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UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
AT LOS ANGELES
SERMONS
PBEAOHED AT
TRINITY CHAPEL, BRIGHTON
BY THE LATB
REV. FREDERICK W. ROBERTSON, M. A.,
THE INCCUBEHT.
SECOND SERIES,
TENTH AMERICAN, FROM THE FIFTH LONDON EDITION.
BOSTON:
T I C K N () H AND F I E I. 1> S .
M nrrci.xvr.
5 #
^ at
So
THE CONGREGATION
WORSHIPPING IN
TRINITY CHAPEL, BRIGHTON,
FBOM AUGUST 15, 1847, TO AUGUST 15, 1863
THESB
RECOLLECTIONS OF SERMONS
PREACHED BT THEIR LATE PASTOR
ARE DEDICATED
WITH
FEELINGS OF GRATEFUL RESPECT.
<~?,.« rrc^Jr?/:
LGv'G9
PREFACE
TO THE FIRST ENGLISH EDITION.
In the preface to the First Volume I explained
the circumstances under which these Sermons were
preserved, and it is not therefore necessary for me
to do more now than allude to that preface, in pub-
lishing this Second Volume. But I cannot forbear
taking this opportunity of gratefully acknowledging
the numerous tributes to my dear Brother's useful-
ness which I have received since the First Volume
was issued.
Two years have now passed since those earnest
and eloquent lips were silent in death; yet I am
assured that his teaching is still remembered with
love and gratitude; and I have a confident hope
that the publication of these Sermons, imperfect as
they are, and confessedly inadequate to the full
representation of the grace and power which char-
!• (5)
6 PREFACE TO THE FIRST ENGLISH EDITION.
acterized his ministry, will be a means of continuing
the blessed work which he did in his lifetime, and
thus many who never saw his face may receive a
lasting benefit from his teaching.
STRUAN HOBERTSON.
Rodney Housb, Cheltenham.
^
CONTENTS.
MEMOIR Page 13
SERMON I.
[Preached June 22, 1851.]
CHRIST'S JUDGMENT RESPECTING INHERITANCE.*
LuKB xii. 13-15. — •' And one of the company said unto him, Master,
speak to my brother, that he divide the inheritance with me. And he
said unto him, Man, who made me a judge, or a divider over you ?
And he said unto them, Take heed, and beware of covetousness : for
a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which ho
possesseth." 17
SERMON II.
[Preached January 6, 1850.]
THE STAR IN THE EAST.
Matt. ii. 1, 2. — " Now when Jesus was bom in Bethlehem of Judea
in the days of Herod the king, behold there came wise men from the
east to Jerusalem, saying. Where is he that is born King of the
Jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship
him." 46
* This Sermon should have followed next after Sermon XVII. in Volume
I. (The Message of the Church to Men of Wealth), to which it ia the
sequel, completing the argument.
(7)
?/ CONTENTS.
SERMON III.
[Preached FebrUary 10, 1850.]
THE HEALING OF JAIRUS' DAUGHTER.
Matt. ii. 23-25. — *' And when Jesus came into the ruler's house, and
saw the minstrels and the people making a noise, he said unto them,
Give place ; for the maid is not dead, but sleepeth. And they laughed
him to scorn. But when the people were put forth, he went in, and
took her by the hand, and the maid arose." Page 60
SERMON IV.
[Preached March 10, 1850.]
BAPTISM.
Gal. iii. 26-29. — "For ye are all the children of God by faith in Christ
Jesus. For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have
put on Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond
nor free, there is neither male nor female : for ye are all one in Christ
Jesus. And if ye be Christ's, then are ye Abraham's seed, and heirs
according to the promise." 75
SERMON V.
[Preached March 17, 1850.]
BAPTISM.
1 Peteh iii. 21. — "The like figure whercunto, even baptism, doth also
now save us." 92
SERMON VI.
[Preached October 13, 1850.]
ELIJAH.
1 Kings lix. 4. — " But he himself went on a day's journey into the
wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper-tree ; and he
requested for himself that he might die ; and said. It is enough : now,
Lord, take away my life ; for I am not better than my fathers."
106
CONTENTS. §
SERMON VII.
[Preached January 12, 1851.]
NOTES ON PSALM LI.
Written by David, after a double crime : Uriah put in the forefront of
the battle, — the wife of the murdered man taken, &c. . « . Page 117
SERMON VIII.
[Preached March 2, 1851.]
OBEDIENCE THE ORGAN OF SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE.
John vii. 17. — " If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doc-
trine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself." . . . 128
SERMON IX.
[Preached March, 30, 1851.]
RELIGIOUS DEPRESSION.
Psalm xlii. 1-3. — "As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, so
panteth my soul after thee, God. My soul thirsteth for God, for
the living God ; when shall I come and appear before God ? My tears
have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me,
Where is thy God 7" 141
SERMON X.
[Preached April 6, 1851.]
FAITH OF THE CENTURION.
Matt. viii. 10. — " When Jesus heard it, he marvelled, and said to them
that followed. Verily I say unto you, I have not found so great faith,
no, not in IsraeL" 149
SERMON XI.
[Preached July 27, 1851.]
THE RESTORATION OF THE ERRING.
Gal. vi 1,2. — " Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which
are spiritual restore such an one in the spirit of meekness ; consid-
ering thyself, lest thou also be tempted. Bear ye one another's bur-
dens, and so fulfil the law of Christ." 160
t0 CONTENTS.
SERMON XII.
[Pteached Christmas Day, 1851.]
CHRIST THE SON.
Hkb. i. 1. — " God, who at sundry times, and in divers manners, spak«
in time past unto the fathers by the prophets, hath in these last days
spoken unto us by his Son." Page 172
SERMON XIII.
[Preached April 25, 1852.]
WORLDLINESS.
1 John ii. 15-17. — " If any man love the world, the love of the Father
is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and
the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is
of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof ; but
xie that doeth the will of God abideth forever." 182
SERMON XIV.
[Preached November 14, 1852.]
THE SYDENHAM PALACE, AND THE RELIGIOUS
NON-OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH.
KoM. xiv. 5, 6. — " One man esteemeth one day above another; another
esteemeth every day alike. Let every man be fully persuaded in his
own mind. He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord j
and he that regardeth not the day, to the Lord he doth not regard
it. He that eateth, eateth to the Lord, for he giveth God thanks;
and he that eateth not, to the Lord he eateth not, and giveth God
thanks." 198
SERMON XV.
[Preached January 2, 1853.]
THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS.
Luke ii. 40, — "And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled
witji wisdom; and the grace of God was upon him." 213
CONTENTS. ^i
SERMON XVI.
[Preached January 9, 1853.]
CHRIST'S ESTIMATE OF SIN.
LuKK xix. 10 — " The Son of man is come to seek and to save that which,
was lost" Page 229
SERMON XVII.
[Preached January 16, 1853.]
THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHRIST.
JoHK xvii. 19. — " And for their sakes I sanctify myself, that they also
might be sanctified through the truth." 244
SERMON XVIII.
[Preached January 23, 1853.]
THE FIRST MIRACLE.
I. THE GLORY OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER.
John ii. 11. — " This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee,
and manifested forth his glory; and his disciples belieyed on him."
261
SERMON XIX.
[Preached January 30, 1853.]
THE FIRST MIRACLE.
II. THE GLORY OF THE DIVINE SON.
John ii. 11. — «* This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of GalUee,
and manifested forth his glory; and his disciples belieyed on him."
277
SERMON XX.
[Preached March 20, 1853.]
THE GOOD SHEPHERD
John x. 14, 15. — " I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and
am known of mine. As the Father knoweth me, even so know I th«
Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep. " . , 2^4
12^ CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXI.
[Preached Easter-day, March 27, 1853.]
THE DOUBT OF THOMAS.
John xx. 29. — "Jesus saith onto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen
me, thou hast believed ; blessed are they that have not seen, and yet
have beUeved," Page 312
CHAPTER XXII.
[Preached May 8, 1853.]
THE IRREPARABLE PAST.
Mark xi v. 41, 42. — "And he cometh the third time, and saith unto
them, Sleep on now, and take your rest : it is enough, the hour is
come ; behold, the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners.
Rise up, let us go ; lo, he that betrayeth me is at hand." .... 829
MEMOIR.
Frederick Wiljam Robertson was born in London, the
3d February, 1816. He had Scotch blood in his veins ;
his grandfather held a commission in the 83d or Glasgow
Regiment, during the American war. Of his early life we
know little ; it seems to have been passed in considerable
vicissitude. One fact is interesting for its clear foreshad-
owing of the man : when four years old he derived his
chief pleasure from books ; to the last he was an ardent,
zealous student. He passed some years of his childhood
at Leith Fort, where his father, a Captain of Artillery, was
stationed. At nine we find him at the Grammar School of
Beverley. Removed from this, he accompanied his pa-
rents to the Continent, residing chiefly in France ; and at
fifteen he entered the New Academy in Edinburgh, where,
under Archdeacon Williams, he distinguished himself in
Greek and Latin verse. After a year of the Academy, he
attended the philosophical classes at the University, and
prepared himself for the study of the Law.* The profes-
sion was uncongenial, his dislike to it grew upon him, and
in a few months it was abandoned for the Army, to which
he had a strong predilection.
He was of a military ancestry and a military family.
To the end it was the heart of a soldier that beat within
the delicate and shattered frame. " Those who have en-
joyed his confidence, even of late years, can well under-
stand the boyish ardor and enthusiasm with which he
contemplated a military life. Despite extreme nervous
sensibility, and an almost feminine delicacy of feeling, he
• Dr. Terrot, now Bishop of Edinburgh, acted as his private tutor.
2 (13)
14 MEMOIR.
was at heart brave, manly, intrepid, with a quick sym-
pathy for all that was noble, courageous, and unselfish —
with, as he himself expressed it, an ' unutterable admira-
tion of heroic daring.' " Those who have read his Lec-
tures on Poetry will not readily forget the ardor with
which he relates the chivalry of our soldiers in Scinde,
the strong sympathy by which he interprets the thoughts
they only felt, the fine burst of enthusiasm with which he
defends war against the abuse of peace societies :
" Take away honor and imagination and poetry from war, and
it becomes carnage. Doubtless. And take away public spirit and
invisible principles from resistance to a tax, and Hampden becomes a
noisy demagogue. . . . Carnage is terrible. The conversion of
producers into destroyers is a calamity. Death, and insults to
woman worse thail death, and human features obliterated beneath
the hoof of the war-horse, and reeking hospitals, and ruined com-
merce, and violated homes, and broken hearts — they are all awful.
But there is something worse than death. Cowardice is worse.
And the decay of enthusiasm and manliness is worse. And it ia
worse than death — ay, worse than a hundred thousand deaths —
when a people has gravitated down into the creed, that the ' wealth
of nations ' consists not in generous hearts —
' Fire in each breast, and freedom in each brow ' —
in national virtues, and primitive simplicity, and heroic endurance,
and preference of duty to life ; not in men, but in silk, and cotton,
and something that they call ' capital.' Peace is blessed. Peace,
arising out of charity. But peace, springing out of the calcula-
tions of selfishness, is not blessed. If the price to be paid for peace
is this, that wealth accumulate and men decay, better far that every
street in every town of our once noble country should run blood ! "
There must be many who yet remember the thrill of the
words with which he prefaced Wordsworth's noble sonnet,
" It is not to be thought of that the flood: " —
" The moment was like that of the deep silence which precedee a
MEMOIR. 16
thunder-storm, when every breath is hushed, ana every separate
dried leaf, as it falls through the boughs, is heard tinkling down
from branch to branch ; when men's breath was held, when men's
blood beat thick in their hearts as they waited, in solemn and grand,
but not in painful — rather in triumphant — expectation, for the
moment when the storm should break, and the French cry of Glory !
should be thundered back again by England's sublimer battle-cry
of Duty!"
That he retained this soldier-spirit is, in a man of his
fervent piety, a proof that it is not an ungodly spirit.
Colonel Garainer thought it no blot on the escutcheon of
his faith that he went out to fight at Prestonpans ; heroic
Hedley Vicars received his mortal wound as he led a bay-
onet charge. And had Mr. Robertson entered the army
with the " deep religious convictions " he entertained, he
would, by the grace of God, have wielded the same
healthy Christian influence as an officer, though in a much
narrower sphere, which he did wield as a clergyman.
God, however, had better things in store for him. He
had been placed, at the request of King William IV., upon
the Commander-in-Chief's list. Some delay occurred be-
fore he received his commission. His friends took advan-
tage of it to urge the higher claims of the Church ; among
others, the present Bishop of Cashel pressed him to de-
vote himself directly to the service of God. He was
strongly moved, but not decided. He left it to his father
to choose : the result was that he matriculated at Oxford.
Four days after his matriculation, he received the offer of
a cornetcy in the 2d Dragoon Guards ; but his course had
been taken, and he would not turn back. We need not
point out the perfect confidence between father and son
which this incident reveals, nor the humility and unselfish-
ness of Mr. Robertson. They were manifested as touch-
ingly and strikingly at another crisis of his history. They
characterized his life.
There is but scanty record of his terms at Oxford. Ho
16 MEMOIR.
was a hard student, and acquired a high reputation ; but,
from a singular diffidence, he refused to go up for honors,
though urged by his tutors, and twice requested, under
peculiarly flattering circumstances, by the Examiners. Mr.
Ruskin was one of his associates, and doubtless stimulated
his keen relish for art. And from a passage in his Lec-
tures, it appears that even then he cultivated the habit of
close observation, the perception of the nicer shadea of
feeling, which distinguished him in riper years :
"At Blenheim, the seat of the Duke of Marlborough, there ia
a Madonna, into which the old Catholic painter has tried to cast
the religious conceptions of the Middle Ages, virgin purity and infi-
nite repose. The look is upwards, the predominant color of the
picture blue, which we know has in itself a strange power to lull
and soothe. It is impossible to gaze on this picture without being
conscious of a calming influence. During that period of the year
in which the friends of the young men of Oxford come to visit their
brothers and sons, and Blenheim becomes a place of favorite resort,
I have stood aside near that picture, to watch its efiFect on the dif-
ferent gazers, and have seen group after group of young undergradu-
ates and ladies, full of life and noisy spirits, Unconsciously stilled
before it, the countenance relaxing into calmness, and the voice
sinking to a whisper. The painter had spoken his message, and
human beings, ages after, felt what he meant to say."
While at Brazenose he witnessed two scenes which left
an ineflFaceable impression on his memory, to which he re-
ferred long after with lively emotion. He saw the triumph
of " Arnold, the type of Enghsh action, and Wordsworth,
the type of English thought." The two men who had
quietly revolutionized England — who had been greeted at
the outset with hostility and scorn — who, with firm, pa-
tient manliness, and in the living conviction of the truth
they loved, had held on their way against reproach, cal-
umny, inveterate prejudice, public opinion — were crowned
in the same theatre with enthusiastic applause. It sunk
deep into the heart of the student. There lay in it a sig-
MEMOIR. 17
nificant prophecy for himself. He reaped the darkness
and the wrong ; the glory and the light came too late.
Immediately after leaving college he was ordained, and
discharged the duties of a curate at Winchester for about
twelve months, when "his health began to decline, and he
went on the Continent to recruit his shattered energies."
In his absence he visited much of the beautiful scenery
that is accessible to an enthusiastic, and, notwithstanding
his nervous delicacy, hardy traveller. It was no doubt a
time of exquisite enjoyment. His sermons abound in rapid
sketches that unfold his intense delight in natural beauty,
and which are remarkable no less for their poetry of ex-
pression, than their fidelity, and the vividness they assume
from the notice of trifles, characteristic, but commonly
unheeded. He was married at Geneva, and soon after
returned to England. During the next four years he
acted as curate of Christ Church, Cheltenham ; and at the
beginning of 1847 he removed to St. Ebbs, Oxford. It
was while oflBciating here for two months that he received
the ofier of the Church at Brighton, with which his name
and work will be always associated. " At St. Ebbs he re-
ceived a stipend for his services miserably inadequate to
their value ; yet when the incumbency of Trinity Chapel,
Brighton, with the comparatively splendid income to be
derived from it, was pointed out to him, he only expressed
a willingness to sacrifice his own personal convenience
and emolument to the cause in which he labored, and left
it to the Bishop of Oxford to send him wherever his lord-
ship thought he would be most useful. The Bishop ad-
vised his coming to Brighton, and he prepared to do so."
Between the Army and the Church, he left the choice with
his father; between St. Ebbs and Brighton, with his Bishop
There was the same humility, childlikeness, unselfishness :
but in this instance more direct consecration to God, a
2*
18 MEMOIR.
higher pitch of self-sacrifice. He entered on his work at
Brighton August 15, 1847.
Hitherto he had been a quiet, faithful, laborious curate,
doing his parish work zealously and unobtrusively, "bene-
fiting greatly those under the influence of his ministry."
Genial and lovable, he had many friends.
There were some to admire his rare powers ; and a few
even bold enough to follow his originality, though it led
them very far out of the beaten tracks of thought. In
Brighton it was different. Trinity Chapel was well known.
It was occupied by one of the most aristocratic and intel-
lectual audiences in England. His eloquence and original-
ity could not fail to be marked. And if the congregation
was intellectual, he was preeminently so. The Chapel be-
came crowded. Sittings were scarcely ever to be had.
For six years the enthusiasm never slackened ; it grew and
spread silently and steadily, and when he died broke out
in a burst of universal sorrow. He was in no way misled
by it. He was thankful for being listened to, for he felt
he had a message from God to deliver. But he put no
faith in mere excitement, the eager upturned face, the still
hush of attention. "What is ministerial success?" he
asks. — " Crowded churches — full aisles — attentive con-
gregations — the approval of the religious world — much
impression produced ? Elijah thought so ; and when he
found out his mistake, and discovered that the applause
on Carmel subsided into hideous stillness, his heart well-
nigh bi'oke with disappointment. Ministerial success lies
in altered lives and obedient humble hearts ; unseen work
recognized in the judgment-day." That success was
abundantly vouchsafed to him. It was the testimony of
one who knew him well : — "I cannot count up conquests
in any place or by any man so numerous and so vast, —
conquests achieved in so short a period, and in many in
stances over the hearts and consciences of those whom,
MEMOIR.
T$
from their age or pursuits, it is always most difficult to
reach, — as were the conquests of that devoted soldier of
the cross of Christ whose followers you were." *
Mr. Robertson left no means untried by which to win
sinful men and women to the love of Christ. He sought
them in their homes, in their haunts of vice, suffering no
pain nor trouble of his own to hinder him, deterred by no
fear of misconception, never losing sight of them, pleading
with them with the irresistible force of an ardent nature
sanctified and intensified by the Holy Spirit. Even in hia
undergraduateship, there were many who received througl
him light, strength, and the knowledge of a Saviour ; and
their number kept pace with the widening sphere of his
influence.
Yet there was a dark side to all this, a shadow that
blighted where it fell. The originality, the manly out-
spoken thoughts, the freedom from conventionalism and
cant phrase, the firm grasp of truth, the bold utterance of
it without respect of persons or parties, — all this, which
had attracted no great notice in the curate at Winchester
or Cheltenham, became as noted as the popularity of the
incumbent of Brighton. From this time he was attacked
with coarse abuse, his words were twisted, his meaning
misrepresented. He was pursued with a venom which
only religious men and religious papers know how to use ;
his simplest acts were turned into an engine to assail him ;
he was held up to odium by bad names, persecuted with a
relentless cruelty that embittered his life. He did not
complain. " It seems to me a pitiful thing," he once said,
" for any man to aspire to be true and to speak truth, and
then to complain in astonishment that truth has not crowns
to give, but thorns." f But he had a feeble body, and a
• From a Funeral Sermon by the Rev. James Anderson, the excellent
Preacher of Lincoln's Inn.
t Second Address to the Working Men.
20 MEMOIE.
nervous system which was exquisitely acute ; and, " hu«
manly speaking, his death was hastened by anxiety and
intense susceptibility, acting upon an exhausted frame,
unfit to cope longer with the trouble and suffering so plen-
tifully strewn in his path." * To a man who was thought-
less enough to charge him with gaining considerable self-
applause and great popularity with the multitude by
affecting to look down from a cool, philosophic height on
the struggle and heat below, he wrote a touching letter, in
which he thus sorrowfully describes his own position :
" He will find himself [he is supposing his accuser in his place],
to hie painful surprise, charged on the one side for his earnestness
with heresy, and on the other for his charity with latudinarianism.
.... He will find his atteni2Dt to love men, and his yearnings for
their sympathy, met by suspicion of his motives, and malignant
slanders upon his life ; his passionate desire to reach ideas instead
of words, and get to the root of what men mean, he will find treated,
even by those who think that they are candid, as the gratification of
a literary taste, and the affectation of a philosophic height above the
Btrife of human existence. I would not recommend him to try that
philosophic height which he thinks so self-indulgent, unless he has
the hardihood to face the keenest winds that blow over all lonely
places, whether lonely heights or lonely flats. If he can steel his
heart against distrust and suspicion, — if he can dare to be pro-
nounced dangerous by the ignorant, hinted at by his brethren in
public, and warned against in private, — if he can resolve to bo
Btruck on every side, and not strike again, giving all quarter and
asking none, — if he can struggle in the dark with the prayer for
light of Ajax on his lips, in silence and alone, — then let him adopt
the line which seems so easy, and be fair and generous and chival-
rous to all."
The rancor of his opponents did not even cease with
life, — it followed him to the stillness of the tomb. In
papers which met the eye of his afflicted relatives while the
earth was yet fresh upon his grave, weighty doubts were
expressed about the possibility of his salvation. The
* Preface to the Lectures on Poetry.
MEMOIR. 21
Christian mind of Britain has taken its own view of the
matter. Edition after edition of his Sermons is exhausted.
His name stands high, and it is rising surely to its fitting
place. He is spoken of with strong difference of opinion
sometimes, — but even then with respect and admiration ;
and his Sermons are already assumed to be a landmark in
the religious thought of his country. There was encour-
agement, too, during these brief six years. On the Christ-
mas morning after his settlement in Brighton, he found a
set of handsome prayer-books on the reading-desk, pre-
sented by the servants who attended his Chapel. The
year before he died, he received an address from the young
men, no less affectionate than cheering to the heart of the
pastor. He was able to say, in his reply: " I know that
there are many who were long in darkness and doubt and
saw no light, and who have now found an anchor and a
rock and a resting-place I feel deeply grateful to
be enabled to say that, if my ministry were to close
to-morrow, it has not been in this town altogether an
entire failure." And, through all his trials, the love, and
earnestness, and ready helpful sympathy, of his congrega-
tion, were an unspeakable comfort.
To his preaching we have previously referred in some
detail. We shall not return to it now, though we feel
painfully how much has been left unsaid. It was marked
by an intense realization of the truth of Christ, and an
equally intense realization of the life of Christ. He inter-
preted Scripture with a marvellous insight. A clear light
often flashes from passages which another man would have
loft or made dark enigmas. The inward gifts which God
bestowed on him in such large measure are manifest in
every page of his writings. They were wedded in exqui-
site harmony to many outward graces, — those which lend
effective aid to the persuasion of the preacher. He had
"a noble and attractive mien;" "an utterance the most
22 MEMOIR.
exquisitely melodious and thrilling ; " a face that reflected
every shifting play of feeling ; a figure frail, and made
frailer by disease, but erect and manly ; a refined delicacy,
a winning grace. He spoke with an impassioned elo-
quence, of which his posthumous Sermons can give but
faint conception. Men the most widely opposed to him,
scoffers and careless sceptics, when they entered his
church, were arrested by the torrent-flow of thought, the
poetic imagery, the fiery glow of the words ; yet more
than all, perhaps, they were thrilled by his mysterious
knowledge of the human heart, the depth and purity of
his love for God. He was an extemporary preacher. His
manner was to have " a few words pencilled upon a card
or scrap of note-paper, and sufficing by way of ground-
work ; yet his spontaneous efforts were, in point of com-
position, as highly finished as if they had been set down
and committed to memory." His style was simple, but
not in the sense commonly received of sentences (no mat-
ter about the thoughts) running after each other on easy
words of two syllables ; for, though his language waa
plain, apt, and never redundant, the thoughts were pro-
found, the reasoning close, the whole tone intellectual. It
required patient and trained effort of mind to follow him
and take up his fulness of meaning. His congregation
was composed of the highly educated, and he preached to
them as a man of education and refinement. It was his
special vocation. Yet the poor were never sent hungry
away. His later Sermons are pervaded by a tone of sad-
ness :
" Not ono of u8 but has felt his heart aching for want of sym-
pathy. We have had our lonely hours, our days of disappoint-
ment, and our moments of hopelessness ; times when our highest
feelings have been misunderstood, and our purest met with ridi-
cule. Days when our heavy secret was lying unshared, like ice
upon the heart. And then the spirit gives way ; we have wished
that all were over, — that we could lie down tired, and rest, lika
the children, from life."
MEMOIR. 23
He dwells on "the lofty sadness which characterized
the late ministry of Jesus, as He went down from the
sunny mountain-tops of life, into the darkening shades of
the valley where lies the grave."
His thoughts turn with a weary melancholy to the care-
lessness with which men live and die :
" Have you ever seen those marble statues in some public square
or garden, which art has so fashioned into a perennial fountain,
that through the lips, or through the hands, the clear water flows
in a perpetual stream, on and on forever, and the marble stands
there — passive, cold — making no effort to arrest the gliding
water ?
"It is so that time flows through the hands of men, — swift,
never pausing, till it has run itself out : and there is the man petri-
fied into a marble sleep, not feeling what it is which is passing
away forever."
He speaks oftener of the hollow nothingness of the tem-
poral and visible :
"Things are passing, — our friends are dropping off from us.
strength is giving way ; our relish for earth is going, and the world
no longer wears to our hearts the radiance that once it wore. We
have the same sky above us, and the same scenes around us ; but
the freshness that our hearts extracted from everything in boyhood,
and the glory that seemed to rest once on earth and life, have faded
away forever. Sad and gloomy truths to the man who is going
down to the grave with his work undone. Not sad to the Chris-
tian ; but rousing, exciting, invigorating. If it be the eleventh
hour, we have no time for folding of the hands ; we will work the
faster. Through the changefulness of life ; through the solemn
tolling of the bell of time, which tells us that another, and another,
and another, are gone before us ; "through the noiseless rush of a
world which is going down with gigantic footsteps into nothingness,
let not the Christian slack his hand from work ; for he that doeth
the will of God may defy hell itself to quench his immortality."
The prophetic anticipation of the end was unconsciously
tinging his thoughts ; the iaurden and pain of life forced ati
utterance ; and still, in this last extract, we see how
24 MEMOIR.
bravely his faith bore him up, firm, bold, unshrinking,
unto death.
Mr. Robertson's work was by no means confined to the
pulpit. By the working men he was regarded as a frank
and faithful friend. Already, in 1848, he was actively
engaged with a Working Men's Institute, the idea of
which had been early in his mind. It was intended for a
poorer class than were embraced by the Athenaeums and
Mechanics' Institutes, and the subscription was only a
penny a week. In October of that year, one thousand
three hundred members were enrolled. They besought
him to deliver the opening address, and their anxiety over-
came his objections. No one who has carefully perused
that address can wonder at the afiection the men bore to
him, at the sway he held over their hearts, at the place
his memory still freshly retains. For two years the Insti-
tute had great success. A small section of the members
then advocated the introduction of sceptical publications.
The society was threatened with dissolution. Mr. Robert-
son manfully came forward and delivered a second address,
with the hope of restoring peace. " Brother men, mem-
bers of the Working Men's Institute," he began, "you
asked me to stand by you at the hopeful beginning of your
institution ; I could not desert you in the moment of
danger, and the hour of your unpopularity I am
here to identify myself in public again with you, — to say
that your cause is my cause, and your failure my failure."
The introduction of infidel prints was maintained on three
grounds, — rights of fi-ee inquiry, rights of liberty, and
rights of democracy. On these three he met its advocates
with excellent sense, warm, honest feeling, and sound
principle. But "the society," we learn, "failed to right
itself; and in July, 1850, it was formally dissolved. He
counselled a second experiment, and another society ; or
rather, as he regarded it, the old one, purified by experi-
MEilOIE. 25
ence, rose into being." It forsook, greatly to his regret,
the good old title of Working Men, and assumed that of
Mechanics ; but it has flourished longer than its predeces-
sor, and is still in full vigor. Politics, in the higher sense,
had the same powerful attraction for Mr. Robertson that
they had for Dr. Arnold. He took a deep interest in all
national questions. Nor was his interest merely theoreti-
cal. In every movement in Brighton connected with
social life and progress he was active and prominent.
And on one social question, which underlies all others,
the relation of classes, — the adjustment of the rights of
the rich and the rights of the poor, — he spoke with a
wisdom, and courage, and love, which had a notable influ-
ence in his own sphere, and from which we may now hope
for far wider and even more permanent results.
In 1852, Mr. Robertson delivered to the members of the
Mechanics' Institution two Lectures on the Influence of
Poetry on the Working Classes. They are necessarily
brief, but every line is suggestive. We do not know that
there is anywhere so true an estimate of our modern poe-
try ; while the exquisite snatches of criticism on Shakes-
peare, Wordsworth, and Tennyson, reveal a power which,
in these days of hasty reading, and flippant, shallow remark,
we can ill afibrd to lose. Early in the spring of 1853, ho
followed up this subject by a remarkable lecture on the
poetry of his favorite Wordsworth. The lecture was
never published. It was preserved only in the notes of a
reporter. But, did our space permit, we could not forbear
quoting from that source, imperfect as it is, his fine per-
ception of Wordsworth's calling, the relation he bore to
the mighty heart of the nation. He reviewed the qualifi-
cations necessary for appreciating Wordsworth's poetry^
his character and life, so far as they bear upon it. He
reserved for another opportunity what he considered more
important than either, — the question of how far Words-
3
26 MEMOIE.
worth's theories and principles are true, how fai exagger-
ated, and how far he worked them out. That opportunity
never came. During the lecture his friends remarked with
alarm the hectic flush that rose upon his cheek, the evident
effort by which the will triumphed over bodily suffering.
" His exertions in the pulpit were at this period almost
overpowering, and the intense study to which he had long
accustomed himself became agonizing in the extreme."
Before April he was compelled to relinquish his duties for
a time, and seek change of air and relaxation. The end
was drawing near.
Slightly recruited, but unwilling to remain longer from
his post, he returned to Brighton in the third week of his
leave. The effort was too great. With failing health and
increasing pain, he continued to discharge every duty of
his office. The congregation sought assistance for him ;
the vicar did not approve of the man they selected, and
refused to appoint him. Alone, and " sinking rapidly,"
Mr. Robertson struggled on, a spectacle of quiet, unselfish
heroism that might well shame many a brother of the
cross. One week, his sufferings became rapidly more
acute ; his preparation for the coming Sunday laid on him
the burden of a sharper agony. He gave way, at last.
That Sunday a stranger took his place.* He never
preached again. He lingered in his room for two months
in the torture of an excruciating disease. He bore it with-
out a murmur, with calm resignation to His will who chas-
tens those He loves. He constantly assured those about
him of his happiness and peace. He had penetrated the
meaning of the Saviour's life ; he was to follow Him
through agony and death.
On Sunday, the 15th of August, the congregation knelt
before God in supplication for their dying pastor. That
* By a singular coincidence, the stranger was Archdeacon "Williams,
his former rector, who occupied the pulpit from this time till Mr. Robert-
son's death, and preached the Afternoon Funeral Sermon.
MEMOIR. 27
day six years before, they had felt for the first time the
spell of his holy earnestness, they had sat entranced by
the eloquent truth that flowed from his lips. During the
day he was able to recline upon a sofa before an open win-
dow ; towards night he grew suddenly worse. The pain
was intense. He could not speak, save at intervals, when
he cried, feebly, "My God, my God, — my Fathei", my
Father." The yearning of his heart was soon fulfilled.
His attendants sought to change his position. " I cannot
bear it," he said ; " let mo rest. I must die. Let God do
His work." They were the'last words he spoke. In a few
minutes the lips that uttered them were sealed in death.
There remains little moi-e to be told. At Brighton there
was profound and general sorrow. On the day of the
funeral the shops were closed, the houses were in mourn-
ing. Strangers who had arrived inquired if one of the
royal family was dead. Headed by one thousand five
hundred of those who well remembered the address of
" Brother men and fellow-workmen," the melancholy cor-
tege wound through a crowd extending for more than a
mile.
" And women's tears fell fast as rain,
And rough men shook with inward pain
For him they ne'er should see again."
But there was one quiet, unnoticed mourning, more touch-
ing than the crowds of the procession, or the solemn awe
that hushed the streets. In the. gray dawn of the morning
after the funeral, a group was seen weeping over the new
grave. It was a mechanic, with his wife and children,
dressed in such emblems of woe as they could afford.
When Mr. Robertson came to Brighton, that man and his
•nfe were rank infidels. One day, as he passed Trinity
hapel, he thought he would go in to hear what the new
eacher had to say. The word was blessed to his salva-
tion. He became a constant worshipper, and brought
others to listen to the same teacher. We dare add noth-
28 MEMOIR.
ing to this. To those who can feel, H is more eloquent
than words.
A monument to Mr. Robertson has been raised in Brigh-
ton Cemetery. The working men sought to have a share
in it. On one side they erected, "in grateful remembrance
of his sympathy, and in deep sorrow for their loss," *
a medallion, representing " their benefactor " seated in
his library, in earnest conversation with three artisans.
Within the railing of the monument there is a plot of gar-
den ground. The same men asked and received permis-
sion to keep it free from weeds, and to supply it with fresh
flowers,
********
There are no materials for an exciting biography. There
is an absence of striking incidents. But there is the
power of a single, earnest, considerate life. Bare though
it is, we cannot think of it unmoved. Nay, its very sim-
ple modesty, in contrast with the great results that have
followed it, the great fame that time is wreathing round
it, is infinitely more impressive than the noise of a public
triumph, or the stir and glare that surround a public
name. It is the life that speaks to us from the silence of
its retirement ; a voice to which all men, especially all
clergymen, would do well to take heed. They will learn
from it the hidden power of faith, the calm might that lies
in communion with the truth, the nobleness and beauty
and reward of a high self-sacrifice. They will learn from
it to keep brave hearts when the clouds settle on their
life, to trust that God will do His work, though not per-
haps till their day is past; they will learn to hold steadfast
by their work, though pain and sorrow are knocking
loudly at the door ; they will utter with the thankfulness
of full hearts the aspiration engraved upon his tomb,
"Glory to the Saviour who was his all 1 " — Udinburgh
Christian Magazine.
* The words are taken from the inscription.
SEEMONS.
.1.
[Preached June 22, 1851.]
CHRIST'S JUDGMENT RESPECTING INHERITANCE.*
Luke xii. 13-15. — " And one of the company said unto him, Master,
speak to my brother, that he divide the inheritance with me. And he
said unto him, Man, who made me a judge, or a divider over you?
And he said unto them. Take heed, and beware of covetousness : for
a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which ho
The Son of God was misunderstood and misinter-
preted in his day. With this fact we are familiar;
but we are not all familiar with the consideration
that it was very natural He should be so mistaken.
He went about Galilee and Judea proclaiming the
downfall of every injustice, the exposure and confuta-
tion of every lie. He denounced the lawyers who
refused education to the people in order that they
might retain the key of knowledge in their own hands.
He reiterated Woe ! woe ! woe ! to the Scribes and
♦ This Sermon was accidentally omitted from its proper place after the
17th Sermon in Vol. I. — "The Message of the Church to Men of
Wealth." It was preached on the following Sunday, and is the sequel to
that Sermon.
3* (29)
so Christ's judgment eespecting ikheritance.
Pharisees, wlio revered the past, and systematical! j
persecuted every new prophet and every brave man
who rose up to vindicate the spirit of the past against
the institutions of the past. He spoke parables which
bore hard on the men of wealth. That, for instance,
of the rich man who was clothed in purple and fine
linen, and fared sumptuously every day ; who died,
and in hell lifted up his eyes being in torments. That
of the wealthy proprietor who prospered in the world ;
who pulled down his barns to build greater : who all
the while was in the sight of God a fool ; who in front
of judgment and eternity was found unready. He
stripped the so-called religious party of that day of
their respectability ; convicted them, to their own
astonishment, of hypocrisy, and called them whited
sepulchres. He said God was against them ; that
Jerusalem's day was come, and that she must fall.
And now consider candidly : — Suppose that all this
had taken place in this country ; that an unknown
stranger, with no ordination, with no visible authority, —
Dasing his authority upon his Truth, and his agreement
with the mind of God the Father, — had appeared in
this England, uttering half the severe things He spoke
against the selfishness of wealth, against ecclesiastical
authorities, against the clergy, against the popular
religious party : — suppose that such an one should say
that our whole social life is corrupt and false: suppose
that, instead of " thou blind Pharisee," the word had
been " thou blind Churchman ! "
Should we have fallen at the feet of such an one,
and said, Lo ! this is a message from Almighty God,
and He who brings it is a Son of God ; perhaps,
what He says Himself, His only Son, God, of God ?
Christ's judgment eespecting inheritance. 31
Or, should we have rather said, This is dangerous
teaching, and revolutionary in its tendencies ; and He
who teaches it is an incendiary, a mad, democratical,
dangerous fanatic?
That was exactly what they did say of your Re-
deemer in His day ; nor does it seem at all wonderful
that they did.
The sober, respectable inhabitants of Jerusalem,
very comfoi table themselves, and utterly unable to
conceive why things should not go on as they had
been going on for a hundred years, — not smarting
from the misery and the moral degradation of the
lazars with whom He associated, and under whose
burdens His loving spirit groaned, — thought it excess-
ively dangerous to risk the 'subversion of their quiet
enjoyments by such outcries. They said — prudent
men ! — If he is permitted to go on this way, the
Romans will come and take away our place and nation.
The Priests and Pharisees, against whom he had spoken
specially, were fiercer still. They felt there was no
time to be lost.
But, still more — His own friends and followers mis
understood Him.
They heard Him speak of a Kingdom of Justice
and Righteousness, in which every man should receive
the due reward of his deeds. They heard him say
that this kingdom was not far off, but actually among
them, hindered only by their sins and dulness from
immediate appparance. Men's souls were stirred and
agitated. They were ripe for anything, and any
spark would have produced explosion. They thought
the next call would be to take the matter into their
own hands.
32 Christ's judgment respecting inheritances
Accordingly, on one occasion, St. John and St.
James asked permission to call down fire from heaven
upon a village of the Samaritans which would not
receive their message. On another occasion, on a
single figurative mention of a sword, they began to
gird themselves for the struggle : " Lord," said one,
" behold, here are two swords." Again, as soon as
He entered Jerusalem for the last time, the populace
heralded his way with shouts, thinking that the long-
delayed hour of retribution was come at last. They
saw the conqueror before them who was to vindicate
their wrongs. In imagination they already felt their
feet upon the necks of their enemies.
And because their hopes were disappointed, and
He was not the Demagogue they wanted, therefore
they turned against Him. Not the Pharisees, but the
people whom He had come to save, — the outcast, and
the publican, and the slave, and the maid-servant : they
whose cause He had so often pleaded, and whose
emancipation he had prepared. It was the People who
cried, " Crucify Him, Crucify Him ! "
This will become intelligible to us, if we can get
at the spirit of this passage.
Among those who heard Him lay down the laws
of the Kingdom — Justness, Fairness, Charity — there
was one who had been defrauded, as it seems, by his
brother, of his just share of the patrimony. He
thought that the One who stood before him was
exactly what he wanted : — a redresses of wrongs ; a
champion of the oppressed ; a divider and arbiter
between factions ; a referee of lawsuits ; one who
would spend his life in the unerring decision of all mi&»
understandings.
cheist's judgment respecting inheritance. 33
To his astonishment, the Son of Man refused to itter-
fere in his quarrel, or take part in it at all. " Man, who
made me a judge, or a divider over you ? "
We ask attention to two things.
I. The Saviour's refusal to interfere.
II. The source to which He traced the appeal for
interference.
I. The Saviour's refusal to interfere.
1. He implied that it A^as not his part to interfere.
" Who made me a Judge, or a Divider ? " «
It is a common saying, that religion has nothing to
do with politics; and particularly there is a strong feel-
ing current against all interference with politics by the
ministers of rehgion. This notion rests on a basis
which is partly wrong, partly right.
To say that religion has nothing to do with politics,
is to assert that which is simply false. It were as
wise to say that the atmosphere has nothing to do with
the principles of architecture. Directly, nothing —
indirectly, much. Some kinds of stone are so friable,
that though they will last for centuries in a dry climate,
they will crumble away in a few years in a damp one.
There are some temperatures in which a form of build-
ing is indispensable which in another would be un-
bearable. The shape of doors, windows, apartments,
all depend upon the air that is to be admitted or ex-
cluded. Nay, it is for the very sake of procuring a
habitable atmosphere within certain limits that archi-
tecture exists at all. The atmospheric laws are dis-
tinct from the laws of architecture ; but there ia
not an architectural question into which atmospheric
34 CHRIST'S JUDGMENT RESPECTING INHERITANCE.
considerations do not enter as conditions of the ques*
tion.
That whicli the air is to architeture, rehgion is to
politics. It is the vital air of every question. Directly
it determines nothing — indirectly, it conditions every
problem that can arise, " The kingdoms of this world
must tecome the kingdoms of our Lord and of His
Christ." How, if His Spirit is not to mingle with
political and social truths ?
Nevertheless, in the popular idea that religion as
such must not be mixed with politics there is a pro-
found truth. Here, for instance, the Saviour will not
meddle with the question. He stands aloof, sublime
and dignified. It was no part of His to take from the
oppressor and give to the oppressed, much less to en-
courage the oppressed to take from the oppressor him-
self It was His part to forbid oppression. It was a
Judge's part to decide what oppression was. It was
not His office to determine the boundaries of civil
light, nor to lay down the rules of the descent of pro]>
erty. Of course, there was a spiritual and moral prin-
ciple involved in this question. But He would not
suffer His sublime mission to degenerate into the mere
task of deciding casuistry.
He asserted principles of love, unselfishness, order,
which would decide all questions ; but the questions
themselves He would not decide. He would lay down
the great political principle, " Render unto Csesar the
things that be Caesar's, and unto God the things which
are God's." But He would not determine whether this
particular tax was due to Cccsar or not.
So, too. He would say, Justice, hke Mercy and Tm*H
Christ's judgment respecting inheritance. 35
18 one of the weightier matters of the law ; but He
would not decide whether, in this definite case, this or
that brother had justice on his side. It was for them-
selves to determine that, and in that determination lay
their responsibility.
And thus religion deals with men, not cases ; with
human hearts, not casuistry.
Christianity determines general principles, out of
which no doubt the best government would surely
spring ; but what the best government is it does not
determine — whether Monarchy or a Republic, an Aris-
tocracy or a Democracy.
It lays down a great social law : Masters, give unto
your servants that which is just and equal. But it is
not its part to declare how much is just and equal. It
has no fixed scale of wages according to which masters
must give. That it leaves to each master, and each age
of society.
It binds up men in a holy brotherhood. But what
are the best institutions and surest means for arriving
at this brotherhood it has not said. In particular, it
has not pronounced whether competition or coopera-
tion will secure it.
And hence it comes to pass that Christianity is the
Eternal Religion, which can never become obsolete. If
it sets itself to determine the temporary and the local, —
the justice of this tax, or the exact wrongs of that con-
ventional maxim, — it would soon become obsolete: it
would be the religion of one century, not of all. As it
is, it commits itself to nothing except Eternal Prin-
ciples.
It is not sent into this world to establish monarchy,
or secure the franchise ; to establish socialism, or to
36 cheist's judgment kespecting inheeitance.
frown it into annihilation ; but to establish a Charity,
and a Moderation, and a sense of Duty, and a love of
Right, which will modify human life according to any
circumstances that can possibly arise.
2. In this refusal, again, it was implied that His
kingdom was one founded on spiritual disposition, not
one of outward Law and Jurisprudence.
That this lawsuit should have been decided by the
brothers themselves, in love, with mutual fairness,
would have been much ; that it should be determined
by authoritative arbitration was, spiritually speaking,
nothing. The right disposition of their hearts, and the
right division of their property thence resulting, was
Christ's kingdom. The apportionment of their prop-
erty by another's division had nothing to do with His
kingdom.
Suppose that both were wrong : one oppressive, the
other covetous. Then, that the oppressor should be-
come generous, and the covetous liberal, were a great
gain. But, to take from one selfish brother in order to
give to another selfish brother, what spiritual gain
would there have been in this ?
Suppose, again, that the retainer of the inheritance
was in the wrong, and that the petitioner had justice
on his side ; that he was a humble, meek man, and his
petition only one of right. Well, to take the property
from the unjust and give it to Christ's servant, might
be, and was, the duty of a Judge. But it was not
Christ's part, nor any gain to the cause of Christ. He
does not reward His servants with inheritances — with
lands, houses, gold. " The kingdom of God is not
meat and drink ; but righteousness, and peace, and joy
in the Holy Ghost." Christ triumphs by wrongs meekly
Christ's judgment respecting inheritance. 37
borne, even more than by wrongs legally righted.
What we call poetical justice is not His kingdom.
To apply this to the question of the day. The great
problem which lies before Europe for solution is, or
will be, this : Whether the present possessors of the
soil have an exclusive right to do what they will with
their own ; or whether a larger claim may be put in by
the workman for a share in the profits ? Whether Cap-
ital has hitherto given tp Labor its just part or not?
Labor is at present making an appeal, like that of this
petitioner, to the Church, to the Bible, to God. " Mas-
ter, speak unto my brother, that he divide the inherit-
ance with me."
Now, in the mere setting of that question to rest,
Christianity is not interested. That landlords should
become more liberal, and employers more merciful, —
that tenants should be more honorable, and workmen
joaore unselfish, — that would be indeed a glorious thing,
a triumph of Christ's cause ; and any arrangement
of the inheritance thence resulting would be a real
coming of the kingdom. But whether the soil of the
country and its capital shall remain the property of
the rich, or become more available for the poor, — the
rich and the poor remaining as selfish as before ; —
whether the selfish rich shall be able to keep, or the
selfish poor to take, is a matter, religiously speaking,
of profound indifference. Which of the brothers shall
have the inheritance, the monopolist or the covetous?
Either — neither ; who cares ? Fifty years hence, what
wiU it matter? But a hundred thousand years hence
it will matter whether they settled the question by
mutual generosity and forbearance.
3. I remark a tiurd thing. He refused to be the
4
38 Christ's judgment respecting inheritance.
friend of one, because He was the friend of both. lie
never was the champion of a class, because He waa
the champion of Humanity.
We may take for granted that the petitioner was
an injured man, — one, at all events, who thought him-
self injured ; and Christ had often taught the spirit
which would have made his brother right him : but Ho
refused to take his part against his brother, just be-
cause he was his brother, Chi^ist's servant, and one of
God's family, as well as he.
And this was His spirit always. The Pharisees
thought to commit Him to a side, when they asked
whether it was lawful to give tribute to Caesar or not.
But He would take no side as the Christ : neither the
part of the government against the tax-payers, nor
the part of the tax-payers against the government.
Now, it is a common thing to hear of the rights of
man, — a glorious and a true saying; but, as commonl_j
used, the expression only means the rights of a sec-
tion or class of men. And it is very worthy of
remark, that in these social quarrels both sides appeal
to Christ and to the Bible as the champions of their
rights, precisely in the same way in which this man
appealed to Him. One class appeal to the Bible, as if
it were the great Arbiter which decrees that the poor
shall be humble, and the subject submissive ; and the
other class appeal to the same book triumphantly, as if
•t were exclusivel}^ on their side : its peculiar blessed-
aess consisting in this — that it commands the rich to
divide the inheritance, and the ruler to impose nothing
'hat is unjust.
In either of these cases, Christianity is degraded,
und the Bible misused. They are not as thev have
Christ's judgment respecting inheritance. 39
been made — shame ! — for centuries, the servile de-
fenders of Rank and Wealth, nor are they the pliant
advocates of discontent and rebellion.
The Bible takes neither the part of the poor against
the rich exclusively, nor that of the rich against the
poor ; and this because it proclaims a real, deep, true,
and not a revolutionary brotherhood.
The brotherhood of which we hear so much is often
only a one-sided brotheiiiood. It demands that the
rich shall treat the poor as brothers. It has a right to
do so. It is a brave and a just demand : but it forgets
that the obligation is mutual ; that, in spite of his many
faults, the rich man is the poor man's brother, and that
the poor man is bound to recognize him and feel for
him as a brother.
It requires that every candid allowance shall be
made for the vices of the poorer classes, in virtue of
the circumstances which, so to speak, seem to mako
such vices inevitable : for their harlotry, their drunken-
ness, their uncleanness, their insubordination. Let it
enforce that demand ; it may and must do it in the
name of Christ. He was mercifully and mournfully
gentle to those who, through terrible temptation and
social injustice, had sunk; and sunk into misery at
least as much as into sin. But, then, let it not be for-
gotten that some sympathy must be also due, on the
same score of circumstances, to the rich man. Wealth
has its temptations, — so has power. The vices of the
rich are his forgetfulness of responsibility, his indo-
lence, his extravagance, his ignorance of wretched-
ness. These must be looked upon, not, certainly, with
weak excuses, but with a brother's eye, by the poor
man, if he will assert a brotherhood. It is not just to
40 Christ's judgment eespecting inheritance.
attribute all to circumstances in the one case, and
nothing in the other. It is not brotherhood to say
that the laborer does wrong because he is tempted,
and the man of wealth because he is intrinsically bad.
II. The Source to which He traced this appeal for
a division.
Now, it is almost certain that the reflection which
arose to the lips of Christ is not the one which would
have presented itself to us under similar circum-
stances. We should probably have sneered at the
state of the law in which a lawsuit could obtain no
prompt decision, and injury get no redress: or, we
should have remarked upon the evils of the system of
primogeniture, and asked whether it were just that one
brother should have all, and the others none : or, we
might, perhaps, have denounced the injustice of per-
mitting privileged classes at all.
He did nothing of this kind : He did not sneer at
the law, nor inveigh against the system, nor denounce
the privileged classes. He went deeper — to the very
loot of the matter. " Take heed, and beware of covet-
ousness." It was covetousness which caused the un-
just brother to withhold; it was covetousness which
made the defrauded brother indignantly complain to a
stranger. It is covetousness which is at the bottom
of all lawsuits, all social grievances, all political fac-
tions. So St. James traces the genealogy. "From
whence come wars and fightings among you? Come
they not hence, even from your lusts which reign in
your flesh?"
Covetousness: the covetousness of all. Of the
oppressed as well as the oppressor; for the cry,
Christ's judgment respecting inheritance. 41
" Divide," has its root in covetousness just as truly as
" 1 will not." There are no innocent classes ; no
devils who oppress, and angels who are oppressed.
The guilt of a false social state must be equally
divided.
We will consider somewhat more deeply this covet-
ousness. In the original the word is a very expressive
one. It means the desire of having more, — not of
having more because the?e is not enough, but simply
a craving after more. More when a man has not
enough, — more when he has. More — more. Ever
more. Give — give. Divide — Divide.
^This craving is not universal. Individuals and
whole nations are without it. There are some na-
tions the condition of whose further civilization is
that the desire of accumulation be increased. They
are too indolent or too unambitious to be covetous.
Energy is awakened when wants are immediate, press-
ing, present ; but ceases with the gratification.
There are other nations in which the craving is ex-
cessive, even to disease. Preeminent among these is
England. This desire of accumulation is the source
of all our greatness and all our baseness. It is at
once our glory and our shame. It is the cause of our
commerce, of our navy, of our military triumphs, of
our enormous wealth, and our marvellous inventions.
And it is the cause of our factions and animosities, of
our squalid pauperism, and the worse than heathen
degradation of the masses of our population.
That which makes this the more' marvellous is, that
of all nations on the earth none are so incapable of
enjoyment as we. God has not given to us that
delicate development which He has given to other
42 cheist's judgment respecting inheritance.
races. Our sense of harmony is dull and rare ; oui
perception of beauty is not keen. An English hoh-
day is rude and boisterous. If protracted, it ends
in ennui and self-dissatisfaction. We cannot enjoy.
Work, the law of human nature, is the very need of
an English nature. That cold shade of Puritanism
which passed over us, sullenly eclipsing all grace and
enjoyment, was but the shadow of our own melan-
choly, unenjoying national character.
And yet we go on accumulating, as if we could
enjoy more by having more. To quit the class in
which they are, and rise into that above, is the yearly,
daily, hourly effort of millions in this land. And tfeis
were well, if this word " above " implied a reahty ; if
it meant higher intellectually, morally, or even physi-
cally. But the truth is, it is only higher fictitiously.
The middle classes already have every real enjoyment
which the wealthiest can have. The only thing they
have not is the ostentation of the means of enjoy-
ment. More would enable them to multiply equipages,
houses, books : it could not enable them to enjoy them
more.
Thus, then, we have reached the root of the matter.
Our national craving is, in the proper meaning of the
term, covetousness. Not the desire of enjoying more,
but the desire of having more.
And if there be a country, a society, a people, to
whom this warning is specially applicable, that coun-
try is England, that society our own, that people we.
" Take heed and be'ware of covetousness."
The true remedy for this covetousness He then pro-
ceeds to give. " A man's life consisteth not in the
abundance of the things which he possesses."
chbtst's judgment eespecting inheritance. 43
Now, observe the distinction between His view and
the world's view of humanity. To the question, "What
is a man worth? the world replies by enumerating
what he has. In reply to the same question, the Son
of Man replies by estimating what he is. Not what
he has, but what he is — that, through time and through
eternity, is his real and proper life. He declared the
presence of the soul ; He announced the dignity of
the spiritual man ; He revealed the being that we are.
Not that which is supported by meat and drink, but
that whose very life is in Truth, Integrity, Honor,
Purity. " Skin for skin," was the satanic version of this
matter: " AU that a man hath wiU he give for his life."
" What shaU it profit a man," was the Saviour's an-
nouncement, " if he shall gain the whole world and
lose his own soul ? "
For the oppressed and the defrauded this was the
true consolation and compensation. The true conso-
lation. This man had lost so much loss. WeU ; how
is he consoled ? By the thought of retaliation ? By
the promise of revenge ? By the assurance that he
shall have what he ought by right to have ? Nay ; but
thus — as it were : Thou hast lost so much, but thyself
remains. "A man's life consisteth not in the abun-
dance of the things which he possesses."
Most assuredly Christianity proclaims laws which
will eventually give to each man his rights. I do not
deny this. But I say that the hope of these rights is
not the message, nor the promise, nor the consolation,
of Christianity. Rather they consist in the assertion
of the true Life, instead of all other hopes ; of the
substitution of blessedness, which is inward character,
for happiness, which is outward satisfactions of desire.
44 Christ's judgment respecting inheritance.
For the broken-hearted, the peace which the world
cannot give. For the poor, the life which destitution
cannot take away. For the persecuted, the thought
that they are the children of their Father which is in
heaven.
A very striking instance of this is found in the con-
solation offered by St. Paul to slaves. How did he
reconcile them to their lot? By promising that Chris-
tianity would produce the abolition of the slave-trade?
No ; though this was to be effected by Christianity ;
but by assuring them that, though slaves, they might
be inly free — Christ's freedmen. Art thou called,
being a slave ? Care not for it.
This, too, was the real compensation offered by
Christianity for injuries.
The other brother had the inheritance ; and to win
the inheritance he had laid upon his soul the guilt of
injustice. His advantage was the property ; the price
he paid for that advantage was a hard heart. The in-
jured brother had no inheritance, but instead he had,
or might have had, innocence, and the conscious joy
of knowing that he was not the injurer. Herein lay
the balance.
Now, there is great inconsistency between the com
plaints and claims that are commonly made on these
subjects. There are outcries against the insolence
of power, and the hard-hearted selfishness of wealth.
Only too often these cries have a foundation of jus-
tice. But be it remembered that these are precisely
ths cost at which the advantages, such as they are,
are purchased. The price which the man in authority
has paid for power is the temptation to be insolent.
He has yielded to the temptation, and bought his
Christ's judgment respecting inheritanx;e. 45
advantage dear. The price wliich the rich man pays
for his wealth is the temptation to be selfish. They
have paid in spirituals for what they have gained in
temporals. Now, if you are crying for a share in that
wealth, and a participation in that power, you must be
content to run the risk of becoming as hard, an'd self-
ish, and overbearing, as the man whom you denounce.
Blame their sins, if you will, or despise their advan-
tages ; but do not think 'that you can covet their ad-
vantages and keep clear of their temptations. God is
on the side of the poor, and the persecuted, and the
mourners, — a light in darkness, and a life in death.
But the poverty, and the persecution, and the dark-
ness, are the condition on which they feel God's pres-
ence. They must not expect to have the enjoyment
of wealth and the spiritual blessings annexed to pov-
erty at the same time. If you will be rich, you must
be content to pay the price of falling into temptation,
and a snare, and many foolish and hurtful lusts, which
drown men in perdition ; and if that price be too high
to pay, then you must be content with the quiet val-
leys of existence, where alone it is well with us ; kept
out of the inheritance, but having instead God for
your portion, your all-sufficient and everlasting por»
tion — peace, and quietness, and rest with Christ.
II.
[Preached January 6, 1850.]
THE STAR IN THE EAST.
Matt. ii. 1, 2. — " Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea,
in the days of Herod the king, behold there came wise men from the
east to Jerusalem, saying. Where is he that is born King of the
Jews ? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship
him."
Our subject is the Manifestation of Christ to the
Gentiles. The King of the Jews has become the
Sovereign of the world ; a fact, one would think,
which must cause a secret complacency in the heart
of all Jews. For that which is most deeply working
in modern life and thought is the Mind of Christ. His
name has passed over our institutions, and much more
has His Spirit penetrated into our social and domestic
existence. In other words, a Hebrew mind is now,
and has been for centuries, ruling Europe.
But the Gospel which He proclaimed was not lim-
ited to the Hebrews ; it was a Gospel for the nations.
