SERMON I.
CHRIST’S LOVE TO US OUR LAW OF LIFE.
2 COR. v. 14.
“The love of Christ constraineth us.”
IN the sight of the world, that is, of its wise,
refined, easy, and prudent men, the life of St.
Paul was rashness and folly. His whole mind to
them was strange and unintelligible. He and the
world were contradictions. In all its ways, aims,
and judgments, it was set against him, and he
against it. He and the world had no common
language, idea, or law of life.
Once he had enjoyed all its good things,—a
fair name, a great reputation, high authority, distinguished trusts, a character for learning, zeal,
and strictness, the tide of popularity, and the peace
of home.
And of all this he had made a voluntary
wreck. In one hour he had cast it from him.
All that the world counts dearest he had thrown away; all that the world most shrinks from he
had embraced. At all times and in all places he
was suffering now as an apostate and a betrayer.
His own people hated him; the Heathen scorned
him. In Jerusalem, where he once was held in
honour, men sought to kill him; in the luxury of
Corinth and in the pride of Athens he was a madman and a babbler. Such was his outward life as
the world saw it, and wondered. It knew not the
interpretation of the mystery. What is its true
solution? “Whether we be beside ourselves,” he says, “it is to God: or whether
we be sober, it is for your cause. For the love of Christ constraineth us.”
A power the world knew not of had fallen
upon him; an attraction had fastened on his
inmost will, and drew him to a world unseen.
That which had drawn Peter, James, and John
from their boats and from their kindred, Nathanael from his shade and solitude, Matthew
from his custom and commerce, Mary Magdalene
from her sins, had now, in turn, fastened upon him.
As he journeyed to Damascus, breathing hatred to
the name of Jesus, the love of Christ fell upon
him. A light, above the brightness of the sun,
encompassed him. A drop of light, a drop of the
heavenly flame, fell into his soul, and set him all
on fire. The love of Christ smote him to the ground. A revelation of the love divine, of which
he was a special object; a consciousness of the
eternal love withstanding him in his blind career;
this expelled his old self, and awakened a new
principle of life. He was lifted into a new sphere
of consciousness, and his whole being now flowed
in a new channel. He saw himself, for the first
time, in his true deformity. All that he had believed to be light turned into darkness, and his
fairest purposes, in his own sight, became unclean. He beheld himself guilty, and yet beloved.
He saw the love of God in His Son to be so
much the more miraculous as he thrilled with
a piercing conviction that he was indeed the chief
of sinners.1 Tim. i. 15.
Therefore he counted all his worldly
gains to be but loss for Christ: all that he had
been, possessed, or hoped for, was gladly cast away.
His eyes had opened upon the unseen world. The
true Jerusalem, the city of the Son of David,
the mother of Saints, the home of Patriarchs
and Prophets, floated above his path. Jesus,
whom he had persecuted, stood as a King at the
right hand of God, as the only and true High
Priest before the true and only altar. Therefore
he lived and laboured for his heavenly Master in
obedience and patience, in fasting and prayer, in
preaching and suffering, by night and by day, in
perils of the deep and in perils everywhere;
“always bearing about in the body the dying of the
Lord Jesus,” the faint imitation of the cross by
which he had been redeemed; counting life too
short, and himself too worthless, as an offering to
his Master’s service. At the last, he laid down
his life also for His name’s sake. Of all this
supernatural change he here gives us the true
interpretation: “The love of Christ constraineth
us; because we thus judge, that if one died for
all, then were all dead,”—that is, all died with
Him,—“and that He died for all, that they which
live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but
unto Him which died for them, and rose again.”2 Cor. v. 14, 15.
What, then, is this love of Christ of which St. Paul is
speaking?
He does not here intend our love to Christ,
but Christ’s love to us.
We love Him, indeed, because He first loved
us. Our love is the reflection of the original
light,—the heavenly ray bent back again towards
its source; and where this love towards Him
exists, it becomes a motive of perpetual service.
But this is not St. Paul’s intention: he is here
speaking of the motive of that motive. What
is it that awakens our love to Him, but His love
first to us? Love is the principle of obedience, but the principle of love is love. And of this the
Apostle speaks,—the love which descends from
Him to us. Let us begin at this source of all.
God is love, and love is the law of His kingdom. There is a hierarchy of love, having its
beginning in the Eternal Three, descending from
the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost to all orders of
created spirits, angelic and ministering, and to all
creatures in earth and heaven, binding all in one.
Love is the stooping of the higher to the lower,
the Creator to the creature, the parent to the
child, the stronger to the weaker, the sinless to
the sinful,—God stooping down to man. The
penetrating, exalting consciousness that we are objects of the love of God, which has its fountains
in eternity, has alone made apostles, martyrs,
saints, and penitents. And this consciousness is
awakened in us by a sense of the love of Christ.
The love that constrains us is the love of God
manifest in the flesh,—of the Eternal Word incarnate. What was it but His everlasting love as God
that constrained Him to make Himself of no reputation, and take upon Him our manhood? What
but His love, perfect both in His Godhead and in
His manhood, constrained Him to give Himself, as
God and man, to suffer a life of sorrow and a death
of agony? This free, spontaneous, ineffable thirst
for our salvation was the power which drew Him from His throne to the cross. The zeal which
devoured Him was the fire of His eternal love to
sinners; and this love, intimately realised, felt,
and, if I may so speak, tasted by a consciousness
of His sympathy and friendship towards us, one by
one, was the motive which constrained St. Paul to
a life of martyrdom.
See next how this motive works in us: what is the effect of
this love of Christ upon our life?
It “constrains;” that is, it lays a force upon
us, as a strong hand draws us withersoever it
will. There are in creation powers of attraction which control whole orders of nature; as the
loadstone, which draws its subjects to itself, and
the sun, to which all nature answers. These are
the constraining forces of the natural world—a parable of the attractions of
the spirit. We know this by familiar experience in our lower life. What awakens
love like love? What constrains us to the presence of another but a
consciousness of his love to us? What draws us from among a multitude, and binds
us to one among all others, but the wakened sense of his affection? We know how
the eye has power to attract. Countenance and tone of voice are in themselves
nothing, except as they are channels of this attractive force. So is it with the
love of Christ. It is the most powerful constraint, drawing our whole spiritual nature to itself. We all
know how a sense of the Divine Presence works
upon us; it awes, chastens, and supports us: but
the consciousness of the love of Christ is something more than a sense of His presence. It adds
this further perception, that He is watching us in
love; that He is inviting our love to Himself; that
He is ordering all our outward state for our perfect sanctification, and all our inward life for the
perception of His personal love. And the sense
of His love is the mightiest of all constraining
motives. It embraces our whole spiritual nature,
touches it in all its springs, moves it in all its
affections, stirs it in all its energies. It is the one
only universal motive. Hope will make men strive,
and fear will make men tremble; but love alone
will waken love. The bliss of heaven will kindle
our desire, the anguish of hell will make us thrill
with alarm; but the love of Christ alone will
soften, humble, and subdue. It has a response
in the whole sphere of our spiritual life, in all its
higher and lower affections. It kindles love, and
love kindles all beside. And as it is universal in its
effect, so it is uniform in its working. Other motives rise and fall in their power to constrain; they
depend much on outward circumstances; they come
and go; they are fainter or stronger, as if fitful and capricious. Who does not
know the truth of this? Who does not know how hope and fear, shame and
sorrow, joy and thankfulness, devotion and resolution, intentions and perseverance, vary with our
actual state; sometimes, when specially awakened,
making deep impression, sometimes almost vanishing away? But love never faileth.
And still more, a consciousness of the love of
Christ is, of all, the most uniform and changeless
principle of life. As, in our lower friendships, the
consciousness of being loved stays by us at all times,
through long years, under all trials, even without
sensible memorials or renewed expressions to assure us; it embraces, moulds, determines our whole
heart, and constrains us to the person who loves
us, making his will our will, his wish our law:
so with the love of Christ. There are spiritual
miracles which it alone can work. The soul in
man was so created, that no other power could
satisfy or sway it altogether; no other can touch
its life to the very quick, and awaken all its affections. The love of Christ felt in the heart is the
only principle of perfect conversion to God. It is
very easy to be almost a Christian; to be religious in habits and forms, in sensations and emotions, in intellect and intention; to be half, or
almost altogether converted. And it is still easier
there to linger, deceiving our own hearts.
When I speak of conversion, I mean, not only the change which comes in after-life upon the
sinful and the careless, when they begin to turn
with tardy steps towards God; but also the whole
life-long penetrating change of heart which must
pass on every regenerate soul. Every fallen spirit
needs a conversion to God; for flesh and blood
cannot inherit His kingdom. And whether that
change or conversion be in after-life, begun too
late, and with greater obstructions, or whether it
begin with our earliest consciousness, as dawn
lightens into noon, it is all one. Sudden or gradual are but properties of time 3 and time is nothing. The change of the soul from sin to God is
an universal law; and every baptised soul needs a
perfect conversion to God. Now, the only true motive of this change is a sense of the love of Christ.
We see its power even from the very font.
What is it that draws the hearts of children to the
service of Christ? Not the great white throne;
not the face before which heaven and earth shall
flee away; but the love of Jesus Christ revealed in
His words and deeds, and believed by them as the
atmosphere in which they live. This is about them
everywhere, drawing them with a calm, even, steadfast motion to Himself. From earliest childhood
sin is hateful to them, because it is hateful to
Him; holiness lovely, because Christ loves it. To
do or to leave any thing undone, it is enough for them to know that so He wills. Above the love of
brother, sister, or mother, is the love of Him of
whom the Gospels speak, suffering and dying for
love of them. There is not upon earth a purer or
heavenlier sight than a child listening to the life
and words, the passion and love of Jesus Christ.
The life of such is a perpetual conversion, a daily,
hourly turning of the whole heart to Him. The
mind of the flesh dies down in them, as the mind
of the spirit enlarges its power and fulness, and
the darkened face of the soul is converted more
and more towards Him, until it is filled with His
brightness, as the moon at the full.
And this we see also in after-life. What so
binds to the cross the heart of those who are entering upon the perils of life as the consciousness of
the love which from the cross descends upon them?
The love of Christ is the purity and safety of youth.
It is their shield in temptation, their strength in
obedience, their spur in lingering, their measure in
devotion and service. With what resolved and confiding hearts do such renew the vows of their baptism in confirmation; with how firm a will do they
answer in the words “I do!” With what ardent
and intent devotion do they come to their first communion; and with what ever-increasing desire do
they await every return of the holy Sacrament.
All these are true and perfect examples of conversion. Indeed, the life-long conversion of the regenerate is the best and most perfect form of this
great spiritual law. Late conversions are imperfect imitations, as “the shooting up of the latter
growth;” “the latter growth after the king’s mowings;”Amos vii. 1.
for the bloom and the freshness are His.
Nature has its tardy and scantier compensations,
its after-fruits, and gleanings when the harvest is
done. Such are most conversions of which the
world takes note, because contrasts are objects of
sense, while changes are objects of faith alone.
But let us take examples of such later and
commoner conversions. What is it but the power
of this constraining love which bends the will of
those who, after baptism, fall, and yet repent?
What is it that most deeply moves and changes
the sinful, worldly, and wasted heart? What
turned Saul from his career of blood, recalled
Peter from his denials, drew sinners to wash His
feet with tears? The tenderness, the look, the
voice of love. The shame, sorrow, indignation,
revenge of penitents spring from the too late
awakened consciousness of the love against which
they have been sinning, The greater the love, the
greater their offending: the more deeply it is perceived, the more fervent their repentance.
But there is another effect of this love when it is felt in the heart. It is the only source of unreserved devotion, and of perfect sacrifice of self.
Many other motives draw us to partial obedience
and to lesser self-denials. I need not speak of false
and spurious motives, such as fanaticism, vain-glory,
self-exaltation, which will lead men into great undertakings or perils under the plea of religion;
much less need I speak of baser and earthlier motives. There is always a glare, a heat, and a noise
about such characters, a restless, eager sharpness
in their tone and way, which betrays the source
of the fire from which they are kindled to be not
in heaven but earth. We are now speaking of
such motives as act upon sincere and religious
hearts. In such persons we often see, with much
of seriousness, goodness, and high aspiration, something which always keeps them down. They are
at peace with the world, are esteemed by the majority, trusted by those who will not trust each
other. They are esteemed prudent, discreet, and
safe. Their life ruffles no one; is in keeping with
the ways, hours, comfort, ease, enjoyment of society.
And yet they are often charitable, earnest, and on
the right side. But there is one visible defect.
They want range, force, freedom, and a fearless
spirit. In religious duties they take counsel of
men less religious than themselves. They use the
weights and measures of civilisation, of refinement, and of what the world calls possible. The one
thing they lack is boldness to be “fools for Christ’s sake.” Such was not the spirit of those who in
all ages have done or suffered great things for
the kingdom of God. They knew no motive but
the love of Christ. All other motives ran up
into this, and were lost, as lesser forces are
united in a greater. With what unreserved and
generous affections did they give themselves to
His service. It was not a cold conviction of
truth, or a mere sentiment of its beauty, or a
rule of conscience, or the encouragement of human esteem, or a passing fervour, or a fear of
pains beyond the grave, or even a hope of eternal
peace; none of these sufficed to set on fire those
who have converted nations, planted churches,
founded religious orders, kindled and moulded a
spiritual lineage to tend the sick, instruct the ignorant, educate little children, reclaim sinners, redeem captives, pluck brands from the burning. For
this there was needed a higher, deeper, mightier
impulse, in which all hopes and fears are extinguished; a motive which breaks down the measures of self and of the world on every side, and
can be meted only by a measure which is divine.
The love of Christ constrained them. His love to
them was the measure of their self-sacrifice for Him.
Therefore they gladly forsook friends, home, and all things, that they might find Him enough alone.
They had received the fire which falls from heaven,
and, as it kindled, their hearts pleaded with them
in secret and piercing words, “He wholly gave Himself for me; shall I give less to Him? I am altogether His in body, soul, and spirit. Shall I keep
back what is His own? Shall I profess to serve
Him with all I am, and keep back a part of the
price, my heart being privy to it? My fearful,
shrinking, delicate, ungenerous spirit makes me
draw back from loneliness, danger, hardship, and
peril of death. Yet I desire to live for Him, and to
die for Him. If He would but give me the grace
and the will to die to myself, and fear nothing;
the love to kindle my whole soul for Him, as He
was consumed by love for me; even I should dare
to say, ‘To me to live is Christ, and to die is
gain.’”Phil. i. 21.
But there is still one more effect of this divine motive. It
is the only principle of an enduring perseverance. We know how any personal
affection grows upon us, and becomes a part of our very life. All our
consciousness is so pervaded by it, that we cannot distinguish it from a direct
instinct of the soul. It grows stronger as it acts: by acting it is made
perfect. Long trials of Christ’s love in joy and sorrow, in storm and sunshine, reveal its divine tenderness and depth. And
this quickens the activity of our own hearts with
a living, thirsting desire to love Him with a
greater love again. All the powers of our spiritual life are drawn to this point. They meet as in
a focus, and kindle each other by uniting. Steadfast love is perseverance; it supports through all
weariness and disappointment, all allurement and
alarm. A true love to Christ moves in its path
year by year, from strength to strength, without
haste but without tarrying, calm, bright, and onward as the light of heaven. Take any example
you will. Out of this one motive arise all motives.
See what solace it has for every trial. Sometimes it brings persevering obedience, sometimes
persevering patience. In a burdened life of worldly
cares, what support it is to know, “This is His
appointment; He gives it me because He loves me.
Shall I not bear this for Him who bore all for
me?” Or if it be weariness in the religious life,
as of communicants who at the altar find no sweetness, only emptiness and reluctance, let them say,
“How long did He love me much, and I loved
Him little! How long did He wait for my love,
and I would not! Now I must wait for Him;
justly chastened by His love; slighted but not
estranged.” Take, again, those on whom the cloud
of sorrow has fallen. Their happiness was stately and full, spreading abroad as the cedar. In one
hour it withered away. Why? He loved you
too well to lose you. In His love He smote you.
He breathed upon your aspiring happiness, and
it dried up from the very root. He cleared all
away between Himself and you, that you might be
conscious of His personal love, and choose it as
your portion for ever.
Or perhaps you have been reaching out for a
happiness you have never attained: the hope of
your heart was dashed upon the threshold. When
it seemed all your own, a sudden change came,
and it was not. And why? Because the love of
Christ had some better thing in store for you.
Can you not trust Him? Is He not wise as loving? Are not your treasures in His hand? Do
you love them as He loves? Are they not safer with Him than with you?
Or it may be that you have to bear long lingering sickness, with memories of sorrow and pain.
The cross lay early upon you, and has never departed from your soul. Be sure that the love of
Christ has in store for you some greater things
hereafter. It may be the right hand or the left
in His kingdom. God knoweth; but if so, the
cup and the baptism must come first. And the
cup which His love hath given you, shall you not
drink it?
And as in patience, so in hard and enduring
service. What but the consciousness of this love
could uphold a pastor’s heart, wearied out by contradictions, wasted away with toiling for
“souls
that will not be redeemed?” It is His work, and
that is enough. He will not disown it. Though
men believe not, He abideth faithful. Let me
labour alone and without fruit unto the last, so
He love me still. Let me please Him and faint
not; let me offend all the world, so I be accepted
as His servant.
Above all, what other spring, and what other stay of
perseverance is there to His hardier and bolder servants, who, choosing for
their portion the full burden of His cross, go out into far lands, without
father, without mother, without home or kindred, alone with Him Who is their
love, to gather souls into His kingdom? What is there to sustain the craving and
weakness of humanity, in the weariness of solitude, and under the burden of
their own isolated hearts? There is but the love of Christ beneath them and
around. The outer hardships of sky and shore, rude natures and savage wills, are
nothing to the lonely world within. But their Master’s love is enough. They know
by intuitions of the heart, and by perceptions of their whole inward life, that
He loves them, and gave Himself for them. They have but faintly done the like: for love they have given
themselves in behalf of His elect. He loves them, and they love Him again. Who
shall unloose this knot? Who shall unravel the strength of this heavenly bond?
