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From a Photo by Martin A Sallnow, 416, Strand, London, W.C.

LONDON STEREOSCOPIC CO.

^^w/rtti

MEMOBIALS

OP THE KEV.

JOHN FREDERICK STEVENSON

D.A., LL.B., D.D.

BY HIS WIFE.

JAMES CLARKE & Co., 13 & 14, Fleet Street.

MCOCCXCI.

IN MEMORIAM, J. F. S.

r>,i his ,o>mn, JoHcph Tnmmi. First pnhUshed in the London

" Spectator."

A LIFE from our impoverislied life has past,

Gentle, and purp, and free ;
A soldier in the camp of light, right-fast,

With old-world chivalry :

A mind that frank, alert, inquisitive.

Kept a saint's ardour still,
Whose dauntless searching for the truths that live,

Left no agnostic chill.

Mourn we no more, 'twere wisest, and 'twere well

With the world's hope to blend ;
What matters now the painful cloud that fell.

And settled on the end I

O'er breathing earth, and through the moving air,

A force resurgent rolls ;
In realms invisible arises fair

The Easter of all souls.

One day for us the sombre veil will lift ;

A mighty light shall flow ;
And we no longer question, doubt, and drift.

And fear, but tind and know !

34994

PREFACE.

-•♦^

TN publishing these " Memorials " my thanks are
-L due to the Eev. J. Jackson Goadby, of Henley-
on-Thames, for his aid in correcting the proofs.
By the desire of many friends, extracts from the
memorial sermons and addresses delivered in
lieading, Montreal, and Brixton, are included. I
have also added a few of the many letters received
after Dr. Stevenson's death which may be of use
in revealing something of his character; or may
prove consoling and helpful to others who, like
myself, have suffered in this sore bereavement.

-. ^I. B. STEVENSON.

MCNTREAL, July, 1891.

1 M

CONTENTS.

Sketch of Du. SiEVKNyoN's Life by Mrs.
Stevenson

Extracts from Memorial Skrmon Preached by
Bev. Dr. Wells

'• ••• ••• ata

Extract from Memorial Sermon Preached by
Rev. J. Jackson Goadby

••• ••• •,«

At Brixton Independent Church

Other Personal Tributes to Dr. Stevenson...

PAOE

1-67

57-08

64-09
09-70
70-81

SE 11 HON 8.

ETHICAL.

I. Toiling in Rowing 85-95

II. Drifting ^^_^^^

III. The White Stone and the New Name 105-118

IV. God's Gentleness Man's Greatness ... 114-121
V. Power in a Eobe 122-135

VI. Character and Destiny 18G-146

I "I'W

vUi

CONTENTS.

\'ir. Watkk I'ltoM 1Jkthm:iikm ...

VUI. The Vauiation ok Stukngtii

IX. A SiiiNiNo Fack

147-ir,«
ir>7-i(;(>

107-171)

TllFJUOaiCAL.

I. TlIK CUKKD OK THK A(iN'OSTI0
II. TlIKOLOOY AND RkLIGION
HI. ClIUIbT AND OTIIKU TkACUIKUS

,.. I8;j-i9a

... 197-207
.. 208-217

IV. Is THK HkVKL VTION OK GOD SATISFACTORY ? 218-230

V. DOUIITH CoNCKUNINil THK SoUL 281-24B

VI. The Chauactkr ok Chriht— is it Divink ? 240-201

VII. Ills Glorious Body 202-271

Article Written uy Dr. Stevenson on the

Death of Trofkssor Elmslie, D.D. ... 272-277

SKF/rcn OF 1)11. sTFVKXSovs Liri:.

OI[N FllEDElUCK STI<:VENSOX waslliccMcst
Kon of tlio llev. John Stcvonson, M.A., for luiiny
years the eiirnost and devoted pastor of the Borough
lload Jiiiptist Church, London. His grandfather,
the llev. Thomas Stevenson, was a contemporary
of llobert Hall, v/hom he well knew and whom in
many points he resembled. lie was a man of un-
usual talent and i)ulpit eloquence ; a sturdy
Puritan of the old type, ii. the days when .i,
man had to BufTer for his nonconformity. An
annisin^ btory is told of hiui and his relation
to a neighbouring clergyman who also bore the
name of Stevenson. In those days clergy mcai
were not always appointed because of their fitness
for the sacred ofiice ; and, if report is to be trusted,
the dignitary in question conferred no honour upon
his profession. Perhaps the near neighbourhood of
a hard-working "dissenting brother" proved a
source of irritation to a man of more secular
pursuits ; but certain it is that Thomas Stevenson
found no favour in the eyes of his ecclesiastical
namesake. Particularly he resented his use of the

2 MEMOIR.

prefix "Reverend " ; and one day a letter intended
for the nonconforming Thomas falling into his
hands, he sent it to its rightful owner with the ac-
companying note : —

" Sm, — If you liad not assumed a title to which
you had no right, this mistake would never have
occurred."

No notice was taken of the insult at the time ;
but some months later a pile of manuscript ser-
mons, prepared for the use of those unhappy
preachers who are unable to compose discourses of
their own, having been purchased for his own
requirements by the clergyman, were sent by mis-
take to Thomas Stevenson. The opportunity for
retaliation proved irresistible ; and one can ima-
gine the grim smile with which they were packed
up and remitted to their proper owner with the
enclosure : —

" Sm, — If you had not assumed a title to which
you had no right, this mistake would never have
occurred."

But those old days, we are glad to believe, have
passed away for ever. It was the hap^iy experience
of the subject of this memorial to find the only
rivalry between himself and clergymen of the
Established Church one of love and of good
works. This was pre-eminently the case during

Lve

Ive
ice

he
lod

MEMOIR. 3

his life in Canada^ where the Church is free from
the fetters of State patronage and control.

John Frederick Stevenson was horn at Lough-
l^oro', in 1833. While still an infant the family
removed to London, his father, the llev. John
Stevenson, having heen nivited to hecome pastor of
the Borough Road Baptist Church. Travelling in
those days was by coach ; and a long journey it
proved for the young mothei and babe. The little
one, however, thrived in his new surroundings, and
found in South London a congenial home. Here
he was bro ight up, and ever after loved it with that
mysterious devotion which a true Londoner feels
for those " long, unlovely streets," half hidden, as
Buskin has it, " with the modern mystery of smoke."
I remember being struck with this in reading the
life of Charles Dickens. Even in the midst of the
loveliest scenery of Switzerland, he occasionally
breaks out into a home-sick cry for London ; long-
ing for a prowl around the old haunts, peopled for
him with a life so fantastic, yet so real.

•* Fred," as he was familiarly called as a lad,
grew up a somewhat dreamy boy, never so happy
as when sitting in a quiet corner with a book ;
and if the book were on some abstract subject, so
much the better for his enjoyment. Much of his
early education was gained in a garret of his
London home, where volumes from an old library
were stored. Here he feasted upon Berkeley, Paley,
and other theologians ; but above all, and perhaps

MEMOIR.

best of all for his English education, Shakespeare,
Milton, Goldsmith, Spencer, here unfolded their
magic pages and filled him with delight. Ilis
memory at this youthful period was "wax to re-
ceive and marble to retain," and the contents of the
garret library proved a precious possession for ever.
In after-years, when deeply interested in educational
questions, he was especially anxious that the study of
English literature should form an important and
systematic part of school training. He felt that
his " garret culture " was of the greatest personal
benefit to him throughout his life, and helped
largely to that training of the tongue and of the
ear so necessary to a public man. " I would have the
youth of England saturated with the classical
writers of their own tongue, just as the Greeks
were with Greek," he would say. He received
his general training at University College, London,
under the well-known professors, Francis Newman,
Maiden, and De Morgan. In 1850 he became a
student at the ]japtist Colle^fe, Stepney (now
Regent's Park), for his theological course, under Dr.
Angus, and finished this jiart of his career by
taking his 13. A. at the London University. Among
his fellow-students were Charles Viuce, Samuel
Cox, Clement Bailbache, and Lusombe and Henry
Hull ; and with them he formed friendships which
only death has dissolved. " His Sunday services,"
says a college friend, " were in constant demand,
even in those early days. His preaching from the

MEMOIR.

first was marked with great fluency, a happy choice of
diction, and occasional incisivencss, all infused with
a quiet «^low of emotion — parts sparkling with satiri-
cal pliiy." He possessed, like liis father and f^rand-
father, a natural eloquence, and had tlic advantage
of being trained in elocution by Sheridan Knowles,
who sometimes, when his patience was tried by less
satisfactory pupils, would turn to Fred Stevenson
and say, " Come up here, my dear, and show them
bow to do it ! " While at Stepney, when not en-
gaged in preaching himself, be often had the oppor-
tunity of hearing some of the best London
ministers. Howard Hinton and Baldwin lirown
were his special favourites. Two widely different
men, but both useful to the young student, in
forming his own standard of pulpit taste and ex-
cellence. To the teaching of the latter, indeed, he
was indebted all through his after-life. On one
occasion, while listening to nis celebrated sermon
** The way home," Mr. IJrowu apologizing for
exceeding his time, his enthusiastic young hearer
audibly exclahued, *' Go on ! " Fortunately ho
was sitting near the pulpit ; the preacher saw how
it was, and smiled kindly at the eager f.;ce upturned
to his own. Ilow little either of them could have
guessed tbat one day the unknown young student
would become the successor of the prominent
minister, whose career was tben in its prime. His
twenty-first birthday found him the pastor of his
first charge at Long Sutton, Lincolnshire — sitting in

«p

MEMOIR.

rather lonely dignity in bis own study, missing the
homo faces and birthday greetings, which ho was
not too old to appreciate. Writing to bis father he
says :—

" I have made this day a season of new resolu-
tions and fervent hopes and prayers. May God
give me His gracious assistance that my now com-
mencing manhood bo consecrated to Him. There
is much here to be done in His cause, and I only
hope it may be accomplished in His fear and for
His glory. The friends have received mc with
very great kindness. They do not appear to have
been efficiently supplied of late, and the cause
is in a poor state. ... I preached in the
evening from the words of Jesus, * I will come and
heal him,' as applied to the poor paralytic. The
congregation was very attentive and quite double
the usual number. Is not this so far encouraging?'*

The four years he spent at Long Sutton seem,
on the whole, to have been happy ones. His
salary was about eighty pounds a year— -not quite
so humble as that of Goldsmith's village pastor,
though, like him, his wants were few. He seems to
have felt quite a man of means, however, and
writes amusingly to his mother of his indepen-
dence r —

" My expenses average about eight-and-sixpence
or nine shillings a week. Several friends have
been to see me, and I have invited more than one
to spend the evening. The sense of having a

MEMOIR.

perfect r\^\i to do so" (ho bad formerly })ccn
lodging vitli a family where this was impossible),
" and of welcoming my visitors to a table all my
own, is exceedingly pleasant."

lie was inclined to look on the bright side of
everything, as indeed who should not at iho age
of twenty-one?

Here, he says, ho preached his *' wild-oat"
sermons, and the people were kind and patient
with him, giving him time for thought and mental
development. He always regarded it as a mis-
fortune for a young man to begin his ministry in a
prominent church. The quieter the better for the
first few years, ho said, so that the " 'prentice
hand" should get practice before he attempted
great things.

Unfortunately in Long Sutton Mr. Stevenson's
physical health fared not so well as his mental
condition. In those days, before the draining of
the fens, to live in Lincolnshire meant to bo a
martyr to ague, and to this rule he was no excep-
tion ; indeed he suffered from it so severely that it
affected his constitution for many years afterwards.

In 1858 Mr. Stevenson accepted an invitation
to the Mansfield Road Church, Nottingham, where
his old friend and fellow-student, the Rev. Dr. Cox,
author of ** Salvator Mundi " and other works,
afterwards succeeded him. lie was at first co-pastor
with the Rev. G. A. Syme, M.A., a gentleman of
some repute amongst the General Baptists ; but on

^^^SXa^

MEMOIR.

his rotiroment through ill-health, Mr. Stevenson
assumed the entire pastorate. Soon after his
settlement ho married Priscilla, daughter of Mr.
King, of Boston, and life seemed to open out full of
promise for the future. Like a holt out of a clear
sky, however, a crushing sorrow was about to befal
him. After fifteen months of happiness his young
wife, who had left him in the morning in perfect
health, was brought home at noon, a corpse. After
rather rapid walking she had fallen in the street,
and instantly expired; heart disease, unsuspected
even by herself, being the cause of her death.
Out of the shadow of this bitter bereavement
the young minister emerged, not only with a deeper
experience of human suffering, but with a deeper
sympathy for all sufferers — a sympathy which was
a large factor in making him so greatly beloved by
his people in his after-ministry. The roots of his
sorrow went down deep into his life, and bore fruit
not only in his private, but in his public ministra-
tions. It was as an anointing of the Lord which
enabled him to speak "a word in season to the
weary," and to apply the comfort wherewith he
also had been comforted of God to bowed and
broken hearts.

Like most people, however, with a deep sense of
the pathos of life, he was keenly alive to the
ludicrous, and sometimes found it difficult to
refrain from a smile where it would have been
misunderstood or unseemly. Preaching on one

»'

MKMOIIi.

occasion at an anniversary service, a large dog
strolled up the centre aisle with slow deliberation,
and planted himself as an auditor a few paces from
the pulpit, from whence ho looked up into the
preacher's face with such serious attention that he
altogether impeiilled his gravity. Fortunately the
sexton succeeded in removing the interloper before
the situation had grown too embarrassing. ]3ut it
was frequently his experience that a quick s(5nso
of humour, while adding to the amusement of the
man was painfully upsetting to the minister.

About this time he began to feel the difticulty of
his position as a General Baptist. While attached
to many individuals amongst them, he was some-
what cramped and fettered by the smallness of the
denomination. It must not bo supposed that ho
objected to the rite of " believer's baptism " ; as
long as he lived he maintained that, should any
unbaptized converts desire it, he was perfectly
willing to admit them into the Church by immersion.
He could not, however, feel the fuvm to be of the
signal importance with which many, even of his
own congregation, invested it ; and when pressed
for more definite sermons on the subject doctrinally,
he found it distasteful to comply. Forms of all
kinds were irksome to him. During his residence
at Long Sutton he had lived, for the most part, in
the house of a godly Quaker family, and had,
almost unconsciously, been influenced by their
views. He enjoyed the simplicity of their services ;

MKMOIR.

and tUo "Friends' Mooting," which ho sometimes
attondod, was a source of much spiritual bonoflt to
him. In this connection ho was fond of quoting
from Thomas Lynch's quaint and suggestive poem
" A church with bells " : —

" I wont tlio silent Friends to see,

Anil there no bellu could ring ;
For how could any niusio bo

Where nobody would sin^'?
Ihit us wo all wore sitting hushed,

Up rose a sister grey,
And said, with fuco a little ilushcd,

' This is a sunny daj',
And Jesus is our inward light

To guide us on our way.'
' Ah ycB,' said I, • this sister pure,

Tho old, glad tidings tells ;
And hero too, I am very sure,

I'vo found a church with bells.' "

[ t

lie was in much sympathy also with Bushnell's
** Christian Nurture," which he read at this period.
The organic unity of tho family, which should
result in the children of Christian parents being
brought up as Christians — "no more Christians
with families, but Christian families," as Bushueli
says, seemed to him reasonable and Scriptural.

Coming into contact with the Rev. Paxton Hood
(with whom he afterwards enjoyed a lifelong
friendship), Mr. Stevenson intimated his willingness
to accept an invitation to a Congregational church,
and was shortly after called to the pastorate of

mmoiit.

'•'1

Trinity Chapel, Heading. This was a clianj^o
whicli ho never had reason to regret. Pastor and
pooplo soon becamo warmly attached to each other,
and as long as ho lived tho memory of his
ministry among them was cherished as one of
bis most sacred and tender recollections.

lie went to Reading in 1H03, in the thirtieth
year of his age. His views had ripened and settled
into what I may call a ** Jiroad Evangelicalism."
Indeed a friend, laughingly accusing him of his
"breadth," was answered, " Broad, if you like, hut
I do not give up the word * evangelical ' ; it is too
good to be parted with."

The essence of his sermons might he condensed
in the teaching " that God was in Christ, reconciling
the world unto Himself." " What men find it so
diflicult to realize," ho would say, " is, that God
loves them. They will believe in Him as Judge,
as King, as Governor, condemning or approving,
pleased or displeased ; but what they do not sec is
that the love of God is the strongest, deepest fact
in the universe. If they did it would prove
irresistible. Christ is the great Hevealer of the
heart of God. The attraction is there, and must
go on ; as He has said, 'I, if I be lifted up, will draw
all men unto Me.' "

What he himself said of Professor Elmslie, in an
article written shortly after bis death, was equally
true of the writer : '* Ho was not satisfied with a
partial or merely logical view of any of the groat

I»

I- ■'

MEMOIU.

doctrines of tlio gOBpcl. Ho delighted to look at
thorn from different sides, and to set them in
various points of light. Ilis teaching was eminently
constructive. Tlioro was no tendency in his mind
to rejoction for the sake of novelty or changci. lie
was prohahly more keenly alive to the presoncc of
truth under varied forms than eager to overthrow
any mode of thought which has ever yielded
nourishment to the spiritual life of earnest and
godly men. Hence ho was popular with men of
different mental tendencies, although entirely
candid and fearlessly outspoken. ... He looked
forward to fuller truth as the result of wider in-
vestigation. He did not expect to destroy, or even
innovate, but perpetually to add ; and saw in the
theology he loved so well the grandest gymnastic of
the human mind, as well as a majestic vestibule
of the temple of God."

As time went on, and he grow to be a power in the
denomination, it might have been said of him, as
has been said of another whose position much
resembled his own, "that his part became very
much that of the Eeconciliationist — the man who
is the intermediary between the new vuUhs and the
old faith."

On the platform he was perhaps an almost
greater power than in the pulpit. Always diffident,
it seemed as if he needed the first round of applause
to put him thoroughly en raiqiort with his audience ;
once being assured of their sympathy, everything

r ;

MFAtOIU.

became poHsiblo to him, and ho carried hin listcncrH
with Iiim to tho closo. I havo often folt that in the
pulpit, if lio could havo boon permitted to hear an
cxpreHsion of tho feeling of the congregation it
wouhl havo been an imuiensc help to him. Jfe was
mere dcBtitute of tho (piality which, for want of a
better word, 1 may call " assurance," than any
public man I over know, and hence had none of
the pardona])lo pleasure which ho many are able to
take in their own performances. The utmost he
ever said, even when most happy in his public
utterances, was that "ho had been able to speak
with comfort."

The occasion of his first coming prominently
before the Heading public was when, soon after his
arrival in the town, an indignation meeting was
held by the Nonconformists to protest against the
insult olYered them by the late JJishop Wilberforeo,
who in a recent charge had classed them with
"bad cottages and beer-shops" as "hindrances to
the clergy." The llev. John Aldis and other of the
leading ministers spoke, and the new-comer electri-
fied his audience with a speech of so much fire
and brilliance that every one was asking who tho
young man was.

A Liberal in politics, he did good work for his
colleagues, and was a great support to Mr. Shaw
Lefevre, at that time M.P. for Reading.

In the year following his removal to Reading, ho
married Miss Davis, daughter of Dr. Davis,

MKMOlli.

Hocrotarj of the lloligiouR Tract Bocioty. The
union waH a Hingularly Iiapi)y ono, and sho wlio
writcB ihcHO iinpcrfuct pagos can only thank God
that so many yearn of life and work together were
granted to thoni. It is a delicate, and to her an
iniposHiblc, tank, to lift the veil that hidcH the
sacrednesB of their domestic life. Enough to say
that it was in the home that hoth gained strength
for outside toil, and felt the cares that infest a
puhlic life soothed and quieted and forgotten.
In Heading their live children — three hoys and
two girls — were born to them, each new inmate
adding to the happiness of their home.

One or two extracts from Mr. Stevenson's letters
\\\\\ bo the best interpreters of his life at this period.
It should bo said, however, that he never was a
ready writer ; and his letters are always as much
as possible condensed. He disliked the act of
writing, maintaining that it cramped his thoughts
as much as his movements.

Owing to this, it was years after his ministry
began before ho took any but the briefest notes
into the pulpit. And it was always true of him that
his best sermons were extemporaneous; though,
as he himself would admit, with a shrug of his
shoulders, **bo are my worst." As time went on,
however, he grew to feel that the written sermon
struck a more certain average — not always rising
60 high, but sure of not falling so low, as one
simply thought out might do.

I 'i

MFMOIU.

Iff

When lirnt called to Uiiidiiig he fliiyH, writing to
liJH niothoi* : —

" My TuHt Siuiday here in now past. I liavt; to
ho thankful for a rcvji cordial welcome on tho part
of my now friend?*, and fur nnich comfort in pleach-
ing yesterday. The chapel was well filled at J»oth
services, and I helievo that what I Haid has fallen
on * good ground.' >ry own view of my prospectH
is that they were never, on the whole, bj good, and
though I look forward to diflicultios of many kinds
(as who is without them ?), yet I put my trust in
God for wisdom and skill to conquer them. I am
anxious above all things to do God's work in His
way, and I thank Ilim for placing me where, ho far
as I can judge, there is every prosju'ct of my
working with an alTectionato and congenial people.
May He fulfil my hopes for His luune's sake ! "

That these hopes were abundantly realized is
evident from the fact that under his leadorship the
Church became too strait for the congregation, and
was enlarged to seat half as many again.
To his father he writes : —
" I won't enter now at large on any metaphysical
or theological discussions. But I am intensely
interested in the processes of mind by which your
original views of the will have modiiied of late.
Your method of investigation is surely unimpeach-
able. The exact vein itself into which you have
finally settled I do not quite know. It will come
out probably more easily in talk than in correspon-

MimotR,

(lence, and I long for a conversation. My philo-
sophical studies lately have had reference to two
things: tho nature of what we call "matter," so
far as knowable ; and Mr. Grove's doctrine of the
Correlation of Forces (or, as Herbert Spencer calls
it, the * Persisten.^e of Force '). These are rather
two aspects of one sulyect than wholly distinct.
The tendency of niy studies seems to be to over-
throw realism. Matter fades into force, and force
into connection in reason, i.e., into quantitative or
mathematical relations. For so much emotion
which disappears, a constantly related quantity or
intensity of heat (or electricity, or light, or chemical
force, or all) appears. This seems to be what we
mean by causation in nature. More when we
meet."

To his mother he writes shortly after the birth
of his first child : — ■

** The boy grows daily, and twines himself r^bout
our hearts wonderfully. Poor little fellov/, launched
all unconscious on this strange journey of life, am
I glad t? see him or no ? Well, yes, I am ; and yet
it is no unmixed joy. It is a terrible thing to live,
after all. I am afraid that is the lesson most of us
learn from the experience of years. To be a human
being is to be an actor in a tragi-comic drama, of
which the tragedy is by far the larger part. What
it all means ho would bo a very shallow theorist
who should dare to say. I don't want to write
gloomily, however, you have need of something else

MEMOIR

than that. My daily aud liourly prayer in that
God may guide and bless you."

From tills hist extract it will be seen that " the
burden of the mystery " weighed upon him at times,
as it does upon all thoughtful minds. At this
period of his life, however, he was generally cheer-
ful, except when suffering from the much-dreaded
*' bilious-nervous " headaches, which too often made
Monday a day of misery to him. His health was
never so good as his friends generally imagined ;
and much of his work was done under the tension
of suffering to which he would allow no reprieve.

Though truly devout, he had nothhig of the prig
or " goody-good young man " in his composition.
The following extract, written about this tiiiio to a
young minister who was also an intimate friend,
will, I trust, be pardoned as revealing the genuine
fun and naturalness of his early manhood.

*' My dear F., — I am very glad the B.'s have had
the good sense and good feeling to elect you. The
eight or nine elderly feminines who differ, will not,
I hope, break your heart, though you are in some
danger of breaking theirs. As you say, with a
touch of wisdom beyond your tender years, a little
personal attention will convert them quickly, and
perhaps suddenly. The only danger is lest they
should become too demonstratively affectionate !

" I am more than glad to have you so near.
' 07"/<a in cdcelsis ! * We shall have a chance of

MEMOIR.

long walks and talks together, whicli will do me
good, whatever be their effect upon you. I have
no doubt you will build up the church, and when
you get to know the people I am sure you will find
a good deal of spiritual life and mental movement
among them. (Mark the alliteration!) You are
right in taking a holiday, and to settle it beforehand.
** I shall be very glad to know your parents,
and hope I may see them in May. They must be
capital people, judging from their descendant!
Especially so if you remember the * nos nequiorcs '
of the poet."

If I were asked to give a definition of his character
in two words, they would be " simplicity " and
''sympathy." He was always transparent and
sincere as a child ; " hoping all things and believing
all things" of those with whom he came into
contact. His power of throwing himself into the
thought and feeling of others was remarkable. He
literally rejoiced with those who rejoiced and wept
with those who wept. I remember hearing the late
James Hinton remark, " that our sympathy with
other people was never likely to be keen enough to
hurt ourselves " ; and, generally speaking, he may
be right, but Mr. Stevenson certainly proved an
exception to this rule. Indeed the doctor's verdict
at last was, that he had worn himself out by the
keenness of his emotions, and injured the delicate
brain and nerves past recovery.

i^i

MEMOIR.

A letiur written after Lis settlement in Canada to
a beloved friend in England on hearing of the death
of his wife, will illustrate what I have said. It
should bo mentioned that " Millie," of whom he
speaks so tenderly, had grown up in his Beading
church, and was much endeared to him by many old
associations.

To H. W. S. Wouslky-Benison, Esq.*

" My dearest H., — This is most dreadful. Arthur's
letter has just come in, and given us this great
grief as the news from home. Oh, my poor, dear
Millie ! almost my child, and always most dearly
and tenderly beloved ! And you, H., my poor boy;
how well I know it — that utter, hopeless, wasting
desolation, which dries up the very springs of life
and shuts out peace and joy. I would give I know
not what to be with you — to cross the great ocean
and come to you — and yet if I were there I could
not do the only thing which none can do for you.
But I can weep with you and pray with you ; and
indeed I am doing both, for my tears blind me as I
write, and I do not cease to pray for you. May
you have all the help and light you need, and have
it always. And, my dear, dear friend, Mr. J., too
('Millie's' father) — what a fearful trial for him!

* Lecturer on Botany at WestmhiBter Hospital, Author of
<' Nature's Fairy-land," " Haunts of Nature," &c.

MEMOIR.

i !
[

I i'

■ f,

IS'

IIu has btul inucli, very much to bear of bereavement
aiul sorrow, tiiul now this lieart-breakhig trouble to
crown it all. I do hope he will know, and you too,
my dearest 11., that the * Man of Sorro\^ s ' is near
you, and that your sorrow is so involved with His
that He will certainly turn it into joy — for her, and
for you, and for you all. Try to stay your soul
with the faith of Christ — the faith He had in His
Father, the faith He invites us to have in Himself.
Our life is not rounded with death, but with a larger
and fuller life. Last Sunday was the Resurrection
Sunday. Our church was full of flowers, and I
preached from, * Thus it behoved Christ to suffer,
and to rise from the dead the third day ' (Luke xxiv.
4()). So it <li(l behove Him, for He was, and in, and
nill be, and must be, Mife from the dead.*

" I shall see you, I hope, in the summer. But oh,
my dear, dear bo}^^, my journey will be sad. I go
to two empty homes — my father's (my mother's,
rather) and yours. God help us ! "

Did space permit, and could the veil that hides
such sorrow be lifted, it would be seen that not
once, but many times He bore His people's burdens
and carried their griefs, as only a very deep and
tender nature could do.

As I write I can think of one and another who
will read these words and who will feel that they are
included in what I say, though theii" names do noij
appear upon the printed page.

Mmioiit.

'ii

About seven years after lii« settlement in Picadinf:;
the church buikh'nf; was enlarged and altered.
During the renovation, ^fr. Stevenson preached in
the Town Hall to crowded congregations. At the
xcopening services Dr. Parker and Baldwin ]3ro\vn
were the preachers. Lunch was held in the school-
room, where the ministers of the city and the
special guests of the day were entertained l)y the
Trinity congregation. It was a happy, and to the
pastor a memorable occasion — one of those " white
days" in the life of an earnest minister for which
he can " thank God and take fresh courage."
During the time when "the Disestablishment of
the Irish Church " was agitating the nation, l\rr.
Stevenson was asked by the Liberal party to hold a
meeting in the Town Hall and express their views
on the question. This he did, and held a crowded
audience for two hours. He was speaking on a
subject full of interest to himself ; the sympathy
of his audience roused him to his best, and at the
close he was greeted with a perfect ovation.

Two or three times during )iis life in Reading he
was visited by Thomas Cooper, once the celebrated
Chartist leader, but in the days of which I speak a
** Lecturer on Christianity " and veteran soldier of
the cross.

As a lad, when visiting relations in Leicester,
Mr. Stevenson had often watched, with awe-struck
eyes, the army of starving men headed by their lusty
champion, wearing a red cap of liberty, marching

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i .'

MEMOIR.

• I II

througli tho Leicester market-place, and singing a
Chartist song, witli the refrain —

" Tho lion of freedom's released from liis den,
We'll rally around him apain and again."

And a leonine aspect even in those later j-ears
Thomas Cooper presented. At that time, however,
** he roared as gently as a sucking dove," and
many delightful rambles did they have through
Reading and the surrounding country. Botany
was Mr. Cooper's favourite pastime, and he soon
had the young minister as fascinated as he was
himself in hunting after new " specimens," which
he enjoyed with all the freshness of a simple, un-
worldly nature. " Rich as a Devonshire lane," the
old gentleman pronounced the fields and hedges of
Berkshire, as they returned with their hands and
arms so full of treasures mat their hostess was
fairly puzzled how to stow them away. To Thomas
Cooper he owed his fondness for botany, which ever
after made his country rambles so full of interest
to him. The writer has many happy recollections
of ** a day's holiday " in the lovely valley of the
Thames, when wandering by the river- side in the
neighbourhood of Pangbourne or Maidenhead. A
zest was added to their enjoyment by the discovery
of some ** bright particular" treasure among the
long meadow grasses or under the luxuriant
hedgerows.
And so the time sped on, unmarked by any

MEMOIIi.

Htrikinp; ovont, until priHtor ami people had boon
togollior for ton yoarn. Mr. StovonHon now hold ji
position posniblo only to ono who had boon so lonjij
" triod and proved." He had watehed those who
had boon children on his arrival p;row up into nian-
liood and womanhood. He had buried those who
bad finished their course — had stood by their sick-
beds, luid bocorao the loved and trusted counsellor
in their times of perplexity. In the town itself ho
had grown to bo an institution; and as one humour-
ously remarked, "Reading without Mr. Stevenson
would be as bad as * Hamlet ' without tho Prince of
Denmark." More than once efforts had l)cen made
to secure him for other churches, but he seemed
proof against all temptations from without. A
change, however, little contemplated on either
liand, was in store for him.

In the winter of 1873, which proved a very damp
and unhealthy one in Heading, bordering as it does
on the valley of tho Thames, Mr. Htevenson
suffered much from neuralgia of the eyes. The
trouble proving not only intensely painful, but
persistent, his medical man wished him to consult
a London oculist. This he did, and was advised
to try prolonged rest, and if possible a sea voyage,
as the best means of cure.

A trip to New York to attend the meetings of
the Evangelical Alliance was therefore proposed in
the following summer, and generously arranged for
by his congregation. During his travels Mr.

MEMOIR

Stovcnson visited Montreal, nnd prcaohod at tlio
well-known Zion Conp;rf!fi;ational Churcli, for many
yearn under the pastoral care of the venerable
J)r. Wiilvt'H, wlio has been called " the Father of
Canadian Congrc}:](ationalism." From the articles
in the Montreal Daily WHncHa and other papers, it
seems evident that Dr. Stevenson produced a
marked impression durinj^ his visit, and the Zion
Chm'ch coiif:;ref;ation determined, if possible, to
secure him. They were then under the pastorate
of the Rev. C. Chapman, but the idea was to
build a new church in the western portion of the
city, at which fresh help would be required. Early
in the following year, therefore, they forwarded
Mr. Stevenson a hearty invitation, which was soon
after enforced by the personal appeal of ])r. Wilkes
himself, who visited England in that year, and laid
the claims of the colony strongly before him.

For some time Mr. Stevenson underwent an
anxious struggle of mind as to what it would be
right to do. On the oue hand were the close ties
that bound him to his Reading charge ; the fact
also that both he and his wife would be called to
part with beloved parents ; his love for his native
land, and his interest in her politics and general
welfare. On the other hand there was the hope of
improved herJth, the drier and more exhilarating
Canadian climate having already benefited him,
the future of his children, and the claims of
Canadian Congregationalism. Decision proved a

<l 'IfUM

MEMO J n.

rlilTicuU task. Very carnostly did bo and tlioso
who loved liim Hcck for Divino f^uidanco ; and wo
muHt l)eli(ivo that wlicn at hiHt he elected to Horvo
the Chureh in Canada it was in obedience to the
^laHter'H call.

I mnnt pass ln-ielly over the tinio of painful
excitement that followed, on bis decision to leave
Enj^land bocominj^ publicly known. Farewell
meetings, partings with old friends, public and
private adieus, which tried him to the utmost,
continued with little variation until ho stood with
wife and children on board the vessel which was to
convey them to their Canadian home.

The first few months of Mr. Stevenson's new
life were spent in adapting himself to bis changed
surroundings. Methods of work dilTered somewhat
from those of tho old country, and at first ho felt
the strangeness of his position. Tho winter was
passed in Zion Church with Mr. (now Dr.) Chap-
man for his co-pastor, and then a separate church
was formed, of which Mr. Stevenson was invited
to take the sole charge, and the new building com-
menced in the western part of the city.

The editor of the Montreal Witnrss, himself a
Congregationalist, says of Mr. Stevenson's work at
this period : *' Tho congregation grew. Many were
attracted alike by his virile eloquence and his high
philosophic cast of thought. He became a power
not only in the church but in the city. . . . He

had something for both mind and heart, and he

MKMOlIi.

il'

11^

Htirrod the wholo nature. Ho made truth inviting,
for in itH delivery \\v clmr{:;ed the nioPHage with
fiomethiiif; of liis own warmth and colour and un-
faltering optimism."

A letter written hy him ahout this time to the
]i«'adinp( Ohurch may Ix^ of interest here.

** To TIIR WonSIIIPrr.nS at 'I'UINITY CoNOREdATIONAL

Church.

" Montreal, Fchriinry 22, 1875.

" My Dkar Friends, — I am anxious to send j'ou
a few words of greeting early in tho year, and not
the loss hut the more because tho wide Atlantic
rolls between us. I am very often amongst you in
imagination ; even as I write these lines I can see
tho familiar faces, still very dear to mo, amongst
whom they will probably bo read. If only I had the
space-annihilating hat, the wearer of which could
bo in an instant wherever he wished to bo, how
soon would I como and sjtend a few hours in the
dear old church, or gathei you all about me in the
schoolroom for a long and pleasant talk. Truly
there is much to be thankful for. If you have
half as pleasant thoughts of me as I have of you
(and I know you have), we shall have to be grateful
all our lives that we over knew each other. My
life and work amongst you will be a pleasant
memory to me as long as I live.

** We are passing here through tho cold of mid-

MKMOUi.

winter, and of a winter nniiHimlly flovore v\o\\ for
Canada. For twont.y-flov«'n of tlio tliirty-ono days
of January the tlicrraonictor was hrlow /oro,
and Homctimos jim iiiiicli as twcniy-fivo and tliirty
dogroefl ludow. 'I'lio f;round has hccn covorod with
BHOW ever since the end of Nov(!ml)er, and will bo
till perhaps the end of March. The river St.
Lawrence ifl frozen over bo that we can drive heavy
vehicles across it ; the ice is not less than a foot
thick. All wheeled carriaf;cs are put away and
sleighs alone are seen in the streocs or on the
roads. They glide along in silence, so that we
only know they are near by the tinkling of the bells
on the horses. No description can give an idea of
the beauty of the Canadian sky. It is of the
purest and softest blue, and the sun shines as
brightly as in summer. The sunlight is reflected
brilliantly from the surface of the glittering snow.
In spite of the cold, the winter is a most enjoyable
season, and even against the cold wo are well
protected both by the systematic warming of our
houses and by the appropriate clothing which we
wear. We are r.ll, I am thankful to say, in good
health, and find our life in Canada very pleasant.

"My thoughts have turned to you very often with
earnest desires that you may soon meet with a
wise and good man who may take up and carry on
the work of God amongst you as your pastor. I
am reminded that some time must elapse before
you can receive these lines, and it may be that in

98 MKMOin,

tho interval my dosiro bIiiiII liavc l)ccn fulfilled. Tf
HO, I can only wish for my succcsHor tluit ho may
find tho unvarying KindncHS which was givon to
mo, and that ho mny ho far more HUCccHsfui in
leading' yon to tho loftier hei'i^hts of the life which
ifi hidden with ('inist in (lod. If his ministry ho
in some respects diflercnt from mine, ko nuudi tho
hotter, for I jim sure (lod has truth to teacli yoii
which it has not pleased lliin to reveal to mo.
Try, my dear friends, to grow in the knowledge of
Christ, and ho ready to receive whatever light is
shed, throngh whomsoever, npon His character
and will. Tlio whole purpose of life is to get near
Him, to put on tho new hnraanity which Ho has
realized and waits to impart. Whatever helps ns
to do this is to ho valued ahovo our chief joy, and
only what does not is to ho regarded as spiritually
irrelevant and untrue. What wo chiefly need is a
daily revelation of Christ to our souls, that wo may
be illumined in thought, emotion, and action by
the light of His perfect mind. We may be thankful
that the Di ^Jne Spirit is able and willing to use all
sincere and devout ministry as a means to take of
the things that arc Christ's, and show them unto
us.

** I thank those of you who have been so kind as
to write to me or to Mrs. Stevenson since our
arrival in Canada. Their letters, they may rest
assured, have been most welcome, and have been
read and read again with much affectionate thought

•"•mmm

MKMoIIi.

of tlio writers. I inuHt uhU thcni to l>u Kind ttuoiii^h
not to foci liurt if tlioy arc not ut onco iiiiHwrriMl,
for our timo is nuuli occiqutHl, and it lias often
liappeiicil that, when wo have intondod to write,
necessary duty lia.s interposed a stern nef»ativo.
Canada is a beautiful and happy country, hut it is
a very busy one ; nouo need come hitlior who are
afraid of work. But then the work is healthy, and
happy, and productive, so that it is no penalty,
hut brings its own reward. I do not bcliovo thero
is a country in the world where work done in the
riglit spirit, and in the right way, is so rapidly
followed by indications of success. Canadians are
intelligent, quick-minded, and warm-hearted, and
very ai))»rociativo of any one who honestly strives
to bo thorough and sorviceal)le. I beliovo this is
true in business life, and in the life of society
generally, and I am sure it is true in the Church.

** Of course we have our difficulties. The chief
of these is the prevalence of the Roman Catholic
Church, at least in this province of Quebec, or, as
it used to be called, Lower Canada. It is not
exactly the Established Church — for wo have no
Established Church here — but it is the (!liurch of
the large majority. The French-speaking Cana-
dians and those of Irish origin universally belong
to it, and although there is little bitterness of
feeling, or unseemly bigotry amongst us, yet in
matters which concern religion we arj too much
separated. Of course it is uot possible to win even

MEMOIR.

;

a bearing for rrotcbtaiit ideas from a population
iudoctriuated from childhood iu ilio beliefs of
Home ; indeed I am afraid the very attempt to do
so, unless made with a rare degree of wisdom,
does more harm than good. But in no country,
on the other baud, are Protestants wore united.
We work together, and live in mutual confidence
and affection. Our city is full of beautiful
churches, well attended, and the centre of a
vigorous religious life.

" Speaking of churches leads me to say that we
hope to build our new church as soon as tho
weather will allow ; or, at least, to begin the work.
I am very much encouraged by the energy and
enthusiasm with which the people gather round
me. 1 have no doubt that, with the blessing of
God, I shall have a useful and happy life here. My
health is good, and my prospects such as even my
partial and affectionate friends at Eeading might
desire for me.

*' If I do not send special messages of love, it is
that J. have so much and for so many that I do not
know where to begin or end. May our Heavenly
Father bless you all, and keep you now and ever.
*' Your ever affectionate friend,

*' J. F. Stevenson."

The new church was completed in due time, and
christened ** Emmanuel." From the begiiniing it
became endeared to its pastor, who had watched

MEMOIIi.

its growth with much interest and anxiety ; imJ
seemed Hkely to continue to be his as lonjj; as
he continued to preach. Again and again he
refused other calls without bringing them before
his people. It must not be supposed, however,
that he found Colonial life entirtsly u bed of roses.
Surrounded by men " makhig haste to be rich,"
finding keen competition not only in the world but
in the Church, it was often necessary to *' endure
hardness," to ** suffer loss," and to stand alone for
what he considered right and truth. Neither was
he altogether exempt from domestic trials. A few
months after his arrival, while as yet both he and
his wife were " strangers in a strange land," their
youngest child was taken from them after a three
days' illness. Her father had always made a
special pet of her, and I have the picture before
me now of the little creature mounted on his
shoulder, or carried to sleep in his arms. The
last day of her brief life she lay in the same
resting-place, and very hard he found it to give
her up. It is a consolation to believe that as her
little cofiQn rests upon her father's now, so in the
unseen world he has his child again, where their
freed and glorified spirits have entered a larger
and more blessed life.

A few years later came the death of his beloved
and venerated father. They had shared each
other's intellectual life for years, and when the
removal to Canada had taken place it was a

wmt

__ft

aSi MEMOIR.

question which of the two felt the most gone out
of their lives. Ho longed to be able to comfort his
bereaved mother and sisters, and felt the three
thousand miles of ocean between them a hard
barrier at such a time.