By the death of Christ, God had struck his death-
blew at the root of the hereditary principle. "We
be the seed of Abraham," was the proud pretension
of the Israelite ; and he was told that spiritual dignity
rests not upon spiritual descent, but upon spiritual
(16)
THE STAR IN THE EAST. 47
character. New tribes were adopted into the Chris-
tian union ; and it became clear that there was no
distinction of race in the spiritual family. The Jew-
ish rite of circumcision, a symbol of exclusiveness,
cutting off one nation from all others, was exchanged
for Baptism, the symbol of universality, proclaiming
the nearness of all to God, His Paternity over the
human race, and the Sonship of all who chose to
claim their privileges. •
This was a Gospel for the world ; and nation after
nation accepted it. Churches were formed ; the King-
dom which is the domain of Love grew ; the Roman
empire crumbled into fragments ; but every fragment
was found pregnant with life. It broke not as some
ancient temple might break, its broken pieces lying in
lifeless ruin, overgrown with weeds : rather as one of
those mysterious animals break, of which if you rend
them asunder, every separate portion forms itself into
a new and complete existence. Rome gave way;
but every portion became a Christian kingdom, alive
with the mind of Christ, and developing the Christian
idea after its own peculiar nature.
The portion of Scripture selected for the text and
for the Gospel of the day has an important bearing
on this great Epiphany. The " wise men " belonged
to a creed of very hoary and venerable antiquity ; a
system, too, which had in it the elements of strong
vitality. For seven centuries after, the Mahometan
sword scarcely availed to extirpate it, — indeed, could
not. They whom the Mahometans called fire-worship-
pers clung to their creed with vigor and tenacity
indestructible, in spite of all his efforts.
Here, then, in this act of homage to the Messiah,
48 THE STAR IN THE EAST.
were the representatives of the highest then existing
influences of the world, doing homage to the Lord of
a mightier influence, and reverently bending before
the dawn of the Star of a new and brighter Day. It
was the first distinct turning of the Gentile mind to
Christ — the first instinctive craving after a something
higher than Gentilism could ever satisfy.
In this light our thoughts arrange themselves thus :
I. The expectation of the Gentiles.
II. The Manifestation or Epiphany.
I. The expectation : " Where is He that is born
King of the Jews ? for we have seen His star in the
east, and are come to worship Him."
Observe, 1. The craving for Eternal Life. The
" wise men " were " Magians," that is, Persian priests.
The name, however, was extended to all the eastern
philosophers who professed that religion, or even that
philosophy. The Magians were chiefly distinguished
by being worshippers of the stars, or students of
astronomy.
Now, astronomy is a science which arises from man's
need of religion: other sciences spring out of wants
bounded by this life. For instance, anatomy presuj)-
poses disease. There would be no prying into our
animal frame, no anatomy, were there not a malady to
stimulate the inquiry. Navigation arises from the
necessity of traversing the seas to appropiiate the
produce of other countries. Charts, and maps, and
soundings, are made, because of a felt earthly want.
But in astronomy the first impulse of mankind came
not from the craving of the intellect, but from the
necessities of the soul.
THE STAR IN THE EAST. 49
If j'^ou search down into the constitution of your
being till you come to the lowest deep of all, underly-
ing all other wants you will find a craving for what is
infinite ; a something that desires perfection ; a wish
that nothing but the thought of that which is eternal
can satisfy. To the untutored mind nowhere was that
want so called into consciousness, perhaps, as beneath
the mighty skies of the !^ast. Serene and beautiful
are the nights in Persia, and many a wise man in earlier
days, full of deep thoughts, went out into the fields,
like Isaac, to meditate at eventide. God has so made
us that the very act of looking up produces in us per-
ceptions of the sublime. And then those skies in their
calm depths mirroring that which is boundless in space
and illimitable in time, with a silence profound as death
and a motion gliding on forever, as if symbolizing
eternity of life, — no wonder if men associated with
them their highest thoughts, and conceived them to
be the home of Deity. No wonder if an Eternal Des-
tiny seemed to sit enthroned there. No wonder if
they seemed to have in their mystic motion an invisi-
ble sympathy with human life and its mysterious desti-
nies. No wonder if he who best could read their laws
was reckoned best able to interpret the duties of this
life, and all that connects man with that which is invisi-
ble. No wonder if in those devout days of young
thought, science was only another name for religion,
and the Priest of the great temple of the universe was
also the Priest in the temple made with hands. As-
tronomy was the religion of the world's youth.
The Magians were led by the star to Christ ; their
astronomy was the very pathway to their Saviour.
Upon this I make one or two remarks.
6
60 THE STAE IN THE EAST.
1. The folly of depreciating human wisdom. Of all
vanities the worst is the vanity of ignorance. It is
common enough to hear learning decried, as if it were
an opposite of religion. If that means that science is
not religion, and that the man who can calculate tha
motions of the stars may never have bowed his soul to
Christ, it contains a truth. But if it means, as it often
does, that leai-ning is a positive encumbrance and hir.-
drance to religion, then it is as much as to say that the
God of nature is not the God of Gi'ace ; that the more
you study the Creator's works, the further you remove
from Himself; nay, we must go further, to be consist-
ent, and hold, as most uncultivated and rude nations
do, that the state of idiocy is nearest to that of inspi-
ration.
There are expressions of St. Paul often quoted as
sanctioning this idea. He tells his converts to beware,
" lest any man spoil you through philosophy." Where-
upon we take for granted that modern philosophy is a
kind of antagonist to Christianity. This is one instance
out of many of the way in which an ambiguous word,
misunderstood, becomes the source of infinite error.
Let us hear St. Paul. He bids Timothy " beware of
profane and old wives' fables." He speaks of " endless
genealogies," " worshipping of angels," " intruding
into those things which men have not seen." This
was the philosophy of those days : a system of wild
fancies spun out of the brain, — somewhat like what
we might now call demonolatry ; but as different from
philosophy as any two things can dififer.
They forget, too, another thing. Philosophy has
become Christian; science has knelt to Christ. There
is a deep significance in that homage of the Magians.
THE STAB IN THE EAST. 51
For it in fact was but a specimen and type of that
which science has been doing ever since. The mind
of Christ has not only entered into the Temple, and
made it the house of prayer : it has entered into the
temple of science, and purified the spirit of philosophy.
This is its spirit now, as expounded by its chief inter-
preter : " Man, the interpreter of Nature, knows noth-
ing, and can do nothing, except that which Nature
teaches him." What is this but science bending before
the Child, becoming childlike, and, instead of project-
ing its own fancies upon God's word, listening rever-
ently to hear what it has to teach him ? In a simiJcy
spirit, too, spoke the greatest of philosophers, in words
quoted in every child's book : " I am but a child, pick-
ing up pebbles on the shore of the great sea of
Truth."
! be sure all the universe tells of Christ and leads
to Christ. Rightly those ancient Magians deemed, in
believing that God was worshipped truly in that august
temple. The stars preach the mind of Christ. Not as
of old, when a mystic star guided their feet to Bethle-
hem : but now, to the mind of the astronomer, they
tell of Eternal Order and Harmony ; they speak of
changeless law where no caprice reigns. You may
calculate the star's return; and to the day, and hour,
and minute, it will be there. This is the fidelity of
God. These mute masses obey the law impressed
upon them by their Creator's Hand, unconsciously;
and that law is the law of their own nature. To un-
derstand the laws of our nature, and consciously and
reverently to obey them, that is the mind of Christ, the
Bublimest spirit of the Gospel.
I remark again : This universe may be studied in an
52 THE STAR IN THE EAST.
irreverent spirit. In Dan. ii. 48, we find the reverence
which was paid to science. Daniel among the Chaldees
was made chief of the wise men, that is, the first of the
Magians ; and King Nebuchadnezzar bowed before
him, with incense and oblations. In later days we find
that spirit changed. Another king, Herod, commands
the wise men to use their science for the purpose of
letting him know where the Child was. In earlier
times they honored the priest of nature : in later times
they made use of him-.
Only by a few is science studied now in the sublime
and reverent spirit of old days. A vulgar demand for
utility has taken the place of that lowly prostration
with which the world listened to the discoveries of
truth. The discovery of some new and mighty agent,
by which the east and west are brought together in a
moment, awakens chiefly the emotion of delight in us
that correspondence and travelling will be quickened.
The merchant congratulates himself upon the speedier
arrival of the news which will give him the start of his
rivals, and enable him to out-race his competitors in
the competition of wealth. Yet, what is this but the
utilitarian spirit of Herod, seeing nothing more solemn
in a mysterious star than the means whereby he might
crush his supposed Rival?
There is a spirit which believes that " godliness is
gain," and aims at being godly for the sake of advan-
tage ; which is honest, because honesty is the best
policy ; which says. Do right, and you will be the
better — that is, the richer — for it. There is a spirit
which seeks for wisdom simply as a means to an
earthly end, — and that often a mean one. This is a
spirit rebuked by the nobler reverence of the earlier
THE STAR IN THE EAST. 53
Qays of Magianism. Knowledge for its own pure sake.
God for His own sake. Truth for the sake of truth.
This was the reason for which, in earlier days, men
read the aspect of the heavens.
2. Next, in this craving of the Gentiles, we meet
with traces of the yearning of the human soul for
light. The Magian system was called the system of
Light about seven centuries B. c. A great reformer
(Zoroaster) had appeared, who either restored the sys-
tem to its purity, or created out of it a new system.
He said that Light is Eternal, — that the Lord of the
Universe is Light ; but, because there was an eternal
Light, there was also an eternal possibility of the ab-
sence of Light. Light and Darkness, therefore, were
the eternal principles of the universe, — not equal
principles, but one the negation of the other. He
taught that the soul of man needs light, — a light ex-
ternal to itself, as well as in itself As the eye cannot
Bee in darkness, and is useless, so is there a capacity
in the soul for light : but it is not itself light ; it needs
the Everlasting light from outside itself.
Hence the stars became worshipped as the symbols
of this light. But by degrees these stars began to
stand in the place of the Light Himself This was
the state of things in the days of these Magians.
Magianism was now midway between its glory and
its decline. For its glory we must go back to the
days of Daniel, when a monarch felt it his privilege to
do honor to the priest of Light ; when that priest
was the sole medium of communication between
Deity and man, and through him alone " Oromasdes "
made his revelations known ; when the law given
by the Magian, revealed by the eternal stars, was
6»
64 THE STAR IN THE EAST.
" the law of the Medes and Persians, which altereth
not." For its lowest degradation we must pass over
about half a century from- the time we are now con-
sidering, till we find ourselves in Samaria, in the
presence of Simon the Magian. He gave himself out
for the great power of God. He prostituted such
powers and knowledge as he possessed to the object
of making gain. Half dupe, half impostor, in him the
noble system of light had sunk to petty charlatanism :
Magianism had degenerated into Magic.
Midway between these two periods, or rather nearer
to the latter, stood the Magian of the text. There is
a time in the history of every superstition when it is
respectable, even deserving reverence, when men be-
lieved it ; when it is in fact associated with the highest
feelings that are in man, and the channel even for
God's manifestation to the soul. And there is a time
when it becomes less and less credible, when clearer
science is superseding its pretensions ; and then is the
period in which one class of men, like Simon, keep up
the imposture : the priests, who will not let the old
superstition die, but go on, half impostors, half
deceived by the strong delusion wherewith they
believe their own lie. Another class, like Herod, the
wise men of the world, who patronize it for their own
purposes, and make use of it as an engine of state.
Another still, who turn from side to side, feeling with
horror the old, and all that they held dear, crumbling
away beneath them, — the ancient lights going out, —
jore than half suspecting the falsehood of all the rest,
and, with an earnestness amounting almost to agony,
leaving their own homes, and inquiring for fresh light.
Such was the posture of these Magians. You can-
THE STAR IN THE EAST. 55
not enter into their questions, or sympathize with tneir
wants, unless you realize all this. For that desire for
light is one of the most impassioned of our noble
natures. The noble prayer of the ancient world
(Vv ^e (faet teat odeaaov'jj " Give light, and let us die :" can
we not feelit? Light — light! 0, if the result were
the immediate realization of the old fable, and the
blasting of the daring spirit in the moment of Revela-
tion of its Grod, — yet give us light. The wish for
light, the expectation of the manifestation of God, is
the mystery which lies beneath the history of the
whole ancient world.
II. The Epiphany itself.
1. They found a king. There is something very
significant in the fact of that king being discovered
as a child. The royal child was the answer to their
desires. There are two kinds of monarchy, rule, or
command. One is that of hereditary title ; the other
is that of Divine Right. There are kings of men's
making, and kings of God's making. The secret of
that command which men obey involuntarily is sub
mission of the ruler himself to law. And this is th&
secret of the Royalty of the Humanity of Christ.
No principle through all His Life is more striking,
none characterizes it so peculiarly as His submission
to another Will. " I came not to do mine own will,
but the will of Him that sent me." — " The words
which I speak, I speak not of myself" His commands
are not arbitrary. They are not laws given on
authority only : they are the eternal laws of our
humanity, to which He Himself submitted ; the obe-
dience to which alone can make our being attain its
56 THE STAR IN THE EAST.
end. This is the secret of His kingship, — " He b^
came obedient . . . wherefore God also hath highly
exalted Him."
And this is the secret of all influence, and all com-
mand. Obedience to a law above you subjugates
minds to you who never would have yielded to mere
Avill. " Rule thyself, thou rulest all."
2. Next, observe the adoration of the Magians —
very touching and full of deep truth. The wisest of
the world bending before the Child. Remember the
history of Magianism. It began with awe, entering
into this world beneath the serene skies of the East :
in Wonder and Worship. It passed into priestcraft
and scepticism. It ended in Wonder and Adoration, as
it had begun ; only with a truer and nobler meaning.
This is but a representation of human life. " Heaven
lies around us in our infancy." The child looks on
this world of God's as one, not many — all beautiful —
wonderful — God's — the creation of a Father's hand.
The man dissects, breaks it into fragments ; loses love
and worship in speculation and reasoning ; becomes
more manly, more independent, and less irradiated
with a sense of the presence of the Lord of all ; till at
last, after many a devious wandering, if he be one
whom the Star of God is leading blind by a way he
knows not, he begins to see all as one again, and God
in all. Back comes the Childlike spirit once more in
the Christianity of old age. We kneel before the
Child ; we feel that to adore is greater than to reason ;
to love, and worship, and believe, bring the soul nearer
heaven than scientific analysis. The Child is nearer
God than we.
And this, too, is one of the deep sayings of Christ;
THE STAR IN THE EAST. 57
♦ Except ye be converted and become as little chil-
dren, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of
heaven."
3. Lastly, In that Epiphany we have to remark the
Magians' joy. They had seen the star in the east.
They followed it — it seemed to go out in dim obscur-
ity. They went about inquiring: asked Herod, who
could tell them nothing; asked the scribes, who only
gave them a vague direcfion. At last the star shone
out once more, clear before them in their path.
" When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceed-
ing great joy."
Perhaps the hearts of some of us can interpret that.
There are some who have seen the star that shone
in earlier days go out — quench itself in black vapors
or sour smoke. There are some who have followed
many a star that turned out to be but an ignis fatuus,
• — one of those bright exhalations which hover over
marshes and church-yards, and only lead to the cham-
bers of the dead, or the cold, damp pits of disappoint-
ment ; and, 0, the blessing of " exceeding joy," after
following in vain, — after inquiring of the great men
and learning nothing, of the religious men and find-
ing little, — to see the Star at last resting over " the
place where the young Child lies;" — after groping
the way alone, to see the star stand still, — to find that
Religion is a thing far simpler than we thought; that
God is near us, that to kneel and adore is the noblest
posture of the soul. For, whoever will follow with
fidelity his own star, God will guide him aright. He
spoke to the Magians by the star ; to the shepherds, by
the melody of the heavenly host ; to Joseph, by a
dream ; to Simeon, by an inward revelation. " Gold,
58 THE STAR IN THE EAST.
and frankincense, and myrrh," — these, and ten times
these, were poor and cheap to give for that blessed
certainty that the star of God is on before us.
Two practical hints, in conclusion.
1. A hint of immortality. That star is now looking
down on the wise men's graves ; and if there be no
life to come, then this is the confusion : that mass
of inert matter is pursuing its way through space,
and the minds that watched it, calculated its move-
ments, were led by it through aspiring wishes to holy
adorations, — those minds, more precious than a
thousand stars, have dropped out of God's universe.
And then God cares for mere material masses more
than for spirits, which are the emanation and copy of
Himself Impossible. " God is not the God of the
dead, but of the living." God is the Father of our
Spirits. Eternity and immeasurableness belong to
thought alone. You may measure the cycles of that
star by years and miles. Can you bring any measure-
ment which belongs to time or space by which you
can compute the length or breadth or the duration
of one pure thought, one aspiration, one moment of
love ? This is eternity. Nothing but thought can be
immortal.
2. Learn, finally, the truth of the Epiphany by
heart. To the Jew it chiefly meant that the Gentile,
too, could become the child of God. But to us? —
Is that doctrine obsolete ? Nay, it requires to be
reiterated in this age as much as in any other. There
is a spirit in all our hearts whereby we would monop-
olize God, conceiving Him an unapproachable Being, —
whereby we may terrify other men outside our own
pale, — instead of the Father that is near to all, whom
THE STAR IN THE EAST. 59
we have to approach, and whom to adore is blessed*
ness.
This is our Judaism : we do not believe in the
Epiphany. "We do not believe that God is the Father
of the world ; we do not actually credit that He has a
star for the Persian priest, and celestial melody for the
Hebrew shepherd, and an unsyllabled voice for all tlie
humble and inquiring spirits in His world. Therefore
remember, Christ has broken down the middle wall
of partition ; He has revealed Our Father, proclaimed
that there is no distinction in the spiritual family and
established a real Brotherhood on earth.
III.
[Preached February 10, 1850.]
THE HEALING OF JAIRUS' DAUGHTER.
Matt. ix. 23-25. — " And when Jesus came into the ruler's house, and
saw the minstrels and the people making a noise, he said unto them.
Give place ; for the maid is not dead, but sleepeth. And they laughed
him to scorn. But when the people were put forth, he went in, and
took her by the hand, and the maid arose."
This is one of a pair of miracles, the full instruction
from neither of which can be gained unless taken in
connection with the other.
On His way to heal the daughter of Jairus, the Son
of Man was accosted by another sufferer, alHicted
twelve years with an issue of blood. Humanly speak-
ing, there were many causes which might have led to
the rejection of her request. The case was urgent ; a
matter of life and death ; delay might be fatal ; a few
minutes might make all the difference between living
and dying. Yet Jesus not only performed the mir-
acle, but refused to perform it in a hurried way;
paused to converse ; to inquire who had touched him ;
to perfect the lesson of the whole. On His way to
perform one act of Love, He turned aside to give His
attention to another.
(60)
THE HEAL TNG OF JAIRUS' DAUGHTER. 61
The practical lesson is this : There are many who
are so occupied by one set of duties as to have no
time for others : some whose life-business is the sup-
pression of the slave-trade, — the amelioration of the
state of prisons, — the reformation of public abuses.
Right, except so far as they are monopolized by these,
and feel themselves discharged from other obligations.
The minister's work is spiritual ; the physician's, tem-
poral. But, if the formef neglect physical needs, or
the latter shrink from spiritual opportunities on the
plea that the cure of bodies, not of souls, is his work,
80 far they refuse to imitate their Master.
He had an ear open for every tone of wail ; a heart
ready to respond to every species of need. Specially
the Redeemer of the soul. He was yet as emphatically
the "Saviour of the body." He "taught the people;"
but He did not neglect to multiply the loaves and
fishes. The peculiar need of the woman, the father's
cry of anguish, the infant's cry of helplessness, the
wail of oppression, and the shriek of pain, — all were
heard by Him, and none in vain.
Therein lies the diiference between Christian love
and the impujse of mere inclinations. We hear of men
being " interested " in a cause ; it has some peculiar
charm for them individually: the wants of the heathen,
or the destitution of the soldier and sailor, or the con-
version of the Jews, according to men's associations, or
fancies, or peculiar bias, may engage their attention, and
monopolize their sympathy. I am far from saying these
are wrong: I only say, that so far as they only interest ^
and monopolize interest, the source from which they
spring is only human, and not the highest. The differ-
ence between such beneficence and that which is
62 THE HEALING OF JAIRUS' DAUGHTER.
the result of Christian love is marked by partiality in
one case, universality in the other Love is universal.
It is interested in all that is human : not merely in the
concerns of its own family, nation, sect, or circle of
associations. Humanity is the sphere of its activity.
Here, too, we find the Son of Man the pattern of our
humanity. His bosom was to mankind what the Ocean
is to the world. The Ocean has its own mighty tide ;
but it receives and responds to, in exact proportion,
the tidal influences of every estuary, and river, and
small creek, which pours into its bosom. So in Christ:
His bosom heaved with the tides of our humanity ;
but every separate sorrow, pain, and joy, gave its pul-
sation, and received back influence from the sea of His
being.
Looking at this matter somewhat more closely, it
will be plain that the delay was only apparent.
Seemingly there was delay, and fatal delay : while he
yet spake, there came news of the child's death. But
just so far as the resurrection of the dead is a mightier
miracle than the healing of the sick, just so far did the
delay enhance and illustrate, instead of dimming, the
glory of His mission.
But more definitely still. The miracles of Jesus
were not merely arbitrary acts ; they were subject to
the laws of the spiritual world. It was, we may hum-
bly say, impossible to convey a spiritual blessing to
one who was not spiritually susceptible. A certain
inward character, a certain relation {rapport) to the
Kedeemer, was required to make the mercy efficacious.
Hence in one place we read, " He could not do many
miracles there because of their unbelief" And His
THE HEALING OF JAIRUS' DAUGHTER. ()S
perpetual question was, "Believest thou that I am able
to do this ? "
Now, Jairus beheld this miracle. He saw the
woman's modest touch approaching the hem of the.
Saviour's garment. He saw the abashed look with
which she shrunk from public gaze and exposure. He
heard the language of Omniscience — "Somebody hath
touched me." He heard the great principle enunciated
that the only touch which reaches God is that of Faith.
The multitude may throng and press : but heart to
heart, soul to soul, mind to mind, only so do we come
in actual contact with God. And, remembering this, it
is a matter not of probability, but of certainty, that
the soul of Jairus was actually made more capable of
a blessing than before ; that he must have walked with
a more hopeful step ; that he must have heard the
announcement, " Thy daughter is dead," with less
dismay ; that the words, " Fear not, only believe,"
must have come to him with deeper meaning, and
been received with more implicit trust, than if Jesus
had not paused to heal the woman, but hurried on.
And this is the principle of the spiritual kingdom.
In matters worldly, the more occupations, duties, a
man has, the more certain is he of doing all imper-
fectly. In the things of God, it is reversed. The
more duties you perform, the more you are fitted for
doing others : what you lose in time, you gain in
strength. You do not love God the less, but the more,
for loving man. You do not weaken your affection
for your family by cultivating attachments beyond its
pale, but deepen and intensify it. Respect for the
alien, tenderness for the heretic, do not interfere with,
but rather strengthen, attachment to your own country
64 THE HEALING OF JAIRUS' DAUGHTER.
and your own church. He who is most liberal in the
case of a foreign famine, or a distant mission, will be
found to have only learned more liberal love towards
• the poor and unspiritualized of his own land : so false
is the querulous complaint that money is drained away
by such calls, to the disadvantage of more near and
juster claims.
You do not injure one cause of mercy by turning
aside to listen to the call of another.
I. The uses of Adversity.
II. The principles of a Miracle.
I. The simplest and obvious use of sorrow is to
remind of God. Jairus and the woman, like many
others, came to Christ from a sense of want. It would
seem that a certain shock is needed to bring us in con-
tact with reality. We are not conscious of our
breathing till obstruction makes it felt. We are not
aware of the possession of a heart till some disease,
some sudden joy or sorrow, rouses it into extraordi-
nary action. And we are not conscious of the mighty
cravings of our half Divine humanity, we are not
aware of the God within us, till some chasm yawns
which must be filled, or till the rending asunder of
our affections forces us to become fearfully conscious
of a need.
And this, too, is the reply to a rebellious question
which our hearts are putting perpetually : Why am I
treated so ? Why is my health or my child taken
from me ? What have I done to deserve this ? So
Job passionately complained that God had set him up
as a mark to empty His quiver on.
THE HEALING OP JAIRUS' DAUGHTER. 65
The reply is, that gifts are granted to elicit ouf
aflFections : they are resumed to elicit them still more ;
for we never know the value of a blessing till it ia
gone. Health, children, — we must lose them before
we know the love wliich they contain.
However, we are not prepared to say that a charge
might not, with some plausibility, be brought against
the love of God, were no intimation ever given that
God means to resume His blessings. That man may
fairly complain of his adopted father, who has been
educated as his own son, and, after contracting habits
of extravagance, looking forward to a certain line of
life, cultivating certain tastes, is informed that he is
only adopted ; that he must part with these temporary
advantages, and sink into a lower sphere. It would be
a poor excuse to say that all he had before him was so
much gain, unmerited. It is enough to reply that
false hopes were raised, and knowingly.
Nay, the laws of countries sanction this. After a
certain period a title to property cannot be interfered
with : if a right of way or road has existed, in the
venerable language of the law, after a custom " where-
of the memory of man runneth not to the contrary,"
no private right, however dignified, can overthrow
the public claim. I do not say that a bitter feeling
might not have some show of justice, if such were the
case with God's blessings.
But the truth is this : God confers His gifts with
distinct reminders that they are His. He gives us for
a season spirits taken out of His universe ; brings
them into temporary contact with us ; and we caU
them father, mother, sister, child, friend. But, just as
in some places, on one day in the year, the way or
6*
66 THE HEALING OF JAIRUS' DAUGHTER.
path is closed iu order to remind the public that they
pass by sufferance, and not by right, in order that no
lapse of time may establish " adverse possession," so
does God give warning to us. Every ache and pain,
every wrinkle you see stamping itself on a parent's
blow, every accident which reveals the uncertain
tenure of life and possessions, every funeral beU that
tolls, are only God's reminders that we are tenants
at will, and not by right, — pensioners on the bounty
of an hour. He is closing up the right of way, warn-
ing fairly that what we have is lent, not given : His,
not ours. His mercies are so much gain. The re-
sumption of them is no injustice. Job learned that,
too, by heart. '' The Lord gave, and the Lord hath
taken away ; blessed be the name of the Lord."
Again, observe the misuse of sorrow. When He
came to the house. He found the minstrels and peo-
ple making a noise. In the East, not content with
natural grief, they use artificial means to deepen and
prolong it. Men and women make it a separate pro-
fession to act as mourners, — to exhibit for hire the cus-
tomary symbols and wail of grief, partly to soothe, and
partly to rivet sorrow deeply, by expression of it.
The South and North differ greatly from each other
in this respect. The nations of the North restrain
their grief, — affect the tearless eye and the stern look.
The expressive South, and all the nations whose origin
is from thence, are demonstrative in grief They beat
their breasts, tear their hair, throw dust upon their
heads. It would be unwise were either to blame or
ridicule the other, so long as each is true to Nature.
Unwise for the nations of the South to deny the reaL
iiy of the grief which is repressed and silent. Unjust
THE HEALING OF JAIRUS' DAUGHTER. 67
in the denizen of the North, were he to scorn the
violence of Southern grief, or call its uncontrollable
demonstrations unmanly. Much must be allowed for
temperament.
These two opposite tendencies, however, indicate
the two extremes into which men may fall in this mat-
ter of sorrow. There are two ways in which we may
defeat the purposes of God in grief — by forgetting it,
or by over-indulging it.
The world's way is to forget. It prescribes gayety
as the remedy for woe ; banishes all objects which
recall the past ; makes it the etiquette of feeling, even
amongst near relations, to abstain from the mention of
the names of the lost ; gets rid of the mourning weeds
as soon as possible — the worst of all remedies for
grief. Sorrow, the discipline of the Cross, is the
school for all that is highest in us. Self-knowledge,
true power, all that dignifies humanity, are precluded,
the moment you try to merely banish grief. It is a
touching truth that the Saviour refused the anodyne
on the cross that would have deadened pain. He
would not steep His senses in oblivion. He would
not suffer one drop to trickle down the side of Hia
Father's cup of anguish untasted.
The other way is to nurse sorrow : nay, even our
best affections may tempt us to this. It seems treason
to those we have loved to be happy now. We sit be-
neath the cypress ; we school ourselves to gloom.
Romance magnifies the fidelity of the broken heart;
we refuse to be comforted.
Now, aU this must be dohe by effort, generally
speaking. For God has so constituted both our hearts
and the world that it is hard to prolong grief beyond
68 THE HEALING OP JAIRUS- DAtTGHTER.
a time. Say what we will, the heart has in it a sur-
prising, nay, a startling elasticity. It cannot sustain
unalterable melancholy : and beside our very pathway
plants grow, healing and full of balm. It is a suUen
heart that can withstand the slow but sure influences
of the morning sun, the summer day, the sky and
flowers, and the soothing power of himian sym-
pathy.
"We are meant to sorrow ; but " not as those without
hope." The rule seems to consist in being simply
natural. The great thing which Christ did was to call
men back to simplicity and nature ; not to perverted,
but original nature. He counted it no derogation of
His manhood to be seen to weep. He thought it no
shame to mingle with merry crowds. He opened His
heart wide to all the genial and aU the mournful im-
pressions of this manifold life of ours. And this is
what we have to do : be natural. Let God — that is, let
the influences of God — freely play unthwarted upon
the soul. Let there be no unnatural repression, no
control of feeling by mere efibrt. Let there be no
artificial and prolonged grief, no " minstrels making a
noise." Let great Nature have her way. Or, rather,
feel that you are in a Father's world, and live in it
with Him, frankly, in a free, fearless, childlike, and
natural spirit. Then grief will do its work healthily.
The heart will bleed, and stanch when it has bled
enough. Do not stop the bleeding ; but also do not
open the wound afresh.
n. We come to the ' principles on which a Miracle
rests.
1. I observe that the perception of it was confined
THE HEALING OF JAIEUS' DAUGHTER. 69
to a few. Peter, James, John, and the parents of the
child, were the only ones present. The rest were
excluded. To behold wonders, certain inward quali
fications, a certain state of heart, a certain siiscep-
tivity, are reqilired. Those who were shut out were
rendered incapable by disqualifications. Absence of
spiritual susceptibility in the case of those who
"laughed Him to scorn," — unbehef in those who
came with courteous scepticism, saying, " Trouble not
the Master ; " in other words, He is not master of im-
possibilities, — unreality in the professional mourners,
the most hopeless of aU disqualifications. Their whole
life was acting : they had caught the tone of condo-
lence and sympathy as a trick. Before minds such as
these the wonders of creation may be spread in vain.
Grief and joy alike are powerless to break through
the crust of artificial semblance which envelops them.
Such beings see no miracles. They gaze on all with
dead, dim eyes, — wrapped in conventionalisms, their
life a drama in which they are but actors, modulating
their tones and simulating feelings according to a
received standard. How can such be ever witnesses
of the supernatural, or enter into the presence of the
Wonderful ? Two classes alone were admitted. They
who, like Peter, James, and John, lived the life of
courage, moral purity, and love ; and they who, like
the parents, had had the film removed from their eyes
by grief. For there is a way which God has of forcing
the spiritual upon men's attention. When you shut
down the lid upon the coffin of a child, or one as dearly
loved, there is an awful want, a horrible sense of inse-
curity, which sweeps away the ghttering mist of time
from the edge of the abyss, and you gaze on the phan-
70 THE HEALING OP JAIRUS' DAUGHTER
tom-wonders of the unseen. Yes, — real anguish qual.
ifies for an entrance into the solemn chamber where
aU is miracle.
In another way, and for another reason, the num-
bers of those who witness a miracle must be limited,
Jairus had his daughter restored to life : the woman
was miraculously healed. But, if every anxious parent
and every sick suiferer could have the wonder repeated
in his or her case, the wonder itself would cease.
This is the preposterousness of the sceptic's demand.
Let me see a miracle, on an appointed day and hour,
and I will believe. Let us examine this.
A miracle is commonly defined to be a contraven-
tion of the laws of nature. More properly speaking,
it is only a higher operation of those same laws, in a
form hitherto unseen. A miracle is perhaps no more
a suspension or contradiction of the laws of nature
than a hurricane or a thunder-storm. They who first
travelled to tropical latitudes came back with anec-
dotes of supernatural convulsions of the elements. In
truth, it was only that they had never personally wit-
nessed such effects : but the hurricane which swept the
waves flat, and the lightning which illuminated all the
heaven or played upon the bayonets or masts in lam-
bent flame, were but efiects of the very same laws of
electricity and meteorology which were in operation at
home. A miracle is perhaps no more in contravention
of the laws of the universe than the direct interposi-
tion of a whole nation, in cases of emergency, to up-
hold what is right in opposition to what is established,
is an opposition to the laws of the realm. For in
stance, the whole people of Israel reversed the unjust
decree of Saul which had sentenced Jonathan to death.
THE HEALING OP JAIRUS' DAUGHTER. 71
But law is the expression only of a people's will. Or-
dinarily wo see that expression mediately made through
judges, office-bearers, kings : and so long as we see it
in this mediate form, we are, by habit, satisfied that all
is legal. There are cases, however, in which not an
indirect, but a direct expression of a nation's will, is
demanded. Extraordinary cases ; and, because extraor-
dinary, they who can only, see what is legal in what is
customary, conventional, and in the routine of written
precedents, get bewildered, and reckon the anomalous
act illegal or rebellious. In reality, it is only the
source of earthly law, the nation, pronouncing the law
without the intervention of the subordinate agents.
This will help us to understand the nature of a mir-
acle. What we call laws are simply the subordinate
expression of a Will. There must be a Will before
there can be a law. Certain antecedents are followed
by certain consequents. When we see this succession,
we are satisfied, and call it natural. But there are
emergencies in which it may be necessary for the Will
to assert itself, and become not the mediate, but the
immediate antecedent to the consequent. No subor-
dinate agent interposes, — simply the First cause comes
in contact with a result. The audible expression of
will is followed immediately by something which is
generally preceded by some lower antecedent, which
we call a cause. In this case, you will observe, there
has been no contravention of the laws of Nature, —
there has only been an immediate connection between
the First cause and the last result. A miracle is the
manifestation to man of the voluntariness of Power.
Now, bearing this in mind, let it bo supposed that
every one had a right to demand a miracle ; that the
72 THE HEALING OF JAIEUS' DAUGHTER.
occurrence of miracles was unlimited ; that as often
as you had an ache, or trembled for the loss of a relar
tion, you had but to pray, and receive your wish.
Clearly, in this case, first of all, the constitution of
the universe would be reversed. The wiU of man
would be substituted for the will of God. Caprice
and chance would regulate all: — God would be de-
throned : God would be degraded to the rank of one
of those beings of supernatural power with whom
Eastern romance abounds, who are subordinated by a
spell to the will of a mortal, who is armed with their
powers and uses them as vassals: God would be
merely the genius who would be chained by the spell
of prayer to obey the behests of man. Man would
arm himself with the powers of Deity, and God would
be his slave.
Further still: This unlimited extension of miracles
would annihilate miracles themselves. For, suppose
that miracles were universal ; that prayer was directly
followed by a reply ; that we could all heal the sick
and raise the dead : this, then, would become the com-
mon order of things. It would be what we now call
nature. It would cease to be extraordinary, and the
infidel would be unsatisfied as ever. He would see
only the antecedent, prayer, and the invariable conse-
quent, a reply to prayer — exactly what he sees now
in the process of causation. And then, just as now
he would say, What more do we want ? These are
the laws of the universe : why interpose the complex
and cumbrous machinery of a God, the awkward hy-
pothesis of a will, to account for laws ?
Miracles, then, are necessarily limited. The non-
limitation of miracles would annihilate the miraculous
THE HEALING OF JAIRUS' DAUGHTER. 73
Lastly, It is the intention of a miracle to manifest
the Divine in the common and ordinary.
For instance, in a boat on the Sea of Tiberias, the
Redeemer rose and rebuked the storm. Was that
miracle merely a proof of his Divine mission ? Are
we merely to gather from it that then .and there,
on a certain day, in a certain obscure corner of the
world. Divine power was at work. It is conceiv-
able that a man might credit that miracle ; that he
might be exceedingly indignant with the rationalist
who resolves it into a natural phenomenon, — and
it is conceivable that that very man might trem-
ble in a storm. To what purpose is that miracle
announced to him? He believes in "'God existing
in the past, ^ut not in the present ; he believes in
a Divine presence in the supernatural, but discredits
it in the natural. He recognizes God in the mar-
vellous, but does not feel Him in the wonderful of
every day : unless it has taught him that the waves
and winds now are in the hollow of the hand of God,
the miracle has lost its meaning.
Here again, as in many other cases, Christ healed
sickness and raised the dead to life. Are we merely
to insert this among the " Evidences of Christian-
ity," and then, with lawyer-like sagacity, harving laid
down the rules of Evidence, say to the infidel, " Be-
hold our credentials ; we call upon you to believe
our Christianity " ? This were a poor reason to
acount for the putting forth of Almighty Power.
More truly and more deeply, these miracles were vivid
manifestations to the senses that Christ is the Sav-
iour of the body ; that now, as then, the issues of
life and death are in His hands ; that our daily exist-
7
74 THE HEALING OF JAIRUS' DAUGHTER.
ence is a perpetual miracle. The extraordinary was
simply a manifestation of God's power in the ordi-
nary. Nay, the ordinary marvels are greater than
the extraordinary ; for these are subordinate to them
— merely indications and handmaids, guiding us to per-
ceive and recognize a constant Presence, and remind-
ing us that in every-day existence the miraculous and
the Godlike rule as.
[Preached March 10, 1850.]
BAPTISM.
Gal. iii. 26-29. — " For ye are all the children of God by faith in Chnst
Jesus. For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have
put on Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond
nor free, there is neither male nor female : for ye are all one in Christ
Jesus. And if ye be Christ's, then are ye Abraham's seed, and heirs
according to the promise."
Wherever opposite views are held with warmth
by religious-minded men, we may take for granted that
there is some higher truth which embraces both. All
high truth is the union of two contradictories. Thus
predestination and free will are opposites ; and the
truth does not lie between these two, but in a higher
reconciling truth, which leaves both true. So with the
opposing views of baptism. Men of equal spirituality
are ready to sacrifice all to assert, and to deny, the
doctrine of baptismal regeneration. And the truth, I
believe, will be found, not in some middle, moderate,
timid doctrine, which skilfully avoids extremes ; but in
a truth larger than either of these opposite views,
which is the basis of both, and which really is that for
which each party tenaciously clings to its own view
as to a matter of life and death.
(76)
76 BAPTISM.
The present occasion — the decision of the Piivy
Council — only requires us to examine three views.
I. That of Rome.
II. That of modern Calvinism.
III. That of (as I believe) Scripture and the Church
of England.
I. The doctrine of Rome respecting baptism. We
will take her own authorities.
1. "If any one say that the sin of Adam
is taken away, either by the powers of human nature,
or by any other remedy than the merit of the One
Mediator, our Lord Jesus Christ .... or denies that
the merit of Jesus Christ, duly conferred by the sacra«-
ment of baptism in the church form, is applied to
adults as well as to children — let him be accursed."
Sess. V. 4.
" If any one deny that the imputation of original sin
is remitted by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ which
is conferred in baptism, or even asserts that the whole
of that which has the true and proper character of sin
is not taken away, but only not imputed — let him be
accursed."
" If any one says that grace is not given by sacra-
ments of this kind always and to all, so far as God's
part is concerned, but only at times, and to some,
although they be duly received — let him be accursed."
" If any one say that by the sacraments of the New
Covenant themselves grace is not conferred by the
efficacy of the rite (opus operatum), but that faith
alone is sufficient for obtaining grace — let him be
accursed."
' If any one say that in three sacraments — that
BAPTISM. 77
IS, baptism, confirmation, and orders — a character ia
not impressed upon the soul — that is, a certain spirit-
ual and indelible mark (for which reason they can-
not be repeated) — let him be accursed." Sess. vii,,
cap. 7-9.
" By baptism, putting on Christ, we are made a new
creation in Him, obtaining plenary and entire remis-
sion of all sins."
It is scarcely possible to misrepresent the doctrine
80 plainly propounded. Christ's merits are instru-
mentally applied by baptism ; original sin is removed
by a change of nature ; a new character is imparted
to the soul ; a germinal principle or seed of life is
miraculously given ; and all this, in virtue not of any
condition in the recipient, nor of any condition except
that of the due performance of the rite.
This view is held with varieties, and modifications
of many kinds, by an increasingly large number of
the members of the Church of England ; but we do
not concern ourselves with these timid modifications,
which painfully attempt to draw some subtle hair-
breadth distinction between themselves and the above
doctrine. The true, honest, and only honest represent-
ation of this view is that put forward undisguisedly by
Rome.
When it is objected to the Romanist that there ia
no evidence in the life of the baptized child different
from that given by the unbaptized, sufficient to make
credible a change so enormous, he replies, as in the
case of the other sacrament, — The miracle is invisi-
ble. You cannot see the bread and wine become flesh
and blood ; but the flesh and blood are there, whether
you see them or not. You cannot see the effects of
7*
78 BAPTISM.
regeneration ; but they are there, hidden, whether visi-
ble to you or not. In other words, Christ has declared
that it is with every one born of the Spirit as with the
wind — " Thou hear est the sound thereof. ^^ But the Ro-
manist distinctly holds that you cannot hear the sound ;
that the wind hath blown, but there is no sound ; that
the Spirit hath descended, and there are no fruits where-
by the tree is known. "*
In examining this view, at the outset, we deprecate
those vituperative and ferocious expressions which
are used so commonly against the church of Rome ; —
unbecoming in private conversation, disgraceful on
the platform, they are still more unpardonable in the
pulpit. I am not advocating that feeble softness of
mind which cannot speak strongly because it cannot
feel strongly. I know the value, and, in their place,
the need of strong words. I know that the Redeemer
used them: stronger and keener never feU from the
lips of man. I am aware that our Reformers used
coarse and vehement language ; but we do not im-
bibe the Reformers' spirit by the mere adoption of the
Reformers' language, — nay, paradoxical as it may seem,
the use of their language even proves a degeneracy
from their spirit. You wiU find harsh and grosS ex-
pressions enough in the Homilies ; but remember that
when they spoke thus Rome was in the ascendency
She had the power of fire and sword ; and the men
who spoke so were candidates for martyrdom, by the
expressions that they used. Every one might be called
upon by fire and steel to prove the quahty of what was
in him, and account for the high pretensions of his
words. I grant the grossness. But when they spoke
of the harlotries of Rome, and spoke of her adulteries,
BAPTISM. I ft
and fornications, and lies, which she had put in full
cup to the lips of nations, it was the sublime defi-
ance of free-hearted men against oppression in high
places, and falsehood dominant. But now, when Rome
is no longer dominant, and the only persecutions that
we hear of are the petty persecutions of Protestants
among themselves, to use language such as this is not
the spirit of a darfng Reft^rmer, but only the pusillan-
imous shriek of cruel cowardice, which ke§ps down the
enemy whose rising it is afraid of.
We will do justice to this doctrine of Rome. It
has this merit, at least, that it recognizes the character
of a church ; it admits it to be a society, and not an
association. An association is an arbitrary union.
Men form associations for temporary reasons ; and,
arbitrarily made, they can be arbitrarily dissolved.
Society, on the contrary, is made not by will, but facts.
Brotherhood, sonship, families, nations, are nature's
work — real facts. Rome acknowledges this. It per-
mits no arbitrary drawing of the lines of that which
caUs itself the church. A large, broad, mighty field ,
the Christian world ; all baptized ; nay, expressly, even
those who are baptized by heretics. It shares the spirit,
ins'tead of monopolizing it.
PrgfcticaUy, therefore, in the matter of education, we
should teach children on the basis on M^hich Rome
works. We say as Rome says, You are the child of
God ; baptism declares you such. Rome says as Paul
says, " As many of you as are baptized into Christ have
put on Christ."
Consequently, we distinguish between this doctrine
as held by spiritual and as held by unspiritual men.
Spirituality often neutralizes error in views. Men are
80 BAPTISM.
better often than their creeds. The Calvinist ought
to be an Antinomian, — he is not. So, in holj-minded
men, this doctrine of baptismal regeneration loses its
perniciousness, — nay, even becomes, in erroneous
form, a precious, blessed truth.
It is quite another thing, however, held by unspirit-
ual men. Our objections to this doctrine are :
1. Because it assumes baptism to be not the testi-
mony to a fact, but the fact itself. Baptism proclaims
the child of God. The Romanist says it creates him.
Then and there a mysterious change takes place, inward,
spiritual, eflfected by an external rite. This makes bap-
tism not a sacrament, but an event.
2. Because it is materialism of the grossest kind.
The order of Christian life is from within to that
which is without, — from the spiritual truth to the
material expression of it. The Roman order is from
the outward to the creation of the inward. This is
magic. The Jewish Cabalists believed that the pro-
nunciation of certain magical words, engraved on the
seal of Solomon, would perform marvels. The whole
Eastern world fancied that such spells could transform
one being into another, — a brute into a man, or a man
into a brute. Books containing such trash were burnt
at Ephesus, in the dawn of Christianity. But here, in
the mid-day of Christianity, we have belief in such
spells, — given, it is true that it is said, by God, —
whereby the demoniacal nature can be exorcised, the
Divine implanted in its stead, and the evil heart trans-
formed unconsciously into a pure spirit.
Now, this is degrading God. Observe the results •
A child is to be baptized on a given day ; but when
that day arrives, the child is unwell, and the cere-
BAPTISM. §1
monj must be postponed another week or month.
Again a delay takes plac^, — the day is damp or cold.
At last the time arrives ; the service is read. It may
require, if read slowly, five minutes more than ordi-
narily. Then and there, when that reading is slowly
accomplished, the mystery is achieved. And all this
time, while the child is ill, while the weather is bad,
while the reader procrastiaates, — I say it solemnly, — ■
the Eternal Spirit who rules this universe must wait
patiently, and come down, obedient to a mortal's spell,
at the very second that it suits his convenience. God
must wait attendance on the caprice of a careless
parent, ten thousand accidents, — nay, the leisure of an
indolent or an immoral priest. Will you dare insult
the Majesty on High by such a mockery as this
result ?
3. We object, because this view makes Christian life
u struggle for something that is lost, instead of a prog-
ress to something that lies before. Let no one fancy
that Rome's doctrine on this matter makes salvation
an easy thing. The spirit of God is given, — the germ
is implanted ; but it may be crushed, injured, des-
troyed. And her doctrine is, that- venial sins after
baptism are removed by absolutions and attendance on
the ordinances ; whereas for mortal sins there is — not
no hope — but no certainty ever after until the judg-
ment-day. Vicious men may make light of such teach-
ing, and get periodic peace from absolution, to go and
sin again ; but to a spiritual Romanist this doctrine is
no encouragement for laxity. Now, observe, after sin,
life becomes the effort to get back to where you were
years ago. It is the sad, longing glance at the Eden
from which you have been expelled, which is guarded
82 BAPTISM.
now by a fiery sword in this world forever. And,
therefore, whoever is familiar with the writings of
some of the earliest leaders of the present movement
Rome-wards, — writings that rank among the mosttouch-
ing and beautiful of English composition, — will remem-
ber the marked tone of sadness which pervades them ;
their high, sad longings after the baptismal purity that
is gone ; their mournful contemplations of a soul that
once glistened with baptismal dew, now " seamed and
scarred " with the indelible marks of sin. The true
Christian life is ever onwards, full of trust and hope :
a life wherein even past sin is no bar to saintliness,
but the step by which you ascend to higher vantage-
ground of holiness. The "indelible grace of baptism,"
— how can it teach that ?
II. The second view is that held by what we, for the
sake of avoiding personalities, call modern Calvinism.
It draws a distinction between the visible and the
invisible church. It holds that baptism admits all
into the former, but into the latter only a special few.
Baptismal regeneration, as applied to the first, ia
merely a change of state, — though what is meant by
a change of state it were hard to say, or to determine
wherein an unbaptized person admitted to all the
ordinances would differ in state from a person baptized.
The real benefit of baptism, however, only belongs to
the elect. With respect to others, to predicate of
them regeneration in the highest sense, is at best an
ecclesiastical fiction, said "in the judgment of charity."
This view maintains that you are not God's child
until you become such consciously. Not until evi-
dence of a regenerate life is given, not until signs
BAPTISM. S^-
of a converted soul are shown, is it right to speak of
being God's child, except in this judgment of charity.
Now we remark,
1. This judgment of charity ends at the baptismal
font. It is never heard of in after-life. It is like the
charitable judgment of the English law, which pre-
sumes, or is said to presume, a man innocent till proved
guilty : valuable enough s^ a legal fiction ; neverthe-
less, it does not prevent a man barring his windows,
guarding his purse, keenly watching against the deal-
ings of those around him who are presumed innocent.
Similarly, the so-called judgment of charity terminates
with infancy. They who speak of the church's lan-
guage, in which children are called children of God, as
being quite right, but only in the judgment of charity,
are exactly the persons who do not in after-life chari'
tably presume that all their neighbors are Christians.
" He is not a Christian." — " She is one of the world : "
or, " one of the unregenerate." Such is the language
applied to those who are in baptism reckoned children
of God. They could not consistently apply to all
adults the language applied in this text : " As many of
you as have been baptized into Christ, have put on
Christ. Ye are all the children of God by faith in
Christ Jesus."
2. Next, I observe that this view is identical with
the Roman one in this respect, that it creates the fact
instead of testifying to it. Only, instead of baptism, it
substitutes certain views, feelings, and impressions;
and asserts that these make the man into a child of
God. The Romanist says Baptism, the Calvinist says
Faith, makes that true which was not true before. It
is not a fact that God is that person's Father, till in
84' BAPTISM.
the one case baptism, in the other faith, have made
Him such.
3. Observe the pernicious results of this teaching in
the matter of Education. Here again I draw the
distinction between the practical consequences which
legitimately ought to be and those which actually are
deduced from it. Happily, men are better than their
views. Hear the man speaking out of his theological
system, and then hear him speaking out of the abun-
dance of his heart. Hear the religious mother when
the system is in view, and all are indiscriminately,
except a certain few, corrupt, vile, with nothing good
in them, heirs of ruin. But hear her talking unguard-
edly of her own children. They have the frailties,
weaknesses, common faults, of childhood ; but they
have no vice in them ; there is nothing base or de-
graded in her children ! When the embraces of her
child are round her neck, it will require more elo-
quence than you possess to convince her that she is
nursing a little demon in her lap. The heart of the
mother is more than a match for the creed of the Cal-
vinist.
There are some, however, who do not shrink from
consistency, and develop their doctrine in all its con-
sequences. The children follow out their instructions
with fearful fidelity. Taught that they are not the
children of God till certain feelings have been devel-
oped in them, they become by degrees beAvildered, or
else lose their footing on reality. They hear of certain
mystic joys and sorrows ; and unless they fictitiously
adopt the language they hear, they are painfully con-
scious that they know nothing of them as yet. They
hear of a depression for sin which they certainly have
BAPTISM. 8®
never experienced, — a joy in God, making his service
and his house the gate of heaven ; and they know that
it is excessively irksome to them, — a confidence, trust,
and assurance, of which they know nothing, — till they
take for granted what has been told them, that they
are not God's children. Taught that they are as yet
of the world, they live as the world, — they carry out
their education, which ha^ dealt with them as children
of the devil, to be converted ; and children of the devil
they become.
Of these two views, the last is by far the most cer-
tain to undermine Christianity in every Protestant
country. The first, at least, assumes God's badge an
universal one ; and in education is so far right, prac-
tically ; only wrong in the decision of the question
how the child was created a child of God. But the
second assumes a false, partial, party badge, — election,
views, feelings. No wonder that the children of such
religionists proverbially turn out ill.
III. We pass to the doctrine of the Bible, and (I
believe) of the Church.
Christ came to reveal a name — the Father. He
abolished the exclusive " my," and he taught to pray
" our Father." He proclaimed God the Father, —
man the Son : revealed that the Son of Man is also
the Son of God. Man — as man, God's child. He
came to redeem the world from that ignorance of
the relationship which had left them in heart aliens
and unregenerate. Human nature, therefore, became,
viewed in Christ, a holy thing and divine. The Rev-
elation is a common humanity, sanctified in God. The
85 BAPTISM.
appearance of the Son of God is the sanctification of
the human race.
The development of this startled men. Sons of
God ! Yes ; ye Jews have monopolized it too long.
Is that Samaritan, heretic and alien, a child of God ?
Yes, the Samaritan ; but not these outcasts of soci-
ety ? Yes ; these outcasts of society. He went into
the publican's house, and proclaimed that " he, too,
was a son of Abraham." He suffered the sinful pen-
itent to flood his feet with tears. He saw there the
Eternal Light unquenched, — the eye, long dimmed
and darkened, which yet still could read the Eternal
Mind. She, tod, is God's erring, but forgiven, be-
loved, and " much-loving " child. One step further.
He will not dare to say, — the Gentiles ? — the Gen-
tiles who bow down to stocks and stones ? Yes, the
Gentiles too. He spake to them a parable. He told
of a younger son who had lived long away from his
father's home. But his forgetfulness of his father
could not abrogate the fact of his being his son, and,
as soon as he recognized the relationship, all the bless-
ings of it were his own.
Now, this is the Revelation. Man is God's child,
and the sm of the man consists in perpetually living
as if it were false. It is the sin of the heathen, — and
what is your mission to him but to tell him that he is
God's child, and not living up to his privilege ? It is
the sin of the baptized Christian, — waiting for feel-
ings for a claim on God. It was the false life which
the Jews had led : precisely this, that they were living
coerced by law. Christ had come to redeem them
from the law, that they might recei fe the adoption of
Bons. But they were sons already, if they only knew
BAPTISM. 8T
-i. "Because ye are sons, God hath sent' forth the
Spirit of his Son into your hearts, whereby ye cry
Abba, Father." To be a son of God is one thing ; to
know that you are, and call him Father, is another, —
and that is regeneration.
Now, there was wanted a permanent and authorita-
tive pledge, revealing and confirming this ; for, to
mankind in the mass, invisible truths become real
only when they have been made visible. All spiritual
facts must have an existence in form for the human
mind to rest on. This pledge is baptism. Baptism
is a visible witness to the world of that which the
world is forever forgetting, a common humanity
united in God. Baptism authoritatively reveals and
pledges to the individual that which is true of the
race. Baptism takes the child and addresses it by
name. Paul — no longer Saul — you are a child of
God. Remember it henceforth. It is now revealed
to you, and recognized by you, and to recognize God
as the Father is to be regenerate (John i. 12). You,
Paul, are now regenerate: you will have foes to fight,
— the world, the flesh, and the devil, — but remember,
they only keep you out of an inheritance which is
your own ; not an inheritance which you have to win
by some new feeling or merit in yourself It ts yours:
you are the child of God ; you are a member of
Christ ; you are an inheritor of the kingdom of
heaven.
Observe, then, baptism does not create a child of
God. It authoritatively declares him. It does not
make the fact ; it only reveals it. If baptism made
it a fact, then and there for the first time, baptism
would be magic. Nay, faith does not create a child
8S BAPTISM.
of God any more than baptism, nor does it make a
fact. It only appropriates that which is a fact already.
For otherwise see what inextricable confusion you fall
into. You ask a man to believe, and thereby be created
a child of God. Believe what ? That God is his
Father. But God is not his Father. He is not a child
of God, you say, till he believes. Then you ask him
tc believe a lie;
Herein lies the error, in basis identical, of the
Romanist and the Calvinist. Faith is to one what
baptism is to the other, the creator of a fact ; whereas
they both rest upon a fact, which is a fact whether
they exist or not, — before they exist ; nay, without
whose previous existence both of them are unmeaning
and false.
The Catechism, however, says : In baptism ... I
was made a child of God. Yes ; coronation makes a
sovereign; but, paradoxical as it may seem, it can
only make a sovereign one who is sovereign already.
Crown a pretender, that coronation will not create the
king. Coronation is the authoritative act of the
nation declaring a fact which was fact before. And
ever after, coronation is the event to which all dates
back ; and the crown is the expression used for all
royal acts : the crown pardons, the prerogatives of the
crown, <fcc.
Similarly with baptism. Baptism makes a child of
God in the sense in which coronation makes a king.
And baptism naturally stands in Scripture for the
title of regeneration and the moment of it. Only
what coronation is in an earthly way, an authorita-
tive manifestation of an invisible earthly truth, baptism
is in a heavenly way — God's authoritative declaration
BAPTISM. 83
in material form of spiritual reality. In other words,
no bare sign, but a Divine Sacrament.
Now for the blessings of this view.
1. It prevents exclusiveness and spiritual pride, and
all condemnation and contempt of others ; for it
admits those who have no spiritual capacity or cdu-
eciousness to be God's children. It proclaims a king-
dom, not for a few favorites, but for mankind. It pro-
tests against the idea that sonship depends on feelings.
It asserts it as a broad, grand, universal, blessed fact.
It bids you pray with a meaning of added majesty in
the words. Our Father. Take care. Do not say of
others that they are unregenerate — of the world. Do
not make a distinction within the church of Christians
and not-Christians. If you do, what do you more than
the Pharisees of old? That wretched beggar that
holds his hat at the crossing of the street is God's
child as well as you, if he only knew it. You know
it, — he does not ; that is the difference ; but the im-
mortal is in him too, and the Eternal Word speaks in
nim. That daughter of dissipation whom you despise,
spending night after night in frivolity, she, too, has a
Father in Heaven. " My Father and your Father, my
God and your God." She has forgotten Him, and, like
the prodigal, is trying to live on the husks of the
world, — the empty husks which will not satisfy, —
the degrading husks which the swine did eat. But,
whether she will or not, her baptism is valid, and pro-
claims a fact, — which may be, alas ! the worse for her,
if she will not have it the better.