Who shall separate them from the love of Christ? When memories of home, fond
faces, beloved images, rise thick and crowd upon them; when what they have lost
seems a paradise, and their present life a desolation; when the human heart, for
a passing moment, is too strong, and love and sorrow turn towards earth again;
when failures, miscalculations, hasty steps, hopeless efforts, unforeseen
reverses, beginnings abandoned, and aims missed at the very stroke, come back
upon them, then it may be they grow weak, and ask, “Have I not acted in a false
excitement, and bound myself to one life-long mistake? When I was in my own
land, was it not well with me? Might I not have served Him truly, as others
before and now, in the midst of peace and home, doing good work among my own
people and by my father’s house? Why have I come hither, exiled and cut off,
bound by an irrevocable word?”
Because the love of Christ constrained them, therefore they
are alone with Him in the wilderness. They have chosen well, and nobly followed
out their choice. They shall never fail, nor be forsaken; never faint, nor weary. Though for a
moment flesh and blood may make its pleading
heard, yet the consciousness of their Master’s love
shall arise again to put all questioning down. It,
shall bear them unto the end. As the ark went
upon the face of the waters, so shall they be upheld by the everlasting love, sustaining and wafting them to the eternal shore.
Such are the powers of this constraining love.
It is the motive and solace of every faithful soul—the mightiest, purest, most inflexible law of a devout and persevering faith.
Do we so find it working in us? If not, why
not? Because, before it can thus work in us conversion, devotion, or perseverance, we must feel
this love, and, if I may so say, taste it by the
spiritual perception of our hearts.
Perhaps we are conscious, as the chief fact of
our spiritual life, that we have no such perception.
We can, indeed, feel the love of kindred and of
friends. This wakens and stirs us to live for them
and in them. But His love falls coldly and without power upon us. We know it as a theory of
faith, but we have no sense of it in our heart.
Why is this? Why is it that some walk in the
noonday sun, but are never kindled by its warmth?
The coldness is in themselves: they carry it in
their life-blood. So it is with the soul. There is some inward resistance, some palsying chill, some
failure of vital power; something which deadens
their sense and clouds their perception. Though
the love of Christ has encompassed them from
childhood, they have been unmoved and senseless.
Now, there are two things which chiefly hinder
our perception of the love of Christ. The one is
sin, wilfully committed; the other is a spirit at
variance with His, consciously indulged. If, then,
you are conscious of insensibility, examine yourself
for the cause.
1. First ask yourself this question: Am I wilfully indulging in my conscience any sin which He
hates? So long as we wilfully harbour any conscious evil, we must be cold and dead towards
Him. I am speaking, not of the guilt of sin, but
of its effect upon our inward state. Every grosser
sin, as sensuality, excess in meat or drink, deadens
the soul, and makes it as the body, drowsy and
heavy. It becomes unfit for the perception of the
love of Christ. So also all spiritual sins, such as
anger, envy, pride, a double mind, and an evil
tongue; or again, sloth, which is a sin both of
the body and of the spirit, full of baseness and
dishonour to our Lord and to ourselves. And
besides these, there is one sin very common to
Christians, and most provoking in His sight—the
sin of inconstancy, the irresolute wavering between hot and cold, the lukewarm indifference which
turns away from a religious life after a beginning
has been made, as if all were known and despised
as tasteless, sapless, and unpalatable.
These sins deaden the heart, and raise grave
doubts within, whether it be possible that He can
love such as we are. And doubts bring on fears,
and fears estrangements. We shrink with a consciousness that we are unworthy of His love; and
that shrinking estranges us the more, and hinders
the first emotions of love to Him. Can you detect any such in yourselves, be it only in thought,
memory, imagination? for spiritual sins deaden
spiritual perceptions. Our hearts must first be
cleansed, and their senses made quick and apprehensive. How can love constrain us, so long as
we do not feel it? and how can we feel it, so long
as our hearts are dead? But perhaps you will
say, I am not conscious of indulging any sin which
He hates, even in thought.
2. Then there is another question we must ask:
Am I striving to be all that He loves? How long
we are in learning that holiness is not a negative
but a positive endowment. It does not consist
only in not sinning, but in actual sanctity. We
may be clear from gross sin, and yet have no love
for Him. We may not be living for this world,
and yet not be living for the next. Our mind may not be “earthly, sensual, devilish,” and yet have no
likeness to the mind of Christ. There is a worldliness which is pure, a hardness of heart which is
refined, and a selfishness which is decent and dissembled. These never offend by gross or startling
sins, but they are far from the fellowship of Christ
and of God. How can hearts stunned by the world,
or doating upon its material goods, perceive the
love of Christ? Their faculties, their very organisation, are too gross and earthly. When, then, St.
Paul speaks of holiness, “without which no man
shall see the Lord,” he means a positive endowment of the soul. Just as the intellect is developed
and trained by the discipline of science, so as to
awaken new faculties, powers, and perceptions, and
to bring a new range of objects within its sphere
of intelligence and of fruition, so is it with holiness,
without which no man shall see God. Sanctity
is a state and discipline of the soul, awakened, unfolded, and empowered by the Spirit of God, to
know, love, and delight in Him. It implants spiritual faculties, senses, affections; it creates a spiritual consciousness, whereby we dwell in God, and
God in us. This is the wedding-garment, for lack
of which the guest at the marriage-supper was cast
out; “the white raiment,” clean and white, “the
righteousness of Saints;” “the mind of Christ;” the heavenly endowment of which the Apostle speaks when he says,
“Put ye on the Lord Jesus
Christ.” It is a positive spiritual state, to be attained only by God’s gift through prayer, and a
will united to His will. Where this union exists,
the grace of the Spirit of God and the perfections
of the mind of Christ descend into the heart.
From this source alone we receive gentleness, lowliness, purity, self-denial, self-forgetfulness, and all
the heavenly beatitudes. And as we are made
like to Him, we are drawn to Him, and by nearness perceive His love to us, and learn to delight
in Him, dwelling in the consciousness of His love.
Have you attained this state? Are you striving for it?
But you will perhaps say, All this I have striven
to do, and yet I feel cold and insensible. I have
known the love of Christ from my childhood, but
never felt it. It has been a conviction of my reason, but not a perception of my heart. Do what I
will, I remain still unmoved and hard, as if there
were no love descending with the fulness of God
upon me.
3. There remains, then, one thing still to do.
Pray Him to make you feel His love. St. Paul
felt nothing till it fell from heaven upon him. We
cannot awaken this sense in ourselves, any more
than we can open eyes that are blind. “Every
good and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights.” There is
One alone who can make “the sun to rise upon
the evil and the good, and send His rain upon the
just and upon the unjust.” Pray Him to lift up
the light of His love upon you; to reveal to you the
mystical cross, the book of His love which passeth
knowledge, and to give you grace with all saints to
read it in its length, breadth, depth, and height.
It is by no mechanical work of ours that we can
come to a perception of the Heart of Jesus Christ.
He alone can open it to us, and open our heart
to see its meaning.
Let this, then, be your prayer, for prayer is the
uniting of our consciousness with His Presence.
Let it also be your meditation, for meditation is
the gazing of the spiritual eye upon His love revealed in Himself. Let this be your desire in holy
communion, for what is it but the union of His
Spirit with our spirit, His heart with our heart,
His love with our love? In the sacrament of His
Body and Blood His divine love kindles our faint
affections; and through the mystery of His incarnation and His crucifixion, by the wounds in His
“hands and His side,” He reveals His miraculous
compassion. Let our prayer be, “Thou knowest
that I love Thee;” yet not so that I dare say it
of myself. Forgive my lack of love. I would love
Thee, if I could, above kindred, friends, home, and life itself. I would fain love Thee so as to desire
to depart and be with Thee; so as that life may
be to me sweet only for Thee, and death without
fear, because it shall bring me to Thee.
Let this be your aspiration at the altar, year
by year, day by day, again and again, always persevering, in every prayer, in every communion.
Hold Him fast by your supplications, and let Him
not go till He bless you with this consciousness of
love.
What drew Him down to us but love? what
but love can lift us up to Him? What but the
love of Christ dwelling in His elect is the life of
His Church on earth; the rest of His Saints
unseen? With St. Peter, they follow Him in
faith; with the beloved disciple, they lie upon
His bosom and are blest.
What a gathering shall that be when He shall
have fulfilled His promise, “And I, if I be lifted
up, will draw all men unto Me;” when, by the bands
of love and the attractions of His pity and of His
passion, He shall have drawn all His elect from
all ages and from all lands, from all kindreds and
from all homes, from all sins and from all crosses,
from all toils and solitude, from all partings and
exile, from tears and waiting, from doubts and fears,
strivings and failings, strivings and masteries, to
the foot of the Eternal Throne! What a meeting, when we shall see Him who hath so loved us eternally; when all Saints, from the first unto the last,
from the least unto the greatest,—all whom He
hath loved unto the end, shall stand before Him for
Whose love’s sake they have lived and died, each
one in perfect personal identity, in perfect mutual recognition,—changed, and yet the same;
the same in all that we have loved, but changed into more of love and bliss than
we have ever desired or dreamed—there to serve Him for ever before the throne of
God our Father!
SERMON II.
THE SONS OF GOD.
ROM. viii. 14.
“As many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons
of God.”
ST. PAUL here shews us what is the end
and law of our regeneration. The Son of
God was made man, that we might be made the
sons of God. The Holy Ghost came down to continue in us this work of our redemption. We
were made sons of God by regeneration in the
baptism of water and of the Holy Ghost. Our
adoption was a free, unsought, undeserved, and
sovereign act of God, for His only Son’s sake.
Creation was not more sovereign, nor was the dust
of the ground more passive when the first man was
made in God’s likeness, than we, when, through
baptism, we were born again as sons of God.
But St. Paul is here speaking, not of our adoption as it is an act on God’s
part, but of our sonship as it is a spiritual reality and actual attainment on our part.
We were made sons by baptism: we become
sons by obedience. How can we become sons, if
we were already made so? As we were made man
by our natural birth, whereby we obtained the
nature and capacities of manhood, we become men
by natural growth, whereby what is in germ and
virtue becomes actual and perfect.
It is in this sense that St. John says, “As
many as received Him, to them gave He power to
become the sons of God, even to them that believe on His name: which were born, not of blood,
nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man,
but of God.”St. John i. 12, 13.
Baptism is our adoption, as birth
is our life. As life is natural birth produced, so
sonship is the spirit of adoption produced. To
be led by spiritual instincts, lights, and inspirations, is to become, and therefore in a very and
eternal reality to be, sons of God.
But St. Paul does not mean, that none but they
who are led by the Spirit are sons. The very
word led implies obedience to the Spirit of adoption. For many are regenerate who will not obey.
All who are baptised are drawn; but they only
are here said to be “led” who follow the leading of the Spirit. When St. Paul says,
“All are not Israel who are of Israel,”Rom. ix. 6.
he does not mean
that faithless Israelites are not of the lineage of
Israel. Nor, when our Lord called Nathanael “an Israelite indeed,”St.
John i. 47.
did He mean that they
who were not true to their name were not indeed of God’s chosen nation. So. in this place,
as many as follow where the Spirit leads, they
are sons of God indeed.
This, then, is our calling, and this is the test
of our adoption.
How many simply deride it. In this day of
light, when we are told that manhood is divine,
and that, when conscious of his divinity, man is
what the tempter promised, the grace of God in
our adoption is looked down upon as a superstition
of human childhood, a figment of the mind, or a
remnant of mediaeval credulity. How many disbelieve it because they cannot find it in their
own consciousness, therefore cannot realise it;
and what they cannot realise they deny. How
many profess to believe, and yet choose their
own path, are their own leaders; consciously
evading the leading of their baptism in all its
higher and deeper paths, in all that cross their
own inclinations. How many stifle and lower their
spiritual life by empty, unworthy, frivolous trifling;
by ease, luxury, sloth, softness, self-indulgence, and acquiescence in relaxed maxims of the world.
How few truly realise the spirit of their adoption,
and become sons of God in life, energy, and act.
How few, I mean, realise the personality and presence of the Holy Spirit. How few live in the
consciousness that they are within the sphere of a
Divine person, loving, compassionate, long-suffering, who, from their childhood, has been guiding
and bearing with them.
Let us, then, try ourselves, and see how it is
with us; whether or no we be sons of God in that
one only sense which shall stand when all things
shall be tried by fire. For in one sense sons of
God we must be for ever. We can destroy ourselves, but we cannot efface our baptism; we may
mar the image of God, but not our baptismal
cross; we may forfeit the bliss of our adoption,
but we cannot evade the doom of reprobate sons.
This must be our chiefest bliss or our deepest
anguish, and abide with us for ever. Let us, then,
well try ourselves, lest we be deceived.
There are three certain marks by which we
may ascertain our true sonship.
1. The first mark is a ready will. It may be
asked, How does the Spirit of God lead us? In
what way? Is it in any way distinguishable from
the actings of our natural conscience; and if so,
how may we distinguish it? How am I to know what is His leading? and what am I to do to follow it?
The natural conscience is indeed the throne of
the Holy Spirit within us. It is the power in us
over which He presides, and by which He guides us.
There is by nature a light which separates between
right and wrong, between truths and falsehoods;
and to this natural light the Spirit of God adds yet
greater light. There is a light infused by baptism
which strengthens and extends the light of nature.
New faculties are awakened in the soul, and new
powers implanted. Faith is a new sense; and to
this sense the realities of the world unseen are
lifted up. New objects and laws are revealed by
the illumination of truth; new affections and perceptions are elicited by the inspirations of grace.
This is the passive state of the soul born again
of the Spirit. But here the trial begins. It is
by our will that we are to be proved and judged.
In the midst of all this growing, overwhelming
light, the will may remain stubborn and rebellious.
Faults in childhood growing into the sins of boyhood, hardening into the entanglements and obstinacy of manhood, establish a deliberate resistance in the will against the light of the Spirit.
We often see the most promising forms of character slowly
fading off. For a time there is a kind of negative declension. No marked and
active faults appear; but nothing is advancing towards holiness and the mind of Christ. They
seem for a while to stand still, as we see in an
arrow’s flight a momentary pause before it begins
to descend. So they never go beyond a certain
point; then for a while they hang in suspense—then slowly fall. Then some one sin appears, long
nourished in secret, now at last revealed; some
one parasite, which has clung about them, and
slowly confirmed its grasp around the whole strength
and stature of their character. And this one sin
gives the fatal wound to their spiritual life. They
deliberately choose this sin; and this choice in
riper years overmasters the grace of their baptism.
The responsible agent rejects God’s free gift, received in unconsciousness at the font.
So even with refined faults, which equally produce an intense variance of the will, and even a
more subtil spirit of hostility against God. Such,
I mean, as pride, ambition, selfishness, fastidious
refinement, supercilious confidence in self. All
these estrange the will from God; and the will is
the centre and quick of our probation.
For this estrangement of the will creates reluctance, struggling, opposition, and a slavish or
rebellious heart. What more miserable state than
to have our reason clearly convinced of the sovereignty of God’s Spirit, and our will averted from Him? Such Christians are sons by God’s grace;
but slaves and rebels by their own deliberate choice.
This, then, is the first mark—a ready will to
follow where the light of the Spirit leads. When
we come to some hard choice between pleasure and
duty, between a desire to venture and a motion to
forbear, we come to our place and hour of trial.
The motions in our conscience are admonitions
from God; they are given to be obeyed.
It is dangerous to delay. When our Lord
called one to follow Him, and he answered, “Suffer
me first to go and bury my father,” what answer
did he receive? “Let the dead bury their dead.”St. Matt. viii. 21, 22.
So with us; hesitation brings reasons for delay;
and delay gives time for temptation: one hour’s delay brings unknown hindrance. The motions of
God’s Spirit are like the flowing of the tide, which,
taken at the full, will lift us over every bar: tarry
and lose them, and we may be stranded for ever.
There is a golden chain, a thread frail and
delicate, by which He leads us on.
In some it is drawing them to conversion.
Their past life rises up into its true shape and
colour, and they are moved to flee from it. They
see its sin, or hollowness, or presumption. Then
they are drawn onward to holier aspirations and
deeper purposes. They desire to turn with their whole heart to God, and to begin a life altogether
new in aim, intention, and character. This is the
leading of the Spirit, the crisis of their trial.
In some, again, who have passed beyond this
point, it is drawing them to the grace of deeper
penitence. This keener self-reproach and clearer
insight into their own sinful consciousness are
given them to break up the insensible and easy
confidence with which some absolve themselves.
But it is a gift that must be followed.
In some it is drawing them on from commandments to precepts, from precepts to counsels of
perfection. The light which rises in the soul, if
slighted, declines surely to its setting. If we will
not go on to more devotion, self-denial, and love,
we shall fall back into less. To some it is as
much the crisis of their spiritual life to follow,
one by one, into the narrower paths of toil, prayer,
and the cross, as to others to leave the broad way
that leadeth to destruction. “To him that hath
shall be given; but from him that hath not, even
that which he hath shall be taken away.” If we
hang back, the golden thread may snap asunder,
and we fall back into any measure of declension.
Let us beware, then, how we tarry and debate.
Lingering is a provocation of God’s patience. He
would be loved and honoured by a free and filial
service. All depends on a will ready and prompt to obey. Who knows what, by a single act of the
will, you may gain or lose? You are, it may be,
at the cross roads, where the ways part asunder,—the one to life eternal, the other to eternal death.
What you do will leave its character in the book of
God’s remembrance. As we choose, so we shall
be. What we will we are. Our will is our whole
being summed into one intense, deliberate act.
Resist the Spirit of God, and you may be cast out
of our Father’s sight; follow, and you shall be His
sons, by grace, for ever.
2. Another mark of a filial spirit is a loving
heart.