If there were difficulties, however, there were
compensating advantages. The equality of the
religious denominations, now for the first time
experienced, was an unceasing delight to him. To
be one amongst other brother clergymen, after
having been simply " tolerated," was a most
refreshing change, and no one could Imvo 'jixuri-
ated more in the sense of enlargement and freedom
which it gave him than Mr. Stevenson did. He felt
very strongly what he constantly affirmed " that
the variety of thought and opinion in different
sections of the Church was not a misfortune over
which to mourn but the natural expression and
necessary condition of a completely developed
life."

The absence of conventionality in Montreal
society, a certain frank and easy acceptance of
people and circumstances, had its charm for him,
while the brightness of the climate and the
exhilaration of the air were a much-needed
stimulus to him physically. In England he had
always been a sufferer from the cold, but the
effectual way in which Canadians heat their
houses, and the much drier quality of the ah*,
made the winter months as enjoyable in their own

II iiaiW n . .ii iii n>j jWiB

MEMOIR.

way as the Huramcr. No doubt the snow some-
times lias its drawbacks, as, for instance, when a
whole train full of people are snowed up, and
obliged to wait till a snow-plou<,di makes a cutting
for them. This happened to Mr. Stevenson on one
or two occasions — rather amusingly cnce, when
Montreal papers spoke of the ** able and eloquent
speech " which he had delivered at Quebec, thereby
setting at rest the anxieties of his wife, who had
feared to see him set out in so severe a storm;
the fact of the case being that, while the papers
announced him, as speaking in Quebec, he and his
companions were sitting in " durance vile," snowed
up between the two cities. But here again they
had the advantage of well-warmed cars, and the
possibility of obtaining refreshments, which would
not have been the case in England. He was a
great lover of the l)eauty of nature; and the
picturesqueness of Montreal — the broad blue of
the St. Lawrence, and the varying loveliness of
the mountain, especially when autumn hangs out
her golden and rosy banners amongst the maples,
were a never-ceasing delight to him.

Daring his eleven years in Canada he made
some valuable friendships. Amongst these must
be mentioned the name of the Rev. Dr. Norman,
now Dean of the English Cathedral in Quebec, at
that time resident in Montreal. With him he
worked in the cause of education with much
sympathy; and when Mr. Stevenson, owing to

MEMOIR.

; i

overwork, resigned the chairmanship of the
ProtcBtant School Board, Dr. Norman Buccceded
to the vacant post. A letter from him, published
with other reminiscences later in this volume, will
show how much they were one in thought and
feeling. With the Very Rev. Dr. Grant, Prin-
cipal of Queen's University, Kingston, Ontario, ho
formed a friendship severed only by death. From
this University, at the hands of the Principal, Dr.
Stevenson received his D.D. degree. He had
obtained his LL.B. several years previously at
his own London University.

His hold upon the young was very strong. Ho
often called them " the joy and crown " of his
ministry. On their part they were not slow to
understand and appreciate a man so much in
touch with their interests. Since his death I have
had many letters from young men full of giiuf for
his loss, and all testifying to his usefulness and
helpfulness to them. He was particularly happy
when addressing the students, whether of his own
Theological College or of the University. I have
before me a note written by Sir William Dawson,
Principal of McGill University, after Dr. Stevenson
had spoken at the annual dinner of the under-
graduates.

" McGiLL College,
"Dec. 19, 1882.

" My dear Dr. Stevenson, — Permit me to follow
an impulse which seizes me this morning, in

lO " mfmrnimm-m^m

nrir- |i - « r » -f TTrrnr" - ...i.i W fci. ; »

*--

MEMOIIi.

thanking you for tho very excellent Bpeecli with
which you favoured us last evening. I have seldom
heard anything better suited to the undergraduate
mind, or more likely to do good and fructify
therein ; and I am sure you will admit that this
is what it is meant to be— very high commendation.
"-Again thanking you, I remain,

** Yours truly,

" J. W. Dawson."

In 1882 tho Congregational College was erected
in Montreal, and Dr. Stevenson was urged to become
the Principal. Most of his own leading people
were members of the College Board of Directors,
and felt the necessity of obtaining as Principal a
man of culture and influence, who yet should not
be wholly dependent upon the College for sujiport.
The doctor's first impressions were that it would
be impossible to add to his already busy life so
important a charge as tho College must prove.
Upon the deacons, however, undertaking to relieve
him as far as possible of pastoral visitation, and
promising all the aid in their power in the work of
the church, ho at length consented. His new work
proved highly congenial to him. Principal and
students mutually attracted each other. His house
opened into the College, and it was seldom that
some " young brother " was not to be found in
the doctor's study. His talks with the students,
whether collectively or individually, were full of

f^^m^mmmm^

MEMOIR.

I I

interest to liiin ; and they on tlieir i)art never
abused the privileges lie granted them, but felt for
him all the loyal and enthusiastic regard so natural
to the young.

Congenial as the work was, however, it was too
much when added to his position as pastor of an
important church. His health, which had seemed
much improved during his earlier years in Canada,
began to show signs of failure. Ho was, in fact,
doing the work of two men. He did not know the
art, either, of husbanding what strength he had.
Into everything he did he put the whole of him-
self, disregarding the consequent exhaustion. After
carrying on his double work for three years it
became evident to those who loved him best that
ho was doing more than ho could stand. The
vacation, and a trip to England, it was hoped,
would re-establish health again. He had rather
unusual recuperative power, and it was somewhat
remarkable that, delicate as he was, he had hardly
ever been prevented from preaching by illness
during the whole of his ministry.

While in London on this occasion he preached
for two Sundays in the now vacant pulpit of his
late beloved and honoured friend, the Rev. James
Baldwin Brown. Br. Stevenson was no stranger
to the Brixton Church ; he had repeatedly preached
there during Baldwin Brown's ministry. He did
not, however, regard himself as a candidate for
the pulpit, as at the time another name was before

"•tttsii^mt^

mxr::

MnMorn.

itH moinbora which it sccniod most probable would
be neceptod. Cii-ciimstanccs arising, not ncccssiiry
to bo detailed hero, wliich left the pastorate still
open, the confjn'jTatioii, many of wliom were
personal friendu of the doctor's, inrnod to him
very naturally as the man of thoir cdioico.

Once a^i^ain, therefore, the anxious question of
a change of pastorates had to be faced ; and the
difliculty of arriving at a decision was no less
great than on the former occasion. It will not be
thought surprising that Dr. Stevenson left England
without giving any decided answer to the invita-
tion of the Brixton Church. Ilis Canadian, like
his Reading pastorate, had been of more than ten
years' duration. Doth his elder sons had Fettled
in Montreal, and his ♦ies to the New World seemed
as strong as those to the old. When asked after-
wards by an English friend what had decided him
to make the change, he replied, " The desire to bo
near my dear old mother in her declining years,
and the honour of standing in Baldwin Brown's
pulpit."

He had never anticipated the burst of feeling on
the part not only of his own people, but of Montreal
generally, when his intention to leave them became
known. To his astonishment he found that ** the
whole city was moved," Catholics and Protestants
uniting in a farewell banquet to testify their regard
to one who had become as " a Canadian to the
Canadians" during his residence amongst them.

MKMOin.

Too many EnglishmGn in thoir travels bobavo as
though thoy could teach all and loarn nothing, as
ono of the speakers on tho occasion remarked. Dr.
Stevenson, by bis modesty and sympathy, bad
made himself a power in the community, and the
loss they were to sustain they felt would prove a
heavy one.

On the first Sunday of December, 188G, Dr.
Stevenson occupied tho Brixton pulpit for tho first
time as its pastor. His text was, " God hath been
mindful of us. He will bless us," from tho 115th
Psalm and 12th verso. It was a fit introduction to
his brief, bright ministry among them — a ministry
which to be permitted to undertake ho felt to bo tho
crowning honour of his life. At his recognition
service the chair was occupied by his old friend
Dr. Hannay, and among others who were met to
give him welcome was the gifted and beloved Dr.
Elmslie, with whom ho afterwards enjoyed an
intimate acquaintance. Now they have all three
finished their earthly work, and entered into nobler
service above. May God raise up faithful men to
take their places, and especially may tho new
pastor at Brixton prove a true successor in spirit
and life to those who have gone before.

And now once more back in his beloved South
London, close to the haunts of his youthful days,
amongst a people already in large measure en-
deared, the lines seemed to have fallen for him

'-mmmmmmm

Ml': MO in.

in plcaflanfi placGs. His walks were often ramblcH
amid old Hiirroundingfi. l^'arly fricndH wore con-
Htantly mooting him ; and almost every Sunday
some one would como into his vestry who, as
one of them said, ''munt Bhako hands with the
doctor, as they had known him when ho was a
little fellow in pinafores." Many old Canadian
friends, too, who wore frequently in the Metropolis,
would find their way to the Brixton Church, feeling,
as they looked at his happy and prosperous sur-
roundings, more reconciled to his having left them.
In the midst of so large a church he had neither
the time nor the opportunity for so much outsider
work as he liad formerly undertaken, hut his
interest in the cause of progress and education was
as keen as ever. One not personally known to him
writes in a current number of a magazine : " The
writer well remembers hearing him speak in Exeter
Hall, in the company of some bishops and church-
men, upon 'Christian Evidences.' He made a
splendid speech, and a friend near remarked, * The
best speech to-day ; the man has a future.' That
future has indeed been sadly cut short."

To use words of Dr. Stevenson's quoted from a
speech made to his congregation on the occasion of
his silver wedding, which they had most generously
memorialized, will serve to show the happy relation
between pastor and people : " Nearly two years ago
I came to be with you. When first coming among
you I was welcomed as a man could scarcely ex-

,'■

KtI'MOlU.

pcct io 1)0. You liavo t.ikon mo into your lioartfl by
your kindnesfl; I have takon you into niino ; and
I (Icairo no pjrcator priviIo«:»o in this world than to
be a sucocHflful minister, if it he (iod's will, of the
congregation I now Hervo, and the church 1 lovtj so
well. And when, in Clod's time, it becomes my
duty to lay down the charge which you have en-
trusted to mo, then may lie grant that the grand
work done by my predecessor, and the work, by
His mercy, that I am endeavouring to do in succes-
sion to him, may bo taken up by some able man
and carried forward into the indefinite future with
sdll greater and wider blessing."

Alas ! those who heard him little thought how
very short his time was, and how soon " the church
be loved bo well " would have to mourn his loss.
On his first returning to England Dr. Stevenson's
health bad seemed much benefited by the change.
The doctors spoke hopefully of his condition, and
he himself inclined to the belief that as he grew
older ho would probably become more robust than
he ever was as a young man. No doubt his London
life caused him a certain amount of excitement;
and though his work deeply interested him, yet it
'' took it out of him," as he himself used to say,
pretty severely.

Perhaps one of the, to him, most interesting
public events that took place during his resi-
dence in England was the opening of Mansfield
College, Oxford, He was a guest, on the occasion,

<mm

MF.MOIU.

of Profcflflor Kdwanl I'oiilton, wlioso IvnowlcdRo of
natural 8ci(!ne<' l^ ^iviiifi; liini a lii^li reputation in
Oxford, and in wlioni tlio doctor wuh pjroally int(»-
restcd, ^Fr. I'onlton liaviiig bocn ono of liis *' Ilond-
ing l>oyp." Dr. Stovonflon's own account of tlio
opening may ho recorded In ro, as bcHtsliowiu^ liow
he was alTocted l>y tlio new niovomcnt. It wan Hcnt
to ono of tlic period icalH, at tlio time, and entitled
"At Oxford."

" There ho stood, with white, venerable hair,
the first of Englisli Greek scholars, with ]>lacKie,
first of Scottish scliolars in the same mighty
language, not far from him. And what did lie
say, he, Dr. Jowett, who has uusphercd the
spirit of Plato for all men ? ' This,' said he, ' is
a great day of reconciliation. Lei uh forgive and
forget the past.' lie did not say, ' Let us forget
our principles,' or, * Let us he false to the hero-
isms of our respective histories ' ; ho was too wise
and too noble for that. IJut he saw, and made us
see, that out of the strifes of bygone years, strifes
which have made uniformity impossible, there
might arise a finer and a grander unity than even
the wisest of our fathers dreamed. lie spoke of
all schemes of * Comprehension ' as inept and
futile, while he pleaded for a mutual understanding
which should issue in a mutual respect. And he
saw in what wc were doing then — claiming and
taking a place in the life of the old University
around which cluster the associations of a thousand

i I

I t

MKMOIU.

yoarfl of Kii^UhIi '^ .Uurc— the anf»iiry of a future
wliich would gather up tlio hcnofitH of i)aRt pain
and Borrow, and realize 'the far-olT interest of
tears.'

" lie wns not alone. The ripest learning, the
profoundost thought, the most brilliant research of
the University were gathered around him. There
sat men whose work, in literature, in theology,
in natural and anthropological science, has made
thoir names household words with all the more
studious amongst us. It is not too much to say
that tho very pith and marrow of what is most
characteristic and most brilliant in the life of
Oxford was represented there. Th ncn who are
forming tho future of our nation thought and
character were conspicuous by their presence and
manifest sympathy. The sense that a certain
epoch was closing, and another of a diiTcrent
character was beginning to open upon us was what
imparted tho peculiar quality to our thought and
emotion. Tho older epoch had been one of narrow
sympathies and partial views ; tho new was to in-
volve completer insight into the subjects of research
and a larger respect for fellow-workers.

** One element in the sense of a coming unity
was the consciousness of a truer and more fruitful
method of study. * Systems,* we felt, had been
on all sides too complete to bo true. They were
giving way. Science, with its inductive investiga-
tion, its cautious verification, its sense of the

^*imm,.

Mi':Mnrri.

infinity of truth, and itH profound humility, wan
taking tho placo of Hyfltomfl. \\\n\\ the Hpirit of
rcvoront inquiry and of lovo for fact in heating in
all hearts, tho houndary linoR which divide varioufl
' schools ' grow gradually more faint and dim.
The wealth and power of facts, in whatever depart-
ment of inquiry, philology, interpretation, anthro-
pology, history of events, or of doctrines, constitute
an inheritance open to us all ; and men of all sec-
tions of tho Church have already done, and are still
doing, so much good work that it is impoHsihle to
look on each other as any longer really divided.
What is tho liafT to the wheat ? What are outward
modes of organization or worship to the stores of
knowledge surely accumulating, and the spirit of
devout fervour common to all earnest men?
Opinions may tend to separation ; tho study of
facts and of tho principles they disclose must draw
towards unity.

*' I think we felt, too, on all sides, the profound
truth of Bacon's saying, * They he two things —
Unity and Uniformity.' Tho Church is not
a regiment of soldiers, each clothed and armed
exactly like the others. It is a living hody, every
memher different from the rest, hut together
forming a majestic and glorious unity. As the
trunk, the boughs, the leaves, the flowers, the fruit
of a magnificent tree are the embodiment and ex-
pression of a common energy, and as no part has
any true being except in relation to the rest, so the

MEMOTU.

* \

I ■

\\ i(!

varioiy of iliG Church is not a miHfortuno over which
to mourn, l)ut the necessary condition of a com-
pletely developed lif(!. IVrhaps no member, how-
ever snifill or obscuH!, is without its si}];nificance.
To the v.yo. of (jlod, it may ho, every modc^ of Chris-
tian thought and worship .adds something to the
ideal completeness, and even seeming discords
enhance th(i complicated harmony.

** W(i represented the ' National Churcli.' Yet the
National Church is not bounded by the * State '
Church ; she includes us all. Now that our
ministry arc to be trained in closer neighbourhood ;
now that wo are drinking in the spirit of the same
sacred culture ; now that the associations, at once
holy and romantic, of the queen of academical cities
are again our common possession, we may hear in
thought the holy bells that ring out old prejudices
and meaningless antagonisms, and ring in the
complete and reconciling reign of ' the Christ that
is to be.'

" Better omens for these hopes we could not have.
The college is noble and beautiful, its teachers
learned, godly, and wise. The spirit in which it is
welcomed is generous and kindly in the highest
degree. It needs only work, faith, and prayer, and
the fresh morning that now dawns on the ministry
of our churches will shine brighter and brighter
unto the perfect day."

An extract from a letter to his mother will show
how engagements kept him occupied.

MEMOIR.

" My Peahest Mother, — Wo aro in the thick of
tho May meetings, and a very dense * thick ' it is.
I am already very tired, and feel as though tho
best thing I could do would ho to go to hed, and, if
possible, to sleep for tho next twenty-four hours.
But, alas ! I have been to the missionary sermon
with M. this morning to hoar Hugh Price Hughes
(who preached admirably), and must, when I
have finished this, go and dress for dinner, to
meet Dr. Bruce and other guests, at tho house of
a good friend of ours, Mr. Peter Mason. Yester-
day we had the morning session of tho Union at
tho City Tomplo, after which about a dozen of tho
most venerable of us — Drs. Allon, Dule, Ilaunay,
Bogors, Falding, and others — all white-headed —
dined with Dr. Parker. I went straight from the
dinner to the Memorial Hall to tea, and thence to
the City Temple, where wo had a splendid mooting
of the Church Aid Society. Two village unnisters
made admirable speeches, and I spoke my best to
conclude. We held a very fine audience to the
close ; so you will see our meetings go excellently.
... J. and E. Goadby called on mo a week ago,
and we had a long talk about poor Tom.* His
death upset me so much that for some days I was
really ill. . . . Wo are doing excellently well at
tho church ; the congregations fuller than ever
before, and the people full of kindness. . . . By

'•■ llev. Thouias Goailby, D.A., I'riucipal of tlio L5iipti«t
College, NotliiJgliiim.

/ /

. !

(,■.

•|

: I

MEMOTB.

the way, the other day I met Dr. Fitch at the
Brixton Training School. I was a monitor at the
Borough Road School when he saw me last ; yet he
recognized me in an instant — over a space of fully
forty years ! "

In the autumn of 1889, the doctor seeming
somewhat worn with the year's work, his people
gave him an extended holiday, in which it was
hoped that a thorough rest might re-invigorate
him. They made the stipulation that no work was
to be done during the vacation, an agreement he
faithfully carried out, and spent most of his time in
Switzerland, which he greatly enjoyed, and which
seemed at the time of much benefit to him.

Writing from Lucerne, he says : —

"I think the extra time has been useful; I am
sure it has been enjoyable. You can form no idea
of the beauty of this lake and these mountains, in
the perfect weather of Wednesday and to-day.
I do not know whether day, or evening, or star-
light is the more lovely. There is not a cloud in
the sky— only a faint, delicate haze which softens
the outline of the hills and idealizes the whole
prospect. The temperature, though warm, is de-
lightful. We have a very interesting party here."
And so on. A friend remarked that wherever lie
was there was always sure to be an interesting
party. He had the happy faculty of drawing out
the best in every one.

MEMOIR.

No subject of conversation was started to which
he could not add something worth hearing, and all
his resources were placed at the dispor^al of those
who so demanded them. Switzerland, from first
to last, was one long delight to him, and he
returned home refreshed in body and mind. The
winter was one of unceasing engagements, and
more or less exciting work, but it did not seem to
tax his strength unduly. In February ho began
a series of special Sunday evening sermons on
the "Essentials of Religion." The course was as
follows :— " Belief in God " ; ** Character of God " j
** Future Life — its possibility " ; ** Future Life —
our right to it"; "Future Life — its necessity";
" lietribution — its equity " ; " Retribution — its
mercy " ; " The Good News."

It is the writer's very great regret that these
sermons cannot be reproduced. On all hands he
was urged to publish them'; and even when it
became evident that his public work was ended, he
hoped to have strength enough to revise the
rough notes and crude reports, so that they might
be made ready for the press. He had spent much
time and thought in his pulpit preparation for
them, and probably, after a hard winter's work, the
exhaustion consequent upon this, and the excite-
ment of delivering them in the heat of a crowded
audience, served to hasten the end. . . ; .

After preaching the last ermon of the course, he
went home greatly fagged, and said to his wife.

JK.*r

MEMOIR.

" Have I talked Bonsc to-nigbt ? I fuel Btrangoly
beclouded, and cannot tell now a word I said."
Billing the week he went with hin wife to the sea-
Bide, and seemed somewhat brighter ; returning
for the following (Easter) Sunday services. The
day passed much as usual, and those who hstcned
to him had little idea that they heard his voice for
the last time. Had they known it some of his
words would have sounded strangely significant,
and the Easter lilies with which loving bauds
had adorned the pulpit, might have seemed as
** a preparation beforehand for his burial." The
text of the evening was, "Who shall change the
body of our humiliation, and fashion it like unto
His glorious body." All of it that was written
appears at the close of this volume. Unfortunately
it is impossible to reproduce the happy inspiration
which he used to say was "given him at the
moment," and which, when he at all enjoyed
preaching, added to his sermons what the aroma
gives to the flower — a something which can never
be recalled.

The next day, accompanied by his wife, he set
out for Ventnor, hoping that rest would again do
for him what it had so often done before. But
actual disease had set in, and every day increased
his restlessness and misery. After a week of
suft'ering days and sleepless nights he wrote to
his deacons that he felt he must resigu his charge.
Amazed and perplexed, unable to believe in the

:■

I <

MEMOIR.

rapid (lovolopment of his illness, the deacons urged
his trying a longer rest, generously promising
that his pulpit should bo kept open for him
as long as there was a chance of his recovery.
It seemed only wise to try what time would do,
and from Ventnor he went to Matlock, thinking
that perhaps mountain air might he more beneficial
to him than the sea. But time and place made no
difference, ** the iron band around his head " (as ho
described the constant pain he felt) only tightened
its cruel clasp, and Matlock did no more for him
than Ventnor.

The physicians united in pronouncing it brain
disease, the one and only chance of recovery being
immediate cessation of work, and entire rest of
body and mind. There was nothing before him,
therefore, than to resign his beloved charge imme-
diately ; and the stroke fell heavily indeed upon
pastor and people alike. A member of the con-
gregation, going into the church one morning
during that sad week, saw the doctor standing in
front of the pulpit with tears running down his
cheeks. He had taken farewell of his church and
his work for ever. So "he entered into the
cloud" — a cloud which slowly deepened around
him until the end.

The physicians he consulted thought it possible
that a change to Canada and the companionship
of his two elder sons might be of some benefit to
him. The voyage was accordingly undertaken ;

i f>

i /

MEMOIR.

and in August, 1800, Dr. Stevenson, with In's wife
and two younger children, returned to Montreal.
It was a sad return ! Three years and nine
months before he had left Canada, full of hope for
the future ; he came back a weary, worn, and
broken man, to look once more into his sons'
faces before he died. Old friends gathered around
him full of tenderness and sympathy. Homes
where many happy days had been spent were
opened to him, and love came with hands full of
offerings to help and comfort ; but in vain. It was
impossible that any change should bring permanent
relief. A gleam of his old brightness shone out
now and again, and hope would momentarily
revive, only to bo quenched in still deeper dark-
ness. Autumn waned into winter, but no relief
came to the aching head and throbbing nerves.
Christmas Day ho was able to spend with his
ftimily, and for awhile the expiring lamp of mental
light shot up a few bright rays. It was the last
effort, and the last memory given to wife and
children of the dear familiar form which joined
the fireside circlo for the last time that evening.
A terrible rela,pse followed ; and for the next
month ho suffered as few are called to suffer.
Day and night were alike a "dimness of anguish,"
all that makes life worth living having been shut
out from his existence. Thus he Hngered until
the Ist of February, 1891. But the Heavenly
Father had not forgotten His suffering son, and

M EMOTE.

r.i

thn Clip of sorrow was woU-iiigli drained. " Very
early in tlic morning on tlio first day of the wook,"
came the summons of release. The immcdiato
cause of bis death was heart-failure; and ho
passed quietly away in his sleep, with no apparent
pain or struggle, from the darkness and the
mystery which had beset him for a little while,
into the never-ending "joy of his Lord."

)xt

3r.

»»
>

jut
til

The funeral service was held in the church that
bad been built for him — Emmanuel Church. The
students of the college of which he had been
Principal attended in a body, and laid an anchor
of white flowers among the many wreaths upon
his coffin. The church was filled with mourners,
including all the principal men of the city, whose
presence there was something more than a mere
formality. The service was conducted by the Kev.
W. H. Pulsford, the newly-elected pastor of the
church, and the Rev. Dr. Barbour, now Principal
of the college. Prayer, especially for the widow
and children, was offered very tenderly by the
Rev. Dr. Cornish ; and two of Dr. Stevenson's
favourite hymns, ** Our God, our help in ages
past," and " Lead, kindly light," were sung.
The Rev. James Barclay, minister of St. Paul's
Presbyterian Church, then gave the following,
address : —

"We are met here to mourn the death of oiio

ii '

MP.MOIR.

who was greatly respected and much l)eloved in
this community, and who l)ut very rccctntly was
worthily honoured by it for the life he had lived
and the work he haJl dono in it — a life and work
comracndiuf? themsclvcH to all men in the sight of
God. From many a sorrowing heart we can fancy
the question rising, * Can it be that that fine
intellect, so beautifully cultured and so greatly
enriched, and that gentle, generous heart, so full
of such deep and tender sympathies, are extin-
guished for ever ? ' It cannot be ; such is not
our faith. The world is richer and better to-day
because he lived ; and for himself, what was begun
here shall be perfected hereafter. Dr. Stevenson
was a man who read much, thought much, and
felt deeply, and, owing to his strong sympathies,
suffered not a little. He was a man who loved
warmly and was loved by many, a man whose life
from its inherent beauty, apart altogether from the
great gifts with which he was endowed, could not
but be an influence for good wherever he moved.
There was a great charm in his conversation,
flowing as it did from an unusually richly stored
and appreciative mind and singularly suggestive
memory, and from a broad, generous heart. Few
who had the privilege of hearing him will easily
forget his public utterances from pulpit and plat-
form. Whatever the theme he handled, his audience
at once felt themselves raised above all pettiness to
a high level of thought and feeling ; to listen to

: I

MEMOIR.

him waH to liuvo ono'H better nature Btirroil, to bo
iiiadu to think and feul that lifu was a hi*^h and
holy thing. His thoughts were impreHsivc, the
result of extensive readin*,', careful study, rich
cuituro, and profound personal conviction, while
the words in which he clothed them were musically
eloquent, and the courteous and reverent earnest-
ness of his manner constrained respectful attention
and, with most, sympathetic affection, lie was a
man of keen sensitiveness — a sensitiveness which,
if it sometimes caused him suffering, yet gave him
force, for it winged the arrows of his arguments
and gave point, poetry, and pathos to his thoughts.
But it was this that aged him before his time, and
though but a few years ago he bravely and vigor-
ously took up the plough in a new field, bringing
matured experience to the work, it was apparent to
those who knew him best that his working day was
not to be a long one. The intensity with which he
threw himself into anything he did soon told its
tale, and at a comparatively early age he had to
retire from active service, conscious, however, as
he must have been, that the ' well done, good and
faithful servant ' was stamped by the Master on
his life-work, and in his enforced retirement he
had tlve sweet solace and satisfaction of knovv g
that his life and work had not been in vain. It
was given to him to know something of the
affectionate regard he had won, of the kindly
things that were thought and said of him, of the

jnu «. ITT^^^

ii K I

MEMOIR

help, and light, and Btrength, and peaco bo had
heon tho moans of bringing into othor hearts and
lives. Many of us, who know him as a brothor-
workor, remombor with tliankfiilncss and miHS
with rogrot his broad-mindod charity — that spirit
which had no sympathy with anything narrow-
minded or small — that spirit which, while loyal to
the Bpocial branch of tho Church to which ho bo-
longed, thought far more and breathed far more of
tho Church Catholic — that spirit which made as
little as possible of tho diiTeiences that divide us,
and as much as possible of tho sweet and sacred
ties that link us to one another. lie believed in
tho brutherhood of men, and he lived his faith,
affording ground, beautiful ground, where others
who ditforcd from him (differed widely in some ways)
could gladly meet him. Ho was a lover of truth
far more than of tradition— of truth for its own
sake, and truth from every quarter. Ho recognized
and claimed as an inalienable privilege every
man's right to think for himself. Very early in
my ministry in Montreal I received a kindly,
helpful, truly brotherly note from him, in which,
among other things, he wrote : * Some of us in our
younger days suffered for liberty, suffered in iu-
iluouce and reputation, but it is an ample reward
to see a race of clergymen not more than ten or
twelve years younger than we preaching with power
and acceptance the principles which are dear to our
hearts.' Wo may say of him what was lovingly

I ,

MEMOIR.

Raid of another, * A purer aKpiration for truth, a
readier devotion to all clear ri^'ht, a Hinipler trust
in a Divine light and life hid within every cloud
can rarely bo found in a human soul.' lie has
pasHud through the cloud a little before us, and
reached, I surely think, that light and life ; and
that his sulTerings are thus transformed may well
lend a little brightness to such duties, whether of
action or of patience, as may remain to those who
cannot cease to think of him. lie has left a light
which not only reflects past worth, but shines yet
in blessing on his home and fellow-men. His loving
voice will fall no more upon our ear, but it is not
silent ; though dead he yet speaks, and spenks
with a power which has a new sacrodness in it.
His character will bo remembered and his words
will be quoted and treasured by many, by some
who, perhaps, feel that during his life they yielded
themselves too little to the sweet and holy in-
fluence of his teaching. He will be remembered
by many in this congregation as one who made
truth clearer, goodness easier, duty more com-
manding ; by many as one who strengthened their
faith, brightened their hopes, and gave life to
their best purposes. To all such he yet speaketh,
and to those who knew him best and loved him
most, his gentle voice will still speak sweetly,
lovingly, from the other side of that land of which
he thought so much, and of the realities of which
he had so Arm u hold. They remember with

[

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^^m

;

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♦;l

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MEMOIR.

profound tbankfulnoss what ho was in life; they
treasure as a precious inheritance his beautiful
character, his powerful intellect, linked, as we
rarely see it, with a gentle heart ; the words he
spoke, the kindnesses he rendered, the charity ho
not only spoke but lived.

*' ' And Uioii^'U his tongue be silent,
Tliouf^h empty now his place,
Tliougli ne'or again liiu feltow-meii
Will meet him face to face,

*' ' Yut still some wingud mibsion
May catch the listening air,
And tu the hearts that lovo hiiu
bumo thought of feeling bear.'

'* Whilst we sorrow for the widow and family in
their present affliction, we rejoice that through
their tears they look back with gratitude to God
to a life so useful, so honoured, so beautiful, so
loving. It is an heirloom which any family may
well treasure, and with calm confidence we think
of him now,

" ' In His arms enfolded.
At His feet laid down.
Anchored in the shadow
Of the Eternal throne.' "

Before leaving the church, while the strains of
Hauders '' Dead March " sounded from the organ,
the congregation passed slowly in front of the
coffln, so that all might look once more upon the

MEMOIli.

face of him who had boon tho pantor of many, and
the friond of all— the faco upon which, an they
Bttw, had settled a heavenly peace. Then they
bore him through the drifting snow to his resting-
place in the beautiful cemetery of ^fouut Royal ;
and on the following Sunday a memorial service
was held in Emmanuel Church, conducted by the
Rev. Dr. "Wells, pastor of tho American Rresbyterian
Churcht

EXTUAOTH FUOM TlIK MliMOllIAfi SkUMON rilRAOIIEU

liv Tuij Riiv. Du. WisLLS IN EaiMANiiKh Cuuucii,
Eeuiiuauy B, iHiil.

" Now wo 800 through a glass ilarkly ; but tlion fiico to faco :
uow I know iu part; but thou shall I know ovuu as also I
am known.''— 1 Coit. xiii. 12.

... I havo chosen this thought iu loving
memory of our dear friend whoso recent doath
we mourn. I believe it is the view of heaven
which he liked best to take, in which he found tho
greatest cheer and joy, and which is also best
adapted to console our hearts and to reconcile us
to his loss. Is it not pleasant and comforting to
think of him as sufely passed beyond the pain
and weakness of this mortal utrii'u, aud comhig to
the goodly fellowship and tho glad activities of
heaven ?

How will his sensitive, responsive spirit expand

' '

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MEMOIR.

and glow in that society — he who had so rare
a gift and genius for companionship as to render
him the choicest fellow and the truest friend ?

Yet he was like a tender plant, and he keen!
felt the slightest evil or unfriendly breath.

Now, for the first time, he meets only those
who are most worthy and congenial to himself.
I can almost see him as ho seeks out one and
another whom he knew, and who have gone before
him home ; yet not alone the friends whose faces
he had seen, but that still greater throng with
whom ho was acquainted through t!ieir writings
and their works — the earnest, restless thinkers to
whom ho was so neai.* allied : the pouts whoso lines
he loved so much a id could so well repeat; especially
the great hymn writers, whose holy songs he used to
road so sweetly that the interpreter seemed scarcely
less inspired than the author. How musical and
rhythmical his voice became in such reading, and
how entirely he was possessed and swayed by
the spirit of the hymn ! A few of us were
once talking together of our favourite hymns.
For a little while he was silent, while one or
another quoted those we liked. While he listened
the fire burned. Prebeiitly he broke forth, first
with Oharlea Wesley's,

*' For ever here my rest shall bo
Close to Thy bleeding side,
This all my hope autl all my plea—
l*'or mo the Saviour died."

V^.i^*^fc*^ Jl**^^*'^^*^^* fcfl#%.^^4#<l

v i ra» i B^t» <iii i M If I ■■ jr f i i i'' :»,n II

MEMOIR.

Then carao Watts's matchless version of the 00th
Psahn : —

" Our Goil, our Lolp in ages past,
Our liopo for years to como,
Our rcl'uf^o from tlio stormy blast,
Aucl our eterual homo."

The stream of sacred song flowed on, accom-
panied by his appreciative and kindly words. The
rest were glad to pause and listen.

'' Como, oh, Thou Traveller uukuown,
Whom still I hold but cauuot see,"

followed, and in all the years of our acquaintance
I never heard him speak more delightfully or
feelingly than then.*

What catholic and loving intercourse does ho
now hold with those from every branch and
portion of the Christian Church, and some who
were of no church ; for, like Dr. Bushnell, ho
believed in " outside saints," and held with Peter,
** that God is no respecter of persons, but in every

'•'- Charles Wesley's hymns were almost his manual of de-
votion ; he could always enjoy a service in which they formed
a part. Wrltmg from a country place ho says : *' I went this
morning to the Primitive Methodist Churcl. s where wo had
four of Charles Wesley's hymns, and one of Watts's, " Sweet
lields beyond the swelling flood," &c. A simple sermon,
defective in grammar, but filled with the Spirit. It was a
"blessed season."

Ill

MEMOIR.

I 1

nation he that feareth Him and worketh righteous-
ness is accepted of Him."

It seemed a strange, but it was a very kind
Providence which led ])r. Stevenson, a few years
since, again to England, and permitted him to
spend his latest years and do his closing work in
the old home.

He was a man of the widest and quickest
sympathies, ready to see and welcome the good
qualities of every race and clime. Ho was fond
of Canada, and found great pleasure in the
freedom of this new land from some of the
restraints and customs that still linger in the old.
But, after all, he was first and always an English-
man — without the narrow prejudice and pride
that mark some Englishmen — but with a world
of patriotism and tenderness for country in his
heart. Upon the whole I think he missed more
than he found in Canada. He never felt entirely
at home and at rest with us, though he would
not own it. I believe he always was a little
homesick for the mother-land. I have heard his
voice tremble and seen his eyes glisten and
moisten while speaking of it in a way that
proved to me his heart still lingered there.
London especially he loved as ardently as Lamb,
or Thackeray, or Dickens did.

So when ho was cordially invited back to
England and London, and asked to be pastor of
the very charge which he had sometimes said

\..r-

?;'*??S^;'t^'>TfOJt.V5»tt:y''^jg-'4^y.fcaft*:^3)Pi'lfi*«fe^^

Mmtoin.

ho would prefer ahovo all otlicrs, wo were far
more sorry than surprised that he should <^'0.

There he literally stood upon his native heath.
Ho had spent his hoyhood in the next parish,
Caniborwcll, and must have often roamed and
played around the spot on which his church was
built.

He returned to his youthful home in the full zenith
of reputation and of power. He plunged at once,
with a zeal sharpened by years of absence, into
the full tide and whirl of the great metropolis.
He strongly felt the stir and stimulus of all its
social, moral, and intellectual movement. Some
of us doubted if it were well and wise for him to
venture back, as his health had already showed
some signs of giving way. But none of us who
saw him and knew the eager interest and joy
with which he lived and hiboured there, can ever
feel regret because he went. It was the fitting
gracious crown that God in mercy placed upon
his work. Whether the excitement and enjoy-
ment of that closing period shortened his life and
hastened its end at all we cannot tell. But even
if it did, we will be glad that ho should spend it
in his chosen place and task.

He was able to preach for the last time on
Easter Sunday of last spring. In the evening
his text was in the words of St. Paul — Phil. iii. 21
— that read in the New Version which he used:
** Who shall fashion anew the body of our humilia-

MEMOIR.

W-

tion, that it may bo conformed to the body of His
glory, according to the working whereby lie is
able oven to subject all things unto Himself."
The subject was well suited to his taste, and his
mind, which had at times been weakened, broke
forth in all its natural brilliancy and eloquence,
and he preached a sermon unusual in its sweetness
and strength.

" Servant of God, well done !
Rest from thy lovod employ ;
The battle fougbt, the victory won,
V Enter thy Master's joy."

He has now entered a greater and more goodly
city, he has been admitted to a more elect and
choice society — even "the general assembly and
church of the firstborn, whose names arc written
in heaven."

Better and more precious than even the com-
panionship of heaven will be for Dr. Stevenson
its vigour and its opportunities for thought and
work. His was an active and inquiring mind. He
knew not how to rest. I never met him that I
did not find him revolving some great question,
enjoying some new work, exulting in some fresh
treasure of wisdom or of beauty ho had found.
It was his heaviest cross that the mind could not
do all that he wished it to perform. Sometimes
after long reasoning upon a subject he would say :
" Ah, well, I cannot find my way through it now;

MEMOIR.

OIJ

but it is good to think I slmll know somotiino."
That blessedness is given to him now. lie has
not fathomed all the depths nor surmounted all
the heights as yet, but ho is thinking, searching,
discovering, pressing on. The brain that grew so
tired and ached so sorely here, is no more bound
nor pained. The spirit was willing, but the flesh
was weak. Now the body of humiliation is trans-
formed into a glorious body, and has become the
able and unwearied servant of the soul.

Let us lift up our eyes, dear friends, and look
at him to-day, enjoying the blessed communion
of the saints in light, engaged in blissful occu-
pations of the redeemed who stand about the
throne and who roam the boundless fields of
heaven. Surely we will not wish him back.
Rather will we rejoice that he is gone where he
shall " sec as he is seen, and know as he is
known."

With humble, grateful hearts we bow our heads
and say : ** The Lord gave, and the Lord hath
taken away ; blessed bo the name of the Lord."

MEMOIR.

\l^

''i

n»

Extract fhom a MEMORiAii Srumon Preached nv
IIkv. J. Jackson Goadby, of IIenlky-on-
TiiAMES, IN Trinity Conorroational Ciiurcii,
Kkapino.

"And ICnocli walked with God; and ho was not, for God
took him." — Okn. v. 24.

. . . What belter, what fitter words could one
select to describe the character of your friend and
mine than these words which tell us of the cha-
racter of Enoch ? The only qualification I have to
speak of John Frederick Stevenson is this — a life-
long acquaintance and intimacy. I knew him in
the heyday of his youth, when hope was bright
and heart was strong. I knew him in his riper
manhood, and in his later years. I was with him
in a time of sorrow, the bitterest tliat ever wrung
and rent the human heart. I have been with him
in seasons of joy and gladness. I knew him as
few knew him, knew him in the sacred privacy of
the closest and most intimate friendship, a friend-
ship that was interrupted, but that was never for
one moment broken. And I have no hesitation in
saying, from this knowledge of him, that the domi-
nant fact of his life was this — " He walked with
God." To him God was the living God, ever near,
ever present, ever loving, his Father and his
Friend ; and with a strong and tenacious grasp he
held fast the hand of God stretched out to him in
Jesus Christ.

i «

MEMOIR.

Probably you know, as well as I know, the
simple facts of his life : that his father and grand-
father were both Nonconformist ministers of note,
and did excellent work in their day, and that our
friend was born in 1833. At sixteen years of age
he began a course of study at the London Univer-
sity. The following year ho entered as a student
the college now known as Regent's Park College,
but then situated in Stepney. In his twenty-first
year he took his B.A. degree at the London Uni-
versity, and soon after became the minister of a
Nonconformist church in Long Sutton, Lincoln-
shire. Prom thence he removed to Mansfield Road
Chapel, Nottingham, as co-pastor of Rev. A. Syme,
M.A., and on Mr. Syme's resignation he became
the sole pastor. From Nottingham he came to be
your minister in 18G3. What he was to you while
he was with you is best known to yourselves ; but
this is certainly true — that since his removal in
1874 no other Nonconformist minister has ever
occupied the same position of general influence in
this town. What he has been elsewhere, in Mon-
treal, and in London, it will hardly be possible for
me to say.

A student from his earliest years, his mind was
ever eager, active, and inquiring. He delighted
to seize on principles, and to illustrate them.
Philosophic and scientific studies always had for
him an especial fascination. With a keen love of
the best English literature, prose and verse, he had

6tt

MEMOIR.

I I

a fastiilioiis tasto, that made liim reluctant to
appear in print. He possessed, in an eminent
degree, the power of ahstraction, and could at once,
if he wished, pin himself down to any subject.
Always a conscientious worker, ho knew and
respected honest work in others.