3. This doctrine protests against the notion of our
being separate units in the Divine life. The church
of Calvinism is merely a collection of atoms, — a sand-
8*
90 BAPTISM.
heap piled together, with no cohesion among thenir
selves ; or, a mass of steel-fihngs cleaving separately
to a magnet, but not to each other. Baptism pro-
claims a church — humanity joined in Christ to God.
Do not say that the separating work of baptism, draw-
ing a distinction between the church and the world,
negatives this. Do not say that, because the church
is separated from the world, therefore the world are
not God's children. Eather that very separation
proves it. You baptize a separate body in order to
realize that which is true of the collective race, as in
this text — "There is neither Jew nor Greek." In all
things it is the same. If you would sanctify all time,
you set apart a sabbath, — not to show that other days
are not intended to be sacred, but for the very pur-
pose of making them sacred. If you would have a
" nation of priests," you set apart a priesthood ; not
as if the priestly functions of instruction and assisting
to approach God were exclusively in that body, but in
order, by concentration, to bring out to greater per-
fection the priestly character which is shared by the
whole, and then thereby make the whole more truly
" priests to God to offer spiritual sacrifices." In the
same way, if God would baptize humanity, He baptizes
a separate church, in order that that church may bap-
tize the race. The church is God's ideal of humanity
realized.
Lastly, this doctrine of baptism sanctifies material-
ism. The Romanist was feeHng his way to a great
fact, when he said that there are other things of sacra-
mental efficacy besides these two — baptism and the
Bupper. The things of earth are pledges and sacra-
ments of things in heaven. It is not for nothing that
* BAPTISM. 91
God has selected for His sacrament the commonest of
all acts, — a meal, — and the most abundant of all ma-
terials, — water. Think you that He means to say that
only through two channels His spirit streams into the
soul? Or is it not much more in unison with his deal-
ings to say, that these two are set apart to signify to
us the sacramental character of all nature ? — just as a
miracle was intended not to reveal God working there,
at that death-bed and in that storm, but to call atten-
tion to His presence in every death and every storm.
Go out at this spring season of the year, see the
mighty preparations for life that Nature is making,
feel the swelling sense of gratefulness, and the perva-
sive expanding consciousness of love for all Being,
and then say whether this whole Form, which we call
Nature, is not the great Sacrament of God, the revela-
tion of His existence, and the channel of His commu-
nications to the spirit 1
V.
[Preached March 17, 1850.]
BAPTISM.
1 Pbtee iii. 21. — "The like figure whereunto, even baptism, doth aiss
now save us."
Last Sunday we considered the subject of baptism
in reference to the Romish and modem Calvinistic
views. The truth seemed to lie no't in a middle course
between the two extremes, but in a truth deeper than
either of them. For there are various modifications
of the Romish view which soften down its repulsive
features. There are some who hold that the guilt of
original sin is pardoned, but the tendencies of an evil
nature remain. Others, who attribute a milder mean-
ing to " Regeneration," understanding by it a change
of state instead of a change of nature. Others, who
acknowledge a certain mysterious benefit imparted by
baptism, but decline determining how much grace is
given, or what the exact nature of the blessing is.
Others, who acknowledge that it is, in certain cases,
the moment when regeneration takes place, but hold
that it is conditional, occurring sometimes, not always,
and following upon the condition of what they call
"prevenient grace." We do not touch upon these
views. Thii^y are simply modifications of the Romish
(92)
BAPTISM. 2^
riew, and, as such, more oiFensive than the view its^;
for they contain that which is' in it most objectionable,
and special evils of their own besides.
We admitted the merits of the two views. We are
grateful to the Romanist for the testimony which he
bears to the truth of the extent of Christ's salvation ;
for the privilege which he gives of calling all the bap-
tized children of God ; for the protest which his doo
trine makes against all party monopoly of God; for
the protest against ultra-spiritualism, in acknowledging
that material things are the types and channels of the
Almighty Presence.
We are grateful to the Calvinist for his strong pro-
test against formalism ; for his assertion of the neces-
sity of an inward change ; for the distinction which ho
has drawn between being in the state of sons and hav-
ing the nature of sons of God.
The error in these two systems, contrary as they
are, appeared to us to be identically one and the same,
— that of pretending to create a fact instead of wit-
nessing to it. The Calvinist maintains, that on a cer-
tain day and hour, under the ministry of the Word,
under preaching of some one who " proclaims the
Gospel," he was born again, and God became hia
Father ; and the Romanist declares, that on a certain
day, at a certain moment by an earthly clock, by the
hands of a priest apostolically ordained, the evil nature
was expelled from him, and a new fact in the world
was created : he attained the right of calling God his
Father.
Now, if baptism makes God our Father, baptism is
incantation ; if faith makes him so, faith rests upon a
falsehood.
94 BAPTISM.
^or the Eomanist does no more than the red Indian
and the black negro pretend to do — exorcise the devil,
and infuse God. The only question then becomes,
"Which is the true enchanter, and which is the impostor?
for the juggler does, by the power of imagination,
often cure the sick man; but the mysterious effects of
baptism never are visible, and never can be tested in
this world.
On the other hand, faith would rest upon a false-
hood ; for, if faith is to give the right of calling God a
Father, how can you believe that which is not true the
very moment before belief? God is not your Father.
If you believe He is, your belief is false.
The truth which underlies these two views, on which
all that is true in them rests, and in which all that is
false is absorbed, is the Paternity of God. This is the
Revelation of the Redeemer. This is authoritatively
declared by baptism, appropriated personally by faith ;
but a truth independent both of baptism and faith,
which would still be true if there were neither a bap-
tism nor a faith in the world. They are the witnesses
of the fact, not the creators of it.
Here, however, two diflficulties arise. If this be so,
do we not make light of original sin? And do we not
reduce baptism into a superfluous ceremony ?
Before we enter upon these questions, I must vindi-
cate myself from the appearance of presumption.
Where the wisest and holiest have held opposite
views, it seems immodest to speak with unfaltering
certainty and decisive tone. Hesitation, guarded
statements, caution, it would seem, would be far more
in place. Now, to speak decidedly is not necessarily
to speak presumptuously. There are questions involv-
BAPTISM. 95
Jng great research, and questions relating to trutlig
beyond our ken, where guarded and uncertain tones
are only a duty. There are others, where the decision
has become conviction, a kind of intuition, the result
of years of thought ; which has been the day to a
man's darkness, " the fountain-light of all his seeing ; "
which has interpreted him to himself, made all clear
where all was perplexed before, been the key to the
riddle of truths that seemed* contradictory, become
part of his very being, and for which, more than once,
he has held himself cheerfully prepared to sacrifice all
that is commonly held dear. With respect to convic-
tions such as these, of course, the arguments by which
they are enforced may be faulty, the illustrations inade-
quate, the power of making them intelligible very
feeble, — nay, the views themselves may be wrong ;
but, to pretend to speak with hesitation or uncertainty
respecting such convictions, would be not modesty,
but affectation.
For let us remember in what spirit we are to enter
on this inquiry. Not in the spirit of mere cautious
orthodoxy, endeavoring to find a safe mean between
two extremes, — inquiring what is the view held by
the sound and judicious and respectable men, who
were never found guilty of any enthusiasm, and under
the shelter of whose opinion we may be secure from
the charge of anything unsound. Nor in the spirit of
the lawyer, patiently examining documents, weighing
evidence, and deciding whether upon sufficient testi
^ony there is such a thing as " prevenient grace " or
not. Nor, once more, in the spirit of superstition.
The superstitious mother of the lower classes baptizes
her child in all haste, because she believes it has a
^6 BAPTISM.
mystic influence on its health, or because she fancies
that it confers the name without which it would not be
summoned at the day of judgment. And the supersti-
tious mother of the upper classes baptizes her child, too
in all haste, because, though- she does not precisely
know what the mystic effect of baptism is, she thinks it
best to be on the safer side, lest her child should die^
and its eternity should be decided by the omission.
And we go to preach to the heathen, while there are
men and women in our Christian England so bewil-
dered with systems and sermons, so profoundly in the
dark respecting the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,
so utterly unable to repose in Eternal Love and
Justice, that they must guard their child /?'om Him by
a ceremony, and have the shadow of a shade of doubt
whether or not, for omission of theirs, that child's Cre-
ator and Father may curse its soul for all eternity 1
We are to enter upon this question as a real one of
life and death ; as men who feel in their bosoms sin
and death, and who want to determine no theologi-
cal nicety, but this : Whether we have a right to claim
to be the sons of God or not ? And if so, on what
grounds ? In virtue of a ceremony ? or in virtue of
a certain set of feelings ? or in virtue of an Eternal
Fact, — the fact of God's Paternity ?
I reply to two objections.
I. The apparent denial of original sin.
II. The apparent result that baptism is nothing.
I. The text selected is a strong and distinct ondt
It proclaims the value of baptism. " Baptism saves
as." But it declares that it can only be said figura-
BAPTISM. 97
tively. " The like figure whereunto even baptism doth
also now save us."
Now, the first reply I make is, that in truth the
Romish view seems to make lighter of original sin
than this. Methinks original sin must be a trifling
thing if a little water and a few human words can do
away with it : a trifling thing, if, after it is done
away, there is no distinguishable difference between
the baptized and unbaptized ; if the unbaptized Quaker
is just as likely to exhibit the fruits of goodness as the
baptized son of the Church of England. We have got
out of the land of reality, into the domain of figments
and speculations. A fictitious guilt is done away with
by a fictitious pardon ; neither the appearance nor the
disappearance being visible.
Original sin is an awful fact. It is not the guilt of
an ancestor imputed to an innocent descendant, but it
is the tendencies of that ancestor living in his off-
spring and incurring guilt. Original sin can be for-
given only so far as original sin is removed. It is not
Adam's — it is yours ; and it must cease to be yours, or
else what is " taking away original sin " ?
Now, he who would deny original sin must contra-
dict all experience in the transmission of qualities.
The very hound transmits his peculiarities learnt by
education, and the horse of Spain his paces taught by
art to his off'spring, as a part of their nature. If it
were not so in man, there could be no history of
man as a species ; no tracing out the tendencies of
a race or nation ; nothing but the unconnected repeti-
tions of isolated individuals, and their lives. It is
plain that the first man must have exerted on his race
an influence quite peculiar; that his acts must have
9
98 BAPTISM.
biased their acts. And this bias or tendency is what
we call original sin.
Now, original sin is just this denial of God's Pater-
nity, — refusing to live as His children, and saying we
are not His children. To live as His child is the true
life ; to live as not His child is the false life. What
was the Jews' crime ? Was it not this : " He came
unto His own, and His own received Him not ; " that
they were His own, and in act denied it, preferring to
the claim of spiritual relationship the claim of union
by circumcision or hereditary descent? What was
the crime of the Gentiles ? Was it not this : that
' when they knew God, they glorified Him not as
God, neither were thankful " ? For what were they
to be thankful? For being His enemies? Were they
not His children, His sheep of another fold? Was
not the whole falsehood of their life the worship of
demons and nothings, instead of Him ? Did not the
parable represent them as the younger son, a wanderer
from home, but still a son ?
From this state Christ redeemed. He revealed God
Qot as the Mechanic of the universe ; not the Judge ;
but as the Father, and as the Spii'it who is in man,
' lighting every man," moving in man his infinite
desires and infinite afiections. This was the Revela-
tion. The reception of that revelation is Regenera-
tion. " He came unto His own, and His own received
Elim not; but to as many as received Him, to them gave
He power to become the sons of God, even to as
many as believed on His Name." They were His own,
— yet they wanted power to become His own.
Draw a distinction, therefore, between being the
child of God and realizing it. The fact is one thing •
BAPTISM. 9t
the feeling of the fact, and the life which results from
that feeling, is another. Redemption is the taking of
lis out of the life of falsehood into the life of truth
and fact. " Of His oM^n will begat He us by the
■word of Truth." But, remember, it is a truth : true,
whether you beheve it or not ; true, whether you are
baptized or not.
There are two ways in which that Revelation may
be accepted. 1. By a public recognition called bap-
tism. 2. By faith. In two ways, therefore, may it be
said that man is saved. " We are saved by faith."
But it is also true, figuratively, " Baptism saves us."
n. If baptism is only the public recognition and
symbol of a fact, is not baptism degraded and made
superfluous?
2. Baptism is given as a something to rest upon ;
nay, as a something without which redemption would
soon become unreal ; which converts a doctrine into a
reality ; which realizes visibly what is invisible.
For our nature is such, that immaterial truths are
unreal to us until they are embodied in material form.
Form almost gives them reality and being. For
instance, time is an eternal fact. But time only exists
to our conceptions as an actuality by measurements
of materialism. When God created the sun, and
moon, and stars, to serve for *' signs, and for seasons,
and for days and years," He was actually, so far as
man was concerned, creating time. Our minds would
be only floating in an eternal Now, if it were not for
symbolical successions which represent the processes
of thought. Tlie clock in the house is ahnost a fresh
creation. It realizes, The gliding heavens, and the
100 BAPTISM.
seasons, and the ticking clock, — what is time to .v
without them? Nothing.
God's character, again, nay, God Himself, to us would
be nothing, if it were not for the creation, which is the
great symbol and sacrament of His presence. If
there were no light, no sunshine, no sea, no national
and domestic life, — no material witness of His Being,
— God would be to us as good as lost. The Creation
gives us God; for, ever real in Himself, by Creation
He becomes a fact to us.
It is in virtue, again, of this necessity in man for an
outward symbol to realize an invisible Idea, that a bit
of torn and blackened rag hanging from a fortress or
the taffrail of a ship is a kind of life to iron-hearted
men. Why is it that in the heat of battle there is one
spot where the sabres flash most rapidly, and the pis-
tol's ring is quicker, and men and officers close in
most densely, and all are gathered round one man,
round whose body that tattered silk is wound, and
held with the tenacity of a death-struggle ? Are they
only children fighting for a bit of rag? That flag is
everything to them : their regiment — their country —
their honor — their life. Yet it is only a symbol !
Are symbols nothing?
In the same way, baptism is a fact for man to rest
upon ; a doctrine realized to flesh and blood ; a
something in eternity which has no place in time,
brought down to such time expressions as " then and
there."
2. Again, baptism is the token of a church ; the token
of an universal church. Observe the importance of
its being the sacrament of an universal church instead
of the symbol of a sect. Not episcopacy, not justifi
BAPTISM. 101
cation by faith, nor any party badge, but " one bap-
tism." How blessed, on the strength of this, to be
able to say to the baptized dissenter. You are my
brother; you anathematize my church, link popery
and prelacy together, malign me, — but the same sign
is on our brow, and the same Father was named
over our baptism. Or, to say to a baptized Romanist,
You are my brother, too, — in doctrinal error, perhaps,
— in error of life, it may be, too, — but my brother, —
our enemies the same, our struggle the same, our
hopes and warfare the very same. Or, to the very out-
cast. And you, my poor, degraded friend, are mj
brother still, — sunk, oblivious of your high calling, — •
but still, whatever keeps you away from heaven keeps
you from your own. You may live the false life till it
is too late ; but still, you only exclude yourself from
your home. Of course this is very offensive. What I
the Romanist my brother ! the synagogue of Satan the
house of God ! the Spirit of God dwelling with the
church of Rome ! the believer in transubstantiation
my brother and God's child ! Yes, even so ; and it is
just your forgetfulness of what baptism is and means
that accounts for that indignation of yours. Do you
remember what the elder brother in the parable was
doing? He went away sulky and gloomy, because one
not half so good as himself was recognized as his
father's child.
3. Baptism is seen to be no mere superfluity, when
you remember that it is an authoritative symbol.
Draw the distinction between an arbitrary symbol
and an authoritative one — for this difference is every-
thing.
I take once again- the illustration of the coronation
9*
102 BAPTISM.
act. Coronation places the crown on the brow of one
who is sovereign. It does not make the fact; it wit
nesses it. Is coronation, therefore, nothing? An
arbitrary symbolical act, agreed on by a few friends
of the sovereign, would be nothing ; but an act which
is the solemn ratification of a country is everything.
It realizes a fact scarcely till then felt to be real. Yet
the fact was fact before, — otherwise the coronation
would be invalid. Even when the third WiUiam was
crowned, there was the symbol of a previous fact, —
the nation's decree that he should be king ; and ac-
cordingly, ever after, all is dated back to that. You
talk of crown-prerogatives. You say, in your loyalty,
you would bow to the crown though it hung upon a
bush. Yet it is only a symbol 1 You only say it " in
a figure." But that figure contains within it the roy-
alty of England.
In a figure, the Bible speaks of baptism as you
speak of coronation, as identical with that which it
proclaims. It calls it regeneration. It says baptism
saves. A grand figure, because it rests upon eternal
fact. Call you that nothing?
We look to the Bible to corroborate this. In the
Acts of the Apostles, Cornelius is baptized. On what
grounds? To manufacture him into a child of God?
or because he was the child of God ? Did his baptism
create the fact? or was the fact prior to his baptism,
and the ground on which his baptism was valid ? The
history is this : St. Peter could not believe that a Gen-
tile could be a child of God. But the miraculous
phenomena manifested, to his astonishment, that this
Gentile actually was God's child, — whereupon the
argument of Peter was very natural : He has the
BAPTISM. lOB
Bpiiit ; therefore baptism is superfluous ! Nay, he has
the spirit ; therefore give him the symbol of the spirit.
Let it be revealed to others what he is.- He is heir to
the inheritance; therefore give him the title-deed. He
is of royal lineage, — put the crown upon his head.
He is a child of God, — baptize him. " Who shall for-
bid water, seeing these have received the Holy Ghost
a? well as we."
One* illustration more from the marriage ceremony;
and I select this for two reasons : because it is the
type in Scripture of the union between Christ and His
church, and because the church of Rome has called it
a sacrament.
A deep truth is in that error. Rome calls it a sacra-
ment, because it is the authoritative symbol of an
invisible fact. That invisible fact is the agreement of
two human beings to be one. We deny it to be a
sacrament, because, though it is the symbol of an in-
visible fact, it is not the symbol of a spiritual fact, nor
an eternal fact ; no spiritual truth, but only a change-
ful human covenant.
Now, observe the difference between an arbitrary,
or conventional, and an authoritative ceremony of
marriage-union. There are conventional acknowledg-
ments of that agreement, ceremonies peculiar to cer-
tain districts, private pledges, betrothals. In the sight
of God those are valid ; they cannot be hghtly broken
without sin. You cannot in the courts of heaven dis-
tinguish between an oath to God and a word pledged
to man. He said. Let your yea be yea, and your nay
nay. Such an engagement cannot be infringed with-
out penalty : the penalty of frivolized hearts, aud that
habit of changefulness of attachment which is th©
104 BAPTISM.
worst of penalties. But now, additional to that, will
any one say that the marriage ceremony is superflu-
ous, — that the ring he gives his wife is nothing? It
is everything. It is the authoritative ratification, by a
country and before God, of that which before was, for
all purposes of earth, unreal. Authoritative, — therein
lies the difierence. Just in that authoritativeness
lies the question whether the ceremony is nothing, or
everything. .
And yet remember, the ceremony itself does not
pretend to create the fact. It only claims to realize
the fact. It admits the fact existing previously. It
bases itself upon a fact. Forasmuch as two persons
have consented together, and forasmuch as a token
and pledge of that, in the shape of a ring, has been
given, therefore — only therefore — the appointed minis-
ter pronounces that they are what betrothal had made
them already in the sight of God.
Exactly so, the authoritativeness is the all in all
which converts baptism from a mere ceremony into a
sacrament. Baptism is not merely a conventional
arrangement, exceedingly convenient, agreed on by
men to remind themselves and one another that they
are God's children, — but valid as a legal, eternal
Truth, a condensed, embodied Fact.
Is this making baptism nothing? I should rather
say baptism is everything. Baptism saves us.
One word now practically. I address myself to
any one who is conscious of fault, sin-laden, strug-
gling with the terrible question whether he has a
right to claim God as his Father or not ; bewildered
oa the one side by Romanism, on the other by
Calvinism. Mv brother ! let not either of these rob
BAPTISM. 105
you of your privileges. Let not Rome send you to
the fearful questioning as to whether the mystic seed
infused at a certain moment by an act of man remains
in you still, or whether it has been so impaired by sin
that henceforth there is nothing but penance, tears,
and uncertainty, until the grave. Let not Calvinism
send you, with terrible self-inspection, to the more
dreadful task of searching 3'our own soul for the
warrant of your redemption, and deciding whether
you have or not the feelings and the faith which give
you a right to be one of God's elect. Better make
up your mind at once you have not ; you have no
feelings that entitle you to that. Take your stand
upon the broader, sublimer basis of God's Paternity
God created the world ; God redeemed the world
Baptism proclaims separately, personally, by name
to you, God created you — God redeemed you. Bap
tisra is your warrant, — you are His child. And now
because you are His child, live as a child of God ; bo-
redeemed from the life of evil, which is false to your
nature, into the Life of Light and Goodness, which is the
Truth of your Being. Scorn all that is mean; hate all
that is false j struggle with all that is impure. Love
whatsoever " things are true, whatsoever things are
just, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things
are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report ; " cer-
tain that God is on your side, and that whatever keeps
you from Him keeps you from your own Father.
Live the simple, lofty life which befits an heir of im-
mortality.
VI.
[Preached October 13, 1850.]
ELIJAH.
1 Kings xix. 4. — '* But he himself went on a day's journey into the
wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper-tree ; and he
requested for himself that he might die ; and said. It is enough : now,
Lord, take away my life-; for I am not better than my fathers."
It has been observed of the holy men of Scripture,
that their most signal failures took place in those
points of character for which they were remarkable
in excellence. Moses was the meekest of men ; but it
was Moses who " spake unadvisedly with his lips."
St. John was the apostle of charity ; yet he is the very
type to us of religious intolerance, in his desire to call
down fire from heaven. St. Peter is proverbially the
apostle of impetuous intrepidity ; yet twice he proved
a craven. If there were anything for which Elijah is
remarkable, we should saj' it was superiority to human
weakness. Like the Baptist, he dared to arraign and
rebuke his sovereign ; like the commander who cuts
down the bridge behind him, leaving himself no alter-
native but death or victory, he taunted his adversaries,
the priests of Baal, on Mount Carmel, making them
gnash their teeth and cut themselves with knives, but
ut the same time insuring for himself a terrible end,
(106)
ELIJAH, 107
in case of failure, from his exasperated foes. And
again, in his last hour, when he was on his way to a
strange and unprecedented departure from this world,
when the whirlwind and flame-chariot were ready, he
asked for no human companionship. The bravest men
are pardoned if one lingering feeling of human weak-
ness clings to them at the last, and they desire a
human eye resting on them, a human hand in theirs,
a human presence. But Elijah would have rejected
all. In harmony with the rest of his lonely, severe
character, he desired to meet his Creator alone.
Now, it was this man, — so stern, so iron, so inde-
pendent, so above all human weakness, — of whom it is
recorded that in his trial hour he gave way to a fit of
petulance and querulous despondency to which there
is scarcely found a parallel. Religious despondency,
therefore, is our subject.
I. The causes of Elijah's despondency.
II. God's treatment of it.
I. The causes of Elijah's despondency.
1. Relaxation of physical strength.
On the reception of Jezebel's message, Elijah flies
for his life ; toils on the whole day ; sits down under
a juniper-tree, faint, hungry, and travel-worn ; the gale
of an oriental evening, damp and heavy with languid
sweetness, breathing on his face. The prophet and
the man give way. He longs to die ; you cannot mis-
take the presence of causes in part purely physical.
We are fearfully and wonderfully made. Of that
constitution, which in our ignorance we call union of
soul and body, we know little respecting what is cause
and what eff'ect. We would fain believe that the mind
108 ELIJAH.
has power over the body ; but it is just as true that
the body rules the mind. Causes apparently the most
trivial — a heated room, want of exercise, a sunless
day, a northern aspect — will make all the difference
between happiness and unhappiness, between faith and
doubt, between courage and indecision. To our fancy
there is something humiliating in being thus at the
nercy of our animal organism. We would fain find
nobler causes for our emotions. We talk of the
hiding of God's countenance, and the fiery darts of
Satan. But the picture given here is true. The
body is the channel of our noblest emotions as well
as our sublimest sorrows.
Two practical results follow. First, instead of vili-
fying the body, complaining that our nobler part is
chained down to a base partner, it is worth recollect-
ing that the body, too, is the gift of God, in its way
Divine, — "the temple of the Holy Ghost;" and that
to keep the body in temperance, soberness, and chas-
tity, to guard it from pernicious influence, and to obey
the laws of health, are just as much religious as they
are moral duties ; just as much obligatory on the Chris-
tian as they are on a member of a Sanitary Committee.
Next, there are persons melancholy by constitution, in
whom the tendency is incurable ; you cannot exorcise
the phantom of despondency. But it is something to
know that it is a phantom, and not to treat it as a real-
ity, — something taught by Elijah's history, if we only
learn from it to be patient, and wait humbly the tirno
and good pleasure of God.
2. Want of sympathy. " I, even I only, am left.''
Lay the stress on only. The loneliness of his position
was shocking to Elijah. Surprising this; for Elijah
ELIJAH. 109
wanted no sympathy in a far harder trial on Mount
Carmel. It was in a tone of triumph that he pro-
claimed that he was the single, solitary prophet of the
Lord, while Baal's prophets were four hundred and
fifty men.
Observe, however, the difference. There was in
that case an opposition which could be grappled with ;
here, nothing against which mere manhood was avail-
ing. The excitement was passed, — the chivalrous
look of the thing gone. To die as a martyr, — yes, that
were easy, in grand failure ; but to die as a felon, — to
be hunted, caught, taken back to an ignominious death,
— flesh and blood recoiled from that.
And Elijah began to feel that popularity is not love.
The world will support you when you have constrained
its votes by a manifestation of power, and shrink from
you when power and greatness are no longer on your
side. " I, even I only, am left." ^
This trial is most distinctly realized by men of Eli-
jah's stamp, and placed under Elijah's circumstances.
It is the penalty paid by superior mental and moral
qualities, that such men must make up their minds to
live without sympathy. Their feelings will be misun-
derstood, and their projects uncomprehended. They
must be content to live alone. It is sad to hear such
appeal from the present to the judgment of the future.
Poor consolation ! Elijah has been judged at that bar.
We are his posterity ; our reverence this day is the
judgment of posterity on him. But to Elijah what is
that now? Elijah is in that quiet country where the
voice of praise and the voice of blame are alike un-
heard. Elijah lived and died alone ; once only the bit-
10
no ELIJAH.
terness of it found expression. But what is posthu-
mous justice to the heart that ached then ?
What greater minds hke Ehjah's have felt intensely,
all we have felt in our own degree. Not one of us
but what has felt his heart aching for want of sym-
pathy. We have had our lonely hours, our days of
disappointment, and our moments of hopelessness, —
times when our highest feelings have been misunder-
stood, and our purest met with ridicule.
Days when our heavy secret was lying unshared,
like ice upon the heart. And then the spirit gives
way: we have wished that all were over; that we
could lie down tired, and rest like the children, from
life ; that the hour was come when we could put
down the extinguisher on the, lamp, and feel the last
grand rush of darkness on the spirit.
Now, the final cause of this capacity for depression,
t]^e reason for which it is granted us, is that it may
make God necessary. In such moments it is felt that
sympathy beyond human is needful. Alone, the world
against him, Elijah turns to God. " It is enough j
now, Lordy
3. Want of occupation.
As long as Elijah had a prophet's work to do, severe
as that work was, all went on healthily ; but his occu-
pation was gone. To-morrow and the day after, what
has he left on earth to do ? The misery of having
nothing to do proceeds from causes voluntary or invol-
untary in their nature. Multitudes of our race, by
circumstances over which they have no control, in
single life or widowhood, — in straitened circum-
stances, — are compelled to endure lonely days, and
stiU more lonely nights and evenings. They who
ELIJAH. Ill
have felt the hours hang so heavy can comprehend
part of Elijah's sadness.
This misery, however, is sometimes voluntarily in-
curred. In artificial civilization certain persons ex-
empt themselves from the necessity of work. They
eat the bread which has been procured by the sweat
of the brow of others ; they skim the surface of the
thought which has been ploughed by the sweat of the
brain of others. They are reckoned the favored ones
of fortune, and envied. Are they blessed ? The law
of Kfe is. In the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat
bread. No man can evade that law with impunity.
Like all God's laws, it is its own executioner. It has
strange penalties annexed to it. Would you know
them ? Go to the park, or the esplanade, or the soli-
tude after the night of dissipation, and read the penal-
ties of being useless in the sad, jaded, hstless coun-
tenances, — nay, in the very trifles which must be
contrived to create excitement artificially. Yet thesQ
very eyes could, dull as they are, beam with intelli-
gence ; on many of those brows is stamped the mark
of possible nobility. The fact is, that the capacity of
ennui is one of the signatures of man's immortality.
It is his very greatness which makes inaction mis-
ery. If God had made us only to be insects, with no
flobler care incumbent on us than the preservation of
our lives, or the pursuit of happiness, we might be
content to flutter from sweetness to sweetness, and
from bud to flower. But if men with souls live only
to eat and drink and be amused, is it any wonder if
life be darkened with despondency ?
4. Disappointment in the expectation of success.
On Carmel the great object for which Elijah had lived
112 ELIJAH.
seemed on the point of being realized. Baal's proph-
ets were slain ; Jehovah acknowledged with one
voice ; false worship put down. Elijah's life-aim, the
transformation of Israel into a kingdom of God, was
all but accomplished. In a single day all this bright
picture was annihilated.
Man is to desire success, but success rarely comes.
The wisest has written upon life its sad epitaph — " All
is vanity," that is, nothingness.
The tradesman sees the noble fortune for which he
lived, every coin of which is the representative of so
much time and labor spent, squandered by a spendthrift
son. The purest statesmen find themselves at last
neglected, and rewarded by defeat. Almost never can
a man look back on life and say that its anticipations
have been realized. For the most part life is disap-
pointment, and the moments in which this is keenly
realized are moments like this of Elijah's.
II, God's treatment of it.
1. First, he recruited his servant's exhausted
strength. Read the history. Miraculous meals are
given, — then Elijah sleeps, wakes, and eats : on the
strength of that, goes forty days' journey. In other
words, like a wise physician, God administers food,
rest, and exercise ; and then, and not till then, pro-
ceeds to expostulate, — for, before, Elijah's mind was
unfit for reasoning.
Persons come to the ministers of God in seasons of
despondency ; they pervert, with marvellous ingenuity,
all the consolation which is given them, turning whole-
some food into poison. Then we begin to perceive the
wisdom of God's simple, homely treatment of Elijah,
ELIJAH. 113
and discover that there are spiritual cases which are
cases for the physician rather than the divine.
2. Next Jehovah calmed his stormy mind by the
healing influences of Nature. He commanded the
hurricane to sweep the sky, and the earthquake to
shake the ground. He lighted up the heavens till
they were one mass of fire. All this expressed and
reflected Elijah's feelings. The mode in which Nature
soothes us is by finding meeter and nobler utterance
for our feelings than we can find in words, — by
expressing and exalting them. In expression there is
relief. Elijah's spirit rose with the spirit of the storm.
Stern, wild defiance, strange joy — all by turns were
imaged there. Observe, " God was not in the wind,"
nor in the fire, nor in the earthquake. It was Elijah's
stormy self reflected in the moods of the tempest, and
giving them their character.
Then came a calmer hour. Elijah rose in reverence,
— felt tenderer sensations in his bosom. He opened
his heart to gentler influences, till at last out of the
manifold voices of Nature there seemed to speak, not
the stormy passions of the man, but the " still small
voice " of the harmony and the peace of God.
There are some spirits which must go through a dis-
cipline analogous to that sustained by Elijah. The
storm-struggle must precede the still small voice.
There are minds which must be convulsed with doubt
before they can repose in faith. There are hearts
which must be broken with disappointment before they
can rise into hope. There are dispositions which, like
Job, must have all things taken from them, before they
can find all things again in God. Blessed is the man
who, when the tempest has spent its fury, recognizes
10*
114 ELIJAri.
his Father's voice in its undertone, and bares his head
and bows his knee, as Elijah did. To such spirits,
generally those of a stern, rugged cast, it seems as if
God had said : *' In the still sunshine and ordinary-
ways of life you cannot meet Me ; but, like Job, in the
desolation of the tempest you shall see My Form, and
hear My Voice, and know that your Redeemer liveth."
3. Besides, God made him feel the earnestness of life.
What doest thou here, Elijah ? Life is for doing : a
prophet's life for nobler doing, — and the prophet was
not doing, but moaning.
Such a voice repeats itself to all of us, rousing us
from our lethargy, or our despondency, or our pro-
tracted leisure, " What doest thou here ? " — here in
this short life. There is work to be done ; evil put
down — God's church purified — good men encour-
aged — doubting men directed — a country saved —
time going — life a dream — eternity long — one
chance, and but one forever. What doest thou here ?
Then he went on further, " Arise, go on thy way."
That speaks to us : on thy way. Be up and doing —
fill up every hour, leaving no crevice, nor craving for
a remorse or a repentance to creep through afterwards.
Let not the mind brood on self ; save it from specular
tion, from those stagnant moments in which the awful
teachings of the spirit grope into the unfathomable
unknown, and the heart torments itself with questions
which are insoluble except to an active life. For the
awful futvre becomes intelligible only in the light of
a felt and active present. Go, return on thy way if
thou art despondmg, — on thy way, health of spirit
will return.
4. He completed the cure by the assurance of vie-
ELIJAH. 115
tory. " Yet have I left me seven thousand in Israel
who have not bowed the knee to Baal." So, then,
Elijah's life had been no failure, after all. Seven
thousand at least in Israel had been braced and
encouraged by his example, and silently blessed him,
perhaps, for the courage which they felt. In God's
world, for those that are in earnest there is no failure.
No work truly done, no word earnestly spoken,
no sacriJSce freo^ made, was ever made in vain.
Never did the cup of cold water given for Christ's
sake lose its reward.
We turn Jiaturally from this scene to a still darker
hour, and more august agony. If ever failure seemed
to rest on a noble life, it was when the Son of Man,
deserted by His friends, heard the cry which pro-
claimed that the Pharisees had successfully drawn the
net round their Divine Victim. Yet, from that very
hour of defeat and death there went forth the world's
life, — from that very moment of apparent failure
there proceeded forth into the ages the spirit of the
conquering Cross. Surely, if the Cross says any-
thmg, it says that apparent defeat is real victory, and
that there is a heaven for those who have nohly ana
truly failed on earth.
Distinguish, therefore, between the Real and the
Apparent. Elijah's apparent success was in the shouts
of Mount Carmel : his real success was in the unos-
tentatious, unsurmised obedience of the seven thou-
sand who had taken his God for their God.
A lesson for all. For teachers who lay their heads
down at night sickening over tlioir thankless task.
Remember the power of indirect influences ; those
which distil from a life, not from a sudden, brilliant
116 ELIJAH.
eflFort. The former never fail; the latter, often. There
is good done of which we can never predicate the
when or where. Not in the flushing of a pupil's
cheek, or the glistening of an attentive eye ; not in
the shining results of an examination, does your real
success lie. It lies in that invisible influence on char-
acter which He alone can read who counted the seven
thousand nameless ones in Israel.
For ministers, again, — what is ministerial success ?
Crowded churches — full aisles — attentive congre-
gations — the approval of the religious world — much
impression produced? Elijah thought so 4 and when
he found out his mistake, and discovered that the
applause on Carmel subsided into hideous stillness,
his heart well-nigh broke with disappointment. Min-
isterial success lies in altered lives and obedient hum-
ble hearts ; unseen work recognized in the judgment-
day.
A public man's success ? That which can be
measured by feast-days, and the number of journals
which espouse his cause ? Deeper, deeper far must
he work who works for Eternity. In the eye of
That, nothing stands but gold. Real work — all else
perishes.
Get below appearances, below glitter and show.
Plant your foot upon reality. Not in the jubilee of
the myriads on Carmel, but in the humblo silence of
the hearts of the seven thousand, lay the proof that
Elijah had not lived in vain.
VII.
[Preached January 12, 1851.]
NOTES ON PSALM LI.
Written by David, after a double crime : Uriah put in the forefront oi
the battle, — the wife of the murdered man taken, &c.
A DARKER guilt you will scarcely find : kingly power
abused — worst passions yielded to. Yet this psalm
breathes from a spirit touched with the finest sensibil-
ities of spiritual feeling.
Two sides of our mysterious two-fold being here.
Something in us near to hell ; something strangely
near to God. ** Half beast — half devil ?" No: rather
half diabolical — half divine : half demon — half Grod.
This man mixing with the world's sins in such sort
that we shudder. But he draws near the majesty of
God, and becomes softened, purified, melted.
Good to observe this that we rightly estimate :
generously of fallen humanity ; moderately of highest
saintship.
In our best estate and in our purest moments there
is a something of the Devil in us, which, if it could bo
known, would make men shrink from us. The germs
of the worst crimes are in us all. In our deepest
degradation there remains something sacred, undefiled,
118 NOTES ON PSALM LI.
the pledge and gift of our better nature ; a germ of
indestructible life, like the grains of wheat among the
cerements of a mummy, surviving through three
thousand years ; which may be planted, and live, and
grow again.
It is this truth of human feeling which makes the
Psalms, more than any other portion of the Old Testa-
ment, the link of union between distant ages. The
historical books need a rich store of knowledge before
they can be a modern book of life ; but the Psalms
are the records of individual experience. Personal
religion is the same in all ages. The deeps of our
humanity remain unruffled by the storms of ages
which change the surface. This psalm, written three
thousand years ago, might have been written yester-
day ; describes the vicissitudes of spiritual life in aji
Englishman as truly as of a' Jew. " Not of an age,
but for all time."
I. Scripture estimate of sin.
II. Spiritual restoration.
I. Scriptural estimate of sin.
1. Personal accountability. " My sin," — strange,
but true. It is hard to believe the sin we do our own.
One lays the blame on circumstances ; another, on
those who tempted ; a third, on Adam, Satan, or his
own nature, as if it were not himself. " The fathers
have eaten a sour grape, and the children's teeth are
set on edge." ■
In this psalm no such self-exculpation. Personal
accountability throughout. No source of evil sug-
gested or conceived but his own guilty will; no shifting
of responsibility ; no pleading of a passionate nature,
NOTES ON PSALM LI. 119
or royal exposure as peculiar. " I have sinued." " I
acknowledge my transgression ; my sin is. ever before
me."
One passage only seems at first to breathe a dif
ferent tone. " In sin did my mother conceive me."
By some interpreted as referring to hereditary sin ;
alleged as a proof of the doctrine of transmitted guilt,
as if David traced the cause of his act to his maternal
character.
True as the doctrine is that physical and moral
qualities are transmissible, you do not find that doc-
trine here. It is not in excuse, but in exaggeration
of his fault, that David speaks. He lays on himself
the blame of a tainted nature, instead of that of a
single fault : not a murderer only, but of a murderous
nature. " Conceived in sin." From first moments
up till then, he saw sin -=— sin — sin ; nothing but sin.
Learn the individual character of sin, — its personal
origin and personal identity. There can be no trans-
ference of it. It is individual and incommunicable.
My sin cannot be your sin, nor yours mine.
Conscience, when it is healthy, ever speaks thus .
" My transgression." It was not the guilt of them that
tempted you. They have theirs ; but each, as a separate
agent, his own degree of guilt. Yours is your own ;
the violation of your own and not another's sense of
duty ; solitary, awful, unshared, adhering to you alone,
of all the spirits of the universe.
Perilous to refer the evil in us to any source out of
and beyond ourselves. In this way penitence becomes
impossible — fictitious.
2. Estimated as hateful to God. " Against Thee, Theo
only, have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy sight j
120 NOTES ON PSALM LI.
that Thou mightest be justified when Thou 8peakest,and
be clear when Thou judgest." The simple judgment
of the conscience. But another estimate, born of the
intellect, comes in collision with this religion, and be-
wilders it. Look over life, and you will find it hard to
believe that sin is against God ; that it is not rather
for Him.
Undeniable, that out of evil comes good ; that evil
is the resistance in battle, with which good is created
and becomes possible. Physical evil, for example. Hun-
ger, an evil, is the parent of industry, human works,
all that man has done — beautifies life. The storm-fire
burns up the forest, and slays man and beast; but
purifies the air of contagion. Lately, the tragic death
of eleven fishermen elicited the sympathy and charities
of thousands.
Even moral evil is also generative of good. Peter's
cowardice enabled him to be a comforter ; " when he
was converted, to strengthen his brethren." David's
crime was a vantage-ground, from which he rose
through penitence nearer to God. Through it this
psalm has blessed ages. But if the sin had not been
done !
Now, contemplating this, we begin to perceive that
evil is God's instrument. " If evil be in the city, the
Lord hath done it." Then the contemplative intel-
lectualist looks over this scene of things, and compla-
cently approves of evil as God's contrivance, as much
as good is ; a temporary necessity, worthy of His wis-
dom to create. And then, can He truly hate that
which He has made? Can His agent be His enemy?
Is it not short-sightedness to be angry with it? Not
the antagonist of God, surely, but His creature and
NOTES ON PSALM LI. 121
faithful servant, this evil. Sin cannot be "against
God."
Thus arises a horrible contradiction between the
instincts of the conscience and the judgment of the
understanding. Judas must have been, says the intel-
lect, God's agent as much as Paul. " Why doth He
yet find fault ? for who hath resisted His will ? Do
not evil men perform His will ? Why should I blame
sin in another or myself, seeing it is necessary ? Why
not say, at once, Crime and Virtue are the same ? "
Thoughts such as these, at some time or another,
I doubt not, haunt and perplex us all. Conscience
is overborne by the intellect. Some time during
every life, the impossibility of reconciling these two
verdicts is felt, and the perplexity confuses action.
Men sin with a secret peradventure behind. " Per-
haps evil is not so bad after all — perhaps good — who
knows?"
Remember, therefore, in matters practical, Conscience,
not intellect, is our guide. Unsophisticated conscience
ever speaks this language of the Bible.
We cannot help believing that our sentiments tow-
ards Right and Wrong are a reflection of God's.
That we call just and true, we cannot but think is
just and true in His sight. That which seems base
and vile to us, we are compelled to think is so to
Him ; and this in proportion as we act up to duty.
In that proportion we feel that His sentiments coincide
with ours.
In such moments, when the God within us speaka
most peremptorily and distinctly, we feel that the lan-
guage of this psalm is true ; and that no other lan-
guage expresses the truth. Sin is not for God, —
11
122 NOTES ON PSALM LI.
cannot be ; but " against God." An opposition to
His will, a contradiction to His nature ; not a coinci-
dence with it. He abhors it, — will banish it, and
annihilate it.
In these days, when French sentimentalism, theo-
logical dreams, and political speculations, are unset-
tling the old landmarks with fearful rapidity, if we do
not hold fast, and that simply and firmly, that first prin-
ciple, that right is right and wrong wrong, all our
moral judgments wiU become confused, and the peni-
tence of the noblest hearts an absurdity. For what
can be more absurd than knowingly to reproach our-
selves for that which God intended?
3. Sin estimated as separation from God. Two
views of sin : The first reckoning it evil, because
consequences of pain are annexed ; the second, evil,
because a contradiction of our own nature and God's
will.
In this psalm the first is ignored ; the second, im-
plied throughout. " Take not thy Holy Spirit from
me." — " Have mercy upon me," does not mean, Save
me from torture. You cannot read the psalm and
think so. It is not the trembling of a craven spirit in
anticipation of torture, but the agonies of a noble one
in the horror of being evil.
If the first view were true, then, if God were by
an act of will to reverse the consequences, and annex
pain to goodness and joy to crime, to lie and injure
would become Duty as much as before they were
sins. But penalties do not change good into evil.
Good is forever good ; evil is forever evil. God Him-
self could not alter that by a command. Eternal hell
NOTES ON PSALM LI. 128
could not make Truth wrong ; nor everlasting pleasure
ennoble sensuality.
Do you fancy that men like David, shuddering in
sight of evil, dreaded a material hell ? I venture to
say, into true penitence the idea of punishment never
enters. If it did, it would be almost a relief; but, 1
those moments in which a selfish act has appeared
more hideous than any pain which the fancy of a Dante
could devise ! when the idea of the strife of self-will in
battle with the loving will of God, prolonged forever,
has painted itself to the imagination as the real Infinite
Hell ! when self concentration and the extinction of
love in the soul has been felt as the real damnation of
the Devil nature !
And recollect how sparingly Christianity appeals to
the prudential motives. Use them it does, because
they are motives — but rarely. Retribution is a truth;
and Christianity, true to nature, warns of retribution.
But, except to rouse men sunk in forgetfulness, or
paltering with truth, it almost never appeals to it ;
and never with the hope of eliciting from such motives
as the hope of heaven, or the fear of hell, high good-
ness.
To do good for reward, the Son of Man declares to
be the sinner's religion. " If ye lend to them who
lend to you, what thank have ye?" — and He distinctly
proclaims that alone to be spiritually good, " the
nghteousness of God," which " does good, hoping for
nothing in return ; " adding, as the only motive, " that
ye may be the children of (that is, resemble) your
Father which is in Heaven ; for He maketh His sun to
shine on the evil and the good, and sendeth rain on the
just and on the unjust."
124: NOTES ON ISALM LI.
II. Restoration.
1. First step, — Sacrifice of a broken spirit.
Observe the accurate and even Christian perception
of the real meaning of sacrifice by the ancient spiritU'
allj-minded Jews.
Sacrifice has its origin in two feefings : one human ;
one divine or inspired.
True feeling ; something to be given to God ; sur-
rendered; that God must be worshipped with our
best.
Human ; added to this — mixed up with it — is the
fancy that this sacrifice pleases God because of the
loss or pain which it inflicts. Then men attribute to
God their own revengeful feelings ; think that the
philosophy of sacrifice consists in the necessity of
punishing ; call it justice to let the blow fall some-
where, — no matter where ; blood must flow. Hence,
heathen sacrifices were offered to appease the Deity,
to buy off" His wrath, — the purer the offering the
better. Iphigenia, — to glut His fury. Instances
illustrating the feeling : Zaleucus, — two eyes given
to the law ; barbarian rude notions of justness mixed
up with a father's instincts. Polycrates and Amasis, —
seal sacrificed to avert the anger of heaven, supposed
to be jealous of mortal prosperity. These notions
mixed with Judaism ; nay, are mixed up now with
Christian conceptions of Christ's sacrifice.
Jewish sacrifices therefore presented two thoughts :
- - to the spiritual, true notions ; to the unspiritual,
false ; and expressed these feelings for each. But
men like David felt that what lay beneath all sacrifice,
as its ground and meaning, was surrender to God's
will ; that a man's best is himself; and to sacrifice this
NOTES ON PSALM LI. 125
18 the true sacrifice. By degrees they came to see
that the sacrifice was but a form — typical ; and that
it might be superseded.
Compare this psalm with Psalm L.
They were taught this chiefly through sin and suf-
fering. Conscience, truly wounded, could not be
appeased by these sacrifices which were offered year
by year continually. The selfish coward, who saw in
sin nothing terrible but the penalty, could be satisfied,
of course. Believing that the animal bore his punish-
ment, he had nothing more to dread. But they who
felt sin to be estrangement from God, who were not
thinking of punishment — what relief could be given to
them by being told that the penalty of their sins was
borne by another being? They felt that only by sur-
render to God could conscience be at rest.
Learn, then, — God does not wish pain, but good-
ness ; not sufiering, but you — yourself — your heart.
Even in the sacrifice of Christ, God wished only
this. It was precious not because it was pain; but
because the pain, the blood, the death, were the last
and highest evidence of entire surrender. — Satisfac-
tion ? Yes, the blood of Christ satisfied. Why ?
Because God can glut His vengeance in innocent
blood more sweetly than in guilty ? Because, like the
barbarian Zaleucus, so long as the whole penalty is
paid. He cares not by whom? Or, was it because for
the first time He saw human nature a copy of the
Divine nature ; the will of Man the Son perfectly co-
incident with the will of God the Father ; the Love of
Deity for the first time exhibited by man ; obedience
entire, " unto death, even the death of the cross " ?
Was that the sacrifice which He saw in His beloved
11*
126 NOTES ON PSALM LI.
Son wherewith He was well pleased ? Was that the
sacrifice of Him who, through the Eternal Spirit, of-
fered Himself without spot to God ; the sacrifice once
offered which hath perfected forever them that are
sanctified ?
2. Last step, — Spirit of Liberty. Thy free spirit, —
literally, princely. But the translation is right. A
princely is a free spirit; unconstrained. Hence, St.
James, " the royal law of liberty."
Two classes of motives may guide to acts of seeming
goodness: — 1. Prudential. 2. Generous.
The agent of the Temperance Society appeals to
prudential motives when he demonstrates the evils of
intoxication; enlists the aid of anatomy ; contrasts the
domestic happiness and circumstantial comfort of the
temperate home with that of the intemperate.
An appeal to the desire of happiness and fear of
misery. A motive, doubtless ; and of unquestionable
potency. All I say is, that from this class of motives
comes nothing of the highest stamp.
Prudential motives will move men ; but compare the
rush of population from east to west for gold with a
similar rush in the time of the Crusades. A dream —
a fancy ; but an appeal to generous and unselfish
emotions ; to enthusiasm which has in it no reflex
consideration of personal greed. In the one case,
simply a transfer of population, with vices and habits
unchanged ; in the other, a sacrifice of home, country,
all.
Tell men that salvation is personal happiness, and
damnation personal misery, and that goodness consists
h\ seeking the one and avoiding the other, and you
"■ill get religionists; but poor, stunted, dwarfish, — ■
NOTES ON PSALM LI. 127
asking, with painful self-consciousness, Am I saved?
am I lost ? Prudential considerations about a distant
happiness, conflicting with passionate impulses to
secure a near and present one ; men moving in
shackles, — " letting I dare not wait upon I would."
Tell men that God is Love ; that Right is Right,
and Wrong Wrong ; let them cease to admire philan-
thropy, and begin to love men ; cease to pant for
heaven, and begin to love God : then the spirit of lib-
erty begins.
When fear has done its work, — whose office is not
to create holiness, but to arrest conscience, — and sel£
abasement has set in in earnest, then the Free Spirit
of God begins to breathe upon the soul like a gale
from a healthier climate, refreshing it with a more
generous and a purer love. Prudence is no longer
left in painful and hopeless, struggle with desire:
Love burets the shackles of the soul, and we are free.
yiii.
[Preached March 2, 1851.]
OBEDIENCE THE ORGAN OF SPmiTUAL KNOWLEDGE.
John vii. 17. — " If any man will do his will, he shall know of the do<v
trine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myselfc"
The first thing we have to do is to put ourselves in
possession of the history of these words.
Jesus taught in the temple during the Feast of Tab-
ernacles. The Jews marvelled at His spiritual wis-
dom. The cause of wonder was the want of scholas-
tic education : " How knoweth this man letters, never
having learned ? " They had no conception of any
source of wisdom beyond learning.
He Himself gave a different account of the matter.
" My doctrine is not mine, but His that sent me."
And how he came possessed of it, speaking humanly,
He taught (chap. v. 30) : " My judgment is just, be-
cause I seek not my own will, but the will of the
Father which hath sent me."
That principle whereby He attained spiritual judg-
ment or wisdom He extends to all. " If any man
will do His will, he shall know of the doctrine,
whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself."
Here, then, manifestly, there are two opinions respect-
ing the origin of spiritual knowledge :
(128)
OBEDIENCE THE ORGAN OF SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE. 129
1. The popular one of the Jews: relying on a culti-
vated understanding.
2. The principle of Christ, which relied on trained
affections and habits of obedience.
What is Truth? Study, said the Jews. Act, said
Christ, and you shall know. A very precious princi-
ple to hold by in these days ; and a very pregnant one
of thought to us, who during the next few days must
be engaged in the contemplation of crime, and to
whom the question will suggest itself, How can men's
lives be made true?
Religious controversy is fast settling into a conflict
between two great extreme parties : those who be-
lieve everything, and those who believe nothing —
the disciples of credulity, and the disciples of scep-
ticism.
The first rely on authority.
Foremost among these, and the only self-consistent
ones, are the adherents of the Church of Rome :
and into this body, by logical consistency, ought to
merge all — Dissenters, Churchmen, Bible Christians
— who receive their opinions because their sect, their
church, or their documents, assert them, not because
they are true eternally in themselves.
The second class rely solely on a cultivated under-
Btanding. This is the root-principle of Rationalism.
Enlighten, they say, and sin will disappear. En-
lighten, and we shall know all that can be known of
God. Sin is an error of the understanding, not a
crime of the will. Illuminate the understanding,
show man that sin is folly, and sin will disappear.
Political Economy will teach public virtue ; knowl-
edge of anatomy will arrest the indulgence of the
130 OBEDIENCE THE ORGAN OF
passions Show the drunkard the inflamed tissues
of the brain, and he will be sobered by fear and
reason.
Only enlighten, and spiritual truths will be tested.
When the anatomist shall have hit on a right method
of dissection, and appropriated sensation to this fila-
ment of the brain, and the religious sentiment to that
fibre, we shall know whether there be a soul or not,
and whether consciousness will survive physical disso-
lution. When the chemist shall have discovered the
principle of life, and found cause behind cause, we
shall know whether the last cause of All is a Personal
Will or a lifeless Force.
Concerning whom I only remark now, that these
disciples of scepticism become easily disciples of cre-
dulity. It is instructive to see how they who sneer at
Christian mysteries as old wives' fables bow in abject
reverence before Egyptian mysteries of three thousand
years' antiquity ; and how they who have cast off a
God believe in the veriest imposture, and have blind
faith in this most vulgar juggling. Scepticism and
credulity meet. Nor is it difficult to explain. Dis
trusting everything, they doubt their own conclusions
and their own mental powers ; and that for which
they cannot account presents itself to them as super
natural and mysterious. Wonder makes them more
credulous than those they sneer at.
In opposition to both these systems, stands the
Christianity of Christ.
1. Christ never taught on personal authority. " My
doctrine is not mine." He taught "not as the
scribes." They dogmatized : because " it was writ-
ten," stickled for maxims, and lost principles. His
SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE. 131
authority was the authorit}^ of Truth, not of person-
ality : He commanded men to believe, not because He
said it; but he said it because it was true. Hence
John xii. 47, 48, " If any man hear my words and
believe not, I judge him not : the word that I have
spoken, the same shall judge him in the last day."
2. He never taught that cultivation of the under-
standing would do all ; but exactly the reverse. And
so taught His apostles. St. Paul taught, — " The
world by wisdom knew not God." His Master said,
not that clear intellect will give you a right heart, but
that a right heart and a pure life will clarify the intel-
lect. Not, Become a man of letters and learning, and
you will attain spiritual freedom; but. Do rightly, and
you will judge justly : Obey, and you will know. —
" My judgment is just, because I seek not mine own
will, but the will of the Father which sent me." — " If
any man will do His will, he shall know of the doc-
trine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of
myself"
I. The knowledge of the Truth, or Clu'istian knowl-
edge.
II. The condition on which it is attainable.
Christian knowledge, — "he shall know," Its ob-
ject, — " the doctrine." Its degree, certainty, — " shall
know."
Doctrine is now, in our modern times, a word of
limited meaning, being simply opposed to .practical.
For instance, the Sermon on the Mount would be
called practical ; St. Paul's epistles, doctrinal. But in
Scripture doctrine means broadly teaching; anything
that is taught is doctrine. Christ's doctrine embracer
132 OBEDIENCE THE ORGAN OF
the whole range of his teaching — every principle and
every precept. Let us select three departments of
" doctrine " in which the principle of the text will be
found true. " If any man will do His will, he shall
know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether
I speak of myself."
1. It holds good in speculative truth. If any man
will do God's will, he shall know what is truth and
what is error. Let us see how wilfulness and selfish-
ness hinder impartiality. How comes it that men are
almost always sure to arrive at the conclusions reached
by their own party ? Surely because fear, interest,
vanity, or the desire of being reckoned sound and judi-
cious, or party spirit, bias them. Personal prospects,
personal antipathies — these determine most men's
creed. How will you remove this hindrance ? By
increased cultivation of mind? Why, the Romanist is as
accomplished as the Protestant, and learning is found
in the Church and out of it. You are not sure that
that high mental cultivation will lead a man either to
Protestantism or the Church of England. Surely,
then, by removing self-will, and so only, can the
hindrance to right opinions be removed. Take away
the last trace of interested feeling, and the way is
cleared for men to come to an approximation towards
unity, even in judgment on points speculative ; and so
he that will do God's will shall know of the doctrine.
2. In practical truths the principle is true. It is
more true to say that our opinions depend upon our
lives and habits, than to say that our lives depend
upon our opinions, which is only now and then true.
The fact is, men think in a certain mode on these
matters, because their life is of a certain character,
SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE. 133
and their opinions are only invented afterwards as a
defence for tlieir life.
For instance, St. Paul speaks of a maxim among the
Corinthians, — "Let us eat and drink, ybr to-morrow
we die." They excused their voluptuousness on the
ground of its consistency with their sceptical creed.
Life was short. Death came to-morrow. There was
no hereafter. Therefore it was quite consistent to
live for pleasure. But who does not see that the creed
was the result, and not the cause, of the life ? Who
does not see that first they ate and drank, and ilien
believed to-morrow we die ? '' Getting and spending,
we lay waste our powers." Eating and drinking, we
lose sight of the life to come. When the immortal is
overborne and smothered in the life of the flesh, how
can men believe in the life to come ? Then disbeliev-
ing, they mistook the cause for the effect. Their
moral habits and creed were in perfect consistency;
yet it was the life that formed the creed, not the creed
that formed the life. Because they were sensualists,
immortality had become incredible.
Again, slavery is defended philosophically. The
negro on his skull and skeleton, they say, has God's
intention of his servitude written ; he is the inferior
animal, therefore it is right to enslave him. Did this
doctrine precede the slave-trade? Did man arrive at*
it, and then, in consequence, conscientiously proceed
with human traffic ? Or, was it invented to defend
a practice existing already, — the offspring of self-
interest ? Did not men first make slaves, and then
search about for reasons to make their conduct plau-
tiblo to themselves?
