypocrisy, unbeliief, 
 heart-hardness, rebellion ; when they charge them with the 
 crucifixion - i God's Son ; their consciences are troubled, they 
 are stricken with remorse. That was the case with Peter's 
 audience. They were pricked in their heart. The Spirit con- 
 victs of sin, brings home guilt. 
 
 Now, there is a mistake here many fall into. They go about 
 seeking conviction. Tiiey read about Manasseh's remorse in 
 the lonely prison-house of Babylon. They look at the Pul)lican 
 standing afar oif yonder, and beating hi.s breast, and groaning 
 and praying . " God be merciful to me a sinner ! " They read 
 and re-read the thrilling narrative of the grief and penitence 
 of the Prodigal-son. They watch the fast-flowing tears of the 
 poor city-sinner at the feet of Jesus. They want to get a taste 
 of the soul-wretchedness of tho Philippian jailer as he hung 
 over the brink of Hell, Saul of Tarsus, John Bunyan, and 
 others. They ihink they must have to pass through some such 
 experience. Hence they come to God's House to be convicted. 
 They like to hear sermon.^, that make their hair stand on end, 
 tlieir llesh creep, their souls quake with fear, Oh if th'^y could 
 weep floods of tears ; if their hearts were only torn to pieces 
 with anguish ; if they could be felled to the gr(»und with a 
 stroke of Almighty power ; then, they think, there would be 
 liope for them ! But they do not feel enough — tha'o is their 
 
;24 
 
 STEPS TO JESUS. 
 
 1 ,* 
 
 ' U' :' 
 
 I Hi 
 
 !' 
 
 difficulty. Tliey cannot get tliemselvosconviL-teJ enoui;h — not 
 as much as they would like to be, and as niucli as they think 
 they ought to be. And they get discouraged. They think 
 their hearts must be so awfully hard, else they would weep more, 
 and feel more. 
 
 Now, my hearer, tliat is a great mistake. I have no doubt 
 some are going aljout in their way seeking a conviction they 
 will never find. Tiiey do not know that even now they are 
 convicted as much as there is any need for. When we see 
 ourselves to be sinners and feel it, and come to know somewhat 
 of our need, we are convicted enough. After all, it is not the 
 amountor pungency of conviction that is of so much importance. 
 Men do not feel alike, cannot feel alike. Some do not .seem to 
 feel at all, to look at them, deep within whose souls is a 
 smouldering fire burning them up. Some seldom or never weep, 
 not that they are too hardened to weep, and ashamed to weep, 
 but because it is not *their way. Tliey are constitutionally 
 tearless. They are not made of the stutf tiiat dissolves in tears. 
 Others again are never done weeping. They bubble over at 
 anything. 
 
 We need not expect to pass through the fiery ordeal of 
 conviction that Paul passed through, and Manasseh, and Ilunyan 
 and his Christian. God adapts his dealings to different men 
 differently. One man's experience differs widely from *:hat of 
 another man. You cannot say to another : *' You must pass 
 tiirough this and that spiritual experience before you can be a 
 christian — I had to. You must have sucii and such feelings, 
 yuch and such convictions, such and such views of things — I 
 had them. You must tumble into the Slough of E'espond like 
 Christian, and wallow there. You must get into trouble, like 
 Faithful in Vanity Fair, and get locked up in Giant Despair's 
 Castle — I had to." 
 
 No. Some are born and brough*^ up in the land of Egypt, 
 and before they reach the Good Land, they must wade through 
 the lied Sea, and traverse the burning desert. They must hear 
 
STEPS TO JESUS. 
 
 325 
 
 •ugh 
 
 the thunderings, and see tlie liglitnini,'^, and fool the darkness 
 of Sinai. But others again are born in Canaan, and are roared 
 up auiid gospel blessings and gospel privileges, and know 
 nothing of Ked Sea experiences, and the howling wilderness, 
 and the terrors of the Mount, and the fiery Hying serpents, 
 excepting from what they have been told. 
 
 How foolish, then, for these last to say : " We are not 
 Israelites, and we cannot be in Canaan, because we were not 
 born and brought up in Egypt and experienced the terrible 
 bondage of that land as our fathers did ; and because we have 
 not crossetl the Ked Sea, and traversed the deathful wilderness, 
 and heard the thunderings and seen the lightnings of Sinai I " 
 And how foolish for us to say : " We cannot have passed from 
 death to life, cannot be God's children, because we have not 
 experienced the sorrow of bloody ^lanasseh, nor the terror of 
 the Philippian Jailer, nor the stroke that unliorsed Saul of 
 Tarsus. 
 
 I believe there are many true christians who have little or 
 no experience of conviction, so-called. What could young 
 Timothy know of conviction? He was not startled into the 
 Kingdom by a flash of gh^ry, and yet Paul was sure lie was as 
 truly a christian as himself. INIany are attracted to Jesus by 
 a sight of his loveliness, and know nothing of what it is to be 
 driven out of Sodom and sin by the terrors of the law and the 
 judgments of God. 
 
 Then, before leaving this step, let me point out another 
 mistake we are in danger of falling into. It is this, to regard 
 conviction as far more than it is. Some think when they can 
 weep many tears, and when they are pricked in their heart, 
 they are all right, and they stop there. They are satisfied with 
 mere convictions, and the more pungent they are, the more 
 satisfied they are with them. 
 
 Now, my hearer, conviction is not necessarily a work of 
 grace, excepting perhaps in a veiy superficial way. It may be 
 nothing more than the force of the truth brought home to the 
 
i' ' 
 
 326 
 
 STEPS TO JESUS. 
 
 reason and conscience. Tliousands are convicted who are 
 never converted. The heathen who have nothing to teach 
 them but their own dark understanding and deadened con- 
 science, are often troubled, alarmed, convicted. They feel 
 they are not what tliey ought to be. They are often sorry, 
 sad, sick at heart, trouV)led about their souls, anxious al>out 
 their future, afraid to die, concerned over tlieir sins. 
 
 When the law comes to us, and shews us what its demands 
 are, and denounces against us its threatenings and j adgments, 
 we see how far short we are coming of its requirements, and 
 sometimes we tremble for the consequences. That is convic- 
 tion. But we must not saj'', " We are all right now ! We are 
 saved !" 
 
 Is it enough, I ask, to shed a few tears over the wicked 
 past, and groan out a few sad regrets for the wrong we have 
 done ; and then, after the conviction has spent itself, to regard 
 the lull which follows as peace witli God, christian experience 1 
 No. That peace is not peace with God. It may be false 
 security. And may God keep us from that ? AVas it enough 
 for the multitudes whom Peter was addressing to be pricked 
 in their heart 1 Would they have Ijeen saved had they stopped 
 there? No. They were not half way to Christ when they 
 were that far, not necessarily started. Ah ! we must not be 
 satistiod with shedding a few tears as we sit in our pews listen- 
 ing to the story of the cross. We must not think a little 
 feeling on the matter is enough. No. No amount of convic- 
 tion is enough. Oceans of tears are not enough. If there is 
 to be nothing more, that is not nmch. Unless it lead to an- 
 other step, it will fail, and it often does fail. 
 
 III. Anxious Enquiry : When the multitudes were prick- 
 ed in their heart, they said to Peter and the rest of the 
 apostles, " INIen and brethren, what shall we do ?" Having got 
 as far as conviction, they did not go away as some do with the 
 idea that now they had religion enough. No. They felt they, 
 were but beginning. Their convictions kd them to enquire. 
 
 I: I 
 
STEPS TO JESUS. 
 
 327 
 
 They felt theni.selve.? to be sinners, and they did not know 
 where to look, nor what to do to obtain deli\cnincc from the 
 burden of their guilt. So they asked what tliey were to do. 
 