All men are ruled by either love or fear: there
is no intermediate state. “Perfect love casteth out
fear,” and a ruling fear casteth out love. They may
be mingled for a while; but one or the other must
bear rule and sway at last. And this is a sure
criterion. “For ye have not received the spirit
of bondage again to fear; but ye have received the
Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father.’Rom. viii. 15.
He would have from us the service of sons, loving,
glad, and grateful, without stint or measure; not
saying, How much must I do? but How much may
I, how much can I do? How much time, substance, service, or thought can I give
to Him?
There are no weights and measures among the vessels of the sanctuary. “Greater love hath no
man than this, that a man lay down his life for his
friends.” He gave Himself wholly for us; what
shall we not give to Him again? The service of
our Father is perfect freedom; fearless, and yet
fearing alway; fearing to offend; fearing to come
short; fearing our own unworthiness; fearing to
appear in His spotless Presence; but fearing nothing else. The true service of sons is pure love:
not for safety, nor for reward; not to escape hell,
nor to gain heaven; hut to serve, please, and glorify our Lord, who loved us purely and without
cause, except His own eternal love.
Now, what is your motive? Why do you live
a Christian life? Why do you keep an outward
habit of religion? Why do you pray? Why do
you communicate? Is it from the conclusions of
the intellect? because you are convinced of the
duty, as with a mechanical certainty? Is it because such a life beseems the dignity of man, or
the order of the world, or the well-being of families and the social state? Is it from passive and
unquestioning dispositions,—a sort of dead bias, gained in childhood? Is it
from the support of an outward system? the custom of others? the daily warnings
of the bell? the altar inviting every week? Is it that good education has passed
into the decorum of life and the channel of worldly happiness and worldly interest, and because, with no
change of heart, your life has fallen into a vague
and beaten track? Or is it from a conscious filial love to God and to our Lord
Jesus Christ?
If not, what are all these motives? How will they endure the
piercing of those eyes which are as a flame of fire?
What is God’s kingdom but love? What but
love is God’s service? What are all things,—knowledge and spiritual science, prayers, fasts,
alms, communions—without love in the heart?
The soul that loves not is dead.
3. And to take one more: a third mark of a
filial spirit is a peaceful conscience.
St. Paul says, “The Spirit itself beareth witness
with our spirit that we are the children of God.”
Now in this we may deceive ourselves. Many are
in peace who have built upon no true foundation.
And some who might be at peace will not suffer
themselves to rest. A peaceful conscience must be
a clean conscience. The peace of an unsifted conscience is either self-deceit or insensibility. None
are more at peace in this sense than they who have
no consciousness of sin, no perception of God’s presence, no shrinking from His spotless purity.
But this peace is not the witness of the Spirit
with our spirit. It is the security of a torpid
heart; the stupor of a silent conscience. Easy as it is for dark and impure hearts to deceive themselves in this deep scrutiny, to cleansed and single
hearts all is plain and clear. Our own spirit, that
is, our whole inward consciousness, bears witness
by the instinct of its own sincerity, by the steadiness of its desires after God, and by its delight
in loving and serving Him. Where these things
are, there can be no self-deceit. Though conscious
of manifold imperfections, of a multitude of temptations, of frequent faults, and of a sinfulness which
still cleaves to the soul as mortality to the body,
yet a sincere heart cannot long or greatly deceive
itself. It is our ultimate rule, ordained by God
Himself. “If our heart condemn us, God is
greater than our heart, and knoweth all things.
Beloved, if our heart condemn us not, then have
we confidence towards God.” And where there is
this testimony in our own hearts, there will always
be the witness also of the Spirit; not by visions
or the voice of words, nor by peculiar revelations
or unusual tokens; but by the calm and steady
shining of His presence. To every cleansed conscience God gives a special clearness of spiritual
sight. The objects of faith unveil themselves, as
the face of the earth when the morning mists
ascend. The visible world has a limited horizon,
near and circumscribed; but the world unseen
has no boundaries to the gaze of faith. The saints of all times and dispensations, the companies
of just men made perfect, the heavenly court, the
throne of God, the purpose, mind, and will of
the divine kingdom, the reality of all laws and
mysteries of grace, stand out ever more and more
clearly and vividly before the pure in heart. And
with clearer sight comes greater strength; and with
greater strength a greater ease in the whole life
of faith.
With this comes also a deeper sense of the
presence of God; a sense which grows up into a
consciousness finer than all thought, and independent of all reflection. It is as the consciousness
of an eye ever upon us,—an eye of love, in which
it is happiness to live; a countenance ever shining
downwards; a light lifted up in token of goodwill; a reality out of ourselves and yet within
us, or rather in which—as in the air or noonday light—we are enshrined, enfolded, and encompassed. This is the witness of the Spirit with
our spirit; something too deep and intimate for
words, too high and subtil for logical proof; but
sure, real, and perceptible by faculties above reasoning or sense.
Have you, then, these three marks of the sons
of God: a ready will, a loving heart, a peaceful conscience? If so, happy are
ye. If not, what are you doing, hoping, expecting?
Take, then, some rules by which to seek this true spirit of a
son. There are two ways to it:
1. By learning obedience even in the least
things.
There is nothing small which God has commanded: His greatness
makes all about Him to be great. Nothing is little by which He may be greatly
pleased, or greatly offended. A thought is a little thing, and yet it may be a
great provocation of the divine Majesty; for every sin has the whole virus and
principle of sin. So every duty, even the least duty, involves the whole
principle of obedience. And little duties make the will dutiful, that is, supple
and prompt to obey. Little obediences lead into great: “He that is faithful in
that which is least is faithful also in much.”
The daily round of duty is full of probation
and of discipline: it trains the will, heart, and
conscience. To be holy we need not to be prophets
or apostles. The commonest life may be full of
perfection. The duties of home are a discipline
for the ministries of heaven. A faithful servant
has the heart of a son of God. A dutiful child
lives in the spirit of adoption. An obedient wife
exercises the whole grace of submission. A faithful pastor may labour in the spirit of an apostle;
and a soul in wrongs or sufferings may gain a martyr’s crown. It is specially the common, unnoticed duties of life which are the safest and most
searching tests. They have no ostentation or excitement, but are done from inward force, and a
fruitful principle of duty.
2. The other way to a filial spirit is by habitual communion in the holy sacrament.
From the font we are invited to the altar.
Once washed, we need to be perpetually fed with
spiritual food. The life that was breathed into
us from above cannot be sustained without the
Bread of heaven.
What, then, is the state of those who never
communicate? Sinful Christians slay their souls
by wounds or poison: every sin that a man commits violates the gift of life. Slothful Christians
starve their souls by wasting and exhaustion. Inconstant and irregular communicants undermine
their spiritual steadfastness. Seldom communions
make cold communions. Frequent communion is
the best preparation for the altar; the communion of last Sunday for the next, of yesterday for
to-day.
It is by habitual fellowship with the presence
of our Lord that our will is united with His will,
our heart with His heart, our conscience with His
Spirit.
It is by this union that we attain the will to choose His will, the will to cross our own. A
will turned against itself is a token of the presence
of God. As, if water should climb upward to its
springs, or fire turn its points of flame downward
to the earth, we should see and know that One
greater than nature is here; so, when we choose
pain and reject pleasure, when we will not what
we will, but are willing for that against which our
will is naturally bent, we may adore the presence
of Him Whose Will gives law to all. Seek Him,
then, continually in the even obedience of home,
and in His presence at the altar, and He shall lead
you by the path of the sons of God to the peace
of His kingdom.
Your way shall be sure; I do not say it shall
be smooth. In bringing many sons to glory, He
hath made the Leader of their salvation, the first
who trod the path, “perfect through suffering.”Heb. ii. 10.
He may ordain this also for you. We know not:
God knoweth. But, smooth or rough, the way
shall be sure; and He will lead you unto the end,
through all changes of life, through all shadows
of the world, through struggles and pain, hope and
fear, sorrow and the cross, up the ascending path,
by chastisements and warnings, by sudden visitations and lingering cares, by tokens in your home
and at the altar, by persuasions more moving than words, by pledges more assuring than a miracle,
until every son shall be conformed to the Son incarnate, eternal, “the image of the invisible God,
the first-born of every creature,”Col. i. 15.
in the kingdom
of our Father.
SERMON III.
THE NAME OF JESUS.
ST. MATT. i. 21.
“Thou shalt call His name Jesus.”
THESE words were spoken in vision by the
angel of God to Joseph. They are a part
of the divine message which revealed to him the
mystery of the Incarnation. Strange things were
in the thoughts of his heart, but stranger still
were those made known from heaven. He was
himself included in the great ministry of divine
power and love. Second only to Mary, who was
chosen to be the Mother of our Lord, is he who
was elected to be her betrothed husband, and the
foster-father of the Son of God. “Fear not to
take unto thee Mary thy wife; for that which is
conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost.” What a
charge was here committed to him—to watch over
the Mother and the Son; to be the guardian of the Word made flesh. Unto which of the angels
gave He at any time so great a trust? They ministered to Him; but Joseph was invested with a
father’s sway; he fostered Him in His childhood;
wrought for Him, nurtured Him, bare Him as a
protector and a guide.
And when the angel had given this great commission, he revealed also the Name of the divine
Child. “Thou shalt call His name Jesus.” The
Name had been chosen in heaven. It was already
known in the heavenly court. Angels worshipped
it when they adored the Eternal Son Incarnate
from the foundation of the world.
Why, it may be asked, was so great care taken
to choose and to reveal a name? Because names
are realities—what they express is no mere sound,
but a living truth. The Father is the Father, not
because He is called so, but He is called so because
He is the Father. The Son is the Son, not because He is called the Son, but He is called so
because He is the Son. Names stand for persons;
and persons are living and true realities. This we
know even in earthly names; they represent to
us persons, with all their complex associations of
character and feature. As persons kindle our affections, and waken our sympathies, so names take
up the sympathies and affections which cling to
persons. When present, persons are the objects of our hearts; when absent, names come into
their place. And names call up the liveliest and
fondest memories. When we hear them, we see
before us forms and countenances, with their expression and character; we hear the tones and accents, the laugh and footstep of the past. Names
are to us what persons are, dear or indifferent,
moving or powerless, just as they for whom they
stand. Who does not know what is the power of
the name of father or mother, sister or brother?
What visions they bring back upon us: what a
stream of memories; of years long passed away,
of careless childhood, bright mornings, lingering
twilights, the early dawn, the evening star, and
all the long-vanished world of happy, unanxious
thoughts, with the loves, hopes, smiles, and tenderness of days gone by. Who does not know what
visions of maturer life come and go with the sound
of a name, of one familiar word—the symbol of a
whole order now no more? The greater part of our
consciousness is summed up in memory; the present
is but a moment, ever flowing, past almost as soon
as come. Our life is either behind us or before;
the future in hope and expectation, the past in
trial and remembrance. Our life to come is little
realised as yet; we have some dim outlines of
things unseen, forecastings of realities behind the
veil, and objects of faith beyond the grave; but all this is too divine and high. We can hardly
conceive it; at best faintly, often not at all. Our
chief consciousness of life is in the past, which yet
hangs about us as an atmosphere peopled with
memories and forms. They live for us now in
names, beloved and blessed.
So is it with this Name chosen of God. “Thou
shalt call His name Jesus.” It stands to us as the
witness of peace and bliss. What visions are called
up by it! The Child at Nazareth, or sitting in the
temple; the Healer of sorrows at the gate of Nain,
or weeping by the grave in Bethany; the Cleanser
of sin; the Lord of compassion, breaking bread in
the wilderness; the good Shepherd; the Friend
of Sinners; the Absolver of penitents; the Companion of the lonely, as they walk by the way of
life and are sad; and now, in the heavenly kingdom, the Redeemer, pitiful, loving, compassionate;
stooping over us, with a countenance of light, meek
and patient, divine in tenderness, our Lord and our
God. All this rises up at the sound of this sacred
Name. Let us see why it reveals all this to our
faith.
1. First, because the name Jesus is the name Saviour. When
Isaiah, in the spirit of prophecy, spake of Him, he gave His heavenly titles,
His divine name. “His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty
God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”Isaiah ix. 6.
But the
angel brought to us His earthly title, the human
name which He should take as the Son of man. “Thou shalt call His name Jesus.” And then he reveals the reason:
“For He
shall save His people from their sins.”
It expresses His office as our Saviour. He is
our salvation. The whole mystery of His person
and of His work is revealed in the name Jesus;
for He first saved our nature by taking if upon
Himself. He took to Himself our manhood of
the substance of our fallen humanity, and made it
sinless and deathless. In our nature, though without sin, He suffered death, that He might save us
from sin and death. Therefore He is the Saviour both of our nature and of ourselves. And His
name is a healing name, pledging to us the salvation He has made perfect in His own immortal
flesh. We may draw from this word the whole
baptismal faith. It brings before us the Godhead
of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; the divine
image in which we were created; the abyss into
which we fell and died. It reveals to us the
mystery of the eternal Son made Man, suffering
and dying for us, His life of contradiction, His
death of agony. “He is our peace.”Ephes. ii. 14.
And His
name reveals to us the reconciliation of God and man, of things in heaven and things in earth;
the justification of the faithful, the absolution of
sinners, the calm of the dying, the rest of saints.
What a title is Saviour! dear to each one, as he
knows the depth of his own fall. If we realise
what sin is, and death: the eternal weight of guilt,
the anguish of defiled hearts, the torment of temptation, the judgment to come, the undying worm,
the everlasting flame, the loss of God; if we know,
each one, what our life has been in childhood,
youth, and manhood,—its sins and sorrows, its
wounds and sicknesses, its inward darkness and
deceit:—and unless we know these things, we do
but take this Name in vain:—if, indeed, we know
all this with a living and thrilling heart, then
there is no “name under heaven given among
men” so full of calm and healing. It will be to
us exactly what we are in ourselves: to the impenitent an empty word, to the penitent life and
pardon: to any measure of penitence, dear as the
sorrow is deeper; dearest to those who are self-accused and convicted, guilty in their own eyes
above all, sorrowing and alone, not for want of kind
hearts around them, but because the kindest and
nearest heart is all too far away to soothe the affliction of a contrite spirit. One alone can enter
into the quick of our grief. One alone can heal a wounded heart. One only Name has power to
save.
2. But there is a deeper meaning still. The
name Jesus is His name as our kinsman. It is
His name as man—the name of His humiliation,
given on the eighth day, when, for our sakes, He
humbled Himself. He is very Man, in all the
truth of our humanity. He took our true manhood—not of a like substance with us, but of the
same; the one substance of mankind. By regeneration, we are “of His flesh and of His bone,”
who by incarnation is of ours. He entered into
human relations. He shared our kindred, and
placed Himself in the order of our consanguinity.
The Spirit of prophecy, speaking in the person of
the Church, cried of old, “Oh, that Thou wert as
my brother.”Cantic. viii. 1.
And this desire He has granted.
He is made our brother: “He is not ashamed
to call us brethren.” “Go to My brethren, and
say unto them, I ascend unto My Father and your
Father.”St. John xx. 17.
He has, therefore, taken upon Him all
the affections of kindred. “Inasmuch as ye have
done it unto one of the least of these My brethren,
ye have done it unto Me.”St. Matt. xxv. 40.
As He is the faultless
and perfect Son, so He is the loving and perfect
Brother, As human nature has its perfection in His person, so human kindred has its perfection
in His heart. His love, tenderness, and sympathy
as a Brother, are as perfect as His patience, lowliness, and sanctity as Man. The name Jesus is the
name of a brother in blood, who thereby binds
Himself to us with the natural bonds which unite
us to each other. It pledges to us His sympathy
in all sorrows of body and of soul,—in poverty
and straits, in weariness and fasting, in fear and
anxiety, in temptation and desertion: all these He
shares with us, by the perfect sympathy and perfect
affection of a brother. Let us dwell upon this
thought, as it is revealed to us in the mystery of
the Incarnation.
There are two spheres of being; the uncreated,
where from everlasting the eternal Son dwelt with
the Father and the Holy Ghost; and the created,
into which, by His incarnation, He came down to
dwell with us. In the higher sphere, He still received the adoration of the heavenly court as God,
while, in the lower, angels ministered to Him as
man. And now, exalted in our manhood to His
Father’s throne, the Lord Jesus, very Man as very
God, receives the homage of all worlds, while, as
our brother, He is united still with us. Here is
the line at which the faith of many fails. They
believe His Godhead, and profess to believe His
manhood; but they shrink from the divine mysteries of our living incorporation with His perfect
humanity, our very and true participation in His
divine nature. Therefore, to them, sacraments are
figures of an intellectual food; the Church and
union springing from our individual will; the sympathy of Christ a fancy, or even an irreverent approach. And for the same cause they cannot understand the blessed reality of His human affections, of His heart as man. They shrink from
it, as something presumptuous, or enthusiastic; or
as lowering, and, as they say, humanising the spiritual and divine. What, then, would they have
said of the Incarnation itself, if they had not unconsciously received it before they began to judge
as a condition to believing? The mystery of the
Incarnation is, indeed, a humanising of God, as
it is also a deifying of man; for in Him the Godhead and the manhood are alike perfect and indivisible. The name Jesus speaks to us through
His human heart, like ours in all things, sin only
excepted.
3. But there is, if possible, a still deeper and
more precious meaning of this name. “There
is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.”Prov. xviii. 24.
When He was on earth, He had, if I may speak
after our common way, His particular friendships.
Beside the kindred of blood which He contracted with all, there is a spiritual kindred, which is even
nearer still. “Who is My mother, and who are
My brethren? Whosoever shall do the will of
My Father in heaven, the same is My brother, and
sister, and mother.” “He that hath My commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth Me;
and he that loveth Me shall be loved of My Father,
and I will love him.”St. Matt. xii. 48; St. John xiv. 23.