So, too, a belief in predestination is sometimes
12
134 OBEDIENCE THE ORGAN OF
alleged in excuse of crime. But a man who suffers
his will to be overpowered naturally comes to believe
that he is the sport of fate.; feeling powerless, he be-
lieves that God's decree has made him so. But let
him but put forth one act of loving will, and then, as
the nightmare of a dream is annihilated by an effort^
so the incubus of a belief in tyrannous destiny is dis-
sipated the moment a man wills to do the Will of God.
Observe, how he knows of the doctrine, directly he
does the Will.
There is another thing said respecting this knowl-
edge of Truth. It respects the degree of certainty, —
" he shall Jcnoiv," not he shall have an opinion. There
is a wide distinction between supposing and knowing ;
between fancy and conviction ; between opinion and
belief Whatever rests on authority remains only
supposition. You have an opinion when you know
what others think. You Jcnow when you feel. In
matters practical you know only so far as you can do.
Read a work on the " Evidences of Christianity," and
it may become highly probable that Christianity, &c.,
are true. That is an opinion. Feel God ; do His
will till the Absolute Imperative within you speaks as
with a living voice, — thou shalt, and thou shalt not ;
and then you do not think — you Jcnow — that there is
God. That is a conviction and a belief.
Have we never seen how a child, simple and near to
God, cuts asunder a web of sophistry with a single
direct question? How, before its steady look and
simple argument, some fashionable utterer of a con
ventional falsehood has been abashed ? How a believ
ing Christian scatters the forces of scepticism, as a
moining ray, touching the mist on the mountain side,
SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE. 135
makes it vanish into thin air ? And there are few
more glorious moments of our humanity than those in
which Faith does battle against intellectual proof,
when, for example, after reading a sceptical book, or
hearing a cold-blooded materialist's demonstration, in
which God, the soul, and life to come, are proved
impossible, up rises the heart, in all the giant might
of its inmiortality, to do battle with the understanding,
and with the simple argument, " I fed them in my
best and highest moments to be true," annihilates the
sophistries of logic.
These moments of profound faith do not come
once for all ; they vary with the degree and habit of
obedience. There is a plant which blossoms once
in a hundred years. Like it, the soul blossoms only
now and then in a space of years ; but these moments
are the glory and the heavenly glimpses of our purest
humanity.
11. The condition on which knowledge of truth is
attainable. "If any man will do His will, he shall
know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether
I speak of myself"
This universe is governed by laws. At the bottom
of everything here there is a law. Things are in this
way, and not that: we call that a law or condition.
All departments have their own laAvs. By submission
to them you make them your own. Obey the laAvs
of the body — such laws as say. Be temperate and
chaste. Or of the mind — such laws as say. Fix the
attention, strengthen by exercise ; and then their
prizes are yours, — health, strength, pliability of mus-
cle, tenaciousness of memory, nimbleness of imagina-
136 OBEDIENCE THE ORGAN OF
tion, &c. Obey the laws of your spiritual being, and
it has its prizes, too. For instance, the condition or
law of a peaceful life is submission to the laws of
meekness : " Blessed are the meek, for they shall in-
herit the earth." The condition of the Beatific Vision
is a pure heart and life : " Blessed are the pure in
heart, for they shall see God." To the impure, God is
simply invisible. The condition annexed to a sense of
God's presence — in other words, that without which
a sense of God's presence cannot be — is obedience
to the laws of Love : " If we love one another, God
dwelleth in us, and His Love is perfected in us."
The condition of spiritual wisdom and certainty in
truth is obedience to the will of God — surrender of
private will : " If any man will do His wiU, he shall
know of tlie doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether
I speak of myself"
In every department of knowledge, therefore, there
is an appointed " organ," or instrument for discovery
of its specific truth, and for appropriating its specific
blessings. In the world of sense, the empirical intel-
lect; in that world the Baconian philosopher is su-
preme. His Novum Organon is experience ; he knows
by experiment of touch, sight, &c. The religious man
may not contravene his assertions, — he is lord in his
own province. But in the spiritual world the "organ"
of the scientific man, sensible experience, is powerless.
If the chemist, geologist, physiologist, come back from
their spheres and say, "We find in the laws of affinity,
in the deposits of past ages, in the structure of the
human fram'fe, no trace nor token of a God, I simply
reply, I never expected you would. Obedience and
self-surrender is the sole organ by which we gain a
SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE. 137
knowledge of that which cannot be seen nor felt.
" Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard." .... And just aa
by copying perpetually a master painter's works we
get at last an instinctive and infallible power of recog-
nizing his touch, so, by copying and doing God's will,
we recognize what is His, — we know of the teaching,
whether it be of God, or whether it be an arbitrary
invention of a human self
2. Observe the universality of the law. " If any
man will do His wiU, he shall know of the doctrine,
whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself"
The law was true of the Man Christ Jesus Himself.
He tells us it is true of all other men.
In God's universe there are no favorites of heaven
who may transgress the laws of the universe with
impunity ; none who can take fire in the hand and
not be burnt; no enemies of heaven who if they
sow corn will reap nothing. The law is just and true
to all : " Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also
reap."
In God's spiritual universe there are no favorites
of heaven who can attain knowledge and spiritual
wisdom apart from obedience. There are none repro-
bate by an eternal decree, who can surrender self,
and in all things submit to God, and yet fail of spirit-
ual convictions. It is not, therefore, a rare, partial
condescension of God, arbitrary and causeless, which
gives knowledge of the Truth to some, and shuts
it out from others ; but a vast, universal, glorious
law. The light lighteth every man that cometh into
the world. " If any man will do His will, he shall
know."
See the beauty of this Divine arrangement. If th»
12*
138 OBEDIENCE THE ORGAN OF
certainty of truth depended upon the proof of mira-
cles, prophecy, or the discoveries of science, then
Truth would be in the reach chiefly of those who can
weigh evidence, investigate history and languages
study by experiment ; whereas, as it is, " The meek will
He guide in judgment, and the meek will He teach
His way." — " Thus saith the high and lofty One that
inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy ; I dwell in
the high and holy place, with him also that is of a con-
trite and humble spirit." The humblest and the weak-
est may know more of man, of moral evil and of
good, by a single act of charity, or a prayer of self-
surrender, than all the sages can teach ; ay, or all the
theologians can dogmatize upon.
They know nothing, perhaps, these humble ones,
of evidence ; but they are sure that Christ is their
Redeemer. They cannot tell what matter is ; but they
know that they are Spirits. They know nothing of the
argument from design ; but they feel God. The truths
of God are spiritually discerned. They have never
learned letters ; but they have reached the Truth of
Life.
3. Annexed to this condition, or a part of it, is
earnestness. " If any man will do His will." Now,
that word " will " is not the will of the future tense,
but will meaning volition. If any man wills, resolves,
has the mind to do the wiU of God. So, then, it is
not a chance, fitful obedience that leads us to the
Truth, nor an obedience paid while happiness lasts
and no longer, — but an obedience rendered in entire-
ness and in earnest. It is not written, K any man
does His will, — but if any man has the spirit and
desire. If we are in earnest we shall jiersevere, lika
SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE. 139
the Syrophenician -woman, even though the ear of the
universe seem deaf, and Christ himself appear to bid
us back. If we are not in earnest, diflSculties will dis-
courage us. Because will is wanting, we shall be
asking, still in ignorance and doubt, What is truth ?
All this will seem to many time misspent. They go
ic church because it is the custom ; all Christians be-
lieve it is the established religion. But there are
hours — and they come to us all at some period of life
or other — when the hand of Mystery seems to lio
heavy on the soul ; when some life-shock scatters exist-
ence, — leaves it a blank and dreary waste henceforth
forever, and there appears nothing of hope in all the
expanse which stretches out, except that merciful gate
of death which opens at the end; — hours when the
sense of misplaced or ill-requited affection, the feeling
of personal worthlessness, the uncertainty and mean-
ness of all human aims, and a doubt of all human good-
ness, unfix the soul from all its old moorings, and leave
it -^ drifting, drifting over the vast Infinitude, with an
awful sense of solitariness. Then the man whose
faith rested on outward Authority, and not on inward
life, will find it give way, — the authority of the Priest;
the authority of the Church ; or merely the authority
of a document proved by miracles and backed by
prophecy; the soul, — conscious life hereafter, — God,
— will be an awful desolate Perhaps. Well, in such
moments you doubt all, — whether Christianity be
true ; whether Christ was man, or God, or a beautiful
fable. You ask bitterly, like Pontius Pilate, What is
Truth? In such an hour what remains? I reply,
Obedience. Leave those thoughts for the present.
Act: be merciful and gentle — honest; force yourself
140 OBEDIENCE THE ORGAN OF SPIRITUAL KNOWLEDGE.
to abound in little services ; try to do good to others ;
be true to the Duty that you know. That must be
right, whatever else is uncertain. And by all the lawa
of the human heart, by the word of God, you shall not
be left to doubt. Do that much of the will of God
which is plain to you, " You shall know of the doc-
trine, whether it be of God,"
IX.
[Preached March 30, 1851.]
RELIGIOUS DEPRESSION.
Psalm xlii. 1-3. — "As the hart panteth after the water-brooks, m
panteth my soul after thee, God. My soul thirsteth for God, for
the living God; ■when shall I come and appear before God? My tears
hare been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me.
Where is thy God? "
The value of the public reading of the Psalms is,
that they express for us indirectly those deeper feel-
ings which there would be a sense of indehcacy in
expressing directly.
Example of Joseph: asking after his father, and
blessing his brothers, as it were under the personality
of another.
There are feelings of which we do not speak to
each other ; they are too sacred and too delicate. Such
are most of our feelings to God. If we do speak of
them, they lose their fragrance, — become coarse ;
nay, there is even a sense of indelicacy and exposure.
Now, the Psalms afford precisely the right relief for
tliis feeling. "Wrapped up in the forms of poetry (meta-
phor, (fee), that which might seem exaggerated is ex
cused by those who do not feel it; while they who do
(141)
142 RELIGIOUS DEPEESSION.
can read them, applying them, without the suspicion
of uttering their own feelings. Hence their soothing
power ; and hence, while other portions of Scripture
may become obsolete, they remain the most precious
parts of the Old Testament. For the heart of man is
the same in all ages.
This forty-second Psalm contains the utterance of a
sorrow of which men rarely speak. There is a grief
worse than lack of bread or loss of friends ; man in
former times called it spiritual desertion. But at times
the utterances of this solitary grief are, as it were,
overheard, as in this Psalm. Read verses 6-7. And
in a more august agony, " My God, my God, why hast
thou forsaken me ? "
I. Causes of David's despondency.
II. The consolation.
I. Causes of David's despondency.
1. The thirst for God. " My soul thirsteth for God,
for the living God; when shall I come and appear
before God?"
There is a desire in the human heart best described
as the cravings of infinitude. We are so made that
nothing which has limits satisfies.
Hence the sense of freedom and relief which comes
from all that suggests the idea of boundlessness, — the
deep sky, the dark night, the endless circle, the illimit-
able ocean.
Hence, too, our dissatisfaction with all that is or
can be done. There never was the beauty yet, than
which we could not conceive something more beauti-
ful. None so good as to be faultless in our eyes. No
deed done by us, but we feel we have it in us to do a
EELIGIOUS DEPRESSION. 143
better. The heavens are not clean in our sight ; and
the angels are charged with foUj.
Therefore, to never rest is the price paid for our
greatness. Could we rest, we must become smaller in
soul. Whoever is satisfied with what he does has
reached his culminating point — he will progress no
more. Man's destiny is to be not dissatisfied, but for-
ever unsatisfied.
Infinite goodness, — a beauty beyond what eye hath
seen or heart imagined, a justice which shall have no
flaw, and a righteousness which shall have no blemish,
— to crave for that, is to be " athirst for God."
2. The temporary loss of the sense of God's person-
ality. " My soul is athirst for the living God."
Let us search our own experience. What we want
is, we shall find, not infinitude, but a boundless Que ,
not to feel that love is the law of this universe, but to
feel One whose name is Love.
For else, if in this world of order there be no One
in whose bosom that order is centred, and of whose
Being it is the expression, — in this world of manifold
contrivance, no Personal Affection which gave to the
skies their trembling tenderness, and to the snow its
purity, — then order, afi'ection, contrivance, wisdom, are
only horrible abstractions, and we are in the dreary
universe alone.
Foremost in the declaration of this truth was the
Jewish rel'gion. It proclaimed not, " Let us medi-
tate on the Adorable light, it shall guide our intel-
lects," — which is the most sacred verse of the Hindoo
Sacred books, — but '' Thus saith the Lord, I am that I
am." In that word, I am, is declared Personality ; and
it contains, too, in the expression Thus saith, the rea)
144 RELIGIOUS DEPRESSION.
idea of a Revelation, namely, the voluntary approach
of the Creator to the creature.
Accordingly, these Jewish Psalms are remarkable
for that personal tenderness towards God, — those out-
bursts of passionate, individual attachment which are
in every page. A person asking and giving heart for
heart, — inspiring love, because feeling it, — that was
the Israelite's Jehovah.
Now, distinguish this from the God of the philoso
pher, and the God of the mere theologian.
The God of the mere theologian is scarcely a living
God. He did live ; but for some eighteen hundred
years we are credibly informed that no trace of His
life has been seen. The canon is closed. The proofs
that He was are in the things that He has made, and
the books of men to whom He spake ; but He inspires
and works wonders no more. According to the theo-
logians, He gives us proofs of design instead of God
— doctrines instead of the life indeed.
Different, too, from the God of the philosopher.
The tendency of philosophy has been to throw back
the personal Being further and still further from the
time when every branch and stream was believed a
living Power, to the period when " principles " were
substituted for this belief ; then " Laws ; " and the
philosopher's God is a law into which all other laws
are resolvable.
Quite differently to this speaks the Bible of God.
Not as a law ; but as the Life of all that is ; the Being
who feels and is felt, — is loved and loves again ; feels
my heart throb into His ; counts the hairs of my head;
feeds the ravens, and clothes the lilies ; hears my
RELIGIOUS DEPRESSION. 145
prayers, and interprets them through a Spirit which
has affinity with my spirit.
It is a dark moment when the sense of that person-
aHty is lost ; more terrible than the doubt of immor-
tality. For, of the two, — eternity without a personal
God, or God for seventy years without immortality, —
no one after David's heart would hesitate : " Give me
God for life, to know and be known by Him." No
thought is more hideous than that of an eternity with-
out Him. " My soul is athirst for God." The desire
of immortality is second to the desire for God.
3. The taunts of scoffers. " As the hart panteth
after the water-brooks, so panteth my soul after thee,
God." Now, the hart here spoken of is the hart
hunted, at bay, the big tears rolling from his eyes,
and the moisture standing black upon his side. Let
us see what the persecution was. " Where is now thy
God ?" — ver. 3. This is ever the way in religious per-
plexity : the unsympathizing world taunts or misunder-
stands. In spiritual grief, they ask, Why is he not like
others ? In bereavement, they call your deep sorrow
unbelief. In misfortune, they comfort you, like Job's
friends, by calling it a visitation. Or, like the barbari-
ans at Melita, when the viper fastened on Paul's hand,
no doubt they call you an infidel, though your soul be
crying after God. Specially in that dark and awful
hour, " Eloi, Eloi," He called on God ; they said, " Let
be ; let us see whether Elias will come to save Him."
Now, this is sharp to bear. It is easy to say Chris-
tian fortitude should be superior to it. But in dark-
ness to have no sympathy — when the soul gropes for
God, to have the hand of man relax its grasp ? For-
estrflies, small as they are, drive the noble war-horse
18
146 EELIGIODS DEPEESSION.
mad ; therefore, David says, " as a sword in my bones "
(ver. 10). Now, observe, this feeling of forsakenness
is no proof of being forsaken. Mourning after au
absent God is an evidence of love as strong as rejoic-
ing in a present one. Nay, further, a man may be
more decisively the servant of God and goodness
while doubting His existence, and in the anguish of his
80ul crying for light, than while resting in a common
creed, and coldly serving Him. There has been one,
at least, whose apparent forsakenness, and whose seem-
ing doubt, bears the stamp of the majesty of Faith.
" My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me ? "
II. David's consolation.
1. And first, in hope (see ver. 5) ; distinguish
between the feelings of faith that God is present, and
the Jiope of faith that He will be so.
There are times when a dense cloud veils the sun-
light ; you cannot see the sun, nor feel him. Sensitive
temperaments feel depression, and that unaccountably
and irresistibly. No effort can make you feel. Then
you hope. Behind the cloud the sun is ; from thence
he will come ; the day drags through, the darkest and
longest night ends at last. Thus we bear the darkness
and the otherwise intolerable cold, and many a sleep-
less night. It does not shine now, but it will. So, too,
spiritually.
There are hours in which physical derangement
darkens the windows of the soul ; days in which shat-
tered nerves make life simply endurance ; months and
years in which intellectual difficulties, pressing for
solution, shut out God. Then faith must be replaced
by hope. " What I do thou knowest not now ; but
RELIGIOUS DEPRESSION. 147
thou shalt know hereafter." Clouds and darkness are
round about Him ; hut Righteousness and Truth are
the habitation of His throne. " My soul, hope thou
in God ; for I shall yet praise Him, who is the health
of my countenance and my God."
2. This hope was in God.
The mistake we make is to look for a source of com-
fort in ourselves : self-contemplation, instead of gazing
upon God. In other words, we look for comfort pre-
cisely where comfort never can be.
For, first, it is impossible to derive consolation from
our own feelings, because of their mutability : to-day
we are well, and our spiritual experience, partaking of
these circumstances, is bright; but to-morrow somo
outward circumstances change, — the sun does not
shine, or the wind is chill, — and we are low, gloomy,
and sad. Then, if our hopes were unreasonably ele-
vated, they will now be unreasonably depressed ; and
so our experience becomes flux and reflux, ebb and
flow, like the sea, that emblem of instability.
Next, it is impossible to get comfort from our own
acts ; for, though acts are the test of character, yet in
a low state no man can judge justly of his own acts.
They assume a darkness of hue which is reflected on
them by the eye that contemplates them. It would be
well for all men to remember that sinners cannot judge
of sin, — least of all can we estimate our own sin.
Besides, we lose time in remorse. I have sinned. —
Well — by the grace of God I must endeavor to do
better for the future. But if I mourn for it overmuch,
all to-day, refusing to bo comforted, to-morrow I shall
have to mourn the wasted to-day ; and that again will
be the subject of another fit of remorse.
148 RELIGIOUS DEPRESSION.
In the wilderness, had the children of Israel, instead
of gazing on the serpent, looked down on their own
wounds, to watch the process of the granulation of
the flesh, and see how deep the wound was, and
whether it was healing slowly or fast, cure would have
been impossible : their only chance was to look off the
wounds. Just so, when, giving up this hopeless and
sickening work of sell- inspection, and turning from
ourselves in Christian self-oblivion, we gaze on God,
then first the chance of consolation dawns. •
He is not affected by our mutability ; our changes
do not alter Him. When we are restless. He remains
serene and calm ; when we are low, selfish, mean, or
dispirited. He is still the unalterable I AM — the same
yesterday, to-day, and forever, in whom is no variable-
ness, neither shadow of turning. What God is in
Himself — not what we may chance to feel Him in this
or that moment to be — that is our hope. " My soul,
hope thou in God"
X.
[Preached April 6, 1851.]
FAITH OF THE CENTURION.
Matt. viii. 10. — '* When Jesus heard it, he marvelled, and said to them
that followed. Verily I say unto you, I have not found so great faith,
no, not in Israel."
That upon which the Son of God fastened as wor-
thy of admiration was not the centurion's benevolence,
nor his perseverance, but his faith. And so speaks
the whole New Testament, giving a special dignity to
faith. By faith we are justified. By faith man re-
moves mountains of difficulty. As the Divinest attri-
bute in the heart of God is Love, and the mightiest,
because the most human, principle in the breast of
man is Faith, Love is heaven, Faith is that which
appropriates heaven.
Faith is a theological term, rarely used in other
matters. Hence its meaning is obscured. But faith
is no strange, new, peculiar power, supernaturally
infused by Christianity ; but the same principle by
which we live from day to day — one of the common-
est in our daily life.
We trust our senses; and that though they often
deceive us. We trust men ; a battle" must often be
risked on the intelligence of a spy. A merchant com-
13* (149)
150 FAITH OF THE CENTURION.
mits his sliips, with all his fortunes on board, to a hired
captain, whose temptations are enormous. Without
this principle society could not hold together for a day.
It would be a sand-heap.
Such, too, is religious faith. "We trust on probabili-
ties ; and this though probabilities often are against
us. We cannot prove God's existence. The balance
of probabilities, scientifically speaking, are nearly
equal for a living Person or a lifeless Cause ; Immor-
tality, &c., in the same way. But Faith throws its
own convictions into the scale, and decides the pre-
ponderance.
Faith, then, is that which, when probabilities are
equal, ventures on God's side and on the side of right,
on the guarantee of a something within which makes
the thing seem true because loved.
So defined by St. Paul : " Faith is the substance of
things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen." The
hope is the ground.
I. The faith which was commended.
II. The causes of the commendation.
I. The faith which was commended.
1. Evidence of its existence : his tenderness to his
servant.
Of course this good act might have existed separate
from religion. Romans were benevolent to their do-
mestics ages before this law had been enacted regu-
lating the relationship between patron and client.
But we are forbidden to view it so, when we remem-
ber that he was a proselyte. Morality is not religion,
Imt it is ennobled and made more delicate by religion.
How ? By instinct you may be kind to dependants.
FAITH OF THE CENTUEION. 151
But, if it be only by instinct, it is but the same kind
of tenderness you show to your hound or horse. Dis-
behef in God. and Right, and Immortahty, degrades
the man you are kind to, to the level of the beast you
feel for. Both are mortal, and for both your kindness
is finite and poor.
But the moment Faith comes, dealing as it does with
things infinite, it throws something of its own infini-
tude on the persons loved by the man of faith, upon
his affections and his acts, — it raises them.
Consequently you find the centurion " building Syn-
agogues," " caring for our (that is, the Jewish) nation,"
as the Repository of the Truth, — tending his ser-
vants. And this last, observe, approximated his moral
goodness to the Christian standard ; for therein does
Christianity difier from mere religiousness, that it is
not a worship of the high, but a lifting up of the low,
— not hero-worship, but Divine condescension.
Thus, then, was his kindliness an evidence of hia
faith.
2, His humility : " Lord, I am not worthy that Thou
shouldest come under my roof"
Now, Christ does not call this humility, though it
was humility. He says, I have not found so great
faith. Let us see why. How is humbleness the result
of, or rather identical with. Faith?
Faith is trust. Trust is dependence on another, — •
the spirit which is opposite to independence, or trust
in self Hence, where the spirit of proud independ-
ence is, faith is not.
Now, observe how this differs from our ordinary and
modern modes of thinking. The first thing taught a
young man is that he must be independent. Quito
152 FAITH OF THE CENTUEION.
right, in the Christian sense of the word, to owe no
man anything ; to resolve to get his own hving, and
not be beholden to charity, which fosters idleness ; to
depend on his own exertions, and not on patronage or
connection. But what is commonly meant by inde-
pendence is to rejoice at being bound by no ties to
other human beings ; to owe no allegiance to any will
except our own ; to be isolated and unconnected by
any feeling of intercommunion or dependence ; a spirit
whose very life is jealousy and suspicion; which in
politics is revolutionism, and in religion atheism. This
is the opposite of Christianity, and the opposite of the
Christian freedom whose name it usurps. For true
freedom is to be emancipated from all false lords, in
order to owe allegiance to all true lords ; to be "free
from the slavery of all lusts, so as voluntarily to serve
God and Right. Faith alone frees.
And this was the freedom of the Centurion — that
he chose his master. He was not fawning on the Em-
peror at Rome ; nor courting the immoral ruler at Cces-
area, who had titles and places to give away ; but he
bent in lowliest homage of heart before the Holy One.
His freedom was the freedom of uncoerced and vol-
untary dependence, — the fi-eedom and humility of
Faith.
3. His belief in an invisible, living will. "Speak
the word only." Remark how different this is from a
reliance on the influence of the senses. He asked not
the presence of Christ, but simply an exertion of his
will. He looked not, hke a physician, to the operation
of unerring laws, or the result of the contact of mat-
ter with matter. He believed in Him who is the Life
indeed. He felt that the Cause of Causes is a Person.
FAITH OF THE CENTURION. 153
Hence he could trust the living Will out of sight.
This is the highest form of faith.
Here, however, I observe :
The Centurion learned this through his own profes-
sion. " I am a man under authority, having soldiers
under me." The argument ran thus : I, by the com-
mand of will, obtain the obedience of my dependants ;
thcu, by will, the obedience of thine ; sickness and
health are thy servants.
Evidently he looked upon this universe with a sol-
dier's eye ; he could not look otherwise. To him this
world was a mighty camp of Living Forces in which
authority was paramount. Trained in obedience to
military law, accustomed to render prompt submission
to those above him, and to exact it from those below
him, he read Law everywhere ; and law to him meant
nothing, unless it meant the expression of a Personal
Will. It was this training through which Faith took
its form.
The Apostle Paul tells us that the invisible things of
God from the Creation of the world are clearly seen ;
and, we may add, from every part of the creation of
the world, " The heavens declare the glory of God ; "
but so also does the buttercup and the raindrop.
The invisible things of God from life are clearly
seen; and, we may add, from every department of life.
There is no profession, no trade, no human occu-
pation, which does not in its own way educate for
God.
The soldier, through Law, read a personal will ; and
he might, from the same profession, in the unity of ah
army, made a living and organized unity by the vari-
ety of its parts, have read the principle of God's and
154 FAITH OF THE CENTUEION.
the Church's unity, through the opportunities that pro-
fession affords for self-contrjol, for generous deeds.
"When the Gospel was first announced on earth, it was
proclaimed to the shepherds and Magians in a manner
appropriate to their modes of life.
Shepherds, like sailors, are accustomed to hear a
supernatural Power in the sounds of the air, in tne
moaning of the night-winds, in the sighing of the
storm ; to see a more than mortal life in the clouds
that wreathe around the headland. Such men, brought
up among the sights and sounds of nature, are pro-
verbially superstitious. No wonder, therefore, that
the intimation came to them, as it were, on the winds
in the melodies of the air : " a multitude of the heav-
enly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in
the highest, and on earth peace, good-will toward
men."
But the Magians, being astrologers, accustomed to
read the secrets of Life and Death in the clear starlit
skies of Persia, are conducted by a meteor.
Each in his own way ; each in his own profession ;
each through that little spot of the universe given to
him. For not only is God everywhere, but all of God
is in every point. Not His wisdom here, and His good-
ness there; the whole truth may be read, if we had
ej^es, and heart, and time enough, in the laws of a
daisy's growth. God's Beauty, His Love, His LTnity ;
nay, if you observe how each atom exists, not for itself
alone, but for the sake of every other atom in the uni-
verse, in that atom or daisy you may read the law of
the Cross itself The crawling of a beetle before now
has taught perseverance, and led to a crown. The
little moss, brought close to a traveller's eye in an
FAITH OF THE CENTURION. 155
African desert, who had lain down to die, roused him
to faith in that Love whitjh had so curiously arranged
the minute fibres of a thing so small, to be seen once
and but once by a human eye, and carried him, like
Elijah of old, in the strength of that heavenly repast,
a journey of forty days and forty nights to the sources
of the Nile ; yet who could have suspected divinity in
a jeetle, or theology in a moss ?
II. The causes of the astonishment.
The reasons why he marvelled may be reduced un-
der two heads.
1. The Centurion was a Gentile; therefore unlikely
to know revealed truth.
2. A soldier, and therefore exposed to recklessness,
and idleness, and sensuality, which are the temptations
of that profession. But he turned his loss to glorious
gain.
The Saviour's comment, therefore, contained the
advantage of disadvantages, and the disadvantages of
advantages. The former, " Many shall come from the
east and the west, and shall sit down with Abraham,
and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven." The
latter, " The children of the kingdom shall be cast out
into outer darkness ; there shall be weeping and gnash-
ing of teeth."
There are spirits which are crushed by difficulties ;
others would gain strength from them. The greatest
men have been those who have cut their way to success
through difficulties. And such have been the greatest
triumphs of art and science ; such too of religion.
Moses, Elijah, Abraham, the Baptist, the giants of both
Testaments, were not men nurtured in the hothouse of
156 FAITH OF THE CENTUEIOlN.
religious advantages. Many a man would have done
good if be had not a superabundance of the means of
doing it. Many a spiritual giant is buried under moun-
tains of gold.
Understand, therefore, the real amount of advantage
which there is in religious privileges. Necessary,
especially for the feeble, as crutches are necessary ;
but, like crutches, they often enfeeble the strong. For
every advantage which facilitates performance and
supersedes toil, a corresponding price is paid in loss.
Civilization gives us telescopes and microscopes ; but
it takes away the unerring acuteness with which the
savage reads the track of man and beast upon the
ground at his feet ; it gives us scientific surgery, and
impairs the health which made surgery superfluous.
So, ask you where the place of religious might is ?
Not^ the place of religious privileges, — not where
prayers are daily, and sacraments monthly, — not
where sermons are so abundant as to pall upon the
pampered taste ; but on the hill-side with the Cove-
nanter ; in the wilderness with John the Baptist ; in
our own dependencies where the liturgy is rarely
heard, and Christian friends meet at the end of months ;
there, amidst manifold disadvantages, when the soul is
thrown upon itself, a few kindred spirits, and God,
grow up those heroes of faith, like the Centurion,
whose firm conviction wins admiration even from the
Son of God Himself
Lastly, See how this incident testifies to the perfect
Humanity of Christ, The Saviour " marvelled ; " that
wonder was no fictitious semblance of admiration.
It was real genuine wonder. He had not expected to
find such faith. The Son of God increased in wisdom
FAITH OF THE CENTURION. 157
as well as stature. He knew more at thirty than at
twenty. There were things He knew at twenty which
He had not known before. In the last year of His life,
He went to the fig-tree expecting to find fruit, and was
disappointed. In all matters of Eternal truth — prin-
ciples, which are not measured by more or less true —
His knowledge was absolute ; but it would seem that
in matters of earthly fact, which are modified by time
and space, His knowledge was like ours, more or less
dependent upon experience.
Now, we forget this, — we are shocked at the thought
of the partial ignorance of Christ, as if it were irrev-
erence to think it ; we shrink from believing that He
really felt the force of temptation, or that the For-
sakenness on the Cross and the momentary doubt have
parallels in our human life. In other word.s, we make
that Divine Life a mere mimic representation of griefs
that were not real, and surprises that were feigned,
and sorrows that were theatrical.
But thus we lose the Saviour. For it is well to
know that He was Divine ; still, if we loae that truth,
we should still have a God in heaven. But if there
has been on this earth no real, perfect human life, no
Love that never cooled, no Faith that never failed,
which may shine as a loadstar across the darkness of
our experience, a Light to light amidst all convictions
of our own meanness and all suspicions of others' little-
ness, — why, we may have a Religion, but we have not
a Christianity. For, if we lose Him as a Brother, we
cannot feel Him as a Saviour.
U
XI.
[Preached July 27, 1851.]
THE RESTORATION OF THE ERRING.
Gal. vi. 1, 2. — " Brethren, if a man be overtaken in a fault, ye which
are spiritual restore such an one in the spirit of meekness ; consid-
ering thyself, lest thou also be tempted. Bear ye one another's bur-
dens, and so fulfil the law of Christ."
It would be a blessed thing for our Christian
society if we could contemplate sin from the same
point of view from which Christ and His apostles
saw it. But in this matter society is ever oscillat-
ing between two extremes — undue laxity and undue
severity.
In one age of the Church, — the days of Donatism,
for instance, — men refuse the grace of repentance to
those who have erred; holding that baptismal privi-
leges once forfeited cannot be got back — that for a
single distinct lapse there is no restoration.
In another age, the Church, having found out its
error, and discovered the danger of setting up an
impossible standard, begins to confer periodical absolu-
tions and plenary indulgences, until sin, easily forgiven,
is as easily committed.
And so too with societies and legislatures. In one
period puritanism is dominant, and morals severe.
(158)
THE RESTORATION OF THE ERRING. 159
There are no small faults. The statute-book is defiled
with the red mark of blood, set opposite innumerable
misdemeanors. In an age still earlier, the destruc-
tioti of a wild animal is punished like the murder
of a man. Then, in another period, we have such a
medley of sentiments and sickliness that we have lost
al our bearings, and cannot tell what is vice and what
is goodness. Charity and toleration degenerate into
that feeble dreaminess which refuses to be roused by
stern views of life.
This contrast, too, may exist in the same age,
nay, in the same individual. One man gifted with
talent, or privileged by rank, outrages all decency :
the world smiles, calls it eccentricity, forgives, and
is very merciful and tolerant. Then, some one, un-
shielded by these advantages, indorsed neither by
wealth nor birth, sins, — not to one-tenth, nor one ten-
thousandth part of the same extent : society is seized
with a virtuous indignation ■ — rises up in wrath —
asks what is to become of the morals of the com-
munity if these things are committed; and protects
its proprietors by a rigorous exclusion of the offender,
cutting off the bridge behind him against his return
forever.
Now, the Divine Character of the New Testament,
is shown in nothing more signally than in the stable
ground from which it views this matter, in compari-
son with the shifting and uncertain standing-point
from whence the world sees it. It says, never retract-
ing nor bating, " The wages of sin is death." It
speaks sternly, with no weak sentiment, " Go and sin
no more, lest a worse thing happen unto thee." But,
then it accepts every excuse, admits every palliation j
160 THE RESTORATION OF THE ERRING.
looks uf on this world of temptation and these frail
human hearts of ours, not from the cell of a monk, or
the study of a recluse, but in a large, real way ; accepts
the existence of sin as a fact, without affecting to "be
shocked or startled; assumes that it must needs be
that offences come, and deals with them in a large,
noble way, as the results of a disease which must be
met, should be cured, and can.
I. The Christian view of other men's sins.
II. The Christian power of restoration.
1. The first thing noticeable in the apostle's view of
sin is, that he looks upon it as if it might be sometimes
the result of a surprise — " If a man be overtaken in
a fault." In the original, anticipated, taken suddenly
in front. As if circumstances had been beforehand
with the man ; as if sin, supposed to be left far behind,
had on a sudden got in front, tripped him up, or led
him into ambush.
All sins are not of this character. There are some
which are in accordance with the general bent of our
disposition ; and the opportunity of committing them
was only the first occasion for manifesting what was
in the heart ; so that, if they had not been committed
then, they probably would or must have been at some
oiher time, and looking back to them we have no right
tc lay the blame on circumstances, — we are to accept
the penalty as a severe warning meant to show what
was in our hearts.
There are other sins, of a different character. It
seems as if it were not in us to commit them. They
were, so to speak, unnatural to us. You were goin^
quietly on your way, thinking no evil : suddenly tempt
THE RESTORATION OP THE ERRING. 161
ation, for which you were not prepared, presented
itself, and, before you knew where you were, you were
in the dust, fallen.
As, for instance, when a question is suddenly put to
a man which never ought to have been put, touching
a secret of his own or another's. Had he the pres-
ence of mind or adroitness, he might turn it aside, or
refuse to reply. But, being unprepared and accosted
suddenly, he says hastily that which is irreconcilable
with strict truth ; then, to substantiate and make it
look probable, misrepresents or invents something else;
and so he has woven round himself a mesh which will
entangle his conscience through many a weary day and
many a sleepless night.
It is shocking, doubtless, to allow ourselves even to
admit that this is possible ; yet no one knowing human
nature from men, and not from books, will deny that
this might befall even a brave and true man. St. Peter
was both ; yet this was his history. In a crowd, sud-
denly, the question was put directly. — "This man also
was with Jesus of Nazareth." Then a prevarication — •
a lie ; and yet another. This was a sin of surprise. He
was overtaken in a fault.
Every one of us admits the truth of this in his own
case. Looking back to past life, he feels that the
errors which have most terribly determined his des-
tiny were the result of mistake. Inexperience, a hasty
promise, excess of trust, incaution, nay, even a gener-
ous devotion, have been fearfully, and, as it seems
to us, inadequately chastised. There may be some
undue tenderness to ourselves when we thus palhate
the past ; still, a great part of such extenuation is only
justice.
14*
1()2 THE RESTORATION OP THE ERRING.
Now the Bible simply requires that we should
judge others by the same rule by which we judge
ourselves. The law of Christ demands that what we
J lead in our own case, we should admit in the case of
others. Believe that in this or that case, which you
judge so harshly, the heart in its deeps did not con-
sent to sin, nor by preference love what is hateful ;
simply admit that such an one may have been over-
taken in a fault. This is the large law of Charity.
1. Again, the apostle considers fault as that which
has left a burden on the erring spirit. " Bear ye one
another's burdens."
For we cannot say to the laws of God, I was over-
taken. We live under stern and unrelenting laws,
which permit no excuse and never hear of a surprise.
They never send a man who has failed once back to
try a second chance. There is no room for a mistake.-
You play against them for your life, and they exact
the penalty inexorably : " Every man must bear his
own burden." Every law has its own appropriate
penalty ; and the wonder of it is that often the sever-
est penalty seems set against the smallest transgres-
sion ; we suffer more for our vices than our crimes ;
we pay dearer for our imprudences than even for our
deliberate wickedness.
Let us examine this a little more closely. One bur-
den laid on fault is that chain of entanglement which
seems to drag down to fresh sins. One step necessi-
tates many others. One fault leads to another; and
crime to crime. The soul gravitates downward
beneath its burden. It was profound knowledge
indeed which prophetically refused to limit Peter's
THE EESTORATION OP THE ERRING. 163
sin to once. " Yerily I say unto thee .... thou shalt
deny Me thrice."
We will try to describe that sense of burden. A
fault has the power sometimes of distorting life till all
seems hideous and unnatural. A man who has left his
proper nature, and seems compelled to say and do
things unnatural and in false show, who has thus
become untrue to himself, — to him life and the whole .
universe becomes untrue. He can grasp nothing, he
does not stand on fact, — he is living as in a dream, — ■
himself a dream. All is ghastly, unreal, spectral. A
burden is on him as of a nightmare. He moves about
in nothingness and shadows as if he were not. His
own existence swiftly passing might seem a phantom
life, were it not for the corroding pang of anguish in
his soul ; for that, at least, is real !
2. Add to this, the burden of the heart weighing on
itself.
It has been truly said that the human heart is like
the millstone, which, if there be wheat beneath it, will
grind to purposes of health ; if not, will grind still, at
the will of the wild wind, but on itself So does the
heart wear out itself against its own thought. One
fixed idea, — one remembrance, and no other, — one
stationary, wearing anguish. This is remorse, passing
into despair; itself the goad to fresh and wilder
crimes.
The worst of such a burden is, that it keeps down
the soul from good.
Many an ethereal spirit, which might have climbed
the heights of holiness, and breathed the rare and
difficult air of the mountain-top, where the heavenliest
spirituality alone can live, is weighed down by such
164: THE RESTORATION OF THE ERRING.
a burden to the level of the lowest. If you know
such an one, mark his history, — without restoration;
his career is done. That soul will not grow hence-
forth.
3. The burden of a secret.
Some here know the weight of an uncommunicated
sin. They know how it lies like ice upon the heart.
They know how dreadful a thing the sense of hypoc-
risy is ; the knowledge of inward depravity, while all
without looks pure as snow to men.
How heavy this weight may be, we gather from
these indications. First, from this strange psychologi-
cal fact : A man with a guilty secret will tell out the
tale of his crimes as under the personality of another j
a mysterious necessity seems to force him to give it
utterance. As in the old fable of him who breathed
out his weighty secret to the reeds: a remarkable
instance of this is afforded in the case of that mur-
derer, who, from the richness of his gifts and the
enormity of his crime, is almost a historical personage,
who, having become a teacher of youth, was in the
habit of narrating to his pupils the anecdote of his
crime, with all the circumstantial particularity of fact ;
but, all the while, under the guise of a pretended
dream. Such men tread forever on the very verge
of a confession ; they seem to take a fearful pleasure
in talking of the guilt, — as if the heart could not bear
its own burden, but must give it outness.
Again, it is evidenced by the attempt to get relief
in profuse and general acknowledgments of guilt.
They adopt the language of religion ; they call them-
selves vile dust and miserable sinners. The world
takes generally what they mean particularly. But
THE RESTOEATION OF THE BERING. 165
they get no relief — they only deceive themselves ; for
they have turned the truth itself into a falsehood,
using true words which they know convey a false im-
pression, and getting praiso for humility instead of
punishment for guilt. They have used all the effort,
and suffered all the pang, which it would have cost
them to got real relief; and they have not got it, and
ihe burden unacknowledged remains a burden still.
The third indication we have of the heaviness of
this burden is the commonness of the longing for con-
fession. None but a minister of the Gospel can esti-
mate this ; he only, who, looking round his congrega-
tion, can point to person after person whose wild tale
of guilt or sorrow he is cognizant of; who can remem-
ber how often similar griefs were trembling upon lips
which did not unburden themselves ; whose heart,
being the receptacle of the anguish of many, can
judge what is in human hearts; — he alone can estimate
how much there is of sin and crime lying with the
weight and agony of concealment on the spirits of our
brethren.
Burden 4. — An intuitive consciousness of the hid-
den sins of others' hearts.
To two states of soul it is given to detect the pres-
ence of evil; 8t<ites the opposite of each other —
innocence and guilt.
It was predicted of the Saviour while yet a child,
that by Him the thoughts of many hearts should be
revealed. The fulfilment of this was the history of his
life. He went through the world, by His innate
purity, detecting the presence of evil, as He detected
the touch of her who touched His garment in the
crowd.
166 THE RESTOEATION OP THE ERRING.
Men, supposed spotless before, fell down before nim,
crying, " Depart from me, for I am a sinful man,
Lord ! " This in a lower degree is true all innocence.
You would think that one who can deeply read the
human heart and track its windings must be him
Belf deeply experienced in evil. But it is not so ; at
least, not always. Purity can detect the presence of
the evil which it does not understand, just as the dove,
which has never seen a hawk, trembles at its pres-
ence ; and just as a horse rears uneasily when the wild
beast unknown and new is near, so innocence under-
stands, yet understands not the meaning of the unholy
look, the guilty tone, the sinful manner. It shudders
and shrinks from it, by a power given to it like that
which God has conferred on the unreasoning mimosa.
Sin gives the same power ; but differently. Innocence
apprehends the approach of evil, by the instinctive tact
of contrast; guilt, by the instinctive consciousness
of similarity. It is the profound truth contained in
the history of the Fall. The eyes are opened ; the
knowledge of good and evil has come. The soul
knows its own nakedness ; but it knows also the naked-
ness of all other souls which have sinned after the
similitude of its own sin.
Very marvellous is that test-power of guilt ; it is vain
1o think of eluding its fine capacity of penetration.
Intimations of evil are perceived and noted, when to
other eyes aU seems pure. The dropping of an eye,
the shunning of a subject, the tremulousness of a
tone, the peculiarity of a subterfuge, will tell the
tale. These are tendencies like mine, and there is a
spirit conscious as my own is conscious.
This dreadful burden the Scriptures call the know!-
THE EESTORATION OF THE ERRING. 167
edge of good and evil. Can we not all remember the
salient sense of happiness which we had when all
was innocent — when crime was the tale of some far
distant hemisphere, and the guilt we heard of was not
suspected in the hearts of the beings around us ? And
can we not recollect, too, how by our own sin, or the
cognizance of others' sin, there came a something
which hung the heavens with shame and guilt, and
all around seemed laden with evil ? This is the worst
burden that comes from transgression : loss of faith in
human goodness ; the being sentenced to go through
life haunted with a presence from which we cannot
escape ; the presence of Evil in the hearts of all that
we approach.
II. The Christian power of restoration : " Ye which
are spiritual, restore such an one."
First, then, restoration is possible. That is a Chris-
tian fact. Moralists have taught us what sin is ; they
have explained how it twines itself into habit; they
have shown us its inelFaceable character. It was
reserved for Christianity to speak of restoration.
Christ, and Christ only, has revealed that he who has
erred may be restored, and made pure and clean and
whole again.
Next, however, observe that this restoration is ac-
complished by men. Causatively, of course, and im-
mediately, restoration is the work of Christ and of
God the Spirit. Mediately and instrumentally, it is
the work of men. " Brethren, .... restore such an
one." God has given to man the power of elevating
his brother-man. He has conferred on His Church
the power of the keys to bind and loose. " Whoseso-.
168 THE RESTORATION OP THE ERRING.
ever sins ye remit, they are remitted ; and whosesoever
sins ye retain, they are retained." It is, therefore, in
the power of man, by his conduct, to restore his
brother, or to hinder his restoration. He may loose
him from his sins, or retain their power upon his
soul.
Now, the words of the text confine us to two modes
in which this is done : by sympathy, and by forgive-
ness. " Bear ye one another's burdens."
1. Sympathy. We Protestants have one unvarying
sneer ready for the system of the Romish confessional.
They confess, we say, for the sake of absolution, that
absolved they may sin again. A shallow, superficial
sneer, as all sneers are. In that craving of the heart
which gives the system of the Confessional its dan-
gerous power, there is something far more profound
than any sneer can fathom. It is not the desire to
sin again that makes men long to unburden their
consciences ; but it is the yearning to be true, which
lies at the bottom even of the most depraved hearts,
— to appear what they are, and to lead a false life no
longer ; and, besides, the desire of sympathy. For
this comes out of that dreadful sense of loneliness
which is the result of sinning : the heart severed from
God feels severed from all other hearts ; goes alone,
as if it had neither part nor lot with other men, itself
a shadow among shadows. And its craving is for s}Tn-
pathy ; it wants some human heart to know what it
feels. Thousands upon thousands of laden hearts
around us are crying. Come and bear my burden with
me ; and observe here, the apostle says, " Bear ye one
another's burdens." Nor let the priest bear the bur-
dens of all : that were most unjust. Why should the
THE RESTORATION OF THE -ERRING. 169
priest's heart be the couimon receptacle of all the
crimes and wickedness of a congregation ? " Bear ye
one another''s burdens."
2. By forgivingness. There is a truth in the doc-
trine of absolution. God has given to man the power
to absolve his brother, and so restore him to Himself.
The forgiveness of man is an echo and an earnest of
God's forgiveness. He whom society has restored
realizes the possibility of restoration to God's favor.
Even the mercifulness of one good man sounds like a
voice of pardon from heaven ; just as the power and
the exclusion of men sound like a knell of hopeless-
ness, and do actually bind the sin upon the soul. The
man whom society will not forgive nor restore is
driven into recklessness. This is the true Christian
doctrine of absolution, as expounded ,by the Apostle
Paul, 2 Cor. ii. 7-10. The degrading power of sever-
ity, the restoring power of pardon, vested in the Chris-
tian community, the voice of the minister being but
the voice of them.
Now, then, let us inquire into the Christianity of our
society. Restoration is the essential work of Chris-
tianity. The Gospel is the declaration of God's sym-
pathy and God's pardon. In these two particulars,
then, Avhat is our right to be called a Christian com-
munity ?
Suppose that a man is overtaken in a fault. What
does he or what shall he do ? Shall he retain it un-
acknowledged, and go through life a false man? God
forbid ! Shall he then acknowledge it to his brethren,
that they by sympathy and merciful caution may re-
store him? Well, but is it not certain that it is ex-
actly from those to whom the name of brethren met
15
170 THE RE'sTORATION OF THE ERRING.
peculiarly belongs that he will not receive assistance ?
Can a man in mental doubt go to the members of the
same religious communion, or does he not know that
they precisely are the ones who will frown upon his
doubts, and proclaim' his sins? Or, will a clergyman
unburden his mind to his brethren in the ministry ?
Are they not, in their official rigor, the least capable
of largely understanding him? If a woman be over-
taken in a fault, will shfe tell it to a sister-woman ? Or,
does she not feel, instinctively, that her sister-woman
is ever the most harsh, the most severe, and the most
ferocious judge ?
Well, you sneer at the confessional ; you complain
that mistaken ministers .of the Church of England are
restoring it amongst us. But who are they that are
forcing on the confessional? Who drive laden and
broken hearts to pour out their long pent-up sorrows
into any ear that will receive them ? I say it is we :
we, by our uncharitableness ; we, by our want of sym-
pathy and unmerciful behavior ; we, by the unchris-
tian way in which we break down the bridge behind
the penitent, and say. On, on in sin, — there is no
returning.
Finally, the apostle tells the spirit in which this is to
be done, and assigns a motive for the doing it. The
mode is " in the spirit of meekness." For Satan can-
not cast out Satan ; sin cannot drive out sin. For
instance, my anger cannot drive out another man's
covetousness ; my petulance or sneer cannot expel
another's extravagance. The meekness of Christ alone
has power. The charity which desires another's good-
ness above his well-being — that alone succeeds in the
work of restoration.
THE EESTOKATION OF THE ERRING. 171
The motive is, " considering thyself, lest thou also
be tempted." For sin is the result of inclination, or
weakness, combined with opportunity. It is, there-
fore, in a degree, the offspring of circumstances. Go
to the hulks, the jail, the penitentiary, the penal col-
ony, — statistics wiU ahnost mark out for you before-
hand the classes which have furnished the inmates,
and the exact proportion of the delinquency of each
class. You will not find the wealthy there, nor tlie
noble, nor those guarded by the fences of social life ;
but the poor, and the uneducated, and the frail, and the
defenceless. Can you gravely surmise that this reg-
ular tabulation depends upon the superior virtue of
one class, compared with others ? Or, must you admit
that the majority, at least, of those who have not fallen^
are safe because they were not tempted? Well, then,
when St. Paul says, " considering thyself, lest thou
also be tempted," it is as if he had written : Proud
Pharisee of a man, complacent in thine integrity, who
thankest God that thou art not as other men are, ex-
tortioners, unjust, &c., hast thou gone through the
terrible ordeal, and come off with unscathed virtue ?
Or, art thou ih all these points simply untried ? Proud
Pharisee of a woman, who passest by an erring sister
with a haughty look of conscious superiority, dost
thou know what temptation is, with strong feeling and
mastering opportunity? Shall the rich-cut crystal
which stands on the table of the wealthy man, pro-
tected from dust and injury, boast that it has escaped
the flaws, and the cracks, and the fractures, which the
earthen jar has sustained, exposed and subjected to
rough and general uses ? man or woman ! thou
who wouldst be a Pharisee, consider, 0, " consider thy
eelf, lest thou also be tempted."
XII.
fPreached Christmas Day, 1851.]
CHRIST THE SON.
Heb. i. 1. — •' God, who at sundry times, and in divers manners, spake
in time past unto the fathers by the prophets, hath in these last days
spoken unto us by his Son."
Two critical remarks.
1. " Sundry^ times, " — more literally, sundry por-
tions, sections — not of time, but of the matter of the
revelation. God gave His revelation in parts, piece-
meal, as you teach a child to spell a word, — letter by
letter, syllable by syllable, — adding all at last together.
God had a Word to spell — His own Name. By degrees
He did it. At last it came entire. The Word was
made Flesh.
2. " His Son, " — more correctly, " a Son " — for this
is the very argument. Not that God now spoke by
Christ, but that, whereas once by prophets, now by a
Son. The filial dispensation was the last.
This epistle was addressed to Christians on the
verge of apostasy. See those passages: "It is impos-
sible for those who were once enlightened, and have
tasted of the heavenly gift, and were made partakers
of the Holy Ghost, and have tasted the good word of
God, and the powers of the world to come, if they
shall fall away, to renew them again unto repentance ;
(172)
CHEIST THE SOIT. 173
seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of God
afresh, and put Him to an open shame." — " Cast not
away your confidence." — " We are made partakers of
Christ, if we hold the beginning of our confidence
•steadfast unto the end."
Observe what the danger was. Christianity had
disappointed them, — they had not found in it the rest
they anticipated. They looked back to the Judaism
they had left, and saw a splendid temple-service, a
Kne of priests, a visible temple witnessing of God'a
presence, a religion which was unquestionably fer-
tile in prophets and martyrs. They saw these preten-
sions, and wavered.
But this was all on the eve of dissolution. The Jew-
ish earth and heavens — that is, the Jewish Common-
wealth and Church — were doomed, and about to pass
away. The writer of this epistle felt that their hour
was come, — see chap. xii. 26, 27, — and if their re-
ligion rested on nothing better than this, he knew that
in the crash religion itself would go. To return to
Judaism was to go down to atheism and despair.
Reason alleged — they had contented themselves
with a superficial view of Christianity ; they had not
seen how it was interwoven with all their own history,
and how it alone explained that history.
Therefore in this epistle the writer labors to show
that Christianity was the fulfilment of the Idea latent
in Judaism ; that from the earliest times and in every
institution, it was implied. In the monarchy, in
prophets, in sabbath-days, in psalms, in the priest-
hood, and in temple-services, Christianity lay cou'
cealed ; and the dispensation of a Son was the realiza.
tion of what else was shadows. He, therefore, alone,
16»
174 • CHRIST THE SON.
who adhered to Christ, was the true Jew, and to apos-
tatize from Christianitj was really to apostatize from
true Judaism.
I am to show, then, that the manifestation of God
through a Son was implied, not realized, in the earlier,
dispensation.
" Sundry portions " of this Truth are instanced in
the epistle. The mediatorial dispensation of Moses —
the gift of Canaan — the Sabbath, &c. At present I
select these :
T. The preparatory Dispensation.
II. The filial and final Dispensation.
I. Implied, not fulfilled, in the kingly office. Three
Psalms are quoted, all referring to kingship. In Psalm
2d, it was plain that the true idea of a king was only
fulfilled in one who was a Son of God. The Jewish
king was king only so far as he held from God ; as His
image, the representative of the Fountain of Law and
Majesty.
" To Him God hath said, Thou art my Son, this
day have I begotten Thee."
The 45th Psalm is a bridal hymn, composed on the
marriage of a Jewish king. Startling language is
addressed to him. He is called God, Lord. — " Thy
throne, God, is for ever and ever." The bride is
invited to worship him as it were a God : — " He is thy
Lord, and worship thou him." No one is surprised at
this who remembers that Moses was said to be made a
God to Aaron. Yet it is startling, almost blasphemous,
unless there be a deeper meaning implied — the divine
character of the real king.
In the 110th Psalm a new idea is added. The true
CHRIST THE SON. ITS
king must be a priest. — " Thou art a priest forever,
after the order of Melchizedek." This was addressed
to the Jewish king ; but it implied that the ideal king,
of which he was for the time the representative, more
or less truly, is one who at the same time sustains the
highest religious character and the highest executive
authority.
Again, David was emphatically the type of the
Jewish regal idea. David is scarcely a personage, so
entirely does he pass in Jewish forms of thought into
an ideal Sovereign, — - " the sure mercies of David."
David is the name therefore for the David which was
to be. Now, David was a wanderer, kingly still, ruling
men and gaining adherents by force of inward royalty.
Thus in the Jewish mind the kingly oflSce disengaged
itself from outward pomp and hereditary right, as mere
accidents, and became a personal reality. The king
was an idea.
Further still. The epistle extends this idea to man.
The psalm had ascribed (Ps. viii. 6) kingly qualities and
rule to manhood — rule over the creation. Thus the
idea of a king belonged properly to humanity ; to the
Jewish king, as the representative of humanity.
Yet even in collective humanity the royal character
is not realized. — " We see not," says the epistle, " all
things as yet put under him" — man.
Collect, then, these notions. The true king of men
is a Son of God ; one who is to his fellow-men God
and Lord, as the Jewish bride was to feel her royal
husband to be to her ; one who is a priest ; one who
may be poor and exiled, yet not less royal.
Say, then, whence is this idea fulfilled by Judaism?
To which of the Jewish kings can it be applied, except
176 CHRIST THE SON.
with infinite exaggeration? To David? Why, the
Redeemer shows the insuperable difficulty of this. —
" How, then, doth David in spirit call him," — that is.
the king of whom he was writing, — " Lord, saying. The
Lord said unto my Lord, Sit thou on ray right hand,
until I make thy enemies thy footstool ? "
David, writing of himself, yet speaks there in tho
third person, projecting himself outward as an object
of contemplation, an idea.
Is it fulfilled in the human race ? — " We see not
yet all things put under him." Then the writer goes
on : — " But we see Jesus, who was made a little lower
than the angels for the sufiering of death, crowned with
glory and honor ; that He by the grace of God should
taste death for every man." In Jesus of Nazareth
alone all these fragments, these sundry portions of the
revealed Idea of Royalty, met.
11. Christianity was implied in the race of prophets.
The second class of quotations refer to the prophets'
life and history. (Heb. ii. 11—14.) Psalm xxii. 22 ;
Psalm xviii. 2 ; Isaiah xii. 2 ; Isaiah viii. 18.
Remember what the prophets were. They were not
merely predictors of the future. Nothing destroys
the true conception of the prophets' office more than
those popular books in which their mission is certified
by curious coincidences. For example, if it is pre-
dicted that Babylon shall be a desolation, the haunt
of wild beasts, &c., then some traveller has seen a lion
standing on Birs Nimroud ; or, if the fisherman is to
dry his nets on Tyre, simply expressing its destruction
thereby, the commentator is not easy till he finds that
a net has been actually seen drying on a rock. But
CHRIST THE SON. 177
this is to degrade the prophetic office to a level with
Egyptian palmistry ; to make the prophet like an
astrologer, or a gypsy fortune-teller, — one who can
predict destinies and draw horoscopes. But, in truth,
the first office of the prophet was with the present.