 The awakened sinner does not know what to do nor wIumc 
 to go. Ho is like a man awakened from a deep sleep l)y tlio 
 cry of fire in his ears, the roaring of llames and the suffocating 
 smoke. He sees the flames, hears the crackling of burning 
 wood, and feels the heat, but for a moment ho cannot realize 
 his situation ; and when the realization of his danger does 
 come, it dimes so overwhelmingly that he scarcely knows how 
 to act. He is stupitied with fear, alnujst crazed. That was 
 the way conviction came to the Philippian jailer. He was 
 near-hand putting his sword through his own heart, so crazily 
 he acted in his anxiety. 
 
 Now, my hearer, rdthough our convictions may not be at- 
 tended with the bitter pungency of the jailer's, nor the re- 
 morse of Peter's audience ; yet, if we are convicted at all, we 
 should ask : " What nmst I do ?" We should say to ourselves : 
 " Ah ! that message from the Lord to-day tells me there is 
 something wrong with me. It tells me the soi't ot life I ant 
 living will not do. It tells e I am not a christian. What 
 then am I to do ?" 
 
 Thus our weakest convictions may lead to enquiry, and 
 should do so. It may be that some l^'iore me are asking, not 
 in these words perhaps, not in wonls at all perliaps, but iu 
 tbougiits and fce.'lings : "What shall I do?" They do not ask 
 their pastor, >or their elders, or tlit'ir fellow christians. They 
 do not ask a creature. And there is nothing wrong in that. 
 But it may be they do not consult their llible, nor the Spirit 
 of God. They put the question to themselves, and they leave 
 it there unanswered. 
 
 That great question a sinner cannot answer for himself. 
 Were he to do so, he would be sure to give the wrong answer, 
 an answer that might satisfy his conscience for the time being, 
 but not such as would put him right with GotL Such answers 
 
328 
 
 STEPS TO JESUS. 
 
 m 
 
 r%iu 
 
 aa these the sinner will propose to himself as the right an- 
 swers: "I will try and do better than heretofore. I will 
 turn over a new leaf. I will attend the House of Ood better. 
 I will leave off drinking and this and that other bad habit. 1 
 will take hold of my duty, and do it better." Thus he soothes 
 his awakened conscience with resolutions he never carries out, 
 and cannot carry out without taking the next great step. 
 
 The three thousand put that question to the apostles : 
 "Men and brethren, what shall we do?" The convicted Saul 
 put it to the Lord Himself : " Lord, what wilt thou have me 
 to do ?" The awakened jailer asked Paul and Silas what he 
 was to do. Some go to their Bible, and some cry up to 
 Heaven. We should not be afraid nor ashamed to go to our 
 pastor, or to the elders of the church, or to our fellow-christians 
 for advice. When Paul asked the Lord what he was to do, 
 the Lord sent him to Ananias. Many a poor soul has groped 
 in the dark a long while just for want of a little help from 
 some intelligent christian. 
 
 Here again, let me caution anxious enquirers. Many have 
 come that far who have perished. The young ruler was an 
 eiujuirer, but we have no grounds to believe that he was saved. 
 We are facing the right way when we have been led to ask 
 tliat question. But we have not started, and we must not 
 tliink of stopping yet. We must never anywhere think of 
 that. But there is danger of it, and we must take care. To 
 stop with conviction and enquiry Li to stop where there is no 
 salvation. One might as well not be convicted at all ; one 
 might as well sleep on the sleep of self-security, dreading no 
 danger, fearing no fear, in blissful ignorance of the ruin at 
 hand, as wake up with a great start, and see our danger ; and 
 then, having seen it, shut up our eyes, and gooff to sleep again 
 sounder than ever, and perish eternally. That is the way so 
 many do. The most of persons are some time or other anxious 
 about their souls. But they do not get beyond that. The 
 world's influences creep in upon them again, and they are soon 
 
STEPS TO JESUS. 
 
 329 
 
 
 fts (lead asloop as boforo. Unless conviction and enquiry lead 
 to repentance and faith, and u iioly life in Jesus, they come 
 short. 
 
 IV. Faith :-T1hs is the most important step of all. 
 This is the grci'.t step. The others arc important ; this is 
 indispensable. 
 
 You have been convicted of cin, my hearer, and have been 
 led to ask what you nmst do to be saved. You f];o to your 
 pastor for advice, or to your Bible, and what answer will they 
 give you 1 Tiiey may seem to give you different answers, but 
 if they are right answei's they will all amount to this : " Be- 
 lieve in Jesus." That is what Paul told the jailer. That is 
 what Peter told the conscience-stricken thousands. 
 
 Now, I want to say to any anxious enquirer here to-day, 
 that b?licving is tlie way to come to Jesus now as then. 
 Without moving out of your pew there, you may come to 
 Jesus, you may believe. ^ly advice is this : — 
 
 First, be sure to come just as you are. You feel you are 
 a sinner. So did the publican. So did Paul. So did 
 Manasseh. Do not stay away nor delay because you are a 
 great sinner. Do not try to make some improvement Ijefore 
 you come. No use in that. You cannot do it. Come as you 
 are. The greater sinner you are, the greater your need to 
 come. Come with your hard heart. Come with your w'cked 
 life. Let this be your word : — 
 
 Just as I am, without one plea, 
 But that Thy blood was shed for me, 
 And that Thou bidd'st me come to Thee ; 
 O Lamb of God I come, I come. 
 
 But some will say : "The trouble with me is this, I do not 
 feel myself s'nner enough. I am too little concerned about 
 my state. I cannot weep cer my sins. I cannot cry out as 
 the publican cried. If I could, I think it would be all right.'' 
 
 Now, to you too I would s.iy : Come as you are. Do not 
 wait for deeper convictions. Delays are dangerous. You 
 
 i\\ 
 
I 
 
 
 330 
 
 STEPS TO JESUS. 
 
 may losn what you have. Your convictions will doifpen 
 Josus will open your eyes,, and let you see yourself as you are, 
 and then you will have tears antl fears ami groans. But come, 
 and just as you are, just as you feel. 
 
 Secondly, come now. If you feel yourself a sinner in the 
 pew thei'e, and in need of Jesus, do not wait till you get 
 home. Come where you are. Let your heart look up to him. 
 He is near you ; he .sees you. No need for delay. Come hero 
 and now. 
 
 TInrdly, you ask, "How am I to come?" Come to him by 
 prayer. Cry to him in your heart for grace and mercy. Tell 
 him your need, hosv vou feel, and tell him in such words as 
 you have. "Well, what then?" Wliy then, my hearer, you have 
 done what the publican did, ami you have a blessed promise, 
 the same promise he had. You have th'S promise : "Who- 
 soever shall call on the name of the Lord shall be saved.'' 
 Your sins are forgiven, the burden of guilt taken away, you 
 are saved. 
 
 But you say : " Surely salvation is not so easily had as that? 
 Calling upon the n;iuio of the Lord, asking for grace and mercy, 
 looking up to Jesus for help — is that all? " 
 
 Yes, my hearer, that is all. So says the Word of God : 
 " Whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord shall be saved." 
 " Ask, and ye shall receive." The publican did that, and he 
 went iiome pardoned, saved. The leper came and fell down 
 with his leprosy at Jesus' feet, and he simply said : " Loi-d, if 
 thou wilt, thou canst make me clean." And Jesus was willing; 
 He is always willing. 
 
 Now, anxious siiuier, he is as willing and able to wash away 
 your sins, as he was to cleanse away the leper's leprosy. You 
 have asked him to do it for you, as the le^Der asked him to do it 
 for him. Well then, he will do it. I believe it ; do you believe 
 it ? You have here all his promises ; take them and make 
 them yours. That is what faith did yonder ; that is what faith 
 does here. 
 
 I' I 
 
STEPS TO JESfS. 
 
 33^ 
 
 tlin 
 
 God 
 
 I (f • 
 
 It is \vn>Mg to porplox ^ ".self at this stagn with doubts and 
 (j[U('stions abctut faitli. Th.^o Jesus at his word. You havti 
 doiR' what you could whoii you havo done that — ^whrii, with 
 your poor words, you have askod his help. The U'pi-r did that. 
 lie knew nothing more about faith than you do, not as nniclj 
 perhaps. IJut he was in trouble, ho had the dreadful leprosy* 
 a.id Jesus could help him. So In* asked him with simplf 
 earnest words to save him. What folly it would have l»cenfor 
 him to talk like this: " I cannot ask; I do not feel enouLjh ; 
 I am not .sure that I have the right faith ; I am not sure that 
 I have faith at all !" 
 