As a preacher you surely know better what he
was than I. That he loved his work, that he
thought it the noblefct in which any man could
engage, that he was a prophet rather than a priest,
and that he was careful and conscientious in his
pulpit preparation, is entirely true. ]3ut he did
not neglect self-preparation while seeking to give
of his best to others. He firmly believed that
God's good news was far too broad to be narrowed
down into a party Shibboleth, that it concerned all
men everywhere, and that it was a message for all
time. Whilst rising quickly to new ideas, he did
not at once reject the old, but only after long and
careful deliberation. A close student of God's
Word, he sought the best human helps he could
obtain for its interpretation, and also asked fer-
vently for the aid of the Divine Spirit. He had
these qualifications for a faithful and attractive
preacher — an impassioned eloquence, a quick sym-
pathy with men in all the phases of human
experience, a reverent spirit, and an ardent desire
to benefit his hearers. His prayers in the public
services were the very pleadings of a man who felt
in the presence of God, and made you feel it, and

MEMOllt

lie
id

oiten left laeting impresBions on the heart. IIu
Lad Eot a few of the necessary gifts of a successful
speaker. Ilis voice was clear and penetrating, and
}et ej-mpatbetic in quality. It could melt by its
pathetic tones, or arouse by its enthusiasm. Uc
rarely spoke, when at his best, without kindling
with his theme. He could be, on occasion,
terse or ample, direct or circuitous, calm or
impassioned. It is, perhaps, not generally known
that he was a favourite pupil of Sheridan
Knowles, after that dramatist and actor became a
preacher and a teacher of elocution. On the plat-
form he was often seen to advantage, since the
presence of numbers rarely failed to arouse him ;
and not a few public opportunities were afforded,
in this country and in Canada, of declaring his
strong sympathy with whatever was patriotic and
progressive.

As a pastor, his own sorrows and sufferings
softened and reffned his nature, and made him an
ever-welcome visitor when homes were darkened
and hearts were sad. He could also join in whole-
some relaxation and innocent mirth. At times,
however, especially when burdened with s(»me
train of thought, there was an aloofness of manner,
a preoccupation, which those who did not know
him misinterpreted. "When really at ease, he was
warm, genial, frank, quick in response, and could
listen as well as talk. There was a sensitiveness
of nature in him which some did not tuspect, a

MEMOIR

sonsitivencss which increased as years rolled on.
But this very feature of his character gave him
great influence with others, since it aided him in
the interpretation of their feelings, and in offering
them counsel and comfort. His words from the
pulpit, and in your homes, have stirred many
hearts, and liiive awakened in them thoughts and
impulses that will be imperishable.

And what shall I say more ? How shall I speak
of the crushing blow that has fallen upon his aged
mother, whom may God comfort with His own
comfort and grace ? How shall I spoak of the
loss, beyond wbat words can tell, to his sisters ; to
his brother, to A'hom he was a father ; to his wife
and family ; to the people out yonder in Canada ;
to the people at Brixton ; and to you who are here ?
Do I not rightly interpret your feeling, especially
in regard to his widow and family, when I pray
that God, even their own God, and our God,
would be " a father to the fatherless, and a hus-
band to the widow " ? You know how health gave
way under pressure of work upon a frame never
robust. You know how entire rest did not bring
relief, and that even the change back to Canada
proved of no advantage.

[Mr. Goadby then gives an account of Dr.
Stevenson's death, and of the funeral service,
which need not here be repeated. He then con-
cludes.]

It is something to know that his widow, who

MEMOIR.

was BO much to liim, bis true helpmeet, aud in
whose resourceful care and love he found shelter,
stimulus, and rest — is comforted in her grief and
in the j^'rief of her children hy many letters testi-
fying to his sympathy and care for others ; and
there are not a few now listening to me this night
who can also hear witness to his sympathy and
care, true, tender, and strong. lie could help
others as he did because he himself walked with
God, and the Unseen was to him the real and
abiding. A few more years at the most — at least,
for some of us— and our end will come. Let us,
then, whilst thanking God for our friend, gird up
the loins of our mind, and follow him, as he
followed the Master and Lord, that by and by
there may be a blessed and eternal reunion in the
Father's home above.

At Brixton Independent Church.

The Rev. Fred Hibbert, of Newcastle-on-Tyne,
who preached at Brixton on the Sunday following
the arrival in England of the news of Dr. Steven-
son's death, after his morning sermon paid a
deep tribute to the manly sympathy and noble
generousness that inspired and pervaded Dr.
Stevenson and his utterances. "He was a true
type of the manly Christian gentleman, which the
Gospel of Jesus Christ truly understood must

MEMOIIi.

i '

always produce. I cannot spoak of what ho was
to you as your minister, hut I can spoak as a
younp; minister, and bear my testimony to his
intense sympatliy with young souls struggling after
a greater light and a fuller truth, and to the
helpfulness of the words he sometimes spoke to
U8." Mr. George Nicholls, senior deacon, read to
the congregation Mrs. Stevenson's letter giving
the sad news, and expressed tho gratitude of the
church for Dr. Stevenson's inspiring ministry, and
their thankfulness that he had been sparod from
possibly many years of suffering, " knowing that
he is with Christ, which is far better." At the
close of the service the whole congregation rose
spontaneously, and stood while the organ sent forth
the strains of the " Dead March " in Saul.

OTHER PERSONAL TRIBUTES TO DR.
STEVENSON.

Hesnry Bligh Jones thus writes in The Christian

Commomvealth : —

. , ;

A far abler hand could easily be found, but none
more loving than mine, to hastily, yet reverently,
** touch in " the character and work of my beloved
friend, whose name heads this sketch, and whom to
know was to love.

For more than five-and-twenty years it was given

MEMOIR.

mo to liiijoy the friciilHliip an I to witness with de-
%ht tho succosHful career of J>r. J. F. Stevenson —
ended too soon we may think, but if wo IxOirve, as
ho did, that —

•'One above,
Iq perfect wisili)in, perlect lovo,
Is working' for the Itost,'"

we shall feel thankful, while we mourn his loss,
that lie who took him from us first f,'ave him to us.
. . . Intensely interested in and abreast of the
urgent topics of tho times, and ever welcome in
the London pulpits when occasion broufrht him to
the old country, he looked lovingly and loni^'ingly
on the supreme aUractions which London holds
out, and accepted the honourable yet onerous
position of successor to tho Rev. JJaldwin Brown, at
]5rixton. There his eminent qualities of heart and
mind were quickly recognized and promised long
and effective service; but a London pastorate with its
multitudinous claims, and the dilliculty, from innate
kmdness of heart, which he had in resisting their
pressure, soon proved too much for his strength.
A born student and thinker, no carelessness marked
his work. Any subject or science cognate to his
preaching was laid under contribution, mastered as
far as possible, and assimilated. . . .

His power was essentially that of following truth
as he saw it, and in helping truth-seekers in their
quest. Dogmatism and sectarianism had no place

MEMOIR.

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.]
I

in bis heart. Breadth of view and the largest hope
quickened h's teaching and made it acceptable and
valued by the young and thoughtful minds whom it
was his joy and crown to help. Again and again
has he spoken to me of the glad opportunities
twelve years' continuous service in one si)liere had
afiforded him, and how in that time his young
friends had passed into manhood and womanhood,
and the happiness he had had in* forming and
directing them. He was not only a nelpful minis-
ter and guide, but a bright, loving, trusted friend ;
aiding the perplexed in the time of conflict and
difficulty and doubt by his unbounded sympathy
and brotherliness.

Dr. Stevenson was a true, liberal-minded Chris-
tian gentleman, tender and courteous to all ; recog-
nizing the merits of methods of Christian service
which he himself did not use. I cannot forget how
one Sunday morning some years ago, on his way to
preach at Highbury, the sounds of the Salvation
Army caught his ear. He stopped, removed his hat,
and listened for a time, then with tears in his grave,
sad eyes said, " Whatever others may say, who
am I that I should forbid them ? I cannot.'" That
incident w^as typical of Frederick Stevenson. That
spirit won its way and did its happy, noble work.

He has gone from us for " a little while " ; he has
joined many a friend in the city above. Professor
Elm8li<> was at his recognition service at Brixton —
they are together now, and many more ; his old

( il

MEMOIR.

friend and adviser, Dr. Han nay, and other friends
and workers are united there !

We shall never see him a<,'ain on earth. On tlie
last Sunday in July, 1890, he was in the City
Temple, where he and his wife loved to he, and en-
joyed Dr. Parker's heartfelt prayer and the sermon
on the " Valley of dry hones." The doctor's appli-
cation of the prophet's pathetic refrain, " Loril,
Thou knowest," was specially suited to our dear
friends in their time of trial, and I could tell how
often those words have comforted her who now
mourns the loss of such a husband, such a life com-
panion, as John Frederick Stevenson.

Letter to The Daily Witness, fkom Dean Norman,

(To the Editor of The JVitness.)

Sir, — I read with extreme though sad and
painful interest your communication in yesterday's
issue of The WitneHs (which reached me this morn-
ing), with reference to the character and life-work
of my dear friend, the Rev. Dr. Stevenson.
Permit me to add a few words of my own. In my
judgment he was the best speaker of his day in
Montreal. All who had the pleasure of knowing
him can recall his choice and felicitous English,
his wide literary culture, the refine lent, well-nigh

(

MEMOTE.

feminine, of bis mind, and his broad and deep
sympatby witb all that was good and true. I
enjoyed tbe honour of bis friendship, an honour
which I fully appreciate, and since his former de-
parture from Montreal we have occasionally cor-
responded. Of course we had differences, but we
respected one another's conscientious convictions,
and both were conscious of an inner unity which
nothing could break, and which bound us man to
man, by the strong cords of a man. Would that
there were more like him in this world ! To our
dim senses, it seems an inscrutable dispensation
which has removed him, scarcely past the prime of
life, from a loving and beloved family, from impor-
tant ministerial labom', and from troops of friends.
But we must bow the head in submission, and be-
lieve that the Master will have some work for His
faithful servant in the other world. He will not
be easily forgotten. Tliose eloquent and flowing
words, conveyed with the charm of musical voice
and scholarly accent, still linger on the ear. Let
us believe that a hand of mercy has beckoned him
hence, and let us be thankful that such men come
among us from time to time, uplifting us from
sordid employments and the strife of tongues, and
pointing us to that haven of rest where, beyond
these jarring earthly voices, there is peace.

I dare not speak of his family. It would be in-
trusive even to allude to the sacredness of their
sorrow, but I desire as a former resident of Mon-

MEMOIR.

7")

treal, to add my testimony to the ability and the
personal worth of one of whom any community
mij^ht he proud, and who will, as long as life lasts,
have a place in tbe hearts of those who knew and
loved him.

R. W. Norman, D.D.

TfiE Rectory, Quebec,
Fch 3, 1891.

Letter from Piev. Dr. Allox.

" St. Mary's Pioad, Canonisury,

*' Frhruarji 24, 1891.
"Dear Mrs. Strvensox, — I was greatly startled
and shocked to see the announcement in the
papers of Dr. Stevenson's death. His state of
health, of course, caused anxiety; but the im-
pressions made by what vfc heard of him were
that he was somewhat better. I need not assure
you of the affectionate interest and sympathy
wh'ch his Eorrowful failure in health excited
amongst his brethren ; nor will I attempt the
common consolations which I trust sustain you
ia your great bereavement. In such sorrows all
words are cold, save His, who speaks to us as 'the
Resurrection and ':he Life,' and who tells us of
the Father's house. He can even appeal to love
itself that it should assuage iis sorrow. * If ye
loved me ye would rejoice, because I go unto the

MEMOIR.

Father.' And yet there was an hour of His
deepest sorrow, when He sought to be ' as it were
a stone's-cast from His disciples,' that He might
be alone with His Father. So we feel in surround-
ings such as yours : sorrow we must, and sorrow
we may ; nature demands it, and grace does not
forbid ; to forbid sorrow were to deny affection ;
only our sorrow has precious lights from God
which fall upon it. It is, however, a comfort to
know that, although friends are helpless, they can
sympathize ; and 1 simply wish to assure you of
this sympathy, personally enhanced as it is by
many recollections of the past. May He comfort
you who alone can. Upon some of us the feeling
deepens, that it is but a little while ' that they are
preferred before us.'

"So far as I can gather, the feeling excited by
Dr. Stevenson's death has been deep and strong.
His position, his character, and his abilities excited
special interest, and what seems an almost untimely
death has deepened it. He was highly esteemed
by all his brethren, so far as my own observation
went, and his loss will be felt as that of ' an able
minister of Jesus Christ' and a warm-hearied
brother and fellow -worker. Eut He has done it,
who is our wise and loving Father, and we can
only believe that He has done well.
" I am, my dear Mrs. Stevenson,

" Very cordially yours,

"Henry Allon."

MEMOIIi.
Letter from Rev. Dr. Mackenxal.

" BowDON, Cheshire,

" February 2G, 1801.

" Dear Mrs. Stevenson, — Mr. Flower lias kindly
sent me your address, that I may write and tell
you of my pergonal sorrow at the loss of your
husband, and of my deep sympathy with you and
your family. As it was his own worth of character,
his frank, fresh, joyous temperament, his warm and
open heart, and his deep manliness, which made
his great charm, so all our feeling of admiration
for his attainments and gifts is overpowered by our
love for him, and that makes his death a more
poignant regret.

** I have read in the papers your little notice
of the closing scene, and I could read under it
the blending of triumph and regret which the
death must have occasioned you. He was your
husband — nothing can rob you of that joy ; but
then, he teas — the grief comes back. I houu you
can say * is,' as well as ' was,' for —

" * All that is at all,
Lasts ever, i)ast recall.'

We were all so proud of him, and rejoiced so in
him. He seemed a new force added to our English
Congregationalism. But to me there was always
present the remembrance of that Sunday I heard
him preach in Montreal, and the communion ser-

MEM( 'R.

vice which followed. I remember how, at the
Lord's table, while he was speaking, his eye grew
rapt, as if seeing something in the Saviour and the
Supper, more than he had seen before, and then it
filled with tears. I knew what it all meant, and
could understand how fit for a pastor's office he
was. And most of all I remember the great
personal kindness with which both you and he
sought me out in my suffering and gave me a
tender sympathy which has always made me feel
at home in Montreal. So I send you a brother's
afi'ection, and assure you of a brother's prayers.
May God comfort you abundantly.

" Yours faithfully, and his,

** Alexander Mackennal."

Letter from Eev. Dr. Duff, of the United
Yorkshire College.

I i

" St. Mary's Road, Bradford, Yorkshire,

"March 10, 1891.

"My dear, dear Friend, Mrs." Stevenson, —
May I come in a moment to your quiet now, and
say my word of love ? I have sat still, and felt it
impossible to say anything through these months.
If I could have come near, to say by the touch of
the hand what words wore of no use for bringing
to the beloved soul in the stricken time ! But that
could not be, and so one had to wait. But now
tho wings that were all for soaring, and not for

MEMOIlt.

I'liaining, are free again. Aiul cannot we say to
him now, just as truly as before, all we would
say? If ever there was one to whom earth's
breast and God's breast were the same, it was he.
Blessed man ! be heard the silent heaven-voices
when be was among us— heard tliem as so few
ever do ; and surely, surely, he can hear our
souls' voices yonder, where be is, in God's bosom
now.

** It is the fair, wondrous fair beauty of him as
an oasis in my life that I keep thinking of. Beau-
tiful soul, oh how fair ! I have had a good many
rare experiences in knowing good men, noble men,
bliss-giving men ; but his friendship was unique.
The acquaintance with him was the finest far. On
every side it seemed so. The beautiful sympathy
he had with me, for example, in my mathematical
work when I was in Montreal. Of course the sym-
pathy with my Old Testament and other theological
work goes without saying. And then the sight he
hail, as wo walked, for the fairest things in sky and
tree and horizon. Oh, yes, he has truly been my
teacher ; nay is, and ever is to be.

"I will not write on. We talk often of you.
The peace of God abide with each. Tell me if
ever I can be of any service to you over here. So
giadly would I do it.

" Faithfully ever,

"Archibald Duff."

MEMOIIi.

i 'I

Letter fiiom tiik Pikv. IIaiikib Crasswelleu (an

OLD COLLEGE Fill EN d).

** Newport, Fiee, Scotland,

" Ft'hniari/ 2^1, 181)1.
•* Dear old Friend, — It is with very deep regret,
and mth profoundest sympathy for yourself, that
I have read the sad news. I cannot put into words
what yet it Hes in my heart to say. You know,
however, that I have a real and a large share in
your love, and that I cannot he without strong,
deep pity for you. There is one consolation which
will come to you — it is that you came to the diffi-
cult decision you did, and removed the dear fellow
from England while yet there was time ; for if you
had not, he could not have passed his last days
with his hoys as well as with you. That you must
feel now to he a large compensation for what you
had to undergo here — a compensation the more
precious hecause of the unutterable satisfaction it
must have been to him. . . . For tenderness and
purity I have never known F.'s superior, and hardly
ever his equal. His great gifts were under the rule
of graces greater even than they. A man ? Yes 1
but more than merely a man. He was a living
heart ; love lived in him, and geniality and gentle-
ness were a crown upon his strength. It is too
much to hope that he never had an enemy, but of
a truth he was no man's foe, and was every man's
lover, while forgiveness was as the breath of his

MEMOIR.

If*"

lis

mouth. Full as his mind wan, bis life must liavo
been still fuller, for plainly he burnt himself out by
industry and service, and by intenseness of emo-
tion ; and if he died before his time, it was only
because his hands and his nature were alike too
full. He has earned, as very few do, the proud
right to be missed, now that he has left his place
here, and will live for ever by what he was and by
what he did. Much of its salt left the earth when
he went, but not before its savour had so been felt
that many had arisen to call him blessed. . . .
You must pardon the poverty of these brief words.
Worthier ones will not come to me just now, and
would not, perhaps, even though I delayed to write.
My mind is full of recollections, dating from Ihe
day when F. entered college, and running on
through long years till the memorable Sunday
when you so kindly fetched me to your house.
How little did I think as I said ' good-bye ' to him
that it was to be * farewell.* But so it was — God
knows best. .

! 1

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TOILING IN BOWING.

" And He saw them toiling in rowing." {Authorized Version.)
" And seeing them distressed in rowing." {Revised Version.)

—Mark vi. 48,

i !'

THEY were not only working hard — there is na
harm in that — but they were anxious, tor-
tured, perplexed, and alarmed. The shadows of
the night were falling, and the shore was far away.
The wind was against them : it might rise into a
storm. Their vessel was a small, frail boat, such
as might be swamped in a moment by a heavy
sea. They had foreseen all this, most likely, for
we are told that they did not go very willingly.
Christ had to ** constrain " them, to compel them,
or almost so. And you know we scarcely ever
enjoy the work we do unwillingly. The art of
all joy in work is to embrace it as your own — to
throw yourself, your will, and your power into it.
Between fear and difficulty these rowers had a
hard time of it. But Christ knew all about their
condition. He had meaning and purpose in what

wimmmm

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TOILING IN no WING.

He had done. He saw into the ch'cumstances iimd
into them far l^etter and more deeply than they
knew. And as He watched them from the shore
with wistful, loving eyes, He suffered in their
suffering ; He pitied tiie very toil which He saw
to be necessary, and had Himself enjoined.

One great reason of their difficulty was that
the wind was contrary. The sea dashed and
rolled against them, raised to fury by a wind
blowing against their course. I suppose you are
all able to understand what a difference that would
make. You have been in a boat when the lake
or the river was placid, and when any wind or
stream there might be was in your favour, and
you know how pleasantly the vessel glided along.
Perhaps you know also what a contrary wind can
do, how it can take away all the ease of rowing
or sailing, and turn the pleasure into pain. And
what is true of a boat on a river is true also
largely of what we often call the voyage of life.
We find the sea rough sometimes and the wind
contrary. The healthy pleasure of muscular
exercise is turned into difficulty or pain. The
task of life drags. The duty of the day seems
to be without interest, as dry and unprofitable
as dust. We look round and see other people
drifting with the sea and the wind, and ask
ourselves. Why should not we ? Why should we
take all this toil and trouble, while other men
are at ease and doing as they like ? And yet we

TOILING IN HOW I NO.

know we are oiif:j wlien we think so. It is a

false, traitorous 'iglit. For Christ has «j;iveii

the word, and, come ""av, we miiF^

AVe must cross the sea and y^.

shall see this all the more clearly if we think of

what the influences are which oppose us.

The contrary wind which opposes the command
of Christ is sometimes the power of our own
in ward (li.yxmtion. There is one special form of
sin — our " casily-hesetting sin," as the Apostle
calls it — the side or aspect of our nature that
seems most unguarded ; where the good is weakest,
and evil has its most easy entrance. You do not
desire it to he thus. You look at your own
character at times with something like loathing.
You cry as St. Paul did, " Who shall deliver me
from this hody of death ? " Your temptation —
your special temptation I mean — seems like a
dead hody from which you cannot escape ; re-
pulsive, terrible, yet not to be put away. There
are two selves in you, and the lower strives for
mastery over the higher : the higher hates and
yet cannot conquer the lower. Y'ou understand
no part of the New Testament so well as you do
the seventh chapter of the Romans, in which St.
Paul talks of "the law in his members which
wars against the law of his mind," and makes
him *' a captive to sin and death." I fancy there
is scarcely a man now of any spiritual earnestness
who has not a hundred times wished that he might

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TOILING IN BOWING.

be taken to pieces and put together again after
a different and better pattern. Well, it is bard
rowing for you, my friend. The wind is contrary
and the sea is rough. But if one thing is clear
it is this — that yju must row on ! To give up
Ihe struggle is to sink into a brute or a devil.
It is to throw the reins on the neck of the wild
horses and let them plunge with you over the
precipice. It is to drift out to sea and starve or
drown in the solitary ocean. The harder the
rowing the more imperative is the necessity to
row. The very purpose and meaning of life are
lost if you give up ; for we are not here to grow
famous, or rich, or learned, or remarkable. We
are here to grow into harmony of character with
ourselves. We are here to make the higher
control the lower, to make conscience govern
appetite and passion, and to make Christ govern
conscience. We are here to "put away the o^d
man, with his affections and lusts, and to put on
the new man, who after God is created in
righteousness and true holiness." We ai'e here
that as Christ rose again for us, so He may rise
in us, to perfect and absolute victory. And so He
will, if only we are true. He never abandons any
who do not of their own will abandon Him.

Another contrary wind with which we have to
contend is what I may call the pressure of life.
This is a matter of the modern age ; almost of
the present century. Society has become ex-

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TOILING IN liOWING.

cessively complicated. It touches uh at a tbousanil
points, and makes upon us extreme and continual
demands. I look at the pictures of life in the
country in England a century ago and almost
long for some good power to put us back into it.
You have all read Gray's " Elegy " — his meditation
in a country churchyard. You have heard what
he says of the rude forefathers of the hamlet,
bow they dwelt " Far from the madding crowd's
ignoble strife." It seems indeed '• ignoble strife "
now. It may in a sense develop us. It may
make us as sharp as a needle and as quick as
a lightning-flash. It may give us a ready percep-
tion of all that lies on the surface of life. But
it will take aw\ay the desire and the very ability
for quiet and profound meditation. The modern
man shines brilliantly enough on the facets of
a hundred subjects. But the modern man does
not tJiinJi. Thinking is, I am afraid, becoming one
of the lost arts. We talk, we write, we make
money, we rush to our amusements, so that our
life is a feverish, restless, morbid excitement,
which j&Us the graveyards and the lunatic asylums:
but how little wo obey the precept " Commune
with thine own heart, and be still." Some people
like all that. There are whole cities on our
continent (America) which seem to do so. The
men are immersed in business schemes all the
week and amuse themselves excitedly all the
Sunday. You may tell me it is not so with you-

tt:^

TOILING IN liOWING.

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i i

I am glad to know it. 15ut you cannot live with
all this around you and find it as easy to live in
God and talk with Christ by the way as it would
be if such things were not true. my brother,
try to live at home. Do not give up your Bible
and your prayer. Try to meditate on high things.
Not so much haste and hurry, I pray you ! These
men on the sea were under the eye of their
Master. So are you and I. And we are bound
under penalties to remember Him. I say this age
is forgetting ^^ ^'^ Many of our intellectual men
are doing so avowedly. They are angry if we call
them Atheists, and yet they are doing all they
can to blot out from science, from literature and
live the very idea of the Father of Spirits. And
what they do in theory thousands more do in
practice. But " oh the pity of it, the pity of
it ! " Poor, miserable, cramped, narrow, and
hopeless is life without God. St. Paul is right ;
" without God " is " without hope in the world."
Yes, and the still older writer is right too : it is
** the fool who hath said in his heart. There is no
God." If you let this life press the spiritual life
out of your hearts be sure the day of reckoning
will come. The pitcher will be broken at the
fountain, and the wheel broken at the cistern,
your science or fashion will give you joy no longer,
and you will long in vain for a peace and a
communion which you now thrust away with
supercilious disdain or restless impatience. God

TOILING IN ROWING.

1)1

sees you, and the day will come when you will
awake, and for j^ood or for evil will see God.

The voyaf^e of life is made dillicult also by
pcraonal trial and sorroir. These will be sure to
come. I cannot enumerate their forms, however
briefly ; but I may say that it seems to mo that
in this respect also our life grows more com-
plicated. I do not siy we suffer more, but life
is, I think, more clouded with anxiety and appre-
hension than it used to be. Business is uncertain,
and often, I am afraid, not really soun<l. Men
are too much in debt and too speculative.
Poverty is more possible to the comfortable and
€ven to the rich, and the poor araon^'st us are
burdened with care. They are often perplexed
where to look or what to do for the next meal.
Sickness, too, is often joined with poverty ; partly
it is the cause and partly the result of it. Oh, it
is a terrible ** toiling in rowing" when a poor
woman, half dead of some destructive disease,
has to work from dawn to dark for a scanty meal
for her children and herself, or when a man drags
to his heavy task limbs racked with pain or
disjointed and deformed by former accident.
Harder still perhaps is it for a strong man,
willing to work, to find the work itself denied
him.

** God, protect us," sang the Brittany fisher-
men, as they gazed across the ocean ; ** Thy sea
is so large, and our boats are so small." And if

f'i

TOILING L\ nOWINO.

[

(

Christ looks on you and mo He must see us ofton
as He saw His followers of old tuilinfi as we guide
our frail vessel over the stormy sea. And yet
those very sorrows are amcMig tho strongeat
reasons why wo cannot do without Him. The
contrary wind and the stormy sea cry out for
Christ, with a strong and pathetic cry. He grasps
the only power which can control hoth them and
us. He alone can at once quiet our terrors and
calm the storm-tossed billows.

Look at those men as they toil upon the waters.
They are all taken up with their efforts, and know
of nothing but that. ]3ut the fact is they are
not left to themselves. He luiir them. Even
taken alone there is an infinite help and comfort
in that. Love and care are a world of comfort
to us, even when they bring no direct relief but
the knowledge of their own existence. You see
we live not alone and apart, but in each other ;
so that the mere sense of sympathy is new life
and strength to us. We want a human touch —
the touch of a man's hand and a man's heart.
The fact that Christ saw them would have been
life to them if they had known it. It would have
brought the consciousness of society and the
certainty of help. But they did not know it.
As they toiled on the sea it was to them as though
they had been utterly alone. " Alone, alone, all,
all alone," alone on a wide, wild sea. So they
seemed to be. I am glad of this incident in the

! \1 ;

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TOILING IN liOWINd.

Gospels, because it is, as I may say, a little
engraving on a gem, or a minute pliotograpli
which gives us in a small space the Divine plan
of our lives. We toil ; God watches. We are
afraid ; He is calm, for He holds wind and wave
in the hollow of His hand. We cry for help ;
there is no voice nor any that answereth. Yet
ihe help is near : ready, waiting for the right
moment and the right way. It does not come
too soon. It leaves us to struggle, to doubt, and
almost to fail, nay, sometimes quite to fail. Yet
it is there. And if it does not come too soon, so
neither will it ever come too late. You who live
the spiritual life with difficulty, look to that. You
will get through. You may be battered and
bruised ; you may be storm-tossed and weary ;
you may be ready to perish ; but hold on :

" His wisdom conducts thee. His power defends ;
In safety and quiet thy voyage He ends."

I think life would not be possible to earnest men
without such a faith as that. It applies to our
individual lives. But not only so ; it applies to
the wider life of the world. The course of the
world's history is often discouraging and distress-
ing enough. It seems as though it were like a
railroad train thrown off the track and rushing
to its ruin.

Atheism, godless indifference, devotion to the
poorer and meaner purposes of life, the influx

111!

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TOILLS'd IN ROWING.

I .

llf

w <

into our cities of all tlio elements of diHorder
and disturbance, Irish disloyalty, German unbelief,
and everywhere debauchery and riot ; and you and
I lifting up here and there what Huems a solitary
voice for Christ and for God ! How is it all to
end? la Christ dead'? Has His name lost its
power ? Did He go out like a beautiful vision and
leave only the memory of a lovely dream when
He died on the cross, " while o'er His grave the
Syrian stars look down " } Or is there energy
in His gospel still? Will His kingdom come?
Shall the wilderness and the solitary place be glad
for Him, and the desert rejoice and blossom as
the rose ? I read the answer in such passages
as my text. Christ loved these men. He put
them to no meaningless or needless pain. He was
not only ready and willing. He was eager to help.
So He is now. But He saw them as they could
not see themselves. He saw issues of the present,
stretched out into a boundless and a complicated
future. And He made no haste. He let events
work themselves out, till men wanted Him and
knew that it was He whom they wanted. Then
He came. Even then, however, He came, not as
they might have expected Him, but in a new and
unfamiliar form. He walked on the sea, not
apparently the Jesus whom they knew, but like
a ghost, an apparition, something to startle and
to amaze them. It may be so again. The Christ
who comes to you and ir . in the future may not

ToiLiNd IS nowisa.

o:>

at first Hight look liko tlio Christ wliom wo luivo
long and lovingly known. Wo may have to hco
Him from a cUtlbront side and approciato Ilim in
a didurcnt aspect. lie may come in pain, in want,
in runi'jrse, in agony. And so of tho world. Tiio
gospul of the fnture may not sound in all rosi)ects
as tho gospel of the i)ast has done. It may lay
its emphasis in a different place and hold up a
salvation fuller and more many-sided than former
days required. But my hrothers, Christ is
coming. He will he your Saviour and Friend —
He and none but He. He will come on board
the boat, whether it be the boat which carried
your individual destiny, or that which bears tho
future of the whole race of men. And when He
comes the winds and the waves will cease, ** and
immediately there ^ill be a grc.-« calm." ** Even
so — come Lord Jesus ! "

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II.

DBIFTING.

( ,

"For let not that man think that he Rhall receive any-
thing of the Lord ; a double-minded man in unstable in all
his ways."— James i. 7, 8.

SOCIETY is full of such men. We meet them
at the corner of every street; in all our
houses of business ; at every evening party ; and
wherever men " most do congiegate." They have
nothing to think, and they think it. They have
nothing to say, and they say it, though they may
talk all day long. They have nothing to do, and
they do it. How can it be otherwise when they
are nothing in particular? I am sometimes told
of such men, that there is "no harm in them."
And yet to be nothing may be a very harmful
thing. Nothing, indeed, can do no good, but it
may be a fruitful source of evil. Death is nega-
tion ; it is mere absfjnce of life ; but absence of
life soon becomes decay and corruption.

There may be some such men here to-night.
Poor waves of the sea, scattered in spray, or dashed
to pieces on the shore ! I wish to speak to such

DRIFTING,

men, not in ridicule or harshness, hut in all
brotherly sincerity and earnestness.

Consider, then, what this state of mind is. I
call it " drifting." The text calls it doubting, or
wavering, or double-mindedness. " Men of two
souls," as it is literally.

A young man comes to me — for everybody takes
his troubles and perplexities to the minister, and
I am very glad he does, for if a minister cep.ses
to be helpful and sympathetic he belies his name —
a young man comes to me and says : —

" I have had a good education, I want to be a
tutor."

*' Well, what do you know ? "

** Oh, I know a little Latin and Greek, and some-
thing of mathematics and history."

" Have you done any teaching ? "

" No, I can't say that I have.

"What makes you think you are fit for that ? "

**Well, I went in for medicine, but I did not
like it ; in fact I failed to pass my exams."

" Did you try anything else ? "

"Yes, I tried a merchant's office; but a clerk's
position does not suit me, I find the hours long
and the work very monotonous."

" So you think you are fit for teaching, do you,
because you are not fit for anything else? You
can train other minds although you have never
trained your own ? You think you can go through
life without doing disagreeable things? Believe

','

DlilFTING.

'/;

one who knows, when I tell you that you cannot.
If you are to be fit for anything you must * endure
hardness,' as the good old Book says. You must got
up early when you would far rather lie and rest.
You must do dry, uninteresting work, when it
would he far more fascinating to read romances
or dream under the trees ; you must meet surly,
disagreeable people and talk to them kindly and
respectfully ; and, above all, you must work, w'ork,
work, whether you like it or no, if you mean to
succeed in life. If that sounds harsh, I am sorry ;
but it is not so harsh as it sounds. No, thank
God ! Only begin, and the labour which seemed
but a curse shall become a sacrament. Be a man,
not a log of driftwood ; and before j'ou know it,
the dry study will be radiant with interest, and the
dreary work full of fascination."

The principle of which I am speaking applies,
however, especially" to our religious life. A man
who hesitates and drifts in religion is lost. This
is the great temptation of our day. Many of you
are without any clear convictions, and without
any definite aim in religion. A score of different
views are advocated on all the great questions.
The very air is full of speculation and debate.
The Reviews discuss the problems of life and
destiny. The Monthly Magazines are oracular
concerning them. Even the Daily Papers toss
them lightly about, so that we may read a para-
graph in the column of varieties on the being of

S Jf

DRIFTING.

1)1>

God, or the immortality of the soul, while we are
breaking an egg at breakfast or sipping our after-
noon tea. I do not altogether regret this. It
would not matter if I did, for the fact is here, and
it will not depart at any man's bidding. And
the consequences of the fact are here too. The
greatest of all questions, those that enter most
deeply into character and destiny, are apt to be
regarded as matter of merely intellectual interest,
like the squaring of the circle or the constitution
of a star. And so it happens that some of you,
with high mental gifts, are sailing in the pleasure-
boat of your own thoughts round the whole world
of speculation and casting anchor nowhere.

My friends, are you going to settle every specu-
lation before you begin to live ! For time is
passing on winged feet while you are dreaming.
To what single thing can you point which you
have really done, which shall bear fruit unto ever-
lasting life ? ** Be not deceived, God is not mocked ;
whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap."
And this is true not for ourselves alone, but for
others. " For no man liveth to himself, and no
man dieth to himself." We cannot be saved
without saving others, nor lost without destroying
others, if it be only by our neglect. Amidst a
thousand things we do not know, we have yet
sufficient light for "life and godliness." You mu^t
accept some central view of life if you are to be
anything but a poor waif and stray. As Mr,

100

DRIFTING.

■l f

Huxley says, you must have a ** working hypo-
thesis." Grant me at least as much as this : that
right is better than wrong ; truth better than false-
hood; goodness than evil. Believe, then, in these ;
and, that they may be realities to you and not
mere abstract names, believe in the God in whom
they eternally exist, and in the Christ in whom
they are made manifest to men. " If any man
will do my Father's will he shall know of the
doctrine," says the Saviour. It is said that reli-
gious truth cannot be verified. "Wo are told that
it cannot be proved by experiment. I maintain
that it can. For is not the verification of a pro-
raise its fulfilment? Is not the proof of a salvation
the fact that it saves? I challenge this proof for
ray Saviour, Christ. For ** we have not followed
cunningly devised fables when we made known
unto you the power and coming of our Lord Jesus
Christ." " We know in whom we have believed."
Of all certainties none is so certain as personal
character, when once it has been tried and proved.
And, beloved, some of us have proved our Saviour.
A thousand times ten thousand, even thousands
of thousands have set to their seal that He is true.
Vacillation, of course, implies weakness. A
wavering mind will never fulfil the Apostle's in-
junction to " quit you like men, he strong."
Virility, manliness, is impossible to such a nature;
heroism, an " unknown quantity." General Grant
used to say that he went trembling into his first

DRIFTING.

101

battles ; but he was not long in discovering that if
he feared others, others also feared him. " I soon
found," he tells us, ** that the true question for a
soldier is not what the enemy intends to do to him,
but what he intends to do to the enemy." A brave
man is not continually thinking about what others
say or do. He has laid plans of his own. Once
having done so, he carries them out with all his
energies. " Immediately I conferred not with
flesh and blood," says the brave Apostle to the
Gentiles. I did not hesitate, nor complain, nor
long for ease, nor consult others ; I saw the right
as by a lightning-flash, and I went and did it. A
man with a soul can respect a character like that.
A man who does not respect it is on his way to
become a coward. Indeed, this little man Paul,
whom we have quoted, is a grand lesson in stead-
fastness of purpose. With his bodily presence
weak, and his speech contemptible, he nevertheless
moved the world to its centre, and lives a mighty
power amongst us to-day. All great men have
possessed this faculty of unswerving fixity of
purpose. Above all it was the characteristic of
" the Man " Christ Jesus. He ** set his face
steadfastly to go up to Jerusalem," though He
knew it meant desertion, betrayal, crucifixion ; the
last and supremest sacrifice. Had He faltered or
shrunk back on that terrible road, where would
have been our faith and hope to-day ? And the
religion of Jesus, while it can adapt itself to the

102

DRIFTING.

wants of the weakest, is, in its spirit and temper,
a religion to test the mettle of the strongest man.
Be men, then, ye who listen to me. Vacillation,
instability, is fatal to character and disastrous to
life. The world is full of poor sickly creatures
who could have done noble work had they dared to
face and vanquish obstacles. I can trace the
failure of many whom I have personally known
to the lack of a definite purpose. I go so far as
to say that our criminal classes are largely re-
cruited by such as these : waifs and strays who
are the sport of circumstances, driven by the winds
and tossed — with no moral backbone, as we say.
And the beginning seemed almost innocent. A
song and a glass, a glass and a song, and then
another and another, just because others asked for
it. That was how it commenced, and now the man
is a drunken wreck. Or a little debt, carelessly
incurred, or a few pence from the till, which you
quite intended to replace. But it drifted into theft,
and forgery, and then sudden detection, shame
unutterable, and a blasted career. A look of
impure love — just one — and then— ah ! we dare
not dwell on it;

" But there followed a mist and a blinding rain,
And life was never the same again."

They meant no harm, they tell me ; and I believe it
But God is telling us in a hundred ways that we
must mean His will if we are truly to live, and

DlilFTING.

loa

mean it with all the energy of our being. We muRt
lay hold of His unswerving purpose if we are to
be saved.

And what I have been saying applies to you, my
sisters, too. Oh! the vacant, foolish, characterless
women I have known. Wives and mothers who
have never risen to the dignity that God has laid
upon them, whose homes testify to their neglected
opportunities. Poor wasted lives are these; spiri-
tual forces flung away. And when we think of
the infinite good a woman can be, and of her
measureless influence, we are ready to cry out with
pain when we see what she sometimes becomes.

Men and women, are you drifting — waves of the
sea, driven with the wind and tossed ? Perhaps
so. Some of you may have lost all power, and
almost all desire, to do anything else. When you
look into the world of " might-have-been," you
are for a moment saddened and ashamed. But
nothing stimulates you to fresh endeavour. A
mocking spirit whispers in taunting accents, " Too
late, I tell you ; it is too late." No, it is not too
late ! That is only one more of the devil's lie
which have made you what you are. It is never
too late to do better in a world where Christ has
lived and died. Greater is He that is for you
than all that are against you. He speaks to-night
through these poor lips of mine, commanding you
to come to Him. If you are feeble, He is strong;
if you are weak and wavering, He is " the same

104

DlilFTINO.

: i

/ '

yesterday, and to-day, and for ever," and all His
strength and love and steadfastness are pledged
to save you. Only, I beseech you, come to Him
now. I had almost ventured to say, " Now or
never." For it is just this that makes the subtle,
the awful fatality of drifting. You are deferring
and still deferring to decide, till even the desire for
better things will have perished. It is growing
more and more difficult not to drift. Of you it is
emphatically true, " Now is the accepted time, now
is the day of salvation."

>..

III.

THE WHITE STONE AND THE NEW NAME.

"And will give bim a white stone, and in the stone a
new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that
receiveth it." — Rkv. ii. 17.

THIS promise is given to the Church at Per-
gamos. To understand it we ought to
remember the peculiar temptations to which that
church was exposed — what its members would have
to conquer. The city was an idolatrous one, and
though, when once Christ had been fully known
and accepted, it was perhaps impossible that men
should return again to their idolatry, yet they
were exposed to the moral laxity, the elegant and
unblushing corruption which hovered in the very
air. The. church had been firm and bold in its
confession of Christ. Antipas, the faithful martyr,
had sealed his testimony with his blood. But was
it necessary, some were asking, to go to such an
extreme ? Why should they be so rigid and un-
yielding in their temper? Some were inclined to
a compromise. Why be sour and ungenial ? The
great difficulty was in social intercourse with the

II:

inC) THE WHITE STONE AND THE NEW NAME.

lieiitlicn around them. Many of tlieso heathen
were amoiigfit their old friends. Mi^ht they not
dine with them ? And if some heathen customs
came into the feast, what were they to do? Paul
had dealt with these matters before, and Jolm does
so here. Their principle is the same. Do nothing
that defiles your conscience, or that can cause
other people to fall. Ask no impertinent questions
on the one hand ; on the other, do not eat what
you know has been offered to idols ; and, above all
things, keep yourselves in the purity of Christ.
Surly you need not be; but true to God, and true
to Christian chastity, you must. Then comes the
promise. ** He that overcometh " shall have the
reward suited to his consistency. He has foregone
the impure delicacies at the splendid feasts of
worldly men. But he shall eat of the hidden
manna — the sacred food laid up in the golden vessel
in the ark, hidden in the Holy of Holies. Christ
is the sacred food which came down from heaven,
and is gone thither again. He has entered into
the true Shekinah. The victor soul shall be
nourished — here in part, and hereafter perfectly —
on Him.