He read Eternal Principles beneath the present and
the transitory ; and in doing this, of course, he proph
esied the future — for a principle true to-day is true for-
ever. But this was, so to speak, an accident of his
office — not its essential feature. If, for instance, he
read in the voluptuousness of Babylon the secret of
Babylon's decay, he also read by anticipation the
doom of Corinth, London, all cities in Babylon's state j
or, if Jerusalem's fall was predicted, in it all such judg-
ment-comings were foreseen ; and the language is true
of the fall of the world, as truly, or more so, than
that of Jerusalem. A philosopher saying in the pres-
ent tense the law by which comets move, predicts all
possible cometary movements.
Now, the prophet's life almost more than his words
was predictive. The writer of the epistle lays down
a great principle respecting the prophet (ii. 11): —
" Both he that sanctifieth and they who are sanctified
•^-re all of one." It was the very condition of his inspi-
ration that he should be one with the people. So far
from making him superhuman, it made him more man.
He felt with more exquisite sensitiveness all that be-
longs to man, else he could not have been a prophet.
His insight into things was the result of that very
weakness, sensitiveness, and susceptibility, so trem-
blingly alive. He burned with their thoughts, and
expressed them. He was obliged by the very sensi-
tiveness of his humanity to have a more entire
178 CHRIST THE SON.
dependence and a more perfect sympathy than othef
men. The sanctifying prophet was one with those
whom he sanctified. Hence he uses those expressions
quoted from Isaiah and the Psalms above.
He was more man, just because more divine, —
more a son of man, because more a Son of God. He
was pecuharly the suffering Israelite ; his counte-
nance marred more than the sons of men. Hence, we
are told the prophets searched " what, or what manner
of time, the Spirit of Christ which was in them did
signify, when it testified beforehand the suflferings
of Christ, and the glory that should follow." (1 Peter
Observe, it was a spirit in them, their own lives wit-
nessing mysteriously of what the Perfect Humanity
must be suffering.
Thus, especially, Isaiah liii., spoken originally of the
Jewish nation ; of the prophet as peculiarly the Israel-
ite ; no wonder the eunuch asked Philip, in perplexity,
" Of whom doth the prophet say this? — of himself, or
some other man ? " The truth is, he said it of himself,
but prophetically of humanity ; true of him, most true
of the Highest Humanity.
Here, then, was a new " portion " of the revelation.
The prophet rebuked the king, often opposed the
priest, but was one with the people. " He that sane-
tifieth and they who are sanctified are all of one.''
If, then. One had come claiming to be the Prophet
of the Race, and was a Sufferer, claiming to be the Son
of God, and yet peculiarly man ; the son of man ; the
son of man just because the Son of God ; more Divine
because more human; — then this was only what the
whole race of Jewish prophets should have prepared
CHRIST THE SON. 179
them for. God had spoken by the prophets. That
God had now spoken by a Son in whom the idea of
the True prophet was reaHzed in its entireness.
III. The Priesthood continued this idea latent. The
writer saw three elements in the priestly idea. 1. That
he should be ordained for men in things pertaining to
God. 2. That he should offer gifts and sacrifices.
3. That he should be called by God, not be a mere self-
assertor.
1. Ordained for men. Remark here the true idea
contained in Judaism, and its difference from the
Heathen notions. In Heathenism the priest was of a
different Race ; separate from his fellows. In Judaism
he was ordained for men ; their representative ; con-
stituted in their behalf The Jewish priest represented
the holiness of the nation ; he went into the holy of
holies, showing it. But this great idea was only im-
plied, not fulfilled, in the Jewish priest. He "was only
by a fiction the representative of holiness. Holy he
was not. He only entered into a fictitious holy of
holies. If the idea were to be ever real, it must be in
One who should be actually what the Jewish priest
was by a figment, and who should carry out humanity
into the real Holy of Holies, — the presence of God ;
thus becoming our invisible and Eternal Priest.
Next, it was implied that his call must be Divine.
But (in the 110th Psalm) a higher call is intimated
than that Divine call which was made to the Aaronic
priesthood by a regular succession, or, as it is called
in the epistle, " the law of a carnal commandment."
Melchizedeck's call is spoken of The king is called a
priest after his order. Not a derived or hereditary
180 ■ CHRIST THE SON.
priesthood ; not one transmissible, beginning and end-
ing in himself, — Heb. vii. 1 to 3. A priesthood, in
other words, of character, of inward right; a call in-
ternal, hence more Divine ; or, as the writer calls it, a
priest "after the power of an endless life." This was
the Idea for which the Jewish psalms themselves ought
to have prepared the Jew.
2. Again, the priests oflFered gifts and sacrifices.
Distinguish. Gifts were thank-ofi"e rings ; first-fruits of
harvest, vintage, &c., a man's best ; testimonials of in-
finite gratefulness, and expressions of it. But sacrifices
were dififerent : they implied a sense of unworthiness ;
that sense which conflicts with the idea of any right to
offer gifts.
Now, the Jewish Scriptures themselves had ex-
plained this subject, and this instinctive feeling of
unworthiness for which sacrifice found an expression.
Prophets and Psalmists had felt that no sacrifice was
perfect which did not reach the conscience (Ps. li. 16,
17), for instance; also, Heb. x. 8 to 12. No language
could more clearly show that the spiritual Jew discerned
that entire surrender to the Divine Will is the only per-
fect Sacrifice, the ground of all sacrifices, and that
which alone imparts to it a significance. Not sacrifice
" Then said I, Lo, I come to do Thy will, God."
That is the sacrifice which God wills.
I say it firmly — all other notions of sacrifice are
false. Whatsoever introduces the conception of vin-
dictiveness or retaliation ; whatever speaks of appeas-
ing fury ; whatever estimates the value of the Saviour's
sacrifice by the " penalty paid ; " whatever difi'ers from
these notions of sacrifice contained in psalms and
CHRIST THE SON. 181
prophets, — is borrowed from the bloody shambles of
Heathenism, and not from Jewish altars.
3. This alone makes the worshipper perfect as per-
taining to the conscience. He who can offer it in its
entireness, He alone is the world's Atonement ; He in
whose heart the Law was, and who alone of all man-
kind was content to do it, His Sacrifice alone can be
the Sacrifice all-sufficient in the Father's sight as the
proper Sacrifice of humanity; He who through the
Eternal Spirit offered himself without spot to God, He
alone can give the Spirit which enables us to present
our bodies a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to
God.
He is the only High Priest of the Universe.
16
XIII.
[Preached April 25, 1852.]
WORLDLINESS.
1 John ii. 15-17. — "If any man love the world, the love of the Father
is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and
the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is
of the world. And the world passeth away, and the lust thereof ; but
he that doeth the will of God abideth forever."
Religion differs from morality in the value which it
places on the affections. Morality requires that an act
be done on principle. Religion goes deeper, and
inquires the state of the heart. The Church of Ephe-
sus was unsuspected in her orthodoxy, and unblem-
ished in her zeal ; but to the ear of him who saw the
apocalyptic vision, a voice spake, " I have somewhat
against thee, in that thou hast left thy first love."
In the eye of Christianity he is a Christian who
loves the Father. He who loves the world may be in
his way a good man, respecting whose eternal destiny
we pronounce no opinion ; but one of the Children of
the Kingdom he is not.
Now, the boundary-lines of the love of this world,
or worldliness, are exceedingly difficult to define.
Bigotry pronounces many things wrong which are
harmless ; laxity permits many which are by no means
C182)
WORLDLINESS. 183
innocent ; and it is a question perpetually put, a ques-
tion miserably perplexing to those whose religion
consists more in avoiding that which is wrong than
in seeking that which is right, — what is Worldli-
ness?
To that question we desire to find to-day an answer
in the text ; premising this, that our object is to put
ourselves in possession of principles. For otherwise
we shall only deal with this matter as empirics ; con-
demning this and approving that by opinion, but on
no certain and intelligible ground ; we shall but float
on the unstable sea of opinion.
We confine ourselves to two points.
I. The nature of the forbidden world.
II. The reasons for which it is forbidden.
I. The nature of the forbidden world.
The first idea suggested by " the world " is this
green earth, with its days and nights, its seasons, its
hills and its valleys, its clouds and brightness. This is
not the world the love of which is prohibited ; for, to
forbid the love of this would be to forbid the love of
God.
There are three ways in which "we learn to know
Him. First, by the working of our minds. Love, Jus-
tice, Tenderness — if we would know what they mean
in God, we must gain the conception from their exist-
ence in ourselves. But, inasmuch as humanity is
imperfect in us, if we were to learn of God only from
His image in ourselves, we should run the risk of
calling the evil good, and the imperfect divine. There-
fore, IIu has given us, besides this, the representatioa
of Himself in Christ, where is found the meeting-point
184 WORLDLINESS.
of the Divine and the human, and in whose Life the
character of Deity is reflected as completelj; as the
sun is seen in the depth of the still, untroubled lake.
But there is a third way, still, in which we attain the
idea of God. This world is but manifested Deity, —
God shown to the eye, and ear, and sense. This strange
phenomenon of a world, — what is it? All we know of
it — all we know of matter — is, that it is an assem-
blage of Powers which produce in us certain sensations;
but what those Powers are in themselves we know
not. The sensation of color, form, weight, we have ;
but what it is which gives those sensations, — in the
language of the schools, what is the Substratum which
supports the accidents or qualities of Being, — we
cannot tell. Speculative Philosophy replies, It is but
our own selves becoming conscious of themselves.
We, in our own being, are the cause of all phe-
nomena. Positive Philosophy replies. What the Being
of the world is we cannot tell ; we only know what it
seems to us. Phenomena — appearance — beyond this
we cannot reach. Being itself is, and forever must
be, unknowable. Religion replies. That something is
God. The world is but manifested Deity. That
which lies beneath the surface of all Appearance, the
cause of all Manifestation, is God. So that to f(»rbid
the love of all this world, is to forbid the love of that
by 'uhich God is known to us. The sounds and sights
of this lovely world are but the drapery of the robe
in which the Invisible has clothed Himself. Does a
man ask what this world is, and Avhy man is placed in
it ? It was that the invisible things of Him from the
creation of the world might be clearly seen. Have we
ever stood beneath the solemn vault of heaven, when
WORLDLINESS. 185
the stars were looking down in their silent splendor^
and not felt an overpowering sense of His eternity ?
When the Avhite lightning has quivered in the sky, has
that told us nothing of Power, or only something of
electricity ? Rocks and mountains, are they here to
give us the idea of material massiveness, or to reveal
the conception of the Strength of Israel ? When we
take up the page of past history, and read that wrong
never prospered long, but that nations have drunk, one
after another, the cup of terrible retribution, can we
dismiss all that as the philosophy of history, or shall
we say, that through blood, and war, and desolation,
we trace the footsteps of a presiding God, and find
evidence that there sits at the helm of this world's
affairs a strict, and rigorous, and most terrible justice?
To the eye that can see, to the heart that is not
paralyzed, God is here. The warnings which the
Bible utters against the things of this world bring no
charge against the glorious world itself. The world
is the glass through which we see the Maker. But
what men do is this : they put the dull quicksilver of
their own selfishness behind the glass, and so it be-
comes not the transparent medium through which God
shines, but the dead opaque which reflects back them-
selves. Instead of lying with open eye and heart to
receive, we project ourselves upon the world and give.
So it gives us back our own false feelings and nature.
Therefore it brings forth thorns and thistles. There-
fore it grows weeds, — weeds to us. Therefore the
lightning burns with wrath, and the thunder mutters
vengeance. By all which it comes to pass that the
very Manifestation of God has transformed itself, —
the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eye, and the
1G»
186
WOELDLINESS.
pride of life ; and all that is in the world is no longer
of the Father, but is of the world.
By the world, again, is sometimes meant the men
that are in the world. And thus the command would
run, — Love not men, but love God. It has been so
read. The Pharisees read it so, of old. The property
which natural affection demanded for the support of
parents, upon that they wrote " Corban," — a gift foi
God, — and robbed men that they might give to- God.
Yet no less than this is done whenever human affec-
tion is called idolatry. As if God were jealous of our
love, in the human sense of jealousy. As if we could
love God the more by loving man the less. As if it
were not by loving our brother, whom we have seen,
that we approximate towards the love of God, whom
we have not seen. This is but the cloak for narrow-
ness of heart. Men of withered affections excuse their
lovelessness by talking largely of the affection due to
God. Yet, like the Pharisees, the love on which Cor-
ban is written is never given to God, but really
retained for self
No, let a man love his neighbor as himself Let him
love his brother, sister, wife, with all the intensity of
his heart's affection. This is not St. John's forbidden
world.
Again. By the world is often understood the worldly
occupation, trade, or profession, which a man exercises.
And, accordingly, it is no uncommon thing to hear this
spoken of as something which, if not actually anti-reli-
gious, is, so far as it goes, time taken away from the
religious life. But when the man from whom the
legion had been expelled asked Jesus for the precepts
of a religious existence, the reply sent him back to
WORLDLINESS. 187
home. His former worldliness had consisted in doing
his worldly duties ill, — his future religiousness was to
consist in doing those same duties better. A man's
profession or trade is not only not imcompatible with
religion (provided it be a lawful one) — it is his reH-
gion. And this is true even of those callings which,
at first sight, appear to have in them something hard
to reconcile with religiousness. For instance, the pro-
fession of a lawyer. He is a worldhng in it if he use
it for some personal greed, or degrade it by chicanery.
But, in itself, it is an occupation which sifts' right from
wrong; which, in the entangled web of human life,
unwinds the meshes of error. He is by profession en-
listed on the side of the -Right, — directly connected
with God, the central point of Justice and Truth. A
nobler occupation need no man desire than to be a fel-
low-worker with God. Or, take the soldier's trade, —
in this world generally a trade of blood, and revenge,
and idle licentiousness. Rightly understood, what is
it? A soldier's whole life, whether he will or not, is
an enunciation of the greatest of religious truths, —
the voluntary sacrifice of one for the sake of many.
In the detail of his existence, how abundant are the
opportunities for the voluntary recognition of this,
— opportunities such as that when the three strong
men brake through the lines of the enemy to obtain
the water for their sovereign's thirst ; opportunities as
when that same heroic sovereign poured the untasted
ivater on the ground, and refused to drink because it
was his soldiers' lives — he could not drink at such a
price. Earnestness *in a lawful calling is not worldli-
ness. A profession is the sphere of our activity.
There is something sacred in work. To work in the
188 WORLDLINESS.
appointed sphere is to be religious, — as religious as
to pray. This is not the forbidden world.
Now, to define what worldliness is. Remark, first,
that it is determined by the spirit of a life, not the ob-
jects with which the life is conversant. It is not the
" flesh," nor the " eye," nor " life," which are forbidden,
but it is the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eye,
and the pride of life. It is not this earth, nor the men
who inhabit it, nor the sphere of our legitimate activ-
ity, that we may not love ; but the way in which the
love is given which constitutes worldliness. Look
into this a little closer — the lust of the flesh. Here
is affection for the outward: Pleasure, that which
affects the senses only ; the flesh, that enjoyment
which comes from the emotions of an hour, be it
coarse or be it refined, the pleasure of wine or the
pleasure of music, so far as it is only a movement of
the flesh. Again, the lust of the eye. Here is affec-
tion for the transient ; for the eye can only gaze on
form and color, and these are things that do not last.
Once more : the pride of life. Here is affection for
the unreal. Men's opinion, — the estimate which de-
pends upon Avealth, rank, circumstances. Worldliness,
then, consists in these three things : Attachment to the
Outward, attachment to the Transitory, attachment to
the Unreal ; in opposition to love for the Inward, the
Eternal, the True ; and the one of these affections is
necessarily expelled by the other. " If any man love
the world, the love of the Father is not in him." Bui
iot a man once feel the power of the kingdom that is
within, and then the love fades of that emotion whoso
life consists only in the thriU of a nerve, or the vivid
sensation of a feeling; he loses his happiness, and wina
1
WORLDLINESS. 18^
bfs blessedness. Let a man get but one glimpse of
the King in his beauty, and then the forms and shapes
of things here are but the types of an invisible loveli-
ness — types which he is content should break and
fade. Let but a man feel truth, — that goodness is
greatness — that there is no other greatness, — and
then the degrading reverence with which the titled of
this world bow before wealth, and the ostentation with
which the rich of this world profess their familiarity
with title — all the pride of life, what is it to him? The
love of the Inward, — Everlasting, Real, — the love,
that is, of the Father, — annihilates the love of the world.
11. We pass to the reasons for which the love of the
world is forbidden.
The first reason assigned is, that the love of the
world is incompatible with the love of God. " If any
man love the world, the love of the Father is not in
him." Now, what we observe in this is, that St. John
takes it for granted that we must love something.
If not the love of the Father, then of necessity the
love of the world. Love misplaced, or love rightly
placed, — you have your choice between these two;
you have not your choice between loving God or
nothing. No man is sufficient for himself Every
man must go out of himself for enjoyment. Some-
thing in this universe besides himself there must be
to bind the affections of every man. There is that
within us which compels us to attach ourselves to
something outward. The choice is not this, — Love,
or be without love. You cannot give the pent-up
steam its choice of moving or not moving. It mast
move one way or the other j the right way or the
190 W0RLDLINES9.
wrong way. Direct it rightly, and its energy rolla
the engine-wheels smoothly on their track ; block up
its passage, and it bounds away, a thing of madness
and ruin. Stop it, you cannot ; it will rather burst.
So it is with our hearts. There is a pent-up energy
of love, gigantic for good or evil. Its right way is in
the direction of our Eternal Father ; and then, let it
boil and pant as it will, the course of the man is
smooth. Expel the love of God from the bosom, —
what then ? Will the passion that is within cease
to burn ? Nay. Tie the man down, — let there be
no outlet for his affections, — let him attach himself
to nothing, and become a loveless spirit in this
universe, — and then there is what we call a broken
heart ; the steam bursts the machinery that contains
it. Or else, let him take his course, unfettered and
free, and then we have the riot of worldliness, — a
man with strong affections thrown off the line, tear-
ing himself to pieces, and carrying desolation along
with him. Let us comprehend our own nature, our-
selves, and our destinies. God is our Rest, the only
One that can quench the fever of our desire. God in
Christ is what we want. When men quit that, so
that " the love of the Father is not in them," then
they must perforce turn aside ; the nobler heart to
break with disappointment, — the meaner heart to
love the world instead, and sate and satisfy itself
as best it may on things that perish in the using.
Herein lies the secret of our being, in this world of
the affections. This explains why our noblest feel-
ings lie so close to our basest, — why the noblest so
easily metamorphose themselves into the basest. The
1
W0RLDLINES9. 191
heart which was made large enough for God wastes
itself upon the world.
The second reason which the apostle gives for not
squandering affection on the world is its transitori-
ness. Now, this transitoriness exists in two shapes.
It is transitory in itself, — the world passeth away. It
is transitory in its power of exciting desire, — the lust
thereof passeth away.
It is a twice-told tale, that the world is passing
away from us, and there is very little new to be said
on the subject. God has written it on every page of
His creation, that there is nothing here which lasts.
Our affections change. The friendships of the man
are not the friendships of the boy. Our very selves
are altering. The basis of our being may remain,
but our views, tastes, feelings, are no more our
former self than the oak is the acorn. The very
face of the visible world is altering around us ; we
have the gray mouldering ruins to tell of what was
once. Our laborers strike their ploughshares against
the foundations of buildings which once echoed to
human mirth, — skeletons of men, to whom life once
was dear, — urns and coins that remind the antiqua-
rian of a magnificent empire. To-day the shot of
the enemy defaces and blackens monuments and
venerable temples, which remind the 'Christian that
into the deep silence of eternity the Roman world,
which was in its vigor in the days of John, has
passed away. And so things are going. It is a
work of weaving and unweaving. All passes. Names
that the world heard once in thunder are scarcely
heard at the end of centuries ; — good or bad, they
pass. A few years ago, and we were not. A few
192 WORLDLINESS.
centuries further, and we reach the age of beings of
almost another race. Nimrod was the conqueror and
scourge of his far-back age. Tubal Cain gave to the
world the iron which was the foundation of every
triumph of men over nature. We have their names
now. But the philologist is uncertain whether the
name of the first is real or mythical ; and the
traveller excavates the sand-mounds of Nineveh to
wonder over the records which he cannot decipher.
Tyrant and benefactor, both are gone. And so all
things are moving on to the last fire, which, shall
wrap the world in conflagration, and make all that
has been the recollection of a dream. This is the
history of the world, and all that is in it. It passes
while we look at it. Like as when you watch the
melting tints of the evening sky, — purple-crimson,
gorgeous gold, a few pulsations of quivering light,
and it is all gone, — we are such stufi" as dreams are
made of
The other aspect of this transitoriness is, that the
lust of the world passeth away. By which the apostle
seems to remind us of that solemn truth that, fast as
the world is fleeting from us, faster still does the taste
for its enjoyments fleet ; fast as the brilliancy fades
from earthly things, faster still does the eye become
wearied of straining itself upon them.
Now, there is one way in which this takes place, by
a man becoming satiated with the world. There is
something in earthly rapture which cloys. And when
we drink deep of pleasure, there is left behind some-
thing of that loathing which follows a repast on
sweets. When a boy sets out in life, it is all fresh, —
freshness in feehng, zest in his enjoyment, purity in
WORLDLINESS. 193
his heart. Cherish that, mj young brethren, while
you can ; — lose it, and it never comes again. It is not
an easy thing to cherish it, for it demands restraint in
pleasure, and no young heart loves that. Religion
lias only calm, sober, perhaps monotonous pleasures,
to offer at first. The deep rapture of enjoyment
comes in after-life. And that will not satisfy the
young heart. Men will know what pleasure is, and
they drink deep. Keen delight, feverish enjoyment
■ — that is what you long for ; and these emotions lose
their delicacy and their relish, and will only come at
the bidding of gross excitements. The ecstasy which
once rose to the sight of the rainbow in the sky, or
the bright brook, or the fresh morning, comes lan-
guidly at last only in the crowded midnight room, or
the excitement of commercial speculation, or beside
the gambling-table, or amidst the fever of politics.
It is a spectacle for men and angels, when a man has
become old in feeling, and worn-out before his time.
Know we none such among our own acquaintance?
Have the young never seen those aged ones who
stand amongst them in their pleasures, almost as if to
warn them of what they themselves must come to, at
last? Have they never marked the dull and sated
look that they cast upon the whole scene, as upon a
thing which they would fain enjoy and cannot? Know
you what you have been looking on ? A sated world-
ling, — one to whom pleasure was rapture once, as it
is to you now. Thirty years more, that look and that
place will be yours; and that is the way the world
rewards its veterans : it chains them to it after the
" lust of the world " has passed away.
Or, this may be done by a discovery of the unsati*
17
194 WORLDLINESS.
factoriness of the world. That is a discoveiy not
made by every man. But there are some, at least, who
have learned it bitterly, and that without the aid of
Christ. Some there are who would not live over this
past life again, even if were possible. Some there are
who would gladly have done with the whole thing at
once, and exchange — 0, how joyfully ! — the garment
for the shroud. And some there are who cling to life,
not because life is dear, but because the future is dark,
and they tremble somewhat at the thought of entering
it. Clinging to life is no proof that a man is still long-
ing for the world. We often cling to hfe the more
tenaciously as years go on. The deeper the tree has
struck its roots into the ground, the less willing is it
to be rooted up. But there is many a one who so
hangs on just because he has not the desperate hardi-
hood to quit it, nor faith enough to be " willing to de-
part." The world and he have understood each other.
He has seen through it. He has ceased to hope any-
thing from it. The love of the Father is not in him ;
but " the lust of the world " has passed away.
Lastly. A reason for unlearning the love of the
world is the solitary permanence of Christian action
In contrast with the fleetingness of this world, the
apostle tells us of the stabilit}^ of labor. " He that
doeth the will of God abideth forever." And let us
mark this. Christian hfe is action ; not a speculating,
not a debating, but a doing. One thing, and only
one, in the world, has eternity stamped upon it. Feel
ings pass; resolves and thoughts pass; opinions change.
"What you have done lasts — lasts in you. Through
ages, through eternity, what you have done for Christ,
that, and only that, you are. " They rest from theii
1
WORLDLINESS. 195
labors," saith the Spirit, " and their works do follow
them." If the love of the Father be in us, where is
the thing done which we have to show ? You think
justly, feel rightly — yes, but your work. Produce it.
Men of wealth, men of talent, men of leisure, What are
jDU doing in God's world for God?
Observe, however, to distinguish between the act
and the actor: it is not the thing done, but the
Doer, who lasts. The thing done often is a failure.
The cup given in the name of Christ may be given to
one unworthy of it ; but. think ye that the love with
which it was given has passed away? Has it not
printed itself indelibly in the character, by the very
act of giving ? Bless, and if the Son of peace be there,
your act succeeds ; but if not, your blessing shall re
turn unto you again. In other words, the act may fail,
but the doer of it abideth forever.
We close this subject with two practical truths.
First of aU, let us learn from earthly chaugefulness
a lesson of cheerful activity. The world has its way
of looking at all this, — but it is not the Christian's
way. There has been nothing said to-day that a worldly
moralist has not already said a thousand times far bet-
ter. The fact is a world-fact. The application is a
Christian one. Every man can be eloquent about the
nothingness of time.
But the application ! Let us eat and drink, for to-
morrow we die? That is one application. Lotus sen-
timentalize and be sad in this fleeting world, and talk
of the instability of human greatness, and the transi-
toriness of human affection ? Those are the only two
applications the world knows. They shut out the rec-
ollection, and are merry ; or, they dwell on it, and are
196 . WOELDLINESS.
sad. Christian brethren, dwell on it, and be happy.
This world is not yours : thank God it is not. It is
dropping away from you like worn-out autumn leaves ;
bat beneath it, hidden in it, there is another world
lying as the floAver lies in the bud. That is your world,
which must burst forth at last into eternal luxuriance.
All you stand on, see, and love, is but the husk of some-
thing better. Things are passing ; our friends are drop-
ping off from us ; strength is giving way ; our relish
for earth is going ; and the world no longer wears to
our hearts the radiance that once it wore. We have
the same sky above us, and the same scenes around
us ; but the freshness that our hearts extracted from
everything in boyhood, and the glory that seemed to
rest once on earth and life, have faded away forever.
Sad and gloomy truths to the man who is going down to
the grave with his work undone. Not sad to the Chris-
tian ; but rousing, exciting, invigorating. If it be the
eleventh hour, we have no time for folding of the
hands ; we will work the faster. Through the change-
fulness of life ; through the solemn tolling of the bell
of Time, which tells us that another, and another, and
another, are gone before us ; through the noiseless rush
of a world which is going down with gigantic footsteps
into nothingness. Let not the Christian slack his hand
from work; for he that doeth the will of God may defy
hell itself to quench his immortality.
Finally, The love of this world is only unlearned
by the love of the Father. It were a desolate thing,
indeed, to forbid the love of earth, if there were noth-
ing to fill the vacant space in the heart. But it is just
for this purpose, that a sublimer affection may find
room, that the lower is to be expelled. And there is
WORLDLINESS. 197
only one way in which that higher love is learned. The
cross of Christ is the measure of the love of God to
us, and the measure of the meaning of man's exist-
ence. The measure of the love of God. — Through the
death-knell of a passing universe, God seems at least
to speak to us in wrath. There is no doubt of what
God means in the cross, fle means love. -The meas-
ure of the meaning of man's existence. — Measure all
by the cross. Do you want success ? The cross is fail-
ure. Do you want a name? The cross is infamy. Is it
to be gay and happy that you ive? The cross is pain
and sharpness. Do you live that the wiU of God may
be done, in you and by you, in hfe and death ? Then,
and only then, the spirit of the cross is in you. When
once a man has learned that, the power of the world is
gone ; and no man need bid him, in denunciation or in
invitation, not to love the world. He cannot love the
world : for he has got an ambition above the world.
He has planted his foot upon a Rock, and when all else
is gone, he at least abides forever.
17*
XIV.
[Preached November 14, 1852.]
THE SYDENHAM PALACE, AND THE RELIGIOUS NON-
OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH;
Rom. xiv. 5, 6 — " One man esteemeth one day above another; another
esteemeth every day alike. Let every man be fully persuaded in hia
own mind. He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord;
and he that regardeth not the day, to the Lord he doth not regard
it. He that eateth, eateth to the Lord, for he giveth God thanks;
and he that eateth not, to the Lord he eateth not, and giveth God
thanks."
The selection of this text i's suggested by one of
the current topics of the day. Lately, projects have
been devised, one of which in importance surpasses
all the rest, for providing places of public recreation
for the people ; and it has been announced, with the
sanction of government, that such a place will be held
open during a part, at least, of the day of rest. By a
large section of sincerely religious persons this an-
nouncement has been received with considerable
alarm and strenuous opposition. It has seemed to
them that such a desecration would be a national
crime ; for, holding the Sabbaths to be God's signs
between Himself and His people, they cannot but
view the desecration of the sign as a forfeiture of His
covenant, and an act which will assuredly call down
(198)
THE SYDENHAM PALACE, ETC. 199
national judgments. By the secular press, on the con-
trary, this proposal has been defended with consider
able power. It has been maintained that the Sabbath
is a Jewish institution — in its strictness, at all events,
not binding on a Christian community. It has been
urged with much force that we cannot consistently
refuse to concede to the poor man publicly, that right
of recreation which privately the rich man has long
taken without rebuke, and with no protest on the part
of the ministers of Christ. And it has been said that
such places of recreation will tend to humanize —
which, if not identical with Christianizing the popula-
tion, is at least a step towards it.
Upon such a subject, where truth unquestionably
does not lie upon the surface, it cannot be out of place
if a minister of Christ endeavors to direct the minds
of his congregation towards the formation of an
opinion; not dogmatically, but humbly remembering
always that his own temptation is, from his very posi-
tion, as a clergyman, to view such matters not so
much in the broad light of the possibilities of actual .
life, as with the eyes of a recluse — from a clerical
and ecclesiastical, rather than from a large and human
point of view. For no minister of Christ has a right
to speak oracularly. All that he can pretend to do is
to erive his judgment, as one that has obtained mercy
of the Lord to be faithful. And, on large national
subjects, there is perhaps no class so ill qualified to
form a judgment with breadth, as we, the clergy of
the Church of England, accustomed as we are to move
in the narrow circle of those who listen to us with
forbearance and deference, and mixing but little iu
real life, till, in our cloistered and inviolable sanctu-
200 THE SYDENHAM PALACE, AND THE
aries, we are apt to forget that it is one thing to lay
down rules for a religious clique, and another to legis-
late for a great nation.
In the Church of Rome, a controversy had arisen,
in the time of St. Paul, respecting the exact relation
in which Christianity stood to Judaism ; and conse-
quently the obligation of various Jewish institutions
came to be discussed: among the rest, the Sabbath-
day. One party maintained its abrogation; another,-
its continued obligation. " One man esteemeth one
day above another; another esteemeth every day
alike." Now, it is remarkable that, in his reply, the
Apostle Paul, although his own views upon the ques-
tion were decided and strong, passes no judgment of
censure upon the practice of either of these parties,
but only blames the uncharitable spirit in which the
one "judged their brethren," as irreligious, and the
other " set at naught " their stricter brethren, as su-
perstitious. He lays down, however, two principles
for the decision of the matter : the first being the
rights of Christian conviction, or the sacredness of
the individual conscience — " Let every man be fully
persuaded in his own mind ; " the second, a principle
unsatisfactory enough, and surprising, no doubt, to
both — that there is such a thing as a religious observ-
ance, and also such a thing as a religious non-observ-
ance of the day — " He that regardeth the day, regard-
eth it unto the Lord ; and he that regardeth not the
day, to the Lord he doth not regard it."
I shall consider,
L St. Paul's own view upon the question.
n. His modifications of that view, in reference to
separate cases.
RELIGIOUS NON-OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH. 201
I. St. Paul's own view.
No one, I believe, who would read St. Paul's own
writings, with unprejudiced mind, could fail to come
to the conclusion that he considered the Sabbath abro-
gated by Christianity. Not merely modified in its
stringency, but totally repealed.
For example, see Col. ii. 16, 17 : observe, he counts
the Sabbath-day among those institutions of Judaism
which were shadows, and of which Christ was the
realization. — the substance, or "body;" and he bids
the Colossians remain indifferent to the judgment
which would be pronounced upon their non-observance
of such days. " Let no man judge you with respect
to ... . the Sabbath-days."
More decisively still, in the text. For it has been
contended that in the former passage " Sabbath-days "
refers simply to the Jewish Sabbaths, which were su-
perseded by the Lord's day ; and that the apostle does
not allude at all to the new institution, which it is sup-
posed had superseded it. Here, however, there can
be no such ambiguity. " One man esteemeth every
day alike ; " and he only says, Let him be fully per-
suaded in his own mind. " Every " day must include
first days as well as last days of the week — Sundays
as well as Saturdays.
And again, he even speaks of scrupulous adherence
to particular days, as if it were giving up the very
principle of Christianity : " Ye observe days, and
months, and times, and years. I am afraid of you,
lest I have bestowed upon you labor in vain." So that
his objection was not to Jewish days, but to the very
principle of attaching intrinsic sacredness to any days.
All forms and modes of particularizing the Christian
202 THE SYDENHAM PALACE, AND THE
life he reckoned as bondage under the elements or
alphabet of the law. And this is plain from tne na-
ture of the case. He struck not at a day, but at a
principle. Else, if, with all this vehemence and ear-
nestness, he only meant to establish a new set of days
in the place of the old, there is no intelligible principle
for which he is contending, and that earnest apostle
is only a champion for one day instead of another, —
an assertor of the eternal sanctities of Sunday, in
stead of the eternal sanctities of Saturday. Incredible,
indeed.
Let us, then, understand the principle on which he
declared the repeal of the Sabbath. He taught that
the blood of Christ cleansed aU things ; therefore
there was nothing specially clean. Christ had vindi-
cated all for God ; therefore there was no thing more
God's than another. For, to assert one thing as God's
more than another, is, by implication, to admit that
other to be less God's.
The blood of Christ had vindicated God's parental
right to all humanity ; therefore there could be no
peculiar people. " There is neither Jew nor Greek,
circumcision nor uncircumcision. Barbarian, Scythian,
bond, nor free ; but Christ is all and in all." It had
proclaimed God's property in all places; therefore
there could be no one place intrinsically holier than
another. No human dedication, no human consecrar
tion, could localize God in space. Hence, the first
martyr quoted from the prophet : " Howbeit the Most
High dwelleth not in temples made with hands ; aa
saith the prophet, Heaven is my throne, and earth is
my footstool; what house will ye build for me? saith
ihQ Lord."
RELIGIOUS NOX-OBSERVAXCE OF THE SABBATH. 203
Lastly, the Gospel of Christ had sanctified all time ;
h(jiice no time could be specially God's. For, to assert
tliat Sunday is more God's day than Monday, is to
maintain by implication Monday is His less rightfully.
Here, however, let it be obsei'ved, it is perfectly
possible, and not at all inconsistent with this, that for
human convenience, and even human necessities, just
as it became desirable to set apart certain places in
which the noise of earthly business could not be heard
for spiritual worship, so it should become desirable to
set apart certain days for special worship. But, then,
all such were defensible on the ground of wise and
Christian expediency alone ; they could not be placed
on the ground of a Divine statute or command ; they
rested on the authority of the Church of Christ ; and
the power which had made could unmake them again.
Accordingly, in early, we cannot say exactly how
early times, the Church of Christ felt the necessity of
substituting something in place of the ordinances
which had been repealed. And the Lord's day arose,
not a day of compulsory rest — not such a day at all
as modern Sabbatarians suppose. Not a Jewish sab>
bath ; rather a day in many respects absolutely con-
trasted with the Jewish sabbath.
For the Lord's day sprung, not out of a transference
of the Jewish sabbath from Saturday to Sunday, but
rather out of the idea of making the week an imitation
of the life of Christ. With the early Christians, the
great conception was that of following their crucified
and risen Lord ; they set, as it were, the clock of time
to the epoclis of His history. Friday represented :he
Death, in whicli all Christians daily die; and Sunday the
Resurrection, in which all Christians daily rise to
204 THE SYDENHAM PALACE, AND THE
higher lifs. What Friday and Sunday were to the
week, that Good Friday and Easter Sunday were to
the year. And thus, in larger or smaller cycles, all
time represented to the early Christians the mysteries
of the Cross and the Risen life in hidden humanity. Ar.d
as the sunflower turns from morning till evening to the
sun, so did the early Church turn forever to her Lord,
transforming week and year into a symbolical repre-
sentation of His Spiritual Life.
Carefully distinguish this, the true historical view
of the origin of the Lord's day, from a mere transfer-
ence of a Jewish sabbath from one day to another.
For St. Paul's teaching is distinct and clear, that the
Sabbath is annulled ; and to urge the observance of the
day as indispensable to salvation was, according to him,
to Judaize — " to turn again to the weak and beggarly
elements, whereunto they desired to be in bondage."
II. The modifications of this view.
The first modification has reference to those who
conscientiously observed the day. He that observeth
the day, observeth it to the Lord. Let him act, then,
on that conviction : " Let him be fully persuaded in
his own mind."
There is, therefore, a religious observance of the
Sabbath-day possible.
We are bound by the spirit of the fourth command-
ment, so far as we are in the same spiritual state as
they to whom it was given. The spiritual intent of
Christianity is to worship God every day in the spirit.
But, had this law been given in all its purity to the
Jews, instead of turning every week-day into a sab-
bath, they would have transformed every sabbath into
RELIGIOUS NON-OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH. 205
a week-day ; with no special day fixed for worship,
they would have spent every day without worship.
Their hearts were too dull for a devotion so spiritual
and pure.
Therefore, a law was given, 'specializing a day, in
order to lead them to the broader truth that every day
is God's.
Now, so far as we are in the Jewish state, the fourth
commandment, even in its rigor and strictness, is
wisely used by us ; nay, we might say, indispensable.
For who is he who needs not the day ? He is the man
so rich in love, so conformed to the mind of Christ, so
elevated into the sublime repose of heaven, that he
needs no carnal ordinances at all, nor the assistance of
one day in seven to kindle spiritual feelings, seeing he
is, as it were, all his life in heaven already.
And, doubtless, such the Apostle Paul expected the
Church of Christ to be. Anticipating the second
Advent at once, not knowing the long centuries of
slow progress that were to come, his heart would have
sunk within him, could he have been told that at the
end of eighteen centuries tlie Christian Church would
be still observing days, and months, and times, and
years, — and, still more, needing them.
Needing them, I say. For the Sabbath was made
for man. God made it for men in a certain spiritual
state, because they needed it. The need, therefore, is
deeply hidden in human nature. He who can dispense
with it must be holy and spiritual indeed. And he
vvho, still unholy and unspiritual, would yet dispense
with it, is a man who would fain be wiser than hia
Makor. We, Cliristians as we are, still need the law,
both in its restraints, and in its aids to our weakness.
18
206 THE SYDENHAM PALACE, AND THE
No man, therefore, who knows himself, but will
gladly and joyfully use the institution. No man who
knows the need of his brethren will wantonly dese-
crate it, or recklessly hurt even their scruples respect-
ing its observance. And no such man can look with
aught but grave and serious apprehensions on such an
innovation upon English customs of life and thought,
as the proposal to give public and official countenance
to a scheme which will invite millions, I do not say to
an irreligious, but certainly an unreligious use of the
day of rest.
This, then, is the first modification of the broad view
of a repealed Sabbath. Repealed though it be, there
is such a thing as a religious observance of it. And,
provided that those who are stricter than we in their
views of its obligation observe it not from super-
stition, nor in abridgment of Christian liberty, nor
from moroseness, we are bound, in Christian charity,
to yield them all respect and honor. Let them act out
their conscientious convictions. Let not him that
observeth not despise him that observeth.
The second modification of the broad view is, that
there is such a thing as a religious non-observance of
the Sabbath. I lay a stress on the word religious.
For St. Paul does not say that every non-observance
of the Sabbath is religious : but that he who, not ob-
serving it, observeth it not to the Lord, is, because
acting on conscientious conviction, as acceptable as
the others, who in obedience to what they believe to
be His will observe it.
s
He pays his non-observance to the Lord, who, feel-
ing that Christ has made him free, striving to live all
his days in the Spirit, and knowing that that which is
RELIGIOUS NON-OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH. 207-
displeasing to God is not work nor recreation, but
selfishness and ■worldliness, refuses to be bound by a
Jewish ordinance which forbade labor and recreation
only with a typical intent.
But he who, not trying to serve God on any day,
gives Sunday to toil or pleasure, certainly observes
not the day ; but his non-observance is not rendered
to the Lord. He may be free from superstition ; but
it is not Christ who has made him free. Nor is he
one of whom St. Paul would have said that his liberty
on the Sabbath is as acceptable as his brother's con-
scientious scrupulosity.
Here, then, we are at issue with the popular de-
fence of public recreations on the Sabbath-day : not
80 much with respect to the practice, as with respect
to the grounds on which the practice is approved.
They claim liberty ; but it is not Christian liberty.
Like St. Paul, they demand a license for non-observ
ance ; only, it is not " non-observance to the Lord."
For, distinguish well. The abolition of Judaism is not
necessarily the establishment of Christianity ; to do
away with the Sabbath-day in order to substitute a
nobler, truer, more continuous sabbath, even the sab-
bath of all time given up to God, is well. But to do
away the special Rights of God to the Sabbath, in
order merely to substitute the Rights of Pleasure, or
the Rights of Mammon, or even the license of profli-
gacy and drunkenness, — that, me thinks, is not Paul's
" Christian liberty."
The second point on which we join issue is the
assumption that public places of recreation, which
humanize, will therefore* Christianize the people. It
is taken for granted that architecture, sculpture, and
208 THE SYDENHAM PALACE, AND THE
the wonders of Nature and Art which such buildings
will contain, have a direct or indirect tendency to lead
to true devotion.
Only in a very limited degree is there truth in thia
at all. Christianity will humanize ; we are not so
sure that humanizing will Christianize. Let us be
clear upon this matter. Esthetics are not Religion.
It is one thing to civilize and polish ; it is another
thing to Christianize, The Worship of the Beautiful
is not the Worship of Holiness ; nay, I know not
whether the one may not have a tendency to disin-
cline from the other.
At least, such was the history of ancient Greece.
Greece was the home of the Arts, the sacred ground
on which the worship of the Beautiful was carried to
its perfection. Let those who have read the history
of her decline and fall, who have perused the debas-
ing works of her later years, tell us how music, paint-
ing, poetry, the arts, softened and debilitated and sen-
sualized the nation's heart. Let them tell us how,
when Greece's last and greatest man was warning in
vain against the foe at her gates, and demanding a
manlier and a more heroic disposition to sacrifice, that
most polished and humanized people, sunk in trade
and sunk in pleasure, were squandering enormous
sums upon their buildings and their esthetics, their
processions and their people's palaces, till the flood
came, and the liberties of Greece were trampled
down forever beneath the feet of the Macedonian
conqueror.
No ! the change of a nation's heart is not to be
eflected by the infusion of a taste for artistic grace.
" Other foundation can no man lay than that is laid,
RELIGIOUS NON-OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH. 209
which is Christ Jesus." Not Art, but the Cross of
Christ. Simpler manners, purer lives, more self-de-
nial, more earnest sympathy with the classes that lie
below us, — nothing short of that can lay the founda-
tions of the Christianity which is to be hereafter, deep
and broad.
On the other hand, we dissent from the views of
*hose who would arrest such a project by petitions to
the legislature on these grounds.
1. It is a return backwards to Judaism and Law.
It may be quite true that, as we suspect, such non-
observance of the day is not to the Lord, but only a
scheme of mere pecuniary speculation. Nevertheless,
there is such a thing as a religious non-observance of
the day; and we dare not "judge another man's ser-
vant ; to his own master he standeth or falleth." We
dare not assert the perpetual obligation of the Sab-
bath, when an inspired apostle has declared it abro-
gated. We dare not refuse a public concession of
that kind of recreation to the poor man which the
rich have long not hesitated to take in their sump-
tuous mansions and pleasure-grounds, unrebuked by
the ministers of Christ, who seem touched to the
quick only when the desecration of the Sabbath is
loud and vulgar. We cannot substitute a statute law
for a repealed law of God. We may think, and we do,
that there is much which may lead to dangerous con-
sequences in this innovation ; but we dare not treat it
as a crime.
The second ground on which Ave are opposed to
the ultra-rigor of Sabbath observance, especially when
it becomes coercive, is the danger of injuring the
conscience. It is wisely taught by St. Paul that he
18*
210 THE SYDENHAM PALACE, AND THE
who does anything with ofifence — that is, with a feeling
that it is wrong — does wrong. To him it is wrong
even though it be not wrong abstractedly. Therefore
it is always dangerous to multiply restrictions and
requirements beyond what is essential ; because men,
feeling themselves hemmed in, break the artificial
barrier, but, breaking it with a sense of guilt, do
thereby become hardened in conscience, and prepared
for transgression against commandments which are
Divine and of eternal obligation. Hence it is that
the criminal has so often in his confessions traced
his deterioration in crime to the first step of breaking
the Sabbath-day; and no doubt with accurate truth.
But what shall we infer from this ? Shall we infer,
as is so often done upon the platform and in religious
books, that it proves the everlasting obligation of the
Sabbath ? Or, shall we, with a far truer philosophy
of the human soul, infer, in the language of St
Peter, that we have been laying on him " a yoke
which neither we nor our fathers were able to bear " ?
— in the language of St. Paul, that " the motions of
sin were by the law ; " that the rigorous rule was itself
the stimulating, moving cause of the sin ; and that
when the young man, worn out with his week's toil,
first stole out into the fields to taste the fresh breath
of a spring-day, he did it with a vague, secret sense
of transgression ; and that, having, as it were, drawn his
sword in defiance against the established code of the
religious world, he felt that from thenceforward there
was for him no return, and so he became an outcast,
his sword against every man, and every man's sword
against him ? I believe this to be the true account of
the matter ; and, believing it, I cannot but believe that
RELIGIOUS NON-OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH. 211
the false, Jewish notions of the Sabbath-day which are
prevalent have been exceedingly pernicious to the
morals of the country.
Lastly, I remind you of the danger of mistaking a
"positive " law for a moral one. The danger is, that
proportionably to ' the vehemence with which the law
positive is enforced, the sacredness of moral laws is
neglected. A positive law, in theological language, is
a law laid down for special purposes, and corresponds
with statute laws in things civil. Thus laws of quar-
antine and laws of exercise depend for their force
upon the will of the legislature, and when repealed are
binding no more. But a moral law is one binding for-
ever ; which a statute law may declare, but can neither
make nor unmake.
Now, when men are rigorous in the enforcement and-
reverence paid to laws positive, the tendency is to a
corresponding indifference to the laws of eternal
Right. The written supersedes in their hearts the
moral. The mental history of the ancient Pharisees
who observed the Sabbath, and tithed mint, anise, and
cummin, neglecting justice, mercy, and truth, is the
history of a most dangerous but universal tendency
of the human heart. And so, many a man, whose
heart swells with what he thinks pious horror when
he sees the letter delivered or the train run upon the
Sabbatli-day, can pass through the streets at night
undepressed and unshocked by the evidences of the
wide-spreading profligacy which has eaten deep into
his country's heart. And many a man who would
gaze upon the domes of a crystal palace, rising above
the trees, with somewhat of the same feeling witli
which he would look on a temple dedicated to Jug-
212 THE SYDENHAM PALACE, ETC.
gernaut, and who would fancy that something of the
spirit of an ancient prophet was burning in his bosom,
when his lips pronounced the Woe ! woe ! of a
coming doom, would sit calmly in a social circle of
English life, and scarcely feel uneasy in listening to its
uncharitableness and its slanders ; would hear, without
one throb of indignation, the common dastardly con-
demnation of the weak for sins which are venial in the
strong; would survey the relations of the rich and
poor in this country, and remain calmly satisfied that
there is nothing false in them, unbrotherly, and wrong.
No, my brethren ! let us think clearly and strongly on
this matter. It may be that God has a controversy
with this people. It may be, as they say, that our
Father will chasten us by the sword of the foreigner.
But, if He does, and if judgments are in store for our
country, they will fall, not because the correspondence
of the land is carried on upon the Sabbath day ; nor
because Sunday trains are not arrested by the legisla-
ture ; nor because a public permission is given to the
working-classes for a few hours' recreation on the day
of rest : but because we are selfish men ; and because
we prefer Pleasure to Duty, and Traffic to Honor ; and
because we love our party more than our Church, and
our Church more than our Christianity, and our Chris-
tianity more than Truth, and ourselves more than all.
These are the things that defile a nation ; but the labor
and recreation of its Poor, these are not the things
that defile a nation.
XV.
[Preached January 2, 1853.]
THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS.
LuEE ii. 40. — "And the child grew, and waxed strong in spii'it, filled
with wisdom; and the grace of God was upon him."
The ecclesiastical year begins with Advent, then
comes Christmas-day. The first day of the natural
year begins with the infancy of the Son of Man. To-
day the Gospel proceeds with the brief account of the
early years of Jesus.
The infinite significance of the life of Christ is not
exhausted by saying that He was a perfect man. The
notion of the earlier Socinians that He was a pattern
man (ipiloicivdQojTxoi)^ commissioned from Heaven with a
message to teach men how to live, and supern^turally
empowered to live in that perfect way Himself, is
immeasurably short of truth. For perfection merely
human does not attract — rather it repels. It may be
copied in form; it cannot be imitated in spirit, — for
men only imitate that from which enthusiasm and Hfe
are caught, — for it does not inspire nor fire with love.
Faultless men and pattern children, — you may
admire them, but you admire coldly. Praise them as
you will, no one is better for their example. No one
blames them, and no one loves themj they kindle no
(2Vi)
214 THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OP JESUS.
enthusiasm, they create no likenesses of themselves ;
they never reproduce themselves in other lives, — the
true prerogative of all original life.
If Christ had only been a faultless Being, He would
never have set up in the world a new type of character,
which at the end of two thousand years is fresh and
life-giving and inspiring still. He never would have
regenerated the world. He never would have " drawn
all men unto Him," by being lifted up a self sacrifice,
making self devotion beautiful. In Christ the Divine
and Human blended; Immutability joined itself to
Mutability. There was in Him the Divine which
remained fixed ; the Human, which was constantly
developing. One uniform Idea and Purpose charac-
terized His whole life, with a Divine immutable unity
throughout, but it was subject to the laws of human
growth. For the soul of Christ was not cast down
upon this world a perfect thing at once. Spotless ? —
yes. Faultless? — yes. Tempted in all points with
out sin? — yes. But perfection is more than faultless-
ness. All Scripture coincides in telling us that the
ripe perfection of His manhood was reached step by
step. .There was a power and a Life within Him which
were to be developed, which could only be developed, like
all human strength and goodness, by toil of brain and
heart. Life up-hill all the way ; and every foot-print
by which He climbed left behind for us, petrified on
the hard rock, and indurated into history forever, to
show us when and where and how He toiled and won.
Take a few passages to prove that His perfection
was gained by degrees. " It became Him for whom
are all things, and by whom are all things, in bringing
. THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OP JESUS. 215
many sons to glory, to make the Captain of their salva-
tion ^er/ec^ through suffering."
Again, " Behold, I cast out devils, and do cures
to-day and to-morroAv, and the third day I shall be
perfected."
" Though He were a Son, yet learned He obedience."
And in the context, " Jesus increased."
Now, see the result of this aspect of His perfecti-
bility. In that changeless element of His Being which
beneath all the varying phases of growth remained
Divinely faultless, we see that which we can adore.
In the ever-changing, ever-growing, subject therefore
to feebleness and endearing mutability, we see that
which brings Him near to us ; makes Him lovable, at
the same time that it interprets us to ourselves.
Our subject is the early development of Jesus. In
this text we read of a three-fold growth.
I. In strength.
II. In wisdom.
III. In grace.
First, it speaks to us simply of His early develop-
ment. " The child grew."
In the case of all rare excellence that is merely
human, it is the first object of the biographer of a
marvellous man to seek for surprising stories of his
early life. The appetite for the marvellous in this
matter is almost instinctive and invariable. All men,
almost, love to discover the early wonders which were
prophetic of after-greatness. Apparently, the reason
is, that we are unwilling to believe that wondrous ex-
cellence was attained by slow, patient labor. We get
an excuse for our own slowness and stunted growth,
216 THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS.
by settling it, once for all, that the original differences
between such men and us were immeasurable. There-
fore it is, I conceive, that we seek so eagerly for anec-
dotes of early precocity.
In this spirit the fathers of the primitive church
collected legends of the early life of Christ, stories of
superhuman infancy — what the infant and the child
said and did. Many of these legends are absurd ; all,
as resting on no authority, are rejected.
Very different from this is the spirit of the Bible
narrative. It records no marvellous stories of infantine
sagacity or miraculous power, to feed a prurient curi-
osity. Both in what it tells and in what it does not
tell, one thing is plain, that the human life of the Son
of God was natural. There was first the blade, then
the ear, then the full corn. In what it does not say ;
because, had there been anything preternatural to
record, no doubt it would have been recorded. In
what it does say ; because that little is all unaffectedly
simple. One anecdote, and two verses of general
description, — that is all which is told us of the Redeem-
er's childhood.
The child, it is written, grew. Two pregnant facts.
He was a child, and a child that grew in heart, in intel-
lect, in size, in grace, in favor with God. Not a man
in child's j'^ears. No hot-bed precocity marked the
holiest of infancies. The Son of Man grew up in the
quiet valley of existence, — in shadow, not in sunshine,
not forced. No unnatural, stimulating culture had
developed the mind or feelings ; no public flattery,
no sunning of infantine perfections in the glare of the
world's show, had brought the temptation of the wilder
ness, with which His manhood grappled, too early on
THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS. 217
His soul. We know that He was childlike, as other
children ; for in after-years His brethren thought His
fame strange, and his townsmen rejected him. They
could not believe that one who had gone in and out,
ate and drank and worked, was He whose Name is
Wonderful, The proverb, true of others, was true of
Him : " A prophet is not without honor, but in his
own country, and among his own kin, and in his own
house." You know him in a picture at once, by the
halo round his brow. There was no glory in His real
life to mark Him. He was in the world, and the world
knew Him not. Gradually and gently He woke to
consciousness of life and its manifold meaning ; found
Himself in possession of a self; by degrees opened
His eyes upon this outer world, and drank in its beauty.
Early He felt the lily of the field discourse to Him of
the Invisible Loveliness, and the ravens tell of God
His Father. Gradually, and not at once. He embraced
the sphere of human duties, and woke to His earthly
relationships one by one — the Son, the Brother, the
Citizen, the Master.
It is a very deep and beautiful and precious truth
that the Eternal Son had a human and progressive
childhood. Happy the child who is suffered to be and
content to be what God meant it to be — a child while
childhood lasts. Happy the parent who does not force
artificial manners, precocious feeling, premature re-
ligion. Our age is one of stimulus and high press-
ure. We live, as it were, our lives out fast. Effect is
everything, — results produced at once ; something to
show and something that may tell. The folio of patient
years is replaced by the pamphlet that stirs men's curi-
osity to-day, and to-morrow is forgotten. " Plain
19
218 THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS.
living aud high thinking are no more." The town,
with its fever and its excitements, and its collision of
mind with mind, has spread over the country ; and
there is no country — scarcely home. To men who
traverse England in a few hours, and spend only a por-
tion of the year in one place. Home is becoming a
vocable of past ages.
The result is, that heart and brain, which were given
to last for seventy years, wear out before their time.
"We have our exhausted men of twenty-five, and our
old men of forty. Heart and brain give way, — the
heart hardens and the brain grows soft.
Brethren ! the Son of God lived till thirty in an ob-
scure village of Judea unknown, then came forth a
matured and perfect Man, — with mind, and heart, and
frame, in perfect balance of humanity. It is a Divine
lesson ! I would I could say as strongly as I feel
deeply. Our stimulating artificial culture destroys
depth. Our competition, our nights turned into days
by pleasure, leave no time for earnestness. We
are superficial men. Character in the world wants
root. England has gained much; she has lost, also,
much. The world wants what has passed away ; and
which, until we secure, we shall remain the clever
shallow men we are, — a childhood and a youth spent
in shade — a Home.
Now, this growth took place in three particulars.
I. In spiritual strength. " The child waxed strong
in spirit."
Spiritual strength consists of two things — power
of Will, and power of Self restraint. It requires two
THE EARLZ DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS. 219
things, therefore, for its existence — strong feelings,
and strong command over them.
Now, it is here we make a great mistake ; we mis-
take strong feeKngs for strong character. A man who
bears all before him, — before whose frown domestics
tremble, and whose bursts of fury make the children
of the house quake, — because he has his will obeyed,
and his own way in all things, we call him a strong
mau. The truth is, that is the weak man : it is his pas
sions that are strong ; he, mastered by them, is weak.
You must measure the strength of a man by the power
of the feelings which he subdues, not by the power
of those which subdue him.
And hence composure is very often the highest
result of strength. Did we never see a man receive
a flagrant insult, and only grow a little pale, and then
reply quietly? That was a man spiritually strong.
Or, did we never see a man, in anguish, stand as if
carved out of solid rock mastering himself? or, one
bearing a hopeless daily trial, remain silent, and never
tell the world what it was that cankered his home-
peace? That is strength. He who, with strong pas-
sions, remains chaste, — he who, keenly sensitive, with
manly power of indignation in him, can be provoked,
and yet refrain himself, and forgive, — these are strong
men, spiritual heroes.
The child luaxed strong, — spiritual strength is
reached by successive steps. Fresh strength is got
by every mastery of self It is the belief of the sav-
age, that the spirit of every enemy he slays enters
into him and becomes added to his own, accumulating
a warrior's strength for the day of battle ; therefore he
slays all he can. It is true in tlio spiritual warfare.
220 THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS.
Every sin yoii slay, the spirit of that sin passes into
you transformed into strength; every passion, not
merely kept in abeyance by asceticism, but subdued
by a higher impulse, is so much character strength-
ened. The strength of the passion not expended is
yours still. Understand, then, you are not a man of
spiritual power because your impulses are irresistible.