 But he was not such a fooh He asked as ho could, and it was 
 all right. And if you do as he did, it will l)e all right with 
 you as it was with him, for it is just as ea.sy for Jesus to .save 
 sinners now as cleanse lepers then. 
 
 Fourthly, Go and sin no more. Repent! repent! Tf you 
 have boon a tlrunkard, drink no more with God's hel[>, foi' 
 Jesus' sake. If you have been dishonest, you cainiot be so any 
 more ; you have come to Jesus. Go and make straight, as fir 
 as you can, what has been crooked. Lot your repentance bo a 
 reality, a turning away from all evil forever. 
 
 And then go and do right. Lot duty bo sacred. Fear (iod. 
 Follow Jesus. Something like that is wiiat it is to come to 
 Jesus, and coming to Jesus is salvation. 
 
 Now, do you come, do you believe 1 That is tiie great thing. 
 Here is Jesus, and he says, " Come ! " Ho asks : " Can you 
 trust me ? Can you believe ? " Oh ! do I hear you .say ? — 
 "Yes, Lord, I believe ; I come. I do not know nnich al)out 
 it. I grope in the darkness. But T hear thy voice, and 1 
 come ; I believe. Help my unbelief ! " 
 
 That is all. That is salvation. You have found your way 
 to Jesus, and he will see you through. Glory to God, you 
 are saved ! The blood of Jesus cleanses from all sin. Jesui 
 saves ! Jesus saves ! Blessed be his name forever ! 
 
 tii 
 
ill 
 
 I 
 
 mi 
 
 1 ii-i 
 
 
 XXXT. 
 
 ^Uq 'SiU'ivoci) S^ccitJ, 
 
 " And I heard a voice from heaven saying, Write, Pleased are 
 the dead who die in the Lord from henceforth ; yea, snifh 
 the Spirit, that they may rest from their labors ; /or their 
 works follow with them." — lli:v. xiv. 13. 
 
 JOHN was in the lonely isle of Patinos an exile for the 
 •gospel ho preached, the faith he believed and loved. It 
 \vasi hard for him to be there, but it is good for us that he was 
 there. We have in this curious book, the Apocalypse, tho 
 record of what he saw and heard; and while the book as a 
 whole is still a puzzle to the learned, there are all through it 
 precious passages that every one can understand and appreci- 
 ate. The text is one of them. 
 
 You see yonder the apostle of love, full of years and honors, 
 his long white hair falling loosely around his shoulders, sitting 
 solitarily and perhaps moodily in a cave, with writing materi- 
 als before him, waiting for the thoughts to come, and they are 
 slow to come. He wants to write something — for he cannot 
 now speak — that will live when he is dead, something that 
 will be a comfort and help to men in the years to come ; and 
 so he does not write anything and everything that may suggest 
 themselves to his mind, the first thing that comes into his 
 
THE nLESSFD DEAD. 
 
 S-IJ 
 
 .ised are 
 ea, sallh 
 'or their 
 
 for the 
 ,-ed. It 
 : lie Nvas 
 
 pse, 
 
 the 
 
 ok as a 
 rough it 
 appreci- 
 
 honors, 
 3, sitting 
 ; materi- 
 they are 
 ! cannot 
 ng that 
 me ; and 
 ;• suggest 
 into his 
 
 Iioad. y^, ho waits for the Ix'st thoughts ; he lingers and 
 listens for the voice fi-oiii Heaven to t«>ll him what to write. 
 And after a while (he voice conies ringing clear, lie knows 
 he is not mistaken ahout it. The voice is God's, and it tells 
 him to write. And you see him dipping his pen in ink, and 
 drawing th(> sacred scroll over to him so that he might write 
 down the words as the divine voice utters them. " And I 
 heard a voice from Heaven, saying, write, blessed are the dead 
 which die in the Lord from henceforth ; yea, saith tin; Spirit, 
 that they may rest from their labors, and their works do follow 
 th(!m."' 
 
 Now, tirst here, a word or two as to the voice from Heaven. 
 Men of old — the humble, earnest, wise— heard a voice speak- 
 ing to them, a voice divine, telling tlunn wliat they would not 
 otherwise have thought or known of truth and duty ; and they 
 listened and were taught, and so were able to teach others, to 
 te^ach the ages. Pe diaps John had to go to lone Patmos, had 
 to be exiled far from the noise of Asiatic cities and churches, 
 in order to hear that voice for himself and us. You pity the 
 cruelty — do you 1 — that shut him away from the companion- 
 ship of kindred souls, but indeed it may have been rather 
 Heaven's mercy to him and us. lie may have been taken 
 away from the senseless babbling of men to hear the voice of 
 God. 
 
 Ah ! if we would hear God speak to us, as he spoke to the 
 good men of the olden time — and he still .speaks to men — wo 
 must withdraw from the noisy streets and the babble of society; 
 we must flee far from the loud chaffering of trade and the hub- 
 bub of politics ; we must get away alone with God, and there 
 we will hear words and have thoughts we cannot hear nor 
 have elsewhere. The still small voice cannot now, any more 
 than then, be heard where the crowd surges and the people 
 shout. And so still, those whom God wants to speak to es- 
 pecially, into whose eloquent lips he wants to put his messages 
 for the people, and within whose hearts he wants to lay up 
 
an 
 
 THE BLESSED DEAD. 
 
 i 
 
 his word of truth, he shuts up perhaps in lonely sick-cham- 
 bers for a time, or exiles by means of painful circumstances 
 from tho hurtful favoritism of the multitude; and there he 
 grants them revelations of his wisdom and love, and speaks to 
 them in a way that leaves them without any doubt that he 
 has s' 'iken to them. The Apocalyptic John says here: "I 
 heard a voice from HeaA -n." You may have your doubts 
 al>out it. You may try in your way of it to belittle inspira- 
 tion. i>ut John himself was sure that what he heard was a 
 \oice from Heaven. And tliere are men to-day who cannot 
 floubt tiiatthey have been spoken to as well as John with a 
 voice from Heaven, and when they speak, men hear and are 
 helped. 
 
 But not every voice that men hear is a voice from Heaven. 
 There are voices and voices. Men hear sometimes the voice 
 of theii" own passions, their own thoughts and desires, their 
 own imaginings, and they give heed to those voices as if they 
 V ere. voices from Heaven, and they are led astray, and wander 
 far into the ni,i.'ht of error. Let us not be too sure that it is 
 a voice from Heaven we hear, for we may be mistaken even 
 whtn we are most sure. But the voice John heard was from 
 Heaven. Can we doubt it when we read the message he was 
 told to write ? It is not such a message as huu.an sympathy, 
 would write. There is a divineness in the message that satisfies, ' 
 apart fi'om the Apostle's own testimony about the voice. 
 
 And here, just a word about the Bible. I do not accept 
 the Bible as inspired because I have been taught all my days 
 that it is so, because the theologians have piled up argument 
 upon argument to prove its inspiration, because of the miracles 
 and wonders it tells m :; of, and so on. No; I believe it inspir- 
 es 1, I hold it to be the truth of God, because I find it so in 
 my own life experiences. It comforts me. It helps me. It 
 inspires me. It shews me myself — my sins, my weaknesses, 
 my dangers, and I find it ever the truth to me ; and I know, 
 and feel as sure as I can be sure of anything, that John was not 
 
THE BLESSED DEAD 
 
 335 
 
 -cham- 
 itances 
 lere he 
 \iks to 
 hat he 
 
 e; 
 
 u 
 
 doubts 
 nspira- 
 was a 
 cannot 
 with a 
 lid are 
 
 [eaven. 
 le voice 
 5, their 
 if they 
 wander 
 it it is 
 n even 
 as from 
 he was 
 inpathy 
 atisties, ' 
 e. 
 
 accept 
 ly days 
 gunient 
 uiracles 
 b inspir- 
 it so in 
 me. It 
 ?nesses, 
 ; know, 
 was not 
 
 mist.dcon wlion he tells me here that he heard a voic^e from 
 Heav(>n. Xo voice l)ut a voice from Heaven would litter tills, 
 for it is not the way men speak of death, even the death of 
 those they have most hope in : "Blessed are the dead who die 
 in the Lord from henceforth." 
 
 r.ut this loads, next, to what the voice from Heaven said. 
 "Ijjes.sed are the dead wlio die in the Lord!" 
 