He has told us on what
this special love is founded. It rested on the zeal
of Peter, the ardent love of John, the diligent
service of Martha, the yearning devotion of Mary;
and yet their love was but the reflection of the
love He first bare to them—the faint return of
that love wherewith He had loved them eternally.
Nevertheless, we here may learn a great law of His
kingdom, that He has particular friendships, and
a special love for those who love and live for Him.
To them this Name is a depth of sweetness, as the
harmonies of a perfect strain. It is “sweeter than
honey and the honeycomb.” It sheds abroad in
them a consciousness of heavenly love. It has been
to them as a hymn of praise, a prayer of power,
a litany of pleading, a meditation all the day
long. “My meditation of Him shall be sweet.”
This has been the musing of saints. Their words
and their writings, their acts and their prayers,
their public labours and their solitary hours, their
lives and their deaths, have been full of it.
Preachers have taken it as their text. The name
of Jesus, said one of old, “is honey in the mouth,
melody in the ear, gladness in the heart, medicine
to the soul. Is any of you sad, let Jesus come into
his heart, and thence pass into his lips. No sooner
is the light of this name arisen, than all clouds fly
before it, and the calm sky returns.” “When I
speak the name ‘Jesus,’ I set before me a man
meek and lowly of heart, benign and modest, pure
and pitiful, bright with all goodness and holiness;
and He is, moreover, God the Almighty, Who
heals me by His example, and strengthens me by
His help.”S. Bernard, in Cant. Serm. xv.
The Church has made hymns of this one sacred word. “Jesu, sweet in
memory, Giver of joy to the heart; sweet above the honeycomb, sweeter than all,
is Thy Presence. No song so soft, no tidings so glad, no thought so grateful, as
Jesus the Son of God. Jesu, Hope of penitents, how gentle to those who plead
with Thee! how good to those who seek! But what to those who find Thee?”
What, if we dare to speak of it, was the name
of such a Son to His blessed Mother; what a name
of love ineffable, of adoring fond delight! What
was the memory of that name, in after years, to
her whom He had forgiven sevenfold; what in long
years of loneliness to St. John; what to St. Peter
in the sharpness of the cross? What has it been, what is it not, to all solitary
and saintly hearts, for whom this world has no solace, this life nothing that
they should any more desire it?
And what is this name to us? When we hear
it, what does it awaken? When we read it, what
does it kindle in our hearts? Does it call up a
vision of beauty and of majesty; a Presence awful
with divine glory, radiant with a countenance of
love? Does it make our hearts to burn with a memory of His meekness and
tenderness, His afflictions and His passion? Does it thrill through them with a
consciousness that for us He was all this, and He suffered all this, and that He
is all this to us still?
No other word can declare at once, what we
have been to Him, and what He has been to us.
We have been to Him all that sinners can:
we dethroned Him from our hearts, and from the
kingdom of His Father; we girded Him with our
fallen manhood; we laid on Him the necessity of
sorrow; we bound Him by the law of death; we
pierced Him upon the cross; we have been to Him
as the ungrateful lepers, cleansed and thankless;
we have slighted and forgotten Him all the day
long. “Out of sight, out of mind.” We have
lived as if He had never suffered and died; as if He had never been, as if He were a fabulous person, an abstraction, a name standing for a theory
or an intellectual scheme.
And what has He not been to us? From our
childhood to this hour; in the days of our sinful blindness, and in the years of our more sinful
contempt of light; in our sinning and repenting,
our returning and relapsing; all the while He
has been to us forgiving, patient, tender, full of
pity, full of peace, our Saviour, kinsman, and
friend. He loved us even in our falls, and accepts
our love even after so great ingratitude. Let each
one look into himself. What has He been to you
in times of sickness, and what have you been to
Him in your time of health? Has not His countenance shone upon you in the darkness of sorrow,
bereavement, and solitude; and has not your face
been turned away from Him when the light came
back into your home again? Have you not learned
by trial, and almost by sense, that all the visions
and parables of mercy revealed in the earthly life
of the Lord Jesus are perpetual miracles of grace,
perpetual ministries of consolation? Does He not
now as then—has He not always until now received sinners, bound up broken hearts, cleansed
the contrite, consoled mourners, upheld the sinking, visited the path of the lonely, the hiding-place
of sorrow, the pains of sickness, the pallet of the dying? Have you not so known Him nigh to you in your home and
heart?
Let us, then, desire and pray that we may
love His person. Let us not think, or fancy, or
dream about loving Him, but love Him “in deed
and in truth.” To love Him is not an act of the intellect, but an affection of
the heart. It is to be attained, not by a vivid imagination, but by a fervent
will. If we would love Him, we must ask of Him to make us feel His love. It is
love that awakens love. In the measure in which we feel the glow and sunshine of
His love resting upon us, we shall kindle and break forth into love to Him
again. As we learn to know our guilt and sinfulness, our sloth and perversity,
our churlish and ungrateful hearts; as we come to see the coldness, weariness,
estrangement of our souls, even in our prayers before Him, nay, above all, at
the very altar; and, feeling all this, as we taste His forgiveness and
compassion, His tenderness and pity, then we shall know the sweetness of this
sacred Name. It will be to us the pledge of all He is. “Thy name is as ointment
poured forth;” all the day long we shall remember it: abroad and at home it will
be with us, and “the whole house shall be filled with the odour of the
ointment.”
For this let us strive always to realise His Presence. O slow of heart; we speak of Him
as of one come and gone, as of a wayfarer who
once tarried for a night, long ago past in the
dimness of history; or we think of Him as of
one whom we shall some day see, with whom we
shall then begin to make account. How few live
upon His promise, “Lo, I am with you alway;”
and the blessedness of the relation, that He is
our Master, and we His servants; He our Lord,
and we His disciples. “They have taken away
my Lord out of the sepulchre, and I know not
where they have laid Him.” What love and sorrow is in that one word, “my Lord!” Is He not
so to each of us? May not each one of us say, “My Lord and my God?” What a strength and
spring of life, what hope and trust, what glad,
unresting energy, is in this one thought,—to serve
Him who is “my Lord” ever near me, ever looking on; seeing my intentions before He beholds
my failures; knowing my desires before He sees my
faults; cheering me to endeavour greater things,
and yet accepting the least; inviting my poor service, and yet, above all, content with my poorer
love. Let us try to bear this in mind, whatsoever,
wheresoever we be. The humblest and the simplest, the weakest and the most encumbered, may
love Him not less than the busiest and strongest,
the most gifted and laborious. If our heart be clear before Him; if He be to us our chief and
sovereign choice, dear above all, and beyond all
desired; then all else matters little. That which
concerneth us He will perfect in stillness and in
power, and His name will be our solace and
strength, the beginning of every work, the end of
every desire, our motive and our hope, our meditation and our confidence. The Name of Jesus
will be our all: what it speaks, He is. It shall
be perseverance in life, and peace in death; an
absolving plea in the day of His coming, a song
of joy in the kingdom of the Resurrection. It is
even now the chant of saints, the hallelujah of
angels; for God hath given Him “a name which
is above every name: that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and
things in earth, and things under the earth; and
that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ
is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”Phil. ii. 9-11.
SERMON IV.
CHRIST PREACHED IN ANY WAY A CAUSE OF JOY.
PHIL. i. 18.
“What then? notwithstanding, every way, whether in pretence,
or in truth, Christ is preached; and I therein do rejoice, yea, and will
rejoice.”
THE great Head of the Church has two chief
ways of spreading the knowledge of the faith—the preaching of His pastors, and the contradiction of the world. And this seems to be the
plain meaning of St. Paul. Some preached Christ
out of envy of the Apostles, and in strife against
them; in “contention” and contradiction, or by
pretended and rival commission from Christ Himself. These were gainsayers. Others preached
“of good will” and in truth, as His true pastors and their brethren. Both were united in one
work, that is, in making Christ’s name rise more
loudly above the din and turmoil of the world. The truth of the Gospel was heard in articulate and
thrilling tones through all the noise and uproar of
Home. The enemies of the Gospel helped to fill
the forum, the circus, and the palace of the Caesars
with the unwelcome “tidings of good.” And in
all this the Apostle rejoiced. In his bonds, and
in the deep prison underneath the rock, his heart
beat gladly at the thought that even enemies were
preachers of Christ’s name, and that gainsayers
were evangelists.
Such is the manifold wisdom of God. “Surely,”
when the enmity of man preaches the cross of
Christ, “the wrath of man shall praise Thee.” The
wise and the incredulous, the scorner and the fearful, the envious and the contentious, were all one
in persecuting the holy Name; but He that sitteth
in heaven laughed them to scorn. He poured
upon them, as it were, the spirit of prophecy, and
made them publish abroad the Name they were
striving to destroy.
We see here a great law of Christ’s providence over His Church. He furthers His own
ends, not by affirmations only, but by negations;
by faith and by unbelief, by truth and by heresy,
by unity and by schism. It is a transcendent and
intricate mystery, far beyond our intelligence. All
things conspire to His purpose, and His will ruleth
over all; not, it may be, to the purpose we imagine for Him, nor to our idea of His will, but to
His own, not as yet revealed. These are thoughts
very full of comfort in the present state of the
Church on earth.
Besides the contention and strife of which
St. Paul speaks, we have now a trial of a more
perplexing kind. I mean, the multiplication of
Christian sects, shading off almost into agreement
with the Catholic faith; and, more than all, division and opposition in the Church itself. What,
then, may we believe, would St. Paul have said
at the sight of Christendom as we see it now?
Would he have said, “Notwithstanding, every way
Christ is preached; and I therein do rejoice, yea,
and will rejoice?” Certainly he would have rebuked us, “even weeping,” for our heresies and
schisms, for our bitter and irreconcilable tempers.
He would have even desired to be anathema, “accursed from Christ,”Rom. ix. 3.
that the East and the West
might again be one, and the West united in itself.
He would have been “ready to spend and be
spent,” that all sects which have issued from the
Church might be brought home again to its altars,
and only enemies of the cross of Christ cast out.
He would have condemned all separations, sects,
and schisms, with a keen and indignant sorrow.
But the question comes back again, Would he still have rejoiced that, though perfect unity in truth
and love were impossible, yet “every way Christ
is preached?” Would the publication of truth
even in contention, strife, rivalry, and pretence,
have given him cause of joy? Would he have
said, “Kather so, than not at all: let Christ’s Name be gainsayed, rather than buried in silence?”
I think he would.
1. Because the name of Christ reveals the love
of God. The mere knowledge that “God so loved
the world, that He gave His only-begotten Son,
that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish,
but have everlasting life;”St. John iii. 16.
the mere publication
and proclaiming of this great fact, without Church
or sacraments, without creeds or Scriptures, is a
supernatural gift of truth revealing the love of
God. And this is an inestimable advance beyond
the state of man without this knowledge.
How little do we lay to heart the love of God
for the world which He has made! His love is
the element in which it hangs and moves on its
unerring path. The world itself, as His creation,
the work of His hands, is an object of divine
transcendent love. God hates sin, but nothing
that He has made. To bear the print of His
hand is to bear the impress of His love. All the
effluence of His presence and power upon the world before sin came was love. And since the fall, all
His government and working among mankind has
been the expression of His love. Even His sorest
visitations, and the strokes of His anger, have been
in love for man. He would have no life perish,
but live for ever. He willed not that the heathen
should perish. When He gave them up, it was
because they first had given Him up.Rom. i. 21, 28.
No soul
that ever sought to Him, or held by Him, was ever
cast away. Doubtless, among the darkest people
of the earth, He had servants and witnesses, yea,
seers and prophets. In the midst of an idolatrous
people, Enoch walked with God. Noah preached
a hundred and twenty years. Job was a seer among
the Midianites, and his friends had the knowledge
of God. Abraham was called out of a people who
worshipped idols “on the other side the flood.”Joshua xxiv. 2.
Melchisedech was priest of the Most High God in
Salem. Visions were sent of God to Abimelech
king of Gerar,Gen. xx. 6.
and to Pharaoh king of Egypt.Gen. xli. 1.
Jethro was priest of Midian,Exod. ii. 16.
and a counsellor of
Moses. Balaam was a prophet in the far East.
Jonah preached repentance in Nineveh. Visions
and voices were revealed to the kings of Babylon.Dan. iv. 31.
The Gentile world was full of tokens of the Divine power and Godhead, love and goodness: proselytes came forth from it out of Ethiopia, Egypt,
Greece, Rome, and all regions of the earth, into
the courts of Jerusalem; and at the coming of the
Name of Christ, it was instinct with the first motions of a higher life. Everywhere the Apostles
found souls “that were ordained,” that is, disposed, “to eternal life.”Acts xiii. 48. τεταγμένοι.
What do all these revealed testimonies prove, but that God has an election in nature as well as in grace; that His tender
love has been working by inscrutable ways from the
beginning, “reaching mightily from end to end,
and sweetly disposing all things;” that He has
mercy for all the creatures of His hand? What
more do we need to prove that “God would have
all men to be saved, and to come to the knowledge
of the truth;”1 Tim. ii. 4.
that Jesus Christ is “the Saviour
of all men, specially of them that believe?”1 Tim. iv. 10.
These
divine facts reveal the will and desire of God to
be infinite mercy and universal love.
If this be the condition of the heathen without
the knowledge of revelation, either Law or Gospel,
it is plain that every access of light is an approach
to God. Simply to know that “God so loved the
world as to give His Son” for it, is a revelation like
the splendour of the rising sun. The mercy which the heathen desired and hoped, this declared and
proved. And as it wrought an entire change in
their knowledge and conceptions of God, it must
also have wrought as great a change in the affections with which they regarded Him. God was to
them no longer an object only of thrilling fear, or
of pale dubious hope, but of trust, thankfulness,
and love. Their whole inward life would undergo
a mitigation, and be mellowed to a more filial temper; and in their measure, they would be raised
above their former state to a relation of hope and
obedience, of purity and worship.
I have stated this at length, because it will
help to set before us the condition of those Christians who, knowing little more than that Christ
came to save the world, are indeed immeasurably below the blessed state of the regenerate in
the Church of Christ, but immeasurably above
the highest state vouchsafed to the heathen. If,
then, the condition of these was an object of God’s love and pity, and if the least rays of Christian
light lifted them so high, what may we not hope
for those poor souls, robbed of their birthright
through* no fault of their own, to whom, through
envy and strife, a mutilated faith, bearing little
more than the name of Christ, is preached? Sad
and impoverished, and yet not utterly robbed of
all: they have the name of Christ, the revelation of God’s love, the knowledge of a Father in
heaven; and these great truths are great spiritual
powers, which work mysterious and mighty changes
in the soul; changes which draw them as unconscious proselytes to the courts of the unseen temple, and order the dispositions of their spiritual life
according to the law of love.
Surely in this the Apostle would have bid us
rejoice in his joy. Imperfect and maimed, yet it
is the living and life-giving truth. It both has life
and gives life. Better to have this than to abide
in the shadow of death. Any light is better than
darkness, any food than famine: even crumbs of
the “Bread which came down from heaven,” than
the husks of this fallen earth.
Thus far we have taken it on the lowest
ground, supposing that the least measure of truth
is preached. Yet even in this least measure there
is cause for joy; for thereby the love of God in
Christ is declared. And at this we may rejoice,
leaving to Him to measure and to gather in what
fruit He will.
If this be true of the least measure of Christian truth, how much must the force of the argument rise with every increase in that measure. As
knowledge rises towards the perfect faith, every
such advance is so much more of union between
the spirit of man and the character and will of God. I am now speaking of knowledge only as a
means of illumination and obedience, not as imposing the responsibility of attaining the perfect
truth. It is enough, for the present, to consider
truth as being in itself, and by the virtue of its
own nature, a means of conversion to God. Every
light which reveals God’s love leads on towards
conversion. How much more, then, will this appear as we advance into the fuller teaching of
Christian doctrine among the less erroneous of
sectarian bodies, or in the Nestorian and Eutychian Churches of the East. Among these are
taught and believed the love and passion of our
Lord, the presence and gifts of the Spirit, the
mystery of the ever-blessed Trinity. Imperfect
and darkened as all these doctrines must be when
rent from the unity and charity of the Church, yet
they do so far bring the spiritual nature of man
under the dominion of truth and the powers of the
world to come. Taken at the lowest, this must
surely be joy to all who desire to see God enthroned in His own world. If only it be that
pagan rites and philosophical schools have consumed away, or have been transformed into Christian sects and Christian philosophies—that is, even
if there were no faith, but only reason; no spirit of
sanctity, but only a higher moral law; even so it
would be a blessed and joyful sight,—a bright softened twilight issuing from the illumination of the
Church, and a ripening, it may be, of mankind
for the reception of the full powers of faith. Let
us not, like freethinkers, stumble at the mystery
that the Church is not universal. All God’s dealings are progressive; and all progressive dispensations have to our eyes an imperfect outline and
discordant preludes, and a circumference or halo
of indistinct and, as it were, of morning or evening
light. Such is the Christianity which surrounds
the Church.
2. Let us take another reason for rejoicing.
The preaching of Christ, even in the most imperfect form, is a witness against the sin of the
world. And what are these two great truths, the
love of God and the sin of the world, but the
two poles on which all our salvation turns? The
mere sound of the name of Saviour, Redeemer,
Ransom, and Sacrifice, is a testimony against
the natural conscience. And so we actually find.
Perhaps there is nothing more prominent among
certain Christian sects than exaggerated theories
of sin. So far the most imperfect teaching, by
encountering sin in the conscience, prepares the
way for the true faith; consciousness of sin being
a perception of the spiritual nature, and a condition to divine faith. In this sense, then, all
promulgations of Christ are forerunners of the truth. They work round about the suburbs of
the city of God, spreading indistinct rumours of
revelations yet to come. And besides this, there
is a direct inward work wrought in the hearts
of individuals, convincing them deeply of their
need of something divine. The knowledge of
God’s love and of Christ’s passion works mightily
in softening or breaking the hearts of men, be
they who they may. Alas, it is too true that
thousands in the visible Church shew less love
and less compunction than many who are in separation from the unity of the body of Christ.