They sT?3p over your soul like a tornado — lay all
flat bet jre them — whereupon you feel a secret pride
of strength. Last week men saw a vessel on this
coast borne headlong on the breakers, and dashing
itself with terrific force against the shore. It em-
bedded itself, a miserable wreck, deep in sand and shin-
gle. Was that brig, in her convulsive throes, strong?
or, was it powerless and helpless ?
No, my brethren: God's spirit in the soul, — an
inward power of doing the thing we will and ought, —
that is strength, nothing else. All other force in us
is only our weakness, — the violence of driving Pas-
sion. " I can do all things through Christ, who
strengtheneth me," — that is Christian strength. " T
cannot do the things I would," — that is the weakness
of \Q. unredeemed slave.
1 instance one single evidence of strength in tho
early years of Jesus ; I find it in that calm, long wait-
ing of thirty years before He began His Work. And
yet all the evils He was to redress were there, provok-
ing indignation, crying for interference, — the hollow-
ness of social life, the misinterpretations of Scripture,
the forms of worship and phraseology which had hid-
den moral truth, the injustice, the priestcraft, the cow-
ardice, the hypocrisies : He had long seen them all.
AU those years His soul burned within him with a
THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS. 221
Divine zeal and heavenly indignation. A mere man
— a weak, emotional man, of spasmodic feeling, — a
hot enthusiast, — would have spoken out at once, and
at once been crushed. The Everlasting Word incar-
nate bided His own time : " Mine hour is not yet
come," — matured His energies, condensed them by
repression, and then went forth to speak, and do, and
suffer. His hour was come. This is strength : the
power of a Divine Silence ; the strong will, to keep
force till it is wanted ; the power to wait God's time.
" He that believeth," said the wise prophet, " shall not
make haste."
n. Growth in wisdom, — "filled with wisdom."
Let us distinguish wisdom from two things. From
information first. It is one thing to be well informed ;
it is another to be wise. Many books read, innumer-
aole facts hived up in a capacious memory, this does
not constitute wisdom. Books give it not ; sometimes
the bitterest experience gives it not. Many a heart-
break may have come as the result of life-errors and
life-mistakes, and yet men may be no wiser than be-
fore. Before the same temptations they fall again in
the self-same way they fell before. Where they erred
in youth they err still in age — a mournful truth !
" Ever learning," said St. Paul, " and never able to
come to a knowledge of the truth,"
Distinguish wisdom again from talent. Brilliancy of
powers is not the wisdom for which Solomon prayed.
Wisdom is of the heart rather than the intellect ; the
harvest of moral thoughtfulness, patiently reaped in
through years. Two things are required — Earnest-
ness and Love. First, that rare thing, Earnestness, —
19*
222 THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS.
the earnestness which looks on life practically. Some
of the wisest of the race have been men who have
scarcely stirred beyond home, read little, felt and
thought much. " Give me," said Solomon, " a wise
and understanding heart." A heart which ponders
upon life, trying to understand its mystery, not in
order to talk about it like an orator, nor in order to
theorize about it like a philosopher, but in order to
know how to live and how to die.
And, besides this, love is required for wisdom, — •
the love which opens the heart and makes it generous,
and reveals secrets deeper than prudence or political
economy teaches, — for example, " It is more blessed
to give than to receive." Prudence did not calculate
that ; love revealed it. No man can be wise without
love. Prudent — cunning: yes, but not wise. Who-
ever has closed his heart to love has got wisdom at
one entrance quite shut out. A large, genial, loving
heart — with that we have known a ploughman wise ;
w^ithout it, we know a hundred men of statesmen-like
sagacity fools — profound, but not wise. There was a
man who pulled down his barns and built greater, — a
most sagacious man, getting on in life, acquiring,
amassing, and all for self. The men of that genera-
tion called him, no doubt, wise : God said, " Thou
fool."
Speaking humanly, the steps by which the wisdom
of Jesus was acquired were two.
1. The habit of inquiry. 2. The collision of mind
with other minds. Both these we find in this anec-
dote : His parents found Him with the doctors in the
Temple, both hearing and asking them questions.
For the mind of man left to itself is unproductive j
THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS. 223
alone in the wild woods, he becomes a savage. Taken
away from school early, and sent to the plough, the
country boy loses, by degrees, that which distinguishes
him from the cattle that he drives, and over his very
features and looks the low animal expression creeps.
Mind is necessary for mind. The Mediatorial sys-
tem extends through all God's dealings with us.
The higher man is the mediator between God and the
lower man ; only through man can man receive devel-
opment.
For these reasons, we call this event at Jerusalem
a crisis or turning point in the history of Him who
was truly Man.
He had come from Nazareth's quiet valley and
green slopes on the hill-side, where hill and valley,
and cloud and wind, and day and night, had nourished
his child's heart, — from communion with minds pro-
verbially low, for the adage was, " Can any good thing
come out of Nazareth?" — to the capital of His
country, to converse with the highest and most culti-
vated intellects. He had many a question to ask, and
many a difficulty to solve. As, for instance, such as
this : How could the religion accredited in Jerusalem
— a religion of long prayers and church services, and
phylacteries, and rigorous sabbaths — be reconciled
with the stern, manly righteousness of which He had
read in the old prophets ; a righteousness, not of
litany-makers, but of men with swords in their hands
and zeal in their hearts, setting up God's kingdom
upon earth ? — a kingdom of Truth, and Justice, and
Realities, — were they bringing in that kingdom? —
A.nd if not, who should? Such questions had to bo
felt, and asked, and pondered on. Thenceforth we
224 THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS.
say, therefore, in all reverence, dated the intellectual
life of Jesus. From that time " Jesus increased in
wisdomJ'
Not that they, the doctors of the Temple, contrib-
uted much. Those ecclesiastical pedants had not
much to tell Him that was worth the telling. They
were thinking about theology, — He about Religion.
They about rubrics and church services, — He about
God His Father, and His Will. And yet He gained
more from them than they from Him. Have we never
observed that the deepest revelations of ourselves are
often made to us by trifling remarks met with here
and there in conversation and books, — sparks which
set a whole train of thoughts on fire ? Nay, that a
false view given by an inferior mind has led us to a
true one ; and that conversations from which we had
expected much light, turning out unsatisfactorily, have
thrown us upon ourselves and God, and so become
almost the birth-times of the soul? The truth is, it is
not the amount which is poured in that gives wisdom,
but the amount of creative mind and heart working
on and stirred by what is so poured in. That conver-
Bation with miserable priests and formalists called into
activity the One Creative Mind which was to fertilize
the whole spiritual life of man to the end of time ;
and Jesus grew in wisdom by a conversation with
pedants of the law.
What Jerusalem was to Him, a town life is to us.
Knowledge develops itself in the heated atmosphere
of town life. Where men meet, and thought clashes
with thought, — where workmen sit round i board at
work, — intellectual irritability must be stirred more
than where men live and work alone. The march of
THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS. 225
mind, as they call it, must go on. Whatever evils
there may be in our excited, feverish modern life, it
is quite certain that we know through it more than
our forefathers knew. The worlftnan knows more of
foreign politics than most statesmen knew two centu-
ries ago. The child is versed in theological questions,
which only occupied master minds once. But the
question is, whether, like the Divine Child in the Tem-
ple, we are turning knowledge into wisdom ; and
whether, understanding more of the mysteries of life,
we are feeling more of its sacred law ; and whether,
having left behind the priests, and the scribes, and the
doctors, and the fathers, we are about our Father's
business, and becoming wise to God.
III. Growth in grace, — " the grace of God was
upon Him." And this in three points :
1. The exchange of an earthly for a heavenly home.
2. Of an earthly for a heavenly parent.
3. The reconciliation to domestic duties.
First step : Exchange of an earthly for a heavenly
home.
Jesus was in the Temple for the first time. That
which was dull routine to others, through dead habit,
was full of vivid impression, fresh life, and God,
to Him. " My Father's business " — " My Father's
house." IIow different the meaning of these expres-
sions now from what it had been before ! Before, all
was limited to the cottage of the carpenter ; now, it
".xtended to the temple. He had felt the sanctities
of a new home. In after-life the phrase which He
had learned by earthly experience obtained a Divine
226 THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OP JESUS.
significance. " In my Father's house are many man-
sions."
Our first Hfe is spontaneous and instinctive. Our
second hfe is reflective. There is a moment when the
life spontaneous passes into the hfe reflective. "We
hve at first by instinct ; then we look in, feel our-
selves, — ask what we are, and whence we came, and
whither we are bound. In an awful new world of
mystery, and destinies, and duties, we feel God, and
know that our true home is our Father's house, which
has many mansions.
Those are fearful, solitary moments, in which the
heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a stranger inter-
meddleth not with its joys. Father — mother — can-
not share these ; and to share is to intrude. The soul
first meets God alone. So with Jacob when he saw
the dream-ladder ; so with Samuel when the Voice
called him ; so with Christ. So, with every son of man,
God visits the soul in secrecy, in silence, and in soli-
tariness. And the danger and duty of a teacher is
two-fold. 1st, to avoid hastening that feeling — hurry-
ing that crisis-moment, which some call conversion.
2d, to avoid crushing it. I have said that first religion
is a kind of instinct; and if a child does not exhibit
strong religious sensibilities, — if he seem "heedless,
untouched by awe or serious thought," — still it is wiser
not to interfere. He may be still at home with God;
he may be worshipping at home ; as has beeo said,
with not less truth than beauty, he may be
" Lying in Abraham's bosom all the year.
And worship — at the Temple's inner shrine,'*
God being with him when he knew it not. Very mys-
terious, and beautiful, and wonderful, is God's com-
THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS. 227
muniua: with the unconscious soul before reflection
comes. The second caution is not to quench the
feehng. Joseph and the Virgin chid the Child for Hia
absence : " Why hast thou dealt so with us ? " They
could not understand His altered ways, His neglect of
apparent duties, His indifference to usual pursuits.
They mourned over the change. And this reminds ua
of the way in which Affection's voice itself ministers
to ruin. When God comes to the heart, and His pres-
ence is shown by thoughtfulness, and seriousness, and
distaste to common business, and loneliness, and soli-
tary musings, and a certain tone of melancholy,
straightway we set ourselves to expostulate, to rebuke,
to cheer, to prescribe amusement and gayeties, as the
cure for seriousness which seems out of place. Some
of us have seen that tried ; and, more fearful still,
seen it succeed. And we have seen the spirit of frivol-
ity and thoughtlessness, which had been banished for
a time, come back again, with seven spirits of evil
more mighty than himself, and the last state of that
person worse than the first. And we have watched
the still small voice of God in the soul silenced. And
we have seen the spirit of the world get its victim
back again, and incipient Goodness dried up like morn-
ing dew upon his heart. And they that loved him did
it — his parents, his teachers. They quenched the
=raoking flax, and turned out the lamp of God lighted
in the soul.
The last step was reconciliation to domestic duties.
He went down to Nazareth, and was subject unto
them. The first step in spirituality is to get a distaste
for common duties. There is a time when creeds^
ceremonies, services, are distasteful ; when the conveiv
228 THE EARLY DEVELOPMENT OF JESUS.
tional arrangements of society are intolerable burdens;
and when, aspiring with a sense of vague longing
after a goodness which shall be immeasurable, a duty
which shall transcend mere law, a something which we
cannot put in words, all restraints of rule and habit
gaU the spirit. But the last and highest step in spirit-
uality is made in feeling these common duties again
divine and holy. This is the true liberty of Christ,
when a free man binds himself in love to duty. Not
in shrinking from our distasteful occupations, but in
fulfilling them, do we realize our high origin. And
this is the blessed second childhood of Christian life.
All the several stages towards it seem to be shadowed
forth with accurate truthfulness in the narrative of the
Messiah's infancy. First, the quiet, unpretending, un-
conscious obedience and innocence of home. Then,
the crisis of inquiry ; new, strange thoughts, entrance
upon a new world, hopeless seeking of truth from
those who cannot teach it, hearing many teachers, and
questioning all ; thence bewilderment and bitterness,
loss of relish for fonner duties ; and small consolation
to a man in knowing that he is further off from heaven
than when he was a boy. And then, lastly, the true
reconciliation and atonement of our souls to God — a
second spring-tide of life, a second Faith deeper than
that of childhood, not instinctive, but conscious tiust,
childhke love come back again, childlike wonder,
childlike implicitness of obedience, only deeper than
childhood ever knew. "When life has got a new mean-
ing; when " old things are passed away, and all thingts
•ire become new ; " when earth has become irradiate
with the feeling of our Father's business and our
Father's Home.
XVI.
[Preached January 9, 1853.]
CHRIST'S ESTIMATE OF SIN
Luke xix. 10. — "The Son of Man is come to seek and tc save that
which was lost."
These words occur in the history which tells of the
recovery of Zaccheus from a life of worldliness to the
life of God. Zaccheus was a publican ; and the pub-
licans were outcasts among the Jews, because, having
accepted the office, under the Roman government, of
collecting the taxes imposed by Rome upon their
brethren, they were regarded as traitors to the cause
of Israel. Reckoned a degraded class, they became
degraded. It is hard for any man to live above the
moral standard acknowledged by his own class ; and
the moral standard of the publican was as low as pos-
sible. The first step downwards is to sink in the esti-
mation of others, — the next, and fatal step, is to sink
in a man's own estimation. The value of character is,
that it pledges men to be what they are taken for. It
is a fearful thing to have no character to support —
nothing to fall back upon, nothing to keep a man up
to himself. Now, the publicans had no character.
Into the house of one of these outcasts the Son of
Man had entered. It was quite certain that such an
20 (229)
230 Christ's estimate of sin.
act would be commented upon severely by people who
called themselves religious ; it would seem to them
scandalous, an outrage upon decency, a defiance to
every rule of respectability and decorum. No pious
Israelite would be seen holding equal intercourse with
a publican. In anticipation of such remarks, before
there was time, perhaps, to make them, Jesus spoke
these words : " The Son of Man is come to seek and
to save that which was lost."
They exhibit the peculiar aspect in which the Re-
deemer contemplated sin.
There are two ways of looking at sin : One is the
severe view. It makes no allowance for frailty ; it will
not hear of temptation, nor distinguish between cir-
cumstances. Men who judge in this way shut their
eyes to all but two objects, — a plain law, and a trans-
gression of that law. There is no more to be said :
let the law take its course. Now, if this be the right
view of sin, there is abundance of room left for admir-
ing what is good, and honorable, and upright; there is
positively no room provided for restoration. Happy
if you have done well ; but if ill, then nothing is
before you but judgment and fiery indignation.
The other view is one of laxity and false liberalism.
When such men speak, prepare yourself to hear
liberal judgments and lenient ones ; a great deal about
human weakness, error in judgment, mistakes, an unfc
tunate constitution, on which the chief blame of sin is
to rest — a good heart. All well, if we wanted, in this
mysterious struggle of a life, only consolation. But
we want far beyond comfort, — Goodness ; and to be
merely made easy when we have done wrong will not
lielp us to that I
CHRIST'S ESTIMATE OF SIN. 231
Distinct from both of these was Christ's view of
guilt. His standard of Right was high, — higher than
ever man had placed it before. Not moral excellence,
but heavenly, He demanded. " Except your right-
eousness shall exceed the righteousness of the Scribes
and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the king-
dom of heaven," Read the Sermon on the Mount. It
tells of a purity as of snow resting on an Alpine pin-
nacle, white in the blue holiness of heaven ; and yet,
also, He, the All-pure, had tenderness for what- was
not pure. He who stood in Divine uprightness that
never faltered felt compassion for the ruined, and
infinite gentleness for human fall. Broken, disap-
pointed, doubting hearts, in dismay and bewilderment,
never looked in vain to Him. Very strange, if we
stop to think of it, instead of repeating it, as a matter
of course. For generally human goodness repels from
it evil men ; they shun the society and presence of
men reputed good, as owls fly from light. But here
was purity attracting evil ; that was the wonder. Har-
lots and wretches steeped in infamy gathered round
Him. No wonder the purblind Pharisees thought
there must be something in Him like such sinners
which drew them so. Like draws to like. If He
chose their society before that of the Pharisees, was
it not because of some congeniality in Evil ? But they
did crowd His steps, and that because they saw a
hope opened out in a hopeless world for fallen spirits
and broken hearts, — ay, and seared hearts. The Son
of Man was forever standing among the lost ; and His
ever-predominant feelings were sadness for the evil in
human nature, hope for the Divine good in it, and tho
Divine image never worn out wholly.
232 Christ's estimate of sin.
1 perceive in this description three pecuHarities^
distinguishing Christ from ordinary men.
I. A pecuharity in the constitution of the Redeem
er's moral nature.
II. A peculiarity in the objects of His solicitude.
II , A peculiarity in His way of treating guilt.
I. In His moral constitution. Manifested in that
peculiar title which He assumed — The Son of Man.
Let us see what that implies.
1. It implies fairly His Divine origin; for it is an
emphatic expression, and, as we may so say, an unnatu-
ral one. Imagine an apostle — St. Paul or St. John —
insisting upon it pei'petually that he himself was
human. It would almost provoke a smile to hear
either of them averring and affirming, I am the Son of
Man ; it would be unnatural, the affectation of conde-
scension would be intolerable. Therefore, when we
hear these words from Christ, we are compelled to
think of them as contrasted with a higher Nature.
None could, without presumption, remind men that He
was their Brother, and a Son of Man, except One, who
was also something higher, even the Son of God.
2 It implies the catholicity of His Brotherhood.
Nothing, in the judgment of historians, stands out so
sharply distinct as race, — national character ; noth-
ing is more ineffaceable. The Hebrew was marked
from all mankind. The Roman was perfectly distinct
from the Grecian character ; as markedly different as
the rough English truthfulness is from Celtic brilliancy
of talent. Now, these peculiar nationalities are sel-
dom combined. You rarely find the stern old Jewish
sense of holiness going together with the Athenian
CHRIST'S ESTIMATE OF SIN. 233
eensitiveness of what is beautiful. Not often do you
find together severe truth and refined tenderness.
BrilHancy seems opposed to perseverance. Exquisite-
ness of Taste commonly goes along with a certain
amount of untruthfulness. By Humanity, as a whole,
we mean the aggregate of all these separate excel-
lences. Only in two places are they all found together,
— in the universal human race and in Jesus Christ.
fle having, as it were, a whole humanity in Himself,
combines them all.
Now. this is the universality of the Nature of Jesus
Christ. There was in Him no national peculiarity or
individual idiosyncrasy. He was not the Son of the
Jew, nor the Son of the Carpenter, nor the ofi'spring
of the modes of living and thinking of that particu-
lar century. He was the Son of Man. Once in the
world's history was born a Man. Once in the roll of
ages, out of innumerable failures, from the stock
of human nature one Bud developed itself into a
faultless Flower. One perfect specimen of humanity
has God exhibited on earth.
The best and most catholic of Englishmen has hia
prejudices. All the world over, our greatest writer
would be recognized as having the English cast of
thought. The pattern Jew would seem Jewish every-
where but in Judea. Take Abraham, St. John, S*"
Paul, place them where you will, — in China or in Peru,
— they are Hebrews ; they could not command all sym
pathies ; their life could not be imitable except in part.
They are foreigners in every land, and out of place in
every century, but their own. But Christ is the king
of men, and " draws all men," because all character is
in Him, separate from nationalities and limitations. As
20*
'234 Christ's estimate of sin.
if the life-blood of every nation were in His veina,
and that which is best and truest in every man, and
that which is tenderest and gentlest and purest in
every woman, in His character. He is emphatically
the Son of Man.
Out of this arose two powers of His sacred human-
ity, — the universality of His sympathies, and their
intense particular personality.
The universality of His sympathies : for, compare
Him with any one of the sacred characters of Scrip-
ture. You know how intensely national they were,
priests, prophets, and apostles, in their sympathies.
For example, the apostles " marvelled that He spake
with a woman of Samaria;" — just before His resur-
rection, their largest charity had not reached beyond
this, — "Lord, wilt thou at this time restore the king-
dom unto Israel ? " Or, to come down to modern times,
when His spirit has been moulding men's ways of
thought for many ages ; — now, when we talk of our
philanthropy and catholic liberality, here in Christian
England, we have scarcely any fellow-feeling, true and
genuine, with other nations, other churches, other
parties, than our own ; we care nothing for Italian or
Hungarian struggles ; we think of Romanists as the
Jew thought of Gentiles ; we speak of German Prot-
estants in the same proud, wicked, self-sufficient way
in which the Jew spoke of Samaritans.
Unless we bring such matters home, and away from
vague generalities, and consider what we and all men
are, or rather are not, we cannot comprehend with
due wonder the mighty sympathies of the heart of
Christ. None of the miserable antipathies that fence
us from all the world bounded the outgoings of that
Christ's estimate of sin. 235
Love, broad, and deep, and wide as the heart of God.
Wherever the mysterious pulse of human life was
beating, wherever aughi human was in struggle, therp
to Him was a thing not common or unclean, but
cleansed by God and sacred. Compare the daily,
almost indispensable language of our life with His
spirit. " Conmion people?" — Point us out the pas-
sage where he called any people, that God His Father
made, common? "Lower Orders?" — Tell us when
and where He, whose home was the workshop of the
carpenter, authorized jou or me to know any man
after the flesh as low or high ? To Him who called
Himself the Son of Man, the link was manhood. And
that He could discern even when it was marred. Even
in outcasts His eye could recognize the sanctities of a
nature human still. Even in the harlot, " one of Eve's
family ; " — a son of Abraham even in Zaccheus.
Once more, out of that universal, catholic Nature
rose another power, — the power of intense, particular,
personal afiections. He was the Brother and Saviour
of the human race ; but this because He was the
Brother and Saviour of every separate man in it.
Now, it is very easy to feel great affection for a
country as a whole ; to have, for instance, great sym-
pathies for Poland, or Ireland, or America, and yet not
care a whit for any single man in Poland, and to have
strong antipathies to every single individual American.
Easy to be a warm lover of England, and yet not love one
living Englishman. Easy to set a great value on a flock
of sheep, and yet have no particular care for any one
sheep or lamb. If it were killed, another of the same
species might replace it. Easy to have fine, largo,
liberal views about the working-classes, or tue emauci*
236 cheist's estimate of sin.
pation of the negroes, and yet never have done a
loving act to one. Easy to be a great philanthropist,
^d yet have no strong friendships, no deep personal
attachments.
For the idea of an universal Manlike sympathy was
not new when Christ was born. The reality was new.
But before this, in the Roman theatre, deafening ap-
plause was called forth by this sentence, — "I am a
man, — nothing that can affect man is indifferent to
me." A fine sentiment — that was all. Every pretence
of realizing that sentiment, except one, has been a
failure. One, and but one, has succeeded in loving
man — and that by loving men. No sublime high-
sounding language in His lips about educating the
masses, or elevating the people. The charlatanry of
our modern sentiment had not appeared then ; it is but
the parody of His Love.
What was His mode of sympathy with men ? He
did not sit down to philosophize about the progress
of the species, or dream about a millennium. He
gathered round Him twelve men. He formed one
friendship, special, concentrated, deep. He did not
give Himself out as the Leader of the Publican's
cause, or the Champion of the Rights of the dangerous
classes : but he associated with Himself Matthew, a
publican called from the detested receipt of custom ;
he went into the house of Zaccheus, and treated him
like a fellow-creature, a brother, and a son of Abi-a-
ham. His catholicity, or philanthropy, was not an
abstraction, but an aggregate of personal attachments.
n. Peculiarity in the objects of Christ's solicitude.
He had come to seek and to save the " lost." The
CHRIST'S ESTIMATE OP SIX. 237
world is lost, and Christ came to save the world. But,
by the lost in this place, He does not mean the world ;
He means a special class, lost in a more than common
sense, as sheep are lost which have strayed from the
flock, and wandered far beyond all their fellows scat-
tered in the wilderness.
Some men are lost by the force of their own pas-
sions : as Balaam was by love of gold ; as Saul was by
self-will ending in jealousy, and pride darkened into
madness ; as Haman was by envy indulged and
brooded on ; as the harlots were, through feelings
pure and high at first, inverted and perverted ; as
Judas was by secret dishonesty, undetected in its first
beginnings — the worst misfortune that can, befall a
tendency to a false life. And others are lost by the
entanglement of outward circumstances, which make
escape, humanly speaking, impossible. Such were the
publicans, — men forced^ like executioners, into degra-
dation. An honest publican, or a holy executioner,
would be miracles to marvel at. And some are lost by
the laws of society, which, defending society, have no
mercy for its outcasts, and forbid their return — fallen
once forever.
Society has power to bind on earth ; and what it
binds is bound upon the soul indeed.
For a man or woman who has lost self-respect is lost
indeed.
And, I the untold world of agony contained in
that expression — "a lost soul ! " — agony exactly in
proportion to the nobleness of original powers. For
it is a strange and mournful truth, that the qualities
which calculate to shine are exactly those which min-
ister to the worst ruin. God's highest gifts, — talent.
238 Christ's estimate of sin.
beauty, feeling, imagination, power, — they carry with
them the possibility of the highest heaven and the
lowest hell. Be sure that it is by that which is highest
in you that you may be lost. It is the awful warning,
and not the excuse of evil, that the light which leads
astray is light from heaven. The shallow jBshing-boat
glides safely over the reefs where the noble bark
strands : it is the very might and majesty of her careei
that bury the sharp rock deeper in her bosom. There
are thousands who are not lost (like the respectable
Pharisees), because they had no impetuous impulses
— no passion — no strong enthusiasm, by the perver-
sion of which they could be lost.
Now, this will explain to us what there was in these
lost ones which left a hope for their salvation, and
which Jesus saw in them to seek and save. Outwardly
men saw a crust of black scowling impenitence — rep-
robates, they called them. Below that outward crust
ran a hot lava-stream of anguish. What was that?
The coward fear of hell ? Nay, hardened men defy
hell. The anguish of the lost ones of this world is not
fear of punishment. It was and is the misery of hav-
ing quenched a light brighter than the sun ; the intol-
erable sense of being sunk ; the remorse of knowing
that they were not what they might have been. And
He saw that ; He knew it was the germ of Hfe, which
God's spirit could develop into salvation.
It was His work and His desire to save such ; and in
this world a new and strange solicitude it was, for the
world had seen before nothing like it.
Not half a century ago, a great man was seen stoop-
ing and working in a charnel-house of bones. Un-
couth, uameless fragments lay around him, which the
CHRIST'S ESTIMATE OF SIN. 239
workmen had dug up and thrown aside as rubbish.
They belonged to some far-back age, and no man knew
what they were or whence — few men cared. The
world was merry at the sight of a philosopher groping
among mouldy bones. But when that creative mind,
reverently discerning the fontal types of living being
in diverse shapes, brought together those strange frag-
ments, bone to bone, and rib to claw, and tooth to its
own corresponding vertebra, re-combining the won-
drous forms of past ages, and presenting each to the
astonished world as it moved and lived a hundred
thousand ages back, then men began to perceive that
a new science had begun on earth.
And such was the work of Christ. They saw Him
at work among the fragments and mouldering wreck
of our humanity, and sneered. But He took the dry
bones such as Ezekiel saw in Vision, which no man
thought could live, and He breathed into them the
breath of life. He took the scattered fragments of
our ruined nature ; interpreted their meaning, showed
the original intent of those powers, which were now
destructive only ; drew out from publicans and sinners
yearnings which were incomprehensible, and feelings
which were misunderstood ; vindicated the beauty of
the original intention ; showed the Divine Order below
the chaos ; exhibited to the world once more a human
soul in the form in which God had made it, saying to
the dry bones, " Live ! "
Only what in the great foreigner was a taste, in
Christ was love. In the one, the gratification of an
enlightened curiosity; in the other, the gratification
of a sublime affection. In the philosopher, it was a
longing to restore and reproduce the past ; in Christ,
240- cheist's estimate of sin.
a hope for the future, — " to seek and to save that which
was lost."
III. A peculiarity in His mode of treatment. How
were those lost ones to be restored? The human
plans are reducible to three. Government have tried
chastisement for the reclamation of offenders. For
ages that was the only expedient known either to
church or state. Time has written upon it Failure.
I do not say that penal severity is not needful. Per-
haps it is, for protection, and for the salutary expres-
sion of indignation against certain forms of evil. But
as a system of reclamation it has failed. Did the rack
ever reclaim, in heart, one heretic? Did the scaffold
ever soften one felon ? One universal fact of history
replies : Where the penal code was most sanguinary,
and when punishments were most numerous, crime
was most abundant.
Again, society has tried exclusion for life. I do not
pretend to say that it may not be needfuL It may be
necessary to protect your social purity, by banishing
offenders of a certain sort forever. I only say for
recovery it is a failure. Who ever knew one case
where the ban of exclusion was hopeless, and the
ghame of that exclusion reformed ? Did we ever hear
of a fallen creature made moral by despair? Name, if
you can, the publican or the harlot, in any age, brought
back to goodness by a Pharisee, or by the system of
a Pharisee.
And once more, some governors have tried the sys-
tem of indiscriminate lenity : they forgave great crim-
inals, trusting all the future to gratitude ; they passed
over great sins, — they sent away the ringleaders of
Christ's estimate of sin. 241
rebellion with honors heaped upon them : they thought
this was the Gospel ; they expected dramatic emotion
to work wonders. How far this miserable system haa
succeeded, let those tell us who have studied the his-
tory of our South African colonies for the last twenty
years. We were tired of cruelty: we tried senti-
ment — we trusted to feeling. Feeling failed: we
only made hypocrites, and encouraged rebellion by
impunity. Inexorable severity, rigorous banishment,
indiscriminate and mere forgivingness, all are failures.
In Christ's treatment of guilt we find three peculiar-
ities : sympathy, holiness, firmness.
1. By human sympathy. In the treatment of Zac-
cheus this was almost all. We read of almost nothing
else as the instrument of that wonderful reclamation.
One thing only, — Christ went to his house self-invited.
But that one was everything. Consider it : Zaccheus
was, if he were like other publicans, a hard and hard-
ened man. He felt people shrink from him in the
streets. He lay under an imputation ; and we know
how that feeling of being universally suspected and
misinterpreted makes a man bitter, sarcastic, and de-
fiant. And so the outcast would go home, look at his
gold, rejoice in the revenge he could take by false
accusations ; felt a pride in knowing that they might
hate, but could not help fearing him ; scorned the
world, and shut up his heart against it.
At last, one whom all men thronged to see, and all
men honored, or seemed to honor, came to him, —
offered to go home and sup with him. For the first
time for many years, Zaccheus felt that he was not
despised, and the flood-gates of that avaricious, shut
heart were opened in a tide of love and generosity.
21
242 CHRIST'S ESTIMATE OF SIN.
" Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the
poor; and if I have taken anything from any man by
false accusation, I restore him four-fold."
He was reclaimed to human feeling by being taught
that he was a man still ; recognized and treated like a
man. A Son of Man had come to " seek " him, the lost.
2. By the exhibition of Divine holiness.
The holiness of Christ differed from all earthly,
common, vulgar holiness. Wherever it was, it elicited
a sense of sinfulness and imperfection. Just as
the purest-cut crystal of the rock looks dim beside
the diamond, so the best men felt a sense of guilt
growing distinct upon their souls. When the Anointed
of God came near, " Depart from me," said the
bravest and truest of them all, " for I am a sinful man,
O Lord."
But, at the same time, the holiness of Christ did
not awe men away from Him, nor repel them. It
inspired them with hope. It was not that vulgar,
unapproachable sanctity which makes men awkward in
its presence, and stands aloof. Its peculiar character-
istic was, that it made men enamored of goodness. It
" drew all men unto Him."
This is the difference between greatness that is first-
rate and greatness which is second-rate, — between
heavenly and earthly goodness. The second-rate and
the earthly draws admiration on itself. You say,
" How great an act, — how good a man ! " The first-
rate and the heavenly imparts itself, — inspires a
spirit. You feel a kindred something in you that
rises up to meet it, and draws you out of yourself,
making you better than you were before, and opening
out the infinite possibilities of your life and soul.
christ'3 estimate of sin. 243
And such preeminently was the holiness of Christ.
Had some earthly great or good one come to Zac-
cheus' house, a prince or a nobleman, his feeling
would have been, What condescension is there ! But,
when He came whose every word and act had in
it Life and Power, no such barren reflection was
the result ; but, instead, the beauty of holiness had
become a power within him, and a longing for self-
consecration. " Behold, Lord, the half of my goods
I give to the poor ; and if I have taken anything
from any man by false accusation, I restore him four-
fold."
3. By Divine sympathy, and by the Divine Image,
exhibited in the speaking act of Christ, the lost
was sought and saved. He was saved, as alone all
fallen men can be saved. " Beholding as in a glass
the glory of the Lord, he was changed into the
same image." And this is the very essence of the
Gospel of Jesus Christ. We are redeemed by the
Life of God without us, manifested in the Person
of Christ, kindling into flame the Life of God that
is within us. Without Him we can do nothing.
Without Him the warmth that was in Zaccheus' heart
would have smouldered uselessly away. Through
Him it became Life and Light, and the lost was saved.
XYII.
[Preached January 16, 1853.]
THF SANCTIFICATION OF CHRIST.
7oHif xvii. 19. — *' And for their sakes I sanctify myself, that they also
might be sanctified through the truth. '
The prayer in which these words occur is given to
us by the Apostle John alone. Perhaps only St.
John could give it, for it belongs to the peculiar
province of his revelation. He presents us with
more of the heart of Christ than the other apostles ;
with less of the outward manifestations. He gives
us more conversations, — fewer miracles ; more of the
inner life, — more of what Christ was, less of what
Christ did.
St. John's mind was not argumentative, but intuitive.
There are two ways of reaching truth : by reasoning
out, and by feeling out. All the profoundest truths are
felt out. The deep glances into truth are got by Love.
Love a man, that is the best way of understanding him.
Feel a truth, that is the only way of comprehending it.
Not that you can put your sense of such truths into
words, in the shape of accurate maxims or doctrines ;
but the truth is reached, notwithstanding. Compare 1
Cor. ii. 15, 16.
(244)
THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHEIST. 245
Now, St. John felt out truth. He understood hia
Lord by loving Him. You find no long trains of argu-
ment in St. John's writings ; an atmosphere of contem-
plation pervades all. Brief, full sentences, glowing
with imagery of which the mere prose intellect makes
nonsense, and which a warm heart alone interprets, —
that is the character of his writing; very different from
the other apostles. St. Peter's knowledge of Christ was
formed by impetuous mistakes, corrected slowly and
severely. St. Paul's Christianity was formed by prin-
ciples wrought out glowing hot, as a smith hammers
out ductile iron, in his unresting earnest fire of thought,
where the Spirit dwelt in warmth and light forever,
kindling the Divine fire of inspiration. St. John and
St. John's Christianity were formed by personal view
of Christ, intercourse with Him, and silent contempla-
tion. Slowly, month by month and year by year, he
gazed on Christ in silence, and thoughtful adoration.
" Eeflecting as from a glass the glory of the Lord,"
he became like Him : caught His tones. His modes of
thought. His very expressions, and became partaker
of His inward life. A " Christ was formed in him."
Hence it was that this prayer was revealed to St.
John alone of the apostles, and by him alone recorded
for us. The Saviour's mind touched his; through
secret sympathy he was inspired with the mystic con-
sciousness of what had passed and what was passing
in the deeps of the soul of Christ. Its secret longings
and its deepest struggles were known to Jolm alone.
This particular sentence in the prayer which I have
taken for the text was peculiarly after the heart of
the Apostle John. For I have said that to him the
true life of Christ was rather the inner Life than tho
21*
246 THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHEIST.
outward acts of life. Now, this sentence from tlie lips
of Jesus speaks of the Atoning Sacrifice as an inward
mental act rather than as an outward deed; a self-
consecration wrought out in the Will of Christ. For
their sakes I am sanctifying myself. That is a resolve,
— a secret of the inner Life. No wonder it was re-
corded by St. John.
The text has two parts.
I. The sanctification of Jesus Christ.
II. The sanctification of His people.
1. Christ's sanctification of Himself. " For their
sakes I sanctify myself, that they also might be sancti-
fied through the truth."
We must explain this word " sanctify ; " upon it the
whole meaning turns. Clearly, it has not the ordinary
popular sense here of making holy. Christ was holy.
He could not, by an inward eflbrt or struggle, make
Himself holy, for He was that already.
Let us trace the history of the word " sanctify " in
the early pages of the Jewish history.
When the destroying angel smote the first-born of
the Egyptian families, the symbolic blood on the lintei
of every Hebrew house protected the eldest born from
the plague of death. In consequence, a law of Moses
\"iewed every eldest son in a peculiar light. He was
reckoned as a thing devoted to the Lord, — redeemed,
and therefore set apart. The word used to express
this devotion is sanctify. " The Lord said unto Moses,
Sanctify unto me all the first-born, whatsoever openeth
the womb among the children of Israel, both of man
and of beast : it is mine."
^y a subsequent arrangement these first-born were
THE SA^XTIFICATION OF CHRIST. 247
exchanged for the Levites. Instead of the eldest son
in each family, a whole tribe was taken, and reckoned
as set apart and devoted to Jehovah, just as now a sub-
stitute is provided to serve in war in another's stead.
Therefore, the tribe of Levi were said to be sanctijied
tc God.
Ask we what was meant by saying that the Levites
were sanctified to God ? The ceremony of their sancti-
fication will explain it to us. It was a very significant
one. The priest touched with the typical blood of a
sacrificed animal the Levite's right hand, right eye,
right foot. This was the Levite's sanctification. It
devoted every faculty and every power, — of seeing,
doing, walking, — the right-hand faculties, the best and
choicest, — to God's peculiar service. He was a man
set apart.
To sanctify, therefore, in the Hebrew phrase, meant to
devote or consecrate. Let us pause for a few moments
to gather up the import of this ceremony of the Le-
vites.
The first-born are a nation's hope ; they may be said
to represent a whole nation. The consecration, there-
fore, of the first-born, was the consecration of the en-
tire nation by their representatives. Now, the Levites
were substituted for the first-born. The Levites con-
sequently represented aU Israel, and by their conse-
cration the life of Israel was declared to be in idea
and by right a consecrated life to God. But further
still. As the Levites represented Israel, so Israel itself
was but a part taken for the whole, and represented
the whole human race. If any one thinks this liiuci-
ful, let him remember the principle of representation
on which the whole Jewish svstem was built. For ex-
248 THE SANCTIFTCATION OF CHRIST.
amp.e — the first-fruits of the harvest were consecrated
to God. Why ? To declare that portion, and that only,
to be God's ? No ; St. Paul says, as a part for the
whole, to teach and remind that the whole harvest was
His. " If the first-fruits be holy, the lump also is holy."
So, in the same way, God consecrated a peculiar people
to Himself Why ? The Jews say, because they alone
are His. We say, as a part representative of the whole,
to show in one nation what all are meant to be. The
holiness of Israel is a representative holiness. Just
as the consecrated Levite stood for what Israel was
meant to be, so the anointed and separated nation rep-
resents forever what the whole race of man is in the
Divine Idea, a thing whose proper life is perpetual con-
secration.
One step further. This being the true life of Hu-
manity, name it how you will, — sanctification, consecra-
tion, devotion, sacrifice, — Christ, the Representative
of the Race, submits Himself in the text to the universal
law of this devotion. The true law of every life is
consecration to God ; therefore Christ says, I conse-
crate myself; else He had not been a Man in God's
idea of manhood, — for the idea of Man which God had
been for ages laboring to give through a consecrated
tribe and a consecrated nation to the world, was the
idea of a being whose life-law is sacrifice, every act
and every thought being devoted to God.
Accordingly, this is the view which Christ Himself
gave of His own Divine Humanity. He spoke of it
as of a thing devoted by a Divine decree. ** Say ye
ot Him, whom the Father hath sanctified, and sent into
the world, Thou blasphemest ; because I said, I am the
Son of God?"
THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHRIST. 249
We have reached, therefore, the meaning of this
word in the text. For their sakes I sanctify, that is,
consecrate or devote myself. The first meaning of
sanctify is to set apart. But to set apart for God is to
devote or consecrate ; and to consecrate a thing is to
make it holy. And thus we have the three meanings
of the word, — namely, to set apart, to devote, to make
holy, — rising all out of one simple idea.
To go somewhat into particulars. This sanctifica-
tion is spoken of here chiefly as three-fold : Self-devo-
tion by inward resolve — self devotion to the Truth —
self-devotion for the sake of others.
1. He devoted Himself by inward resolve. " I sanc-
tify myself" God His Father had devoted Him before.
He had sanctified and sent Him. It only remained
that this devotion should become by His own act
se?/'-devotion — completed by His own will. Now, in
that act of will consisted His sanctification of Himself.
For, observe, this was done within ; in secret, soli-
tary struggle — in wrestling with all temptations which
deterred Him from His work — in resolve to do it
unflinchingly ; in real human battle and victory.
Therefore this self sanctification applies to the Avhole
t@ne and history of His mind. He was forever devot-
ing Himself to work — forever bracing His human
spirit to sublime resolve. But it applies peculiarly to
certain special moments, when some crisis, as on this
present occasion, came, which called for an act of will.
The first of these moments which we read of came
when he was twelve years of age. We pondered on
it a few weeks ago. In the tem^jle, that earnest con-
versation with the doctors indicates to us that He had
begun to revolve His own mission in His mind ; for
250 THE SANCTIFICATION OP CHRIST.
the answer to His mother's expostulations shows us
what had been the subject of those questions He had
been putting: " Wist ye not that I must be about my
Father's business ? " Solemn words, significant of a
crisis in His mental history. He had been asking
those doctors about His Father's business ; what it
was, and how it was to be done by Him of whom He
had read in the prophets, even Himself. This was the
earliest self-devotion of Messias ; — the Boy was sanc-
tifying Himself for life and manhood's work.
The next time was in that preparation of the wil-
derness which we call Christ's Temptation. You can-
not look deeply into that strange story without
perceiving that the true meaning of it lies in this,
that the Saviour in that conflict was steeling His soul
against the three-fold form in which temptation pre-
sented itself to Him in after-life, to mar or neutralize
His ministry.
1st. To convert the hard, stony life of Duty into the
comfort and enjoyment of this life ; to barter, like
Ksau, life for pottage ; to use Divine powers in Him
only to procure bread of Earth.
2d. To distrust God, and try impatiently some wild,
eudden plan, instead of His meek and slow-appointed
ways, — to cast Himself from the temple, as'we dash
ourselves against our destiny.
3d. To do homage to the majesty of wrong; to
worship Evil for the sake of success ; making the
world His own by force or by crooked policy, instead
of suffering.
These were the temptations of His life, as they are
ot ours. If you search through His history, you find
that all trial was reducible to one or other of these
THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHRIST. 251
three forms. Id the wilderness His soul foresaw them
all ; they were all in spirit met then, fought and con-
quered before they came in their reality. In the
wilderness He had sanctified and consecrated Himself
against all possible temptation, and Life thenceforward
was only the meeting of that in Fact which had been
in Resolve met already — a vanquished foe.
I said He had sanctified Himself against every trial ;
I should have said, against every one except the last.
The temptation had not exhibited the terrors and the
form of Death ; He had yet to nerve and steel Himself
to that. And hence the lofty sadness which charac-
terizes His later ministry, as He went down from the
sunny mountain-tops of life into the darkening shades
of the valley where lies the grave. There is a per-
ceptible difference between the tone of His earlier and
that of His later ministry, which, by its evidently unde-
signed truthfulness, gives us a strong feeling of the
reality of the history.
At first all is bright, full of hope, signalized by suc-
cess and triumph. You hear from Him joyous words
of anticipated victory: "I beheld Satan as lightning
fall from heaven." And we recollect how His first
sermon in the synagogue of Capernaum was hailed ;
how all eyes were fixed on Him, and his words seemed
full of grace.
Slowly, after this, there comes a change over the
spirit of His life. The unremitting toil becomes more
superhuman: " I must work the work of Him that sent
Me while it is day ; the night cometli when no man can
work." The cold presentiment of doom hangs more
often on Him. He begins to talk to His disciples in
mysterious hints of the betrayal and the cross. He is
252 THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHRIST.
going down into the cloudland, full of shadows where
nothing is distinct, and His step becomes more solemn,
and His language more deeply sad. Words of awe,
the words as of a soul struggling to pierce through
thick glooms of Mystery, and Doubt, and Death, come
more often from His lips. For example : " Now is My
soul troubled, and what shall I say ? Father, save me
from this hour, but for this cause came I into .he
world." — " My soul is exceeding sorrowful even unto
death." And here in the text is another of those
sentences of mournful grandeur : " For their sakes I
sanctify Myself, that they also might be sanctified
through the truth."
Observe the present tense. Not I shall devote My-
self, — but I sanctify, that is, I am sanctifying Myself.
It was a mental struggle going on then. This prayer
was, so to speak, part of His Gethsemane prayer, —
the first utterances of it, broken by interruption, —
then finished in the garden. The consecration and
the Agony had begun — the long inward battle —
which was not complete till the words came, too
solemnly to be called triumphantly, though they were
indeed the trumpet-tones of Man's grand victory, " It
is finished."
2. The sanctification of Christ was self-devotion to
the Truth.
I infer this, because He says, " I sanctify Myself,
that they also might be sanctified through the truth."
'* Also " implies that what His consecration was, theirs
was. Now, theirs is expressly said to be sanctification
by the truth. That, then, was His consecration, too.
It was the truth which devoted Him, and marked Him
out for death.
THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHRIST. 253
For it was not merely death that made Christ's sac-
rifice the world's Atonement. There is no special
virtue in mere death, even though it be the death of
God's own Son. Blood does not please God. " As I
Jive, saith the Lord, I have no pleasure in the death of
the sinner." Do you think God has pleasure in the
blood of the righteous? — blood, merely as blood? —
death, merely as a debt of nature paid? — suffering,
merely as if suffering had in it mysterious virtue ?
No, my brethren I God can be satisfied with that
only which pertains to the conscience and the will ;
so says the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews :
" Sacrifices could never make the comers thereunto
perfect." The blood of Christ was sanctified by the
Will with which He shed it ; it is that which gives it
value. It was a sacrifice offered up to conscience.
He suffered as a Martyr to the Truth. He fell in fidel-
ity to a cause. The sacred cause in which He fell was
love to the human race : " Greater love hath no man
than this, that a man give his life for his friends."
Now, that Truth was the Cause in which Christ died.
We have His own words as proof: " To this end was
I born, and for this cause came I into the world, to bear
witness to the Truth.''
Let us see how His death w^as a martyrdom of wit-
ness to Truth.
First, He proclaimed the identity between religion
and Goodness. He distinguished religion from correct
views, accurate religious observances, and even from
devout feehngs. He said that to be religious is to be
good. " Blessed are the pure in heart .... Blessed
are the merciful .... Blessed are the meek." Jus*
22
254 THE 8ANCTIFICATI0N OP CHRIST.
tice, mercy, truth — these He proclaimed as the real
righteousness of God.
But, because He taught the truth of Godliness, the
Pharisees became His enemies : those men of opinions
and maxims ; those men of ecclesiastical, ritual, and
^1 iritual pretensions.
Again, He taught spiritual Religion. God was not
in the temple ; the temple was to come down. But
Religion would survive the temple. God's temple was
man's soul.
Because He taught spiritual worship, the priests
became His enemies. Hence came those accusations
that He blasphemed the temple ; that He had said, con-
temptuously, " Destroy this temple, and in three days
I will raise it up."
Once more, He struck a death-blow at Jewish exclu-
siveness ; He proclaimed the truth of the character of
God. God, the Father. The hereditary descent from
Abraham was nothing; the inheritance of Abraham's
faith wa? everything. God, therefore, would admit the
Gentiles who inherited that faith. For God loved the
world, — not a private few ; not the Jew only, not the
elder brother who had been all his life at home, — but
the prodigal younger brother, too, who had wandered
far and sinned much.
Now, because He proclaimed this salvation of the
Gentiles, the whole Jewish nation were offended.
The first time He ever hinted it at Capernaum, they
took Him to the brow of the hill whereon their city
was built, that they might throw Him thence.
And thus, by degrees, — priests, pharisees, rulers,
rich, and p^or, — He had roused them all against Him;
and the Divine Martyr of the Truth stood alone at last
THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHRIST. 255
beside the cross, when the world's Hfe was to be won,
without a friend.
All this we must bear in mind, if we would under-
stand the expression, "I sanctify Myself." He was
sanctifying and consecrating Himself for this, — to
be a Witness to the Truth, — a devoted one, conse-
crated in His heart's deeps to die, — loyal to Truth, —
even though it should have to give, as the reward of
allegiance, not honors and kingdoms, but only a crown
of thorns.
3. The self-sanctification of Christ was for the sake
of others. " For their sakes." . . .
He obeyed the law of self-consecration for Himself,
else He had not been man ; for that law is the uni-
versal law of our human existence. But He obeyed
it not for Himself alone, but for others also. It was
vicarious self-devotion — that is, instead of others, as
the Representative of them. " For their sakes," as an
example, " that they also might be sanctified through
the truth."
Distinguish between a model and an example. You
copy the outline of a model ; you imitate the spirit of
an example. Christ is our Example ; Christ is not our
Mode.. You might copy the life of Christ — make
Him a model in every act — and yet you might be not
one whit more of a Christian than before. You might
wash the feet of poor fishermen as He did ; live a wan-
dering life, with nowhere to lay your head. You
might go about teaching, and never use any words
but His words, never express a religious truth except
in Bible language, have no home, and mix with pulili-
cans and harlots. Then Christ would be your model ;
vou would have coDied His life, like a pir:tnre, line for
256 THE SANCTIPICATION OP CHRIST.
line, and shadow for shadow, and yet you might not
Le Christlike.
On the other hand, you might imitate Christ, get
His Spirit, breathe the atmosphere of thought which
He breathed, do not one single act which He did, but
every act in His Spirit ; you might be rich, whereas
He was poor ; never teach, whereas He was teaching
always ; lead a life, in all outward particulars, the very
contrast and opposite of His ; and yet the spirit of His
self-devotion might have saturated your whole being,
and penetrated into the life of every act, and the es-
sence of every thought. Then Christ would have
become your Example ; for we can only imitate that
of which we have caught the spirit.
Accordingly, He sanctified Himself that He might
become a living, inspiring Example, firing men's hearts,
by love, to imitation, — a burning and a shining Light
shed upon the mystery of Life, to guide by a spirit of
warmth lighting from within. In Christ there is not
given to us a faultless essay on the loveliness of self-
consecration, to convince our reason how beautiful it
is ; but there is given to us a self consecrated One : a
living Truth, a living Person ; a Life that was beau-
tiful, a Death that we feel in our inmost hearts to have
been Divine ; and all this in order that the Spirit of
that consecrated Life and consecrated Death, through
love and wonder, and deep enthusiasm, may pass into
us, and sanctify us, also, to the Truth, in life and
death. He sacrificed Himself that we might ofier our-
selves a living sacrifice to God.
II. Christ's sanctification of His people : " That they
also might be sanctified through the truth."
THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHRIST. 257
To sanctify means two things. It means to devote,
and it means to set apart. Yet these two meanings are
but diflferent sides of the same idea ; for to be devoted
to God is to be separated from all that is opposed U
God.
Those whom Christ sanctifies are separated froa
two things : From the world's evil, and from thi
world's spirit.
1. From the world's evil. So in verse 15 : "I pray
not that Thou shouldest take them out of the world,
but that Thou shouldest keep them from the evil."
Not from physical evil, not from pain ; Christ does not
exempt His own from such kinds of evil. Nay, we
hesitate to call pain and sorrow evils, when we remem-
ber what bright characters they have made, and when
we recollect that almost all who came to Christ came
impelled by sufi'ering of some kind or other. For
example, the Syrophenician woman had been driven to
" fall at His feet and worship Him," by the anguish of
the tormented daughter whom she had watched. It
was a widow that cast into the treasury all her living,
and that widow poor.
Possibly Want and Woe will be seen hereafter, when
Ihis world of Appearance shall have passed away, to
have been, not evils, but God's blessed angels, and
ministers of His most parental love.
But the evil from which Christ's sanctification sepa-
lates the soul is that worst of evils — properly speak-
ing, the only evil — sin ; revolt from God, disloyalty
to conscience, tyranny of the passions, strife of our
self will in conflict with the loving Will of God. This
is our foe, — our only foe, that we have a right to hate
with perfect hatred, meet it where we will, and under
22*
258 THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHRIST.
whatever form, in church or state, in false social max.
ims, or in our own hearts. And it was to sanctify or
separate us from this that Christ sanctified or conse-
crated Himself. By the blood of His anguish, by the
strength of His unconquerable resolve, we are sworn
against it ; bound to be, or else sinning greatly, in a
world of evil, consecrated spirits.
2. The self-devotion of Christ separates us from the
world's spirit.
Distinguish between the world's evil and the world's
spirit. Many things which cannot be classed amongst
things evil are yet dangerous as things worldly.
It is one of the most difficult of all ministerial duties
to define what the world-spirit is. It cannot be identi-
fied with vice, nor can unworldliness be defined as
abstinence from vice. The Old Testament saints were
many of them great transgressors. Abraham lied ;
Jacob deceived ; David committed adultery. Crimes
dark surely, and black enough ! And yet these men
were unworldly — the spirit of the world was not in
them. They erred and were severely punished; for
crime is crime in whomsoever it is found, and most a
crime in a saint of God. But they were beyond their
age ; they were not of the world. They were strang-
ers and pilgrims upon earth. They were in the midst
of innumerable temptations from within and from with-
out, seeking after a better country, that is, an heavenly.
Again, you cannot say that worldliness consists in
mixing with many people, and unworldliness with few.
Daniel was unworldly in the luxurious, brilliant '^ourt
of Babylon ; Adam, in Paradise, had but one compan-
ion — that one was the world to him.
Again, the spirit of the world cannot be defined as
THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHRIST. " 259
consisting in any definite plainness of dress or peculiar
mode of living. If we would be sanctified from the
world when Christ comes, we must be found not strip-
ping ofi" the ornaments from our persons, but the cen-
soriousness from our tongues, and the selfishness from
our hearts.
Once more, that which is a sign of unworldliness in
one age is not a certain sign of it in another. In
Daniel's age, when dissoluteness marked the world,
frugal living was a sufficient evidence that he was not
of the world. To say that he restrained his appetites,
was nearly the same as saying that he was sanctified.
But now, when intemperance is not the custom, a life
as temperate as Daniel's might coexist with all that is
worst of the spirit of the world in the heart. Almost
no man then was temperate who was not serving God ;
now, hundreds of thousands are self-controlled by
prudence, who serve the world and self
Therefore, you cannot define sanctification by any
outward marks or rules. But he who will thoughtfully
watch will understand what is this peculiar sanctifica-
tion or separation from the world which Christ desired
in His servants.
He is sanctified by the self-devotion of his Master
from the world, who has a life in himself independent
of the maxims and customs which sweep along with
them other men. . In his Master's words, " A well of
water in him, springing up into everlasting life," keep-
ing his life, on the whole, pure, and his heart fresh.
His true life is hid with Christ and God. His motives,
the aims and objects of his life, however inconsistent
they may be with each other, however irregularly or
feebly carried out, are yet, on the whole, above, not
260 THE SANCTIFICATION OF CHRIST.
here. His citizenship is in heaven. He may be
tempted ; he may err ; he may fall : but still, in hia
darkest aberrations, there will.be a something that
keeps before him still the dreams and aspirations of
his best days ; a thought of the Cross of Christ, and
the self-consecration that it typifies ; a conviction
that that is the Highest, and that alone the true Life.
And that — if it were only that — would make him
essentially difi'erent from other men, even when he mixes
with them, and seems to catch their tone, — among them,
but not one of them. And that Life within him ia
Christ's pledge that he shall be yet what he longs to
be, — a something severing him, separating him, con-
secrating him. For him, and for such as him, the conse-
cration prayer of Christ was made. " They are not
of the world, even as I am not of the world : Sanctify
them through thy Truth : Thy Word is Truth."
XVIII.
[Preached January 23, 1853. J
THE FIRST MIRACLE.
I. THE GLORY OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER.
John ii. 11. — " This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee,
and manifested forth his glory; and his disciples believed on him."
This was the " beginning of Miracles " which Jesus
did, and yet He was now thirty years of age. For
thirty years He had done no miracle ; and that is, in
itself, almost worthy to be called a miracle. That He
abstained for thirty years from the exertion of His
wonder-working power, is as marvellous as that He
possessed for three years the power to exert. He was
content to live long in deep obscurity. Nazareth, with
its quiet valley, was world enough for Him. There
was no disposition to rush into publicity ; no haste to
be known in the world. The quiet consciousness of
power which breathes in that expression, " Mine hour
is not yet come," had marked His whole life. He
could bide His time. He had the strength to wait.
This was true greatness, — the greatness of man,
because also the greatness of God : for such is God's
way in all He does. In all the works of God there is
a conspicuous absence of haste and hurry. All that
(201)
262 THE FIRST MIRACLE.
He does ripens slowly. Six slow days and nights of
creative force before man was made ; two thousand
years to discipline and form a Jewish people ; four
thousand years of darkness, and ignorance, and crime,
before the fulness of the Time had come, when He
could send forth His Son ; unnumbered ages of war
before the thousand years of solid peace can come.
"Whatever contradicts this Divine plan must pay the
price of haste — brief duration. All that is done
before the hour is come decays fast. All precocious
things, ripened before their time, wither before their
time — precocious fruit, precocious minds, forced feel-
ings. " He that believeth shall not make haste."
We shall distribute the various thoughts which this
event suggests under two heads.
I. The Glory of the Virgin Mother.
n. The Glory of the Divine Son.
I. The Glory of the Virgin Mother.
In the First Epistle to the Corinthians, St. Paul
speaks of the glory of the woman as of a thing dis-
tinct from the glory of the man. They are tl^ two
opposite poles of the sphere of humanity. Their
provinces are not the same, but different. The quali-
ties which are beautiful as predominant in one are not
beautiful when predominant in the other. That which
is the glory of the one is not the glory of the other.