 Blessed I Perhaps there is some one here who does not be- 
 He\e the Bible to b« the utterance of (lod, tiie Divine AVord. 
 V>ni let me ask this; — Ts it human speech, the [larlarue of f}i(> 
 s're^t. to use that word — blessed — and this word — dead wit !i 
 cue ;int)ther? Tiio other day there came flashing to u; from 
 bey nd the seas a message about tlie death of one so dear to 
 us all. I opened the brief missive, but I knew what it was 
 Ijefore I opened it. I was to bre.ak the news to int. -rested 
 paities. I went and did so, and I kept my mouth shut till I 
 did it. I road the brief words to them, or let *hem rea 1 thour 
 for themselves, and at once their countenances fell, and their 
 words were few and sad. They did not say, " Blesst d tin; 
 de;;d !" After a little T had occasion to go down the sti-ec!, 
 and it seemed to me that all the city knew what I knew, ami 
 not one said : "Blessed the dead !" They said when they sai<l 
 anything, "How sad ! what a calamity ! how great a loss ! the 
 city has lost a good citizen, the church a wc^rthy elder I" Men 
 not used to tears wept when they spoke of him. Bii^ when I 
 came to open the Bible, I found written here this : " Blessed 
 are the dead !" and I said to myself : " This that the voice 
 from Heaven said is not what John would himself say, nor 
 wliat the people of this city would say." And yet, as I 
 thought upon the words, and veighed their meaning, I felt, 
 and I think we must all feel, that though they are not the 
 words I would use, nor the words you would use, on a like 
 occasion, they are fitting words to Ijo used. Tliey nvi) not the 
 words of earth but of Heaven, not the word-! nf men but of 
 God, and I believe John when he siv> lirn- : "And I heard 
 
336 
 
 THE BLESSED DEAD. 
 
 .;MH 
 
 k' M 
 
 a voice from Heaven saying unto me, write, Blessed are the 
 de id !" 
 
 With us it is, "Blessed the living !" If a man is sick and 
 ready to die, but after a long while struggles back to life and 
 liealth, we congratulate him, we rejoice with him, we thank 
 Ood for his recovery. But if he tie, we mourn and weep. We 
 say, "Alas ! he is dead." We put on crape, wrap ourselves up 
 in weeds of woe, and go softly and sadly many days perhaps. 
 That is the way we do in this nineteenth century of the chris- 
 tian era with all the light of science beaming around us. 
 Science has done, and is doing, and is going to do, much for 
 the world, much to help its grief, to gladden the broken in 
 heart ; but, science never can come to tl\e mourner sitting dis- 
 consolate on the grave of the belovcj dead, and with words 
 that are profoundly true, say, " Blessed nre the dead I" But 
 you look up, and through the black thunder-cloud obscuring all 
 your sad sky, and belching forth thunderbolts and sheets of 
 flame, you see perhaps a break in the blackness; and down 
 tlirough the rift there comes to you a voice from Heaven, and 
 it tells you of blessedness for your dead, and you rise up with 
 a new light in your face, r.nd now you can live and hope. 
 
 O intidel, tell me not, these words are a forgery, a terrible 
 lie. I tell you, these words are not the words a forger of the 
 truth would use. Is it with words such as these, O intidel, 
 you find yourself going to the broken hearts of the world to 
 delude them into a comfort thai, you know is a lie 1 No; such 
 words are foreign to your lips. But, you comfort ! when do 
 you comfort? Ah ! when it is suid in the streets you are 
 dead, who will wei'p for you, or feel that the world has suffer- 
 ed a loss? 
 
 But let us take care, my hearers, how we apply these words 
 that come down to us from Heaven. They are not a lie as 
 we have them here, but we make them a lie, and tiiat is where 
 infidelity gets an advantage ?i gainst us. It will not do to go 
 and write these words in black or gold on every tomb Indeed 
 
THE LLESSED DEAD, 
 
 537 
 
 words 
 
 lie fvs 
 
 where 
 
 tlioy are now on many .a tomb wliere they are a ]'u\ for the 
 white i^'r.ivestoues al.is I ;ir<' reckless H;us. I have been told, 
 or have read sona'wheiv, that on the tombstone of one of the 
 noted infidels of last centiUT, liume the historian and philnso- 
 ]i!ier, is written this lie: " Here lies a christian man I" "' Hie 
 iaeet christianissinuis ^ ir !" And, where we would shudder, 
 if we knew what rascality and treachery lie buried with the 
 bones beneatli, we read : *'J51essed are the dead !" 
 
 ]5ut it is not, "Blessed are the dead I" To die is not neces- 
 sarily a blessing,', but a curse. Death should not have been, 
 and would not have been, had it not been for sin. "SL-n have 
 sinned and they die; — die with theiv life only half lived out, 
 their life's work not half done ; — die when they slmuld live, 
 and would live, but for their abuses and sins ; — die umlei the 
 curse of law, and it is sad thus to die, not blessed. Ihit we 
 need not now thus die. Down to us from heaven comes a 
 voice that tells us how even death, at anv time of life, and in 
 .".ny shape, may be a blessed death. "Write, Ulessed are the 
 ilead who die in the Lord," 
 
 John lived and wrote in times of dire persecution, the days 
 of Domitian — as some think — -or of Nero — as others think. T«) 
 be a Christian, to profess faith in Jesus, was to expose ones self 
 to death. His death, tlie death of the cros.s. Nero use<l to 
 illuminate his parks and gardens, during the long autumn 
 evenings, with burning Christians, and day by day twenty 
 thousand people would assemble in the amphitheatre to wit- 
 ness the wild beasts, maddened with hunger, tear and devour 
 the hated fodowers of Jesus. You shudder to think of it, 
 and you do not want me to speak of it. ])Ut think what it 
 must have been to be a faithful earnest Christian in those 
 trialsome times. What a temptation it would be to put of! 
 making a profession till it could - l^ done with less risk of life ! 
 And doubtless many a weak one would yield to the tempta- 
 tion. And others would try to be secret Christians. They 
 would trv to follow Jesus without the world's knowing anv- 
 
t^l* 
 
 ^ : 
 
 
 
 ' 
 
 
 S '■; 
 
 
 i. 
 i 
 
 r 4> 
 
 335 
 
 THE BLESSED BEAD. 
 
 thing of it. But that must not be. So John was instructed 
 by the voic^ from heaven to write this, that it was specially 
 blessed to die in the Lord's service, to confess His name in 
 that hard way. "And I heard a voice from heaven saying 
 unto me. Write, Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord 
 from henceforth." 
 
 And the effect was, that brave Christian men and women 
 hesitated not to give their life to the Lord. They courted the 
 stake. They went to it singing. They felt it to be an honor 
 to suffer for him who had suffered the cross for them. Deli- 
 cate women would face the lions even, and would feel it some- 
 thing like a privilege to be permitted to do it. Something 
 like that was dying in the Lord. It thus seems to me clear 
 that the text was a special promise for those persecuting 
 times and the persecutions that were still to come, and the 
 ph.\ase, ** from henceforth," confirms me in that opinion. It 
 was a dark dire desolation-period, the Neronian persecution, 
 and God's people needed more than ordinary comfort and 
 help to stand it and overcome in it, and hence the voice from 
 Heaven. "And I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, 
 Write, Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from hence- 
 forth." 
 