The powers of truth are not bound. They, like
the presence of God and the nature of man,
are universal. Wheresoever they alight, as seeds
wafted by the winds, or by the sweep of tides,
or by the flight of birds, though not sown in
order, nor by the ministry of man, they germinate.
Truth is a living and energetic principle, “quick
and powerful;” like the ministering spirits, it is
as a flame of fire. Though its home and rest be
the Church of Christ, yet wheresoever it goes
abroad, it lightens and penetrates, kindles and
quickens with life. And therefore we see among
those who are separate from the Church multitudes deeply convinced of personal sinfulness,
yearning for some shelter and refuge, finding none
visible except the Church alone, of which, their eyes being holden by invincible error, they cannot discern the true character and office. They
are therefore forced to conceive to themselves an
invisible Church: a pleasing illusion, most accordant with their state, and consoling to their
conscious perplexities. But be their intellectual
theology what it may, there can be no doubt that
among them are to be found true and fervent
penitents, who shall rise up in judgment with the
visible Church, and shall condemn thousands.
Certainly, then, we must rejoice that for such
fruits as these Christ is preached. If the truth
cannot be preached in its unity, then let us hope
that it will tell by its own sanctity and force,
even in the midst of division. If they will not
have all their birthright, let them not be deprived of any fragment they are willing to receive
from the fulness of their heavenly inheritance.
3. And to take one more reason. The preaching of Christ brings men under the law of responsibility. It reveals the four last things,—death,
judgment, hell, and heaven; it testifies to the commandments of God, the law of charity, and the
need of holiness. And all these things, addressed
to the conscience in man, produce their own response of fear, hope, obedience. Considered only
as a moral code, the Gospel is the most perfect
rule that mankind has ever received. If it were only promulgated by a human legislature and enforced by a human executive, it would produce
a state of social peace and personal purity higher
than the science of politics had ever ventured to
conceive. This is the basis of modern civilisation.
Christianity has raised and ripened the whole
theory and practice of government and jurisprudence; without making it religious, it has exalted
it above the refinement of Athenian liberty and
the sternness of Roman justice. A Christian nation means a people professing Christianity; but,
as we see, there may be Christian nations partly,
or even wholly, rent away from the unity of the
Church of Christ. Still they retain their Christian character,—justice, temperance, order, benevolence, mercifulness, and the like. And yet all
these are not the sanctity which is a note of the
Church. They are the fruits of human responsibility, trained under a high moral discipline, and
scrupulously directed in the fulfilment of the second table of the law,—the duty we owe to our
neighbour. No one can look at such a people
without a thankful sense of the goodness of God,
in giving truth, not only as an object of faith, but
as a rule of moral discipline; so that even where
it is lightly regarded as the path to eternal life,
it is still cherished as a law of order for this
earthly state. What is the ripe civilisation, the fair peace and harmonious friendship of states and
kingdoms, the alliances and relations of national
systems, the temperate sway of princes, the liberty
of subject people, the purity of domestic obedience,
but a second crop of fruits shaken from the faith
of Christ, as from a fig-tree in its later season?
Even though nations still linger outside the vineyard, shall we not rejoice over such a fruitage as
this? Though they refuse the whole truth, is it
not a joy that even so much as this should be received, and with such returns? Surely every one
who wishes well to mankind must rejoice. All that
can be done to foster and ripen the elements of
truth, to “strengthen the things that remain which
are ready to die,” is the duty and work of charity.
To overthrow, on the plea of re-construction, is to
do the office of one whose name is the Destroyer.
God’s temple is to be built up by a labour of construction which preserves with jealous and loving
tenderness all that has life and truth. If only
we would recognise this great law of the divine
economy, full of wisdom and of love; if only we
would strive to “edify one another,” to add to and
raise upward to perfection whatsoever of truth and
faith exists in the most imperfect, we should win
many a soul. Men are not won by contradictions,
nor persuaded by refutations, but by the expansion,
enlargement, and perfect exhibition of the truths they hold in germ. This is the divine rule of controversy, the only evangelical principle of conversion, the law of unity, truth, and love. Wheresoever, then, the germs of the perfect faith are sown,
therein let us rejoice in hope.
What has here been said manifestly lies open
to a multitude of apparent objections, and some
of the highest and gravest kind. It may be said
that this is equivalent to denying the visibleness
and the divine institution of the Church, the necessity and grace of the holy sacraments; that it
substitutes personal sincerity for the true faith,
and goes all length with the latitudinarian theory,
which either makes truth indifferent, or God all
mercy.
I say, these are apparent objections; for not
one of them, as we shall see, really has any force.
All that has been said rests upon two undeniable truths.
1. First, that all truth has life in it to those whose heart
is right with God. This is an axiom so absolute and clear that we need not fear
to affirm it without limitation. Perhaps it may be said, “What, then, is this
but the latitudinarian fiction, so long ago familiar in rhyme, which says that
bigots only care for points of faith; that God looks to our life alone; and
that, where this is right, we cannot, for the world to come, be wrong?” This saying, false as it is in its rhetorical aspect,
is, with one comment, strictly true in its logical
force. If right and wrong are predicated of the
faith or doctrine of an imperfect believer, it is a
contradiction in terms. But if they be predicated
of his own life and moral state before God, it is
an axiomatic truth. No man’s life can be wrong
before God, if it is right before God. The saying,
then, is a mere paradox, a rebuke not undeserved
by rigorists, who, while they cannot stand too stiffly
for truth, may easily be too blind to the fruits of
God’s good Spirit. Why should we have any fear
at all of adopting the whole proverb? Let no
Christian fight, but suffer for the faith: and let
us rejoice that no man can be wrong in his obedience, who, so far as his light goes in that obedience, is right. Nay, we may carry this much
more boldly onward, and with the whole Catholic
Church affirm, that no ignorance of truth is a personal sin before God, except that ignorance which
springs from personal sin. The measures of truth
possessed by, or presented to, individuals are so
extensively determined by external states and circumstances over which they have no control, that
multitudes never are brought face to face with the
full orb of faith. Birth, nation, religious community, education or the want of education, faithfulness or unfaithfulness in parents and pastors, changes and contingencies of life, and the whole
world of intricate and inconceivable agencies which
mould and dispose the lot of individuals,—all these
determine with infinite variety the measures of
truth proposed to each. And we know that, “if
there be first a willing mind, a man is accepted
according to that he hath, not according to that
he hath not.”2 Cor. viii. 12.
And how shall they believe in that of which they have not heard?
Now this also opens a further and inner fold
of this deep subject. Blameless ignorance does
not arise only from the want of having truth actually proposed from without. The intellectual and
spiritual perceptions within are so deeply formed
and controlled by agencies under which we are passive, and for which we are, therefore, not responsible, that there may be an ignorance wholly without
personal sin even in the presence of the full faith
of Christ. Such is the state of unknown multitudes, who have been trained from childhood to
regard certain errors with religious love, and certain truths with religious fear. These affections
of the soul, matured in them by others, become
almost instincts, and take their place beside the
clearest dictates of conscience. Such persons have
often no intellectual gifts to rise above their teachers, still less any powers and faculties to analyse and unravel the texture of their religious perceptions. As they have been taught, so they believe.
Filial love, dutiful submission, habitual reverence,
humble self-mistrust, fear of wandering in religion
and of illusion in eternal realities, consciousness
of past mercies and still more of present blessings,—all these make them hold with the full power
of reverence, affection, trust, persuasion, and religious perseverance to the teaching of their home
and childhood. This is what theologians call ‘prejudice’ in its pure etymological sense a judgment
foregone, formed for us by others or by events;
and this prejudice has always been held to excuse
the error; and the ignorance founded upon it is
to be counted invincible, and therefore no personal
sin. Can we doubt that this great rule of compassion applies to the wide-spread and numerous
branches of the Oriental Church, which for fourteen hundred years have lived and died in the
Nestorian heresy? What but this has been the
condition of children, women, poor and uninstructed
souls, in the forty generations which have passed
since that great schism? And does not the same
principle apply to every Christian sect according
to its measure, and to every individual born into
it? And lastly, shall we not all, on all sides,
have need to shelter ourselves under this law of
tender and pitiful compassion at that great day when the members of Christ’s Church, now miserably torn
asunder, shall stand in the light where all truth is seen without a shadow?
Truth is given for the probation of man; the
probation of man is not ordained for the sake of
truth. God can prove, and from the beginning
has proved, His servants in every measure of light,
from the noon of night to the noon of day. We
have the warrant of holy writ, that the Gentiles,
who had received no revealed law, did “by nature
the things contained in the law,” being “a law
unto themselves;”Rom. ii. 14.
and that by their law they
should be judged. When St. Peter said, “God is
no respecter of persons; but in every nation he
that feareth Him and doeth righteousness is accepted of Him;”Acts x. 35.
it is true that he spoke, with
design, only of the admission of Gentiles to the
grace given to the Jews; but he enunciated a
much larger application of God’s law of grace. He
denied that national distinctions were a bar to
mercy, but he affirmed also that fear and righteousness are universally accepted of God. He thereby
enunciated the great axioms of the kingdom of
mercy, that no obedient soul can perish, no penitent be cast away, no soul that loves God be lost.
If the heart be right with God, He will weigh the
rest in a balance of compassion. Now, we have
already seen that even an imperfect preaching
of the name of Christ tends to promulgate the
great law of responsibility, the knowledge of sin,
and the revelation of God’s love; and imperfect
though such preaching be, yet having this tendency, who will dare not to rejoice?
“Would
God that all the Lord’s people were prophets;
and that the Lord would put His spirit upon
them;”Numb. xi. 29.
that there might be no envy or strife, no
clash or contradiction, no rivalry or variance, no
schism or heresy, but “one body and one spirit,
one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and
Father.”Ephes. iv. 5.
This not being so, it being the permission of the Head of the Church that His passion
should, as it were, be continued still on earth;
that He should still hang upon the cross in a confused and contradicting world; let us be glad that
His Name is preached, not only in His Church,
but that even they who will not submit to its
blessed law of unity, yet make our King and
His kingdom known abroad. Wheresoever these
truths fall, like the shadow of an apostle, they
bear a healing witness of a world unseen, of a law
of holiness, of a judgment to come. They bring
the conscience and the will of men into relation
with the Presence and will of God. Like sparks
scattered from a light, each one contains the whole power of fire. Where it falls, it kindles; where it
kindles, it burns on, hidden it may be and pent up,
but, because pent up, intense. No eye but God’s can read the mysteries which are received by implicit faith. We cannot tell what may be the clear
spiritual perceptions of the darkest and most torpid
intellect. Whatsoever, then, be the anxious fears
with which we may look on—much more indeed
for ourselves who have the fuller light than for
those who have the less—to the great day when
the Lord shall take a measured account of His
servants, let us always rejoice that, where more
perfect knowledge of Christ and of His kingdom
cannot be had, “notwithstanding, every way Christ
is preached,” leaving the rest to Him.
2. The other truth to which I referred is this:
that though all truth has life in it, yet the duty
of believing the whole and perfect truth is still absolutely binding on pain of sin to all who know it.
This at once lays the axe to the root of latitudinarian theories. It guards the compassion of God
upon the sincerely ignorant as with a sword of fire.
It is with the faith as it is with the light of heaven. After that God had said,
“Let there be
light, and there was light,” He gathered it into an
orb of brightness with a full and visible disc, and
set it in the heavens. The light of the sun pours
down its floods upon all the earth,—here with its direct and fullest splendour, and there by reflection
of its rays; in some places it is noon, in others
twilight; even in the day there are lights and
shadows, and yet there is light enough for the
works of men and for the service of God. So
with the faith which He has set in the firmament
of the Church. Within the sphere of its direct
illumination it is full and cloudless, but far and
near its lights fall obliquely; shedding lingering
gleams, or refracted rays; guides, even in shade,
to searching eyes and willing hearts, if right with
God according to the measure of their light. But
the sun’s full orb shines out broad and unveiled
in the horizon of the new creation. The Catholic
Church, one, holy, apostolic, and the one faith
once delivered to the Saints, are, to all who know
them as such, the absolute and universal conditions of salvation revealed by God in Christ. When
it is said, then, that no obedient or penitent man
can perish, and no soul that loves God can be lost,
it is because obedience, repentance, and love, are
the great spiritual realities, to create and perfect
which the Church was ordained. These realities
of the Spirit are eternal; prophecies and mysteries
are of time. The union of the soul with God is
the supernatural end to which all sacraments are
transient means. The atonement is infinite in
price; the visible Church a finite and earthly mystery. God has bound us to seek His grace through
His Church; hut He has not bound Himself to
give grace and salvation in no other way. His
mercy is boundless, His Spirit infinite, His love as
the great deep, His grace always overflowing. God
be praised that the fountain of living waters, which
makes glad the city of God, penetrates beneath
the soil, and breaks up in secret springs, making
pools in the wilderness. Is our eye evil because
He is good? Did we not agree with Him? Shall
we not take that which is ours because He may
do what He wills with His own? What wantonness would this be. Whatsoever in His lovingkindness He may do out of His fold,
“what is
that to thee? follow thou Me.” And if He raise up saints in Midian or Samaria,
or send prophets to Horeb, or seers to Jezreel; where is our charity, that we
would again tie the Hands that were pierced, by the bonds of our theology? God
forbid; though His overflow of grace water the whole earth around the camp of
the Saints, how can we but rejoice, even as they when they saw that “unto the
Gentiles also” He had “granted repentance unto life?” Is it not enough for us
to have the portion of the elder brother? “Son, thou art ever with me, and all
that I have is thine.”
The force of truth working out of the Church,
and the obligation of truth propounded by the Church, are two agencies and two principles, involving two obligations altogether distinct. Truth
working out of the Church speaks by its own
harmony to the reason; but propounded by the
Church, it speaks also by the authority of God
to the grace of divine faith. On us all revealed
truth is binding. In one sense there is no greater
or less among truths, for all are true, and all
come from God. As with the law, so with the
faith: he that shall keep the whole faith, and yet
offend in one point, is guilty of all. One authority runs through all and is in all—the authority
of God. All truths, indeed, are not in one sense
alike; for instance, the articles of the Creed and
the history of the Apostles; but all are true, and
divine faith receives all. To reject any is to offend
against the revelation of the Holy Spirit. And
this includes the whole divine order of the Church.
Our Lord, when He sent the Apostles to baptise
and make disciples, bade them teach men to observe all things whatsoever He had commanded
them. The apostolic mission, therefore, had in it
not only doctrines but sacraments, rules, and institutions; that is, it was a faith, worship, ritual,
polity, government,—a visible kingdom, having
order, power, and unity. In all and through all,
as one inseparable whole, the Divine authority
dwells and rules. Truth, therefore, in the Church is one, perfect, absolute, and binding; admitting
no diminution or addition, election or choice. It
is all contained in the baptismal creed, as is all the
law of sanctity in the ten commandments, not expressly, but by deep implication; and the authority on which we receive both is one,—the Church
teaching in the name of Christ. Be it once clear
that so Christ has spoken in His Church, as well
in the least as in the greatest we are bound. If
He had made the washing of each other’s feet a
perpetual sacrament of humility, as He made the
holy eucharist a perpetual sacrament of love, we
should have been bound.
This, then, is the great antagonist of latitudinarian errors and proud indifference: not to weigh
the value of truth in the balance of the individual
reason, but to call upon the individual will to surrender itself to the sweet yoke of Christ. The
name of Christ works, indeed, in might and in
mercy among those who are separate from His
fold; but they know little of the interior life of
His Church who can see no tokens of difference
even in kind. When has the Sermon on the
Mount been seen living and full, even to its very
letter, except in the unity of the Church? Where
has the wonderful harmony of diverse and almost
conflicting spirits of love and power, of softness
and fire, of force and meekness, of lowliness and inflexibility, been ever seen but in the interior fellowship
which adore Him present before the altar? There are two things which are never
apart, perfect sanctity and perfect unity; and these are as the two witnesses of
God which stand beside “the truth as it is in Jesus.”
SERMON V.
CHRIST’S GOING AWAY OUR GAIN.
ST. JOHN xvi. 7.
“It is expedient for you that I go away.”
THESE words were spoken in the upper chamber on the night of our Lord’s betrayal
He had celebrated the last Passover of the Old
Testament, and had instituted the true Paschal
Sacrifice of the New. Shadows had now passed
into realities. The Incarnation of the Son of
God had changed an earthly type into a heavenly
substance. The true Lamb was now taken up for
the sacrifice, and the true atonement was at hand.
He therefore began to prepare them for His departure, knowing that His hour was come. In a
little while they should see Him no more. Three
days of sorrow, forty days of wondering joy, and
then He should depart unto the Father.
For this cause He began to speak to them of a Comforter. Why, they hardly knew. A shadow had fallen upon them; but whence they saw
not. They felt that sorrow was near; but they
did not as yet understand His words. He then,
as knowing their weakness, before He revealed
their approaching loss, led them to thoughts of
consolation. He used the manner and the tone
of one who had to break some heavy tidings. He
was slow in His words; throwing out hints, suggesting thoughts of solace, before He unfolded the
inevitable truth. “These things I said not unto
you at the beginning, because I was with you;”
as implying, Soon I shall be with you, as you
see Me now, no more. “I go My way to Him
that sent Me.” By these words He intended to
prepare them not only for His death and burial,
and for the three short days of His resting in the
grave, but for His ascension into heaven, when
He should go up on high, and sit down, until the
end, at the right hand of God. When they heard
Him speak of going away, they were filled with
sorrow. To lose their Lord was to lose their all.
They had lived in daily and hourly converse with
Him, till they had come to live by Him and in
Him as their very life. They had hung upon
His lips, and learned the mysteries of the kingdom
of grace; they had waited upon His divine hands,
and seen the miracles of His power. His person was the pledge of His kingdom,—the earnest of
the twelve thrones on which they trusted that they
should sit with Him in the regeneration. All
hung upon Him, and with Him all would depart.