Then we have these mystical words of my text,
** I will give him a white stone, and in the stone a
new name written, which no man knoweth save he
that receiveth it." Strange words, I say — a sort of
spiritual enigma; yet not without blessed mean-
ing. Such language has, as a matter of course,

Tiri'! WHITE STONE AND THE KKW NAME. 107

received difYercnt intorprotutions. Some have said
that the white stone means acquittal, l)ccaii80 a
white pebhlo or l)ean was dropped into the vase by
those who voted " not guilty" in the ancient courts
of justice. Some, a^ain, believe that it moans
reward, because such a stone was given to those
who conquered in the races. ]}ut we must bear in
mind that this JJook of llevelation does not deal in
Greek or Roman imagery, and those of which I
speak were Gentile customs. All the figures of
this book are drawn from the sacred oracles of the
Jews, and from them alone. And then, what of
the new name? There was no name on the pebbles
that were used for acquittal or reward. But here
is a name — a name which no man knoweth save
him who receiveth the stone.

I think we must sec here not acquittal merely,
not even reward, but revelation. The stone is a
priestly figure. It is the bright, colourless stone
called **Urim," or "Thummim," or both, which
the priest carried inside the folds of the breast-
plate. That bad a name upon it — the unspeak-
able name of God. Both the stone and the name
flashed out in radiant splendour when the priest
went into the holy place to receive the Divine word.
So that the reward of the conqueror in our text is
a priestly reward. He shall eat of the hidden
manna, where it is laid up in the sacred place; he
shall receive the Divine name on the glistening
jewel of special revelation. The first thing that

I/'I'

108 TIIK WIIITK STONE AND THE NEW NAME,

strikes us, on looking at tlio widor aspocts of a text
like lliiH, is that rGvolation doponds on cliaractor.
Tbo name on the Htono is unknown and unin-
telligible to every one but to him who receives it.
lie only can Fee it ; he only can read it. We often
feel that it would be a glorious thing if God would
draw near and reveal Himself to us more fully.
Oh, if we could know Him us Ho is, how would our
souls glow and hum within us ! One glance at
Him would chase away the misery of our sin and
the loneliness of our lives. We should see, as
George Fox saw when he said that there were two
oceans before him — an ocean of darkness and death,
and an ocean of light and life ; and he beheld, and
lo ! the ocean of light and life flowed over and
swallowed up the ocean of sin and death. God
would be the great fact to us ; all things would be
full of Him. But we are apt to forget that it is
only under certain conditions that it is possible
for God to reveal Himself. We cannot see without
a clear eye, nor hear unless our ear be sensitive
and finely tuned. We cannot receive the highest
spiritual truth unless we are in a condition to feel
and to comprehend it. It is not too much to say
that God cannot reveal the secrets of His heart
except to those who are prepared for them. Spiri-
tual truth is for the spiritual eye. Open our eyes,
Lord, that we may see, and then give us a vision
of Thyself!

We live in an age when this prayer is specially

Tllli WHITE STOMC AS'D Til!': NIIW NAMi:. lOU

nocdt'd : an ago \vlicn tlio vory chbcdco of all faith
aud hope — tho bciiiif? of a God who is lovo and
rightooijoness — is sifted and dol)atcd on ovoiy hand.
I do not think this question will bo settled hy
debiito. If wo cannot accept tho revelation of God
in Christ 1 know not where wo shall look for llira.
This is the condemnation — that Light h.is como
into the world, and men have deliberately chosen
darkness. "Believe mo," pleads the Saviour, iu
tender, beseeching tones — " believe that I am in
the Father, and the Father in mo." "lie that hath
seen Me hath seen tho Father." If any of you
ask for a revelation of God I point you to the Man
Christ Josus. 13y His agony and bloody sweat,
by His cross and passion, by His death and
resurrection, behold in that Divine sacrifice of
suflfering Love the i .iture and the revelation of the
Deity. For myself I can no more doubt Christ
than I can doubt my mother's love or my father's
goodness, and I have yet to hear of those who have
trusted Him tinding Him to fail. Rather are they
ready to exclaim with one who left all for Him long
ago, */ know whom I have believed, and am
persuaded that He is able to keep that which I
have committed unto Him even unto the end ! "

Notice, again, that God prepares us to receive
the revelation of Himself through personal trial
and discipline. ** Tohim that orercowdA." What a
hailstorm of trial and temptation that word *' over-
cometh" implies! How much hns entered into the

110 THE WHITE STONE AND THE NEW NAME.

life-history and education of the man that over-
cometh! That is a great word — education. I
heheve it to be the key to the mysteries of our
life and experience. I think it all means that God
is training and fitting us for something greater and
batter. And if so, it is full of hope for us. We
can bear anything, you know, if we are sure that
good is to come out of it. I have known a feeble
woman lie for an hour on the operating-table of an
hospital, writhing under the surgeon's knife, every
nerve throbbing with the acute st agony, because
she hoped for health as the result of the operation.
What do not men go through,— jjh^ themselves
through, — to gain knowledge and skill in science,
or literature, or art ? If it is all part of a develop-
ment, if it has new power and higher life as the
outcome of it, nothing is too hard to bear. Even
evil, which is a step to good, loses its worst cha-
racter as evil. The " soul jf goodness " shines
through the body of repulsiveness and transfigures
it. We take the dark beginning for the sake of the
glorious end, and rejoice in the whole together.
Have not Reformers and Martyrs kissed the rack
and rejoiced in the flames, and the headsman's axe,
because they saw that liberty and truth would
arise to their successors out of the tragedy of
their pain? Even the Captain of jur salvation
" endured the cross, despising the shame for the
joy that was set before Him." Oh, yes, let us see
an end, a purpose, a meaning in our suflfering, and

THE WHITE STONE AND THE NEW NAME. Ill

we will not complain ! If I am sure that the cross
is leading to ihe crown, I will wreathe the cross
with flowers.

And now see how this idea of a Divine
education lends hope and purpose to our lives.
We are apt to think of them as poor and mean.
And so they often are. But if Omnipotent Love is
educating us, what does the meanness matter ?
It will all turn to grandeur some day. Think of
the power of education even as we see it. What
is this in my hand? A common, brown, ugly little
seed. But let the sun, and the air, and the dew
educate it, and what will it become ? A flower so
lovely that no poet's imagination could have
dreamt it ; or a grand oak-tree of the forest, with
its mighty life. The very world itself is the result
of an education. It was " without form, and
void," till God educated it into order, and deve-
loped it into beauty. If so. He may make some-
thing even out of you and me. We are infants
now, and sickly, puny infants, too ; but the skill of
ihe Divine Father may unfold us "into the stature
of men in Christ Jesus." Courage, weak soul,
there are better things in store for you than you
have yet the faith to believe ! The glorious sun-
light was only a cold, grey streak of dawn at first,
and the little glimmer of spiritual life in you now
shall shine "more and more unto the perfect day."
The "mystery of pain," then, is largely solved for
us. Even sin loses part of its puzzle if through

ii:

112 THE WHITE STONE AND THE NEW NAME.

it, and by it, God is training us all. It is permitted
that it may be conquered. Innocence is beautiful —
innocence, I mean, that has never been tempted —
but holiness that has conquered temptation is
infinitely nobler. If life be education I can well
believe that God will cause even the sins and
errors of men " to praise Him, and the remainder
thereof He will restrain."

And so the secret of life is this overcoming.
And those who know the meaning of life are able
to read the name — the new name of God — on the
white stone. We can understand just so much of
God as cur experience reveals to us, and no more.
He does not change, of course. But there are
aspects and sides of His character known only to
those who have passed through special phases of
discipline. God has as many names as He has
faithful children ; and each of these names can be
read by him, and by him alone, who has been
specially trained to read it.

And now look for a moment at the end and
purpose of all this effort and training. It is that
we may be like God : " partakers of the Divine
nature." No one can read the new name but he
to whom the stone is given. Why can he read
it? Lecause his character fits him to read it.
And why does his character fit him to read it?
Because it has become like God in the special
aspects expressed by the name. Like to like, you
know, all the world over. Air to the atmosphere,

THE WHITE STONE AND THE NEW NAME. 113

the drop to the ocean, the iron to the magnet, the
flower to the sunHght. So the new name of God
— His " new, hest name of love " — comep to him
who is like it. You can read souls, some of
you. You know what it is to enter a room, and
look into a face, and feel that you understand what
those eyes are saying. There is something kindred
in that soul to yours. You can read it hecause
you are like it. You have a life in common with
it. That is why he that overcometh can read the
name of God on the white stone. And it puts, in
a word, all the purpose of the dealings of God with
you and me. He wants us to he so like Him that
we shall read His name, enter into His plans,
sympathize with His spirit, make His purpose our
own, mingle the little stream of our life with the
infinite ocean of His. That is what He sent His
Son to do for us. It is what Christ longs to do —
to make us one with God. This losing of our own
will and thought in the will and thought of God is,
in fact, the finding of our true selves. Let me,
then, read the new name on the white stone ; spell
it out letter by letter, now, God, till in its full
revelation I find my heaven at last !

IV.

OOD'S. GENTLENESS MANS GEEATNE8S.

" Thy gentleness haih made me great." — Psa. xviii. 35.

THIS psalm is ascribed to David. It is written
in memory of the great mercy whereby he
had been rescued from the jealousy of Saul as
well as from the Philistines. The word translated
"gentleness" is one very remarkable as applied
to God. It means strictly "meekness" or "lowli-
ness." It is full, therefore, of that delicate sense
of the nearness of God to man which runs, as a
sort of gospel before Christ, through the nobler
and sweeter parts of the Old Testament. Can the
Mightiest delight in meekness? The psalmist
dimly thought He could. It seemed to him that
in some way the highest and the lowliest must
meet and be one in God. God must be the meet-
ing-point of all spiritual excellence, even in its
extreme st forms of contrast. Wonderful was it
that he had so deep, so Divine an insight. But

GOD'S GENTLENESS MAN'S GREATNESS. 115

to us this truth is not doubtful. Nay, tbank God,
BO familiar is it that it is almost a commonplace.
Christ is the union of the highest and the humblest.
He is genile as a little child. And this gentle-
ness it is that lies at the foundation of all our
power.

It is this that makes us great. It is a wonder-
ful fact that no other religion has a God whose
great characteristic is gentleness. The gods of
the nations have been made very much in the
image of the makers. They are the gods of a
rude time, a rough state of society. They are
therefore rough and rude themselves. They are
drawn from the fierce and terrible aspects of nature.
They hurl thunderbolts, and pierce the corners of
the sky with forked lightning. They make men
shiver with affright. In the Bible only have we
a gentle God. But, mark me, gentleness is strong.
For what is gentleness '? It is the quality by which
I)urposes are reached by indirect means. Gentle-
ness carries out its designs. But it allows time.
It gives play to the mind and will of others. It
is never impatient, hurried, confused. It moves
quietly along, bending all circumstances to its
blessed influence. The dawn — "the dayspring
from on high " — is gentle. Yet the dawn is the
source of all the power we know. Force, as we
call it, is sunlight in an altered form. And the
administration of God is full of gentleness. Every-
where we find quiet growth and slow, progressive

';!

IIG OOD'S GEI^TLENESS MAN'S GBEATNESS.

activity. God delights in delicate handling. He
is patient. He waits for results, and keeps His
might in the background.

The tendency to believe in acts of bare power
has sometimes corrupted theology. God has been
conceived as deciding all things by the mere
omnipotence of His will. He did this or that
simply because He chose to do it, apart from the
question whether or no it was right or reasonable.
Nay, some have gone so far as to say that He made
things right merely by willing that they should be
done. They have not considered that by doing so
they have taken away all ground for honouring
God for His goodness. Bare power is the God of
many even to-day. "Might is right," and He strikes
here, or thunders there, performing the work of a
giant on a larger scale, to ** split the ears of the
groundlings." To such a view the very love of
God becomes arbitrary favouritism, and heaven
and hell not the necessary results of character,
but awards given in an artificial, wilful way.

Now, mark me, I am not denying the power of
God. His forbearance would be onlv weakness

ft/

if there were not the background of His almighty
will behind. It is just because of His almightiness
that His gentleness is so strength-giving. He
bears with us, guides us, trains us, but He does
not abdicate His authority. He is on the throne
still. You know that even a woman's gentleness,
if we are to respect it, must keep the steady hand

QOUa GENTLENESS MAN'S GREATNESS. 117

within the velvet glove. It must unite in itself
varied forms of power. Sbe must have —

" The reason firm ; the temperate will ;
Endurance, fore8if,'ht, 8trenf,'th, and skill ;
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, to command."

This is the gentleness that gathers round it the
honour of husband, brother, or son. It is great
itself, and it makes others great.

But does God in fact lake the method of this
persuasive and gentle dealing with men ? Look
at some proofs of it. Scripture is full of illustra-
tions of this truth. Adam falls ; but in the midst
of his ruin and punishment God's love is weaving
and working his redemption. "Exceeding great
and precious promises " comfort him in spite of
his sin. He is taken up into the arms of a
constant daily Providence ; sent out into the world
to gather experience, but never deserted by the
watchful love of God. He is the God of Joseph
too, and not only of Joseph, but of his less worthy
brothers. The famine falls on them; they and
their little ones are pinched with hunger. And
then we see how God's merciful purpose has been
ripening through all the changes in Joseph's life,
and he is made the saviour of the whole family.
Look again at the passage through the desert.
The people are a horde of slaves at the outset, but
by the long and loving discipline of God they are

118 GOD'S GENTLENESS MAN'S GREATNESS.

changed into " freemen of the Lord." How won-
derfully were they plied with mercy and miracle,
with discipline and forbearance, with victory and
defeat ! The whole gospel, it is plain, goes on the
same plan. The gospel is a religion of law,
though of law dissolved in love. There is no
abolition of law. By the terrible law of con-
sequences the results of men's sin gather on the
head of Christ upon the cross. Yet the gospel comes
to us not as penalty but as pleading mercy. If
it shows us the awfulness of sin it shows us also
the unchanging love of God, beseeching us to
turn away from evil and to be reconciled to Him.
We see the face of God, against whom we have
sinned, and behold, it does not flash with anger
and just indignation — it is radiant with redeeming
love. See the ** gentleness which makes us great,"
manifest in the cross of Jesus, ind see it there
as you can see it nowhere else. It is the great
revelation of the Father's heart.

We may see this gentleness, too, I'unning like a
golden thread through all our lives. How long
God has borne with us ! His providence is an
elaborate plan by which we are allowed to discover
the evil of sin and the joy of goodness. We begin
by trying to go our own way. God checks and
circumvents us, till we find to our surprise that
we are going His way. It is like the story of
Jonah, who ought to go to Nineveh, but who goes
to Joppa, in exactly the opposite direction ; yet

aODS OENTLENESS MAN'S OBEATHESS. 110

he finds himself at Nineveh, after all. Much like
this is the story of many a young man. He is
\vilful and headstrong. He seems to bo left to
himself and allowed to reap the fruit he has sown.
But he cannot come down to the husks that
the swine do eat without being reminded of
the bread in his father's house. For all know
the sequel : the home-coming and the father's
love; the best robe and the jewelled ring; the
feasting and joy. "Thy gentleness hath made
me great," must be the cry of many a returning
wanderer.

Why is all this ? What is God doing with us ?
He is obviously not alone, or even chiefly, getting
His own will merely as His own. He could do
that with the greatest ease. He could compel
us to an absolute submission in a hundred ways.
Why, then, does He adopt this method ? The text
answers. He is makimi us great. He is not
crushing our nature, but training us into nobleness
and power. Now observe carefully that this is
what God desires : He desires to make us great.
But does not God humble us ? Does He not make
us feel our littleness and nothingness ? Yes, He
does. He does desire to make us feel our weak-
ness so long as we are apart from Him. But that
is not His ultimate purpose. It could give God
no pleasure to make us feel poor and mean. He
only does so as the first step to a higher end.
He desires to make us conscious of the grandeur

120 OOD'S GENTLENESS MAN'S OliEATNESS.

of our capacities, the Ri)lenilour of our nature,
when we are one with Him. Ho makes us feel
our weakness that He may show us our true
strength. He will have large, free, noble souls
to serve Him. He will fill them with light and
equip them with power. God designs us to
eiibody the fulness of the stature of manhood in
Christ Jesus. He would take the spiritual part
of us — the will — and set it free. He desires to
see that lordly power become glorious and great.
A will given to God is at once made invincible
to all beside. ** We fear God, and therefore we
fear no one else,'* said a great man. And the
Apostle Paul says the same in other words. He
tells us that in watchings and fastings, in cold
and famine, in stripes and imprisonments, his
will was fixed. " Saints, apostles, prophets,
martyrs," say the same thing. Thousands of wills
are growing strong in Christ now, growing as the
tree grows, imperceptibly but irresistibly. God
would have us strong in intellect too. Therefore
it is that the problems of the world and of life are
so puzzling and obscure. It is not truth, but the
search after truth, which makes the mind strong
and clear. Therefore God sets us to think. Ho
gives us puzzle and problem, not so much to baffle
us, as that we may ultimately reach, and acquire
strength to bear, the fulness and grandeur of the
completed truth. He would have us live among
great thoughts because we have to live with Him !

aOD'S UISNTLKNKSS MAN'S OrtEATS'KSS. 121

So, too, of all other nol)lo afToctions, aiul of all tlio
other elements of greatness. God would have our
character unfold into vast and harmonious pro-
portions, so that it may catch and reflect the ima«](o
of His own. This is why He takes so long with us.
This explains the severities of life : perplexity,
poverty, pain, disappointment, loss. These are
the stones hy which Ho is huilding up His living
temple. Out of weakness He is making us strong,
out of poverty He is giving us wealth. When you
can bear the disappointments of life peacefully
and strongly you are growing great. Men and
women, do not be voluntarily little. Put on the
greatness of Christ ; for Christ is the incarnate
gentleness of God, and He shall make you great !

POWER IN A ROUE.

Mark v. 20-84.

WE may be sorry for tliis poor woman. She
was one of those of whom there are many
in the world, who can neither live nor die.
She dragged on a weary, miserable existence.
In Ler worst moments, perhaps, she had prayed,
" Lord, let me die ; in mercy put an end to my
wretched pain, and still more wretched weakness,
and take me to Thyself; for Thou livest, and if I
can but get to Thee I shall live too." She had
been to many physicians ; " but," says Mark, with
a touch of irony, " she was nothing better, but
rather grew worse." At length she heard of
Jesus. She scarcely dared to hope that He
could do anything for her case. Yet He
looked kind and gentle ; He had helped and
healed others, and she resolved to try. It
would be too much to meet Him face to face.
Timid and unnerved with the peculiar character

POWKIi IN A liODE.

ViW

of hor disease, she Pnrank from the eyes of men.
Perhaps, however, IIo wouhl not notice hcu* aniongst
the crowd which thronged Him. But toiicli Him
she must and would. In some dim way she felt
that lie was the Healer; the power was in Ilim,
and could go forth from Him ; so she h*uM, " If I
may hut touch the hem of Ills garment I shall be
made whole."

She was rij^ht. Her woman's instinct had not
deceived her. The power of Christ was there. She
touched Him, and was healed ! And then the Lord
turned and looked upon her. She was afraid, and
yet with a fear that drew her to Him, instead of
driving her away. There is no refuge //v>/;i infinite
wisdom and love, except to infinite wisdom and love.
The disciples, as usual, were groping in the dark,
and were well nigh ridiculing the Master for ques-
tioning who had touched Him. But the healed
woman knew full well, and she knew that conceal-
ment was impossible, so she fell at Jesus' feet and
told Him all the truth. Then He spoke. She
received a word as well as a look, and a touch of
power ; and the word was tender and strong :
** Daughter, thy faith hath made thee whole; go in
peace, and bo whole of thy plague." So she was
healed by a touch, and that the touch of a garment.
Can we understand it ? Fully, no. In part I think
we may. Garments are wonderful things. They
seem to become a part almost of the very person of
the wearer. They catch something of the im-

124

POWER IN A ROBE.

palpable influence that flows out from us to those
who know and love us. Those who have lost a
little child know what a world of tender feeling
may gather round a tiny shoe, or baby frock.
Every lover knows how precious is a tress of hair
or even a knot of ribbon that formed part of the
personality of the beloved. I do not explain it. I
shall be told that it is all the work of association,
and that very fanciful ; but I believe it is more.
There is a real outflow of power from us all, and a
real receiving of the power by the objects that are
in close contact with us. It was so with Christ.
Virtue, power, flowed into and through His gar-
ment. Touching that was touching Him, and that
was life and joy. His power was perfect and Divine,
— ours is human and defective, — there is the great
difference. The law it followed, was the law of
personal life, which diffuses around its own cha-
racter, and heals or injures according to its quality.
Now it seems to me that Christ does for you and
me very much what He did for this poor womap.
He has His garments now, by which, if we touch
them. He heals us.

'* The healing of His seamless dress
Is by our beds of pain :
We touch Him in life's throng and press,

And we are whole again."

" His touch hath still its ancient power." He
grants us a look, a Divine word, as He did this poor

POWEIi IN A RODE.

125

"woman, and we, too, are healed. And in our
smaller measure we do the same for others, in pro-
portion as we are filled by His Spirit.

Look, now, at some of the garments of Christ
which we may touch and be healed. In one view
they are as simple as the robe He wore when He
was upon earth ; in another view they are a right
royal clothing.

Theology, as we call it, is one of the garments of
Christ. It makes a very variegated robe, a "coat of
many colours." Like Joseph's coat, too, it has some-
times been stripped away from its owner altogether,
and dyed in blood, treacherously and cruelly. For
theology is the thought of men about Christ, and it
has been varied and diverse as their many minds ;
and sometimes there has been in it little of the
Divine love and graciousness of the Saviour, and
much, very much, of the harshness and materialism
of men. And yet Christian theology is often a rich
and royal robo — a robe full of spiritual power. St.
Paul has helped to weave it, and he was no pigmy.
St. John also ; and you know the great painters draw
his portrait as that of a mighty man, with an eagle
near him holding his pen. Even beyond the Bible
there have been giants of the race of theologians.
Augustine was one, Chrysostom was another,
Aquinas and Scotus others still ; nor must we
omit the calm Melancthon, the profound Calvin,
clear and cold as the morning light, and the rich
and varied splendours of Hooker and Jeremy

126

POWEB IN A EOBE.

Taylor. They wove a robe for Christ of lofty and
far-reaching thought, and reverently folded it
around His Divine form. Power was in it, and is
still. Hundreds of people sneer at theology to-day
who would look very small in the hands of one of
these mighty theologians. Of course they were
not infallible. Time has developed their mistakes.
In some respects we can never again think exactly
in their grooves. Yet they may help us if we will.
Their theology was a robe for Christ, and He never
changes. The garment nn y grow old in time and
new ones supersede them, but *' He is the same
yesterday, and to-day, and for ever." And we must
remember how many men and women have touched
the old garments in their time, and have been
healed by Christ through His robe. The thoughts
of these mighty men have been channels of grace
to many. Jesus was in them, and He poured
Himself through them. And even now there is
a tender interest and a thrillirg ijower lingering
about them;

If we do not read the works of tL -■ old divines in
all respects to form our opinions, we may still do
so to inspire our hearts and to stimulate our love.
Whatever dress Christ has ever worn to any true
man has always something of Christ in it. For my
part I love these dear old divines. Hooker is dear
to me, and Baxter, with his gentle spirit, Howe,
with his penetrating thought, and Jeremy Taylor,
with his imagination, rich and glowing as that of

POWEB IN A BOBE.

127

Isaiah himself. Thank God for them, and for the
robes they wove for Christ ! As I say, we cannot
clothe Christ in their garments, but we may learn
much from them, and so get power from Christ
through them.

Note also that theology is not dead, though
particular forms of it have passed away. Every
earnest man must have some way of thinking about
Christ, and that way is his theology. Perhaps
there will be differences ; perhaps no two men will
think quite alike, or clothe the Saviour in exactly
the same garments. It does not matter greatly, I
think, for Christ can wear many robes, and be the
same Christ still. The great thing is to see to it
that our robe of religious thought really touches
the person of Christ — that Christ is the centre of
our theology. If He be not, no power will be in
it, and none can come forth from it, for the real
power of the garment is the power of the person
who wears it. A theology without Christ may be
a very gorgeous robe, but it has no power to give
life, because it has no contact with Him who is the
life. This is the great, the vital difference between
differing modes of religious thought. Every one
has some sort of theology, whether he acknowledges
it or not ; even the Atheist has, for his very denial
of God is a mode of theological thinking. Some
modes of religious thought, however, are dead,
powerless, decayed, because they have no living
Saviour at the centre of them. Let us under-

,A/,

128

POWER IN A ROBE.

stand that no robe can heal but a robe that is
worn by Christ. I do not ask you to think of
Christ with exactly my thought ; I know quite well
that He can wear many and widely different gar-
ments of human thought ; but I do ask you to
make Him the centre and the sum of your faith
and of your hope. " For there is no other name
given under heaven whereby we must be saved."
He is " Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the
end, the first and the last."

Let us, then, think of different doctrines as of
different robes worn by Christ, and let us not
quarrel too much with the robe, but try and
penetrate through the robe to the Saviour who
wears it. Men sometimes hang around Him dry,
dusty, threadbare thoughts, so that, seen through
them. He seems to have "no form nor comeli-
ness, and there is no beauty that we should
desire Him." But do not let the poverty of the
robe hide the glory of the wearer. The poorest
thing taught and said about Christ will teach
and help us if we see Chiist in it. And the
poorest is not much worse than the best, for
who can speak worthily concerning Him? Our
words are all

" Too mean to speak His worth,
Too poor to set the Saviour forth."

Thou who art Thyself the Word, help us to
speak of Thee ! And do Thou be in our poor speech

POWEli IN A liOIiU.

129

about Tliue, and then it will no longer bo poor and
mean, but rich with Thy life and tender with Thy
love. How bloHsed is the thought that thiH poor
robe was the vehicle of the healing power of Christ !
Thank God, it is not the robe, but the Wearer who
is all in all. Even your words and mine are good
enough to heal if Ho is in them; and Hu has
promised that lie will be.

When we listen to different theologies and to
different preachers, therefore, let us take what suits
our case, and let the rest pass. This poor woman
took the healing that she needed, and thought no
more, I imagine, about the robe through which it
came. So let it be with us. Doctrines are many
— orthodoxy, heterodoxy, the old school, and the
new. But if any man can tell me what brings me
nearer to the power and love of Christ, that is
what I want. I need pardon for my sin, healing
for my bruised and wounded heart, strength for
the battle of life. Take that wherever you can get
it, and never mind the colour or the texture of the
robe through which it comes. When you are
starving and a man brings you food you do not
criticize the pattern of the dish, you eat the food,
and thank God who sent it through him.

The Bible also is a robe of Christ in which His
power lives and through which it reaches us. A
very wonderful and gorgeous robe it is. There is
history and law, poetry and proverb, prophecy and
precept — and all are gathered round the central

rrgm

il.«K'-!H

130

POWER IN A ROBE.

figure of Christ. This is a rohe not mean and
poor at all, but full of the glow and passion of the
splendid East. The Bible is like the bride of the king :
" all its garments smell of m.yrrh, aloes, and cassia,
out of the ivory palaces." It is glorious with the
gold of Ophir, "and resplendent with jewels of the
mine. Yet, like everything truly beautiful, it has a
noble simplicity in its greatness. There are homely
and touching words there, words that reach the
hearts of wayfaring men, though they have no dis-
tinction of birth and none of the wisdom of the
learned. Above all other of the garments of
Christ, this one is full of life and power. It fills
the intellect, draws the affections to itself, quickens
the conscience, strengthens the will. It is not
strange that it should be so, for this robe was woven
for the Saviour not so much by the skill of man as
by the breath of the Divine Spirit itself. We may
expect it to be, therefore, as we find it, full of life
and power. It is said, and truly, to be " sharper
than any two-edged sword." All our means of know-
ing God are represented in the Bible. There is the
history of His doings in the far back ages of the
world. There are the lives of the mighty saints in
whose souls He dwelt. There are words of warning
and of guidance given from His lips. There are
the tender pleadings of His love, as of a father
with his children. There are words of exceeding
great and precious promise. Sorrowing souls come
here and find fresh hope and encouragement.

I I

POWER IN A liODE.

181

Widowed hearts come and look through its win-
dows to the glad life hey end, where all they loved
is waiting for them in purer, nobler forms. Sinful
men come and hear the voice of pardoning love
and mercy. Broken-hearted penitents come, even
Magdalene herself, in her bitter shame and sorrow,
and listen to the gracious accents, •* Neither do I
condemn thee : go and sin no more." Little chil-
dren come, for there are words of love and blessing
for them also, words from the lips of the Divine Son
who dwells for ever in the Father's heart. There is
life and healing for us all in this robe of the
Saviour. Christ's own power is within it, and we
may touch and be made whole.

Now I know that soino of you may tell nie that
there are questions raised in the Bible which are
not easy to answer, that there are passages of
doubtful authorship even, and of uncertain date. I
know that there are critics who come to the Bible
for science and do not find it ; for the robe of
Christ, Divine as it is, came to us through human
mediums in an age when science was unknown.
Shall I therefore discard the Bible and say that it
contains nothing " for me '? My friends, we shall
never understand the origin ol the Bible till we
know what the Bible is ; and we shall never know
what it is till we use it for its right purpose. Come
to the Bible for a revelation of God ; see God
manifest in Jesus Christ at its centre— all that
goes before pointing forward, and all that comes

rOWEB IN A liOIiE.

after polntiug back to tho central figure of Cbrist,
ttud you will know what it means. The decisive
evidence that the sword of tlie Spirit is of celestial
temper, is in its power to cut down our sins,
and to protect us from our spiritual foes. The
Christ whom wo need is here, and hero He shall
be lifted up until He draws all men unto Him-
self.

But again, the Church of Ciu'ist is one of the
garments in which He dwells, and through which His
healing virtue flows. And by tho Church of Christ
I do not mean the Eoman Church, or the Anglican,
the Presbyterian, or the Congregational. These
are sections of the Church more or less good and
perfect ; but the Church itself is greater than any,
because it includes them all. Nc sect can say, in
an exclusive sense, ** The people of the Lord are
we " ; none, at all events, can say so without
egregious arrogance. Christ dwells in His whole
Church, not in a part of it only, and His Church
consists of all holy men everywhere. When I say
that Christ dwells in His Church, I mean that He
dwells in all who love His name in every age and
in every country. His Church is " a great multi-
tude of every kindred, and nation, and people, and
tongue." It has spoken many languages and
worshipped in many forms. Sometimes it has
gathered in a vast cathedral, where pealing anthems
soared to its fretted roof, and " the dim religious
light " came mellowed through " storied windows

POWr.R IN A liODt:.

richly diglit." Homotimofl in a flCiintily-fiirniBliod
room with no ornamcnlH save those of tlio mcok
and quiet spirits who bowed and worsliippcd there.
" For neither in Jerusalem nor at Mount Gerizim
do men worship the Father ; hut the true wor-
shippers worship llim in spirit and in truth."
Where ;er there are holy souls there is a true house
of God. And this pure, spiritual Church CI rist
wears as a garment, an<l through it lie communi-
cates His healing power to men. I do not say that
all sections of the Church are equally good and
wise. I do not think so. For reasons that seem
to mo conclusive I can worship best with a simple
ritual. I need no priest save Christ Himself. But
the important fact is that wo can find lifo in any
church if wo go there seeking the right thing — the
healing power of Christ. Men and women, let us
take care what we seek. If we seek a gorgeous ritual
we can easily obtain it, but it will not necessarily en-
lighten our minds and purify our hearts. If we seek
a Scriptural form of church government or service,
we may discover that, and it may turn out to bo as
perfectly destitute of living power as a beautiful
corpse. But if we touch any of the many fringes
of His garment seeking His life-giving energy,
Christ Himself will meet us and speak to us as He
did to this poor suppliant at His feet. It matters
less to which church we go, than for what we go.
Fix your gaze, then, on the central figure, Jesus
Christ Himself ; press through the crowd until you

184

pownn TN A lionn.

feel His touch and hear Ilis voice, and lie will
make you whole.

But mark, if Christ is in His Church it is
perilous for you and mo to seek to do without the
Church. Some say tliat they will stand alone in
religion, lint tliis is not the plan of God for us.
We cannot live alone in anything, and least of all
in religion ; for religion is especially social. Faith
is redouhled when wo share it with others ; so are
hope, love, joy, peace. Your penitence and trust
kindle mine ; my prayer and praise are wings to
yours. These Divine things grow by sharing them ;
only selfishness would seek their exclusive appro-
priation. Touch this robe of Christ if you would
understand the blessedness of the communion of
saints — the strength and solace that comes out
of union with each other in Ilim who is the
Head.

But I must point out, in a word or two, that ire
have robes as well as Christ, and that in a lesser
degree, of course, power and energy flow from these
also. Scripture uses the idea of garments con-
stantly as a figure for character. There is a priestly
and a kingly robe. Joseph had a coat of many
colours, as though to express the fact that he was
the son of many affections. And we hear of the
"white linen, which is the righteousness of the
saints," of " robes washed and made white in the
blood of the Lamb." The life of Christ, which gives
us the white robe, not only takes away the stain of

rowEii IN A no up:.

186

sin, it fills tho purified soul with its own Divino
essence.

Now, as our rol)Cs arc our cliaractcrR, tlicic in an
infliionce going fortli from tlicin as tlicro was from
tlio robe of Ciirist. First of all, then, wo must sco
that wo obtain our white raiment, our lobo of
righteousness, from the Saviour. J To can clotlio
even the little child with His purity and loveliness.
He can add dignity and strength to the young man
as he steps into the arena of life. He can glorify
the wedding garment of the bride with sweetness
and modesty. He can add lustre to tho robe of
honour as it is gathered round the limbs of tho
brave warrior in the battle of life. And when tho
hoary head is a crown of glory, He can beautify
their declining days with the saintly garments of
holiness and peace. Our perpetual characters, tli'^M/} /( i
beloved, arc the robes in which we shall be clad
when we appear before God. May Ho grant them
to have been washed and made white by Christ
Himself, that we may not be ashamed before Him,
at His coming.

VI.

CIIAHACTJUi AND DESTINY.

'* But tho Lord said unto Samuel, Look not on liis counto-
nanoe, or on tlio lioight of his staturo, ... for the Lord
Booth not as man soeth ; for man looketh on the outward
appearanco, but the Lord looketh on tho heart." — 1 Sam.
xvi. 7.

IT was a crisis in the history of the nation. Saul
had forfeited the favour of God. He had only
now to decline to the end of his reign, dishonoured
and rejected. Samuel had done with him. And
Samuel was come to Bethlehem to choose among
the sons of Jesse he who should bo king after Saul.
I suppose the choice was made while Saul was still
alive, that the king-elect might prepare for his
high destiny. It is not good for us to change our
position or our work too suddenly. We need
thought, deliberation, the adjustment of ourselves
to our new duties. It was well that he who was to
be king should prepare himself for what was
before him. It was well that he should nourish
his heart in kingly thought, swathe his spirit in
true royalty and magnanimity.

CnATiACTEIi AND DllSTlNY.

When the Bons of Johro canio hoforo Samuel, ho
looked at tliom with oycH full of Rcrutiny. FirHt
camo Eliab; tall, Btronf», of manly boarinp;, of
frank and noble; coiintcnanco. " Surely," l»c said
to liimHelf, " this is tlio man whom tho Lord hath
choHon." But then carats a whisper, a rush of
iuflpirod thought into his heart, " Take caro, look
not on Lis countenance, nor on the height of his
stature, for the Lord Hceth not as man seeth, for
man looketh on tho outward appearance, hut tho
Lord lookoth on tho heart." Tho question is
whether the hidden springs of character are there,
and whether they are healthy and operative.
There is a power that is only material. Fair, hut
perishable, it passes away. There is another kind
of power, one with the springs of man's essential
life. It belongs to his heart — to the innermost,
secret place of his thinking and feeling. Eliab
may bo captivating. In his own way ho may bo
noble and strong; but the strength that grows
with years, and can adapt itself to every need, is
not in him. You must go to David for that.
David, as we shall see presently, is tho man who,
though far enough from perfect, yet for this par-
ticular business of kingship is " after God*s own
heart." David is the born king.

Now this is the great principle of the text — that
in all things God looks not at appearances, but
on realities. When He deals with us, or wo with
Him, it must bo on a basis of absolute truth and

188

chahacteh and destiny.

1'.

fact. Ho is not, cannot be, deceived ; and, on His
part, He never deceives. "All things are naked
and opened to the eyes of Hira with whom we have
to do." We ought to be glad of this. Some
people shrink away from the thought of God
because they know that Ho is looking them
through and through. What they mean by it I
do not know. Do they desire to be treated in a
mannor inappropriate to their true condition ? If
you were in danger of death or loss, would you
wish the friend on whom you leaned to act as
though you were well or secure ? I think you
know better. You know the only way to deal with
disease is to face it ; the only way to avoid danger
is to know it, and guard against it. That is God's
way. He looketh at the heart ; the heart of men,
and the heart — the innermost reality — of things
too. He does so, for example, with reference to
our vocation in life. There are different estimates
of fitness for work that needs to be done. It was
so in the case we are considering. The people were
about to need a leader. They bad to find one.
Samuel was as wise a man as any to whom they
could entrust the choice, no doubt ; and yet Samuel
was near to making a great mistake. Even he
was almost carried away by the outward appear-
ance of Eliab. There, he thought, was surely the
warrior king. But no. Courage may go with
strength, indeed, but more than courage and
strength are needed in a leader of men. Insight,

CHAUACTEn AND Dl^STINY.

139

sympathy, administrative power, skill, self-control,
a widely inclusive nature, are needed as much, or
even more, than mere physical strength. The
real hero is little David tliere. He had ** nourished
a youth sublime," as he led his sheep by the green
pastures and still waters of his native lund, or
looked up into the starry skies as he watched his
flock by night. Latent in his character were the
seeds, the first principles, from which his splendid
reign was evolved. For of all the leaders the
Hebrew people ever had David was, by emphasis,
the king.

Now, I desire that you and I should apply this
principle of the text to our own lives. Most people
whom I meet are dissatisfied with life. It does
not yield them what they expected. If they had
their time to come over again they would do
differently and bring about quite other, and more
satisfactory, results. Generally people are not as
prominent or as successful as they think they
deserve to be ; others more fortunate and less
worthy are preferred before them. I have no
doubt many thought so in Israel. " David, indeed !
who is he that he should rule us ? Why, I could
toss him on the point of my spear ! " says a stal-
wart warrior. "Look at this beardless youth,"
exclaims a grave counsellor ; " they are passing by
the wise and experienced, and choosing a lad who
knows nothing but what he has learnt in the sheep-
fold ! "

140

CHARACTER AND DESTINY.

.) '

But Samuel had made the God-directed choice.
Ho who seeth not as man sccth had singled out
the true king.

Of course I do not mean that every man is ac-
tually in the position for which he is most fitted.
But I do mean that our own choice, and that of
other people's for us, is often superficial and untrue.
Let us learn a lesson from the shepherd-hoy. Did
he go ahout complaining that he was a neglected
genius, with his merits all unrecognized ? No. He
kept his sheep. He was put to do that, and he
did it. He kept his sheep so well that ho learnt to
keep the flock of God. Then, in due time, he was
chosen for the office for which he was fitted. God
put him into his right place.

Now I daresay some of us are dreadfully un-
appreciated. The world is governed with very little
wisdom. And if people only knew what we de-
served, they would give us prominent office, and
perhaps twenty thousand a year! But, you sec,
they do not know. God, however, knows the fact,
and the whole fact. Perhaps He sees that we are
better for the present on the hillside than on the
thione. If so, let us stay feeding our Father's
flocks till He anoints us to something else. And
let us learn that the way to better things is earnest
work and loving contentment with the lot He
gives.

And suppose even that we are right in our esti-
mate of ourselves. Suppose that man has looked

GHABACTER AND DESTINY.

141

on tho outward appearance, and lias put over our
Leads a less worthy persoi], a foolish man, a knave,
or a poor incompetent sham. Well, God knows
that too. It might have heeu that David tended
sheep all his life, and that Saul was succeeded by a
man as insauo as himself. But would not God
have known it ? Would not God have cared for
it ? Would not lie have thought more of tho
shepherd singing his lovely psalms under the
Syrian skies than of the poor nonentity reigning
at Jerusalem ? It is not whera we are, but what
wo are, that is of real and permanent consequence.
All the glitter of wealth, all tho splendour of oflice,
all that makes the outward appearance, imposes
only upon man ; God looketh on the heart.

The principle of our text holds also with refer-
ence to our usefulness. What good are wo doing
in tho world ? Men think they can easily answer
that question. They take the first and most obvious
estimate. How much noise are we making ? How
many people are hearing of us ? What figure do
we present in the church or among the societies
that are organized for special forms of benevolence?
I daresay if Eliab had been compared with David,
the public verdict would have gone almost entirely
for Eliab. There was not much that men could
see, that they could count or weigh or measure
in the mode t employment of David. He was
keeping a few sheep, that was all. But was it all?
Verily, no. The eye of God saw another and a

142

CUABACTEB AND DESTINY.

greater work. He was building up a kingly cha-
racter. He was feeding his spirit in secret, and
doing the duty nearest to him. In that way,
though there was little outward show, the man was
developing into fitness for the greater work which
God was preparing for him.