 But v.'hile I have not the least doubt that the primary refer- 
 ence of the text is to those who died for Christ in the cruel 
 bitter persecutions of the early days of Christianity ; still, it is 
 written also for those who die in the Lord's service now, die 
 in harness, as it were, die in the midst of work and usefulness 
 for him, die perhaps through over-work for him, over-zeal in 
 liis cause, over-enthusiasm. And there are such deaths. Men 
 and women are found, and not a few of them, who work them- 
 selves to death in a very real sense in serving the Master. The 
 work seems to them so urgent^ and the workers so few, that 
 thev do more than they are able to do, and so they do and die — 
 
 " That is wrong !" A 
 
 iturely. 
 
 say, 
 
 yet. 
 
 in the face of the awful easy-going and self-seeking so widely 
 
THE BLESSED DEAD. 
 
 335 
 
 icted 
 nally 
 ne in 
 
 lying 
 Lord 
 
 omen 
 id the 
 honor 
 
 Deli- 
 
 some- 
 ething 
 B clear 
 icuting 
 ,nd the 
 )n. It 
 icution, 
 rt and 
 36 from 
 ato me, 
 I hence- 
 
 y refer- 
 le cruel 
 ill, it is 
 low, die 
 efulness 
 ■zeal in 
 ;Men 
 'k them- 
 ter. The 
 e\v, that 
 nd die — 
 And yet, 
 widely 
 
 prevalent, it is rather a virtue than otherwise to worK one s self 
 to death in so grand a cause. 
 
 Men are doing it for dollars every day, and they are com- 
 mended. I go into factories, and I find men at work where 
 they breathe poison every breath they draw, and where they 
 average only about ten years of work, and I ask them why 
 tliey do it ? And they tell me, somebody has to do it, and the 
 pay is extra. Ah ! shall the men of the world outstrip the 
 followers of Jesus in self-sacrifice in the interei^ts of gain 1 Per- 
 haps it is not at all to our credit as workers, that the life- 
 average of ministers is higher than any other profession. It 
 may be our dishonor ratlier than otherwise. Looking at it in 
 the light of the text, I am not so sure that we ouglit to live so 
 long. I read : " And I heard a voice from Heaven s^'aying un- 
 to me, "Write, Blessed are the dead who die in tlie Lord f»om 
 henceforth !" 
 
 One thing is clear, at all events, and it is tliis, that no word 
 of commendation is here for the christian who is having what 
 we call an easy time of it — no enemies to hate him, no perse- 
 cutions to hurt him, no evils of any kind to wage war against 
 Jiis life, and so he lives on and on long after every one but 
 himself wishes he was dead. We may be altc. ether too spar- 
 ing of ourselves, too anxious to live, and not half wasteful 
 enouf'h of our enerijies. When we find locomotive-drivers fac- 
 ing death with their hand on the lever ; when we find men in 
 the humblest and homeliest walks of life day by day working 
 for bread for their children with death shadowing them, and 
 well aware of it ; when we find students in their devotion to 
 study burning out with a reckless hand the lamp of their life 
 as well as the midnight oil ; it ill becomes us who are in the 
 Lord's service, and himself one of the zeal-consumed ; — I say, 
 it ill becomes us to be so careful with regard to this poor life 
 of ours. I say, let the secular press go on writing down that 
 preacher as unworthy the name who turned his back on hh 
 duty because there was a little bit of life-risk connected with 
 
I 
 
 U.l-' 
 
 lii 
 
 . 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 340 
 
 THE BLESSED DEAD. 
 
 it. ITis Master died young, zeal-consumed, work-wrocked — 
 died before he was thirty-Hve ; and \vhy should the servant not 
 die young, if it is in the way of his duty? I know there are two 
 sides to this that I am trying to say, for we all want to live as 
 long as we can, and we all ought to live as long as we can ; 
 but we may live too long for our good ; we may live at th(? 
 sacrifice of our duty ; we may live when it would have been 
 more to our credit, and more to the working out of our life- 
 work if wo had died. 
 
 Then we have a twofold reason given wJiy it is Ijle.ssed to die 
 in the Lord : '' They rest from their labors, and their works do 
 follow them." 
 
 Death is thus rest, the sweetest sort of rest — rest from grind- 
 ing toil and sullering. There are so many of the Lord's ])eo[)le, 
 the choice ones of the earth, who have not only to work, but 
 ■whose work is labor, toil, oppression. They ai"e in deep 
 poverty, and it is all they can do often to live. Thank God, 
 there is very little of that, if any at all, in our city, and 
 throughout our land, but the great cities are full of it, and it is 
 a dreadful evil. 
 
 We talk about hard work, but we do not know much about 
 it. If we had to work harder, it would be a good d(>al Ijetter 
 for us ; and if we were more pinched than we ai-e for the neces- 
 saries of life, we would be healthier and holier perhaps. How 
 some have to work — work till every bone aches with tire.'uness. 
 And yet they cannot make enough to provide themselves with 
 even necessaries. Thus the struggle goes on from day to day, 
 through the years, until exhausted they sink into the grave. 
 And some of them are as good as they can be, pious an<l prayer- 
 ful, Christlike. What a deliverance for such, tlien, is death. 
 It is rest — rest from their labors. They hail it as a boon from 
 Heaven. 
 
 In John's times, as we have seen, it was hard to be a chris- 
 tian. Exposed to Nero's fury, languishing in exile, bui'ied in 
 dungeons, hiding in caves, mobbed on the streets, hunted like 
 
THE BLESSED DEAIX 
 
 341 
 
 wild boasts, hung up on crosses or tluown to the lions in tho 
 Coliseum, what a rest to those christians was dtvith ! "They 
 rest friiin their laboi's,'' their friiMids s/vid, and they were !j;l;i<l. 
 
 J5ut w(! jiave none of that. To lu' a christian to-day is a 
 reconniiendalion rather than otherwise to a man. It does not 
 ..stand in tho way of his usefulness nor on -^cttiny;. ( >n the con- 
 trary, it is to his advantaije. Still, the christian to-day even 
 has his own trials. Ami he needs theuK The faithful earnest 
 servant of .Jesus is often weai-if<l with his labors. Not a few 
 to-day are <^ver-worked, crushed with life's burdens, l)owe(l 
 down with t,Miefs and sorrows ami woes. (!o into yonch'r sick 
 clia:al»ei', and you find aLfe ami dise/ist; and poverty pi'eyini; 
 upon the wasted one. Oh how earnestly some ai'c; even now 
 prayiiiu' for death ! And nothim; can l)e done for them. All 
 their friends can do is to stand by and see them wearily strug- 
 <,'le on, wishing they were at rest. And the rest comes, tlu^ 
 rest of tlu! grave, the rest of llea\cn. "They rest from their 
 labor-,"' 
 
 Then the c'*h T reason why it is blessed to die, is that their 
 woi'ks do follow them, or as the llcvised \'ersi(jn puts it, 
 "their works follow with them." 
 
 The Christian cannot take his gold, when ho dies any moi-e 
 than the grasping worldling. lb; has to leave behind him, 
 perha})s for others to abuse and ruin, all he has triecl to do. 
 He has bi'eu faithful, diligent, earnest. He has built up with 
 liis consecrated ellbrt a good cause, but \w. has to leave it f(jr 
 others to carry en to still grander things. And sometimes it 
 is better eai'i'ied on by others than he could do it him-^elf, vny 
 often indeed, but not always. Still, what he ti-ied to d(t is 
 not lost. No true lift; is lived in vain. Tt is a link in the 
 great chain of events that is working out the woi-lds future, 
 and that futur(» is to b(> better than the jtast has been. .V 
 irood mans work thus troes on. .Vbi-aham's woi'lc Ljoes on still 
 and Pauls, and Johns. Abel still speaks. Closes still leads 
 and legislates. Paul still preaches. Ten thousand mission- 
 
343 
 
 THE BLESSED DEAD. 
 