To lose Him would turn their hopes into a vain
show, and scatter all their expectations as a
dream. They would be utterly forsaken,—outcast
from home,—spoiled of their Master’s presence,—losers on every side, both in this life and in
that which was to come. The world, with its
hard, cold reality, boded to them a rough and
suffering future,—a heavy reprisal for their rashness in breaking with its favour, and venturing all
upon His word.
It was, therefore, to comfort and strengthen
them beforehand that He said, “It is expedient
for you that I go away. I go, but not for My
own sake; it is for yours. Believe My word, that
for your consolation I am departing. When I am
gone, ye shall receive greater things than these.
If I stay, they will not be given. If I go, I will
send them. Ye shall have a Comforter, who shall
abide with you for ever. To lose Me shall be
your gain.” Now this sounds strange and unlikely: as to them, so to us. They could ill understand how the loss of their Teacher, Lord, and
Guide should be gain to them; nor can we perhaps, at least at all times, realise why it is better for us that He should have gone away. We often
think, that to see Him would waken and support
our faith, kindle our love, deepen our contrition,
solve all our doubts, teach us all doctrines, and
admit us into all mysteries. We long to put ourselves into the place of St. John or St. Thomas,
and think that, by closer contact with His visible
presence, we should be made penitent, faithful,
and loving. We think, or at least feel and imagine, that the world is at a disadvantage, and that
the Church has suffered a loss by the departure
of our Lord; that if He were visibly among us
now, the course and order of all things would be
turned into a higher path, and would ascend
steadily towards God. But in this we contradict
His very words, and are blind to His manifest
operations. It is expedient for us, no less than
for them, that He should go away; that He should
be no longer manifest on earth, but ascended into
heaven. His departure was their gain, and it is
ours. It is the gain of His whole Church on
earth. Let us see how this can be.
1. And first, because by His departure His
local presence was changed into an universal presence.
He had dwelt among them as Man, under the
limitations of our humanity: in Galilee and Jerusalem, on the mountain and in the upper chamber, they had known Him according to the measures and laws of our nature. He had thereby
revealed to them His very and true manhood.
They had seen Him journeying, fasting, sorrowing,
suffering; they had heard Him teaching by words
of human and articulate speech; persuading by
emotions of human and familiar sympathy. But
this was only the prelude of their life of faith.
They had yet greater things to learn. They had
to learn His very and true Godhead; His divine
and infinite Majesty. And this was to be revealed
from an higher sphere and by a mightier revelation of Himself. God was manifest in the flesh:
but their hearts were too earthly to conceive the
fulness of this mystery. Sense bounded them about.
As yet they knew not the perfection of His divine Person. While He was with them, they saw,
heard, and handled: they knew “Christ after the
flesh;” when He ascended, they “knew Him so
no more.” Their limited and sense-bound perceptions were enlarged and purified.
They dreamed no more of an earthly kingdom, or of investiture with temporal
honours. By His ascension He sat down on His Father’s throne, and assumed His
kingdom in heaven and earth. He made them to feel the mystery of His divine
Nature: He dwelt with them after the manner of a divine Person. He had said, “I
will not leave you comfortless; I will come to you.” And again,
“Lo, I am with
you alway.” And He kept His word: He came
to them in the Comforter. The day of Pentecost
was the enlargement of His Presence from a local
and visible shape to an invisible and universal fulness. As the Father dwells in the Son, so the
Son in the Holy Ghost. In the presence of God
the Holy Ghost, God the Son is ever with us.
The Eternal Word, Who from the beginning was
in the world by His divine power and Godhead,
and then dwelt among us in the substance of our
flesh, is now with us not less, but still more intimately than before. As God, He dwells with us
through the Holy Ghost, by His essence, presence,
and power. But more than this: as Man He is also
with us in all the truth of His incarnation. He is
not with us in visible shape, nor in local dimension,
nor in the configuration of His human form. In
these finite and circumscribed properties of manhood He is at the right hand of God, visibly manifest and glorious in the midst of His heavenly
court. Nevertheless, the Lord Jesus Christ dwells
in His Church for ever. The Godhead and the
Manhood in Him are so united as to be no more
divided. The Divine Person of the Word made
flesh, as it is indivisible, so it is every where and
whole in every place. Wheresoever the Son is, there
is the mind, spirit, heart, sympathy, and will of His divine humanity. By union with Godhead it
has been exalted above the limits of our finite state.
If I must speak in the words of our infirmity, I
may say that His human soul, with its perfections,
is above all conditions of place, and filleth all
things. The character of the Lord Jesus Christ,
His pity, gentleness, patience, long-suffering, love,
tenderness, compassion, is shed abroad throughout
all His Church. The kingdom of Christ is the
kingdom of the Man Christ Jesus; and the reign
of His will, human as well as divine, is His
kingdom.
And there are even deeper things than these.
The mystery of the incarnation is not a mere isolated fact, terminating in the personality of the
Word made Flesh, but the beginning and productive cause of a new creation of mankind. By
the same Omnipotence which wrought the union
of the Godhead and the manhood in the womb
of the blessed Virgin, the humanity of the second
Adam is the immediate and substantial instrument of our regeneration and renewal. It has,
therefore, a supernatural presence throughout the
whole mystical body of Christ. As the substance
of the first man is the productive cause of the
whole human race, so the Manhood of the second,
in its reality and presence, is extended throughout the Church. It is the presence of God which upholds all the creation of nature: it is the presence of the incarnate Word which upholds all the
creation of grace. It is the influx of the divine
essence which supports the natural world: it is
the influx of the divine incarnation which supports the world of the redeemed.
And this supernatural creation began from the
ascension of our Lord into heaven. “He that
descended is the same also that ascended up far
above all heavens, that He might fill all things.”Ephes. iv. 10.
“All things are put under His feet,” and He is “the head over all things to the
Church, which is His body; the fulness of Him that filleth all in all:”Ibid. i. 22, 23.
that
is, the production and overflow of His life and substance,—the fruit and
fulfilment of His incarnation,—the complement and perfection of His mystical
body. What is the Church but Christ’s invisible presence openly manifested by a
visible organisation? The Church is Christ mystical,—the presence of Christ, by
the creative power of His incarnation, produced and prolonged on earth. Truly
said He, “It is expedient for you that I go away.”
2. And further than this. His departure
changed their imperfect knowledge into the full
illumination of faith.
While He was yet with them, He taught them by word of mouth. But the mysteries of His
passion and resurrection were not as yet fulfilled,
and their hearts were slow of understanding. “I
have yet many things to say unto you, but ye cannot bear them now.” “These things I said not unto you at the beginning, because I was with you.”
His visible presence made divine truths sound
strange and paradoxical. To hear Him speak as
God: “He that hath seen Me hath seen the
Father;” “I and My Father are one;” “All
things are Mine, and Mine are Thine,”—these
were hard sayings. What wonder if Philip should
say, “Shew us the Father;” and Thomas, “We
know not whither Thou goest, and how can we
know the way?”St. John xiv. 5-8.
While He was yet with them,
these truths were veiled by His visible presence.
The Truth itself lay hid in Him. Their minds
were earthly, and interpreted all things by the
rules of earth and sense. But when the Comforter came, all things were brought back to their
remembrance. Old truths and perplexing memories received their true solution. Words they
had mused upon in doubt were interpreted; sayings they had thought already clear were seen to
have profounder meanings; a fountain of light
sprung up within them, an illumination cast from
an unseen teacher unfolded to their consciousness the deep things of God and of His Christ. Their
very faculties were enlarged: they were no longer
pent up by narrow senses and by the succession
of time, but were lifted into a light where all
things are boundless and eternal. A new power
of insight was implanted in their spiritual being,
and a new world rose up before it; for the spirit
of truth dwelt in them, and the world unseen
was revealed.
The coming of the Holy Ghost was in itself
a revelation. The Father sent the Son to reveal
Himself. The Son ascended up on high, and
sent the Holy Ghost. The Holy Ghost came,
revealing both the Father and the Son. The inward illumination of His own invisible presence
united the consciousness of man with the Spirit
of God. There is a language above all speech,—a teaching which needs neither voice nor vision,
which passes neither eye nor ear. The inspirations of God come in manifold ways, yet are tied
to no mechanical order. They transcend all organisations of sense; they come at times by insights
and intuitions; by lights which fall inwardly upon
the deep of our consciousness, shining by their
own radiance, attesting their own advent from God.
Such was the coming of the Holy Ghost. His
inspirations were not by the tongues of fire, but
by the lights of His ‘own indwelling. This was the last and perfect act in the ascending scale of the
divine dispensations: lifting man above sense and
thought, space and time, into eternity, and the
ever enlarging sphere of God’s presence and kingdom. That which had been an object of sight
became an object of faith. The Person once visible on earth had become the Head of a hierarchy
of eternal truths. Mysteries, of which they had
before seen only parts and fragments, now combined in unity and splendour to a full and perfect
orb. The earthly history of the man Jesus Christ
was taken up into the eternal mysteries of heaven.
Then was fixed on high the heavenly stair by
which God descends to man and man ascends to
God. Then were revealed the mystery and glory
of the ever-blessed Three; the depths of the Incarnation; the humiliation of the eternal Son; the
exaltation of manhood above all orders of angels
and spirits to the throne of God; the blessedness
of the Virgin Mother; the passion of God; the
descent of Life Eternal to the grave; the rising
of Immortality from death; the opening of the
heavenly court; the unity and communion of the
Church in earth and heaven. All these divine
realities stood forth in substance and in truth
before the illuminated intuition of the Church.
While He was with them, these things were hidden: when He departed, they shone forth
“as the body of heaven in its clearness.”Exod. xxiv. 10.
While He was
with them, He was their living, perpetual, unerring guide; and they, visibly united with Him, were
led with sure and advancing steps along the path
of truth. When He departed, the Spirit of Truth
took up all that He had revealed, and unfolded it
with great accessions of divine illumination. He
then opened a ministry of interior and perfect
faith, which has guided His Church in all ages
and in all lands unto this day. His own teaching
was partial and local: the guidance of the Spirit
is plenary and universal. And our Teacher departs not, but abides with us for ever: a guide
ever present, though invisible; ever presiding,
though in silence; unerring, though teaching
through human reason and by human speech.
The Spirit of Truth is Christ Himself by His
Spirit guiding and teaching still; no more a slender company of slow and wondering hearts, but
the whole Church of God throughout the world;
sustaining in its spiritual consciousness, in the
successive and continuous line of its spiritual and
intellectual life, the whole mystery of God, the
unfading image of the heavenly Truth. This is
the divine gift of faith. And thus, again, He
has fulfilled His word of promise, “It is expedient for you that I go away.”
3. And lastly, His departure changed the partial dispensations of grace into the fulness of the
regeneration.
From the beginning of the world, the Spirit of
God had striven with the sin of man and sanctified His elect; but His visitations were secret and
unknown.
Under the Law, though more wide-spread and
abundant, they were still uncertain and restrained.
The fulness of time was not yet come, and the
great promise of the Spirit was awaiting its predestined season.
Between the Law and the Gospel, though
given in larger measure, the gifts of the Holy
Spirit were but an earnest of the day of Pentecost.
The incarnation of the Son was a necessary
prelude to the regeneration. It is a mystery peculiar to the person and kingdom of Christ. A new
Head was needed for the restoration of mankind,
and that Head must needs be man.
The ascension of the Son was the condition
of the descent of the Holy Ghost: “The Holy
Ghost was not yet given, because that Jesus was
not yet glorified.” St. John vii. 39.
The coming of the Holy
Ghost is the gift of the regeneration to us. He
descended not as a power or principle, nor as an
endowment or quality infused into the soul of man, but as a divine Person to dwell in us. And His
indwelling is after a manner unlike any before.
What, then, is the regeneration for which the
world waited? It is the incarnation of the Son
of God. Our nature, which He had made sinless,
deathless, and divine, from the time of His ascension into heaven was glorified. The second Adam
began to give of His own spiritual nature, to multiply the lineage of His elect, and to gather His
mystical family into one universal body. The agent
in this divine work is the Holy Ghost dwelling in
us. “Whom He did foreknow, He also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of His
Son;” and “whom He did predestinate, them He
also called; and whom He called, them He also
justified; and whom He justified, them He also
glorified.”Rom. viii. 29, 30.
That is, upon them He bestowed the
glory of the adoption, the gift of the Spirit, the
right of sons to cry, Abba, Father; a share in
the Sonship and inheritance of Christ, a participation of “the divine nature,”2 St. Peter i. 4.
that is, of the divine manhood of Jesus Christ. It is bestowed upon us in its
virtue and beginning now; it shall be made perfect according to the measure of
our humanity in His kingdom. “Behold, what manner of love the Father hath
bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God.” “It doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know
that, when He shall appear, we shall be like Him,
for we shall see Him as He is.”1 St. John iii. 1, 2.
The incarnation raised mankind to a higher
life, and laid a higher law upon us: the coming of
the Holy Ghost endowed man with power to walk
in that higher and more perfect path. We shall
see this if we compare the saints of the Old Testament with the saints of the New; or the Apostles
with themselves, before and after the day of Pentecost. The spiritual presence of our Lord Jesus
Christ endowed them with an infallible certainty,
an inflexible will, and a measure of His own sanctity. They had sprung up from childhood into
manhood. And their maturity is the root on
which the Church is grafted. It was of this that
our Lord said, “Verily I say unto you, of them
that are born of women, there hath not risen a
greater than John the Baptist; notwithstanding,
he that is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater
than he.” What does our blessed Lord here intend,
but that the state of the regeneration is so incomparably high, that the least within it is, not in
personal attainment, but in spiritual gifts, higher
than the greatest without it? And again He says, “Ye which have followed Me, in the regeneration
when the Son of Man shall sit on the throne of His glory, ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones,
judging the twelve tribes of Israel.”St. Matt. xix. 28.
Clearly, in these words He is promising, first
and absolutely, a final reward, when, at the resurrection at the last day, all His elect shall be
born again from the dust of the earth, perfect both
in body and soul, but also, and inclusively, He is
promising a spiritual kingdom from the time of
the regeneration, which began from His own resurrection, and is now fulfilling in the world. It
signifies the kingdom of grace, by which He dwells
in us and we in Him, now in this life. It also
ordains the princedom of the Spirit, which the
Apostles hold unto this day in the Israel of God.
They in their successors are the ministers and distributors of His grace, of His spirit, and of His
sacrifice, at the font and at the altar, binding and
loosing, opening and shutting with the keys of
the kingdom of heaven.
This, then, is the regeneration, the last and
crowning work of redeeming grace, for which God’s elect were waiting. The saints of old, from Abel,
had died in faith; “God having provided some
better thing for us, that they without us should
not be made perfect.” What is that “better
thing,” but the redemption of our manhood from
sin and death in the person of Jesus Christ, and the power of this redemption applied to each one
by the indwelling of the Holy Ghost? They too
are now made perfect: they have been united to
the incarnate God; and every soul so united to
Him is united also to His whole mystical body,
to the universal company of all saints in earth
and heaven, to the communion of life, love, energy,
worship, intercession of all His servants, in warfare and in rest. This is the new creation, rising
and unfolding itself “into the measure of the
stature of Christ;” or rather it descends from
heaven: it hangs from the hand of God, and is
knit together by heavenly sacraments and ministries of spiritual power. Into this mystical orb
of light He is ever gathering His elect; sanctifying them by His indwelling presence, and sealing
them for Himself. As they are made perfect,
they pass onward and upward to sit and reign
with Him in heavenly places, partakers of His
nature and of His kingdom.
It is expedient, then, for us, that He is gone
unto the Father. If He had tarried upon earth,
all had stood still. It would have been as a perpetual promise of day, a lingering blossom and
a retarded fruit, a lengthening childhood and a
backward maturity. The work of God is ever unfolding and advancing. He must needs have come,
died, and ascended. “Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone; but if
it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.”St. John xii. 24.
If He had
tarried with us, He had abode alone; the Comforter had not come; His mystical body had not
been knit together; His truth and spirit had not
dwelt in us. While He was upon earth, all was
local, exterior, and imperfect: now all is universal, inward, and divine. The corn of wheat is not
alone. It hath borne much fruit, even an hundredfold; and its fruit is multiplied, in all ages
and in all the earth, by a perpetual growth and
a perpetual reproduction.
The day of Pentecost is an ever present miracle.
It stands in its fulness even until now, and we are
partakers of its presence and its power Therefore the Church is one, because He is one; holy,
because He is holy; catholic, because His presence is local no more; apostolic, because He still
sends His own servants; indefectible, because He
is the Life; unerring, because He is the Truth.
And to perfect this mystery of grace, it was needful that He should go away. He departed, but
only that He might come back in all the fulness
of His presence. Our Lord Jesus Christ is with
us still. He reigns and teaches in His Church.
His presence is the life of the elect, the perpetuity of faith, the reality of sacraments. Baptism regenerates; the keys of the kingdom bind and loose;
confirmation strengthens; ordination sends in His name; the holy eucharist is a
sacrifice before His Father, and a sacrament of life to His disciples, because
with deeper revelations, and a fuller bestowal of Himself, He has come to us
again, that, believing, we may have life, and that we “may have it more
abundantly.”
SERMON VI.
CHRIST VISIBLE TO LOVING HEARTS.
ST. JOHN xvi. 16.
“A little while, and ye shall not see Me: and again a little
while, and ye shall see Me, because I go to the Father.”
THIS was a strange saying, and a stranger
reason: “A little while, and ye shall not
see Me; and again a little while, and ye shall see
Me,” and that “because I go to the Father.”
How should His going away be the pledge of
their seeing Him again? What wonder they said, “What is this that He saith?” “We cannot tell
what He saith.” And yet these words are plainly
and divinely true.
There have already been three manifestations
of our blessed Lord, and there shall be yet a
fourth. The three first ascending to the last,
which shall be full, perfect, eternal.
First, He has been seen by the eye, when He
came in our manhood: “God was manifest in the flesh.”1 Tim. iii. 16.