There is nothing that we more need to recon-
sider than our standard of usefulness in God's
kingdom. Thousands of hearts are made sad
whom the Lord has not made sad by our shallow,
foolish judgments. In the church we are too apt
to judge men's piety by the sound they make, espe-
cially in the way of fault-finding. To criticize the
goodness of others is a short and easy method of
proclaiming the superior quality of our own.
Look suspiciously upon any one who attempts
fresh means of advancing the cause of God ; shake
your head at any who are desirous of getting out
of ruts ; or take up some doctrinal fad, about the
second advent, or the discovery of the ten tribes,
and though you may be somewhat of a bore, you
will doubtless gain the reputation of being deeply
pious. But oh, friends, how easy is all that !
And how diflicult it is to do the will of God in your
daily duty, and to breathe around you the gentle
and tender spirit of Jesus ! Verily, man seeth not
as God seeth. Man looketh on the outward appear-
ance, but God looketh on the heart.

Take comfort, then, you who are trying quietly
to help others and to keep yourself in the love of

CHAIiACTEIi AND DESTINY.

143

God. Take comfort, you who are doing real work,
whether in the church or out of it. Take comfort,
you who in any way are striving to ennohle your
own Hves and those of others. If you are too busy
doing good to be harsh or censorious to other
people, so much the better for you. If your heart
is so warm with the love of Christ that it finds or
makes warmth in the hearts of those aroui d, you
have cause to rejoice. You will find love and
peace and joy in thus working for God.

Toiling men, who are honest and true, and who
fight against your sins and doubts, when it
seems as though God had forgotten you, and the
clouds of failure and disappointment shut out the
sunlight of faith and hope, God knows all about it.
Fight on, and trust. The time is coming when you
will conquer. He will bring out your righteous-
ness as the light, and your ** equity" as the noon-
day. Meanwhile, let the thought that God does
know — that while men are looking at the appear-
ance. He is looking into your heart — be your
strength and hope. It is possible, nay easy, to
bear being overlooked by men, if we have His
" Well done, good and faithful servant ! " ringing in
our hearts.

Anxious, thoughtful women, bearing in your
hearts brothers, husbands, children, you may not
make much figure in the world. But take com-
fort. There is not a sigh you breathe, a tear you
shed, or a prayer you utter, that is not marked by

144

CHARACTER AND DESTINY.

God. Perhaps, little as you think it, you are doing
the greatest work for Him. And be sure that you
are not left to do it alone. Little notice you may
obtain from any whom the world calls great ; but
remember that He who looketh on the heart looks
specially on the anxious, loving, bleeding, some-
times almost breaking, woman's heart.

As to moral and religious conduct too, the prin-
ciple of our text is true. How superficially we
judge ! We separate the world into good and bad,
but we scarcely sec an inch deep into the reality
of character. When the light of God shines on
men, at what we call the judgment-day, many
people will be astonished at the grouping of cha-
racter they will see. If there is any truth in the
words of Christ, our estimates will be as nearly as
possible reversed. Wo make scandalous sins — the
bins of the poor, weak flesh, which become visible
and notorious — the worst form of sin. Christ
makes the sins of the spirit — pride, vainglory, the
conceit of special righteousness, the sanctimonious
separation of ourselves from others — these and the
like, Christ makes the worst No wonder. Every
man knows the publicans and sinners, and the
shame of poor Perdita. They scandalize us all,
and wo draw away our immaculate skirts as we
pass by. But a man may be full of malignity
and hatred, and no one know it but God. Did it
ever occur to you that it is not wise to judge other
men ? Nay, did you ever happen to feel thankful

CIJAItACTER AND DESTINY.

145

that you do not need to judge? Wo know some-
times what is done, hut do we know what is
resisted ? We sec tlio sin, hut do we see tlie hitter,
hearthrokon repentance? "0 God," we may
well cry, " I tliank Thee that Thon art my judfjje,
and not man. I thank Thee that Thon who knowest
my sin, knowest also how I ahhor myself, and take
thankful refuge in Thy dear love in Christ."

Some people think of the words of my text with
terror. To mo they are full of joy and hope. " The
Lord eeeth not as man seeth . . . the Lord
looketh on the heart." They road like the words
of Jesus Himself; they are a gospel to all poor,
struggling souls. It is not the stately Pharisee,
with his broad phylactery and his flowing robe that
is accepted. No, it is nothing that appeals to the
eyes of men. But if there is a spirit here that is
tired of sin and thirsty for God, God looks on such
an one with love and favour. If there is one
broken heart, sick and sore with past transgression,
God in Christ is saying, " Come unto Me, and I
will give you rest." If there is a bright young
soul, who, having felt the beauty of holiness, is
stirred with a holy ambition to reach the true
eternal life, God smiles upon that soul, and says,
through the lips of His own Son, " Blessed are they
that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they
shall be filled." If there is one >vno has looked at
Christ till he has seen Him to be the Divine-human
Saviour — " the chiefest among ten thousand, and

14G

CJtAtiACTEn AND DUSTtNY.

, v.

the altogether lovely " — oh, beloved, the Lord looketh
upon thcc. Yos, and if there is one hero who is
hard and cold, and yet has an indefinite regret at
his own hardnosR, come, let Him look upon ////y
heart too. Ilia look of lovo will molt it; His
poured-out life will flow over and into your in-
difference ; His power shall set you free. For us
all there is moral health and spiritual renewal in
the blessed fact that He is looking upon our hearts.
May we each one cry, ** Search me, God, and
know my heart ; try mc, and know my thoughts,
and see if there bo any evil way in me, and lead
me in the way everlasting."

:'l

r. -;

VII.

WATER FROM RKTIILKUEM.

" And David longed, and said, Oh that ono would givo
mo water to drink of the well of Bethlohom, which is by tho
gate ! And the threo brake through the host of tlio Philis-
tines, and drew water out of the well of Betlilehem, that wiir
by the gate, and took it, and brought it to David : but David
would not drink thereof, but poured it out unto tho Lord, and
said, My God forbid it nic, that I should do this : shall I drink
the blood of these men that have put their lives in jeo-
pardy ? for with tlie jeopardy of their lives they brought
it."— 1 Chron. xi. 17-19.

THIS is one of the jewels of history. It is
y/orth while to read a book, and a dry book
too, to get at a fact so heroic and noble. It is a
beautiful fragment, glittering'with moral splendour,
embedded like a precious stone in the tamer, poorer
matter which surrounds it. ^i the three men
spoken of here, we do not, it is irue, know much ;
their very names are matters of guess-work. And
yet in another sense we know a great deal of them.
For names and dates, and all other outward rela-
tions of history, are of use only as they throw light

148

WATEIi FROM IIETIILEUEM.

\ I

I:
"I

I' u

on iho charactoi'B of man and naiionn, on tho
inward impulses from wliicli thoir actions Mow.
And thin one act flcoms to open a rift by which wo
BOO into tho very souls of those by whom it could
be done. There is a voice within us, too, which
responds and rejoices in tho story of their noble-
ness. Wo are the richer for the knowledge of what
they did. Thousands of years have not dimmed
the value of their heroism.

There is a greatness, too, about David's conduct,
which accounts for our love for him. For we do
love David. We sometimes, no doubt, wonder at
our fondness. He was a man very far from perfect.
The unbelievers of all ages have '* held him dang-
ling at arm's length in scorn." ** This is tho man
after God's own heart ! " they say. Yes, even so.
Not immaculate, not always wise or good, but
one who know how to be sorry for his sin ; for he
loved much, and to whom much was therefore for-
given. David sinned indeed, but he repented as
greatly as he sinned. If his passions were great,
and his fall deep and terrible, his love and his
repentance were vast too. "Passions that are
great, passions moving in a vast orbit, and trans-
cending little regards, are always," Do Quincey
tells us, *' the signs of a noble mind." There is
assuredly that nobleness, that largeness of mind,
about David. We cannot resist it. It lifts us up
and carries us away. We have to love him
whether we will or no.

WATER FROM RKTHLEUEM.

140

Tho fact before us is giand. Lot us look at it
briefly, and see what it says to us.

Wo BOO that wo may bo gouorouH in receiving as
well as in giving. Ifero tliero was a noble gonorosity
from both points of view. For what is generosity?
It is nobility, largoneKS of nature. Tho root
syllable "gen" tells us this, for it is connected
with the words " generate " and " generation." So
that a generous man is a niiin belonging to a
generation worth thinking about and worth be-
longing to. How did these heroes give, and how
did David receive, this precious gilt ? "And David
longed and eaid, Oh that one would give mo water to
drink of tho well of liethlehem, which is by the
gate ! " The fighting had boon fierce under the
glowing Eastern sky. The man's burning thirst
craved assuagement. And then there flashed into
his mind the remembrance of the old well in the
old Bethlehem days. How often in tho parching
summer heat he had drunk from its cool, refreshing
spring. Never was anything so delicious, so life-
restoring. We all know something of the feeling
which makes what we have enjoyed in youth so
much sweeter and keener and more vivid to our
recollection than anything that later years can
bring. Perhaps some who are listening to mo now
can go back in thought to some such memory,
" when all tho world was young." Tho old home,
the old garden, the old childish haunts, may bo
commonplace enough to others, but for you they

I',

1.10

WATlUi FROM liKTUIJ'UlEM,

aro fraught ^vith tcnderost suggostions. " Tho
touch of tho vaniHhod hand " Ih thoro, and " the
Bound of a voico that is Btill."

" And the three hrake through ihu host of tho
rhilistinus, and drew water out of tho well of
Bethlehem, that wan by tho gate, and took it, and
brought it to David : but David would not drink
thereof, and poured it out unto the Lord, and said,
My God forbid it mo, that I should do this : shall
I drink the blood of these men that have x^it their
lives in jeopardy? for with tho jeopardy of their
lives they brought it." Our hearts glow within
UB as wo read the story. " Ileroos all ! " we say.
It is a problem I could not Holve, whether it is
greater to inspire such love, or to feel it. Only
a hero, a truly great soul could inspire it. But
then, only heroes could feel it. How many men
would have done such a deed to-day ? Many, do you
say ? 1 hope so. But as compared with the great
mass they would be a minority ; aye, and a small
minority too. You could not pour a love like that
into cold, calculating hearts. The " frozen hearts
and hasting feet " of the great world are incapable
of feeling it. There is a class of animals, you know,
who do not appreciate pearls ; and there are
classes of men who move in an orbit so small, so
mean, and so selQsh, that nothing could move
them to generosity.

But David was not behind his heroes in his mode
of receiving the gift. To him the material gift—

I I

WATKIi I'liOM IIETULEIIEM.

Iffl

tho bright, sparkling water of \m beloved spring—
fiulod away and was disHolvcd in tho generosity of
tho givers. lie saw a spiritual revelation gathered
round it. lie saw all the peril to which they liad
boon put, and the love which lay behind the peril.
It was sacred, all that. It was wortliy of the best
and highest in the universe. " My God," ho cries,
" shall I drink tho blood of these men that have
put their lives in jeopardy? for with their lives
they brought it." And he poured it out before tho
Lord.

That, now, is a great gift greatly received ; and
it is full of instruction for us, for wo are also
givers and receivers. We are, whether wo will or
no. It is one of tho truths that the scienco of our
day has taught us that wo are actually mwk by
what we receive from former generations and from
other people. We, who think ourselves "o inde-
pendent, are in large part the creation of the people
and circumstances around us, and of an indefinite
past ; every faculty, every power, every form of
our activity is rooted and grounded in what others
have thought and felt and done. If I am wise
and good I owe it largely to the wisdom and good-
ness of some who were wise and good who have
gone before, and are now lying in their quiet
graves, and of others who taught mo in my youth,
and surrounded mo with purity as an atmosphere.
We, who receive so much, what are we giving to
those around us, and to those who will come after

mm.

r-aT; * ' u-Jl-ut . ~

152

T7.4r^J? FiJOAf BETHLEHEM.

US ? And //o?f are wo giving ? Arc wc giving as
tbcso men did, with eager gencrosit;/, or are we
giving with a tight fist and with a f ' 'htcr heart ?
Are wc seeking that all that goes v».it from us —
thought, words, actions — the thousand minute in-
fluences that cannot be reduced to a class or receive
a name — shall only tend lo purify and elevate ?
Do we feel that wc cannot live to ourselves, and
ought not ? Have wc discovered that the fact that
we are "members one of another" reaches far
deeper into the truth of things than the little
spark of self-consciousness which we call " me,"
and of which we think r;o much ? Of course much
of our influence is unconscious. Men are receiving
from us when we do not know it, nor they either.
But even the unconscious part of our giving
is largely within our control, for it takes its
tone, its colouring, its temperature, so to speak,
from what we think and feel in our habitual state of
mind. Be good, i.e., think and feel according to
goodness, and you can no more help doiwf good
than the sun can help shining, because its very
being is light and heat. So also as to what we
give consciously. It ma}', if we will, grow to be
our chief joy. To these men it was a fur greater
joy tium receiving. So it will be with us when we
are full of love. Then it will matter very little
what wc give. We may give a cup of water to the
thirsty, a flower to one who loves it, and longs for
it, some hidden office of love to a lonely and deso-

WATER FROM BETHLEHEM,

158

late heart. The same is true of receiving. There
is an iiugeneroiis way of receiving, as well as of
giving. Stingy givers are bad enough ; they lower
the pulse of life, they dograde tho energy of
generous feeling. Jiut they arc not half so bad as
ungenerous receivers. I have known them, have
not you ? Men who grasp all favours as their
due — who, as one has said, more emphatically than
elegantly, ** receive their mercies with a grunt."
Some even throw back acts of love and think
nothing of the bitter pain they inllict. There are
wives in our ({uiet homes to-day whose hearts are
half-broken by such slights as these. Some plea-
sant surprise i)lanned for their husband is received
with cool indifference, or with an unappreciative
frown. Or is it never the husband who is so
treated ? Do, I pray you, think of it — the pain of
love thrown back upon itself. IIow many faithful
eyes ache for a kind glance ? h( v many ears listen
in vain for a loving word ?

And is not the same principle true of the highest
things ? We are doers of service, you and 1. We
do service to our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ.
How ? With a loyalty and love like theirs who put
their lives in jeopardy for their Captain and King ?
David is not the only sovereign who has been
splendidly served. Oui own Queen Elizabeth was.
She was surrounded by such men as Raleigh, and
Spenser, Bacon, and Drake. They carried their
lives in their hands for her honour, and found a

I —ii 1 wu ii« 4.x -ia-

«■■

154

WATER FIIOM BETHLEHEM.

rich reward in her smile of approbation. Cromwell
was so served. His presence was an inspiration,
his word of command a trumpet-note of energy.
Even Napoleon, a smaller and less worthy hero,
knew how to make himself beloved and obeyed.
And is not Christ worthy of our loyalty — yea, of
our utmost heroism ? For what is the lovo of
Christ and the service of Christ but the love and
service of all goodness and chivalry, truth and
honour? He asks no strictly personal service.
He receives no crown or robe or costly offering at
our hands. He clothes Himself with the ever-
lasting laws of purity and mercy and truth, and
tells us to embody our loyalty by fulfilling these.
Serve Him faithfully, you who are called by His
name. For you He has more than risked — He has
laid down, His precious life. He has brought us,
not a cup of cold water, but the very health and
life of our souls. How shall we receive the gift ?
Shall we take it as the pleasant song of a tuneful
voice, and then let it die into forgetfulness ? Or
shall we pour out our redeemed souls, as David
poured out the blood-bought water, to spend and
be spent for Him ?

M^'

" Our Master all the work hath iloue,
He asks of us to-day :
Sharing His service, every one
Share too His Sonship may :
Lord, I v^ould serve, and be a son ;
Pisiuiss me not, I pray,"

WAT Eli FliOM BETHLEHEM.

165

One more lesson in closing. We often do the
most useful: things when we are not thinking at all
of usefulness. David poured out this water to the
Lord. Ho was not thinking of use, I suppose, in
any way. It was with him as with the woman
who hroke the alabaster box of ointment and
poured it over the Saviour's feet. The Pharisees
were shocked at the waste. Was it not valuable ?
Could it not have been sold, and the money have
been given to the poor? Even to use it for her-
self, they thought, would have been more rational
than simply to pour it away. But David and the
woman were right, and their critics altogether
wrong. There are uses quite beyond what we
mean by use. Love must manifest itself ; and the
very manifestation is the largest and the truest
good. And if you join the Pharisees, and cry
" What waste ! " I answer, " No, I think not." For
waste is a relative idea : what is wasted for one
purpose may be saved for another. This act of
David's was wasteful as to the quenching of his
thirst. But it did better even for David than in
giving him that temporary refreshment. It
elevated his whole spiritual nature. It brought
him nearer to the God to whom the precious gift
was consecrated. He who knew what it was to be
thirsty for God, who had cried, "As the hart
panteth after the waterbrooks, so panteth my soul
after Thee, God," was refreshed with a draught
of spiritual renewal. The water, had he drunk it.

\ I

15G

WATER FROM BETHLEHEM,

«■

would have left bim to thirst again ; but offered in
sacrifice to God it was in bim " as a well of water,
sprinj^ing up unto everlasting life." Tbe same
is true of wbatever tends to ennoble tbe spiritual
nature, to api)roximate us, in otber words, to "tbe
likeness of Cbrist." " Does it pay ? " you ask.
No, it does not pay, as tbe world counts payment.
You cannot buy love at so mucb a pound, nor
bargain for faitb and nobleness by tbe yard. Yet
in a deeper, truer sense, tbese tbings do pay. For
tbey are tbe very treasures wbicb bavo no relation
to time and space; precious to God; watebed over
by Ilini, "vvbere neitbcr motb nor rust doib cor-
rupt, and wliere tbieves do not break tbrougb and
steal."

For our best tbings belong to God. Because
this water was precious as tbe lives of men, there-
fore David offered it to God. It is not tbe parings
of our time, the refuse of our thought, the over-
plus of our profits, that must bo set apart to Him ;
it is all in our lives which is best and noblest. For
God accepts our sacrifices and values them in
proportion as tbey make us better. A purer faith,
hands quicker unto good, a ripening, mellowing
love, a peace that deepens till it "passeth all
understanding " — this is the purpose of our sacri-
fices, and tbe fulfilment of our Father's Divine
intention. Beloved, " this is tbe will of God con-
cerning you."

t '. I

VIII.

THE VAIilATION OF STliENGTIL

"But they that wait on tho Lord shall renew their
strength ; they shall mount up with wings as eagles ; they
shall run, and not he weary; they shall walk and not
faint."— IsA. xl. 31.

*' TTl VEN the youths shall faint and be weary, and
±J the young men shall utterly fall." So it
was in that old world in which the prophet lived.
If he had lived to-day what would he have said ?
Life was difficult, complicated, anxious, even then.
It required courage to face it rightly, for it was
full of burden and sorrow. Youths in the spring-
tide of energy, young men in the splendour of
opening faculty, felt its heavy weight, so that they
lay weary and broken by the wayside. I suppose
it has been so ever since. We are proud to look
back with longing eyes, and to fancy that the times
past were better than these. We speak of the
leisure and the wisdom of the days that are gone.
But there has, I think, been no time at which the
majority of men have not found it hard to hve, at

THE VARIATION OF STliUNGTII,

fc '■\

which the wise and the leisurely have not heen few
and far hetween. I am disposed to think that
** this time is equal to all time that's past." Pressed
though we are on every side, we have immense
compensations. Life is fuller and larger when we
regard the majority of mankind, and I do not know
that it is much more laborious ; at all events,
the labour is not so servile and degrading.
There is indeed a " bitter cry " of toil and want,
which let us never forget. But there is a large
heart in men to set over against it, and a con-
sciousness of solidarity — of our interest in one
another — such as the world has never before seen.
The youth to-day is born to higher knowledge and
to wider sympathy. The young man, if he fall, is
more likely than of old to be lifted with tenderness
and set on his feet again. Indeed it must he so,
for we live in the nineteenth century after Christ,
and Christ has fulfilled His own promise. If He
has gone away. He has also come again. And the
wider thought of man which we entertain, as well
as our truer care for our fellows, is the manifesta-
tion, the very pulse-beat, of His presence.

But what was the remedy for the weariness that
grows out of the battle of life ? It was the con-
sciousness of the spiritual world. " They that wait
on the Lord shall renew their strength." So that
they shall have no fatal or final discouragement.
Their consciousness of God shall save them, and
that in various ways. By the presence and power

i' I'

THE VARIATION OP STIinNCtTIt.

of God tliey shall renew their strength, when other-
wise they would "faint," or e\ en ** utterly fall."
A great gift is that— to renew our strcnf/th. We do
not sec always that it is our fundamental need.
Wo cry for rest. There are even times when wo
would gladly lay down life itself and sleep in our
quiet graves. But wo mistake our real need. It is
not inactivity. Still less is it death. It is a fresh
quickening, a new inspiration of life. The teacher
who has sung for us more wisdom than almost any
other of our time, says that —

" ' Tis life of wliicli our veins are scant,
More life, and fuller that wo want."

See, then, how this new strength shows itself.

hi a ffcncrom enthusiaam. "They shall mount
up with wings as eagles." The figure is heautiful.
We are told, indeed, that it is not our British
eagle which is the hird here meant, hut the large
white-headed vulture which iuhahited the mountain
ranges and lofty crags of Palestine. But hoth birds
have this quality in common : they lift up their
vast pinions, beating the air with their powerful
wings as they leave their nests and ascend the
skies ; they have a wheeling, spiral method of
flight, rising in the air to lofty mountain elevations,
from whence they may survey the plains beneath.

So also they that wait upon the Lord. They
mount up into the clear sky, they lift up pinions

KiO

THE VATiTATION OF STRENQTIl.

that will enable thorn to mount ; and tlion tlioy
Rot the far-extended vision of Divine as well as
human things. Tlioy see man and God in tlicir
essential (diaractcr aiid true relations. They paze
on the Hun of spiritual truth undaunted, and
gloriously receptive of all His light and warmth.
The eagle —

*' Clasps tho crap; with hookril haiid'^,
Close to tho sun- n loui^lv lauds."

It is great and glorious. But notice, carefully,
that tho strength that mounts up into tho heights
of comprehensive vision and enraptured feeling,
though noble, is not the noblest form of power.
Our text is cumulative— it goes from great to greater.
It is great to " mount up with wings as eagles " ;
it is greater still to " run and not bo weary " ; it is
greatest of all to " walk and not faint." At
first sight it may not seem so, but you will soon see
that it is. For what does this lofty flight mean ?
It means the new vision of the world and life, and
of the character of God, with which we start on our
onward journey, after our strength has been
renewed by waiting on the Lord. There arc such
moments in most men's lives. We call for help,
we look at the past, wo ponder the great truths
that are incarnate in the life of Christ. Sud-
denly the day dawns and the shadows flee away.
All our life to its inmost recesses seems lighted up ;

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TIIR VAlilATION OF STTtENCTII,

ir.i

its mystery hoo-omos intollij^'iblo. Wo mc tlio hand of
Ood, and liciir tlio toiusH of llis tender lovo wlicro
wo never thoupiht to find tliein. Full of responsivn
Rnititndo and joy our bouI riaoa towiirds heaven.
For a httio while, at least, " Wo hco as we are seen,
and know as wo are known." Thank (Jod for it
nil. It is life, hop(% inspiration. Nay, it is neccs-
H.iry somotinies, if wo arc to be saved from actuak
death. It must be with us, as with others, " Sco
God and live." Hut the vision is not all we nocd.
Most of our life ia not, and cannot, bo spent in tho
rapture of tho third heaven. Even Christ had to
come down again from tho mount of transfigura-
tion, and so must we. Tho face of Moses shone; as
ho came from his communion with God, but when
ho took the veil away, it had become like the face
of another man. Make no mistake, my friends ;
tlio eagle's wing is not the highest gift ; the sight
of tho sun is only granted as an inspirati(m for
something nobler still. As Christ on tho cross is
really greater than Christ on tho mount, so the
man who is following Ilim in sorrow and toil is
doing more than the most ecstatic visionary to
purify his own soul and to realize the kingdom of
God. God give you the eagle's wing — God grant
you to be caught up in spirit to heaven, and to hear
words which it is not possible for man to utter ; but
that should only brace your energies for work, and
prepare you to do and daro mighty things amongst
sinning and suffering men.

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TJtE VAIilATlON OF ST HE NO Til.

Here is a swift ohcilicucc. "Thoy Hliall run and
not bo weary." The idea of runninp; BUgt^osts a
perfect willingness, as well as an immodiato re-
duction of command to practice. This comes to
us also by waiting on tho Lord ; it comes tbrough
the lofty visions which are given by tho eagle's
wing. Truth lies at the bottom of til healthy
activity, and activity is admirable just in pro-
portion as the truth from which it springs is
profound and elevating. For tho liighost truths
concern not our thoughts alone, but all our powers —
motional and voluntary, as well as intellectual.
They seize and transfigure our entire being. They
become irresistible impulse as well as material
foi reflection. A man may be mainly a thinker,
but if his thought becomes part of his life it kindles
his activities to a blaze. And this is what tho
world and the Church of to-day are both needing :
men who know how to bring speculation and
insight into tho practical aspects of tho great
problems that meet us on every side. It is applied
knowledge for which the world is thirsting. The
running foot that carries help and love to the
ignorant and vicious; the swift thought that
understands by a flash of intuition what is to bo
done ; the living insight that discerns the connec-
tion between great thoughts and those common
duties in which they are embodied and expressed ; — ■
these are what we need. For never forget that the
true idea of practical Christianity is this — " great

TlIF, VAlilATtON OF ST lit: NO Til.

103

tbouglitfl undcrlyinfT RiniiU diitiosi." 1m not tins tlio
character of CliiiHt ? Was not all the light and
love of (itorniiy in the very smallest of His doeds ?
The tears by the grave of Lazarus, the tender care
over young children, the delicate considerateness
that lie showed for every individual soul lie
mot, — are they not that blessed " running without
weariness," which is more than the noblest vision
of truth, although sustained and guided by its
inspiration ?

Iferr in a ihirHcvcrinif toil. "They shall walk and
not faint." Walking differs from running in that
it is a slower form of movement and springs from
a less impulsive energy. When we are full of the
irrepressible powers of a rejoicing life wo are likely
to run. When we have a long journey to take,
and are compelled to measure our strength against
the toil, walking suits us better. The text implies
that it is this kind of walking of which the writer
thinks — the weary plodding along an almost endless
road, which tests the persistence of every nerve and
muscle of the body. That is a more difficult
achievement than to mount on the strong wings of
the eagle, or to run along the pathway of glad,
rejoicing impulse. It is not in the battle, amid
the sharp notes of the trumpet, the inspiring
commands of the captain, and the shouting of a
thousand voices, that the horse's strength is tried ;
it is in the long, monotonous tread on the dusty
high-road. The same principle holds true in the

104

Tlfl'l VAIUATION OF ST RE^ (I TIL

Bpiritiml life. TIk! rojil trial of clninictcr Ih in tlm
woariiKiHH of daily duty, and CHpccially in tliono
nctioiiH tliat Hccm ho Hnmll and unimportant as to
mako \\H wonder whetlior i\\vy an^vortliy to bocallod
duties at all. We find our true tost, not on tlio
mountain-top of Hpiritual vision, not even when
with willing foot wo run on Honio special errand of
lovo or heroic achievement, but when wo do our
little humble duties as "to-morrow, and to-morrow,
and to-morrow, creeps on its weary pace from day to
day." I doubt whether, when all is scon, the most
illustrious martyrs will prove to be those who camo
even out of the "f,'roat tribulation" of Nero's perse-
cution, — those whose life-blood hissed on the cruel
flame, or whoso living bones were crunched in the
jaws of the lion. Their names are dear to us, and
wo raise the '* costly tomb and marble cenotaph"
to their memories ; but perhaps those eyes that see
everywhere perceive still more heroism in the daily
toil of some faithful husband and loving father,
who for long years has worked with a body racked
by disease and mind distracted by nervous tremor,
to keep his humble home together, to comfort his
wife, to educate his children, and to do his quiet
duty to man and to God. Or the crown of honour
may be placed still more conspicuously on the
brows of some unknown wife and mother, who has
maintained her home in the solitude of an unloved
heart, for the sake of a drunken husband, and
children too young to appreciate the sacrifices by

THE VAIilATION OF STliENQTII.

105

which tlioy arc nanul. I wish I oouM carry a word
of coiiBohition to you, wliocvcr you may ho, wlio
walk the woary path of life, and, for tho nako of
(lod and Christ, do not faint. Vouu}^ man, in
sonio unlovely hnsincsH house, in this «^reat London,
God sees you as you Bpcnd lonely hours and think
with tears you will not shod of your homo far
away. IIo waits to ho mother and father, sister
and hrother to you. If you keep yourself pure,
and quietly do tho duty to wliich lie calls you, it
is not you that do it, hut Christ who dwclieth in
you. That "patient continuanco in well doin;^',"
wliich now looks so monotonous, and seems so un-
noticed, is precious in tho si^ht of God — is, indeed,
the prelude to "glory, honour, immortality, eternal
life " ! Young woman, sitting alone in your attic
room, and wondering whether you will over again
have ahout you the warmth and glow of your
heloved home, what you need is a vision of your
Saviour; and you, too, shall do more than mount
on eagle's wings — you shall walk the lonely road
without fainting, for you shall he strong in the
Lord and in tho power of Ilis life, liolievc me, it
is not for naught that you are called to endure the
cross. It is these unseen and unnoticed trials that
develop and ennohle character. They not only
test, hut make perfect, the life of Christ in the soul.
They may he preparing for you various successes
here, and they are certainly preparing you for the
larger, prouder life beyond.

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THE VARIATION OF STRENGTH.

And so of us all. Our daily pain, our constant
burden, that dull ache which we conceal beneath
our smile of welcome to our friends, our failing
strength, our disappointed hope, are the means
of a development into the true life that never
passes away. To bear them, and to do in loving
acceptance the duties they involve, is our witness,
our martyrdom for Christ. Not a pan» is lost, not
an effort or a sigh, but enters into that vast whole,
which is the result of God's completed plan.

IX.

A SHINING FACE.

"And when Aaron and all the cliildrou of Israel saw
Moses, behold, the skin of his face shone ; and thoy were
afraid to como nigh him." — Exod. xxxiv. JJO.

I IMAGINE it was a beautiful siglit, this shining
face of Moses. He was a man, as we must
believe, of noble and commanding presence. When
he was a child his mother saw that he was very
beautiful—" beautiful to God," as the expressive
Hebrew has it. Mothers are not always impartial
judges ; but in this case, no doubt, she was right.
In our text we have the people, and even Aaron,
overpowered at the majesty of his presence. To
the natural beauty of the man had been added a
spiritual glory, so bright that they could scarcely
bear its radiance. Whence came the shining of
Mosos' face, and what did it mean ? Why did the
people stand in awe of him '? There are several
answers. One is that it was a miracle, and that
we had better not ask any questions about it.
Another answer is ar old sceptical one — that Moses'

108

A SHINING FACE.

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lace tlid not sliiuc at all, but that ho pretended
it shone, in order to make an impression on the
peojdo and ^a'm currency for his laws. Uut this
will not satisfy me ; for it amounts to saying that
this man, who gave the Jews a code of laws that
has lived for thousands of years, was a poor im-
postor, who maintained his authority hy cheating.
But great kings, great lawgivers, groat men, are
not impostors. They leave iiiiposturi! to people
who have nothing better to offer ; they do not need
it themselves. Another view is that tin; I'aee of
INIoses was expressive of excitement tiud exaltation,
so that it seemed to shine — as we speak of a face
blazing with anger or blushing with shame. This
is nearer the mark, yet not quite all the truth
either. The truth is shared, I think, between this
view and the opinion that the shining of Moses'
face was a miracle.

For what is a miracle ? Horaething wonderful or
unusual done by God. But is a miracle, therefore,
unnatural ? Is it contrary to the laws of nature ?
Is it out of all relation to everything we know,
so that we cannot at all understand it? Christ's
wonderful cures were miracles because they were
eifected quickly and at once, and we therefore seem
to see the power of God in them. But is not the
power of God present when a wise and loving
physician cures us ? Does he not do it by the
very same power which dwelt without measure in
Christ '? It seems to me that miracles are not so

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A SHINING FACE.

100

much violations of the laws of nature as these very
laws carried up to a nohler and loftier dcgiec. The
physician works hy what moans? ])y knowkMlge
and by love. And Christ wrou;:^lit by the same
means, only by an infinitely liighcr knowledge and
an infinitely deeper love.

Now, apply this to the shining of Moses' face.
Moses had been on the mount. He had been
there to commune with God — to come into
direct contact with His mind and will. Alone
there, with the silence of the desert around
liim, and the voices of men hushed, he had
meditated u[)0]i God till the spiritual had become
the actual. The thoughts that arose in his heart
were, he felt, not his own. They came as though
spoken in audible words by God. T do not sup-
pose there was a literal voice, but it was to Moses
as though it were so. Is it wonderful that Moses
was carried above his ordinary self"? His whole
nature was elevated into a loftier world. Like
Paul, he heard '' unspeakalde words." They filled
him with reverence and awv, delight and joy. lie
saw the truth; he felt that God had revealed to
him the everlasting law of righteousness. He was
** inspired," as we sny, in the deepest recesses of
his spirit.

New the miracle was in the revelation of God to
Moses. The shining face followed on that as a
necessary conseq lence. Our faces would have
shone if we had been there ; not, perhaps, as

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170

A SHINING FACE.

■I

4/ -;.

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Moses' did, because we are of a poorer and meaner
nature, but as much as they are capable of
shining. Love makes the face shine ; happy
thought makes the face shine ; a word with old
friends makes the face shine. No wonder that
Moses' face shone when he looked upon the Source
of all joy and blessedness and communed with
the Infinite Spirit. A shining face, therefore, is
the appropriate expression of a hapi^y, peaceful,
inspiring religion — a religion full of love to God
and of service to man. To have a shining face is
to live in the presence of God, and to radiate Ilis
blessed influence on those around us. If this is so,
it is a most important acquirement for you and
me. Let us look at it.

And notice what it is that a shining face ex-
presses. If you and I could have looked into the
face of Moses, what should we have seen there ?

A quickened intellUjence. Moses was a man of
genius, as we say. He had a wide sweep of
thought, a keen and vivid insight. It is not easy
to say at this distance of time how much of the
books attributed to him were actually written by
him. We know that they were edited by others
again and again, and probably altered in the
editing. But the mere fact that he has stamped
his name on them shows that he was a man of
vast power. Men do not attribute the best things
in their best books to fools or weaklings. If you
want to know what Moses was, read thnt wonder-

A SHINING FACE.

171

ful thirty- second chapter of Deuteronomy : " My
doctrine shall drop as the rain, my speech shall
distil as the dew," &c. Or read the nineteenth
Psalm : " Lord, Thou hast heen our dwelling-place
in all generations." But this fine intelligence of
Moses was enlarged and quickened beyond mea-
sure when he came into actual relation with God.
He put on a greatness and power not his own.
He went up into the mount Moses ; he came down
Moses still, but filled, as some of us would like to
be, ''with all the fulness of God." Believe me,
there is no (luickeuer of intelligence like com-
munion with God. I have seen a man, poor in
education, dull in expression, ordinary in mind, till
he has awakened to his relation with God ; and
that has meant the awakening of his entire con-
sciousness. You know there is nothing that
stimulates intellect like the contact with other in-
tellects. Education means this : it means the
bringing of the young mind under the influence of
minds that know better and think more powerfully
than they do. If you want to unfold your mind,
get into contact with a nobler mind. A man of
wider sympathies and purer aims enlarges our
souls, as the sunlight and the rain bring out the
blossoms. And surely the Infinite Mind can do as
much for us. He can fill us with light ; ** for God
is light, and in Him is no darkness at all." Men
are telling us now that ws cannot know God.
They have invented a long word for their new theory :

i
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,- lil

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('I

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172

A SHINING FACE.

•II

I ' IK

they call it Agnonticism. And when a man has
talked a little about Agnosticism, and called him-
self an Agnostic, he feels that ho is quite a philo-
sopher.

Meanwhile, my friondK, it rcnuiins true that
ho who communes with his God in secret, as
Moses did, understands all things with a deeper
wisdom. ** The secret of the Lord is with them
that fear Ilim"; and when God tells us His secret,
we find it the key to all other secrets. Not know
God ? Blessed bo Ilis name, it is too late in the
day to tell some of us that ! We have known llini
for ten, twenty, thirty years; and wo are as sure
of Ilim as we are of friend and brother, of wife and
child. That lie is, and that He is Lore, we know ;
and that knowledge puts all other knowledge in
a new and blessed light. It quickens our know-
ledge of nature till the world glistens in the light
of it. The stars that gem the midnight sky, the
flowers that spring in our pathway, the forest
sanctuary, and tlie great and wide sea, all speak
to us of the briglitncps and beauty of God, and
their own interest is increased thereby a thousand-
fold. It quickens our knowledge of man too.
What a (liX'ary waste would human life and liis-
tory be if there were no wisdom and no love over it
all ! Take away the Fatherly eyu that watclics uh,
that guides us, that looks lovingly down upon us,
and you take away the very meaning of life. If
you shut out God, you yhut out truth and

A STUNT NC FACE.

173

righteousness and hope, and take the signilicanco
from existence. For what is truth hut the thouglit
of God ? what is ri^litoousncss hut the will of
God? what is Jiopo hut our conlidence that l>ivino
love and wisdom will hring all right at last ?

" God's in His boavon ; rITh right witli tlio world,"

as llohcrt Browning makes his littlo peasant-girl
sing. Ho far from Agnosticism raising us in tho
scale of creation, it is the knowledge of Ilim that
gives life and meaning to all other knowledge.
Science without God is a mere rattle of dry hones ;
history is a mournful drama without plot or pur-
pose; poetry and literature are the meaningless
amusements of men doomed to speedy extinction ;
the world is a jumhlo of atoms, aimlessly hrought
together : and man liimself a ghastly riddle, with
no key or solution. Go up into the mount of God,
my hrother, for light and truth and wisdom ; for
if you would have the radiance of knowledge in
your eyes, you must have the inspiration of God in
your heart.

This is true also of the lesser facts of lifo. Wo
shall understand them if wo know God- -and only
then. If our lives are ordered for us by Jlim,
there is still mystery, hut tlure is no contradic-
tion. The joys and sorrows of every day — its work,
its rest, its success and failure, its annoyance and
gratification, are each part of the " all thin/^s that
work together for good." To the man who com-

ill!

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174

A SHINING FACn.

mnnos with God, tlio will of liifi Heavenly Father
constitutes a suflicicnt theory of life. What I do
not know, God knows, and IIo will reveal all ncjed-
ful truth to me, as 1 am al)le to hear it.

A Hhininfi face rcradh also an awakened eonncicnce,
as well as a quickened intclliffence. Faces shine with
goodness as well as with knowledge. Indeed that
is the softest and sweetest radiance of all. It is,
of course, a benign and cheerful goodness that
shines. I suppose Moses when he came down
from the mount was full of joy. He had stood
face to face with the fountain of all joy and
goodness. And we, if we are awakened to Him,
ought to have our whole nature transfigured with
joy. " Rejoice in the Lord alv/ay," says the
Apostle, and, as if he could not be too emphatic,
he repeats, " Again I say rejoice." We think of
an awakened conscience as though it were an
element of dread. But why should it be so ? Is
not God's righteousness a glorious fact — the very
hope and salvation of the world ? For it is a loving
righteousness, a redemptive righteousness, delight-
ing not in condemnation, hut in forgiveness ; a
righteousness which is embodied in Christ, and
therefore is on our side, and not against us at
all. A Christian man should be a fountain of joy
to all about him.

" Wlion one who holds "ommunion with the skies
Has filled his urn where those pure waters rise,
Descends and dwells amongst us meaner things,
It is as if an angel shook his wings."

A SHI NINO FACK.

Let US awfty with a pjlooin^-, sonr-faccd typo of
piety. It has frozen the hiids of lioliness in
thousands of younfj souls. And, on the otlier
hand, a quiet, loving, cheerful {^'oodness is movo
likely to make others f,'ood than a hundred
sermons. Wo want a sweeter, more attractive
goodness amongst us. We want less of fault-find-
ing, and more of the love " that hopeth all things,
and holiovcth all things." Anybody can find iault.
It is the cheapest and poorest kind of criticism.
It requires a far keener and truer eye to discern
excellencies than it does to find defects. It would
be a good thing for us all if we admired each other
more ; we should love each other better, and grow
in goodness and graciousness more rapidly.

Think of Christ, I pray you, who would not even
** break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking
flax," but went about everywhere raising up the
fallen, supporting the weak, and redeeming the
lost. Imagine St. John, the apostle of love, sitting
in the midst of a select coterie and amusing him-
self by picking out the defects in his neighbours,
holding them up to ridicule and scorn, or, still
worse, magnifying their sins and actual wrong-
doing ! Oh, beloved, a harsh word has often
ruined a soul ! The hcst men are gentle, chari-
table, easy to be entreated, long-suffering, kind.
They carry with them a hopeful, shining face. It
is not the sullen sky, racked with angry clouds,
that gives life ; it is the kiss of the morning sun

170

A sinNrNd FAcn.

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I !

tliiit awiiUeiiH tlio binlH to tlioii' Bong and tlio
flowcrft to tlicii' l)oaiity. And a man nmy well
look ladiiint wlio hw.h tlio beauty of liolincsB.
K(!op near, tlion, to Christ. Soo liow {^rand IIo
is; l{!t "Jfis /^'cnikncHs ixiakc you f^reat ; " and
your iaco will filiino with so Bweot and inspiring a
radiance that othor mon ^Yill feel its power and
will bo drawn to Ilim too.