 I, 
 
 ( 1 
 
 ,. i 
 
 aries arc pushing His work farther and farther into the 
 world's iieathenisin. Tn that sense, tlierefore, men's works 
 follow on ami thus perpetuate themselves. And that is a 
 blessed thought where a man has tried so hard to do a good 
 work. He can die; and leave it, for he knows his work will 
 live, and he himself will live on in it. 
 
 i)Ut it is rather this other thought that is uttered here, 
 namely, that a Christian man carries with him into the unseen 
 glory the reward of his work. He carries it with him in the 
 shape of charac*;er, being, bliss. Your work is either making 
 or marring you. Every man's work is doing that. Some men 
 are being hardened, deadent-l, cuised. 'J'liey are growing 
 downward. They are building their own ruin, kindh'ng the 
 fires of i heir own hell, laying up for themselves wj-ath, ten- 
 thousand scorpion stings that will lash them in the years and 
 eons to come. AVe know how that is in this life. The fast 
 youth, with his wild indulgence, is heaping up for himself an 
 old ago of disease and woe, tiiat will make him groan a hun- 
 dred groans for every laugh he has now. It does not pay, 
 young man, to be bad, to be a dnnikai'd and a debauchee. 
 Thes(; sins of yours will seek you out in other days, and you 
 will sutler for tlu-m. 
 
 On the other hand, the good man, in his eftni-ts to lie g^od 
 and do good, is unconsciously laying up for himself, in the 
 shay)e of a spiritual experience, cliaracter, growth, gooWness, 
 and so on, a joy to come, a bl('sse<ln(\ss yet to l)e revealed, n 
 real Heaven. You think you are doing so little, and it is 
 such a hard struL'ule to do even the little vou are doiui,'. but 
 your reward will iiot 1^- what you did so much as what you 
 tried to do ; it will be according to the amount of etlbit and 
 energy you j)ut into it. Oh the blessedness to feel and know 
 through all the eternjil eons, Miat we honestly ti'ied to do the 
 right }ind goo.l ; that when we were temy)t d, we yielde-l uot, 
 but Hung it frf>m us ; that wiien we miijht h,ive souijht our 
 own comfort and ease, we chose rather j'tfliction with the 
 J eopie of Uod ; and tiiat when we miLrht h.'i\e had the word 
 in our gra:-.p, w? reached after the world to come, tho better 
 life, the treasure in Heaven ! "Yea^aitii the spirit, that tiiey 
 may rest from their labors, for their worki follow with them."' 
 
 U 
 
 ■m 
 
 »-.4, 
 
XXXIT. 
 
 "^hc 0?n^. 
 
 « 
 
 But the epd of all things is at hand.'^ — I Peter iv. 7. 
 
 THE pilgrim to the Holy City sometimes comes to a 1'''^- 
 top, whence he has an extended view both of the way 
 he has come and the way V.e has still to go ; and, resting there 
 for a little, and lool<ing back over tlie weary past of his 
 journey, he is able to retrace its windings, and recall the 
 incidents that befell him on the way ; and then turning his 
 eyes forward m wistfully, he tries to make out the way he has 
 to ^fo, and wonders how many hill-tops still lie between him 
 and his destination. 
 
 So with the pilgrim to the Celestial City, the New Jerusalem. 
 To-nisht we have come to another of the hill-tops of life, and we 
 f»,'el like halting for a littli in our mystic journey ; in order 
 that, on the one hanu, we may look back over the way we 
 have come, the years we have live<l, the experiences we have 
 experienced, and thus try to mak** out what the past has been 
 to us and done for us, and out of its fast-fading memories keep 
 something that will go witii us down througfj the ages and be 
 a, joy to us ; and in order that, on the other hand, we may 
 
 Note : -Preached nt the Watch-Ni^ht service of the Methodwt Church, 
 Fredericton, iJeceinber 3lot, 188L 
 
3n 
 
 THE EXrX 
 
 i t 
 
 " 
 
 <■ 
 
 look forward ovor tlie way slill bofore us, and try to maT<<? 
 out how it is goi»'_ .o be with us, what the way we liave still 
 to go is to be, and how many hill-tops may yet intervene, be- 
 fore the Shining City with its jasper walls bursts gloriou.^ly 
 ui)()n our astonished view. 
 
 Thus it seems to have been with the apostle when he penned 
 the text. I see him standing high up on the hill of life, tho 
 dark background of the past still around him and ui)on him,, 
 his earnc^st faeii ilknniiiat(!<l with the n.'llection of the coming 
 glory. His weary })ilg)'imago is nearing it& close. A few 
 more hills to climb, a few moi'o dark ravines to cross, a few 
 more dangers to ])ass, the awful hour the blaster told him of 
 to endure, and then the Glory Eternal to enjoy. He knows 
 that the closing scene is near. He feels it taking hold ujion 
 his soul. "Knowing," he says, "that shortly I must put oil 
 this my tabernacle, even as our Lord Jesus Chris.t hath shown 
 me." 
 
 And then, like so many other old men,, he is about the last 
 of a race that is fast passing ""way, aiul he knows and feels it. 
 Jerusalem is still standing, and the smoke of her altars is still 
 ascending heavenwards ; but already the kn(>ll of her doom is 
 being tolled, and the effete worn-out system oi religion she 
 represents is about to give place to- tin; grander christian sys- 
 tem. Already the birth-throes of a new order of things are 
 upon the world, and a new era is. struggling into b(nng and 
 taking shape. Hence, the aged Peter, standing yonder in the 
 shadows of the old, with tlie light of the new breaking upon 
 him, his holy soul lit up with inspiration, and beholding the 
 old-world system of faith and ideas of things toppling to their 
 fall,, utters these profound words,, " But the end of all things 
 is at hand." 
 
 Now, tliere are here most seasonable and profitable I'eflec- 
 tions for all of us. Let me invite attention to some that strike 
 me. 
 
 And first, reflect on the nature of this end that conies ta all 
 things. "But the end of iJl things is at hand," 
 
THE ENT>. 
 
 345 
 
 Now, it strikes mo th.it there is much confusion of thought 
 ajid incorroctnoss of idoa as to what tho ond of a thiiii,' is, 
 All I thoro need not ho. We talk so much ahout t\w end of 
 tliin!j;s, and we ou^ht to know, and wc thiidc we do know, 
 what we are talkin;,' ahout. I'ut we may mtt have as dear 
 ideas as we think we have. 
 
 The days ond. The weeks om]. The years end. The yrar 
 1881 is at an end. AVe undiM-takc a work--the crcclitui nf a 
 house ii(>rhaps, the construction of a railroad, tho deariiiL,' up 
 of a lield, the putting in of a crop, the manufacture of a strani- 
 engine, and by and by the work comes to an o:v\. Wo go nn 
 a journey, and after travelling say twenty mile-;, or twenty 
 thousand miles, we reach our destination, :\\u\ ouv Jnuiney 
 ends. We live our life, and in a few short years we die, and 
 we call that the end. 
 
 But what do we mean by the end? Do we inr;\n '^•essation, 
 annihilation, extinction, utter destruction, a full stop that 
 never starts again] Is it such an end that tlifre is iie\er 
 again another be<dnning? No. The davs and weeks and 
 years end but to begin anew, and this goes on and on in an un- 
 ending succession. AVe build a house, and when we iiaxc unt 
 it built we congratulate ourselves upon the .successful end of 
 our work. But a family moves into it, and whit we eallcd 
 the end is but tho beginning of a grander u-.e for our woik. 
 We end one journey, but it may be we s(»on start out on 
 another. W^e live our life and u\o, but there is soinething 
 within us that tells us, and we belio\(> it with all the faith 
 we have, that death docs not end all, thai tho grave is not tho 
 final goal of our good or ill. We know we shall not, wo feel 
 we cannot, cease to be, nor cease to think, remember, know, 
 love, enjoy. 
 
 Science and scripture alike teach the doctrine of the con- 
 servation of enorgv. You take a piece of wood, and you cut 
 it up. You know you have in the chips all you had in tho 
 block. Were you to weigh them, you would tind them the 
 
346 
 
 THE END. 
 