“The Word was made flesh, and dwelt
among us, and we beheld His glory;”St. John i. 14.
“That
which was from the beginning, . . . . which we have
seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon; . . .
for the Life was manifested, and we have seen it.”1 St. John i. 1, 2.
From His birth to His baptism, from His baptism
to His cross, from His cross to His burial; by
visible presence, by miracles of power in Galilee
and in Jerusalem, in life and in death, He manifested Himself to the sight of men. And so again
after He rose from the dead. He did indeed thus
manifest Himself to those that loved Him,—to the
company of women and to Peter, to the eleven in
the upper chamber, to the five hundred in the
mountain, to the disciples on the seashore, and
to all His Apostles when, for the last time, He led
them out to Bethany. They had kept His word,
and loved Him; and He loved them, and shewed
Himself to them. But this is not the manifestation promised here. That was but local, partial,
and transitory; this of which He here speaks is
something larger and more abiding.
Again, He has also manifested Himself to the
ear. He gave commandment to His Apostles that
they should “Go teach all nations.” And “have
they not heard? Yes, verily their sound is gone out into all lands, and their words unto the ends
of the world.” “The earth is filled with the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.”
He has manifested Himself these eighteen hundred
years to all the kingdoms of the earth. The name,
the person, the love, the sacrifice, the presence of
Christ has been revealed to the ear of all people.
Who has not heard of Him, young and old, high
and low, wise and simple? But neither is this
the promised manifestation; for this too is an exterior revelation, made to all alike, to the good
and to the evil, to those that love Him and to
those that love Him not.
What He here promises is something special
and interior, deeper and more intimate, the peculiar gift of those who “keep His commandments.” It is a manifestation, not to the eye or
to the ear, but to a sense above both hearing
and sight; a spiritual sense, comprehending all
powers of perception, to which all other senses
are but avenues. “He that hath My commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth Me;
and he that loveth Me shall be loved of My
Father, and I will love him, and manifest Myself
to him.”St. John xiv. 21.
And that “because I go to the
Father.” When I am ascended, I will return with a presence, not local, but in
and above all place; not transient, but abiding; not visible to the eye, but to
the
heart, by a power of spiritual intuition. In these
words He promises an illumination of the heart: “Lo, I am with you alway, even to the end of
the world.” And this presence is no mere figure,
but a reality; this manifestation no empty metaphor, but a shewing of Himself to our spiritual
sense; a perception which should be equal to the
perception of sight in all fulness, vividness, and
truth.
Let us therefore take an example. What does
the sight of any one, as, for instance, of a friend,
bestow upon us? What are its effects?
1. The first effect it produces in us is a
sense of his presence. We know what his coming
and going awakens. It may be we were waiting
for his arrival full of other thoughts, busy or
weary, or musing, or all but forgetful. When he
came, we were wakened up in every pulse. All
our whole heart and mind, with all its affections
and attention, fixed upon him. We are called, not
only out of our former works and thoughts, but
out of our very selves. Our hearts go forth to
meet him. He is there before us. We see him,
recognise him again; he sees us, and fixes our
sight upon himself. Some such effect is wrought
in faithful hearts by this promise of our Lord.
As God, He is ever present with us. He is in all things by His essence, presence, and power.
But beyond this, as Man, He is with us still by the
indivisible unity of Godhead and manhood in His
person, by the perpetual and intimate presence of
His mind, heart, and sympathy. The forty days
of His tarrying upon earth were a revelation of
His abiding presence with the Church for ever.
They were a season of training, to prepare His
Apostles and all who should believe in Him through,
their word, to live by faith in His unseen but personal nearness.
We feel the same, though perhaps less vividly,
towards friends with whom we habitually dwell.
Daily sight keeps up the sense that they are with
us. Even when for a while withdrawn, home is
still full of them: it is their home; our haunts
are their haunts; the memory of something said or
done, intended or desired, hangs about all we see.
Every thing has some link with them. We have a
living sense that they are related to us, and we to
them; that we are one with them, and that they
are never far away. Absence is not so much to be
far off as out of sight, and to be out of sight is to
be even more in mind. The inner faculties become
quicker and more intense in those whose natural sight is wanting. They possess a sense above
sight, bestowing all the inward perceptions of sight
in a deeper way. If it has less of colour and form, it has even more of reality and truth. So it is with
the spiritual manifestation of our Lord to hearts
that see by love. As in the forty days while He
tarried yet upon the earth, before He went up
on high, though not always with His disciples,
He was always near; though not always visible,
yet He was always seen; for the sustained consciousness of loving spirits saw Him at all times
by the vision of faith. He was, as it were,
always meeting them, and saying, “All hail;”
always standing in the midst, breathing on them,
and speaking peace; always making their hearts
to burn, and their understandings to break forth
with new lights of truth.
So it is with those who love Him now. He
shews Himself by a secret unveiling of His presence. Their whole life is full of a sense that He
is near; and they know, by an inward faculty,
that they are living with Him and for Him.
2. Another effect wrought by the. sight of a friend, is a
perception of his character. We learn what others are, not so much by hearsay as
by intercourse. It is with character as it is with countenance. We may hear a
person’s look and figure minutely and vividly described; we may see also a
perfect portrait, and know the outline and feature, the colouring and
peculiarity of his appearance; but there is something which can never be
described or drawn; something we call expression in
the countenance,—a fineness of meaning in the
lines, and change in the play of features; something which, like the tone of the voice, speaks, and
alone can speak, for itself. What are all portraits
to one sight of the very countenance? Much more
is this true of character, which is a thing so complex, so fine, so mysterious, made up of so many
parts, or rather of the balance of so many powers
and gifts. We may as well try to describe motion
or light. Read the fullest and most detailed biographies; imagine the most vivid picture of the
subject; but what is all biography to one meeting?
Then the moral life which is in the one speaks
to the moral sense which is in the other by a language which has no written character. It is of a
higher order of knowledge; of a sphere where all
communion is direct, by intuition and mutual intelligence; where the alphabet is
“Alpha and
Omega,—the First and the Last.” So is it in
those who love the Lord Jesus. When He shews
Himself by the illumination of the heart, then
all we have read turns into reality. The holy
Gospels rise up into a living person $ they live
and breathe before us. Then we understand and
perceive, by a spiritual appreciation, His sanctity
and pureness, His lowliness and patience, His
meekness and tenderness, His love and sympathy. We feel with whom we have to do: what He is in
Himself. We perceive that His presence, which
was visible once on earth, has dwelt steadfast until
now; and that the character of divine compassion
recorded by evangelists is a continuous reality. It
is as near, as real, and as full of grace as at Nain
and Bethany. And our spiritual perception has
been wakened by His presence to feel,—if I dare
so speak, and why should I not?—to taste His
character. We “taste that the Lord is gracious.” Now this is a spiritual perception which
only spiritual communion can bestow. And by
this communion, in a way transcending the senses
of our earthly nature, He manifests His character
to those who love Him. This spiritual perception
of His character by love is the beginning of His
likeness in us. Love likens us to each other, and
above all to Him. It is the power of assimilation:
and likeness of heart is also an instrument of perception. It is by loving that we see and understand the reality of His perfect character, and
are conscious of His compassion, ever present and
encompassing us about.
3. We may take one more effect of sight. It
gives us a consciousness of the love of a friend for
us. There is something in his eye, look, and bearing, which is expressive above all words, and emphatic above all speech.
When God was made Man, He put on human
affections and human sympathies. The Divine
love is boundless, all-embracing, infinite; human
affections are particular, finite, and personal. He
became our kinsman, brother, and friend; and He
assumed all the affections of these human relations. He loved according to the love of kinsman
and of friend. Particular affections, we know, are
consistent with perfect love. The very name of “the beloved disciple” is witness enough. Out of
His followers, He ever loves with especial love the
children of the beatitudes. He loves, with a distinguishing love of friendship, those who are most
like Himself. There are deeper things in this
mystery of love than we can fathom. He says, “I will love him.” But surely He does already
love all His servants,—nay, all sinners, for whom
He died—all creatures whom He hath made. But
there is somewhat more in these words. There is
a love with which, as God, He loved all mankind
eternally; and another deeper love, with which
He loved all whom He foreknew would love Him
again. In His foreknowledge, all His elect people
love Him and are loved. But there is a deeper
mystery still. The Word was made flesh, and, as
man, comes down into this world of time; He sees,
one by one, those whom He foreknew made perfect
in actual obedience. As, one by one, they love Him, He loves them, and shews Himself to them.
When the disciple whom Jesus loved lay on His
breast at supper, the foreknowledge of everlasting
love had its fulfilment. So with every one who
shall love Him unto the end of the world. “He
that hath My commandments, and keepeth them,
he it is that loveth Me; and he that loveth Me
shall be loved of My Father, and I will love him;”
that is, I will receive him, as the love of election
is fulfilled in him, and I will make him know My
love. “I will manifest Myself to him.” I, who
chose him before he yet was, died for him while
he was yet a sinner, loved him when he loved Me
not, will love him, with a manifold love, now that
he loves Me again. “I will manifest Myself to
him.” He shall know Me, who, unknown, have
done all this for him; unseen, have been ever with
him; in childhood, and all ages of life; in sorrow
and joy, sickness and health, in happiness and in
solitude, in light and darkness, blessing and chastisement. He shall see Me, and feel My presence; know Me, and comprehend My love. He
hath heard of Me “by the hearing of the ear, but
now” his eye shall see Me.
“A little while, and ye shall see Me.” And
this spiritual sight is the very life of faith. Without it, the manifest presence of the Word made
flesh would profit nothing. The beholding of His person here visibly before us, as in
the temple or
in the synagogue of Nazareth, would avail nothing
to those whose hearts lack love and sight. We
should look upon Him as they did, and say, Is
not this the carpenter? We should behold Him
even upon His cross, and gaze upon His five
sacred wounds, with a hard unmeaning eye. To
cold hearts they have no mystery or meaning.
We see, then, what is the promise, and who
they are to whom it shall be given. It is the
benediction of those who love Him. And this
love is no dreamy emotion, no weak and fanciful
sentiment, but a deep masculine reality, the life
of an energetic character. “He that hath My
commandments,”—that is, not in the intellect
alone, but in the conscience, in the heart and in
the will. “And keepeth them,”—makes them his
law, and by that law guides his life. There is
need of a deeper force than the imagination, of
a stronger impulse than feelings and emotions, to
form the spirit of those to whom this manifestation shall be granted. Let us, then, take two
plain counsels for our guidance in seeking it.
1. The one is, to keep our hearts clear from
all conscious sin. Where sin is, there Christ is
hidden. Though He be with us from our baptism, yet while we sin He is as the light which
“shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not.” Sin is the darkness of the soul.
Though the whole firmament of grace and love
shine above it, yet all is black and shrouded. Sinful Christians have Christ’s commandments indeed,
but do not keep them. Better not to have them
at all, than, having them, not to keep them. But
this is too plain to need more words. We have
nearer dangers; for though we do not break His
commandments, yet we may be most unlike His
spirit. Our character may be the opposite of His,
or, as we say, there may be an antipathy between
His mind and ours, and then how shall He manifest Himself to us? What fellowship can there be
between His humility and our pride, His purity
and our soils, His meekness and our wrath, His
patience and our fiery spirits, His self-denial and
our self-indulgence? Do we not know that men
of opposite characters are mutually unintelligible?
What does the man who is all for this world understand of one who is living for the next; or the
man who never prays, of one who is devout? As
these are severed by a direct antipathy, so also
are jealous, proud, selfish, vain-glorious Christians
severed from their Redeemer. A veil hangs between them, and He is unseen. And hardly less
is to be said of those who have unfeeling, apathetic
hearts. Alas, are not they the great multitude
of Christians, neither decisively holy or unholy, devout or indevout? How many there are who
approve and commend, but have no delight in a
life of faith. Meekness, lowliness, self-denial, devotion, are to them beautiful images, but tasteless
realities. The love and the sorrow of our divine
Lord have for them neither sweetness nor sharpness. To them He is not “precious.” They are
easy, calm, unexcited, unimpassioned. Often they
commend themselves for their temperate, reasonable, judicious piety. In their own sight they may
be blameless; but in His they are ungenerous,
cold, illiberal, unloving. To such hearts He makes
little manifestation of Himself. For them “He
hath no form nor comeliness,” no beauty that they
should desire Him; and to them, therefore, He is
veiled.
Now such as some of these we shall find ourselves to be; and so long as there is upon us
any conscious sin, we cannot receive this special gift.
Let us, then, search our hearts day by day, and
see what it is which hides Him from us. If we
have never yet seen Him by His promised illumination, it is a sign that something in us must still
be cleansed away. Morning and night let us seek
it out; convicting our hearts by the perfection of
His heart. There are two sure ways to keep the
soul clear from conscious sin: the one is, uniform obedience; and the other, prompt confession. Let us
suffer nothing to harbour and fester in our hearts, but at once cast it forth at
His feet by a pure and penitent confession. Even sins of the lighter kind, of
thought and temper, if they are allowed to linger, make up by duration what they
want in magnitude. They taint and estrange the heart, and make us shrink from
His presence, until we have confessed them. This is the remedy of our imperfect
service and our many infirmities. We may cast them all out before Him as our
sorrows and our burdens, and He will not impute them to us. It is specially to
hearts cleansed by confession that He shews Himself by His inward coming. Mary
at the tomb is the pledge of His appearing to sinners who are penitents. And who
can fear or shrink from laying open their hearts to such miraculous love, or of
speaking the worst of themselves at the feet of His absolving pity?
2. The other counsel is, to ask, day by day,
that He will shew Himself to you. For this manifestation of His presence, character, and love is not
to be obtained by power of intellect, or by vividness
of imagination, or by any effort of ours. We cannot reveal Him to ourselves. All that we can do
is, to cleanse our hearts of their films and darkness,
that He may shine into them. Nothing can we do
more, but say, “Lord, lift Thou up the light of Thy countenance upon us.” We cannot make the sun
to rise upon the earth. But “God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath
shined in our hearts, to give the light of the
knowledge of the glory of God, in the face of Jesus
Christ.”2 Cor. iv. 6.
We must ask of Him without fainting,
that He will shew Himself. And there are three
ways of seeking this great gift. One is by habitual
prayer, another by quiet meditation, and a third,
which is above all, by frequent communion. It is
then that He specially fulfils His promise. As at
Emmaus, so now, He is known in the breaking of
bread. This is that commandment which we have
of Him, “Do this in remembrance of Me.” Happy
are they who keep it well; to whom the altar is
the centre of their worship, the object of their
desire, the source of strength and peace. Blessed
are they who say, “I will go to the altar of God,
unto God my exceeding joy;” to our God manifest
in the flesh, but veiled in that pure mystery. The
holy sacrament of His love and passion is the
fullest realisation of His presence unto the end of
the world. “Lo, I am with you.” Let us so live,
as to be ever drawing near. For what is so like
to the days when He went in and out among them
that loved Him? What so fastens upon us a
sense that He is here; that He is come to us, and that He calleth for us? They who so live
know what it is to be awakened and quickened
as by the presence of some one greatly loved;
or if they complain, as many do, of distant and
cold hearts, even at the altar, it is often because
their consciousness of how loving and how near
He is, acts by an opposite effect, revealing to them,
not what they have, but what they need. The
more we know what He is, and feel Him near,
the more we shall accuse ourselves, and see our
own unworthiness. For His presence at the altar
is all that we can endure in this life of earth. To
behold more would be heaven, for which we are
not meet. He is teaching us, little by little, to
see His face unveiled. “I have many things to
say unto you, but ye cannot bear them now.” In
heaven they shall be most blessed who have known
Him most fully here. They here shall know Him
best who see Him with greatest clearness. They
see Him clearest now whose hearts are most like
His own.
At His appearing to the disciples in Galilee,
on the mountain where He had appointed them, “when they saw Him, they worshipped Him; but
some doubted.” They doubted not that He was
their Lord, nor that He had suffered agony and
death upon the cross, nor that He had risen from
the dead; but they doubted their own certainty of sight, like as they who believed not for joy, and
wondered; or as when they saw Him at the sea,
and none durst ask Him, “Who art thou? knowing that it was the Lord.” So it is now with you.
It may be you are doubting, not of Him, but of
yourselves; not whether He is with you, but
whether your hearts have ever seen Him. Only
believe for a little while: “a little while, and ye
shall see Me.” And there shall be no doubting
then; when He shall be visibly revealed in the
kingdom of the resurrection, and you shall be pure
in heart to behold Him in the beatific vision.
What is a little while? A little more sickness, sorrow, mourning, and solitude; a little
more of striving and persevering. A little while
is soon over; and then we shall be changed into
a changeless joy. Then “we shall see Him as
He is.” What, then, is “a little while,” if in a little while we may see Him
for ever?
SERMON VII.
COMPLAINING A HINDRANCE TO THE SPIRITUAL LIFE.
JOB xxix. 2, 3, 4.
“Oh that I were as in months past, as in the days when God
preserved me; when His candle shined upon my head, and when by His light I
walked through darkness; as I was in the days of my youth, when the secret of
God was upon my tabernacle!”
THESE are sad and bitter words, the complaining of a man who had once known
days of peace and light, but was now in affliction.
In years past, Job had lived in fellowship with
God, encompassed with His mercies, full of His
gifts. He had received blessings in the house
and in the field, in the basket and in the store.
He had his children round about him, and his
people held him in honour. A change came over
his life. God hid His face, and Job was troubled.
The tempter received power to try his faith, and smote him with sore afflictions. Childless and
spoiled, he sat upon the ground in his wounds and
sickness, pleading with God and bemoaning his
desolation. “Oh that I were as in months past!”
This is a tone of mourning very common among
men at all times, and in all trials of life: not
only by the graves of past happiness, and in the
loneliness of ordinary sorrow, but in spiritual sadness, in the heavy cloud which often comes down
upon the soul even of God’s true servants.