A sli'm'nuj [<(('(• means aUn a iircat lort'. Nothing
is like lovo to make tho face shine. " We needs
must lovo the highest when wo see it," and Moses
saw tho highest. His face shone with brightness
because his heart glowed with lovo. What a power
a lovo like that would have to elevate and inspire
our lives also. Nothing short of love can do it.
Love is tho greatest propelling power that actuates
all forms of human greatness. What carried
martyrs to the stake? Lovo for a great cause.
What makes a man die in battle, and never feel
tho pain? Lovo to his country. One of tho
sweetest words in history is that which tells us
how Jacob served for Pachel seven years, ** and
they seemed to him but a few days," for the lovo
ho bore her. That story goes very deep. It shows
how love can so inspire a man as to turn pain into
pleasure. They say, and I believe them, that
many of tho martyrs felt no pain. A mighty lovo
for Christ was what they felt, and it overpowered
every other emotion. So it would bo with us if wo
could love Him thus ; duty would become inspira-

A SillNINd FACE.

177

tioii, and wo elioiild siilTcr joyfully. Tliuro iH ii
world of power in tlic! Apostlo's word^ : *' J^'or 77///
Baku wo arc killed all tliu day long." iionionibcr
wljjtt Tonny.son Huys of tbo soldior'a wife -

"Thy vuico ia licjiid lliroiigli rolliiit,' ihiuiis,
Tluil I)i!iil to biililo whuro liu Hliiiidd ;
'i'liy fiu'o iicntss his fancy cmiiuH,
And •rivuu the butllu tu his huiul.s.

I!i

" A moiuout, whilo tho triuuiiuts blow,
llo Kccs his brood iibout tiiy kiit'u ;
Tlic next, Hk(> fire he imoiIh the foe,
And strikes liim dead for thiiio and IIk'c

•' ^Fany waters cainiot qucmcli love," says that
HWCet love-poem, the Song of Solomon. Mven of
human love this is true ; and, depend ui»ou it, the
love of man for God is a power not less mighty.
It is mighty in the man himself. It lifts him
above the sordid cares of life. His gaze is upward
instead of downward, till ho becomes like Ilim
upon whom he looks. And it is mighty over
others. J)o you desire to spread the glorious
llame? Do you wish your fricaids to love Ilim?
Would you gladly see your children growing up in
that lov(s breathing it as they breathe tho frag-
rant air of the spring- time ? Then lot your own
face shine with it. Let it radiate from your whole
being. Make those about you feel how dear God

is to you, and He will become tk »• to them. A

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A SlIir^ING FACE.

! i

peaceful, radiant piety is the best and purebt
means of doing good, iielievo me, there is no
way of (louKf good half so elTectivo as hcimi good ;
and goodness is like living seed — it grows wherever
it falls, it strikes its roots in every soil, and it
bears fruit, too, " thirty, sixty and a hundred-
fold."

But some one may ask me, " How is this higher
and quickened life produced? If a shining face
means a quickened life, how are we to get the
quickening ? "

Our text gives or implies the answer. We are
to get it as Moses did, by contact with God. The
passage says that it came while he talked with
God. A better translation is, " thioiKjU his talking
with Him." It is the touch of the infinite and
perfect Spirit that gives the lesser and finite spirit
new life. Can we get such a touch ? Will God
look on us as He looked on Moses ? Assuredly He
will. He is not only life in Himself, but the
fountain of life to others. It is His delight to
give, and to give this very thing — His own energy
and power. Our sorrow and our defect is our
lifelessness. We have just life enough to feel that
we are dead, as compared with what we might be.
And yet that very sense of impotence, if we use
it rightly, is our truest blessing. It is the voice
of God in our souls, crying to us to come to Him
that He may give us life. Oh, dull, weary faces,
in which there is no light, go up into the piount

A SJIINING FACK.

171)

of communion, I pray you, and you Bhiill return
transfigured and shining, with a Uistrc not your
own, but radiant with thu light and inspiration of
God!

THEOLOGICAL.

til

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TlTI': CREED OF Tllh: AdSOSriC.

'• Yo worslilp yo know not what." {Authorized Version.)
" Ye worship that which yo know not." {Revised Version.)

— John iv. 2*2.

rpiIESE are words of Christ to the woman of
i Samaria. They sound a little liarsh as wo
first listen to tbem. J3ut, as always with Christ, the
harshness is only on the surface— there is an
infinite depth of pity and tenderness beneath.
Christ wants to draw this woman away from a poor,
narrow idea of God to a larger and more living
conception. He wants to draw her from the notion
of one who had done nothing for men to the belief
in Him who had revealed Himself as a Saviour.
*'The salvation" — not, observe, salvation in
general, as though only Jews could be saved,
but the salvation, the salvation of all men every-
where—is of or from the Jews. It is promised to
them, and springs from them. They therefore
worship a God whom they know— whom they know
as forgiveness, love, deliverance ; whom they know

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IHI

TIfp: CUERI) o/' THE AONOSTfr.

!iM tlio l^'atlicr 5X11(1 I'^iiond of ihoin nnd of fill men.
Not HO tlio Samiiritaiis. To tliom (lod waH a Romc-
wliat indilTercnt and diHiant J>oinp;, holding; no
liviiif;; relation towards tlicm. He waa a morn
product of abstract tliouglil, without any true
Rignificance. Clirist intiiiiates tliis by tlic^ word
Tie uses : "Ye worship yo know not hIkiI,'" or " that
wliieh yo know not." " What " is neuter, and
"that" has the same implication, designating^
something without what we call perscmality — with-
out a mind to think, or a will to guide, or a heart
to love — a formless, indefinite, slniJ! . " uncertainty,
whicli can satisfy no man's intellect, and in which
no man can find rest for his soul. Christ calls her
away from that to the true and eternal G^d.

Now it is in just a similar position that we find
those who to-day are called Agnostics. Agnostic
means one who does not know. It is from A , not,
and (jnosikofi, one who is capable of knowing.
The creed of the Agnostic may bo stated in a few
words. He says that God cannot be known. Ho
dare not deny that there is a First Being, one from
whom all others spring. He says it may bo so —
nay, it seems to him it must be so. But he declares
we do not and cannot know anything .about such a
Being except the bare fact that He, or rather it,
exists. We have no faculties by which we can
understand any attributes or qualities which He
may possess. Is He, or it, infinite ? We cannot
grasp infinity. Is it eternal? We are over-

Till': ciii'iiw or TUE A(inostic.

iMfi

t \

wliolmod jind confoundod by tlic baro notion of
ctnrnity. Ih it morally pood ? Tliciri! in no moaning
in Hayinp; ao of any but a limiiod and linit(! being
liko ourscdvoM, ono wlio ciin coiiki into dcrniito
relations witli otlicr beings also finite! and limited.
In abort, wc know notbin;^ of tbc l*'irst ]>eing, except
tbat tberc is onc^, and tbat lie ia tbo underlyinfj;
canso and reality of tlu; universe. I believe tbat
to be a just description of tbc Agnostic's creed.
He is not an atbeist. lie does not say tbero is no
God. IIo feels tbat sucli an assertion is a perilous
and tremendous negative. As Foster said, it would
require a man to travel all over tbo universe and
examine everytbiug in it to be sure it did not
contain tbe evidence of a God. I3ut a man may say,
" I do not know," and it may appear only a modest,
and almost a reverent, attitude, a paticsnt waiting
for evidence, appropriate to tbe condition of a
mortal, and corresponding to tlu^ narrowness of bis
powers.

Let me say also tbat as tbo Agnostic does not
believe in God, be bas no bopc for tbo future.
Deatli is to bim tbe final end of man.

Now, I am not about to enter on a pbilosopbical
argument witb tbe Agnostic. Tbat can be done,
and, as I believe, done conclusively. Tbe pbilo-
sopby of Agnosticism is not a profound pbilosopby.
Tbe great minds of all tbe ages are against it. Plato
knew it and rejected it. Socrates tbougbt it wortby
only of children and savages. Aristotle confuted

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Till-: ('iti:i:D or the AaNosTW.

it in detail. And in modern timoa tlie Rrrat men
Imv^ l)0(Mi aj^fainst it too. Locko and liorkoley,
Keid and Stewait, DoFoartos and >ralel)ranclio,
Kant a,nd l"'i(dito, Sidiellinj^ and Ifepjol liavo all llinij;
it away, it owoh its pn^sont populiirity mainly to
one name — tliat of Mr. IIcrl)ort Sponcor. I do not
deny — of course I do not — tliat Mr. Spencer is an
able, and even a great man. IJut many a great
man has held a poor and shallow philosophy. I
say it respectfully, l)ut 1 say it firmly, that it is
not as a philosopher that INIr. Spencer appears to
me to he great. lie has a brilliant scientific
imagination, and a most impressive literary style.
He is, moreover, a master of cogent statement, and
of the forms of logical debate ; but as a philo-
sopher he is not in the first rank. He is only
just now the fashion, which is quite a difYercnt
thing. Twenty years ago Carlyle was the fashion ;
now he is almost underrated. Ten years ago Mr.
Mill was the fashion ; now his reputation, like an
old coat, is a little out at elbows. And the day
will come when Mr. Spencer will be more calmly
judged; perhaps— such is the oddity of human
caprice — when he will be rated at less than his real
worth. Of course I do not desire that. I only
desire that those who listen to me now should not
be dazzled by the glamour of a celebrated name.
Give it its due, but keep the balance of your own
judgment. Be of the mind of the old Greek
thinker who said, when some one was trying to

Tin-: (HEED <>E THE AdxosTir.

1H7

quote liim down willi I'l.ito, " Plaio is my frioud,
l)Ut truth is iur)r(' so still."

Poo[)lo will come to soo soiuo rlny tliat if I Oiin
know that fiomotliin<:j oxiats, and thnl it is a rauso,
I may als > know much more about it. Mxistcnec
and causation arc human idoas, and if they np[)ly
to it there is no conceivable reason why other
idoas sliouhl not apply to it also. If 1 know that
anything exists, and is a cause, 1 may also know it
as good, and vile, and mij^hty, if it really bo so.
It is a question of evidence — that, and only that.
And the evidence for a good and holy God is large
and rich. I admit that it is not sunh as to forrr
belief. A man may, if he will, reject it. But
meanwhile it is abundant. It is in the outward
world. " The heavens declare the glory of God, and
the firmament showcth Ilis handiwork." It is here,
too, in our own conscience. Our conscience is the
voice of God ; it speaks, not in its own name, but
in the name of eternal righteousness and truth.
It is in all history too. History is the long record
of the righteous rulership of God in the world. It
is the living proof that there is a Judge and a Ruler
who is determined to overthrow falsehood and folly,
tyranny and vice, and to give the victory to justice
and truth, integrity and purity. The motto which
might be written on the scroll of history is the
terrible sentence of Scripture, " lie sure your sin
will find you out." It is one long witness to the
steady rulership of God — a rulership gentle and

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77//; I'ltKih OF Tin: y\(is<>sric.

'MY

tender indeed, l)ui stroiif]; mid firm, " forp;ivinft
iniquity, tranflRrcKsion, and ain, Itut l>y no meiins
f'leariiip; tlio p^nilty."

J)iit I ani ]i()t attempting' to nniiif witli tlio
Aj^mostic. I am willing enoiip;li to do po, j^iven tlio
proper time and [)lace. At present, liowever, I
want to look nt liis position as a crrrtl, A ereed is a
belief by wbicli a man proposeH to live and die.
It oilers itHell' an a basis of true tliinkin<,s ri;^dit
acting, and healthy fooling. It says, " Lelicvo as I
teach you, do as I tell you, guide your feelin«^'S into
the directions I point out to you, and your life shall
bo noblo and good — at the very least it shall be as
pure and satisfactory as, in an imperfect state like
this, human life can be made." Now it is as a
creed that I criticize the Agnostic's belief. lie
gives me nothing to lir<' by, nothing to /ror/, for,
nothing to die by. He takes all the dignity and
worth out of life, and leaves it a poor, senseless
enigma. Soo how this is true.

I. The Agnostic creed gives us no moral haa'ia for
our life. Or course I do not mean that every
Agnostic is an immoral man. So far is that from
being true, that some of them arc among the
noblest men I know. But they are so by some-
thing like an inconsistency. For there is no ultimate
reason, no basis in the Agnostic creed on which
a noble moral life reposes. If there is a God who
is good and righteous, if my conscience is a ray of
light derived from Him, if the universe is bui?" by

TIIIC CliEKl) OF Till) ACNOSTW.

1H9

u iI'^litoniiH (irxl on unclianRCiil)lo principK'S of

justice! ami tiiilli, thuii tlicro is a clear and Hullicient

I'vtmni for my doin;^' all I can to l)econio a riglitoouu

man. I am, in fact, a "fool " if I do not. For I

am iij^litin*,' against all the luw.s of creation, a<,'ainHt

tlio dcoi)OKt and most i)ermant'ut forces of tlio

world, if 1 oppose myself to righteousness. 1 am

on one side — the whole sweep and tendency of

things is on the other. 1 am viohiting my own

nature and the nature of everything else. I am

simply an clement of disorder and chaos, opposing

my feehle, foolish will to the liarmony and heauty

of God's glorious world. lUit if tlie i)ower that

made the world is — I know not what — if it is not

good, or just, or righteous, but only a l)lind, deaf,

unthinking, unfeeling force, with no more mind

than a pull" of steam, and no more conscience than

a winter storm, why should 1 bo a good man ^

Where is the basis for goodness? Oh, you say,

think of the good of others— you should 1)C good

for thciir sakes ! Well, yes; but again, uhii ! If

tho good of others is committed to my care by the

law of my nature, you speak rcusonaldy ; but then

the power that laid that law upon me must be a

power that kiu'ir what it was doing, if it has any

claim to moral ol)edicnce. Think of it, I pray you,

think it out to the bottom. It is not, I say, a

possible thing that conscience should be a more

l)rejudice, that goodness should be a whim and a

crotchet ; and yet, if that be not true, the law that

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THE CUE ED OF THE AGNOSTIC,

h'\

conscience reveals viufit be the law, not of an
unthinking force, but of an intelligent and righ-
teous God. It is of no use to tell me that society
is the laNvgiver. Society ! Who gave society a
right over you and me ? If it has a right, and no
doubt it has, that right must repose on some law
of nature ; it must spring from the Power thai made
not only me, but society also. Society is no ulti-
mate source of authority. What has society that
it did not receive ? Push your question back, and
back, and back, and you come to this — either there
is no basis for the moral life at all, or that basis is
laid, firm and strong, in the eternal and unalterable
character of the great First Cause, the just and
righteous God. Now I say that it is a fatal objec-
tion to Agnosticism as a creed. Young men, I speak
to you. Your first business is to lice, not to argue, or
to speculate ; to he, not to talk. And, if you are to
Jive, you must have some view of the world and of
life which will form a foundation on which you may
build, a starting-point from which you may set out.
The gospel gives you one. It gives you the
infinite and holy God for your Father, the sacred
and i)erfect Christ for your Saviour and your
Friend. You will not find life an easy process.
You will be racked with anxiety, torn by conflicting
passions, and sometimes so fiercely tempted that your
integrity and your whole moral life will be toppling
on the verge of the precipice of ruin. I offer you
a creed to live by. It will make you strong if you

THE CUE EI) OF THE AdNOSTIC.

11)1

really beliovo it. It has carried thousands over
to victory, and those the best and nol)leHt souls in
all the past. Agnosticism is no such creed. The
bottom is out of it, before it bej^ins. Take the
better and the nobler. You are surely safe in
doin<,' so. For that which is good and pure and
noble must he also true.

II. Again, Agnosticism gives no account of the
meaning and rational purpose of human life. Why
are you and I here ? What is the purpose for
wliich we were born ? What is the design of our
advent into tbo world > What is the end which we
are to pursue, which it is wise and good to seek ?
If we can answer these questions we shall in part,
at least, unriddle the mystery of the life within
and around us. We shall know why we suffer so
much, why we are tempted by evil, why we fall,
why wo are permitted to taste the bitter conse-
quences of our own folly and self-will. The gospel
does reply to these inquiries of our souls. It tells
us, to quote venerable words, that the reason and
purpose of our being here is that we may " glorify
God and enjoy Him for ever." It cries as Augustine
does, " God, Thou hast made us for Thyself, and
our hearts are restless till they lind rest in Thee."
It tolls us that all our suffering and pain, all
our weakness and want, nay, our very sin itself, is
permitted that we may learn the evil of evil, and
the good of good, and so grow up into Christ, and
God, and holiness. That idea of a special purpose

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THE CREED OF THE AGNOSTIC,

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under and around our life, a Divine leading and
teaching, ever watchful, ever loving, ever hringing
light out of darkness and good out of evil, is the
profound and satisfactory solution of the sorrow
and the mystery through which we pass. What
matter suffering if there is an end and a purpose —
a glorious end and a Divine purpose in what we
suffer ? What matter mystery if the mystery is
ahout to hurst and disclose the splendour of perfect
knowledge and completed goodness ? I am a child
at school. The lesspn may he hard and the flogging
severe— hut the result is worth it all. But what
docs Agnosticism say to all this ? It tells me that
these questions which my spirit asks can have no
answer. Why am I here *? why do I suffer ? why
is my progress so slow, and wisdom so long in
coming? There is no ichi/, says Agnosticism. Human
life has no purpose, no meaning, no result. It is a
wave on the sea, a huhhle on the fountain, a mist
in the air, hero to-day and gone to-morrow, leaving
no result behind. You suffer because you cannot
help it — no good result comes out of it. You strive,
and fail, am] there is no eye to pity and no arm to
save. That is the gospel of Agnosticism ! Is it a
creed for a man, I ask you, or is it not rather a
creed for a heartless savage, or an unthinking
animal '? Can you and I — creatures with memory
and hope — live by that ? Or is it not rather a
combination of heart-breaking tragedy and be-
wildering confusion? What value is there in a

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THE CUE ED OF THE AGNOSTIC.

103

creed wliicli leaves iinaTiSwered all the deepest and
loftiest questions of life — all the questions indeed
which we really care to ask.

'* Oh ! somewhere, somewhere God nukuown,
Exist aud be ;
I am dyinf,' ; I am all alone ;
I must have Thee I "

will still he the cry of the human soul in the midst
of the mystery of life.

III. Agnosticism, too, leaves us without hope for
the future of the human race. It is strange tliat
this should he so, for no word will he found so
frequently on the lips of an Agnostic as the word
progress. He is always talking of the progress of
the world, and pointing to the glories of a future
when all religion, or, as he calls it, superstition,
shall be overthrown, and science shall have con-
verted the earth into a paradise of comfort and
convenience. But on what is his hope founded ?
Oh, he answers, on the analogy of the past. Man
has made progress, and I therefore believe he will
do so still. But wait a moment, my friend. If
there is no reason, no love, no providence in the
government of the universe, if it is all blind and
without intelligence, ichy should things continue to
grow better ? Why should they not cease by some
sudden catastrophe? Why, for example, should
not the earth meet suddenly some dark planet
wandering through space and dash to pieces against

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194

TIIH CUE ED OF THE AGNOSTIC.

it? Or, again, wli}' should not the progress of
man cuhiiinato now, or next year, and then begin
to decline, till misery and barbarism return and
become universal? To do them justice, some of
our Agnostics feel the force of this reasoning, and
think it likely that something of the kind will
actually take place. Dr. Mandsley, for instance,
thinks the earth will grow cold at the centre, till it
becomes all but uninhabitable, and only a few
half-frozen, shivering men, without hair and without
teeth, will huddle together in the region near the
equator. At last even they will perish, and the
earth will swing, a lifeless, icy mass, round the
deserted sun. This is the gospel of Agnosticism as
to thj future of the world. Not much there to kindle
enthusiasm ! No strong stimulus in that to
sustain our faith and hope as we work for the
future of our oppressed and sorrowing world ! No,
sirs, I tell you that is no creed to make men brave
and strong.

Now, open the Bible. What is this that falls on
our ears, this sweet music of prophetic song, old,
yet ever new ? Listen : ** And it shall come to
pass, in the last days, that the mountain of the
Lord's house shall be established in the top of the
mountains, and shall be exalted above the hills, and
all nations shall flow unto it. . . . And (the Lord)
shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke
many people, and they shall beat their swords into
ploughshares and their spears into pruning-hooks,

THE CREED OF THE AQNOiSTlC.

1U5

nation sLall not lift up SAvoid against nation, neither
bball tliey learn war any more." Do you tell me
that even the Bible speaks of an end to the earth
and a final close of human history ? I know it
does. But the Bible also speaks of meaning and
purpose in it all. It speaks of a day when God
shall gather out of His kin^'dom all that worketh
abomination and maketh a lie, when He shall give
the kingdom to His righteous Son. Still more.
The view of the Bible is not bounded, as that of
the Agnostic is, by this present world. It looks
beyond the grave. Though the earth pass away,
though the heavens disappear, though the material
universe be no more, there is, if the Bible be true,
" A new heaven and a new earth wherein dwelleth
righteousness." Our view, therefore, is not closed
in by earth and time, it expands into eternity.
There is a future for man. There is a future for
you — for us all.

Thus you have before you the two creeds— the creed
of the Agnostic, the hope of the Christian. Which
will you chooije? Will you live a ''know-nothing"
in all that it really concerns man to know ? Or
will you grasp the nobler faith and trust the larger
hope ? Will you turn in earnest to Christ, and
walk by the light of His gospel, and so lay up for
yourself a boundless treasure in Him ? That, as
I cannot but think, is the wiser part ; yes, and the
truer part as well. He who believes in Christ with
all his heart, so as to live in consistency with his

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THE CUE ED OF THE AGNOSTIC.

ill

belief, has built bis bouse upon tbc rock. I know
tbere are clouds of doubt around our generation.
I know there are storms of unbelief beating on
many an honest and honourable mind. Yet I am
not doubtful of the result. " The rain descended,
and the winds blew, and beat upon that house ; and
it fell not, for it was founded upon a rock."

h I*
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II.

THEOLOGY AND RELIGION.

" Canst tliou by searching find out God ? "—Job xi. 7.
" I had heard of Thee by the liearing of the ear, but now
mine eye seeth Thee."— Job xhi. 0.

THESE two verses tell us very much of the
relation between Theology and Religion. The
first, though taken from a speech of Zoi^har, who
was on the whole mistaken, yet hints at a truth
both obvious and profound. The second is the
cry of the delivered spirit who sees God face to
face and lives. The first expresses real yet im-
perfect knowledge of Theology; the second, the
triumphant experience of Religion. Both know, but
they know in different ways. Both are good, but
the second only is essential.

Theology is the knowledge of God. It is a word
constructed like many other words with which we
are now familiar. It ends in the syllable " ology/»
which is the common designation of a science.
Ge-ology is the science of the earth ; Bi-ology is

198

TUKOLOOY AND IIKLIQION,

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the Bcionce of living creatures ; Pliysi-olo^^y is the
science of the processes which go on in the borlies
of plants and animals. Theology is the science or
knowledge of God.

But a certain school of modern thought asserts
that Theology is impossible. It says that we can
have no knowledge of God at all ; certainly none
of a scientific character. It tells us, in the dis-
tasteful words of Comte, that the "heavens declare
no other glory than the glory of Kepler and
Newton," and that the telescope sweeps the
heavens, and the microscope penetrates the inti-
mate structure of natural objects, and neither of
them finds a God. Science, we are told, allows
us to conceive of many other ways in which the
universe may have originated besides those of
intelligence and design. In fact, a group of
thinkers and writers, by no means small, says
No to us when we say that we find God in all
things, and are able to trace the indications of His
skill and of the methods by which He works.

And yet even this school of teachers does not
propose to abolish religion. Theology is to go ;
but religion is to remain. Nay, more ; there are
some who say that when we have no Theology our
religion will be better and more elevating than
ever. If we did not live in a time when it is
no longer possible to surprise us, we should ba
astonished at such a proposition. But there are
actually men who think that a world — or rather the

THEOLOGY AXl) liKLJQION.

lUO

unknown force that created it — witliout thon^'ht,
without love, without will, without any nohle
quality of which we can form even a hare con-
ception, forniR a more appro))riat(' ohjiict of
reverence and devotion than our Father which is
in heaven. They propose to retain relip;ion after
they have dethroned (iod. As well try to hreathe
in a vacuum, or t(; liy without winj]js. So common
sense seems to say ; so experience also in part
declares. And yet, while we reject their theory,
let us think charitahly of the writers. They have
denied God in words, hut they have honoured Him
in fact. They have heen hetter than their meagre
creed. They have unconsciously invested the hlind
force they worshipped with the love and pity of
God ; or have taken up the human race to which
they were devoted into an ideal humanity like that
of Christ. In other words, heing good and nohle
men, they could not put away the Deity whom
their hearts loved, even when their philosophy
hade them, any more than men can sweep away
the sea or extinguish the light of the sun.

This strange position, however, starts the queS"
tion, What is the relation of Theology to Religion ?
Are they the same ? Or, if different, are they of
equal importance ? How are we to use them for
the elevation of our character and the guidance
of our life ? Of course I cannot exhaust so vast a
subject now. I can only indicate some starting-
points of thought — seeds that may grow if you

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TllKULUin' AM) UJCLialON.

lit ' t

water tlicm by quiet tliou^'lit, and warm tlio air
around tliem by trustful prayer. Do ho, my
younpjor frienda. I ahmc cannot bclp you ; I can
only liolp you to lielp yourselves. Notice, tlien —

I. Tlieolop;y is necessary to religion as an em-
bodiment is to life. Tlieology we bave defined as
tbe knowledge of God. Religion we may also
define, tbougli it is never easy to put tbe greatest
powers and influences of our being into a form of
words. It will, bowever, be enougb for our pur-
pose now if we say tbat religion is made up of
reverence, admiration, and love. To worsbip is to
admire and to love, and to bave tbe reverence tbat
makes us willing to obey. Now it is clear tbat we
can only admire and love on tbe basis of some
degree of knowledge. Let me know noihing of one
of tbe beroes of bistory, and I sball be quite
indiiYerent to bim. It may be true tbat religion
is mainly emotion, so tbat love, passionate admira-
tion, and tbe perfect obedience tbat cries, " Fatber,
not my will but Tbine be done," are the soul of it ;
it is still true tbat tbese feelings must be set in
some framework of knowledge, or tbe;o is notbing
to call tbem fortli. In fact, we cannot divide tbe
functions and activities of our nature absolutely.
Tbere is knowledge in all emotion, and emotion in
almost all knowledge. Tbey bave a vital connec-
tion, like tbe body and tbe soul. Knowledge pro-
duces feeling, and thus feeling increases knowledge.
It is love tbat opens the eyes to see good qualities,

THEOLOGY AND HFTJaiOX.

201

but it Ih tlu! presence of i\w. >^nod (umlities thiit
ldn(lI"H and incruases love.

Notice, however, tlmt in tlie I'eli^^lonsi life kiiow-
lecl«,'0 holds the sul)oriliniite place. Theolonry in of
value only as the cause or condition of reli;^ion.
The essential thinj^ is tlie life of our will and
iilfccLions ; and the kind of knowledge we need is
such only as elevates and intensilies these. Thoolo;»y
■can never 1)0 any more than a means to religion as
an end. Take careful )iotice of what I am saying',
for it is just here that some of the greatest
mistakes have heen made. Theology has been
cultivated for its own sake. It has been used as
in itself an interesting occupation of the human
intellect. It has ceased to be a servant, and stolen
the robe and crown of a queen. And so it has
forgotten its place. Two consequences have followed
— it has grown tyrannical, and it has grown help-
less. Tyrannical — for it has restrained the thoughts
of men and lowered their lives. Think of Bunyan's
giant Pope sitting in his cave and mumbling at
the pilgrims whom he can no longer burn or
imprison. Think of good men and godly women
pining in gaols, or burned in the midst of the
l)ublic market. The old lloman poet Lucretius
saw the tyrannical tendency of Theology when she
forgets her proper place, and turned from her with
di>^gust. Helpless, too, is an encroaching Theology,
for she raises questions that no man can answer.
She asks concerning God what she can never know.

1 i.

'101

THEOLOdY AND HEUGJON.

\y II

Mi-
ll!

Wlijii JH tlie CHHcnrc of (lod "^ Tell luo the esflciioo
of a star or a Btono and I will ariHwor von. What
is the manner of God's exifitenco ? I do not know,
nor do you ; and the i)rofonndnRi philosophor is
as i^Miorant an wo. The one tiling, the only one,
which wo can know of God, and nt the same time
the only one that wo need to know, is Ilis chnrnctcr.
Ho unites perfect love with infinite power and
ahsolute wisdom. Know that, and see His love
and wisdom in the face of .Jesus Christ. Trace
them in your own lives. Feel them speakinij; in
your hearts. The knowledge of God we need
is such a knowledge as is given in experience.
That knowledge is of His character, His mighty
love that conquers our sin and extirpates all
evil.

It lights up history in the story of the Cross. It
gives us the assurance that we are not alone in a
world where sin and sorrow are so intertwined with
life that we look in vain for an explanation and a
hope. Rest there, my brother. The hope is in
Christ, in the fact that He reveals and interprets
the heart of God. And the explanation will come
when all things yield up their secret in the clear
light of the final day.

n. Theology is less than religion. Our know-
ledge is less than our love and trust. Knowledge
is always less than its objects. All science is so.
Astronomy does not know all about the sun and
the stars, and, it is safe to say, never will. Physi-

THEOLOGY AND liKLIGION.

20:»

olojiy knows not mon; tliiin a fra;^'mrnt of tlu»
mysterious Rathoriti;^' and bnlancc of forccH tliiit
make up tho Hfo of tlu^ Ixxly. Tliere is not tlio
smallest thinrj in nature that is cxliaustively
known. It is not wonderful, therefore, that (lod
is more than wc know of Him. And hoeausc w'^
are conseious that our knowlcd«j;e can never measure
God in any of His pjreat (jualities, therefore our
love and trust outrun our knowlcd{:»o ; our r("li<^ion
outrunR our theolo{:fy. Even in human relations
this is true. Husband and wife ensphere each
other in a halo of love and trust without waitinjjf
for complete knowlodj^e. Oh, you are a poor, pitiful
Boul if your love does not " trust where it cannot
trace " ! For, see, if you do not trust on a little
knowledj^e you will never j^ct any more. I can
never show my true self to any one who does not
already love me, nor can you. It is w .en God and
His Christ are taken on credit, as it were, that
they unfold tho deepest aspects of their character.
Love with a little knowledj^fe, and you will soon
arrive at more. Here is the reason why a true
theolojyy must always he a progressive one. Even
in regard to the charu^cter and attributes of God
the eye, cleared by love, will be always receiving
new revelation. And this is true of the eve of the
Church as well as of the individual. "We <h) make
progress in theology. We have made progress
since men drew up the unintelligible contradictions
of the Athanasian Creed. We have maue progress

•

«r

204

THEOLOGY AND L'ELRUON.

since good souls wasted their time in defining the
inward conbtitution of the Trinity. We have made
progress since we ceased to beheve that infants were
flagrant sinners, and drew a distinction between
inherited defect and the wrath of God. No, you
cannot go back. There are doctrines that once
dead, are dead for ever. They were pushed off the
tree of faith by a life new and large — the life that
made us see that the goodness of man is only a
faint shadow of that of God, so that the heavens
shall fall rather than He do a cruelty or a wrong.
The science or kno\\ ledge of God grows out of the
knowledge of His works, whether in nature or in
man. As history grows, as science, in the narrower
sense, grows, as government becomes more just
and pure, as the Bible is more minutely studied,
and better compared with other sacred books, so
shall we have a greater idea of God, and therefore
practically worship a nobler Deity.

in. Theology would otherwise be destructive of
religion. It often has been. When our knowledge
of God — our supposed knowledge — has stiffened
and shrivelled, our religion has had no room to
grow, and then one of two things has happened :
either our religion has broken our theology, and
moulded it again on a larger pattern ; or religion
has been strangled, and for the time killed. The
great danger of maintaining old dogmas which
have lost their living power lies just here : If you
maintaii: them you are likely to send thinking men

THEOLOGY AXD RELIGION.

20/

away into misery and unbelief. Tlioso who cry
out about our deserting the doctrines of Calvin,
may think they are defending Christ and pleading
for His truth. But they are not ; they are doing
something as far from that as the poles are from
the equator. They are compelling men — many of
whom have a great hungering for God, and would
gladly believe — to give up their faith in Christ, and
sink into the dreary gulf of Atheism. The doctrines
of Calvin about the Divine decrees suited his hard,
cold, blood-stained time. Men could stand calmly
by and see the flesh of Servetus fall roasted to
cinders with the roaring flame. No wonder that
the same men could believe in the damnation of
infants, and in the eternal loss of all but a few
specially selected from our doomed and hated race.
But we cannot do that now. We cannot rejoice that
we are saved at the expense or to the neglect of
other men. We can rather doubt the existence of
God than charge Him with actions which we should
resent as an insult if alleged against ourselves. We
feel the force of the words of Bacon : "I would
rather men should say there was no Bacon than 1
would that they should declare that there was one
Bacon who devoured his own children." We feel
that if the gospel is a good news such as we can
receive it must reveal a God and a Saviour whom
we can recognize as good and just. " The decree,"
said Calvin himself, ** is horrible but true." ** No,"
we reply, " if the decree is horrible it cannot be

, !,(

in;

206

THEOLOGY AND liELIGION.

» ■■<

true." If it comes from the Eternal Goodness it
must not aggravate our perplexity and shock our
conscience ; it must tend, at least, to scatter the
clouds of our darkness and reveal the dayspring
from on high. Thank God, it does. Christ is
light — ** the light that lighteth every man." Christ
is love — the perfect love of God manifest in the
flesh. Christ is salvation, first from the power
and the love of sin, and then from the conse-
quences of sin now and for ever.

IV. Another word. Theology must be scientific.
I cannot tell you all I mean by that now. But in
the main I mean that it must be built upon facts
which men can see for themselves and can verify —
find true — in actual experience. Theology must be
open, without fear and without favour, to all new
light, from wha-tever source it may come. It must
not waste its time in confuting Darwin, or arguing
against the last scientific theory ; it must do its
own work. It must show man to himself as need-
ing God and able to find rest in Him alone. It
must take away the wrappings from the face of
Christ and let us see Him as He was on earth and
always is — the heart of God poured forth for the
deliverance of man. It must bring to light all the
truth about Scripture, and in Scripture, with a firm
and fearless utterance. It must believe, and act
on the belief, that nothing but good can come from
truth — a proposition that must be true if God is
behind the facts of the universe — so that to doubt

THEOLOGY AND liELIGION.

207

it is Atheistic. If all this is done we slitiU have a
scientific theology.

Meanwhile, you and I must not wait for a com-
plete theology, for theology will never he complete.
Life is passing. Time is slipping away. We want
a spiritual home while we live and work here.
We want a future which will give point and mean-
ing to our work, and crown it with immortality.
Science ? Oh, yes, hy all means ; but if science blot
out the face of God and take away the hope of a
future and a better life, " What matters science
unto men ? " You must have more than science
to live the life of a man, looking into the past
and future, with " thoughts that wander through
eternity." Look, then, at Christ. Let Him pour
His life into your spirit. I ask you to believe no
terrible dogmas. I would not for a moment set
aside the authority of your own reason and judg-
ment, or induce you to violate your conscience.
Only, I beseech you, study Christ, and be at the
same time true to your best self ; and I think you
■will not find it possible to turn away from Him.
Theology can tell us much about God, but it is,
after all, cold and abstract, and often imperfect
and stammering, like a report at second-hand.
But he who knows and loves Christ can say, " I
have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear, but
now mine eye seeth Thee."

i'A

' I

III.

CHBIST AND OTHEB TEACHERS.

*' Christ, the power of God, and the wisdom of God.'

— 1 Cor. i. 24.

ti>

H'l t

THIS is what St. Paul preached both to Jews
and Greeks. It was not at first sight after
their taste. The Greeks sought rather a philosophy
— a complete theory of life. They liked to see the
universe of man and nature spread out before them
— a consistent, rational, magnificent whole. The
Jews sought for signs. They were looking for
their Messiah— their Deliverer and King — and they
wanted his credentials. Paul brought neither
philosophy nor credentials. He proclaimed a poor,
outcast, and crucified Messiah. To the Greek this
was folly. To the Jew it was incredible, as being
the exact opposite of what he expected. And yet
among both Jews and Greeks there were a few —
men of deeper insight and larger heart — who saw
then more than philosophy and more than a
thousand credentials : " Christ, the power of God,
and the wisdom of God."

'M-

CHUIST AND OTHER TEACHERS.

209

And SO it is e^ill. We have now a far wider
circle of comparison than St. Paul. He knew no
religious teachers but those of Greece, or Rome,
or Judea. We know the religions of many nations,
both ancient and still existing. Our best scholars
teach ..s what were the religions oi Assyria, of
Babylon, of Persia, of Egypt, of India, of China.
And we find after examining all these that we can
still say, ** Christ crucified is gi'eater." lie is, in a
sense that they are not, " the power of God, and
the wisdom of God." Not that we wish to under-
rate them. Not that they are, as we used to say,
** false " religions. We admit gladly that they
contain great truths. They shed much light, true
light, on the world, on life, and on death. We
doubt not that many have walked in that light
so as to live nobly and die peacefully. And we
remember that " in every nation he that feareth
God and doeth righteousness U accepted with
Him." Still those different religions are not
all that man needs. They are not " the power
of God, and the wisdom of God."

Of course I cannot examine them all this morn-
ing. The study of " Comparative Religion," as we
now call it, is as vast as it is interesting. The
young men and women amongst us who are thirsty
for knowledge can take it up with great profit.
The great master of it in England is Professor
Max Miiller of Oxford ; our own Dr. Fairbairn also
is deeply learned in the same line of study. But

SIO

CHRIST AND OTHER TEACHERS.

t!i,

K "i

|l(

nil

-i , : '■■

we can only take what I may call specimen religions
now. There are three that I choose because, first,
they are specially important ; and, secondly, they
are professed by millions of our own fellow-sub-
jects in India and elsewhere : they are Hinduism,
Buddhism, and Mohammedanism. These are
amongst the chief religions of the world, outside
our own. They are favourable specimens; I mean
them to be so, so that in the light of them we
can compare Christ with other teachers.

Again, these forms of religion resemble what we
see and hear around us now. So that the com-
parison between them and the teachings of Christ
is really a comparison that has relation with the
life of to-day. You will see this as I go on.

Notice that the founders of these religions
teach only ; Jesus teaches and embodies His
teaching. Buddha was a teacher, and a noble one
too. His story is in many ways beautiful and
pathetic. He tried to start a new and higher life
among the degenerate Hindus of his time. Like
all reformers he sufifered many things, and lefv. the
pathos of his sufferings and the marks of the nobility
of his character on the religion which he taught.
So to a certain extent did Mohammed. Mohammed,
however, has, I think, been too highly valued, owing
m part to the great influence of Thomas Carlyle,
who wrote of him so charmingly. The founder of
the Vedic religion is practically unknown to us.
He lived before anything worth calling history ex-

CHRIST AND OTHER TEACHERS.

211

isted, so that of bim as a person we cannot speak.
But neither Buddha nor Mohammed is the ideal
embodiment of bis own teachings. Buddha is
indeed ever seeking higher righteousness and
purer truth. But he is seeking; he has not
attained. Mohammed is not even seeking. He
has no doubt and no religious insight. He says
now and again beautiful things of the love of virtue
and the worth of duty. But the Divine charm
that hangs over the person and the character of
Christ is not there. Christ impresses us as above
the struggle with sin ; lifted into the peace which
is eternal ; living daily and without effort the life
of truth and goodness. He is so one with His
teaching that He needs no words to teach. His
teaching is so one with Him that the only com-
ment it requires is His holy and beautiful life. If
Christ aspires to higher things it is with an as-
piration that is fulfilled as fast as it is formed.
His heart lies open to the full pulses of God's
inspiration. Buddha is not at rest. Mohammed
is looking for — what ? Not spiritual peace ; not
ripened excellence ; not a spirit at one with God.
He is a ruler, and his one desire is for a law which
will enable bim to rule with effect. So that he has
a sensual heaven for the obedient, and a hell of
terrible torture for the disobedient. But Christ is
perfectly at peace. He has no sorrow but the
sorrows of others, which He bears from perfect
love. The heaven He offers us is to be like Hitu-

212

CnniST AND OTriTJR TEACHERS.

■.'I

Belf, and therefore like God. His hell is to be full of
Bin Jind to bear the consequences which necessarily
flow from that. Christ is a ruler too, if you will,
but His rule is over the hearts and consciences of
His subjects. He founds His empire on Himself ;
that is, on perfect goodness and love, and the in-
fluences flowing from them. Look, then, at this
picture as I draw it ; make your choice. For al-
though Hinduism does not appeal to you, yet
Mohammed and Buddha both do, though under
other names. There is still a religion which is
chiefly the threat of a fiery hell and the promise of
a material heaven. It gets mixed with the spiri-
tual faith of Jesus and degrades it. There are men
yet to be found who say that the preaching of the
love of Christ produces in them a "lackadaisical
religious ease " which allows them, without dis-
comfort, to do ungodly things and to indulge in
impure practices. That is, they confess that they
are so lost to all sense of gratitude and honour to-
wards God, as well as towards man, that they can
only be kept in decent order by the incessant
flourishing of the retributive rod. Is it so ? Do
you thus do despite to the spirit of God's grace,
and count the blood of the covenant wherewith you
are sanctified an unholy thing ? Is the great love
that died for you nothing? Are the agony and
bloody sweat of Gethsemane to be trampled under-
foot ? Will you " crucify the Son of God afresh,
and put Him to an open shame ? " — and all this be-

CHRIST AND OTHEIi TEACHERS,

21»

cause He has uo pleasure in the death of a sinuer,
and inflicts no arbitrary punishment ? Not that
I would deny the fact of punishment. There is
terrible punishment, only that it does not consist
in an arbitrary infliction, but springs, by an eternal
law, from the nature of sin itself. Hopeless shame
and self-reproach, the scorn of your own conscience,
the deepening sense of guilt, and so of sepurat'on
from God and all good spirits ; the unspeakable
remorse and misery of your own mind ; the hell of
the sense of love refused — the protest of the soul
against itself — these are your punishments here
and hereafter.