 ^'■i ■■■'..■ 
 
 ^ H\ 
 
 same weip;ht. Now, burn the chips. You soo smoko and 
 flanio goinpf up, and after tlic tire goes out you li.ivo a hand- 
 ful of ashes. Your wood is gone. That is the end of it. 
 Hut science says, No ; that is not the end of it. It has only 
 changed its state. It still exists — every particle of it, and 
 must exist on and on in sonu; iovm /md relation. If wo could 
 follow the history of the ashes atnl gases that the fire changed 
 the wood into, we would find it all again, and perhaps serving 
 a higher and grander purpose than it did when it was simply 
 wood. So with everything. There is no end. The end of 
 one state is the beginning of a new state. 
 
 Such is the teaching of modern science. And the Apostlo 
 teaches the same great doctrine here, if we understand him 
 aright. It is not annihilation, this end of his ; not utter des- 
 truction ; not cessation, extinction. No. It is simply a 
 change of state an<l a change of scene. This is abundantly 
 clear from the fact that he urges men, in view of the end of 
 all things, to prepare for the new state they are soon to enter 
 upon. *']>ut Die end of all things is at hand ; be ye therefore 
 sober and watch unto prayer. And above all things have 
 fervent charity among yourselves." And then in his next 
 epistle, speaking on the same subject, he says : " But the day 
 of the Lord will come as a thief in the night ; in the which 
 the heavens shall p.ass away with a grea^ noise, and the ele- 
 ments shall melt with fervent heat ; the earth also and the 
 works that are therein shall be burned up. Seeing then that 
 all these things shall be dissolved, what manner of persons 
 ought ye to be in all holy conversation and godliness, looking 
 for and hasting unto the coming of the day of God, wherein 
 the heavens being on lire shall be dissolved, and the elements 
 shall melt with fervent heat ? Nevertheless we, according to 
 his promise, look for new heavens and a new earth, wherein 
 dwelleth righteousness. Wherefore, beloved, seeing that ye 
 look for such things, be diligent that ye may be found of him 
 in peace, without spot, and blameless." Thus it is clear, that 
 
THK EN1>. 
 
 347 
 
 tlir nul ho spr.iks of is but the hrj^innincj of a now stato of 
 things. Out of the ashes of the ohl world are to arise, phd'nix- 
 like, new lieavens ami a new earth wherein, not sin shall riot, 
 ])ut righteousness an<l p«>,ic(! and lov«» shall reign foicver. Oh 
 glorious end this for the sin-wrceked world ! 
 
 Again, reflect further lu>re on the character, the effect and 
 extent, of this end that is to couw to all things. From what 
 I have said, you may infer that tlnMO is nothing that is worth 
 calling an end, that it might with etjual !ip{)r(>i)riatene.ss bo 
 called a beginning, that in fact it is a blunder to talk about 
 an end at all. It is only a sort of endless successioji. The 
 days and wec^ks and seasons and years and centui'ies and agra 
 follow each other regularly and successively on and on forever. 
 The sun has been rising and setting, rising and setting, since 
 the days of Adam, and long before, until this day, and all this 
 will go on and on thioughout the eons to come. 
 
 And there are some who believe in the eternity of matter, 
 and the eternal succession-theory, or rather the modern form 
 of it, the doctrine of evolution. Accoiding to this theory, the 
 matter, out of which everything that is has mysteriously evolv- 
 ed, was always in the universe, and by some wonder-working 
 law or inherent potency, it has come to be what it is; and ii 
 it has come to be what it is by a potency all its own, what 
 may it not come to be ? And one of the boldest of ^ dcrii 
 materialists. Professor Tyndall, has the highest hopes of m(!i*i 
 Platter. He says, " I discern in matter the promise and 
 potency of all terrestrial life." 
 
 But you and I, with our Bible-lamp in our hand to light the 
 way for us, a safer and better light to guide than any that 
 science can furnish the earnest truth-seeker with, can go ])ack 
 to a time when time was not, when matter existed not except- 
 ing in the potency of the Divine Wisdom and Will, when the 
 sun-tires burned not, and when the worlds wheeled not in 
 their mighty orbits, We can find our way clear back to the 
 
 beginning of tl 
 
 ..id we find nothing there but Cod. 
 

 ^i 
 
 And if (lioro w.i'; a 1 
 
 THE EXD. 
 
 K'lrininn,'' to all tin's tliat we soo. 
 
 lli'Tc iK.t conic a time, iumi- <.r far, when tl 
 
 icro 
 
 ^hall 1) 
 
 mnv 
 
 an 
 
 C)lc 
 
 It 
 
 seems to ni ', that tiiese cud 
 
 s wo are ever connni; to 
 
 — these day -ends, and week-ends, and year-ends, and life-end- 
 '^or ou-ht to l)c— i)roi)hocie.s to us of an end that is tli 
 
 ar( 
 
 •iid. J]ut wc need not reason. "NVe need not ^'rope or <;u,..ss. 
 Our wondrous I'iblcdanip shines forward to the end of thiii,i,'s, 
 IS well a.s backward to the hc^innin;,' of thini,'s, and it tells us 
 
 tiiat the end of all thinu 
 
 s is coming,', yea, is at hand. It 
 
 SlieW: 
 
 us in its awful pa-vs the worlds on fire, thel 
 11 melting' boilin;,' chaotic mass, the .stars f; 
 
 ieav(Mis and earth 
 illin'f and the wut 
 
 in hies extintjuished, and all this state of tl 
 
 iin<rs forcNci 
 
 (iided. Of coursi', its lii;ht st 
 
 reams h.'vond all that, and let> 
 
 us see new hea\ens and a new earth ,<;loi-ious with (hxl's ^dory 
 where the old used to I.e. JUit between this and that tluMc 
 
 fetches a terrible chasm, a ^rulf wide and d 
 
 e( 
 
 tl 
 
 '!>, riyht across 
 
 le continuity of thin-s, the pleasing dreamy succession- 
 llieory. That teriible chasm, that awful yulf, coii.-tituting 
 llie boundary Ix-tween time and eterniiv, is the 1-:\1). 
 
 And it is the end of all tl 
 
 Its destructives cllect.' 
 
 It 
 
 lini^s— all things. Nothing escap 
 
 opens rigut across men's wishes and 
 
 hopes, their i)]easures and trea^^ures, their boasted 
 hoarded gains, their farms ami In-ins, tl 
 
 names and 
 
 v.ar< 'houses, their cottage 
 tombs, and all that is of th 
 
 an( 
 
 I 
 •th 
 
 , then" workshojjs and 
 palaces, their temples and 
 
 ed 111 th(! woi 
 
 na 
 
 I'l 
 
 .V h 
 
 4'py 
 
 Id" 
 tl 
 
 le earth, earthy, goes down eiii;ulpli- 
 
 iery burial never to have a jvsui-rection. ( »h 
 
 e-woes ai-e amcjiig the things that 
 
 lose whose 
 
 lit 
 
 aiv limned up — that the end shall endl 
 
 le end is at hand. 
 
 Then again, rellect here that tl 
 (lid of all things is at hand.' 
 
 •At hand"'— that has perplexed, and still perp] 
 
 lUit tl 
 
 le 
 
 exes niar.v, 
 
 i'uo tliousand vears ha\e all but i 
 
 un out since reter >]) 
 
 th 
 
 e cMd 
 
 at iiaml 
 
 aiK 
 
 1 th 
 
 ^J)oke ot 
 
 le «'nd IS not vet, and moreover it 
 
 .seems 
 
 as remote as e\"er, 
 
 And 
 
 si> men liave hegmi to tluMd ize as t 
 
 o 
 
 the end referred to. Thev hav 
 
 e sought for it in the winding' 
 
THE END. 
 