The glory of her, who was highly favored among
women, and whom all Christendom has agreed in con-
templating as the type and ideal of her sex, was glory
in a different order from that in which her Son exhib-
ited the glory of a perfect manhood. A glory ditferent
in degree, of course : — the one was only human, the
-^HS GLORY OF THE t^IRGrN MOTHER. 263
other more than human — the Word made flesh. But
different in order, too : — the one manifesting forth her
glory, — the grace of womanhood; the other mani-
festing forth His glory, — the Wisdom and Majesty of
Manhood, in Avhich God dwelt.
Different orders or kinds of glory. Let us consider
the glory of the Virgin, which is, in other words, the
glory of what is womanly in character.
Remarkable, first of all, in this respect, is her con-
siderateness. There is gentle, womanly tact in those
words — "They have no wine." Unselfish thoughtful-
ness about others' comforts, not her own ; delicate
anxiety to save a straitened family from the exposure
of their poverty; and, moreover, — for this is very
worthy of observation, — carefulness about gross, mate-
rial things : a sensual thing, we might truly say, —
wine, the instrument of intoxication ; yet see how her
feminine tenderness transfigured and sanctified such
gross and common things ; how that wine which, as
used by the revellers of the banquet, might be coarse
and sensual, was in her use sanctified, as it was by
unselfishness and charity, — a thing quite heavenly,
glorified by the Ministry of Love.
It was so that, in old times, with thoughtful hospi-
tality, Rebekah offered water at the well to Abraham's
way-worn servant. It was so that Martha showed her
devotion to her Lord even to excess, being cumbered
with much serving. It was so that the women minis-
tered to Christ out of their substance, — water, fjod,
money. They took these low things of earth, and
spiritualized them into means of hospitality and devo-
tion.
And this is' the glory of womanhood, — surely no
264 THE FIRST MiRACLE.
common glory, — surely one which, if she rightly com
prehended her place on earth, might enable her to
accept its apparent humiliation unrepiningly : the
glory of unsensualizing coarse and common things, —
sensual things, the objects of mere sense, — meat, and
drink, and household cares, — elevating them, by the
spirit in which she ministers them, into something
transfigured and sublime.
The humblest mother of a poor family, who is cum-
bered with much serving or watching over a hospi-
tality which she is too poor to delegate to others, or
toiling for love's sake in household work, needs no
emancipation in God's sight. It is the prerogative
and the glory of her womanhood to consecrate the
meanest things by a ministry which is not for
self.
2. Submissian.
" Whatsoever He saith unto you, do it." Here is the
true spirit of Obedience. Not slavishness, but entire
loyalty and perfect trust in a Person whom we rever-
ence. She did not comprehend her Son's strange
lepulse and mysterious words; but she knew that
they were not capricious words, for there was no ca-
price in Him ; she knew that the law which ruled His
will was Eight, and that importunity was useless. So
she bade them reverently wait in silence tiU His time
should come.
Here is another distinctive glory of womanhood.
In the very outset of the Bible, submission is revealed
as her peculiar lot and destiny. If you were merely
to look at the words as they stand, declaring the
results of the Fall, you would be inclined to call that
vocation of obedience a curse ; but in the spirit of
THE GLOEY OP THE VIRGIN MOTHER. 265
Christ it is transformed, like Labor, into a blessing. In
this passage one pecuhar blessing stands connected
with it.
Here a two-fold blessing is connected with it : —
Freedom from all doubt, and prevailing power in
prayer.
The first is freedom from all doubt. The Virgin
seems to have felt no perplexity at that rebuke and
seeming refusal ; and yet, perplexity and misgiving
would seem natural. A more masculine and imperi-
ous mind would have been startled, made sullen, or
begun at once to sound the depths of metaphysics,
reasoning upon the hardship of a lot which cannot
realize all it wishes ; wondering why such simple
blessings are refused, pondering deeply on divine
decrees, ending perhaps in scepticism. Mary was
saved from this. She could not understand, but she
could trust and wait. Not for one moment did a
shade of doubt rest upon her heart. At once and
instantly, — " Whatsoever He saith unto you, do it."
And so, too, the Syrophenician woman was not driven
to speculate on the injustice of her destiny by the
harshness of Christ's reply. She drew closer to her
Lord in prayer. Affection and submissiveness saved
them both from doubt, — women both.
Now, there are whole classes of our fellow-creatures
to whom, as a class, the anguish of religious doubt
never, or rarely, comes. Mental doubt rarely touches
woman. Soldiers and sailors do not doubt. Their
religion is remarkable for its simplicity and childlike
character. Scarcely ever are religious warriors tor-
mented with scepticism or doubts. And in all, I
believe for the same reason, the habits of feeling to
23
266 THE FIRST MIRACLE.
which the long life of obedience tr.ains the soul.
Prompt, quick, unquestioning obedience — that is the
soil for faith.
I call this, therefore, the glorj of womanhood. It
is the true glory of human beings to obey. It is her
special glory, rising out of the very weakness of her
nature, — God's strength made perfect in weakness.
England will not soon forget that lesson left her as the
bequest of a great life. Her bui-ied Hero's glory
came out of that which was manliest in his character,
the Virgin spirit of obedience.
The second glory resulting from it is prevailing
power with God. Her wish was granted. — " What
have I to do with thee?" were words that only
asserted His own perfect independence. They were
not the language of rebuke. As Messiah, He gently
vindicated his acts from interference, showing the
filial relation to be in its first strictness dissolved.
But as Son He obeyed ; or, to speak more properly,
complied. Nay, probably His look had said that
already, promising more than His words, setting her
mind at rest, and granting the favor she desired.
Brethren, the subject of prayer is a deep mystery.
To the masculine intellect it is a demonstrable absurd-
ity. For, says logic, how can man's will modify the
will of God, or alter the fixed decree ? And if it can-
not, where lies the use of prayer ? But there is a
something mightier than intellect, and truer than logic.
It is the faith which works by love, — the conviction
that, in this world of mystery, that which cannot be
put in words, nor defended by argument, may yet be
true. The will of Christ was fixed: what could bo
THE GLORY OF THE VIRGm MOTHER. 267
the use of intercession ? and yet the Virgin feeling
was true, — her prayer would prevail.
Here is a grand paradox, which is the paradox of
all prayer. The heart hopes that which to reasoning
seems impossible. And I believe we never pray
aright except when we pray in that feminine, childlike
spirit which no logic can defend, feeling as if we mod-
ified the will of God, though that will is fixed.
It is the glory of the spirit that is afiectionate and
submissive^ that it — ay, and it alone — can pray, be-
cause it alone can believe that its prayer will be
granted ; and it is the glory of that spirit, too, that
its prayer will be granted.
3dly. In all Christian ages the especial glory as-
cribed to the Virgin Mother is purity of heart and life.
Implied in the term '' Virgin." Gradually, in the his-
tory of the Christian church, the recognition of this
became idolatry. The works of early Christian art
curiously exhibit the progress of this perversion.
They show how Mariolatry grew up. The first
pictures of the early Christian ages simply represent
the woman. By and by, we find outlines of the Mother
and the Child. In an after-age, the Son is seen sitting
on a throne, with the Mother crowned, but sitting as
yet below Him, In an age still later, the crowned
Mother on a level with the Son. Later still, the
Mother on a throne above the Son. And, lastly, a
Romish picture represents the Eternal Son, in wrath,
about to destroy the Earth, and the Virgin Intercessor
interposing, pleading by significant attitude ner maternal
rights, and redeeming the world from His vengeance.
Such was, in fact, the progress of Virgin-worship
268 THE FIRST MIEACLE.
First, the woman reverenced for the Son's sake ; then
the woman reverenced above the Son, and adored.
Now, the question is, How came this to be ? for we
assume it as a principle that no error has ever spread
widely that was not the exaggeration or perversion
of a truth. And be assured that the first step towards
dislodging error is to understand the truth at which it
aims. Never can an error be permanently destroyed
by the roots unless we have planted by its side the
truth that is to take its place. Else you will find the
falsehood returning forever, growing up again when
you thought it cut up root and branch, appearing in
the very places where the crushing of it seemed most
complete. Wherever there is a deep truth unrecog-
nized, misunderstood, it will force its way into men's
hearts. It will take pernicious forms, if it cannot find
healthful ones. It will grow as some weeds grow, in
noxious forms, ineradicably, because it has a root in
human nature.
Else how comes it to pass, after three hundred years
of Reformation, we find Virgin-worship restoring itself
again in this reformed England, where, least of all
countries, we should expect it, and where the remem-
brance of Romish persecution might have seemed to
make its return impossible ? How comes it that some
of the deepest thinkers of our day, and men of the
Baintliest lives, are feeling this Virgin-worship a neces-
sity for their souls ? — for it is the doctrine to which
the convei'ts to Romanism cling most tenaciously.
Brethren, I reply, because the doctrine of the wor-
ship of the Virgin has a root in truth, and no mere
cutting and uprooting can destroy it: no Protestant
thunders of oratory ; no platform expositions ; no Ref-
THE GLORY OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER. 269'
ormation societies. In one word, no mere negations,
nothing but the full liberation of the truth which lies
at the root of error, can eradicate error.
Surely we ought to have learnt that truth, by this
time. Recollect how, before Christ's time, mere ne-
gations failed to uproot paganism. Philosophers had
disproved it by argument ; satirists had covered it
with ridicule. It was slain a thousand times, and yei
paganism lived on in the hearts of men ; and those
who gave it up returned to it again in a dying hour,
because the disprovers of it had given nothing for the
heart to rest on in its place. But when Paul dared
to proclaim of paganism what we are proclaiming of
Virgin-worship, — that paganism stood upon a truth,
and taught the truth, — paganism fell forever. The
Apostle Paul found in Athens an altar to the Un-
known God. He did not announce in Athens lectures
against heathen priestcraft ; nor did he undertake to
prove it, in the Areopagus, all a mystery of iniquity,
and a system of damnable idolatries ; — that is the
mode in which we set about our controversies; —
but he disengaged the truth from the error, — pro-
claimed the truth, and left the errors to themselves.
The truth grew up, and the errors silently and
slowly withered.
I pray you, Christian brethren, do not join those
fierce associations which think only of uprooting
error. There is a spirit in them which is more of
earth than heaven, — short-sighted, too, and self-destruo-
tive. They do not make converts to Christ, but only
controversialists, and adherents to a party. They
compass sea and land. It matters little whether fierce
Romanism or fierce Protestanism wins the day ; but
23*
270 THE FIRST MIRACLE.
it does matter whether or Dot in the conflict we lose
some precious Christian truth, as well as the very
spirit of Christianity.
What lies at the root of this ineradicable Virgin-
worship ? How comes it that, out of so few scripture
sentences about her, — many of them like this rebuke,
depreciatory, — learned men and pious men could ever
have developed, as they call it, — or, as it seems to us,
tortured and twisted, — a doctrine of Divine honors to
be paid to Mary ? Let us set out with the conviction
that there must have been some reason for it, — some
truth of which it is the perversion.
I believe the truth to be this. Before Christ, the
qualities honored as Divine were peculiarly the vir-
tues of the man: Courage, Wisdom, Truth, Strength.
But Christ proclaimed the Divine nature of qualities
entirely opposite : Meekness, Obedience, Affection,
Purity. He said that the pure in heart should see
God. He pronounced the beatitudes of meekness, and
lowliness, and poverty of spirit. Now, observe these
were all of the order of graces which are distinctively
feminine ; and it is the peculiar feature of Christian-
ity, that it exalts not strength nor intellect, but gentle-
ness, and lovingness, and Virgin purity.
Here was a new, strange thought given to the world.
It was for many ages the thought: no wonder, — it
was the one great novelty of the revealed religion.
How were men to find expression for that idea which
was working in them, vague and beautiful, but want-
ing substance — the idea of the Divineness of what is
pure, above the Divineness of what is strong ? Would
you have had them say, simply, we had forgotten these
things ; now they are revealed, — now we know that
THE GLORY OF TIIE VIRGIN MOTHER. 271
Love and Purity are as Divine as Power and Reason ?
My brethren, it is not so that men worship, — it is
only so that men think. They think about qualities, —
they worship persons. Worship must have a form.
Adoration finds a Person ; and, if it cannot find one, it
will imagine one. Gentleness and purity are words
for a philosopher ; but a man whose heart wants some-
thing to adore will find for himself a gentle one — a
pure one — Incarnate purity and love — gentleness
robed in flesh and blood, before whom his knee may
bend, and to whom the homage of his spirit can be
given. You cannot adore except a Person.
What marvel if the early Christian found that the
Virgin-mother of our Lord embodied this great idea ?
What marvel if he filled out and expanded, with that
idea which was in his heart, the brief sketch given of
her in the gospels, till his imagination had robed the
woman of the Bible with the majesty of the Mother
of God ? Can we not feel that it must have been so ?
Instead of a dry, formal dogma of theology, the
Romanist presented an actual woman, endued with
every inward grace and beauty, and pierced by sor-
rows, as a living object of devotion, faith, and hope, —
a personality instead of an abstraction. Historically
speaking, it seems inevitable that the idea could
scarcely have been expressed to the world except
through an idolatry.
Brethren, it is an idolatry — in modern Romanism, a
pernicious and most defiling one. The worship of
Mary overshadows the worship of the Son. The love
given to her is so much taken from Him. Neverthe-
less, let us not hide from ourselves the eternal truth
of the idea that lies beneath the temporary falsehood
272 THE FIRST MIRACLE,
of the dogma. Overthrow the idolatry ; but do it by
Bubstituting the truth.
Now, the truth alone which can supplant the wor-
ship of the Virgin is the perfect humanity of Jesua
Christ. I say the perfect humaniti/ ; for perfect man-
hood is a very ambiguous expression. By man we
sometimes mean the human race, made up of nan
and woman, and sometimes we only mean the mascu-
line sex. We have only one word to express both
ideas. The language in which the New Testament
was written has two. Hence we may make a great
mistake. When the Bible speaks of man the human
being, we may think that it means man the male creat-
ure. When the Bible tells us Jesus Christ was the
Son of Man, it uses the word which implies human
being ; it does not use the word which signifies one
of the male sex, it does not dwell on the fact that He
was a man, but it earnestly asserts that He was man.
Son of a man He was not. Son of Man He was ; for
the blood, as it were, of all the race, was in His veins.
Now, let us see what is implied in this expression,
Son of Man. It contains in it the doctrine of the
Incarnation ; it means the full humanity of Christ.
Lately I tried to bring out one portion of its meaning.
I said that He belonged to no particular age, but to
every age. He had not the qualities of one clime ci
race, but that which is common to all climes and all
races. He was not the Son of the Jew, nor the Son
of the Oriental, — He was the Son of Man. He was
not the villager of Bethlehem ; nor one whose charac-
ter and mind were the result of a certain training,
peculiar to Judea, or peculiar to that century, — but
He was the Man. This is what St. Paul insists on,
THE GLORY OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER. 273
when he says that in Him there is neither Jew nor
Gentile, Barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free. A Hu-
manity in which there is nothing distinctive, limited,
or peculiar, but universal, — your nature and mine, the
Humanity in which we all are brothers, bond or free.
Now, in that same passage St. Paul uses another very
remarkable expression : " There is neither Jew noi
Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neithei
male nor female." That is the other thing implied in
His title to the Son of Man. His nature had in it the
nature of all nations ; but also His heart had in it the
blended qualities of both sexes. Our humanity is a
whole made up of two opposite poles of character, —
the manly and the feminine. In the character of
Christ neither was found exclusively, but both in
perfect balance. He was the Son of Man — the
human being -^ perfect Man.
There was in Him the woman-heart as well as the
manly brain, — all that was most manly, and all that
was most womanly. Remember what He was in
life : recollect His stern iron hardness in the tempta-
tion of the desert ; recollect the calmness that never
quailed in all the uproars of the people, the truth
that never paltered, the strict severe integrity which
characterized the Witness of the Truth; recollect
the justice that never gave way to weak feeling, —
which let the rich young ruler go his way to perish
if he would, — which paid the tribute-money, — which
held the balance fair between the persecuted woman
and her accuser, but did not suffer itself to be
betrayed by sympathy into any feeble tenderness, —
the justice that rebuked Peter with indignation,
and pronounced the doom of Jerusalem unswerv-
274 THE FIRST MIRACLE.
ingly. Here is one side or pole of human cbaractei,
— surely not the feminine side. Now, look at the
other. Recollect the twice-recorded tears, which a
man would have been ashamed to show, and which
are never beautiful in man except when joined with
strength like His ; and recollect the sympathy craved
and yearned for as well as given, — the shrinking
from solitude in prayer, — the trembling of a sor-
row unto death, — the considerate care which pro-
vided bread for the multitude, and said to the tired
disciples, as with a sister's rather than a brother's
thoughtfulness, " Come ye apart into the desert and
rest a while." This is the other side or pole of human
character, — surely not the masculine.
When we have learnt and felt what is meant by
Divine Humanity in Christ, and when we have
believed it, not in a one sided way, .but in all its
fulness, then we are safe from Mariolatry ; because
we do not want it — we have the truth which Mariol-
atry labors to express, and, laboring ignorantly, falls
into idolatry. But, so long as the male was looked
upon as the only type of God, and the masculine
virtues as the only glory of His character, so long
the truth was yet uurevealed. This was the state
of heathenism. And, so long as Christ was only
felt as the Divine Man, and not the Divine Humanity,
BO long the world had only a one-sided truth.
One-half of our nature — the sterner portion of it —
only was felt to be of God and in God. The other
half — the tenderer and purer qualities of our souls —
were felt as earthly. This was the state of Roman-
ism from which men tried to escape by Mariolatry.
And, if men had not learned that this side of our
THE GLORY OF THE VIRGIN MOTHER. 275
nature too was made Divine in Christ, what possible
escape was there for them, but to look to the Virgin
Mary as the Incarnation of the purer and lovelier
elements of God's character, reserving to her Son tho
sterner and the more masculine ?
Can we not understand, too, how it came to pass that
the Mother was placed above the Son, and adored
more ? Christianity had proclaimed Meekness, Purity,
Obedience, as more Divine than Strength and Wisdom.
What wonder if she who was gazed on as the type of
Purity should be reckoned more near to God than He
who had come, through misconception, to be looked on
chiefly as the type of Strength and Justice ?
There is a spirit abroad which is leading men to
Rome. Do not call that the spirit of the Devil. It is
the desire and hope to find there, in its tenderness, and
its beauty, and its devotion, a home for those feelings
of awe, and contemplation, and love, for which our
stern Protestantism finds no shelter. Let us acknowl-
edge that what they worship is indeed deserving of
all adoration ; only let us say that whcut they worship
is, ignorantly, Christ. Whom they ignorantly worship
let us declare unto them : Christ, their unknown God,
worshipped at an idol-altar. Do not let us satisfy our-
selves by saying, as a watchword, " Christ, not Mary : "
say, rather, " In Christ all that they find in Mary." The
Mother in the Son, the womanly in the soul of Christ.
Divine Honor to the Feminine side of His character;
joyful and unvarying acknowledgment that in Christ
there is a revelation of the Divineness of submission,
and love, and purity, and long-suffering, just as there
M'as before, in the name of the Lord of Hosts, a rov
it^ THE FIRST MIRACLE.
elation of the Divineness of courage, and strength,
and heroism, and manliness.
Therefore it is we do not sympathize with thoae
coarse expositions which aim at doing exclusive honor
to the Son of God by degrading the life and character
of the Virgin. Just aa the Romanist has loved to
represent all connected with her as mysterious and
immaculate, so has the Protestant been disposed to
vulgarize her to the level of the commonest human-
ity, and exaggerate into rebukes the reverent ex-
pressions to her in which Jesus asserted His Divine
independence. ,
Rather reverence, not her, but that Idea and type
which Christianity has given in her, — the type of
Christian womanhood ; which was not realized in her,
— which never was and never will be realized in one
single woman, — which remains ever a Divine Idea,
after which each living woman is to strive.
And when I say reverence that Idea or type, I am but
pointing to the relation between the Mother and the
Son, and asking men to reverence that which He rev-
erenced. Think we that there is no meaning hidden in
the mystery that the Son of God was the Virgin's Son ?
To Him through life there remained the early recollec-
tions of a pure mother. Blessed beyond all common
blessedness is the man who can look back to that. G^d
has given to him a talisman which will carry him tri-
umphant through many a temptation. To other men
purity may be a name ; to him it has been once a real-
ity. " Faith in all things high beats with his blood." He
may be tempted ; he may err ; but there will be a light
from home shining forever on his path inextinguish-
ably. By the grace of God, degraded he cannot be.
yix.
[Preached Jai ary 30, 1853.]
THE FIRST MIRACLE,
n. THE GLORY OF THP DIVINE SON.
John iL 11 — " This beginning of miract'^9 did Jesus in Cana of Gali-
lee, and manifested forth his glory ; and his disciples believed on
him."
In the history of this miracle, tu'o Dersonages are
brought prominently before our notice. One is the
Virgin Mary ; the other is the Son of Go(^ And these
two exhibit different orders of glory, as "^eU as differ-
ent degrees. Different degrees : for tho Virgin was
only human ; her Son was God manifest in th<^ flesh.
Different orders of glory : for the one exhibited thft
distinctive glory of womanhood ; the Other manife •tet'
forth His glory, — the glory of perfect manhood.
Taking the Virgin as the type and representative c*
her sex, we found the glory of womanhood, as ct
hibited by her conduct in this parable, to consist ir
unselfish considerateness about others ; in delicacy of
tact ; in the power of ennobling a ministry of coarsfc
and household things, like the wine of the marriage
feast, by the sanctity of affection ; in meekness and
lowly obedience, which was in the Fall her curse,
in Christ her glory, transformed into a blessing and a
24 C277)
278 THE FIRST MIRACLE.
power; and lastly, as the name Yirgin implies, thrt
distinctive glory of womanhood we found to consist
in purity.
Now, the Christian history first revealed these great
truths. The gospels which record the life of Christ
first, in the history of the Avorld, brought to light the
Divine glory of those quahties which had been des-
pised. Before Christ came, the heathen had counted
for divine the legislative wisdom of the man, — manly
strength, manly truth, manly justice, manly courage.
The life and the Cross of Christ shed a splendor from
heaven upon a new and till then unheard-of order of
heroism, — that which may be called the feminine or*
der, — meekness, endurance, long-sufiering, the passive
strength of martyrdom. For Christianity does not
say, Honor to the Wise, but, " Blessed are the Meek.''
Not, Glory to the Strong, but, " Blessed are the pure
in heart, for they shall see God." Not, The Lord is a
man of war, Jehovah is His name, but, " God is Love."
In Christ, not intellect, but love, is consecrated. In
Christ is magnified, not force of will, but the Glory of
a Divine humility. " He was obedient unto death,
even the death of the cross ; wherefore God also hath
highly exalted Him."
Therefore it was, that from that time forward wom-
anhood assumed a new place in this world. She in
whom these qualities, for the first time declared Divine
in Christ, were the distinctive characteristics, steadily
and gradually rose to a higher dignity in human life.
It is not to mere civilization, but to the Spirit of life
in Christ, tiiat woman owes all she has, and all she haa
yet to gain.
Now, the outward phases in which this Redemption
THE GLORY OF THE DIVINE SON. 279
of the sex appeared to the world have been, as yet,
chiefly three. There have been three ages through
which these great truths of the Divineness of purity,
and the strength and glory of obedience, the peculiar
characteristics of womanhood, have been rising into
their right acknowledgment. 1. The ages of Virgin-
worsliip. 2. The ages of Chivalry. 3. The age of
the three last centuries. Now, during the three Prot-
estant centuries, the place and destinies of woman-
hood have been every year rising more and more into
great questions. Her mission, as it is called in the
cant language of the day — what it is — that is one of
the subjects of deepest interest in the controversies of
the day. And, unless we are prepared to say that the
truth, which has been growing clearer and brighter for
eighteen centuries, shall stop now exactly where it is,
and grow no clearer, — unless we -are ready to affirm
that mankind will never learn to pay less glory to
strength and intellect, and more to meekness, and hum-
bleness, and pureness, than they do now, — it follows
that God has yet reserved for womanhood a larger and
more glorious field for her peculiar qualities and gifts,
and that the truth contained in the Virgin's mother-
hood is unexhausted stUl.
For this reason, in reference to that womanhood
and its destinies, of which St. Mary is the type, I
thought it needful last Sunday to insist on two things,
as of profound importance.
First, To declare in what her true glory consists.
The only glory of the Virgin was the glory of true
womanhood. The glory of true womanhood consists
in being herself; not in striving to be something else.
It is the false paradox and heresy of this present age
280-' THE FIRST MIRACLE.
to claim for her as a glory the right to leave her
sphere. Her glory lies in her sphere, and God has
given her a sphere distinct ; as in the Epistle to the
church of Corinth, when, in that wise chapter, St.
Paul rendered unto womanhood the things which were
woman's, and unto manhood the things which were
man's.
And the true correction of that monstrous rebellion
against what is natural lies in vindicating Mary's glory,
on the one side, from the Romanist, who gives to her
the glory of God ; and, on the other, from those who
would confound the distinctive glories of the two
sexes, and claim as the glory of woman what is, in the
deeps of nature, the glory of the man.
Everything is created in its own order. Every cre-
ated thing has its own glory. " There is one glory of
the sun, another glory of the moon, and another glory
of the stars ; for one star differeth from another star
in glory." There is one glory of Manhood, and an-
other glory of Womanhood. And the glory of each
created thing consists in being true to its own nature,
and moving in its own sphere.
Mary's glory was not immaculate origin, nor im-
maculate life, nor exaltation to Divine honors. She
had none of these things. Nor, on the other hand,
was it Force, or demanded rights, social or domestic,
that constituted her glory. But it was the glory of
simple womanhood; the glory of being true to the
nature assigned her by her Maker ; the glory of moth-
erhood ; the glory of " a meek and quiet spirit, which
in the sight of God is of great price." She was not
the Queen of Heaven ; but she was something nobler
still, a creature content to be what God had made her;
THE GLORY OF TJJ LIVINE SON. 281
in unselfishness, and humblajjss, and purity, rejoicing
in God, her Saviour, content that He had regarded the
JOwHness of His handmaiden.
The second thing upon which I insisted was, that
the only safeguard against the idolatrous error of
Virgin- worship is a full recognition of the perfect
Humanity of Christ. A full recognition; for it ia
only a partial acknowledgment of the meaning of th&
Incarnation when we think of Him as the Divine Man.
It was not manhood, but humanity, that was made Di-
vine in Him. Humanity has its two sides: — one side
in the strength and intellect of manhood ; the other
in the tenderness, and faith, and submissiveness, of
womanhood : Man and Woman, not man alone, make
up human nature. In Christ, not one alone, but both,
were glorified. Strength and Grace, "Wisdom and
Love, Courage and Purity, — Divine Manliness, Divine
Womanliness. In aU noble characters you find the
two blended; in Him — the noblest — blended into
one entire and perfect Humanity.
Unless you recognize and fully utter this whole
truth, you wiU find Mariolatry forever returning, cut
it down as you will. It must come back. It wiU
come back. I had well-nigh said, it ought to come
back, unless we preach and believe the full truth of
God incarnate in Humanity. For, while we teach in
our classical schools, as the only manliness. Pagan
leroism of warrior and legislator, can we say that wo
are teaching both sides of Christ? Our souls were
trained in boyhood to honor the heroic and the mas-
culine. Who ever hinted to us that charity is the
*' more excellent vay " ? Who suggested that " he
282 THE FIRST MIRACLE.
which ruleth his spi<i'it is greater than he which taketh
a city " ?
Again, we find our Enghsh society divided into two
sections : One the men of business and action, exhib-
iting prominently the masculine virtues of English
character, truth and honor, and almost taught to reckon
forbearance and feeling as proofs of weakness ; taught
in the playground to believe that a chaste life is ro-
mance — false sentiment and strengthlessness of charac-
ter taught there ; and in after-hfe, that it is mean to
forgive a personal affront.
The other section of our society is made up of men
of prayer and rehgiousness ; for some reason or other,
singularly deficient in masculine breadth and strength,
and even truthfulness of character; with no firm foot-
ing upon reality, not daring to look the real problems
of social and political life in the face, but wasting their
strength in disputes of words, or shrinking into a dim
atmosphere of ecclesiastical dreaminess, unreal and
effeminate. Dare we say that the fuU Humanity of
Christ, in its double aspect, is practically adored amongst
us ? Have we not made a fatal separation between the
manly and the feminine of character? — between the
moral and the devout, so that we have men who are
masculine and moral, and also men who are effeminate
and devout? But where are our Christian men, in
whom the whole Christ is formed, — all that is brave, and
true, and wise, and at the same time all that is tender,
and devout, and pure ? Who ever taught us to adore
in Christ all that is most manly, and all that is most
womanly, that we might strive to be such in our degree
ourselves ? And if not, can you wonder that men, feel-
THE GLORY OF THE DIVINE SON. 283
ing their Christianity imperfect, blindly strive to patch
it up through Mariolotry ?
I gather into a few sentences the substance of what
was said last Sunday. I said that Christianity exhib-
ited the Divine glory of the weaker elements of our
human nature. Heathenism, nay, even Judaism, had
as yet before Him only recognized the glory of the
stronger and masctihne. Now, the Romanist person
ified the masculine side of human nature in Christ.
He personified gentleness and purity, the feminine
side of human nature, in the Virgin Mary. No won-
der that, with this cardinal error at the outset in hia
conceptions, he adored ; and no wonder, since Chris-
tianity declared meekness and purity more Divine
than strength and intellect, in process of time he
came to honor the Virgin more than Christ. That I
believe is the true history and account of Virgin
worship.
The Bible personifies both sides of human nature
the masculine and feminine of character, in Christ, oi
whom St. Paul declares, in the Epistle to the Gala-
tians, " In him is neither Jew nor Greek, bond nor
free, male nor female." Neither distinctively, for in
Him both the manly and the womanly of character
divinely meet. I say, therefore, that the Incarnation
of God in Christ is the true defence against Virgin-
worship.
Think of Christ only as the masculine character,
glorified by the union of Godhead with it, and your
Christianity has in it an awful gap, a void, a want,
— the inevitable supply and relief to which will be
Mariolatry, however secure you may think yourself,
however strong and fierce the language you noW use.
284 THE FIRST MIRACLE.
Men who have used language as strong and fierce
have become idolaters of Mary. With a half-thought
of Christ, safe you are not. But think of Him as the
Divine Human Being, in whom both sides of our
double being are divine and glorified, and then you
have the truth which Romanism has marred, and per-
verted into an idolatry pernicious in all ; in the less
spiritual worshippers sensualizing and debasing.
Now, there are two ways of meeting error. The
one is that in which, in humble imitation of Christ
and His apostles, I have tried to show you the error
of the worship of Mary, — to discern the truth out of
which the error sprung, firmly asserting the truth, for-
bearing threatening ; certain that he in whose mind
the truth has lodged has in that truth the safeguard
against error.
The other way of meeting error is to overwhelm it
with threats. To some men it seems the only way in
which true zeal is shown. Well, it is very easy, re-
quiring no self-control, but only an indulgence of every
bad passion. It is very easy to call Rome the mother
of harlots and abominations ; very easy to use strong
language about damnable idolatries ; very easy for the
apostles to call down fire from heaven upon the Samar-
itans, because they would not receive Christ, and then
to flatter themselves that that was Godly zeal. But it
luight be well for us to remember His somewhat start-
ling comment : " Ye know not what manner of spirit ye
are of." There are those who think it a surer and a safer
Protestantism to use those popular watchwords. Be
it so. But, with God's blessing, that will not /. The
majesty of truth needs other bulwarks than vulgar and
cowardly vituperation. Coarse language and violent,
THE GLOEY OF THE DIVIXE SON. 285
excusable threa hundred years ago by the manners of
that day, was bold and brave in the lips of the Ee-
formers, with whom the struggle was one of life and
death, and who might be called to pay the penalty of
their bold defiances with their blood. But the same
fierceness of language now, when there is no personal
risk in the use of it, in the midst of hundreds of men
and women ready to applaud and honor violence aa
zeal, is simply a dastardhness from which every gen-
erous mind shrinks. You do not get the Reformers'
spirit by putting on the armor they have done with,
but by risking the dangers which those noble warriors
risked. It is not their big words, but their large,
brave heart, that makes the Protestant. 0, be sure
that he whose soul has anchored itself to rest on the
deep, calm sea of Truth, does not spend his strength
in raving against those who are still tossed by the
winds of error. Spasmodic violence of words is one
thing, strength of conviction is another.
When, 0, when shall we learn that loyalty to Christ
is tested far more by the strength of our Sympathy
with Truth than by the intensity of our hatred of error !
I will tell you what to hate. Hate Hypocrisy; hate
Cant ; hate intolerance, oppression, injustice ; hate
Pharisaism; — hate them as Christ hated them, with a
deep, living, Godlike hatred. But do not hate men in
intellectual error. To hate a man for his errors is as
unwise as to hate one who, in casting up an account,
has made an error against himself. The Romanist has
made an error against himself. He has missed the full
glory of his Lord and Master. Well, shall we hate
him, and curse, and rant, and thunder at him? Or
shall we sit down beside him, and try to sympathize
286 THE FIRST MIEACLE.
with him, .and see things from his point of viow, and
strive to understand the truth which his soul is aiming
at, and seize the truth for him and for ourselves,
" meekly instructing those who oppose themselves " ?
Our subject to-day is the glory of the Divine Son.
In that miracle, '' He manifested forth His glory."
Concerning that glory we say :
1. The glory of Christ did not begin with that mira-
cle ; the miracle only manifested it. For thirty years
the wonder-working power had been in Him. It was
not Diviner power when it broke forth into visible
manifestation, than it had been when it was unsus-
pected and unseen. It had been exercised up to this
time in common acts of youthful life — obedience to his
mother, love to his brethren. Well, it was just as
Divine in those simple, daily acts, as when it showed
itself in a way startling and wonderful. It was just as
much the life of God on Earth when He did an act of
ordinary human love or human duty, as when He did
an extraordinary act, such as turning water into wine.
God was as much, nay, more, in the daily life and love
of Christ, than He was in Christ's miracles. The mira-
cle only made the hidden glory visible. The extraor-
dinary only proved that the ordinary was Divine.
That was the very object of the miracle. It was done
to manifest forth His glory. And if, instead of rousing
men to see the real glory of Christ in His other hfe,
the miracle merely fastened men's attention on itself,
and made them think that the only Glory which is
Divine is to be found in what is wonderful and un-
common, then the whole intention of the miracle was
lost.
Let us make this more plain by an illustration. To
THE GLOEY OP THE DIVINE SON. 287
the wise man, the Hghtning only manifests the electric
force which is everywhere, and which for one moment
has become visible. As often as he sees it, it reminds
him that the lightning slumbers invisibly in the dew-
drop, and in the mist, and in the cloud, and binds
together every atom of the water that he uses in daily
life. But to the vulgar mind the lightning is some-
thing unique, a something which has no existence but
when it appears. There is a fearful glory in the light-
ning, because he sees it. But there is no startling
glory and nothing fearful in the drop of dew, because
he does not know, what the Thinker knows, that the
flash is there in all its terrors.
So, in the same way, to the half-believer a miracle
is the one solitary evidence of God. Without it he
could have no certainty of God's existence.
But to the true disciple a miracle only manifests the
Power and Love which are silently at work every-
where, — as truly and as really in the slow work of
the cure of the insane, as in the sudden expulsion of
the legion from the demoniac, — as divinely in the gift
of daily bread, as in the miraculous multiplication of
the loaves. God's glory is at work in the growth of
the vine, and the ripening of the grape,, and the process
by which grape-juice passes into wine. It is not more
glory, but only glory more manifested, when water at His
bidding passes into wine. And be sure that if you do
not feel, as David felt, God's presence in the annual
miracle, — that it is God, which in the vintage of every
year causeth wine to make glad the heart of man, — the
sudden miracle at Capernaum would not have given
you conviction of His presence. " If you hear not
Moses and the prophets, neither will you be persuaded
288 THE FIRST MIRACLE.
though one rose from the dead." Miracles have only
done their work when they teach us the glory and the
awfulness that surrounds our common life. In a mira-
cle, God for one moment shows Himself, that we may
remember it is He that is at work when no miracle is
seen.
Now, this is the deep truth of miracles, which most
men miss. They believe that the life of Jesus was
Divine, because He wrought miracles. But, if their
faith in miracles were shaken, their faith in Christ
would go. If the evidence for the credibility of those
miracles were weakened, then to them the mystic
glory would have faded off His history. They could
not be sure that His Existence was Divine. That
love, even unto death, would bear no certain stamp of
God upon it. That life of long self-sacrifice would
have had in it no certain unquestionable traces of the
Son of God. See what that implies. If that be true,
and miracles are the best proof of Christ's mission,
God can be recognized in what is marvellous — God
cannot be recognized in what is good. It is by Divine
power that a human being turns water into wine. It
is by power less certainly Divine that the same being
witnesses to truth — forgives His enemies — makes it
His meat and drink to do His Father's will, and finishes
His work. We are more sure that God was in Christ
when He said, " Rise up, and walk," than when He
said, with absolving love, " Son, thy sins be forgiven
thee ; " more certain when He furnished wine for wed-
ding guests, than when He said, " Father, forgive
them, for they know not what they do." 0, a strange,
and low, and vulgar appreciation this of the true glory
of the Son of God, the same false conception that runs
i
THE GLOEY OP THE DIVINE SON. 289
through all our life, appearing in every form, — God in
the storm, and the earthquake, and the fire, — no God
in the still small voice. Glory in the lightning-flash, —
no glory and no God in the lowliness of the dew-drop.
Glory to intellect and genius, — no glory to gentleness
and patience. Glory to every kind of power, — none
to the inward, invisible strength of the life of God in
the soul of man.
" An evil and an adulterous generation seeketh after
a sign." Look at the feverish eagerness with which
men crowd to every exhibition of some newly discov-
ered Force, real or pretended. What lies at the bottom
of this feverishness but an unbelieving craving after
signs? — some wonder which is to show them the Divine
Life, of which the evidence is yet imperfect? As if
the bread they eat and the wine they drink, chosen by
God for the emblems of his sacraments because the
commonest things of daily life, were not filled with the
Presence of His love ; as if God were not around their
path, and beside their bed, and spying out all their
daily ways.
It is in this strange way that we have learned Christ.
The miracles which were meant to point us to the
Divinity of His Goodness have only dazzled us with
the splendor of their Power. We have forgotten what
His first wonder-work shows, that a miracle is only
manifested glory.
2. It was the glory of Christ again to sanctify, that
is, declare the sacredness of all things natural. All
natural relationships, — all natural enjoyments.
Ail natural relationships. What He sanctified by
His presence was a marriage. Now, remember what
had gone before this. The life of John the Baptist
25
290 THE FIRST MIRACLE.
was the highest form of religious life known in Israel.
It was the life ascetic. It was the life of solitariness
and penitential austerity. He drank no wine ; he ate
no pleasant food ; he married no wife ; he entered into
no human relationship. It was the law of that stern
and in its way sublime life, to cut out every human
feeling as a weakness, and to mortify every natural
instinct, in order to cultivate an intenser spirituality.
A life in its own order grand, but indisputably unnatu-
ral.
Now, the first public act of our Redeemer's life is to
go with with His disciples to a marriage. He conse-
crates marriage, and the sympathies which lead to
marriage. He declares the sacredness of feelings
which had been reckoned carnal, and low, and human.
He stamps His image on human joys, human connec-
tions, human relationships. He pronounces that they
are more than human, — as it were, sacramental ; the
means whereby God's presence comes to us ; the types
and shadows whereby higher and deeper relationships
become possible to us. For it is through our human
affections that the soul first learns to feel that its des-
tiny is Divine. It is through a mortal yearning, unsat-
isfied, that the spirit ascends, seeking a higher object.
It is through the gush of our human tendernesses that
the Immortal and the Infinite in us reveals itself.
Never does a man know the force that is in him till
some mighty affection or grief has humanized the soul.
It is by an earthly relationship that God has typified
to us and helped us to conceive the only true Espousal
— the marriage of the soul to her Eternal Lord.
It was the glory of Christianity to pronounce all
these human feelings sacred ; therefore it is that the
THE GLORY OF THE DIVINE SON. 291
Church asserts their sacredness in a religious cere^
mony ; for example, that of marriage. Do not mistake.
It is not the ceremony that makes a thing religious ; a
ceremony can only declare a thing religious. The
church cannot make sacred that which is not sacred.
She is but here on earth as the moon, the witness of
the light in heaven — by her ceremonies and by her
institutions, to bear witness to eternal truths. She
cannot by her manipulations manufacture a child of
the devil, through baptism, into a child of God ; she
can only authoritatively declare the sublime truth, — he
is not the devil's child, but God's child, by right. She
cannot make the bond of marriage sacred and indisso-
luble ; she can only witness to the sacredness of that
which the union of two spirits has already made ; and
such are her own words. Her minister is commanded
by her to say, " Forasmuch as these two persons
have consented together, ^^ — there is the sacred Fact of
Nature; — "I pronounce that they be man and wife,"
— here is the authoritative witness to the fact.
Again, it was His glory to declare the sacredness of
all natural enjoyments.
It was not a marriage only, but a marriageyeos^, to
which Christ conducted His disciples. Now, we can-
not get over this plain fact, by saying that it was a
religious ceremony ; that would be mere sophistry.
It was an indulgence in the festivity of life ; as plainly
as words can describe, here was a banquet of human
enjoyment. The very language of the master of the
feast about men who had well drunk tells us that
there had been, not excess, of course, but happiness
there, and merry-making.
Neither can we explain away the lesson by saying
292 THE FLRST MIRACLE.
that it is no example to us ; for Christ was there to do
good, and that what was safe for Him miglt be unsafe
for us. For if His Hfe is no pattern for us here in
this case of accepting an invitation, in what can we be
sure it is a pattern ? Besides, He took His disciples
there, and His mother was there ; they were not
shielded, as He was, by immaculate purity. He was
there as a guest at first, as Messiah only afterwards ;
thereby He declared the sacredness of natural enjoy-
ments.
Here again, then, Christ manifested His peculiar
glory. The Temptation of the Wilderness was past ;
the baptism of John, and the life of abstinence to
which it introduced, were over ; and now the Bride-
groom comes before the world in the true glory of
Messiah, — not in the life of asceticism, but in the
life of Godliness, — not separating from life, but
consecrating it ; carrying a Divine spirit into every
simplest act, — accepting an invitation to a feast
— giving to water the virtue of a nobler beverage.
For Christianity does not destroy what is natural, but
ennobles it. To turn water into wine, and what is
common into what is holy, is indeed the glory of
Christianity.
The ascetic life of abstinence, of fasting, austerity,
singularity, is the lower and earthlier form of religion.
The life of Godliness is the glory of Christ. It is a
thing far more striking to the vulgar imagination to
be religious after the type and pattern of John the
Baptist, — to fast, to mortify every inclination, to be
found at no feast, to wrap ourselves in solitariness,
and abstain from all social joys ; yes, and far easier so
to live, and far easier so to win a character for reli-
THE GLORY OF THE DIVINE SON. 293
giousness. A silent man is easily reputed wise. A
man who suffers none to see him in the common jostle
and undress of life easily gathers round him a myste-
rious veil of unknown sanctity, and men honor him
for a saint. The unknown is always wonderful. But
the life of Him whom men called a gluttonous man
and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners,
was a far harder and a far heavenlier rehgion. To
shroud ourselves in no false mist of holiness : to dare
to show ourselves as we are, making no solemn affec-
tation of reserve or difference from others ; to be
found at the marriage-feast ; to accept the invitation
of the rich Pharisee Simon, and the scorned publican
Zaccheus ; to mix with the crowd of men, using no
affected singularity, content to be creatures not too
bright or good for human nature's daily food : and yet
for a man amidst it all to remain a consecrated spirit,
His trials and His solitariness known only to His
Father ; a being set apart, not of this world, alone in
the heart's deeps with God ; to put the cup of this
world's gladness to His lips, and yet be unintoxicated ;
to gaze steadily on all its grandeur, and yet be undaz-
zled, plain and simple in personal desires ; to feel its
brightness, and yet defy its thrall ; — this is the diffi-
cult, and rare, and glorious life of God in the soul
of Man. This, this was the peculiar glory of the life
of Christ, which was manifested in that first miracle
which Jesus wrought at the marriage-feast in Cana of
Galilee.
25*
XX.
[Preached March 20, 1853.]
THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
John x. 14, 15. — "I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep, and
am known of mine. As the Father knoweth me, even so know I the
Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep."
As these words stand in the English translation, it
is hard to see any connection between the thoughts
that are brought together.
It is asserted that Christ is the good Shepherd, and
knows His sheep. It is also asserted that He knows
the Father ; but between these two truths there is no
express connection. And, again, it is declared that
He lays down His life for the sheep. This follows
directly after the assertion that He knows the Father.
Again, we are at a loss to say what one of these truths
has to do with the other.
But the whole difficulty vanishes with the alteration
of a single stop and a single word. Let the words
" even so " be exchanged for the word " and." Four
times, in these verses the same word occurs. Three
times out of these four it is translated " and," — and
know my sheep, and am known, and I lay down my
life. AU that is required, then, is, that, in consistency,
(294)
THE GOOD SHEPHEltD, 295
it shall be translated by the same word in the fourth
case ; for " even so " substitute " and ; " then strike
away the fuU stop after "mine," and read the whole
sentence thus: "I am the good shepherd, and know
my sheep, and am known of mine as the Father know-
eth me, and as I know the Father ; and I lay down my
life for the sheep."
At once our Redeemer's thought becomes clear.
There is a reciprocal affection between the Shepherd
and the sheep. There is a reciprocal affection between
the Father and the Son ; and the one is the parallel of
the other. The affection between the Divine Shepherd
and His flock can be compared, for the closeness of ita
intimacy, with nothing but the affection between the
Eternal Father and the Son of His love. As the Fa-
ther knows the Son, so does the Shepherd know the
sheep ; as the Son knows the Father, so do the sheep
know their heavenly Shepherd.
I, The pastoral character claimed by Christ.
II. The proofs which substantiate the claim.
I. The Son of Man claims to Himself the name of
Shepherd.
Now, we shall not learn anything from that, unless
we enter humbly and affectionately into the spirit t)f
Christ's teaching. It is the heart alone which can give
us a key to His words. Recollect how he taught. By
metaphors, by images, by illustrations, boldly figura-
tive, in rich variety, — yes, in daring abundance. He
calls Himself a gate, a king, a vine, a shepherd, a thief
in the night. In every one of these He appeals to
certiiin feelings and associations. What He says can
only be interpreted by such associations. They must
'296 THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
be understood by a living heart ; a cold, clear intellect
wiU make nothing of them. If you take those glorious
expressions, pregnant with almost boundless thought,
and lay them down as so many articles of rigid, stiff
theology, you turn life into death. It is just as if a
chemist were to analyze a fruit or a flower, and then
imagine that he had told you what a fruit and a flower
are. He separates them into their elements, names
them, and numbers them ; but those elements, weighed,
measured, numbered in the exact proportions that
made up the beautiful living thing, are not the living
thing, — no, nor anything like it. Your science is very
profound, no doubt ; but the fruit is crushed, and tho
grace of the flower is gone.
It is in this way often that we deal with the words
of Christ, when we anatomize them and analyze them.
Theology is very necessary, chemistry is very neces-
sary ; but chemistry destroys life to analyze, murders
to dissect; and theology very often kills religion out
of words, before it can cut them up into propositions.
Here is a living truth, which our cold reasonings
have often torn into dead fragments, — "I am the good
Shepherd." In this northern England, it is hard to get
the living associations of the East, with which such an
expression is full.
The pastoral life and duty in the East is very unlike
that of the shepherds on our bleak hill-sides and
downs. Here the connection between the shepherd
and the sheep is simply one of pecuniary interest.
Ask an English shepherd about his flock, — he can tell
you the numbers and the value ; he knows the market
in which each was purchased, and the remunerating
price at which it can be disposed of. There is be-
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 297
fore him so much stock, convertible into so much
money.
Beneath the burning skies and the clear starry nights
of Palestine, there grows up between the shepherd and
his flock an union of attachment and tenderness. It
is the country where, at any moment, sheep are liable
to be swept away by some mountain-torrent, or carried
o& by hill-robbers, or torn by wolves. At any moment
their protector may have to save them by personal
hazard. The shepherd-king tells us how, in defence
of his father's flock, he slew a lion and a bear ; and
Jacob reminds Laban how, when he watched Laban's
sheep, in the day the drought consumed. Every hour
of the shepherd's life is risk. Sometimes, for the sake
of an armful of grass in the parched summer days, he
must climb precipices almost perpendicular, and stand
on a narrow ledge of rock, where the wild goat will
scarcely venture. Pitiless showers, driving snows,
long hours of thirst, — all this he must endure, if the
flock is to be kept at all.
And thus there grows up, between the man and the
dumb creatures he protects, a kind of friendship. For
this is, after all, the true school in which love is taught,
dangers mutually shared, and hardships borne together;
these are the things which make generous friendship,
— risk cheerfully encountered for another's sake. You
love those for whom you risk, and they love you ;
therefore it is that, not as here, where the flock is
driven, the shepherd goes before, and the sheep follow
him. They follow in perfect trust, even though he
should be leading them away from a green pasture, by
a rocky road, to another pasture, which they cannot
298 THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
yet see. He knows them all, — their separate histo*
ries, their ailments, their characters.
Now, let it be observed, how much in all this con-
nection there is of heart, — of real, personal attach
ment, almost inconceivable to us. It is strange how
deep the sympathy may become between the higher and
the lower being ; nay, even between the being that has
life and what is lifeless. Alone almost in the desert,
the Arab and his horse are one family. Alone in those
rast solitudes, with no human being near, the shepherd
d)nd the sheep feel a life in common. Differences dis-
appear, the vast interval between the man and the
brute — the single point of union is felt strongly.
One is the love of the protector, the other the love of
the grateful life ; and so, between lives so distant, there
is woven by night and day, by summer suns and winter
frosts, a living net-work of sympathy. The greater
and the less mingle their being together — they feel
each other. — "The shepherd knows his sheep, and is
known of them."
The men to whom Christ said these words felt all
this and more, the moment He had said them, which it
has taken me many minutes to draw out in dull sen-
tences ; for He appealed to the familiar associations
of their daily life, and, calling Himself a Shepherd,
touched strings which would vibrate with many a
tender and pure recollection of their childhood. And
unless we try, by realizing such scenes, to supply
what they felt by association, the words of Christ
will be only hard, dry, hfeless words to us ; for all
Christ's teaching is a Divine Poetry, luxuriant in
metaphor, overflowing with truth too large for accu-
rate sentences — truth which only a heart alive can
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 299
appreciate. More than half the heresies into which
Christian sects have blundered have merely come
from mistaking for dull prose what prophets and
apostles said in those highest moments of the soul,
when seraphim kindle the sentences of the pen and
lip into poetry. ^' This is my body," — Chill that into
prose, and it becomes Transubstantiation. " I am the
Good Shepherd." — In the dry and merciless logic of
a commentary, trying laboriously to find out minute
points of ingenious resemblance in which Christ is
like a shepherd, the glory and the tenderness of this
sentence are dried up.
But try to feel, by imagining what the lonely Syrian
shepherd must feel towards the helpless things which
are the companions of his daily life, for whose safety
he stands in jeopardy every hour, and whose value is
measurable to him not by price, but by his own
jeopardy, and then we have reached some notion of
the love which Jesus meant to represent : that Eternal
tenderness which bends over us, — infinitely lower
though we be in nature, — and knows the name of
each and the trials of each, and thinks for each with a
separate solicitude, and gave itself for each with a
sacrifice as special, and a love as personal, as if in the
whole world's wilderness there were none other but
that one.
To the name Shepherd Christ adds an emphatic
word, of much significance : " I am the Good Shep-
herd." Good, not in the sense of benevolent, but in
the sense of genuine, true-born, of the real kind, —
just as wine of nobler quality is good compared with
the cheaper sort ; just as a soldier is good or noble
who is a soldier in heart, and not a soldier by mera
300 THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
profession or for pay. It is the same word used hy St.
Paul when he speaks of a good — that is, a noble — •
soldier of Christ. Certain peculiar qualifications make
the genuine soldier ; certain peculiar qualifications
make the genuine or good shepherd.
Now, this expression distinguishes the shepherd
from two sorts of men who may also be keepers of the
sheep : shepherds, but not shepherds of the true
blood. 1. From robbers. 2. From hirelings.
1. Robbers may turn shepherds ; they may keep the
sheep, but they guard them only for their own pur-
poses — simply for the flesh and fleece; they have
not a true shepherd's heart, any more than a pirate has
the true sailor's heart and the true sailor's loyalty.
There were many such marauders on the hills of Gali-
lee and Judea ; such, for example, as those from whom
David and his band , protected Nabal's flocks on
Mount Carmel.
And many such nominal shepherds had the people
of Israel had in bygone years ; rulers in whom the art
of ruling had been but king-craft ; teachers whose
instructions to the people had been but priestcraft.
Government, statesmanship, teachership, — these are
pastoral callings — sublime, even Godlike. For only
consider it: wise rule, chivalrous protection, loving
guidance, — what diviner work than , these has the
Master given to the shepherds of the people ? But
when the work is done, even well done, whether it be
by statesmen or by pastors, for the sake of party, or
place, or honor, or personal consistency, or preferment,
it is not the spirit of the genuine shepherd, but of
the robber. No wonder He said, " All that ever came
before Me were thieves and robbers."
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 301
Again, hirelings are shepherds, but not good shep-
herds, of the right, pure kind ; they are tested by
danger. " He that is an hireling, and not the good
shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf
coming, and leaveth the sheep and fleeth ; and the
wolf catcheth them, and scattereth the sheep."
Now, a man is a hireling when he does his duty for
pay. He may do it in his way faithfully. The paid
shepherd would not desert the sheep for a shower or
a cold night. But the lion and the bear — he is not
paid to risk his life against them, and the sheep are
not his, so he leaves them to their fate. So, in the
same way, a man may be a hired priest, as Demetrius
was at Ephesus : " By this craft we get our living."
Or, a paid demagogue, a great champion of rights,
and an investigator of abuses — paid by applause ;
and while popularity lasts, he will be a reformer, —
deserting the people when danger comes. There is
no vital union between the champion and defenceless,
the teacher and the taught. The cause of the sheep
is not his cause.
Exactly the reverse of this Christ asserts, in calling
Himself the Good Shepherd. He is a good, genuine,
or true-born sailor who feels that the ship is as it were
his own ; whose point of chivalrous honor is to save
his ship rather than himself — not to survive her. He
is a good, genuine, or true-born shepherd who has the
spirit of his calling — is an enthusiast in it — has the
true shepherd's heart, and makes the cause of the
sheep his cause.
Brethren, the cause of man was the cause of Christ.
He did no hireling's work. The only pay He got was
hatred, a crown of thorns, and the cross. He might
26
302 THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
have escaped it all. He might have been the Leader
of the people and their King. He might have con-
verted the idolatry of an hour into the hosannas of a
lifetime. If He would but have conciliated the Phari-
sees, instead of bidding them defiance, and exasper-
ating their bigotry against Him ; if He would but have
explained, and, like some demagogue called to account,
trimmed away His sublime sharp-edged truths about
oppression and injustice until they became harmless,
because meaningless ; if He would but have left unsaid
those rough things about the consecrated Temple and
the Sabbath-days ; if He would but have left undis-
puted the hereditary title of Israel to God's favor, and
not stung the national vanity by telling them that trust
in God justifies the Gentile as entirely as the Jcav ; if
He would but have taught less prominently that hate-
ful doctrine of the salvability of the heathen Gentiles
and the heretic Samaritans, and the universal Father-
hood of God ; if He would but have stated with less
angularity of edge His central truth, that not by mere
compliance with law, but by a spirit transcending law,
even the spirit of the cross and self-sacrifice, can the
soul of man be atoned to God : — that would have
saved Him. But that Avould have been the desertion
of the cause — God's cause and man's — the cause
of the ignorant defenceless sheep, whose very salva-
tion depended on the keeping of that Gospel intact ;
therefore the Shepherd gave His life a Witness to the
Truth, and a sacrifice to God. It was a profound
truth that the populace gave utterance to when they
taunted Him on the cross : " He saved others. Him-
self He cannot save." No, of course not; He that
will save others cannot save Himself.
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 303
Of that pastoral character He gives here three
proofs. I know Mj sheep — am known of Mine — lay-
down My life for the sheep.
1. I know My sheep as the Father knoweth Me. In
other words, as unerringly as His Father read His
heart, so unerringly did He read the heart of man and
recognize His own.
Ask we how ? An easy reply, and a common one,
would be — He recognized them by the Godhead in
Him ; His mind was divine, therefore omniscient ; Ho
knew all things, therefore He knew what was in man ;
and therefore He knew His own.
But we must not slur over His precious words in
this way. That Divinity of His is made the pass-key
by which we open all mysteries with fatal facility, and
save ourselves from thinking of them. We get a
dogma and cover truth with it ; we satisfy ourselves
with saying Christ was God, and lose the precious
humanities of His heart and life.
There is here a deep truth of human nature ; for He
does not limit that recognizing power to Himself, —
He says that the sheep know Him as truly as He the
sheep. He knew men on the same principle on which
we know men, — the same on which we know Him.
The only difference is in degree ; He knows with infi-
nitely more unerringness than we, but the knowledge
is the same in kind.
Let us think of this. There is a certain mysterious
tact of sympathy and antipathy by which we discover
the like and unlike of ourselves in others' character.
You cannot find out a man's opinions unless he
chooses to express them ; but his feelings and his
304 THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
character you may. He cannot hide them ; you feei
them in his look and mien, and tones and motion.