Buddhism is with us to-day also. I am ret
speaking to the East or to the past. There are
schemes of moral teaching amongst us that give
you lofty and beautiful precept. But they are
destitute of the first pulse of life. They do not
cast out sin. They deal, as Buddhism does, in
aphorisms, in wise sayings that have no power to
enforce themselves. Huxley and Tyndall, Matthew
Arnold and John Morley mingle their scientific and
literary criticism with an abundance of admirable
advice, excellent in itself and in its setting. They
are masters in *' the art of putting things." But
Buddha is their equal on tbeir own ground. I
could easily show you that had I time to quote.
Yet where is the power that draws all things to
itself? Where is He who only needs to be lifted
up and all men turn to Him ? Do you not see that

214

CUBIST AND OTHER TE ACHE US.

;«

what our souls need is not Rood teachin},' ouly —
nay, not even chiefly — but the power of a soul over
souls ? It is the voice that can say, " 1 will dwell
in you, and walk in you." Teaching alone is not
sufficient for the needs of men. For law is difficult
to be carried out. It has tremendous forces against
it. There is first what St. Paul calls " the flesh " —
our lower animal na^^^ure, a crushing power. That
starts first in our lives also, so that in addition to its
natural force it gathers the power of habit. Then
there is a fulfilment of law which is no fulfilment ;
an obedience, as St. Paul says, " in the letter and
not in the spirit." You may do what you are told,
and yet not obey the law at all. For the law is for
the spirit, the mind and heart, as well as the
hands. Jesus was the first teacher of wisdom who
saw the remedy for that. Men had been teaching
law before they had awakened love. He reversed
the process ; He put love first and law afterwards ;
and that love might be awakened He showed the
face of God, the essence and fountain of love. He
revealed *' our Father " in all the beauty of His
fatherly tenderness that we might know Him
and delight to do His will. The obedience that
flows from love is the only spiritual obedience : " If
ye love me keep my commandments." Do not obey
that ye may love, but love that ye may obey. This
is the meaning of the demand for love to Himself
■which Jesus so constantly makes. This intensity
of love is what He means n<lso by " eating the flesh

CHRIST AND OTHER TEACHERS.

210

ami drinking the blood of the Bon of Man." St.
Paul understood the demand and met it. lie BuyH,
*' I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me." The
essential nature of Jesus must ])uhh into and be-
come the essential nature of His followers.

Then, when our love for God as our Father and
Jesu3 as our Lord is fully realized, the law of love
flows over to all mankind. Say what you will,
man as man has had no such Saviour, no such
lover as Christ. "A new commandment I give
unto you," says He, " that ye love one another."
** By this shall all men know tliat yo are my
disciples." This is no narrow, paltry love for
a few only. It rests on man as man. And to-day
it does so in fact. The love of Christ for man
is the inspiration of our deepest and noblest phil-
anthropy. While I speak to you it is has ting with
busy feet into a thousand hovels, bearing sustenance
and blessing to bleeding, broken hearts. Foolish
men cry out against Christianity, but take it away,
and what it stands for, and a bitter wail of distress
would go up to heaven from a million voices. Who
freed the slave? Who gave good government to
India ? Who reformed the prison system ? Who
is moving in the hearts of noble men and women
to right the wrongs of every class in the community
to-day ? Who sends the Salvation lassie into the
lowest slums, seeking that which is lost until she
find it ? I say, Jesus Christ — the power of God,
and the wisdom of God.

210

ClililST AND OTUEJi TEACHKUH.

Otber teachcrR, again, havu iio futuro to diBulose
wortliy of our nature and aspiratious. Johus liaH.
The Veda3 Rpoak of the life after death ; bo does
£uddLa ; so does Mohammed. But the future life
of the Yedas iH a constant passage of tlie soul
from OL\e animal into another. That of Buddha
is the same; until the highest perfection is
reached, and then the soul is supposed to sink into
" Nirvana," as it is called. It has been questioned
whether Nirvana means absolute nothingness, or
a peace and rest so profound as to be disturbed
by no thought or wish. Professor Max Miiller, who
is our highest authority, settles it for us by speak-
ing of the Buddhism of the present time as follows :
** No person who reads with attention . . . can
arrive at any other conviction than that . . . the
highest aim, the aummuni honum, of Buddhism is
the absolute nothing." Mohammed offers his
followers a sensual heaven, where the good live
amidst fragrant odours, beautiful women, sweet
music, and the most delicate delights of all the
appetites. This, mark, is the very best that other
teachers can do. Not many weeks ago a man of
much ability^ who, however, has cast off Jesus as
his guide, told me that he inclined to believe in the
transmigration of souls — i.e., in their passage from
one animal body into another. And our Agnostics
are teaching us that as there is no God but one
that is unknowable, so there is no soul but one
that falls into the universal life, the Nirvana of
unconsciousness, when the body dies.

tlUiliiT AND Til Eli TE AC UK US.

217

And now 1 ask you wbotbor your whole bouI Joch
not turn from thooriuH hucIj as theno to liuten with
a new eagorness to the voice of Christ '.* ** Father,
I will that those whom Thou hast given me ho with
me whore I am." " I in thoni, and Thou in me,
that wo all may be made perfect in one." ** And if
I go away and prepare a place for you, 1 will come
again and receive you unto myself, that where I
am there ye may be also." Yes, blessed Teacher !
it is worth while to live, it is worth while to suffer,
it is worth while to die, if this is the consumma-
tion Thou bast in store for us. From all other
teachers, whether of the ancient or modern world,
'* we turn unfilled to Thee again." For Thou art
not the sage of a school, nor the dreamer of a
cloister; Thou art Christ, "the wisdom of God,
and the power of God " to our eager, questioning
spirits.

IV.

IS THE REVELATION OF GOD SATISFACTORY f

" Go ye, therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them
in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Ghost." — Matt, xxviii. 19.

■r

THAT, you see, is the revealed name. It is
threefold, and yet it is one. It is variety in
unity, yet unity in variety also. God has three
aspects — relations, activities, powers, or what other
word you will, if it be more expressive to you. Yet
God is one, absolutely and completely one. There
is only one ultimate ego, self, or me, in God ; and
Father, Word, and Holy Ghost, as distinguished
from each other, are only personal, because this
one absolute personality lies beneath and is shared
by them all. There are not three Gods. There is
only one God, and therefore, in the sense in which
we generally use the word, only one person. Yet
we cannot say it of the Word, for the Word is
God in one aspect of His being. We must there-
fore say. He. And of the Spirit we must say He
too, figuratively perhaps, and yet meaning that

IS REVELATION OF GOD SATISFACTORY i 219

it is not a mere indefinite afflatus, a literal wind
that is breathing on us, but the actual living ^»ower
of a God who knows and loves. God is one, but
in Him there are various pctivities and powers
which, so far as we can know them, are summed
up in this threefold name.

This name, therefore, sums up the revelation of
God. And, accordingly, it is in — or into — this
name that we are baptized. I want to ask, Is it
satisfactory ? Does it really answer its purpose ?
The word " name " is equivalent, you know, to
manifestation or revelation. Does this name re-
veal what we most require to know ?

That will of course depend on the purpose for
which the revelation is required. Is it required to
give a complete, an exhaustive, view of the uni-
verse ? We may easily answer that. No man
has, or can have, such a view. The world sees
infinite in opposite directions. We cannot know
it all. Look at the stars. There they shine above
U3, " cycles on epicycles, orb on orb." Some of
you have read the dream of Jean Paul Eichter.
The angel takes him from planet to planet, from
system to system. He looks in awe-struck wonder
at the vast train of innumerable stars. At last
he cries in terror, " There is no end ! " And then
the angel answers, " So, also, there is no be-
ginning ! " It would be almost the same if we
could get microscopes finer and finer still till we
had explored the wonders of the world of atoms.

■ it r i, <y .

220 75 HEVELATION OF GOD SATISFACTORY ?

We should never come to an end. The fact is,
God is infinite, and He has reflected His own in-
finity both in the immensely great and in the
unspeakably little. No finite mind can grasp the
whole. None can know more than a very small
fragment of a very small province of the whole.
No ; the revelation of God's name does not carry
us over the wonders of the worlds.

More still : revelation does not satisfy even
our possible knowledge and our legitimate curiosity.
We know many things not involved in the name
of God. This name was revealed in its complete-
ness to the good men of the past. David LliuW
God and loved Him. Paul grasped the mighty
thought with rapture, and lived on it and in it. Yet
there are boys in our Board Schools who know a
hundred things that the saints and sages of the
past — Paul and David — never dreamed. As time
goes on more and more still will be known. We
have powers still to develop. Nay, it is likely
that a time may come in the future when all we
now know will Jook like a dot in the vast universe
of what will then be known. There may be — I do
not know — even faculties of knowledge lying un-
developed in us. Just as some creatures have no
eyes or no ears, so we may be without some
senses, or other powers of knowing that shall be
developed in our remote descendants. But this is
not to know the name of God. That is another
kind of knowledge ; it stands alone. It would not

IS liEVELATION OF GOD SATISFACTOliY ! 221

be even desirable that we Bhoulcl be told the
details of knowledge. The cause of human de-
velopment requires that they should be discovered,
not revealed. But the name of God we must
know. It lies at the basis of our character and
our hopes.

What, then, is the purpo5?e of the revelation of

the name. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ? Its

purpose relates to character. It is meant to make

us good and brave and strong. Yes, and wise

too, but with a wisdom that shall affect our

feelings and our conduct. It is meant to inspire

us, to elevate the whole compass of our thought

and emotion, to fill us with the love of man and

the joy of God. It comes to develop the whole

man, but to do so in the interest of goodness. A

man may know much about the stars, he may

classify the flowers, he may tell you wonders as

to the actions and reactions of the chemical

elements, and yet live the life of a fiend or a

sensualist. But he who knows the name of God

has the knowledge of which it is said, " Ye shall

know the truth, and the truth shall make you

free," and, " This is eternal life, to know Thee, the

only true God," &c. Let us see, then, whether

the revelation of the Divine name succeeds in its

purpose.

I. It gives us an eternal basis for righteousness
and love. This is done by the love of the Father.
Why should a man be a good man, just and true,

222 IS REVELATION OF QOD 8ATISFACT0BY f

faithful and pure, loving and gentle? Ask that
question closely, and push it back as far as you
can. You will get many answers. But one only
is satisfactory. You will, e.g., be told, " Good-
ness will conduce to the man's own happiness."
But suppose he replies, "I do not care for what
you mean by happiness in the future. I am will-
ing to suffer, if need be, so long as I can do as I
please and have my way. A short life, if it must
be so, but a merry one at all cost. Why should I
destroy my youth, or give myself up to your
prudent rules and your sentimental self-sacrifice?"
What can you say to this ? You can only say, " If
you will kill yourself, you must ; I have no more
to urge." Or, again, you ask, " Why should I be
morally good ? " And you get for answer that
rectitude is for the benefit of society taken as a
whole. It would be good for all if each sought
the good of all. No doubt. But why should I
care for the good of all ? Why should I give up
my likes and dislikes for another's well-being?
W^hat basis is there in reason for it? especially
as I may after all fail to accomplish my purpose.
You will find it difficult to answer such questions
as these. They pose wise heads and earnest
hearts. Sceptics are feeling it all around us.
They see that if Christianity be taken away it will
not be easy to give a convincing reason for right
living. I read an article only the other day, ably
written, in which the author says that he sees

IS BEVELATION OF GOD SATISFACTORY / 223

quite plainly, unbeliever as he is, that the age
which shall lose Christianity will lose its strongest
motives to live rightly, and to keep the rules of
morality. So say I too. But he does not seem
to see that he is affecting his own argument when
he says so. For he implies that to lose morality,
to lose goodness, is to lose life. Man would not be
man if he were not moral. He would be a mere
brute, without reason and without responsibility.

But what does the gospel say to this difficulty ? Its
answer is to reveal the Father, and its answer is
explicit and complete. It says, " Be good, for
righteousness is part of the ultimate essence of
the universe. All the laws of nature, and all the
laws of human nature, are founded in it. It is
the law of life to that Infinite and Perfect Being,
of whom all other beings are mere shadows and
phenomena. Man did not invent it. It ivas before
ever the worlds were formed. It is the very
nature of God, and even He cannot change it.
It is above all mere will, for it is an element in
the substance of substances and the cause of
causes. Why should I be true and holy ? Ask
the sun why he should shine. Ask the sea why
it should follow the attraction of the moon. Ask
the flower why it should bloom. Righteousness is
the centre, the very core, of all true existence. It
is the inmost being of all men, and to stifle it is
to die. We fight against the ultimate facts if we
do not accept that. All must be failure so long as

224 IS BEVELATION OF GOD SATISFACTORY ^

we stand in opposition to the necessary conditions
of life." Yes, duty is ultimate. There is nothing
deeper or more essential. It is the life of God,
and the only life for man. As Wordsworth says —

•' Stern law-giver, j'et dost thou wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace,
Nor is there anything more fair

Than is the smile upon thy face.
Flowers laugh before thee on their bedj.
And fragrance in thy footing treads,
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong,
And the most ancient heavens throngli thee are
fresh and strong."

Or, as the Bible puts it, "Be ye holy, for I (the
Father) am holy."

This revelation, then, gives us an eternal basis
for righteousness. But it does more. It gives us
a reason for love, both special love and love to
all Tiion. For it calls God Father, and, observe,
it begins with that ; it lays the fatherhood of God
at the foundation of this very life. He is Father
before He is anything else. Now, that is quite
invaluable. It shows that the spring of all the
doings of God, and the motive power from which
the very existence of all other beings flowed is
love. God made men, and all other sensitive and
rational beings, because He loved them. It seems
a paradox, yet it is a truth, that He loved them
before He made them.* Now two things follow

=•= He thought them into being because He loved them in
thought.

>■

IS REVELATION OF GOD SATISFACTOliY } 22.'

from that. First, there is a reason for our lovo
of each other. If love is from of old, if it is the
pulse-heat of the eternal heart, it is right in us
all. You may love, and I. God cares not only
for those whom we love, hut for our love itself;
He approves of it and sympathizes with it.
And then, secondly, love is the strongest power
in the universe. We want a love that is joined
with power. All ordinary love fails us. It passes.
It is either gone from the hearts in which it once
dwelt, so that they who turned to us gladly now
pass us with an averted face, or both the love and
those who felt it are, at least in outward presence,
with us no more. But if God's life is love, that
love cannot pass. It is fresh and fragrant now
and for ever. We cannot lose it. Nothing, not
even sin, can destroy it. We can turn to it again
and again. Yes, and in the end love will triumph
too. I puzzle myself very often to understand how
any can doubt that. Surely God is strong. He
is the one and only power into which all others
may be resolved. And if He is love, then love
will conquer. It will destroy sin. It will burn
away all evil from every soul, for our God is a
consuming fire. It will bring home every wan-
derer. It will bind up every broken heart. It
will open every dungeon door. It will set a crown
of victory on our poverty, our sorrow, our despair.
Turn to this name now — this perfect Fatherhood
of God. Till you do you are lost ; you are a poor,

220 IS liEVELATION OF GOD SATISFACTORY

miserablo unreality — the mockery, the mere phan-
tasm of your true self. But when you live in the
light, and by the power of God, the loving Father,
your life is, like His, eternal.

II. This threefold name shows the nobleness and
worth of man. Of course I do not now speak of
every individual man. This it does by revelation of
the Son. I do not speak of any man in his actual
present state; but I speak of man as God made
him and meant him to be — yes, and still means him
to become. Man so regarded is the son of God.
In God's eternal thought he has his pla ;9. We
think of a man's being as though it dated from
his birth. But we are wrong. We existed in the
thought of God from eternity, for the thoughts of
God do not change. Do you not remember how
Christ used this fact as an argument for immor-
tality ? He tells us that man must live for ever ;
for the Scripture speaks of God as "the God of
Abraham and Isaac and Jacob," and that God
"is not the God of the dead, but of the living, for
all to Him are living." Yes, man — the whole race
— past, present, and to come, has now a real life
in the thought of God, and has had from eternity.
Time is only the way in which we seem to ourselves
to live. It will one day disappear. We shall
awake and see that we exist, and always did, and
shall exist in the care and love of God. Christ
knew it of Himself. He spoke of the ** glory
which I had with Thee before the world was."

IS REVELATION OF OOD SATISFACTOIiY f 'I'll

111

And it is only because the veil of flesh doth
grossly close us in that we do not know it too.

Now, because man is the son of God, he is re-
deemed. Christ came to unfold the name of the
son, which is at once one aspect of the name of
God and the proper name of man. Christ is the
one only perfect and true man, and therefore He
is not merely man, but at the same time "God
manifest in the flesh." No ; God did not despise
man; how could Ho when He is Himself the
Father of man, and man is made in the likeness
of bis Father ? When He revealed Himself He
did so as a man. You and I despise our humanity.
We do not see that God is in it. God is in man,
not in spite of His own greatness, but because of it.
Most of us want a total revolution in our idea of
God. We think God is so great that He has
nothing to do with the world. He made it, as a
watchmaker makes a watch, and then wound it
up and set it going quite apart from Himself.
No, indeed no. The old Bible tells a different
tale. It does indeed tell us that God is great.
It says — *' Heaven, even the heaven of heavens,
cannot contain thee." But though not contained
or enclosed in anything, He fills, penetrates, and
sustains everything. God is not shut up in the
world. But the world lives, and moves, and is
contained in God. The small and the great are
both alike to Him, for they are both in him. And
God is in Christ — all of God is there — as all is

228 IS EEV ELATION OF GOD SATISFACTORY !

everyirJierc. Yet Ho is not alnit vp in Christ. He
is so in Christ as that He is in all ^yho luve Him
and believe. He is in Christ that He may be in
us all, and may give Himself to us all. Christ
died for us. The perfect Son of God, our livinpj
head, in all things died for us. Did God die, then ?
Yes, in one sense He did ; for Christ in His death
expressed the heart of God. It was not a mere
man that hung upon the cross ; it was the
" beloved Son " who was one with the Father.
Bat of course God does not literally die. It is
the fi.aite elements in Christ that do that. The
atonement of Christ is the outpouring of the heart
of God. It is the price that He pays for our
redemption. It is His estimate of the worth of
our souls. It is mysterious, wonderful. It is
" to the Jews a stumbling-block, and to the Greeks
foolishness, but unto us who beheve, He is the
power of God and the wisdom of God."

Is that revelation satisfactory in view of its
purpose ? Does it bring God to you so that
you know and feel His love for you? Can
you take Christ — this great power, love, and
wisdom of God, as your Saviour and not be pure
and holy ? I wonder often that any man should
for a moment hesitate. This is surely what we
need, and all we need. It fits us like our living
skin. It opens to us the fulfilment of all our
spiritual wants. It is our strength and our re-
storation, now and for ever.

IS REVELATION OF GOD SATISFACTOliY .' 229

III. This name of God — Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost — implies such an indwelling of God in man
as to make our lives Divine. This is the meaning
of the manifestation of the Holy Ghost. The
Holy Spirit is God, as He dwells in man. He is
not, as I have said, different in metaphysical
personality from the Father or the Son. When
Christ promises the gift of the Spirit He pro-
mises it in all three ways. He says, " / will not
leave you comfortless ; I will come to you." And,
again, after speaking of the Father — *' We will
come to him, and take up our abode with him."
And in a third form — " I will send you another
Comforter," &c. But the thing to notice is, that
the Spirit is the indwelling God. We can only
speak of the Spirit in figurative terms, and must
speak in a personal figure. We cannot say it
of the Spirit, for there is a real living presence of
God to those in whom the Spirit dwells. And why
does He come — and come to stiij/ ? To complete
the revelation of God in relation to all our needs.
I am in a vast and desolate universe. I fear lest
I am orphaned and alone. No ; I am not alone,
for the Father is with me. I am conscious of
imperfection and wrong-doing. Shall I "cry to
the rocks. Fall on me, and to the hills, cover me " ?
No ; for the Son appears, taking my nature upon
Him, suffering in my suffering, weeping my tears,
revealing the pardon and peace of God. I live a
poor, little, insipid, worthless life. And then the

2«0 TS REVELATION OF GOD SATISFACTOIiY f

Spirit touches me, catcl-s me up like a rushing
mighty wind, pours inspiration through all my
Bpiritual being, and fills me with " the power of an
endless life."

DOUBTS CONCERNING THE SOUL.

" If a man Jie, shall be live a^ain ? " — Jon xiv. 14.

THE poet who wrote the Book of Job asked this
question, bui he had no answer for it — at any
rate, no positive answer. He did not know ; at
best he only dimly and uncertainly hoped. But
he did hope. The latter part of the verse implies
so much : " All the days," &c. It means, " If 1
knew that I shall live again, I would wait with
perfect patience till that great day." The word
translated " change " means a sprouting again ;
it is applied to the shooting of trees in tho spring.
It is as though he said, ** If I may live again I
will not care for the toil of life and its pain. I
will wait till my soul blooms forth in leaf and
flower and fruit in a nobler world. Everything is
bearable if it contributes to an enlarged and
ennobled life."

I believe that is a genuine utterance of the
heart of man. It speaks your thought and mine

I ,^

:!'

282

DOUBTS CONCKHNING THE SOUL.

in our real and earnest moments. We long to
live, not to die.

•' Whatever crazy sorrow saith,
No life that breathes with living breath
Hath ever truly wanted death."

» !

Utter annihilation, blank nothingness, without
thought, without feeling, without will, is a de-
grading, brutalizing belief to a healthy mind.
If any man seems willing for that, it is a poor
invalid pinched with pain, or a conscience- stricken
one who fears the dreams that may come in the
strange sleep of death. Milton goes so far as to
make even the lost spirits in his picture of the
world of perdition express a horror of sinking into

nothing :

" For who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being ;
These thoughts, that wander through eternity,
To perish rather, swallowed up and lost
In tho wide womb of uncreated night,
Devoid of sense and motion ? "

We love the light of day and the sense of
existence. The only worthy termination of life
to us is vaster and fuller life. That is in accordance
with our reason and conscience — in fact, with our
whole nature, and nothing else is.

Why, then, do we hear men speak as though
there were no other life than the earthly life, as
though death were a sleep from which there is

it
I.

DOUBTS CONCEIiXIXa THE SOUL.

2aj

no awaking ? Why do we hear them saying that
they mean to have ** a good time " here, and not
€ven to ask the question whether there be any
other life ? Partly, I believe, from a real per-
plexity that springs from an indolent habit of
thought. There is nothing most men are less
•disposed to do than honestly to think thing.^ out.
They stop at half thoughts and are baffled by the
first difficulty. At the first suggestion of doubt
they throw the whole problem up in despair.
There is another thing also — men do not consider
their own nature. They study thintjs, cotton, or
wheat, or money, if they be business men ; rocks,
or plants, or animals, if they be scientific ; but
their own souls they do not study. The world
without is read, the world within is a sealed book
to them. Let us consider the question of the text,
therefore, " If a man die, shall he live again ? " for
this is the only doubt, that matters much, con-
■cerning the soul.

One reason for thinking that the soul will live
liereafter as well as here is, its spiritual nature.
What do I mean by that ? I mean that it is not
a thing which can be measured, weighed, seen, or
in any way brought under the cognizance of tlie
senses, like the objects around us, and like our
own bodies. It is difierent from matter, altogether
•different. It differs by the whole diameter, the
■entire breadth, of being. Matter is the object
eeen ; the soul is the subject seeing. Matter is the

234

DOUBTS CONCEBNING THE SOUL.

thing touched, examined, described, thought about ;
the soul is that which feels, investigates, describes,
and thinks about it. We know matter by the
senses ; we know the soul by our own conscious-
ness. I can never know matter as myself — I, the
thinking man. I can never know the soul, or at
any rate my soul, as anything else. It may be
true, I think it is true, that even matter resolves
itself ultimately into a group of sensations.
What I know of it is my own perception of it,
and no more, so that, if matter and mind are
one at the root, it is far truer to say that matter
is a form of mind than to say that mind is a
form or an activity of matter. But my point is
this— mind and matter are so distinct that we
know each chiefly by its distinction from the other.
Matter is that in the universe whit-i is not my
soul ; my soul is that which is over against matter,
opposite to it, as the eye is opposite to what it
sees. In a word — the world is material, and my
soul is spiritual.

And if spiritual, then it need not die with the
body. The body dies — it is departed from its
mysterious life — becomes cold and still — and then
slowly decays into gases, water, and dust, which
mingle with the materials around them. But why
should the soul die ? It is not matter, it has
nothing to do with gas, or water, or dust. Why
should it not rise out of that wreck ? Look at
the dead body. Something has gone from it.

DOUBTS CONCERNING THE SOUL.

235

Something that was there — aye, and the essential
thing — that which gav^ light to the eye and tune
to the voice is there no longer. Where is it?
Gone to nothing ? What ! in a world where every
particle of matter is preserved, and every pulse
of force is treasured up, can life, love, thought go
out and utterly cease to be ? Can it ? Think of
that, I pray you. Is the thing credible ? is it after
the likeness of what we know in other cases to be
true ?

Some one may tell me, however, that the soul
is an activity of the brain and nerves, as digestion
is an activity of the stomach, and circulation of
the heart. If the organ perish the activity is
gone. But is it so ? Am I myself a mere activity
of an organ ? Not quite, I think. One thing is
certain — my organism changes, but / remain the
same from day to day and from year to year.
I know, if I know anything, that I am the same
person, the very same and not another, who was
once a boy, and afterwards a college student, and
then a minister, and who for some years has been
preaching and working in this city. But if so, /
am not an activity of my brain or nerves, very
certainly. Men of science tell me that the brain,
the nerves, the whole body, change once in every
seven years at least, perhaps much oftener. I get
a new brain just as certainly though not quite as
often as I get a new coat. But men do not change
once in seven years ! It would 1 9 a good thing if

iidQ

LOUBTS CO^CLliM^a THE SOUL.

some of them did. They, however, remain the
same. There are memories in this soul of mine
that have been there for several times seven years.
There are pictures on that wonderful tableau
vivant of imagination that have remained since
I was almost an infant. Thirty years ago I cut
my head severely and almost bled to death. The
head is not the same, the blood is not the same,
but the ego, the self, the me, is the same and
remembers it extremely well. No, we are not our
nerves or brain, or any part, or property, or
function of our bodies. "We are 'persons^ with
personal identity, living sameness, from year to
year, and all through the changing circumstances
of a long and eventful life.

"Why not, then, after the life which we live in
this world? If we can lay down our body
particle by particle and take up others in the
place of these we part with, why may we not lay
down our body altogether and wake up with
another and nobler body, not material but
celestial? If the gradual change of the body
does not put an end to us, why should the sudden
change of it ? Why ? I do not know, I cannot
see. My body is not me ; why, then, should the
death of my body be the death of me ?

We are told that the advance of science is
proving too strong for spiritual theories : they
are to die before it. But what do the chosen
representatives of science say ? Mr. Mill tells us

^•»i*r«»"R5*B!-i^.-«M'S=^;'?;-»-!E3^vSiy - '.^iSS^iSiBi

DOUBTS CONCERNING THE SOUL.

2:57

that mind is ilistinct from body, and, for all he can
tell, may exist apart from it. Mr. Bain says the
same in almost the same words. Mr. Tyudall
says there is an impassable gulf between material
and mental processes, and that we have no fasiilty
by which we can pass from one to the other. The
fact is that soul and body are not one, but two,
closely related no doubt, but not identical. The
closest students of them see that the most clearly.
If a man tells me that my brain thinks, I answer,
No, not my brain, but I. I am not my body, my
body is not me. When my body perishes I shall
emerge from the ruin, like the bright moth from
the chrysalis, and assume a nobler life. " For the
trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised
incorruptible, and we shall be changed. For this
corruptible must put on incorruption, and this
mortal must put on immortality. Then shall be
brought to pass the saying that is written, Death
is swallowed up in victory." These words are
sound in philosophy, as well as hopeful in
promise. Science has not a syllable to say in-
consistent with the glowing splendour of the
prospect they disclose.

The deep longing for life which we all feel is
another reason for belief in a future life. It is
the tendency of every living thing to develop and
perfect its life. The flower grows from a mere
seed, shapeless and poor, into stem and leaf and
glorious blossom. The insect creeps for awhile as

'i :!

'J38

DOUBTS CONCEBNING THE SOUL.

a grub or caterpillar and then bursts into gauzy
wings and a rainbow-coloured life. The wild
creature in the forest rejoices in its strength and
strives to unfold its powers to the utmost. These
live and are satisfied. They want only what they
get, they receive all that their nature can take.
There is no inward unrest, no craving that goes
unsupplied. But it is not so with man. He, too,
grows — the infant becomes a boy, the boy a man,
the man a philosopher, an artist, a statesman, a
saint. But is he satisfied ? Does the philosopher
know enough ? Has the artist all he wants of
skill or success ? Is the statesman as full of
insight and as masterly in policy as he aspires
to be ? And the good man, is he not most of all
conscious of imperfection ? does he not long for
other and higher things? The law of man's life
is continual growth. Though all the resources of
the world were gathered together and poured out
at the feet of a man, yet would he be conscious
of needs which go beyond natural things and
which only eternity can satisfy. Look at the
poor prodigal. He tries life in every form : wine,
music, brilliant assemblies, the wit of the accom-
plished, the blandishments of voluptuous beauty,
the splendours which lavish wealth can buy. But
what comes of it all ? What can the gilded
and tinselled magnificence of this Vanity Fair of
a world do for a soul, in which eternity is set and
on which the signature of God is written ? Can

DOUBTS CONCERNING THE SOUL.

2:39

the law of man's life ba fulfilled here ? No, no.
There are deep longings for a fuller existence in
man which can be met and satisfied only in a
spiritual world. The intellect has its desires. It
longs for truth. It would know — and still know —
and continue to gather knowledge till the last
riddle is solved and the principles of universal
truth lie spread out in sympathy before it. The
conscience has its desires. It is unhappy in vice
and sin. It longs for purity and goodness. Does
it not? Are you satisfied with yourself? When
you look within and examine your own mental
condition, can vice stand that calm look? Does
not the lie rankle in your heart after it is told ?
Do not selfishness and meanness make you blush
in secret ? Would you not wipe out the pages of
your record that are stained with evil ? I know
you would. And even if you are one who loves
God and your fellow-men, do you not long for a
purity which you have never reached, and yet
which you are never weary of pursuing ?

In our best moments we are most dissatisfied.
Then most of all we hunger and thirst after a
nobler, truer life. Thank God for the words of
promise and blessing which fell from the lips of His
Divine Son — words which transform this bafiled
longing into a rainbow of glorious hope: " Blessed
are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness,
for they shall be filled." The heart, too, has its
desires as well as the intellect and the conscience.

.> ^ •

240 DOUBTS CONCEIiNINQ THE SOUL.

Affection is continually clisappointed. It is not as
pure, as intense, as unselfish as it ought to ho
and longs to he. Even our nohlest love is a sigh
for a still hetter and nohler. We would he purged
from the lingering remains of self-regard and
taught to love as God loves. Thank God for our
love for each other even as it is. Men would he
poor wretches if they were not carried out of them-
selves and knit in affection to those dependent on
them. Put a man info solitude and he is a con-
temptible creature. The holiest words on earth
are those that mark our relative condition — such
words as father, mother, sister, hrother, wife, child.
And yet even these are a promise rather than a
fulfilment. They are a hint of hetter things. We
must haptize our finite love by contact with an
infinite before it grows into all it is capable of
becoming. The love of Christ and of the perfect
Father must eradicate our love of each other and
transform it.

'• Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers,
"Whose loves in higher love endure,
What souls possess themselves so pure
Oh, where is happiness like theirs ? "

Now I say that this craving for a higher life is
a pledge of immortality. There is a symmetry, an
order, in the universe. Things are fitted to one
another, and what anything is fit for thdt it gets.
A French thinker says, " our attractions are pro-

DOUBTS CONCERNING THE SOUL. 241

portioned to our destinies ; " in other words, for
every want there is a supply. Is there an eye ?
There is also light by which it may see. Is
there a mind ? There is truth fitted to its capa-
city. Is there love ? There are those around us
who are its appropriate objects. And as there is
in man the idea of a better life and the longing
for it, may we not believe, must we not believe,
that such a life awaits him ? Can we think of
the great and good as dead ? Is Paul gone to
nothingness, or the gentle, loving John, the brave
Peter, the holy martyrs? Is the Christ a mere
memory, like a beautiful cloud of the morning,
that was, and is not ? Have the heroes of all the
ages, who lifted their own lives and ours above
the littleness of time, passed away like a dream ?
Can the tombs of these men be places where all
their thought, goodness, and heroic endeavour lie
turned to dust, or are their bodies only there while
they themselves have fled beyond the stars ? If all
other creatures receive according to their nature,
shall man, made for immortality, not receive im-
mortality ? Shall he stand, the one enigma, the
only blot, the solitary contradiction, in this vast
and wonderful universe of God? Believe it who
will — to me at least it is utterly incredible.

There is a law of development in the universe,
too, which seems to imply that if a man die he
shall live again. Everything we see is a means
to some other and higher thing. The world was

it )

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242 DOUBTS CONCERNING THE SOUL.

once a mere cloiul of fiery gas, so sciontiUc men
toll us. It cooled a little, aud became a fiery
licjuid. Then it hardened into land, and the
vapour condensed into sea. Then came life, very
simple at first, but growing more perfect till flowers
blushed, trees waved, animals roamed the forest,
fishes swam the sea, birds filled the air with music.
Some kinds of animals and plants passed away ,
but always to make room for something better.
Then came man. He is better than any animal,
for he can think and feel, hope and pray. Man
is the end and purpose, the flower and fruit of all.
He is self-conscious, and conscious of God ; in a
word, he is a spiritual being. Will he pass away ?
If so, it can only be to make room for a still loftier
aud nobler spiritual being — that is, for man in a
higher form. And to what can he pass away ?
Not, surely, to nothingness. The very fact that he
asks these questions proves, or at any rate points
to, the answer. As every lower thing is a promise
of the life of man, so the conscious, questioning,
hoping, fearing life of man is a promise of the
hereafter — the fuller development of that life. Do
men paint a beautiful picture to tear it in pieces,
or build a splendid temple to dash it to the ground 9
Think what a fully-developed man involves. He
is the most costly creature on the earth. Centuries
have gone to the making of him. The Bible was
written for him. Poets have sung for him. Mar-
tyrs have bled to give him liberty and education.

' *- . .

DO U UTS CONCEliNING THE SOUL.

2i;i

His mother's pain, her tender lovo, his father's

Le
Les
las

yoiitli

oliH,

teaching and prayers, mouMod 1
travel, conversation, experience of mtai and things,
sermons, sahhatlis, marriage, love, social activities,
political and scientific discussion, and a hundred
other thinj^s have entered into his education. I
say such a heing is too costly to die like a do;^.
If he is to die, it is into a larger life. You cannot
believe that just when everything is ripened in a
man's character — when experience is bearing its
richest fruit, when thought is true and feeling
noble and conscience pure — death comes in, arrests
that magnificent development, and levels that
splendid structure with the dust. All thin«^g,
through boundless past ages, have been leading up
to man ; is man, when he comes to be, a meaning-
less failure, going out into nothingness and night ?
Has the mind that planned Rafi'ael's paintings, the
mind that sung the ** Paradise Lost," the mind
that wove the subtle web of Plato's or of Bacon's
philosophy simply gone out like the snuff of a
candle? You are a disciple of Mr. Darwin, you
say ; you believe in development. Well, I believe
in development too, and just because I believe in
development, I do not and cannot believe that
development ends in nothingness. No, the love of
God is the end of development. It begins with
simple things, but it ends in a spiritual being that
can share the immensity and eternity of God when
time and space shall be no more.

244

DOUBTS CONCEnNTKa THE SOUL.

'» •

We arc told HomctimeH that it is flelfish to Heek
for a future life. We Bhall die but man will live,
it iH said, and we ought to be content to live in our
descendants, to bo immortal in their memory and
love. I really cannot see why the desire of life
should be a selfish desire. What is selfishness ?
It is to got my own good at the expense of other
people's. The desire of life can only be selfish,
then, if my life does barm to other men. But
why should it ? A good man's life never does. A
good man is a benefit, not an injury, to others.
The longer he lives and the more widely his influ-
ence extends, the better for the world. If that is
so in this world, why not hereafter also ? Heaven
is large enough — we shall not crowd each other
out. Nay, every fresh soul admitted to the better
world will, as we may well believe, add a new
intensity to its joy and a new glory to its triumph.
Selfish to desire life beyond the grave ! Can I do
so much for the good of others, then, if I am
blotted out of being? One would imagine
that if we are to be a benefit to other men we
must at least exist. The Bible speaks of things
that are not, bringing to nought things that are,
and I can understand that as a vivid figure of
speech. But how men that are not can do much
to improve the condition of men that are is a
puzzle that I cannot comprehend.

One thing, however, we may wisely learn from
objections such as these : to keep our idea of the

P: I /

DOUBTS CONCEIiNINO THE SOUL.

24r>

from
f the

better life large and noble. Some peoplo'H notion
of heaven is poor, narrow, and BulfiHh enough.
They fancy that there every wish will be gratified,
and the condition of otbcrs will give them no con-
cern. I do not believe it. It seems to me utterly
preposterous and impossible. We shall have some-
thing bettor to do than to sit on a cloud and sing.
We shall not spend eternity in wandering through
scented groves or plucking golden fruit. I can
believe that there will not only be unselfish love,
but even voluntary self-sacrifice iu the better
world. God is there, who is eternal love and
perfect righteousness. Christ is there, who bore
the bitter cross for our salvation. God and Christ
do not change ; they are the same yesterday and
1 3-day and for ever. If we arc to share their
heaven we must be like them. And there may,
for anything we know, bo abundant room for
mutual help and mutual sacrifice. We shall not
be all alike. And as long as one has what another
has not, whether knowledge, or goodness, or peace,
or power, there will be opportunity, just as in this
world, for one to help and to bless another. Oh,
men and women, do not shrink from that ! for
the sacrifices of love are perfect bliss. In heaven,
as on earth, " it is more blessed to give than to
receive."

It is an evidence also that we shall live again,
that the belief in a future life is intertwined with
all religions. However widely separated in time or

■ tt i^i

246

DOUBTS CONCERNING THE SOUL.

I ;

\m ;n

place, all who worship in any way have some hope
and belief in a life to come. These universal
beliefs of the human mind are to be regarded, I
cannot help thinking, with very deep respect. The
great human soul does not utter itself idly or
carelessly. An old proverb says, "The voice of
the people is the voice of God." The " people "
there are not a chance mob collected at the corner
of a street, but the mighty masses of the human
race. The universal consent of the race is strong
evidence for anything. You cannot prove most
fundamental ti-uths ; they go before proof, so to
say, they are too simple to be proved. Why do we
believe that there is an outward world ? that this
church, and I ;vho speak, and you who hear, are
not dreams but realities ? We can never prove
these things to one another. Yet we never doubt
them. It is not common sense to doubt them, we
say. Exactly so. The sense of truth which is
common to all men, the net result, as I may call it,
of all man's thought and experience is on the side
of these great truths. So of the being of God. The
Bible assumes it aa not needing proof. So of a
soul destined to live hereafter. It is not so much
asserted as implied in all Scripture, and, indeed, in
all religion. Even the Indian has his happy
hunting-grounds for the good warrior after death.
The Buddhist has his blissful Nirvana — a rest in
the bosom of the first cause. The mystic has his
vision of God. The Christian has his heaven.

DOUBTS CONCERNING TEE SOUL. 247

To tbis question, then, " If a man die, sliall he
live again ? ** the great human heart answers Yes.
And Christ, who is the great human heart purified
and made perfect by the indwelling of God, answers
Yes too. He knew what was in man, for He was
man, expanded and ennobled into divinity. And
it was said of Him, " Thou wilt not leave His soul
in Hades, neither wilt Thou suffer thine Holy One
to see corruption."

This horrible, deadening, benumbing nightmare,
the dread of annihilation, received its deathblow
when Christ arose. *•' Now is Christ risen from the
dead, and become the firstfruits of them that
slept. Foi as in Adam all die, even so in Christ
shall all be made alive. grave, where is thy vic-
tory ? death, where is thy sting ? Thanks ])e to
God, who giveth us the victory tlj rough our Lord
Jesus Christ."

"What then ? The lesson is simple : live as im-
mortal souls ; be worthy of " honour, glory, and
immortality — eternal life." We may be so. Not
in ourselves, for we are at the best unprofit-
able servants, and when not at our best we are
defiled and stained by dreadful forms of sin. But
we may rise through Christ into newness of life. The
very worst of us may be washed, may be renewed,
may be sanctified. "Whether we will or no, we are
acting and thinking for eternity. We li,e, and we
must live, for ever. What shall that life be? It
will be what we make it. It will grow out of the

248

DOUBTS CONCERNING THE SOUL.

present life, as the flower grows out of the root, as
our mauhood grows out of childhood and youth.
The other world is only this world expanded and
prolonged. Properly speaking, there is only one
world, one order, one system of law and Divine
government. This is the first half, the second is
beyond the grave. And as surely as what we are
to-day has grown out of what we were yesterday
and the day before, so surely will our life hereafter
be determined by our life here.

VI.

THE CHARACTER OF CHRIST— IS IT DIVINE*

" And the "Word was made flesh and dwelt among us."

— John i. 14.