 349 
 
 d'uv^ 
 
 up of tlip old (Hsponsation and the dostruction of Jerusalem. 
 And undoubtedly tiiat was an end ; an end to old-woild ideas 
 and opinions ; an end so wide-sweepiiuj and thorough in its 
 eflects upon the world tiiat then was, that it niij,dit not l)e in- 
 aptly called the end of all things. And possibly Peter does 
 refer to that event here. I would not like to say he does not. 
 We know that the Lord continually assciated together the 
 two events, the destruction of Jerusalem and the end of the 
 world. When He spoke of the one event He usually spoke of 
 the other, and sometimes it is not easy to say what Ijelongs to 
 the one event and what belongs to the other. And IVter 
 heard those thrilling discourses of the Lord, as they came 
 warm from liis lieart, emphasized with tears, and punctuated 
 with sighs, and they must have made a deep imj)ression on his 
 mind. Hence, it is not impossible to suj)pose that he does 
 refer to the destruction of Jerusalem here, wliich was only a 
 few years off at the time the words were written. 
 
 And then there are some others who get round the diHiculty 
 here in this way. They suggest that .'is far as the Ajjostle 
 was concerned, and as far as yuu and I are concerned, tlie end 
 of all things is at hand. But to my mind that is only a smart 
 and easy way of avoiding a confessedly perplexing (juestion. 
 .Such a sugg(,'stion is no satisfactory solution of tin; dilliculty. 
 
 For my part, I feel that there is nothing for us but to accept 
 the idea .»f the end here. I cannot think that the Apostle 
 refers to the destruction of Jerusalem in what he says. At 
 all events, that idea does not explain all. It may bt; an eh;- 
 ment in it ; it may even bulk largely before the mind of one 
 who was the apostle of the Jews, and whose sym{)athies ami 
 prejudices were intensely Jewish. IJut the end here is not 
 the end of Judaism only. It is the end of all things ; — the 
 end of all the is>ms as well as Judaism; — the end of the politico, 
 philosophies, religions, businesses, and follies, that have ligur- 
 ed so largely in the history of the world ; — in a word, the final 
 wiuding up of all mundane aflaira. There was a time far back 
 
m 
 
 350 
 
 THE END. 
 
 when the world as a world was not, and it seems to rae tnat 
 there is going to come a tiino again when the world as a world 
 will be no more. That will be the end, and it is of that, 
 whatever it may be, that the Apostle speaks here. 
 
 But then in what sense can it be said to be at liand ? 
 Eighteen hundred and eighty one years of the christian en., 
 have gone by, and the end is not yet, and we can iiardly say 
 even now that it is at hand. 
 
 Now, there are some considerations that must be taken into 
 account in understanding and explaining sucii indefinite ex- 
 pressions as this one here and elsewhere in scripture. 
 
 First, we must remember that Peter was speaking propheti- 
 cally, and not only for his time, but for our times, and for 
 times still later than ours — for all time. 
 
 Secondly, he himself gives us a rule in his next epistle for 
 the calculation of the times of the end, and from that rule we 
 learn that much latitude must be allowed for such prophetic 
 expressions as a day, a year, at liand, and so on. He .s.iys, 
 with a view to put believers on their guard when assaults 
 would be made on the chronology of the Bible with regard to 
 the end : " But, beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, 
 that one day is with the Lord as a thousand year.b, and a 
 thousand years as one day." 
 
 Then thirdly, men's ideas of time differ in different ages, 
 and with different individuals. We use time-terms relatively 
 too. tSometimes we say at hand, when we mean not more 
 than an hour off ; and '•ometimes we might say at hand, sp^-ak- 
 ing of something that would not occur till Anno Domini 4000. 
 Thus, such modifying considerations as those I have mentioned, 
 must be taken into account in rightly understanding this 
 phrase— at hand. 
 
 This is clear, however, the end of all things is rapidly ap- 
 proaching, and it may he nearer than we think it is. We are 
 living far down in the history of the world. The fulness of 
 the time is a long way past now. The last times are upon us, 
 
THE END. 
 
 3Si 
 
 ages, 
 
 lively 
 
 more 
 
 JUOO. 
 ionetl, 
 this 
 
 and wo ai'o boing ruslied onward at a tromondmis rate ot spood 
 U) that fcai'ful gulf, that lios riglit across our track, and tho 
 track of all things, Thk P^nd. It sccnis too that tho world is 
 going far faster than it used to go. Wo cannot take tinie to- 
 day to travel by coach as t)ur forefathers did ; we must, shoot 
 along on the fastest train. \Vc can hardly wait on the daily 
 mail ; we have to telegraph ami telephone. We do business 
 fast. We make money fast, and we spend it fast. We grow 
 up fast. We learn fast. We live fast and die fast. We 
 want to rush everything to-day, and we are impatient that 
 we cannot get along still fast cf. Now, this lush must mean 
 that the end is at hand. Ahead/ its sweep is around us, and 
 its influence is taking hold upon us. The train of time is on 
 the down-grade now, and on we must rusli, till there is the 
 final crash, and the world g(^ei up in a vast universal confla- 
 gration, and affrighted millions shi-ick wildly, "The end of all 
 things is come at last! The End I The End I"' And then, 
 where once labor clanged, and the liabd of tongues clamored, 
 aud joy laughed aloud, and .sorrow sobbtMl and sighed, and 
 anguish groaned, and woe wailed, and a world woi-keil out 
 with herculean efl'ort its vast destiny, there is the hush of 
 death forever. 
 
 Now for some practical life-lessons in view of the end at 
 liand. 
 
 And first, "Be .sober," .says tho aged Peter. He exhorts 
 the generations living away on towai'ds the end — and we are 
 living there — to be grave, thoughtful, wise, earnest, (Jod-fear- 
 ing, devout, pious; not giddy, gay, fi'ivolous, ftjolish, i-eckless, 
 thoughtless, silly. And yet, the frivolousnt'ss and foolishness 
 of these times of ours, the levity ami laxity of the age, the 
 giddiness and gaudiness of to-day, the general want of that 
 gravity and earnestness which should charactei'ize th<\se who 
 live so near the end, and the reckless impiety that alarmingly 
 prevails now, are marked features. The faster th»; woild 
 wheels onward to the end, the faster seemingly the foet of the 
 
OJ' 
 
 THE END. 
 
 ! ! 
 
 «;,'i(l(ly (lancors trip, and the fa.stor clown the throat of fuol-! 
 ilows the iiiaddoniiig drink. O men, bo sober ! 
 
 Jlut you will say, "Should we be always griui, and dark- 
 browed, and heavydieailed ?" Xt>. The Master wants us to 
 b" joyous, hopeful, lilissful. The Aposth; stands yondei* on the 
 A(!rg(! of a dark future, world-(juaking events looming up and 
 lowering befcjre him, an awful death reaching out its ghastly 
 ghostly arms to take hold of him ; and, from his lofty prophe- 
 tic outlook as the woi'ld's watchman, he can see tlie awful 
 funeral pyre of the earth's doom, and, lifting up his earnest 
 voice he cries to men down through the ages, " The end of all 
 things is at hand I" ]5ut he Tears not. His words are not 
 the wail of despair. They have the ring of joy and hope in 
 them. S(>e ! his face gleams with glory, and i)eace and hope 
 <lwell in his calm soul. He is safe in Jesus, and no hurt can 
 con' ' to him. And then, far across the end-gulf he can see 
 a new earth and new heavens, and the King in His beauty ; 
 and he knows that there he shall reign. 
 
 O men of the world, weep and howl, for the world is 
 your all, and it shall l)e burned up. Across the ages a 
 voice comes to you to-nightv Listen ! *' But the end of all 
 things is at hand.'' 
 
 Ye people of (-iod, rejoice! rejoice! Your salvation is near. 
 The days yj2 sorrow and sighing are all but over. 8oon shall 
 l)reak upon your .soul the glad light of eternity. A\'ake up, 
 and take hold of life's duties anew. These are earnest times 
 we are living in, and we must not sleep. Be sober, watch 
 and pray unto the ei\d. You are weary, disheartened, 
 crushed. But the Apostle would cheer you, and stimulate 
 your flagging energies, and so he rings out this joyous peal : 
 " The end of all thincrs is at liand !"