There is, for instance, a certain something in sin-
cerity and reahty which cannot be mistaken, — a
certain something in real grief which the most artistic
counterfeit cannot imitate. It is distinguished by
nature, not education. There is a something in an
impure heart which purity detects afar oflF. Marvel-
lous it is how innocence perceives the approach of
evil which it cannot know by experience, just as the
dove which has never seen a falcon trembles by
instinct at its approach ; just as a blind man detects
by finer sensitiveness the passing of the cloud which
he cannot see overshadowing the sun. It is wondrous
how, the truer we become, the more unerringly we
know the ring of truth, — discern whether a man be true
or not, and can fasten at once upon the rising lie in
word, and look, and dissembling act. Wondrous how
the charity of Christ in the heart finely perceives the
slightest aberration from charity in others, in ungentle
thought or slanderous tone.
Therefore Christ knew His sheep, by that mystic
power always finest in the best natures, most devel-
oped in the highest, by which Like detects what is
like and what unlike itself. He was Perfect Love —
Perfect Truth — Perfect Purity; therefore He knew
what was in man, and felt, as by another sense, afar
ofi" the shadows of unlovingness, and falseness, and
impurity.
No one can have read the Gospels without remark-
ing that they ascribe to Him unerring skill in reading
man. People, we read, began to show enthusiasm for
Him. But Jesus did not trust Himself unto them,
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 305
" for He knew what was in man." He knew that the
flatterers of to-day would be the accusers of to-mor-
row. Nathanael stood before Him. He had scarcely
spoken a word ; but at once, unhesitatingly, to Nathan-
ael's own astonishment, — " Behold an Israelite in-
deed, in whom there is no guile 1 " There came to
Him a young man with vast possessions : a single
sentence, an exaggerated epithet, an excited manner,
revealed his character. Enthusiastic and amiable,
Jesus loved him ; capable of obedience, on life's sun-
shine and prosperity, — ay, and capable of aspiration
after something more than mere obedience, but not
of sacrifice. Jesus tested him to the quick, and the
young man failed. He did not try to call him back,
for He knew what was in him and what was not. He
read through Zaccheus when he climbed into the syc-
amore-tree, despised by the people as a publican, really
a son of Abraham ; through Judas, with his benevo-
lent saying about the selling of the alabaster-box for
the poor, and his false kiss ; through the curses of the
thief upon the cross, a faith that could be saved ;
through the zeal of the man who in a fit of enthu-
siasm ofi'ered to go with Him whithersoever He
would. He read through the Pharisees, and His
whole being shuddered with the recoil of utter and
irreconcilable aversion.
It was as if His bosom was some mysterious mir-
ror, on which all that came near Him left a sullied
or unsullied surface, detecting themselves by every
breath.
Now, distinguish that Divine power from that cun-
ning sagacity which men call knowingness in the mat-
ter of character. The worldly wise have maxims and
26*
306 THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
rules ; but the finer shades and delicacies of truth of
character escape them. They would prudently avoid
Zaccheus — a publican ; they
There is a very solemn aspect in which this power
of Jesus to know man presents itself. It is this which
qualifies Him for judgment, — this perfection of hu-
man sympathy. Perfect sympathy with every n^ost
delicate line of good implies exquisite antipathy to
every shadow of a shade 'of evil. God hath given
Him authority to execute judgment also, because He
is the Son of Man. On sympathy the final award of
Heaven and Hell are built : Attraction and Repulsion,
the law of the magnet. To each pole all that has affin-
ity with itself — to Christ all that is Christlike, from
Christ all that is not Christlike, — forever and forever.
Eternal judgment is nothing more than the carrying
out of these words, " I know my sheep ; " — for the
obverse of them is, " I never knew you ; depart from
me, all ye that work iniquity."
The second proof which Christ alleges of the genu-
ineness of His pastorate is, that His sheep know Him.
How shall we recognize Truth Divine? What is
the test by which we shall know whether it comes
from God or not ? They tell us we know Christ to
be from God because He wrought miracles ; we know
a doctrine to be from God because we find it written,
or because it is sustained by an universal consent of
fathers.
That is — for observe what this argument implies —
there is something more evident than truth ; Truth
cannot prove itself; we want something else to prove
it. Our souls judge of truth, — our senses judge of
miracles; and the evidence ol our senses — the lowest
TITR GOOD SHEPHERD. 307
part of our nature — is more certain than the evi-
dence of our souls, by which we must partake of God.
Now, to saj so, is to say that you cannot be sure
that it is mid-day, or morning sunshine, unless you
look at the sun-dial ; you cannot be sure that the sun
is shining in the heavens unless you see his shadow
on the dial-plate. The dial is valuable to a man who
never reads the heavens, — the shadow is good for
him who has not watched the sun ; but, for a man who
hves in perpetual contemplation of the sun in heaven,
the sunshine needs no evidence, and every hour ia
known.
Now, Christ says, " My sheep know J/e." Wisdom
is justified by her children. Not by some length-
ened investigation, whether the shepherd's dress be
the identical dress, and the staff and the crosier gen-
uine, do the sheep recognize the shepherd. They
know him, they hear his voice, they know him as a
man knows his friend.
They know him, in short, instinctivdy. Just so does
the soul recognize what is of God and true. Truth is
like light; visible in itself, not distinguished by the
shadows that it casts. There is a something in our
souls of God, which corresponds with what is of God
outside us, and recognizes it by direct intuition ; some-
thing in the true soul which corresponds with truth,
and knows it to be truth. Christ came with truth, and
the true recognize it as true ; the sheep know the
Shepherd, wanting no further evidence. Take a tew
examples: " God is Love." — "What shall a man give
in exchange for his soul ? " — " He that saveth his life
shall lose it; and he that loseth his hfe for My sake
shall find it." — " All things are possible to him that
308 THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
believeth." — " The Sabbath was made for man, not man
for the Sabbath."—" God is a Spirit."
Now, the wise men of intellect and logical acumen
wanted proof of these truths. Give us, said they,
your credentials. " By what authority doest thou
these things ? " They wanted a sign from heaven to
prove that the truth was true, and the life He led
Godlike, and not devil-like. How can we be sure that
it is not from Beelzebub, the prince of the devils, that
these deeds and sayings come? We must be quite
sure that we are not taking a message from hell as
one from heaven. Give us demonstration, — chains of
evidence, chapter and verse, authority.
But simple men had decided the matter already.
They knew very little of antiquity, church authority,
and shadows of coming events, which prophecy casts
before ; but their eyes saw the light, and their hearts
felt the present God. Wise Pharisees and learned
doctors said, to account for a wondrous miracle, " Give
God the glory."
But the poor, unlettered man, whose blinded eye
had for the first time looked on a face of love, rephed,
"Whether this man be a sinner or not, I know not;
one thing I know, that whereas I was bhnd, now
I see."
The well-read Jews could not settle the literary
question, whether the marks of his appearance coin-
cided with the prophecies. But the Samaritans fdt
the life of God : " Now we believe, not because of thy
word, but because we have heard him ourselves, and
"know that this is indeed the Christ."
The Shepherd had come, and the sheep knew His
voice.
THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 309
Brethren, in all matters of eternal truth, the soul is
before the intellect, the things of God are spiritually
discerned. You know truth by being true ; you rec-
ognize Grod by being like Him. The scribe comes
and says, I will prove to you that this is sound doc-
trine, by chapter and verse, by what the old and best
writers say, by evidence such as convinces the intel-
lect of an intelligent lawyer or juryman. Think you
the conviction of faith is got in that way ?
Christ did not teach like the scribes. He spoke His
truth. He said, " If any man believe not, I judge him
not ; the word which I have spoken, the same shall
judge him in the last day." It was true, and the guilt
of disbelieving it was not an error of the intellect, but
a sin of the heart.
Let us stand upright ; let us be sure that the test oi
truth is the soul within us. Not at second-hand can
we have assurance of what is Divine, and what is
not ; only at first-hand. The sheep of Christ hear His
voice.
The third proof given by Christ was pastoral fidel-
ity : " I lay down my life for the sheep." Now, here
is the doctrine of vicarious sacrifice ; sacrifice of one
instead of another ; life saved by the sacrifice of life.
Most of us know the meagre explanation of these
words which satisfies the Unitarians ; they say that
Christ merely died as a martyr, in attestation of the
truths He taught.
But you will observe the strength of the expression
which we cannot explain away, " I lay down my life
ybr" — that is, instead of — "the sheep." If the Shep-
herd had not sacrificed Himself, the sheep must have
been the sacrifice.
310 THE GOOD SHEPHERD.
Observe, however, the suffering of Christ was not
the same suffering as that from which He saved us. The
suffering of Christ was death. But the suffering from
which He redeemed us bj death was more terrible than
death. The pit into which He descended was the
grave. But the pit in which we should have been lost
forever was the pit of selfishness and despair.
Therefore St. Paul affirms, " If Christ be not risen, je
are yet in your siris." If Christ's resurrection be a
dream, and He be not risen from the grave of death, you
are yet in the grave of guilt. He bore suffering to free
us from what is worse than suffering — sin ; temporal
death, to save us from death everlasting ; His life given
as an offering for sin to save the soul's eternal life.
Now, in the text this sacrificing love of Christ is par-
alleled by the love of the Father to the Son. As He
loved the sheep, so the Father had loved Him. There-
fore, the sacrifice of Christ is but a mirror of the love
of God. The love of the Father to the Son is self-
sacrificing Love.
You know that shallow men make themselves merry
with this doctrine. The sacrifice of God, they say, is a
figment, and an impossibility. Nevertheless, this paral-
lel tells us that it is one of the deepest truths of all the
universe. It is the profound truth which the ancient
fathers endeavored to express in the doctrine of the
Trinity. For what is the love of the Father to the Son
— Himself yet not Himself — but the grand truth of
Eternal Love losing itself and finding itself again in
the being of another? What is it but the sublime
expression of the unselfishness of God?
It is a profound, glorious truth ; I wish I knew how
to put it in intelligible words. But, if these words of
THE GOOD SHEPHEKD. 311
Christ do not make it intelligible to the heart, how can
any words of mine ? The life of blessedness, the life
of love, the life of sacrifice, the life of God, are iden-
tical. All love is sacrifice — the giving of life and
self for others. God's life is sacrifice ; for the Father
loves the Son as the Son loves the sheep for whom He
gave His hfe.
Whoever will humbly ponder upon this will, I think,
understand the Atonement better than all theology can
teach him. 0, my brethren, leave men to quarrel as
they will about the theology of the Atonement ; here
in these words is the religion of it, — the blessed, all-
satisfying religion for our hearts. The self-sacrifice
of Christ was the satisfaction to the Father.
How could the Father be satisfied with the death of
Christ, unless He saw in the sacrifice mirrored His own
love ? — for God can be satisfied only with that which
is perfect as Himself. Agony does not satisfy God, —
agony only satisfied Moloch. Nothing satisfies God
but the voluntary sacrifice of Love.
The pain of Christ gave God no pleasure : c/ily
the love that was tested by pain, — the love of h<»
obedient. He was obedient unto death.
XXI.
'Preached Easter-day, March 27, 1853.]
THE DOUBT OF THOMAS.
John xx. 29. — " Jesus saith unto him, Thomas, because thou hast seen
me, thou hast believed ; blessed are they that have not seen, and yet
have believed."
The day on which these words were spoken was the
first day of the week. On that day Thomas received
demonstration that his Lord was risen from the dead.
On that same day, a week before, Thomas had declared
that no testimony of others, no eyesight of his own,
nothing short of touching with his hands the crucifix-
ion marks in his Master's body, should induce him to
believe a fact so unnatural as the resurrection of a
human being from the grave. Those seven days
between must, therefore, have been spent in a state of
miserable uncertainty. How miserable, and how rest-
less, none can understand but those who have felt the
wretchedness of earnest doubt.
Doubt, moreover, observe, respecting all that is
dear to a Christian's hopes. For if Christ were not
risen, Christianity was false, and every high aspiration
which it promised to gratify was thrown back on the
disappointed heart.
Let us try to understand the doubt of Thomas.
C312)
THE DOUBT OF THOMAS. 313
There are some men whose affections are stronger than
their understandings ; they feel more than they think.
They are simple, trustful, able to repose implicitly on
what is told them, — liable sometimes to verge upon
credulity and superstition, but, take them all in all, per-
haps the happiest class of minds ; for it is happy to be
without misgivings about the love of God and our own
eternal rest in Him. " Blessed," said Christ to Thomas,
" are they that have believed."
There is another class of men whose reflective pow-
ers are stronger than their susceptible ; they think out
truth, — they do not feel it out. Often highly gifted
and powerful minds, they cannot rest till they have
made all their ground certain ; they do not feel safe as
long as there is one possibility of delusion left ; they
prove all things. Such a man was Thomas. He has
well been called the rationalist among the apostles.
Happy such men cannot be. An anxious and inquir-
ing mind dooms its possessor to unrest. But men of
generous spirit, manly and affectionate, they may be ;
Thomas was. When Christ was bent on going to
Jerusalem, to certain death, Thomas said, " Let us go
up, too, that we may die with Him." And men of
mighty faith they m^y become, if they are true to
themselves and their convictions. Thomas did. When
such mi;n do believe, it is a belief with all the heart
and soul for life. When a subject has been once thor-
oughly and suspiciously investigated, and settled once
for all, the adherence of the whole reasoning man, if
given in at all, is given frankly and heartily, as Thomas
gave it, — " My Lord, and my God."
Now, this question of a resurrection, which made
Thomas restless, is the most anxious that can agitato
27
314 THE DOUBT OF THOMAS.
the mind of man. So awful in its importance, and out
of Chri«t so almost desperately dark in its uncertainty,
who shall blame an earnest man severely if he crave
the most indisputable proofs ?
Very clearly Christ did not. Thomas asked of
Christ a sign ; he must put his own hands into the
prints. His Master gave him that sign or proof. He
said, " Reach hither thy hand." He gave it, it is true,
with a gentle and delicate reproof, — but He did give
it. Now, from that condescension, we are reminded
of the darkness that hangs round the question of a
resurrection, and how excusable it is for a man to
question earnestly until he has got proof to stand on.
For, if it were not excusable to crave a proof, our
Master never would have granted one. Resurrection
is not one of those questions on which you can afford
to wait ; it is the question of life and death. There
are times when it does not weigh heavily. When we
have some keen pursuit before us, when we are young
enough to be satisfied to enjoy ourselves, the prob-
lem does not press itself. We are too laden with the
pressure of the present, to care to ask what is coming.
But at last a time comes when we feel it will be all
over soon, — that much of our time is gone, and the
rest swiftly going. And let a man be as frivolous as
he will at heart, it is a question too solemn to be put
aside, — Whether he is going down into extinction and
the blank of everlasting silence, or not. Whether, in
those far ages, when the very oak which is to form his
coffin shall have become fibres of black mould, and the
church-yard in which he is to lie shall have become,
perhaps, unconsecrated ground, and the spades of a
generation yet unborn shall have exposed his bones,
THE DOUBT OF THOMAS. 315
those bones will be the last relic in the world to bear
record that he once trod this green earth, and that life
was once dear to him, Thomas, or James, or Paul. Oi
whether that thrilling, loving, thinking something, that
he calls himself, ha;s indeed within it an indestructible
existence, which shall still be conscious, when eveiy-
thing else shall have rushed into endless wreck. 0^
in the awful earnestness of a question such as that, a
speculation and a peradventure will not do ; we must
have proof The honest doubt of Thomas craves a
sign as much as the cold doubt of the Sadducee. And
a sign shall be mercifully given to the doubt of love
which is refused to the doubt of indifference.
This passage presents two lines of thought.
I. The naturalness of the doubts of Thomas, which
partly excuses them.
II. The evidences of the Christian Resurrection.
I. The naturalness of the doubts of Thomas.
The first assertion that we make to explain those
doubts is, that Nature is silent respecting a future life.
All that reason, all that Nature, all that religion, apart
from Christ, have to show us, is something worse than
darkness. It is the twilight of excruciating uncer-
tainty. There is enough in the riddle of this world to
show us that there may be a life to come ; there is
nothing to make it cerj:ain that there will be one. We
crave, as Thomas did, a sign either in the height above
or in the depth beneath ; and the answer seems to fall
back like ice upon our hearts. There shall no sign be
given you.
It is the uncertainty of twilight. You strain at
something in the twilight, and just when you are be-
316 THE DOUBT OF THOMAS.
ginning to make out its form and color, the light fails
you, and your eyelid sinks down, wet and wearied
with the exertion. Just so it is when we strain into
Nature's mysteries, to discern the secret of the Great
Hereafter. Exactly at the moment when we think we
begin to distinguish something, the light goes out, and
we are left groping in darkness, — the darkness of the
grave.
Let us forget for a moment that we ever heard of
Christ : — what is there in life or nature to strengthen
the guess that there is a life to come? There are
hints — there are probabilities — there is nothing
more. Let us examine some of those probabilities.
First, there is an irrepressible longing in our hearts.
We wish for immortality. The thought of annihila-
tion is horrible ; even to conceive it is almost impossi-
ble. The wish is a kind of argument ; it is not likely
that God would have given all men such a feeling, if
He had not meant to gratify it. Every natural long-
ing has its natural satisfaction. If we thirst, God has
created liquids to gratify thirst. If we are susceptible
of attachment, there are beings to gratify that love.
If we thirst for life and love eternal, it is likely that
there are an eternal life and an eternal love to satisfy
that craving.
Likely, I say ; more we cannot say. A likelihood
of an immortality of which our passionate yearnings
are a presumption — nothing higher than a likelihood.
And in weary moments, when the desire of life is not
strong, and in unloving moments, there is not even a
likelihood.
Secondly, corroborating this feeling we have the
traditions of universal belief. There is not a nation,
THE DOUBT OF THOMAS. 317
perhaps, which does not in some form or other hold
that there is a country beyond the grave where the
weary are at rest. Now, that which all men every-
where and in every age have held, it is impossible to
treat contemptuously. How came it to be held by
all, if only a delusion ? Here is another probability in
the universality of belief. And yet, when you come to
estimate this, it is too slender for a proof; — it is only
a presumption. The universal voice of mankind is not
infallible. It was the universal belief once, on the
evidence of the senses, that the earth was stationary ;
— the universal voice was wrong. The universal
voice might be wrong in the matter of a resurrection.
It might be only a beautiful and fond dream, indulged
till hope made itself seem to be a reality. You cannot
build upon it.
Once again, — In this strange world of perpetual
change, we are met by many resemblances to a resur-
rection. Without much exaggeration we call them
resurrections. There is the resurrection of the moth
from the grave of the chrysalis. For many ages the
sculptured butterfly was the type and emblem of im-
mortality. Because it passes into a state of torpor or
deadness, and because from that it emerges by a kind
of resurrection, — the same, yet not the same, — in all
the radiance of a fresh and beautiful youth, never again
to be supported by the coarse substance of earth, but
destined henceforth to nourish its etherealized exist-
ence on the nectar of the flowers, — the ancients saw
in that transformation a something added to their
hopes of immortality. It was their beautiful sjonbol
of the soul's indestructibility.
Again, there is a kind of resurrection when the
27*
318 THE DOUBT OF THOMAS.
spring brings vigor and motion back to the frozen
pulse of the winter world. Let any one go into the
fields at this spring season of the year. Let him mark
the busy preparations for life which are going on.
Life is at work in every emerald bud, in the bursting
bark of every polished bough, in the greening tints of
every brown hill-side. A month ago everything was
as still and cold as the dead silence which chills the
heart in the highest regions of the glacier solitudes.
Life is coming back to a dead world. It is a resurrec-
tion, surely ! The return of freshness to the frozen
world is not less marvellous than the return of sensi-
bility to a heart which has ceased to beat. If one has
taken place, the other is not impossible.
And yet all this, valuable as it is in the way of sug-
gestiveness, is worth nothing in the way of proof It
is worth everything to the heart, for it strengthens the
dim guesses and vague intimations which the heart had
formed already. It is worth nothing to the intellect ;
for the moment we come to argue the matter, we find
how little there is to rest upon in these analogies.
They are no real resurrections, after all ; they only
look like resurrections. The chrysalis only seemed
dead ; the tree in winter only seemed to have lost its
vitality. Show us a butterfly, which has been dried
and crushed, fluttering its brilliant wings next year
again. Show us a tree, plucked up by the roots and
seasoned by exposure, the vital force really killed out,
putting forth its leaves again, — then we should have a
real parallel to a resurrection. But nature does not
show us that. So that all we have goi m the butterfly
and the spring are illustrations exquisitely in point
THE DOUBT OF THOMAS. B10
after immortality is proved, but in themselves no
proofs at all.
Further still. Look at it in another point of view,
and it is a dark prospect. Human history behind, and
human history before, both give a stern " No," in reply
to the question. Shall we rise again ?
Six thousand years of human existence have passed
away, — countless armies of the dead have set sail
from the shores of time. No traveller has returned
from the still land beyond. More than one hundred
and fifty generations have done their work, and sunk
into the dust again, and still there is not a voice, there
is not a whisper, from the grave, to tell us whether,
indeed, those myriads are in existence still. Besides,
why should they be ? Talk as you will of the grand-
eur of man, why should it not be honor enough for
him — more than enough to satisfy a thing so mean —
to have had his twenty or his seventy years' life-rent
of God's universe? Why must such a thing, apart
from proof, rise up and claim to himself an exclusive
immortality? Man's majesty ! man's worth ! — the dif-
ference between him and the elephant or ape is too
degradingly small to venture much on. That is not
all ; instead of looking backwards, now look forwards.
The wisest thinkers tell us that there are already on
the globe traces of a demonstration that the human
race is drawing to its close. Each of the great human
families has had its day, — its infancy, its manhood, its
decline. The two last races that have not been tried
are on the stage of earth, doing their work now.
There is no other to succeed them. Man is but of
Yesterday, and yet his race is well-nigh done. Man ia
wearing out, as everything before him has been worn
320 THE DOUBT OF THOMAS.
out. In a few more centuries the crust of earth will
be the sepulchre of the race of man, as it has been
the sepulchre of extinct races of palm-trees, and ferns,
and gigantic reptiles. The time is near when the bones
of the last human being will be given to the dust. It
is historically certain that man has quite lately, within
a few thousand years, been called into existence. It
is certain that, before very long, the race must 'je
extinct.
Now, look at all this without Christ, and tell ua
whether it be possible to escape such misgivings and
such reasonings as these, which rise out of such an
aspect of things. Man, this thing of yesterday, which
sprung out of the eternal nothingness, why may he
not sink, after he has played his appointed part, into
nothingness again? You see the leaves sinking one
by one in autumn, till the heaps below are rich with
the spoils of a whole year's vegetation. They were
bright and perfect while they lasted, — each leaf a mir-
acle of beauty and contrivance. There is no resur-
rection for the leaves, — why must there be one for
man? Go and stand, some summer evening, by the
river-side : you will see the May-fly sporting out its
little hour, in dense masses of insect life, darkening
the air a few feet above the gentle swell of the water.
The heat of that very afternoon brought them into
existence. Every gauze wing is traversed by ten
thousand fibres, which defy the microscope to find a
flaw in their perfection. The Omniscience and th(
cire bestowed upon that exquisite anatomy, one would
tnink, cannot be destined to be wasted in a moment.
Yet so it is ; when the sun has sunk below the trees,
its little life is done. Yesterday it was not ; to-morrow
THE DOUBT OF THOMAS. 321
it will not be. God has bidden it be happy for one
evening. It has no right or claim to a second ; and in
the universe that marvellous life has appeared once,
and will appear no more. May not the race of man
sink like the generations of the May-fly ? Why cannot
the Creator so lavish in His resources, afford to anni-
hilate souls as He annihilates insects ? Would it not
almost enhance His glory to believe it?
That, brethren, is the question ; and nature has no
reply. The fearful secret of sixty centuries has not
yet found a voice. The whole evidence lies before us.
We know what the greatest and wisest have had to say
in favor of an immortality ; and we know how, after
eagerly devouring all their arguments, our hearts have
sunk back in cold disappointment ; and to every proof,
as we read, our lips have replied, mournfully. That will
not stand. Search through tradition, history, the
world within you and the world without, — except in
Christ there is not the shadow of a shade of proof that
man survives the grave.
I do not wonder that Thomas, with that honest, accu-
rate mind of his, wishing that the news were true, yet
dreading lest it should be false, and determined to
guard against every possible illusion, delusion, and
deception, said, so strongly, " Except I shall see in His
hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the
print of the nails, and thrust my hand into His side, I
will not believe."
II. The Christian proofs of a Resurrection.
This text tells us of two kinds of proof The first
is the evidence of the senses — " Thomas, because
thou hast seen Me thou hast believed." The other is
322 THE DOUBT OF THOMAS.
the evidence of the Spirit — " Blessed are they that
have not seen, and yet have beheved."
Let us scrutinize the external evidence of Christ's
resurrection which those verses furnish. It is a two-
fold evidence. The witness of the Apostle Thomas,
who was satisfied with the proofs ; the witness of St.
John, who records the circumstance of his satisfaction.
Consider, first, the witness of St. John ; try it by
ordinary rules. Hearsay evidence, which comes sec-
ond-hand, is suspicious ; but John's is no distant, hear-
say story. He does not say that he had heard the
story from Thomas, and that years afterwards, when
the circumstances had lost their exact, sharp outline, he
had penned it down, when he was growing old, and his
memory might be faihng. Jmin was present the whole
time. AU the apostles were there ; they all watched
the result with eager interest. The conditions made
by Thomas, without which he would not believe, had
been made before them all. They all heard him say
that the demonstration was complete ; they all saw
him touch the wounds ; and St. John recorded what
he saw. Now, a scene like that is one of those solemn
ones in a man's life which cannot be forgotten ; it
graves itself on the memory. A story told us by
another may be unintentionally altered or exaggerated
in the repetition ; but a spectacle like this, so strange
and so solemn, could not be forgotten or misinter-
preted. St. John could have made no mistake. Esti-
mate next the worth of the witness of Thomas ; *^^rv it
by the ordinary rules of life. Evidence is worth little
if it is the evidence of credulity. If you find a man
belicA ing every new story, and accepting every fresh
disco'* ery, so called, without scrutiny, you may give him
THE DOUBT OF THOMAS. 323
credit for sincerity ; you cannot rest much upon his
judgment ; his testimony cannot go for much. For
example, when St. Peter, after his escape from prison,
knocked at Mark's mother's door, there went a maid to
open it, who came back scared and startled with the
tidings that she had seen his angel or spirit. Had she
gone about afterwards among the believers with that
tale, that St. Peter was dead and alive again, it would
have been worth little. Her fears, her sex, her credu-
lity, all robbed her testimony of its worth.
Now, the resurrection of Christ does not stand ou
such a footing. There was one man who dreaded
the possibility of delusion, however credulous the
others might be. He resolved beforehand that only
one proof should be decisive. He would not be con-
tented with seeing Christ ; that might be a dream — it
might be the vision of a disordered fancy. He would
not be satisfied with the assurance of others. The
evidence of testimony which he did reject was very
strong. Ten of his most familiar friends, and certain
women, gave in their separate and their united testi-
mony ; but against all that St. Thomas held out scepti-
cally firm. They might have been deceived themselves ;
they might have been trifling with him. The possi-
bilities of mistake were innumerable ; the delusions
of the best men about what they see are incredible.
He would trust a thing so infinitely important to noth-
ing but his own scrutinizing hand. It might be some
one personating his Master. He would put his hands
into real wounds, or else hold it unproved. The alle-
giance which was given in so enthusiastically, " My
Lord, and my God," was given in after, and not
oefore scrutiny. -It was the cautious verdict of au
324 THE DOUBT OF THOMAS.
enlightened, suspicions, most earnest, and most honest
sceptic.
Try the evidence next by character. Blemished
character damages evidence. Now, the only charge
that was ever heard against the Apostle John was that
he loved a world which hated him. The character of
the Apostle Thomas is that he was a man cautious ia
receiving evidence, and most rigorous in exacting
satisfactory proof, but ready to act upon his convic-
tions, when once made, even to the death. Love ele-
vated above the common love of man, in the one, — ■
heroic conscientiousness and a most rare integrity, in
the other, — who impeaches that testimony?
Once more, — any possibility of interested motives
will discredit evidence. Ask we the motive of John
or Thomas for this strange tale ? John's reward, — a
long and solitary banishment to the mines of Patmos.
The gain and the bribe which tempted Thomas, — a
lonely pilgrimage to the far East, and death at the last
in India. Those were strange motives to account for
their persisting and glorying in the story of the resur-
rection to the last ! Starving their gain, and martyr-
dom their price.
The evidence to which Thomas yielded was tho
evidence of the senses, — touch, and sight, and hear-
ing. Now, the feeling which arose from this touching,
and feeling, and demonstration, Christ pronounced to
be faith : " Thomas, because thou hast seen thou hast
believed." There are some Christian writers who t(;ll
Qs that the conviction produced by the intellect or the
'senses is not faith ; but Christ says it is. Observe,
then, it matters not how faith comes, — whether
through the intellect, as in the case of St. Thomas, or
THE DOUBT OF THOMAS. 325
in the heart, as in the case of St. John, or as the
result of long education, as in the case of St. Peter.
God has many ways of bringing different characters
to faith ; but that blessed thing which the Bible calls
faith is a state of soul in which the things of God
become glorious certainties. It was not faith which
assured Thomas that what stood before him was the
Christ he had known ; that was sight. But it was
faith which from the visible enabled him to pierce up
to the truth invisible : " My Lord, and my God." And
it was faith which enabled him, through all life after, to
venture everything on that conviction, and live for
One who had died for him.
Remark again this : The faith of Thomas was not
merely satisfaction about a fact ; it was trust in a Per-
son. The admission of a fact, however sublime, is not
faith ; we may believe that Christ is risen, yet not
be nearer heaven. It is a Bible fact that Lazarus
rose from the grave ; but belief in Lazarus' resurrec-
tion does not make the soul better than it was. Thomas
passed on from the fact of the resurrection to the Per-
son of the risen : " My Lord, and my God." Trust in
the risen Saviour — that was the belief which saved his
Soul.
And that is our salvation too. You may satisfy
yourself about the evidences of the resurrection ; you
may bring in your verdict well, like a cautious and
enlightened judge : you are then in possession of a
fact, a most valuable and curious fact; but faith of any
saving worth you have not, unless from the fact you
pass on, like Thomas, to cast the allegiance and the
homage of your soul, and the love of all your being,
on Him whom Thomas worshipped. It is not belief
28
326 THE DOUBT OF THOMAS.
about the Christ, but personal trust in the Christ of
God, that saves the soul.
There is another kind of evidence by which the
Resurrection becomes certain. Not the evidence of
the senses, but the evidence of the spirit : " Blessed
are they that have not seen, and yet have believed."
There are thousands of Christians, who have never
examined the evidences of the resurrection piece by
piece ; they are incapable of estimating it, if they did
examine ; they know nothing about the laws of evi-
dence ; they have had no experience in balancing the
value of testimony ; they are neither lawyers nor phi-
losophers ; and yet these simple Christians have re-
ceived into their very souls tlie Resurrection of their
Redeemer, and look forward to their own rising from
the grave with a trust as firm, as steady, and as saving,
as if they had themselves put their hands into His
wounds.
They have never seen, they-know nothing of proofs
and miracles, yet they beheve and are blessed. How
is this ?
I reply, there is an inward state of heart which
makes truth credible the moment it is stated. It is
credible to some men because of what they are. Love
is credible to a loving heart ; purity is credible to a
pure mind ; life is credible to a spirit in which life ever
beats strongly: it is incredible to other men. Because
of that, such men believe. Of course, that inward state
could not reveal a fact like the resurrection ; but it caD
receive the fact the moment it is revealed, without le-
quiring evidence. The love of St. John himself never
could discover a resurrection ; but it made a resurrec-
tion easily believed, when the man of intellect, St,
THE DOUBT OF THOMAS. 327
Tnomas, found difficulties. Therefore " with the heart
man beheveth unto righteousness," and therefore " he
that beheveth on the Son of God hath the witness in
himself/' and therefore " Faith is the substance of things
hoped for." Now, it is of such a state — a state of love
acd hope, which makes the Divine truth credible and
natural at once — that Jesus speaks : " Blessed are they
that have not seen, and yet have believed."
There are men in whom the resurrection begun
makes the resurrection credible. In them the spirit
of the risen Saviour works already ; and they have
mounted with Him from the grave. They have risen
out of the darkness of doubt, and are expatiating in
the brightness and the sunshine of a Day in which
God is ever Light. Their step is as free as if the
clay of the sepulchre had been shaken off, and their
hearts are lighter than those of other men, and there
is in them an unearthly triumph which they are unable
to express. They have risen above the narrowness
of life, and all that is petty, and ungenerous, and
mean. They have risen above fear, — they have risen
above self In the New Testament that is called the
spiritual resurrection, or being risen with Christ ; and
the man in whom all that is working has got something
more blessed than external evidence to rest upon. He
has the witness in himself; he has not seen, and yet he
has believed ; he believed in a resurrection, because
he has the resurrection in himself The resurrection,
in all its heavenliness and unearthly elevation, has be-
gun within his soul; and he knows, as clearly as if he
had demonstration, that it must be developed in an
eternal life.
Now, this is the higher and nobler kind of faith, —
328 THE DOUBT OP THOMAS.
a faith more blessed than that of Thomas. " Because
thou hast seen Me, thou hast believed." There are
times when we envy, as possessed of higher privileges,
those who saw Christ in the flesh ; we think that if we
could have heard that calm voice, or seen that blessed
presence, or touched those lacerated wounds in His
sacred flesh, all doubt would be set at rest forever.
Therefore, these words must be our corrective. God
has granted us the possibility of believing in a more
trustful and more generous way than if we saw. To
believe, not because we are learned and can prove, but
because there is a something in us, even God's own
Spirit, which makes us feel light as light, and truth aa
true, — that is the blessed faith.
Blessed, because it carries with it spiritual elevation
of character. Narrow the prospects of man to this
time-world, and it is impossible to escape the conclu-
sions of the Epicurean sensualist. If to-morrow we
die, let us eat and drink to-day. If we die the sinner's
death, it becomes a matter of mere taste whether we
shall live the sinner's life or not. But, if our exist
ence is forever, then, plainly, that which is to be daily
subdued and subordinated is the animal within us ; that
which is to be cherished is that which is likest God
Avithin us, — which we have from Him, and which is
the sole pledge of eternal being in spirit-life.
XXII.
[Preached May 8, 1853. J
THE IRREPARABLE PAST.
Mabk xiv. 41, 42, — " And he cometh the third time, and saith onto
them. Sleep on now, and take your rest ; it is enough, the hour is
come ; behold the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners.
Rise up, let us go ; lo, he that betray eth me is at hand."
It is upon two sentences of this passage that our
attention is to be fixed to-day, — sentences which in
themselves are apparently contradictory, but which
are pregnant with a lesson of the deepest practical
import. Looked at in the mere meaning of the words
as they stand, our Lord's first command, given to His
disciples, " Sleep on now, and take your rest," is in-
consistent with the second command, which follows
almost in the same breath, " Rise, let us be going." A
permission to slumber, and a warning to arouse at
once, are injunctions which can scarcely stand to-
gether in the same sentence consistently.
Our first inquiry therefore is, what did our Re-
deemer mean ? We shall arrive at the true solution
of this difficulty if we review the circumstances under
which these words were spoken. The account with
which these verses stand connected belongs to one
of the last scenes in the drama of our Master's earthly
pilgrimage ; it is found in the history of the trial-hour
28* (829)
330 THE IRREPARABLE PAST.
which was passed in the garden of Gethsemane. And
an hour it was indeed big with the destinies of the
world, for the command had gone forth to seize the
Saviour's person ; but the Saviour was still at large
and free. Upon the success or the frustration of that
plan the world's fate was trembling. Three men were
selected to be witnesses of the sufferings of that hour, —
three men, the favored ones on all occasions of the
apostolic band, — and the single injunction which had
been laid upon them was, " Watch with me one hour."
That charge to watch or keep awake seems to have
been given with two ends in view. He asked them
to keep awake, first that they might sympathize with
Him. He commanded them to keep awake, that they
might be on their guard against surprise ; that they
might afford sympathy, because never in all His career
did Christ more stand in need of such soothing as it
was in the power of man to give. It is true that was
not much ; the struggle, and the agony, and the mak-
ing up of the mind to death, had something in them
too Divine and too mysterious to be understood by the
disciples, and therefore sympathy could but reach a
portion of what our Redeemer felt. Yet still it ap-
pears to have been an additional pang in Christ s
anguish to find that He was left thoroughly alone, to
endure, while even His own friends did not compas-
sionate His endurance. We know what a relief it is
to see the honest, affectionate face of a menial servant,
or some poor dependant, regretting that your sufieriug
may be infinitely above his comprehension. It may
be a secret which you cannot impart to him ; or it
may be a mental distress which his mind is too unedu-
cated to appreciate ; yet still his sympathy in your
THE IRREPARABLE PAST. 331
dark hour is worth a world. "What you suffer he
knows not; but he knows you do suffer, and it pains
him to think of it ; there is balm to you in that. This
is the power of sympathy. We can do little for one
another in this world. Little, very little, can be done
when the worst must come; but yet, to know that the
pulses of a human heart are vibrating with yours,
there is something in that, let the distance between
man and man be ever so immeasurable, exquisitely
soothing. It was this, and but this, in the way of
feeling, that Christ asked of Peter, James, and John.
Watch — be awake ; let Me not feel that when I agon-
ize, you can be at ease and comfortable. But it would
seem there was another thing which He asked in the
way of assistance. The plot to capture Him was laid ;
the chance of that plot's success lay in making the
surprise so sudden as to cut off all possibility of
escape. The hope of defeating that plot depended
upon the fidelity of apostolic vigilance. Humanly
speaking, had they been vigilant, they might have
saved Him. Breathless listening for the sound of
footsteps in the distance ; eyes anxiously straining
through the trees to distinguish the glitter of the
lanterns ; unremitting apprehension catching from the
word of Christ an intimation that He was in danger,
and so giving notice on the first approach of anything
like intrusion, — that would have been watching.
That command to watch was given twice : tirst,
when Christ first retired aside, leaving the disciples
by themselves ; secondly, in a reproachful way, when
He returned and found His request disregarded. He
waked them up once and said, " What, could ye not
watch with Me one hour ? " He came again, and
332 THE IRREPARABLE PAST.
found their eyes closed once more. On that occasion
not a syllable fell from His lips ; He did not waken
them a second time. He passed away, sad and disap-
pointed, and left them to their slumbers. But when
He came the third time, it was no longer possible for
their sleep to do Him harm, or their watching to do
Him good. The precious opportunity was lost for-
ever. Sympathy — vigilance — the hour for these was
past. The priests had succeeded in their surprise, and
Judas had well led them through the dark with uner-
ring accuracy, to the very spot where his Master
knelt ; and there were seen quite close, the dark
figures shown in relief against the glare of the red
torchlight, and every now and then the gleam glitter-
ing from the bared steel and the Roman armor. It
was all over ; they might sleep as they liked ; their
sleeping could do no injury now, their watching
could do no good. And therefore, partly in bitterness,
partly in reproach, partly in a kind of earnest irony,
partly in sad earnest, our Master said to His disciples,
Sleep on now ; there is no use in watching now ; take
your rest — forever if you will. Sleep and rest can
do Me no more harm now, for all that watching might
have done is lost.
But, brethren, we have to observe that in the next
sentence our Redeemer addresses Himself to the con-
siderauon of what could yet be done ; th6 best thing
as circumstances then stood. So far as any good to
be got from watching went, they might sleep on ;
there was no reparation for the fault that nad been
done ; but so far as duty went, there was still much
of endurance to which they had to rouse themselves,
rhey could not save their Master, but they might
THE IRREPARABLE PAST. 33B
loyally and manfully share His disgrace, and, if it must
be, His death. They could not put off the penalty,
but they might steel themselves cheerfully to share it.
Safety was out of the question now ; but they might
meet their fate, instead of being overwhelmed by it ;
and so, as respected what was gone by, Christ said,
" Sleep," what is done cannot be undone ; but as
respected the duties that were lying before them still,
He said, We must make the best of it that can be
made ; rouse yourselves to dare the worst ; on to
enact your parts like men. Rise, let us be going, —
we have something still left to do. Here then we
have two subjects of contemplation distinctly marked
out for us.
I. The irreparable Past.
II. The available Future.
The words of Christ are not like the words of other
men; His sentences do not end with the occasion
which called them forth ; every sentence of Christ's
is a deep principle of human life, and it is so with
these sentences. " Sleep on now," — that is a principle.
" Rise up, and let us be going," — that is another prin-
ciple. The principle contained in " Sleep on now " is
this, that the past is irreparable, and after a certain
moment waking will do no good. You may improve
the future — the past is gone beyond recovery. As to
all that is gone by, so far as the hope of altering it
goes, you may sleep on and take your rest ; there is
no power in earth or heaven that can undo what has
once been done.
Now, let us proceed to give illustrations of this
principle.
334 THE lEREPARABLE PAST.
It is true, first of all, with respect to time that ia
gone by. Time is the solemn inheritance to which
every man is bom heir, who has a life-rent of this
world, — a little section cut out of eternity and given
us to do our work in ; an eternity before, an eternity
behind ; and the small stream between, floating swiftly
from the one into the vast bosom of the other. The
man who has felt with all his soul the significance of
time will not be long in learning any lesson that this
world has to teach him. Have you ever felt it, my
Christian brethren ? Have you ever reaHzed how
your own little streamlet is gliding away, and bearing
you along with it towards that awful other world, of
which all things here are but the thin shadows, down
into that eternity towards which the confused wreck
of aU earthly things is bound? Let us realize that,
beloved brethren : until that sensation of time, and
the infinite meaning which is wrapped up in it, has
taken possession of our souls, there is no chance of
our ever feeling strongly that it is worse than madness
to sleep that time away. Every day in this world has
its work ; and every day, as it rises out of eternity,
keeps putting to each of us the question afresh, What
will you do before to-day has sunk into eternity and
nothingness again? And now what have we to say
with respect to this strange, solemn thing — time ?
That men do with it through hfe just what the apos-
tles did for one precious and irreparable hour of it in
the garden of Ge+hsemane ; they go to sleep. Have
you ever seen those marble statues in some public
square or garden, which art has so finished into a pe-
rennial fountain that through the lips, or through the
hands, the clear water flows in a perpetual stream, on
THE IRREPARABLE PAST. 335
OD and on forever ; and the marble stands there — •
passive, cold — making no effort to arrest the gliding
water ?
It is so that time flows through the hands of men, —
swift, never pausing till it has run itself out; and
there is the man petrified into a marble sleep, not feel-
ing what it is which is passing away forever. It is so,
brethren, just so, that the destiny of nine men out of
ten accomplishes itself, slipping away from them, aim-
less, useless, till it is too late. And this passage asks
us, with all the solemn thoughts which crowd around
an approaching eternity, what has been our life, and
what do we intend it shall be ? Yesterday, last week,
last year, — they are gone. Yesterday, for example,
was such a day as never was before, and never can be
again. Out of darkness and eternity it was born, a
new, fresh day ; into darkness and eternity it sank
again forever. It had a voice calling to us, of its own.
Its own work, its own duties. What were we doing
yesterday? Idling, whiling away the time in light and
luxurious literature, — not as life's relaxation, but as
life's business? thrilling our hearts with the excite-
ment of hfe? contriving how to spend the day most
pleasantly ? Was that our day ? Sleep, brethren ! all
that is but the sleep of the three apostles. And now
let us remember this : there is a day comnig when
that sleep wiU be broken rudely, with a shock ; there
18 a day in our future lives when our time will be
counted, not by years, nor by months, nor yet by
hours, but by minutes, — the day when unmistakable
Bymptoms shall announce that the Messengers of Death
have come to take us.
That startling moment will come which it is vain to
336 THE IREEPAEABLE PAST.
attempt to realize now, when it will be felt that it ia
all over, at last, — that our chance and our trial are
past. The moment that we have tried to think of,
shrunk from, put away from us, here it is — going, too,
like all other moments that have gone before it ; and
then, with eyes unsealed at last, you look back on the
life which is gone by. There is no mistake about it ;
there it is, a sleep, a most palpable sleep, — selt
indulged unconsciousness of high destinies, and God,
and Christ ; a sleep when Christ was calling out to
you to watch with Him one hour ; a sleep when there
was something to be done ; a sleep broken, it may be,
once or twice by restless dreams, and by a voice of
truth which would make itself heard at times, but still
a sleep which was only rocked into deeper stillness by
interruption. And now, from the undone eternity,
the boom of whose waves is distinctly audible upon
your soul, there comes the same voice again — a sol-
emn, sad voice — but no longer the same word,
" Watch ;" — other words altogether, " You may go to
sleep." It is too late to wake ; there is no science in
earth or heaven to recall time that once has fled.
Again, this principle of the irreparable past holds
good with respect to preparing for temptation. That
hour in the garden was a precious opportunity given
for laying in spiritual strength. Christ knew it well.
He struggled and fought then ; therefore there was no
struggling afterwards, — no trembling in the judgment-
hall, — no shrinking on the cross, but only dignified
and calm victory ; for He had fought the Temptation
on His knees beforehand, and conquered all in the
garden. The battle of the Judgment-hall, the battle
of the Cross, were already fought and over, in the
THE IRREPARABLE PAST. 337
Watch, and in the Agony. The apostles missed tlie
meaning of that hour ; and therefore, when it came to
the question of trial, the loudest boaster of them all
shrunk from acknowledging Whose he was, and the
rest played the part of the craven and the renegade.
And, if the reason of this be asked, it is simply this :
They went to trial unprepared ; they had not prayed ;
and what is a Christian without prayer, but Samson
without his talisman of hair.
Brethren, in this world, when there is any foreseen
or suspected danger before us, it is our duty to fore-
cast our trial. It is our wisdom to put on our armor
— to consider what lies before us — to call up resolu-
tion in God's strength to go through what we may
have to do. And it is marvellous how difficulties
smooth away before a Christian when he does this.
Trials that cost him a struggle to meet even in imag-
ination — like the heavy sweat of Gethsemane, when
Christ was looking forward and feeling exceeding sor
rowful even unto death — come to their crisis ; and,
behold, to his astonishment they are nothing, — they
have been fought and conquered already. But, if you
go to meet those temptations, not as Christ did, but as
the apostles did, prayerless, trusting to the chance
impulse of the moment, you may make up your mind
to fail. That opportunity lost is irreparable ; it is
your doom to yield then. Those words are true, you
may " sleep on now, and take your rest," for you have
betrayed yourself into the hands of danger.
And now one word about prayer. It is a preparation
for danger, it is the armor for battle. Go not, my
Christian brother, into the dangerous world without
it. You kneel down at night to pray, and drowsiness
29
338 THE IREEP ARABLE PAST.
weighs down your eyelids. A hard day's work is a
kind of excuse, and you shorten your prayer, and
resign yourself softly to repose. The morning breaks,
and it may be you rise late, and so your early devo-
tions are not done, or done with irregular haste. No
watching unto prayer, — wakefulness once more omit-
ted. And now we ask, is that reparable? Brethren,
we solemnly believe not. There has been that done
which cannot be undone. You have given up your
prayer, and you will suffer for it. Temptation is before
you, and you are not fit to meet it. There is a guilty
feeling on the soul, and you linger at a distance from
Christ. It is no marvel if that day in which you suf-
fered drowsiness to interfere with prayer be a day on
which you betray Him by cowardice and soft shrink-
ing from duty. Let it be a principle through life,
moments of prayer intruded upon by sloth cannot be
made up. We may get experience, but we cannot get
back the rich freshness and strength which were
wrapped up in these moments.
Once again this principle is true in another respect.
Opportunities of doing good do not come back. We
are here, brethren, for a most definite and intelligible
purpose, — to educate our own hearts by deeds of
love, and to be the instruments of blessing to our
brother-men. There are two ways in which this is to
be done, — by guarding them from danger, and by
tioothing them in their rough path by kindly sympa-
thies, — the two things which the apostles were asked
to do for Christ. And it is an encouraging thought,
that he who cannot do the one has at least the other
in his power. If he cannot protect, he can sympa-
thize. Let the weakest, let the humblest iu this
THE lEEEPAEABLE PAST. 339
congregation, remember that in his daily course he
can, if he will, shed around him almost a heaven.
Kindly words, sympathizing attentions, watchfulness
against wounding men's sensitiveness, — these cost
very little, but they are priceless in their value. Are
they not, brethren, almost the staple of our daily happi-
ness ? From hour to hour, from moment to moment,
we are supported, blest, by small kindnesses. And then
consider: — Here is a section of life one-third, one-
half, it may be three-fourths, gone by, and the question
before us is how much has been done in that way ?
Who has charged himself with the guardianship of
his brother's safety? Who has laid on himself as a
sacred duty to sit beside his brother suffering ? 0,
my brethren, it is the omission of these things which
is irreparable 1 Irreparable, when you look to the
purest enjoyment which might have been your own ;
irreparable, when you consider the compunction which
belongs to deeds of love not done ; irreparable, when
you look to this groaning world, and feel that its agony
of bloody sweat has been distilling all night, and you
were dreaming away in luxury I Shame, shame upon
our selfishness ! There is an infinite voice in the sin
and sufierings of earth's millions, which makes every
idle moment — every moment, that is, which is not relax-
ation — guilt; and seems to cry out, If you will not
bestir yourself for love's sake now, it will soon be too
late.
Lastly, this principle applies to a misspent youth.
There is something very remarkable in the picture
which is placed before us. There is a picture of Ont
struggling, toiling, standing between others and dan-
ger, and those others quietly content to reap the ben-
340 THE lEEEPAEABLE PAST.
efit of that struggle without anxiety of their own. AnJ
there is something in this singularly like the position in
which all young persons are placed. The young are^
by God's Providence, exempted in a great measure
from anxiety ; they are as the apostles were in relation
to their Master ; their friends stand between them and
the struggle of existence. They are not called upon
to think for themselves ; the burden is borne by others.
They get their bread without knowing or caring how
it is paid for ; they smile and laugh without a suspicion
of the anxious thoughts of day and night which a
parent bears to enable them to smile. So to speak
they are sleeping, — and it is not a guilty sleep, —
while another watches.
My young brethren, youth is one of the precious
opportunities of life, rich in blessing if you choose to
make it so, but having in it the materials of undying
remorse if you suffer it to pass unimproved. Your
quiet Gethsemane is now. Gethsemane's struggles
you cannot know yet. Take care that you do not
learn too well Gethsemane's sleep. Do you know how
you can imitate the apostles in their fatal sleep? You
can suffer your young days to pass idly and uselessly
away ; you can live as if you had nothing to do but to
enjoy yourselves ; you can let others think for you,
and not try to become thoughtful yourselves, till the
business and the difficulties of life come upon you
unprepared, and you find yourselves, like men waking
from sleep, hurried, confused, scarcely able to stand,
with all the faculties bewildered, not knowing right
from wrong, led headlong to evil, just because you
have not given yourselves in time to learn what is
good. All that is sleep. And now, let us mark it.
THE IRREPARABLE PAST. 341
You cannot repair that in after-life. ! remember,
every period of human life has its own lesson, and you
cannot learn that lesson in the next period. The boy
has one set of lessons to learn, and the young man
another, and the grown-up man another. Let us con-
sider one single instance. The boy has to learn
docility, gentleness of temper, reverence, submission.
All those feelings which are to be transferred after-
wards in full cultivation to God, like plants nursed in
a hot-bed and then planted out, are to be cultivated
first in youth. Afterwards, those habits which have
been merely habits of obedience to an earthly parent
are to become religious submission to a Heavenly
Parent. Our parents stand to us in the place of God.
Veneration for our parents is intended to become
afterwards adoration for something higher. Take that
•single instance ; and now suppose that that is not
learnt in boyhood. Suppose that the boy sleeps to
that duty of veneration, and learns only flippancy,
insubordination, and the habit of deceiving his father, —
can that, my young brethren, be repaired afterwards ?
Humanly speaking, not. Life is like the transition from
class to class in a school. The schoolboy who has not
learnt arithmetic in the earlier classes cannot secure
it when he comes to mechanics in the higher; each
section has its own sufficient work. He may be a
good philosopher or a good historian, but a bad arith-
metician he remains for life ; for he cannot lay the
foundation at the moment when he must be building
the superstructure. The regiment which has not per-
fected itself in its manreuvrcs on the parade-ground
cannot learn them before the guns of the enemy.
And, just in the same way, the young person wlio haa
29*
342 THE IRREPARABLE PAST.
slept bis youth, away, and become idle and selfisb and
hard, cannot make up for tbat afterwards. He may do
sometbing; be may be rebgious. Yes; but be cannot
be wbat be migbt bave been. There is a part of his
heart which will remain uncultivated to the end. The
apostles could share their Master's sufferings ; they
could not save Him. Youth has its irreparable past.
And, therefore, my young brethren, let it be im-
pressed upon you — NOW is a time, infinite in its value
for eternity, which will never return again. Sleep
not ; learn that there is a very solemn work of heart
which must be done while the stillness of the garden
of your Gethsemane gives you time. Now — or never.
The treasures at your command are infinite — treas-
ures of time, treasures of youth, treasures of oppor-
tunity, that grown-up men would sacrifice everything
they bave to possess. 0, for ten years of youth back
again, with the added experience of age ! But it can-
not be ; they must be content to sleep on now, and
take their rest.
We are to pass on next to a few remarks on the
other sentence in this passage, which brings before us,
for consideration, the future, which is still available ;
for we are to observe that our Master did not limit
bis apostles to a regretful recollection of their failure.
Recollection of it He did demand. There were the
materials of a most cutting self-reproach in the few
words He said ; for they contained all the desolation
of that sad word never. Who knows not what that
word wraps up — Never — it never can be undone !
Sleep on. But yet there was no sickly lingering over
the irreparable. Our Master's words are the words
of one who had fully recognized the h pelessness of
THE IRREPARABLE PAST. 343
his position, but yet manfully and calmly had numbered
his resources, and scanned his duties, and then braced
up his mind to meet the exigences of his situation
with no passive endurance ; the moment was come for
action : " Rise, let us be going."
Now, the broad general lesson which we gain from
this is not hard to read. It is that a Christian is to be
forever rousing himself to recognize the duties which
lie before him noio. In Christ the motto is ever this :
" Let us be going." Let me speak to the conscience
of some one. Perhaps yours is a very remorseful past,
— a foolish, frivolous, disgraceful, frittered past. Well,
Christ says. My servant, be sad, but no languor; there
is work to be done for me yet. Rise up, be going !
0, my brethren, Christ takes your wretched remnants
of life, the feeble pulses of a heart which has spent its
best hours, not for Him, but for self and for enjoy-
ment, and, in His strange love. He condescends to
accept them.
Let me speak to another kind of experience. Per-
haps we feel that we have faculties which never have
and now never will find their right field ; perhaps we
are ignorant of many things which cannot be learnt
now; perhaps the seed-time of life has gone by, and
certain powers of heart and mind will not grow now ;
perhaps you feel that the best days of life are gone,
and it is too late to begin tilings which were in your
power once. Still, my repentant brother, there is
encouragement from your Master yet. Wake to the
opportunities that yet remain. Ten years of life —
five years — one year — say you have only that, —
Will you sleep that away because you have already
slept too long? Eternity is crying out to you louder
344 THE IRREPARABLE PAST.
and louder, as you near its brink, Rise, be going;
count your resources ; learn what you are not fit for,
and give up wishing for it ; learn what you can do,
and do it with the energy of a man. That is the great
lesson of this passage. But now consider it a little
more closely.
Christ impressed two things on His apostles' minds.
1. The duty of Christian earnestness — "Rise." 2.
The duty of Christian energy — " Let us be going."
Christ roused them to earnestness when He said,
" Rise." A short, sharp, rousing call. They were to
start up and wake to the realities of their position.
The guards were on them ; their Master was about
to be led away to doom. That was an awakening
which would make men spring to their feet in earnest.
Brethren, goodness and earnestness are nearly the
same thing. In the language in which this Bible was
written there was one word which expressed them
both ; what we translate a good man, in Greek is
literally " earnest." The Greeks felt that to be earnest
was nearly identical with being good. But, however,
there is a day in life when a man must be earnest, but
it does not follow that he will be good. " Behold the
bridegroom cometh ; go ye out to meet him." That is
a sound that will thunder through the most fast-locked
slumber, and rouse men wh'om sermons cannot rouse.
But that will not make them holy. Earnestness ol
life, brethren, that is goodness. Wake in death you
must, for it is an earnest thing to die. Shall it be this,
I pray you ? Shall it be the voice of death which first
says, " Arise," at the very moment when it says, " Sleep
on forever"? Shall it be the bridal train sweeping
by, and the shutting of the doors, and the discovery
THE lEREPARABLE PAST. 345
that the lamp is gone out ? Shall that be the first time
you know that it is an earnest thing to live ? Let us
feel that we have been doing ; learn what time is —
sliding from you, and not stopping when you stop;
learn what sin is ; learn what " never " is : " Awake,
thou that sleepest."
Lastly, Christian energy — " Let us be going."
There were two ways open to Christ in which to
submit to His doom. He might have waited for it;
instead of which, He went to meet the soldiers. He
took up the Cross. The cup of anguish was not forced
between his lips ; He took it with His own hands, and
drained it quickly to the last drop. In after-years the
disciples understood the lesson, and acted on it. They
did not wait till Persecution overtook them : they
braved the Sanhedrim; they fronted the world; they
proclaimed aloud the unpopular and unpalatable doc-
trines of the Resurrection and the Cross. Now, in
this there lies a principle. Under no conceivable set
of circumstances are we justified in sitting
•' By the poisoned springs of life,
Waiting for the morrow which shall free ua from the strife."
Under no circumstances, whether of pain, or grief, or
disappointment, or irreparable mistake, can it be true
that there is not something to be done, as well as
something to be suffered. And thus it is that the
spirit of Christianity draws over our life, not a leaden
cloud of Remorse and Despondency, but a sky — not,
perhaps, of radiant, but yet of most serene and
chastened and manly hope. There is a Past which is
gone forever. But there is a Future which is still oui
own.
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