CHRIST, we are told, is the Word of God made
flesh. It is a very strange phrase, hut it
is full of meaning. A word is an uttered thought.
It is a thought which has found for itself
expression. Christ is the thought of God uttered
or expressed. Very wonderful it is that thought
can be expressed in words. Words are sounds
only, vibrations of the air, little wa/es in the
atmosphere around us. But inwardly they are
quite diiferexit. Their body, so to speak, is air in
movement, but their soul is a thought or feeling in
801 le human heart. And they have the power of
kindUng thought in the hearts of others similar
to that in the mind which uttered them. They are
living messengers, swift winged, and nimble footed,
flying between souls. Very wonderful, if you think
of it. I have a thought in my mind. I strike
with my lips or my tongue upon the air, and

U I

■>t.

250

THE CHABACTER OF CHRIST.

instantly the same thought is in yours. In that
way we can play upon each other's minds as a
musician plays upon an organ. We can awaken
thought or imagination, anger or rage, hope or
love. The power of speech is the hond of society.
It makes the difference between a herd of animals
and a society of men. By speech minds mingle
and unite. Man's word is man's bond of brother-
hood. And God's Word is God's thought and feeling
expressed. The text says they are expressed not
in sounds, but in a human life. No soul could
reveal the heart of God. It required all that
Christ was and is to do that. God's love is infinite,
and it could only find expression in the boundless
goodness and love of the Saviour. For there is
something infinite in Christ. We all feel that.
You look and look, you listen, you take all you can,
but still there is something more. As one has
said, " There is an unknown quantity in Christ."
Whatever you know, there is more to be known.
He is higher than thought can rise and deeper
than thought can fathom. Paul spoke what we all
ft si when he wrote of **the unsearchable riches of
Christ." And that boundless spiritual wealth —
that fulness of wisdom and love is there because
He is the Word made flesh, the expression of the
very heart and life of God. He is the gateway
leading into the fulness of the Divine nature.

Now I am not going to attempt any answer to
the question how the Divine and human are united

THE CHAIiACTEIi OF CHRIST.

251

in Christ. Other men may know, or think they
know ; I frankly confess I do not. But that Christ
is Divine I fully and heartily helieve. I cannot
tell you now half my reasons. But taking His
character in the most external way, I can point
out to you a few qualities that startle us into the
thought that He must he more than man.

I. Look at the purity of His life. As a fact I
assume that. Here is One who is ** holy, harmless,
undefiled, and separate from sinners." He Him-
self says, "Which of you conviuceth Me of sin?"
and there is no reply to His question. It is the
impression He actually made on men that He was
sinless. How wonderful, when the most certain
and universal of all facts is the sinfulness of man-
kind ! Everybody feels it. Only folly or utter
baseness can be insensible to it. The man who
said he had no sin would take the shortest way of
proving that he was a sinner. We feel our sinful-
ness just in proportion as we rise above it, the
best men feel it most. The saints of all ages are
those who have made the very air ring with cries
and groans oyer their selfishness and impurity and
hardness of heart. But here is One who dwells in
an atmosphere of pure devotion, who is as simple
as a child, and as gentle as a lamb, who is so close
to God that when other men are sleeping He
spends whole nights in prayer, and yet He never
betrays by word or look the faintest consciousness
of sin. Once in the history of the world there has

saM

1^'

)

IH'

252

THE CHARACTER OF CHRIST.

been a sinless life. Once Divine purity has touched
the earth, and acted, spoken, and lived among men.

The very idea of a sinless life is one which we.
get from the gospel. Moses is not sinless. David
is not; the Psalms are resonant with his pas-
sionate confessions of sin. Paul is not sinless;
he calls himself **the chief of sinners." The
same is true outside the Bible. The founders of
other forms of religion, such men as Menu in
India, Mahomet in Arabia, Confucius in China, and
whatever others we may take, do not claim to be
sinless or perfect, and their followers do not claim
it for them. On the contrary, whole pages are
taken up with the story of their mortifications and
penances for sin. But Christ never even asks to
be forgiven. He knows and feels that He is utterly
accepted already, completely at one with God.
*' As Thou, Father, art in Me and I in Thee " — that
is the way in which He speaks of Himself. Oh,,
blessed and sacred life ! the world is a different
place since it was lived among men. May its
gentle and glorious power descend upon us !

Take notice, too, that the character of Christ
cannot be a dream. It must be real. Do you say
that the Evangelists invented it? Never. Wha
were the Evangelists ? Men of no skill in writing,,
very simple and unconventional. They could not
have described a perfect life through two pages if
they had not drawn from nature. It you doubt
what I sny, try what you can do. Write the life of

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THE CHAUACTEli OF CHlilST.

253

a perfect man and see what you will make of it.
I can tell you beforehand : he will either be
covered with faults and follies, or he will be a mere
milksop. But the Christ of the Gospels is neither.
His goodness is glorious, positive goodness. It is
not the mere absence of faults, it is full of the
most inspiring excellencies. It is not the pale
glimmer of the moonHght, cold as an icicle, it is
the glow and warmth, as well as the splendour of
the sun. What element of human greatness is
absent ? Do you speak of courage ? Here is One
who calmly faces an enraged nation, and stands
unmoved amid the howling opposition of a bigot
priesthood and an angry crowd. Or is it benefi-
cence you would see ? Surely it is here, for it is
true of Him that "He went about doiug good."
Self-sacrifice is a noble thing, is it ? Where, then,
will you find a sacrifice equal to His who gave up
all the comforts of home and love so that " He
had not where to lay His head," and at last per-
mitted the folly and the sin of man to tear His
gentle heart in pieces? And then, how He knew
men ! how He understood them with the keen
insight of love ! how He saw them through and
through, so that every thought and emotion lay open
to His eye ! ** Come, see a man that told me all things
that ever I did," said the woman of Samaria, and
she added, with better reason than she fully under-
stood, " Is not this the Christ ? " Yes, friends, it is
the Christ ! It is He "who loved us, and washed

pr^-

204

THE CHAIiACTER OF CHIilST.

us from our sins in His own blood." He knows U8
because He loves us, for only love can see the con-
tents of another soul. Poor as we were, weak and
wayward, He loved us. He thought, not of what
we were, but of what we might become. He
picked our souls out of the dark cavern of evil thiit
they might shine as jewels on the brow of God for
ever. " He loved us foul that He might make us
fair," as St. Augustine so tenderly says. He saw
the glorious possibilities of our soiled and degrac^^d
nature — the ideal that lay buried and embruted in
our miserable life, and He gave Himself to pain
and even to death that He might rescue it from
destruction and restore it to goodness and to God.
Men and women, He did this for you ! And He
asks in return only one thing — that you will love
Him, and the Father whom He reveals, with all
your ransomed nature.

A goodness and purity like this of Christ seems
to me Divine. If this is not a mark of the presence
of God I do not know what could be. I accept
Christ, therefore, as the Son of God and the Saviour
of men. I say, " Lord, I come to Thee, Thou hast
the words of eternal life."

II. The greatness of the love of Christ, and
especially its broad comprehensive inclusiveness,
seems to me Divine. Intense love is always a noble
thing. Even in the humblest creatures it is a sort
of element or promise of nobility. The love of a
faithful dog for his master makes the dog almost

:■;(

THE CHARACTER OF CHRIST.

human for the time. It leads us to look even on
the animal nature with something of respect anil
reverence. And the love of mothers for children,
fatherly love, sisterly and hrotherly love, the love
of husband and wife— -all the love, in a word, for
which home is the symbol, how precious and how
sacred they are! They are the tender and heavenly
oases in our life, otherwise so prosaic and common.
They make us hope for fuller love hereafter, they
enable us to believe in heaven, and render God
credible. When love grows less personal and more
general, it is more inspiring, if not so tender and
consoling. The love of a patriot for his country
stirs every heart and kindles our warm admiration.
King Alfred in England, Robert Bruce in Scotland,
William Tell in Switzerland — their very names are
words to move enthusiasm. But love as a rule goes
no further than love of country. The love of man
as man is not common. Certainly it was not in
the ancient world. Love is apt to grow weaker
and thinner the more it is widened out : you
cannot love a million people as you can love one.
But Christ loved all men. He looked into every
human face and said, " brother." He spoke to the
Samaritan woman — an alien and a heretic — and
said, " sister." He gave us a prayer, not for you
or me, but for all men, and its first words are,
** Our Father." Poor slaves at their tasks, little
children at school, ragged outcasts, the mere waifs
and strays of society — He taught them all to say,

250

THE CHAIiACTEIi OF CHRIST.

I
I

" Our Father." This came to Him out of Ilifi own
Divine heart, and out of that alone. Where else
could He find it ? Certainly not among his country-
men, the Jews. Of all people on earth they were
the most intensely narrow and national. They were
the people of God, and all others were mere "dogs,"
to be hated and despised. Even now their descen-
dants keep themselves sternly separate fro.n all
other races. They are scattered all over the world.
You may see their well-known features — the dark
eye and the aquiline nose — wherever men gather
for business, and wherever there is money to be
made. They are a patient, thrifty, earnest, success-
ful race of men. i.iit they are separate — " among
us, but not of us." Think of it : Christ sprang of
that intense people, ready to die for its special
privileges, and yet He opened His mighty heart so
as to embrace all humanity, and preached a gospel
to every clime and colour, to every race and
condition of mankind. It is not wonderful that
we should care for the human race. We have had
Christ to teach us. His cross is the symbol and
the means of reconciliation. Paul, His truest
disciple in this respect at all events, delighted to
call himself " the apostle of the Gentiles " — that is,
not of the Jews only, but of all mankind. Even
Peter, whose mind opened much more slowly to
new truths than Paul's, grew to see that he should
not call any man common or unclean.

For eighteen centuries we have heard the grand

ih;

,11

THE CHAIiACTEIi OF CIIIilST.

267

trutli that men are brothcrH for Clirist's sake. And
modern science and diHcovery are helping the j^ood
work on. The telegraph binds the two hemisplieres
of the world together. The steamship throbs on
the bosom of every sea. The bounds of the nations
are growing unsettled and the families of man arc
melting into one. The gospel is proving itself
adapted to every nation as well as every moral and
spiritual state. It is the only religion that can get
beyond national bounds. Mahomedanism is for the
East alone ; it will not flourish under a northern
or western sky. Menu is read and understood in
India, and India only. Buddhism cannot get out
of China and Japan. But Christ goes everywhere.
He is at home in every civilization and under
every sky. The tropics open to him their sunny
groves, warm with the breath of a thousand spices ;
the western prairie unrolls its broad bosom to
receive Him, and waves its plains of feathery
grass in welcome ; the frozen Pole unlocks its
icy fetters and thaws into genial warmth at His
approach. Come, Thou great King of Saints,
assume Thy power and reign, the voice of Ijlending
humanity calls Thee, and all creatures sigh to be
redeemed.

III. We get another mark of the Divine character
of Christ in the unselfishness of His devotion to the
great purpose of His life and work. It is very notable
that Christ is never thinking of Himself. He lives
for His Father and for men. This unselfishness is

258

THE CHAUACTEU OF CniiTST.

a. wonderful mark of Ilis divinity. God, you know,
is the only Being in the universe who can receive
nothing. He gives continually ; Ho is th( great
Giver ; but He does not receive, for He has all things
already. We speak of giving to God, but what wo
HO give is really set apart in His name for the good
of our fellow-men. There is one exception, indeed —
God longs for our loi'Cf and we can give that to Him.
But of outward things we can give Him nothing.
Christ has this peculiarity of the Divine character
— He is always giving, never receiving. When He
wont up to Jerusalem as a boy He employed Himself
about His Father's business. In manhood His
one thought was to do the will of God and to work
out the good of man. He wandered from end to
end of His native country that He might find those
who needed Him most and who were able to receive
benefit from Him. Twelve men joined Him as
disciples. He taught them and cared for them,
loved them and cherished them as a mother devotes
herself to her children. He adapted Himself to
their different temperaments, bore with the
treacherous Judas, restrained the impetuous Peter,
confirmed the sceptical Thomas, guided the aspiring
John. His mighty works also were works of un-
selfish love. His own description of them is proof
of that — " the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame
walk, the dead are raised, to the poor the gospel is
preached." And His teaching is full of the same
spirit. It is full of the idea of love, nothing for

THE cnAItACTFIi OF CHIiTST.

250

Bolf and all for others. The idea of love to God
and liis fellow-men liuuntu Ilim like a pussion ; lie
cannot for a moment tear lliniself away from it.
Even when He asserts Himself it is for the sake of
others. " 1 am the AVay, and the Truth, and the
Life," Ho says ; hut He says it that Ho may ^'o on
to invite storm-tossed and sinful nun to receive
truth and life from Him. And I need not surely
speak of His death, when " Ho made His soul an
offering for sin," and howed His head to endure
"the contradiction of sinners against Himself."
There is a steady consistency of self-sacrifice in it
all. One great act of self-devotion is not uncommon
among us. Thank God, even in our imperfection
some germs of heroism are left. J3ut it is not one
great act that is ditlicult, it is the thousand little
acts of daily life. It is to keep true, and keep on
under all circumstances, that tries the character.
Many a man would jump into the fire to rescue his
burning wife who hurts and tortures her feeling
almost every day. Many a woman would die for
her husband, who yet teases him past endurance
by a complaining or scolding tongue. Where is he
who is consistent in self-devotion ? I know of none
but Christ. And this complete sacrifice of self is
the divinest thing in the universe. It is of God
and it leads to God. It is the very essence of the
Divine life. The Christ who had it is not man
merely but ** God manifest in the flesh."

IV. Another of the marks of a Divine character

260

THE CHARACTER OF CHRIST.

.i.i

It I

in Christ is the caJmnesfj of His faith in His own
work and mission. Christ beheved in Himself.
He had no doubt of the divinity of His own life and
work. Of course, taken alone, that proves nothing.
Many fanatics have believed in themselves ; but it
is not possible to think of Christ as a fanatic. He
was too wifce, too good, too reasonable. He won all
hearts by His wisdom and goodness. And He said
in all quietness and firmness that God had sent
Him, and that He was the Son of God. He declared
that He was the Saviour of mankind, of whom
prophets and psalmists had spoken, and encouraged
all men to come to Him for peace and spiritual life.
He believed that the course of the world's history
was guided so as to secure the ultimate triumph of
the gospel. He said that He, if He were lifted up,
would draw all men unto Him. He had perfect
faith in God and truth and goodness. And He
had no doubt that goodness and truth for men were
bound up with His own work. He believed in the
future. He did not despair of the destiny of the
race. He was not one of the gloomy prophets who
are for ever saying that the world is going to
rack and ruin. No, no ; Christ saw that truth is
stronger than falsehood, right is mightier than
wrong, love is greater than malice. A day is coming
when the right and the true will conquer. The
w^orld is in course of development, of evolution, of
progress, and some day " right — reason, and the
will of God — will prevail." So Christ died, knowing

"It

THE CHAIiACTER OF CHRIST.

261

img
The

|)n, of
the

^wing

that not only He but His glorious Gospel would rise
again from the dead and live for evermore.

And it will be so. The Gospel of Christ is in-
vincible. No power of earth or hell can coD(iaer it.
His cause is the cause of God, and of man, and all
things fight for it, even those that seem at first
sight to threaten it. As one of His own disciples
tells us, speaking in the very spirit of his blessed
Master, " We c;'n do nothing against the truth, but
for the truth." Unbelief, opposition, persecution,
are only making the success of the truth of God more
sure. " He maketh the wrath of man to praise
Him, and the remainder of wrath He will restrain."

Brethren, I ask you to weigh these things. Is
Christ Divine ? Is He the Son of God and the
Saviour of men ? Did He die for you and for me ?
Did He care so much for our spiritual life as to
bear the cross that He might secure it ? J)id He
lie in the tomb that we might not be lonely there,
but feel Him with us in death as well as in life '?
Then what are we doing in response to His mighty
love ? Have we taken Him for our friend and
Saviour, the guiding star of our pilgrimage, and
the haven of our rest ? Let us do it, and do it n )W
Life is short and uncertain. The pageants will
soon be over and the lights will be put out. It will
not matter then whether we were wealthy or wise,
or what figure we made in society. But it will
matter infinitely what we are. And it is only
Christ who can take us in our weakness and sin and
make us what we o\vA\i to be.

VII.

HIS GLOBIOUS BODY.'-

" Who shall change our vile oody, that it may be
fashfoned like unto His glorious body, according to the
working whereby He is able even to subdue all things unto
Himself. "—riiiL. iii. '21 (A. V.).

" Who shall fashion anew the body of our humiliation,
that it may be confcjrmed to the body of His glory, according
to the working whereby He is able even to subject all things
to Himself."— Phil. iii. '21 (/?. V.).

THE bettor translation is that of the Revised
Version. We are told that as Avchhishop
Whately lay on his death-bed his chaplain read to
him this chapter. "Yes," said the dying man;
"but read again, and translate literally, for nothing
that He made is vile." And that is true. Our
body is not vile, "cheap," or "common," as the
old word implied ; it is fearfully and wonderfully
made, a mystery of Divine wisdom and skill. And
yet it is rightly called " the body of our humilia-
tion," for it is often the seat of disease and pain,

■•' The last sermon. Preached in Brixton Independent
Church on Easter Sunday evening, Aiu'il 0, 1890.

HIS GLOIilOUS BODY.

263

aud always, at least to some degree, a hindrance
to our noblest life. Its clamorous appetites load
the wings of our aspirations as though with lead,
and occupy so much of our thought and attention
that we have little to spare for the atfcctions that
bind us to each other, and the truth that unites us
to God. No doubt the bodily senses are inlets of
various knowledge. All we know of the universe
around us comes through one or other of these five
gateways. But we have reason to believe that
there are many facts even in the material world
of which they do not tell us ; and they give us no
knowledge at all of Lhe world of spiritual realities.
They ^ay nothing of God, of Christ, of the unseen
regions in which those whom we have loved are
living ; and of the eternal truth and goodness
which are the proper food of our souls. We can-
not boast much of our body. It is at best only the
beginning of something better. It ties us to one
place. It holds us too much to its own service.
It is seldom, at least in the majority of men, in
very good condition. T. is apt to intrude on us
with its aches and pains. It is not often, even in
outward appearance, perfectly noble in men or
perfectly beautiful in women. And yet, as the
good Archbishop said, it is not " vile." We cannot
afford to despise it. Even in the outward form of
it there is something that takes us in thought
beyond itself. Its upright attitude expresses some-
thing of the dignity of the soul \;hich uses its

2C4

HIS GLOEIOUS BODY.

activities. Its features are animated with thought
and feeling. The eye, the lip, the pale or
blushing cheek, the smile, the knitted brow, are
all a picture language that sometimes speaks
more than words. Though mortal, the body is
symbolical. Though material, it partakes some-
thing of the character of spirit. It seems to stand
on the border line between the worlds of matter
and mind, itself doomed to death, and yet pro-
mising immortality to the guest who inhabits it.

Perhaps under the outward body which we see

there is something more ; what we may call an

inward body, or the germ of one, invisible to us

now, but preparing to become visible in the next

world. St. Paul speaks of a " spiritual body."

Is that forming, so to speak, as a sort of kernel

within the shell of the natural body ? Is it the

reality of which the present body is only the

appearance? Is there, within the grosser flesh

and blood, a body related more blessedly to the

ascended body of Christ, a house of the soul which

may be truly called " a building of God, a house

not made with hands, eternal in the heavens " ?

*' His glorious body," pays our text. He has,
then, a glorious body. The words carry us back
in thought to the resurrection morning. The body
of Christ, if we may trust the Scriptures, came,
then, out of the tomb. If it was the body which
had been laid in the grave three days before, it
was that body with a difference. A change, a very

HIS GLORIOUS BODY.

205

great change, had passed upon it. It was no
longer the weak, frail bodj' that had not where to
lay its head. It was now a bod}' elevated above
ordinary conditions, and, so to speak, spiritualized.
The proofs of this are quite clear if we follow the
narrative. The disciples are told to go to Galilee,
and, when they arrive there, they will lind that He
is there ** before " thera. How did He go '? Along
what road, or by what means of transit ? All we
know is that, when they arrived, He was tJierr,
ready to reveal Himself to them. It seems as
though the risen body of Christ had the power of
passing over space at will, or of making itself
visible in different places, without passing over the
space between them. When the two disciples
were walking together, on the way to Emmaus, the
risen Jesus suddenly joined them, and, after His
conversation with them, as suddenly vanished out
of their sight. They did not know till afterwards
who it was, though their " hearts burned within
them when He talked with them by the way, and
when He opened to them the Scriptures." So
again He came into the midst of the disciples
where they were assembled together, '* the doors
being shut." No walls or doors could shut out the
risen body of the Lord ; it was so one with His
Spirit that it came and went exactly as Ho willed.
It is true there seems to have baen somj sort of
material quality still belonging to it. Christ says
that it is not merely the apparition of His Spirit,

2GG

HIS GLOIilOUS BODY.

[i ...

for " a spirit hath not flesh and boiiTH as ye see Me
have." Christ's risen body seems to belong to
loth the material and spiritual worlds, and to con-
nect them together. It was the same as it always
had been, yet different. At last, on the ascension
day, Christ took His disciples apart, and was
taken up into heaven, and a cloud received Him
out of their sight. Then He entered the spiritual
world, and was no more seen on earth. What of
bodily medium He took thither was no longer
flesh. It was His " glorious body" now. We can-
not tell what it is, except that it serves, as our own
body does, as a means of making Him manifest to
other spirits around Him. W^e shall know Him —
we who have loved and followed Him. He will be
directly revealed in the " body of His glory."
Yes, blessed Lord, we too shall be allowed to
recognize Thee for whom our souls have longed !

Notice that the "glorious body" of Christ
involves His perfect humanity. It is the form or
shape of the perfect man. And it is also the form
in which God is revealed. There, as here, the
blessed One witli whom our life is identified is at
once God clothed with humanity and man elevated
into deity. The indwelling God beams from the
eyes, speaks from the lips, is manifest in the acts of
Christ. In His own being God transcends form,
for He is infinite, but in so far as He is expressed
in form it is in the glorified humanity of His Son.
It would seem that there is something hi the

HIS GLOIilOUS BODY.

2fi7

human form which is fitted to be the expression of
God. Man's shape is akin to his soul, and his
soul is akin to God. So that the perfect man is,
in order to be perfect, more than a man. His
finiteness shades off into the infinite. His humanity
trembles into deity. God to be manifested must
become a man, man when he is perfected is one
with God. Here, then, let us seek and find our
God — in Jesus, whom we see and know. He
speaks to us, not in the thunder or in the stormy
sea; we hear a man's voice, a voice like our own,
full of sympathy with our sorrow, pity for our pain,
forgiving love stronger than all our sin. He comes
to meet our sin and to break its dreadful power.
He stands by us to suffer at our side. He takes
our death upon Him, and through death ** con-
quers him that has the power of death." He is
here to pour Himself into our life — Himself the
conquering man. Himself the compassionate God.
Think of this in your hours of darkness and
depression. You are apt to feel as though one so
l)oor and mean could not be an object of care to a
being so august as God. But it is one like you —
poor, rejected, despondent, despised and crucified
of men, who is elevated to the throne of power,
and who will change the body of your humiliation
as He has that of His own.

Tbe glorious body of Christ involves also His
universal prcsena;. The ascended Saviour is freed
from the limits of time and place. He is not con-

2C8

HIS GLORIOUS BODY.

I ii

\\.

fined, as He was in the clays of His flesh, to one
spot, so as to be absent from otlier places because
He is present in that. The body of His glory,
whatever else it may be, is absolutely obedient to
the uses of His Spirit. It is here, it is there, it is
yonder, wherever He wills. "We may rightly think
of Christ, therefore, as present with us always and
everywhere. I do not attempt to explain that. I
cannot tell you how the spiritual body of Christ
can be in many places at the same time ; but we
may get a glimpse of what is meant when I remind
you that God can be everywhere at once. This,
too, not partially but wholly. It is not that a
fragment of the Godhead is here and another
there, but the whole of Him, His infinite love, His
perfect wisdom. His boundless power, is equally
present to every part of the entire universe. We
never can be where He is not. And what is true
of God is true of Christ. Christ is present every-
where, and the whole Christ, too, so that we may
enjoy all the fulness of what He is and what He
has to give. Invisible He is, no doubt, and must
be so until we acquire the powers which enable us
to perceive His glorious body ; but He is not absent
because He is invisible. The powers most im-
portant in moulding our lives are often invisible ;
so is Christ. In our hours of prayer He is near,
kindling our emotion and guiding our thought.
In the thrill of joy over a vanquished sin, or new
impulse toward God and goodness, we may recog-

HIS GLOBIOUS BODY.

2GI)

nize His presence. In the stir and stress of
puzzling business life, some gentle thoufj;ht, some
sudden perception of what it is right to do, some
clearing away of temptation to follow a base
motive, or descend to an unworthy act of fraud
or chicanery, will reveal the presence and the
inspiration of our Lord. In pain, too, we shall
find Him at hand, for He knows the keen misery
of pain and the sense of desertion it is so apt to
bring. And at the last hour, wlien the damps of
death gather on our brow, we may expect the pre-
sence and the love of Christ to soothe us and to
speak a word of peace as we go out on the great
unknown ocean that lies beyond our life. The
whole of our life may be penetrated with the pre-
sence of Christ. He is the perfection of all human
nobleness, and the power of His presence must
ennoble us. The touch of Christ, like the alembic
of the alchemist, turns even the basest metal into
gold.

Christ " shall change the body of our humilia-
tion," says the text, so that it shall " be fashioned
like unto the body of His glory." Out of our com-
mon, earthy life, He will make a glorious lieavenly
one. This suggests one view of the very meaning
of our present life. AYe are in all our experience
laying up the materials for that change. We are
preparing to be made in the image of Christ.
AVhat value that may give even to the apparent
trifles of our experience ! You forget a thousand

m I

! I

'270

HIS GLOIilOUS BODY.

tilings, but tlicy do not forget jum. All your pant
leaves its mark on your character. It leaves you
different from what it found you. The lessons you
learned in your youth as you sat in school, or were
drilled for your present work, are most of them for-
gotten in detail. But they have left their impress
on your mind ; they have educated you. You are
wholly different from what you would have been
without them. This is true of our spiritual
experience also. Take our sorrows, for example.
They come to us, and very mysterious they seem.
They pass away, and somehow we find ourselves
wiser. We cannot tell how the wisdom came, but
it is there. The sins that we first loved, then
hated, and finally, with a great struggle, forsook,
have taught us more than we could have learned in
any other way. The same is true of our hours of
prayer and aspiration — they are with us still. All
our sympathy and love for others, all oiw acts of
unknown kindness, the dear faces that we left
behind us in the past — all these lie in us like germs
waiting for the change. They will show their
effects in that renewed character which finds its
outward expression in the glorious body. There is
no loss. Good will spring from every good deed
and thought. You ask. What will our glorious body
be ? Well, I do not know. But it will be appro-
priate to us. '* To every seed its own body."
Our heavenly embodiment corresponds exactly to
our character ; it expresses precisely what we are.

ms CLoliloVH lloliY.

871

its
is

W(! art! l)uil(liii^ it now. Or, it* not a licavcnly,
then we are pr('parinf» an ombodinient suited to
our evil character — we are niukinfj ready our perdi-
tion. The ^doi'ious body is in contrast not only
with our pr(!S('nt earthly hody, hut with one of a
8[)iritual (piality litted to those who choose corru[)-
tion and death. The chanjj;e will not alter cha-
racter; it will hrin^' out and exhibit the character
that is there. The fire does not write the letters in
invisible ink, it only manifests what has been
already written. I have seen a picture in the
space of a pin's point. To the naked eye it was
not a picture, only a faint, dark spot, but under
the microscope it unfolded into vastness and robed
itself in beauty. So is it with the future (jf our
souls. It is the present enlarged to its full pro-
portions, developed to its ultimate results. Take
care, then, what the present is. And the best care
you can take is to place it in the hands of Him who
can take out of it all that is evil and wrong, and
fashion it first in spirit, and then in form, like unto
His own beauty and glory.

•o-

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[The following article written by Dr. Stevenson on the death
of Dr. Elmslie has been thought in many respects
singularly descriptive of hinaself. It is therefore inserted
in this volume.]

PROFESSOB ELMSLIE, D.D.

THE stroke of Professor Elmslie's death will
be to many simply overwhelming. So much
came to them in him, and so much has been
wrenched from them, that the sense of loss will be
akin to misery. What we of the Christian Church
especially want at present is a band of men, j'oung
in vigour, ripe in scholarship, scientific in sym-
pathy and method, thoroughly at home in Biblical
research, and with all these qualities, simple in
piety and unshaken in faith. These advantages
are not common, even apart from each other, but
united in a fascinating harmony, they are as rare
as they are noble. Yet they dwelt in ripening
perfection in Dr. Elmslie. He stood as one of
the select band who are making sacred literature
scientific, so as to reclaim for theology and twine
around her brow the chaplet of her intermitted
queenship. It seemed, some years ago, as though

PliOFESSOB ELMSLIE, D.D.

273

igb

physical science were about to supersede tbeologic.J
inquiries. A disposition showed itself on the part
of theologians to resist these scientific claims. But
the terrible advancing power came on, threatening
to paralyse our loftiest hopes. Meanwhile a
number of brave men, both here and on the
Continent, were adopting the methods of science
and applying them in Biblical inquiry. Almost as
soon as they began to do so, light seemed to break.
We saw the revelation of God in the process of its
growth, and became more sure of its divinity than
ever. Of this school of reverent, fearless inquirers
Professor Elmslie was first a pupil and then a
teacher. And as we listened to his results, achieved
by " mild enthusiasm," and declared with the
clearness of crystal, we became conscious that the
Bible was a larger gift than most men had hitherto
dreamed, and destined to hold its own for ever in
the religious consciousness of man.

Of course Professor Elmslie did not stand alone.
But he had gifts which make it especially trying to
lose him. Ke was not only learned, he had the
rare power of self-conveyance. He could induce
in others the love of knowledge, the keen hunting
instinct by which he was himself inspired. Frag-
ments of Scripture history, as he touched them,
glittered with fascination like diamonds. Names
and dates ceased to be dry and became full of
significance. The glow of his expressive eye, the
tentative effort of his voice, the final burst of

274

PBOFESSOIi ELMSLIE, D.D.

brilliant words kept attention untiringly on the
stretch. He was your fellow-student, ahead of
you, perhaps, but still near your side. His tone of
quiet, modest confidence, too, was greatly charming.
As he developed the results of study you felt your-
self in the presence of one who knew. Here was
a man to whom the facts of the Bible were like
those of geology to Lyell, or those of astronomy
to Lockyer or Stewart. Flashes of unexpected
side-light kept kindling delighted interest and
bringing the distant near. Of one thing we who
listened to him were sure : whatever might be the
ultimate results, this was the sound and satisfactory
method of research. We were face to face with
facts, and they were speaking for themselves.

Professor Elmslie had, as part of his equipment,
a fine appreciation of historical character. It was
this that rendered his sermons and lectures on the
heroes of Old or New Testament story so fresh and
powerful. We had read the facts before, but only
as they passed through his mind did they serve to
reveal the play of motive and purpose, of thought
and feeling, which lay behind them. Ancient days
and manners he could make alive again. He had
something of the power, which is so signally dis-
played in Robertson, to nestle into the hearts of
the men of old, stand where they stood, think as
they thought. His learning, so far from hindering,
helped him in this. It added dramatic picturesque-
ness to his sympathetic insight, so that his de-

fet-

PliOFESSOB ELMSLIK, D.D.

275

scriptions stood out in relief as though carved on
a gem. He could gently loosen the honds of time
and place, of here and now, so bringing us into
contact with those principles of humanity which
are always the same. Very natural did the heroes
of the Scripture seem as he spoke of them, while
yet they did not lose a jot of the undying signifi-
cance which constitutes their speciality as entering
into Divine revelation. They were men and women
to the finger-tips, yet they were representative as
well as individual.

There was also, in the preaching of Professor
Elmslie, a very high form of what we mean by the
practical element. Dr. Arnold defined practical
Christianity as " great thoughts underlying small
duties." There was no shrinking in the preaching
of Dr. Elmslie from an insistence on the minutest
details of duty. They were indicated, enforced,
tellingly described. But not for a moment were
his auditors allowed to lose sight of the great
principles, without which exhortations to duty are
likely to become so weary. We have seen some-
times the web which a spider has woven, loaded at
intervals with drops of morning dew. Suddenly
the sun has shone forth and every drop has become
a jewel, brilliantly sparkling. The duties of life,
colourless in themselves, »vere lighted up in the
expositions of Dr. Elmslie with a similar radiance,
because seen in relation to far-reaching and per-
manent principles.

. Pt ».ii »«»-^^,^.-^ .

270

raoFESSOB elmslie, d.d.

r '

1. !

The doctrinal teaching of Professor Elmslie was
coniprehensive and rich. He was not satisfied
with a partial or merely logical view of any of the
great doctrines of the Gospel. He delighted to
look at them from different sides, and to set them
in various points of light. His teaching was
eminently constructive. There was no tendency
in his mind to rejection for the sake of novelty or
change. He was prohahly more keenly alive to
the presence of truth under varied forms than
eager to overthrow any mode of thought which 1 as
ever yielded nourishment to the spiritual life of
earnest and godly men. Hence he was popular
with men of different mental tendencies, although
entirely candid and fearlessly outspoken. Attached
deeply and sincerely to the Church to which he
belonged, breathing in the atmosphere of her
noblest spirit as well as accepting the letter of her
formularies, he looked forward to the advent of
fuller light and vaster truth as the result of wider
investigation. He did not expect to destroy or
even innovate, but per^ etually to add ; and saw in
the theology he loved so well the grandest gym-
nastic of the human mind, as well as a majestic
vestibule to the temple of God.

We can ill spare such men. The times need
them. We cannot live to-day on the thoughts of
the past except as they are quickened and verified
by comparison with the whole sphere of the com-
pletest knowledge. The religious truth which will

FROFESSOR ELMSLIE, D.D.

277

need
of
:ified
corn-
will

feed us must fall into harmonious relations with
our large, intense, many-sided experience. The
sciences of nature, of man, and of society cry out
for an adequate conception of theology as their
crown and topstone; and the battle of life, growing
continually more strenuous, can only be fought
successfully in the power of a comprehensive faith
in Christ. Professor Elmslie was the man to
appreciate the situation, and to prepare others to
undertake it. Why he has been taken from us
must remain a mystery. To the college which has
lost him we can only offer our sincerest condolence.
With the Church of which he was an ornament we
cherish the truest sympathy. The deeper grief of
the bereaved family is too sacred for more than the
most respectful allusion. We trust that the mantle
of his ripe scholarship, his genial piety, and his
noble enthusiasm may fall on many, especially on
his former pupils, and quicken them to a like
intensity of endeavour and fulness of self-devotion.

t •■

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Burning Questions. By Washington Gladden, D.D.,
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Questions for the Free Churches. By Rev. J.
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The Freedom of Faitk. By Rev. T. T. Hunger.
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Early Pupils of the Spirit. By James M. Whiton,
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What of Samuel? By James M. Whiton, Ph.D.
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Beyond the Shadow. By James M. Whiton, Ph.D.
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Science and the Spiritual. By Prof. A. J Du Bois.
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Henry Ward Beecher in England : A Memorial
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Heisry Ward Beecher's Religion and Duty.
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A Day with Christ. By Rev. Samuel Cox, D.D.
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^1'^^

JAMES Cl.ARKE^ ^ CO.'S

11 i

1 1
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The Br'-AUTiFui. (;i,rani:r. A Hebrew Pastoral Story:
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Our Principles. A Church Manual for Congrf.ga-
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Aids to Puijlic Prayer. By Rev. Ambrose D.
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Gatherings from the Writings of the late Rev.
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General.

Why I Left Congregationalism.
Sale Reanev. is.

By Rev. George

The Art of Authorship : Literary Reminiscences,
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Tithes : Their History, Use, and Future. By R. L.

Everett, late M.P. for Woodbridge Division of Suffolk.
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NINETIETH THOUSAND.

Tasty Dishes, Showing what we can have for Break-
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A Wedding Present or Gift-Book to Young Married People.

The Home : In its Relation to Man and to Society.
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Homely Talks about Homely Things. By Marianne
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Life Sketches and Echoes from the Valley.
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What Shall We Name It ? A Dictionary of
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i'UBLICATlONS.

Poetry.

BY AfARlANNR FARNINGHAM.

GiLIlERT AND OTHER TOEMS. liy MaRIANNK FaHN-
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Lays and Lyrics of the IJi-essed Life. By
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Leaves from Elim : Poems. By Marianne Farn-
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Songs of Sunshine : The Newest Volume of Poems
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For Young People.

Dialogues for School and Home. By Rev. H.
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Boyhood : A Collection of Forty Papers on Boys
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Bye-Path Meadow. By late Rev. E. Paxton Hood.
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Children's Holidays. By Marianne Farningham, is*

The Clarence Family; or, Brothers and Sisters'
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Girlhood. By Marianne Farningham. Twentieth
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Home Life : Twenty-nine Papers on F'amily Matters.
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Little Tales for Little Readers. A Book for the
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The Moral Pirates, and the Cruise of "The
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Reedham Dialogues. A Dozen Dialogues for Children.
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What of the Night? A Temperance Talp of the
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The Baby's Annual.
The Rosebud Annual for 1892. The Twelve Monthly

Numbers of The Rosebud. In handsome cloth binding.
Nearly 300 charming illustrations. Quarto, 4s.

Daily Chronicle: " 7*« genial
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Vie illustrations, which reach a total
of nearly three hundred ^ possess exceP'
tiotuU merit,"

Preston Guardian : " To many
homes this book comes as a yearly visitor
eagerly looked for by the children^
whose expectations this year we art
sure will be more than realised,"

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One Volume Novels.

A Man's Mistake. By Minnie Worboise. Crown 8vo,
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All He Knew. A religious Novel. By John Habberton,
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■RoiiLYN's Trust. By Lucy C. Lillie, Author of
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''* I have seldom, if ever, read a work of fiction that moved me with so much
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For the Right : A German Romance. By Fmil
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" Letters from Hell"). Preface by Dr. George MacDonald.
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Dinah's Son. By L. B. Walfori). Crown Svo, cloth,
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Hagar : A North YoRKfiHiRE Story. By Mary
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PUBLICATIONS.

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LiLLO AND Ruth ; or, Aspirations. By Helen Hays.
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Clarissa's Tangled Weh. By Beatrice Bristo\ve.
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The Snow Queen. By Maggie Symington. Third
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\,r\/y J v,r\^»^

BY AMELIA E. BARR.

'• Mrs. Barr's stories are always pleasant to read. They are full oj sweetness
and light." — Scotsman.

" In descriptive writing, in simplicity and gracefulness 0/ style, atui in perfect
mastery over her characters, Mrs. Barr can hold her ovjn with any living English
novelist.' —Glasgow Herald.

NOW READY.

Friend Olivia. Crown Svo, 6s.

In a variety of handsome cloth bindings, or bound uniformly, crown Svo.
THREE SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE EACH.

In the Press. A Sister to Esau.

She Loved a Sailor.

/ust Ready

The Last of the Mac-

Allisters.
Woven of Love and Glory
Feet of Clay {with portrait

of author^
The Household of McNeil

In Spite of Himself
A Border Shepherdess
Paul and Christina
The Squire of Sandal Side
The Bow of Orange Ribbon
Between Two Loves
A Daughter of Fife
Jan Vedder's Wife

%* A new and cheap edition of "Jan Vedder's Wife" is now
issued. In paper cover, price \s. 6d,

The Harvest of the Wind, and Other Stories.
By Amelia E. Barr. Crown Svo, paper, is.

•^i^m t^Htrr' ^rtim* • » ■» ' m m

^1' i.

JAMES CLARKE ^ GO'S PUBLICATIONS.

« •

NOVELS BY EMMA JANE WORBOISE.

AEIV AND CHEAP EDITION. . ^

These Novels, which have hitherto been sold at Five Shillings

each, are »07V issued at

■- **

three shillings and sixpence each.

Father Fabian
Oliver Westwood
Lady Clarissa
Grey House at Endlestone
RobeptWreford's Daugh-
ter
The Brudenells of Brude
The Heirs of Errington
Joan Carisbroke i

A Woman's Patience
The Story of Penelope

SiSSIE

The Abbey Mill
Warleigh's Trust
Esther Wynne
Fortune's Favourite
His Next of Kin.

Thornycroft Hall

Millicent Kendrick

St. Beetha's

Violet Vaughan

Margaret Torrington

The Fortunes of Cyr

Denham

"/.A.

^ Singlehurst Manor

"4-''

. OVERDALE

>■,;:

* Grey and Gold

f >:^.' Mr. Montmorency's

li ■

Money

Nobly Born

Chrystabel

Canon bury Holt

Husbands and Wives

^'v

The House of Bondage

Emilia's Inheritance

•vyv/^v^y^**\/v/^'»''^'>-'^' ^-' V/ V

11^:

i; i

,»■ *

The following y. 6d. Volumes are now issued at Three Shillings each .

Married Life ; or, The Story of Phillip and Edith.
Our New House; or, Keeping up Appearances.

Heartsease in the Family
/ Maude Bolingbroke

Amy Wilton
Helen Bury

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BOOKS FOR THE HOLIDAYS. SPECIAL OFFER.

A limited number of the following Novels, published at Four
Shillings and Sixpence, are now offered at Two Shillings and
Sixpence.

Campion Court
Evelyn's Story
Lottie Lonsdale

14/&/91

Sir Julian's Wife
The Lillingstones
The Wife's Trials

'^.' J'^

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Shillings

.ESTONF.

Daugh-

Brude

INGTON

CE
ELOPE

ings each,

Edith.

LANCES.

OFFER.
at Four

[NGS AND

rES ^,

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