It is very common to hear those who have long served God speak
of times past as times of joy, and of the time present as a time of declension.
We have all our golden age. The season of childhood, or the first fervour of
conversion, the first burst of conscious faith, the first exulting spring out of
the bonds of a worldly life, when life seems over, and heaven already won:
blessed days and nights, when even in dreams God seems to speak with us—all
these are times which, in retrospect, have a peculiar brightness. After a while,
they seem past away, and we say, “Oh that I were . . . . as I was in the days of
my youth, when the secret of God was upon my tabernacle!”
Sometimes, indeed, these complainings have
no reality j but sometimes they are true. For
instance, people who have been brought up in a
home full of helps to the spiritual life, sometimes pass into others as full of hindrances. Some,
after having been earnest with imperfect light,
on gaining greater light, grow, not without cause,
dissatisfied with their state. Others, again, from
various causes, voluntary and involuntary, sometimes slacken their speed, or they fall into a scrupulous, fearful, and self-vexing mood, in which
their very earnestness becomes a danger. If they
had less fear, they would have less scruple, and
more peace in God. Such people are very apt to
use this complaint. They remember what they
were; they feel what they are: it is as joy to heaviness, strength to weakness,
the light of God’s countenance to coldness and desolation. What, then, shall
they do?
1. First, it is most necessary that they should
learn to look out of themselves.
This sounds strange advice. How, then, they
ask, can we examine our own hearts? And if we
do not examine them, how shall we either correct
our faults, or even know them? It is not to be
denied that there is a difficulty in this. And yet
we know that we may take a wise and sufficient
care of our bodily health, without becoming fearful or fanciful, or, as we commonly say, valetudinarian. It all depends upon the manner and the
tone of mind. We all know that fancies beget
diseases, nay, are diseases in themselves. So it is with the spiritual health. Self-examination will
be healthy or unhealthy just as we make it. One
person will use it with a perfect habit of self-forgetfulness, and another will be haunted by a perpetual self-contemplation.
There is no doubt that the habit of looking
into ourselves, and dwelling upon ourselves, produces a train of spiritual evils, such as scruples,
sadness, fearfulness, misgiving, doubting of God,
shrinking, depression, despondency, weakness, religious egotism, and the like For in truth, many
look into themselves when they ought to be looking to the Sacrifice upon the cross. Some do
so from want of faith, some from self-trusting,
some from self-love, some from mere natural feelings,—from the simple emotions of flesh and
blood, chafing at themselves, and resenting their
own faults, forgetting what they are, and why
redeemed. There is no doubt that much of the
sadness and depression people indulge, has its root
in self-love. They are vexed to find themselves
such poor creatures after all. They have been
aiming high, and their pride ill brooks such falls.
They have been passing themselves off, at least in
their own eyes, for mature and advanced Christians, and their vanity is mortified to find sins and
follies of which even worldly people might be
ashamed. Then they grow saddened, sullen with themselves, disheartened, and sensitive to every
vexation.
But it is not always for such reasons. Sincere
and humble minds often give way to fears at the
clearer insight into their own sinfulness. It is a
depth which we can hardly bear to look into. They
who know the most of it know but little. Who
can tell what he is in the sight of God, or even
of holy angels? We cannot hold, all at once,
in our consciousness even the acts of sin which
we have committed in our past life; how much
less our sins of word, thought, and imagination;
least of all, the secret sins of our will. In God’s presence, what a sight is a diseased soul, what
soils, stains, and wounds; what distortions and
running sores; what a mixture of darkness and
fire are the passions and the intellect! What a
miracle of sin is ingratitude, hardness, selfishness,
sloth, lukewarmness, infidelity even at the foot of
the cross! No one really knows himself as he
is. God alone can measure and endure this revelation of our personal sinfulness. The most we
see of it is but a little. There are two things
which man cannot see and live, the Divine Majesty and his own sin. God in His tenderness
veils us from ourselves, lest we should see ourselves, and die. Therefore it is not to be wondered
at, if earnest and self-searching minds should, by poring into their sinfulness, at last prey upon themselves. They do it with a pure intention, and with
a zealous hatred of sin. The more keenly they
hate evil, the less they spare themselves. It is
a zeal which eateth them up. And they continually mourn over some golden age which is
past; some season when all was fair and bright;
when they think they were less soiled and darkened, and God was more sensibly about them.
But this, indeed, is not the truth. They were
always what they are, only they knew not then
what they know now. There has been no change,
except in their consciousness of sin. What then
slumbered is now awakened; all the change that
has passed on them has been, not for the worse,
but for the better: when they were unconscious
of their sin, they were further from God; they
are nearer now, because they see themselves to
be exceeding sinful. It is He who is revealing
it to them: it is His very nearness which awakens
their consciousness. And they see not His light,
but their own shadow, and this affrights them.
Now, for such persons, it is most necessary that
they should be drawn out of themselves. A sincere conscience will never fail to keep up a sufficient self-examination; it may be left in a kind of
passive sovereignty, to act in defence and as a safeguard. But the active powers of their mind, the intellect and reason, need to be drawn outward.
As in the wilderness the people of God were bid
to gaze, not upon their burning wounds, but upon
the serpent of brass which was lifted up to heal
them, so these self-vexing spirits must look out
upon the cross.
2. And for this it is needful that they should
realise more and more the objects of faith. While
we look into ourselves, these become faint and dim.
They must be fixedly and intently gazed upon to
be habitually realised. When I say the objects of
faith, I mean especially the presence and love of
God, the sympathy and passion, the patience and
tenderness, of our Blessed Lord, the presence and
long-suffering of the Holy Ghost, the heavenly
court, the communion of Saints, the love and
ministry of angels; the whole world unseen and
eternal. These are the changeless realities of
faith, by which souls are drawn from this earthly
and sensual life into harmony with the will and
kingdom of God. They have a power to cleanse,
sanctify, transfigure; to the sight of habitual faith,
they become more near, visible, and real than the
world we see. For all that we here behold are
forms, shapes, and shifting outlines. This material world is not eternal, neither is it our home.
It cannot endure for ever; we shall soon pass
from it; itself shall soon pass away. Our home is in a supernatural order lifted above this world,
to which even now we are related. It is only by
going forth into this eternal sphere, living in it
by faith, realising the truths and laws of the divine
kingdom, the presence, personality, and love of our
Redeemer, the mystery and majesty of the ever-blessed Three: it is only by this that the soul of
man can be drawn away from its own evil. Except God be its centre, it will be a centre to itself. No creature will bear its weight; no created
love can stay its yearning after rest. And if
it find none, it will consume itself with chafing
against its own miseries. It will never leave off
to harass itself by brooding upon sin, until it has
lost its morbid consciousness of self in the presence
and love of God.
All this is so plain, that it need hardly be said.
The true question therefore is, How shall such
self-vexing, self-depressing minds escape from
themselves into these blessed and sustaining realities? If they could do this, it would be all well.
It is because they cannot do this, that they are
saddened and cast down.
1. The first counsel to be given them is, to
clear their mind of scruples. But this is their
very disease. It is from this they desire to be
set free. If they could clear their mind, then
they would have no further trouble. They must begin, then, by searching out and clearly defining
the cause of their scruples. If it be indulged
faults, or favoured infirmities, or conscious omissions, or known unfairness with their conscience,
or unresisted temptation, or willing indevotion,
then let them confess it simply and clearly at the
foot of the cross. Only let them guard against
indulging in undefined and vague discomforts.
We all know what it is to feel that something
is vexing us, even while we cannot remember what
it is; we feel ill at ease, and yet cannot tell why;
it takes some moments’ recollection to recall it;
but the burden and sadness abide still upon us,
though the causes are forgotten. It is just so in
spiritual things; and needs to be much watched
against.
But if a person shall say, “I know what
my trouble is, and what it springs from; and
I have confessed it again and again, and yet I
cannot find peace. I feel sure something is
amiss. I cannot assure myself, and be at rest.”
Then theirs is exactly the case intended and described by the Church. “If any man cannot quiet
his own conscience,” let him come to some minister of God, and open his grief. The best course
for such persons is, simply to follow the Church’s counsel: to go to their pastor, confess their trouble
in the presence of Christ and in the hearing of His servant, and receive the benefit of absolution.
Then let it be a point of faith with them to trouble
themselves no more. Let them simply “believe
the word that Jesus hath spoken, and go their
way.” “Whosesoever sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them.” “Whatsoever ye shall loose
on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” Let them
believe this with simple faith, as they believe the
mystery of the Incarnation, and of our Lord’s presence in His Church. And let them cast away
all scruples; for scruples bring fears, and fears
a shrinking dread; and these bring despondency,
which is a sin against hope; and this brings estrangement, which is a sin against love. What
is all this but to dishonour the miraculous compassion of our Lord, and to hinder the peaceful
sanctification of their souls? There is hardly any
spiritual disease more hurtful than scruples. They
stunt and wither the spiritual life, and bring the
soul into a bondage from which the Blood of
Christ was shed to set them free.
2. Another counsel is, to live in the habit of
frequent communion. There is no means so powerful to draw us out of ourselves as the holy Sacrament of our Lord’s presence. None so sets before
us the realities of the spiritual world. In all other
acts of the spiritual life, our minds depend chiefly
m their own powers. In reading holy Scripture, we are sustained by our own intellectual acts; in
prayer, we depend upon the strength and vividness
of our interior affections: in both, our minds act
upon themselves. But in the holy Communion we
are in the very presence of our Lord. We see before us in a mystery the incarnation, the atoning
sacrifice, the love and passion of our Redeemer,
the love and mercy of the Father; “the flesh,
which is meat indeed; the blood, which is drink
indeed”—the fountain of cleansing, strength, solace, perseverance. We there go out of ourselves
to Him. The very reason why we come is, because
we are empty, fainting, and weak; we come that
we may be filled out of His fulness. When we go
to the altar, we go to the entrance of the world
unseen; to the spot where the visible and invisible
worlds unite. The oftener we draw near, the
deeper will be our sense of these eternal realities.
The oftener we communicate, the worthier we shall
be for holy Communion; the deeper our humiliation, the ampler our self-accusing, the simpler our
trust in the pardon and help of our Lord. And as
there is no means so direct to deepen in us a sense
of His love and nearness, so there is none so effectual to make us forget ourselves in habitual remembrance of Him.
3. And, for a last counsel, it is good for such
persons daily to exercise their minds upon these unseen realities. We spend time and care in cultivating the powers of the ear and of the voice,
of the eye and of the intellect; all the faculties
which are given to this world’s service are carefully
trained and exercised. But the spiritual powers of
the soul we leave without discipline or culture.
How can we hope to meditate without practice,
any more than to reason or to calculate? We
know how needful it is to apply our powers to the
sciences of this visible world, and yet we live as if
we thought the unseen world to have no mysteries,
or our souls to need no discipline. Therefore it is
that we have, at best, faint images, often none at
all, of the only true and eternal reality. Towards
the heavenly world, the minds of many are a mere
blank. This world overspreads their heart with
its ten thousand characters and reflections. Their
faculties are quick and practised in all that bears
upon this natural and earthly life; but of the spiritual world, and of its supernatural order of truths
and laws, they have but dim and clouded impressions. What wonder if such minds turn inwardly
upon themselves? They dwell upon their strongest
ideas; and these are not the ideas of divine and
heavenly realities, but of their own turbulent and
depressing consciousness.
This is the reason why their prayers are distracted, their communions cold, their sense of the Divine pity, love, and pardon, so faint and low.
What they need is a vivid and habitual perception
of the Divine Presence and of the mysteries of
faith. For this end, it is good for them to meditate daily on the love of God, on the gift of His
Son and of His Spirit; on the Passion of our
blessed Lord, on the pledges of His miraculous
pity, and of His yearning desire of our salvation.
And such meditations ought not to pass away in
mere processes of thought, in transient workings
of the intellect; but must spread through the
whole spiritual nature, and issue in acts of faith,
hope, and love. When I say acts, I do not mean
a mere recital of the objects and grounds of faith,
hope, and love; but such an exercise of the heart
and will as may awaken a consciousness of personal
faith, hope, and love. For these are spiritual
habits, needing to be trained and disciplined, as
much as meekness, patience, humility. Nay, far
more, inasmuch as they are the active powers, the
moving energies of the whole spiritual life. It is
by them God quickens us. They are the threefold working of His Spirit in us, uniting us to the
Person of His Son, and through Him to the kingdom of the Resurrection, and to the Source of
everlasting life.
SERMON VIII.
SELF-ACCUSATION.
ST. LUKE vii. 47.
“Her sins, which are many, are forgiven;
for she loved much.”
THIS passage of our Lord’s life, when He sat
at meat in the Pharisee’s house, and the
words He spake to Simon and to this penitent
sinner, are too familiar to need recital. We may
therefore turn at once to some of the instructions
conveyed by this event.
We see in it a type of His whole kingdom
upon earth, of His ministry of forgiveness, and
of the various spiritual states to be found among
His servants.
His words to Simon, though full of tenderness, had a tone of divine upbraiding. The Pharisee was no doubt a righteous man; but he had
no loving and lowly affections. He called Jesus “Master,” but he honoured Him with a cold, distant propriety. He gave his
Master no kiss; he had neither ointment for His head, nor water
for His feet; and yet the name of Simon was not
known in the city as a sinner.
But this poor sullied soul, a by-word among men, had no cold
reserve, no false shame hiding her true shame; in the sight of all men she broke
through to the presence of her Master. He had roused her to know her misery; He
had brought her to repentance and to herself. Her whole heart was love, sorrow,
and self-accusation. Therefore she received the divine words of absolution: “Thy sins be forgiven thee.”
The point to which we may specially direct
our attention is this self-accusing spirit: its necessity and its blessedness.
1. For, first of all, it may be said, that the
kingdom of Christ is founded upon those who
accuse themselves of their sins. It has both an
exterior and an interior foundation; an outer and
an inner court. On His part it is a perpetual
ministry of absolution; on our part, a perpetual
confession.
He died that He might absolve all sinners.
To dispense the absolution purchased in His own
blood is His own sovereign prerogative. When on
earth, He exercised it in person. His words gave
perfect pardon both in earth and heaven. He said
to the penitent, “Thy sins be forgiven thee,” and all was blotted out. This was the application
of His own redemption to individual souls: the
in-gathering of the fruit of His own cross and
passion. And this ministry of forgiveness is of
perpetual necessity.
His absolution from sin is as necessary to all
penitent and self-accusing sinners now as it was
then, and ever will be to the end of the world.
And He has not ceased to dispense it. His love
and pity were not dried up when He ascended into
heaven. Therefore He left still on earth the same
power, against which Pharisees and unbelievers
cavilled, bequeathing their very words to the inheritors of their unbelief: “Who can forgive sins
but God alone?” He said to His Apostles, “As
My Father hath sent Me, even so send I you:”—that is, with the same mission of forgiveness: “All My communicable authority is in your trust
for the life of the elect,”—“And when He had
said this, He breathed on them, and saith unto
them, Receive ye the Holy Ghost: whosesoever
sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them: and
whosesoever sins ye retain, they are retained.”St. John xx. 21-23.
He thereby entrusted to them the prolonged exercise of this His own prerogative. The very same
full and divine power of absolving all who accuse
themselves is in His Church now, and shall be till He comes again. This is the great commission which includes all besides. He gave to His
Apostles the keys of the kingdom of heaven; and
with them all power to open and shut, to bind
and loose. Baptism is an exercise of that sovereign power. The remission of original sin is a
full and plenary application of the heavenly keys.
Children born into this world of sin are thereby
admitted into the kingdom of God. So also is the
special absolution, which, like baptism, is given to
individual souls, one by one, on distinct and penitent confession: and so too the remission which
is given in the holy Eucharist, and in other acts
of the Church, by which lesser sins of incursion
and infirmity are forgiven: all these are exercises
of the one great absolving power which springs
from the person and the passion of our Lord,
and is continued by His presence through the
hands of His pastors, in every age, until this day.
The ministry of reconciliation is always at work;
the blood of the Good Shepherd is ever being
applied to the souls for whom He died.
But this continual absolution on His part demands a continual self-accusation on ours; the one
is as necessary as the other. And therefore it
may be truly said, that His kingdom is founded on
those who accuse themselves. They are its true
and enduring foundations. When all empty and false Christians shall pass away, they shall be
found united to Him Who is eternal. The kingdom of Christ descends from heaven to earth,
having three distinct companies united in one fellowship; those who are with Him on high, sinless and unfallen, that is, holy angels, who never
sinned; another, fallen, but sinless now, the spirits
of just men made perfect; the third, still on earth,
fallen and sinful, but repenting and kneeling at
the foot of the cross, accusing themselves before
Him night and day. Such is His kingdom: part
in heaven now, arrayed in white, and crowned;
part waiting upon earth, in sackcloth and penance
still. This is the Church visible on earth, the
congregation of the faithful, that is, of the baptised. But baptism is an outward grace, which
unites penitent and impenitent in one; repentance
is an inward bond, which unites none but His
true servants. And of repentance there is one
unbending and absolute condition—a true self-accusation at the feet of Jesus Christ. There
is no exemption from this law. Baptism without
repentance avails nothing, and repentance without self-accusation is impossible. In the midst of
the visible Church He numbers, by direct intuition, the fellowship of true penitents. In them He
dwells, and to them He listens. He has no communion with those who do not know their need of His absolving pity. This law of repentance is laid
on all, even on the greatest saints: it often seems
to press more heavily on them than on others;
for as they have more sanctity, they have more of
love; and as they have more of love, they have
more of sorrow. As the light rises upon them,
they see more clearly their own deformities. It is
the greatest light of sanctity that reveals the least
motes of evil; as things imperceptible in the common light of day float visible in the sunbeam.
And if this is true of those in whom our dull
eyes see so little amiss, how true must it be of
ourselves! What ought our whole life to be, but
a life of self-accusing? Can we come into His
presence without shrinking? Does not every thing
accuse us of sin? God and His holy angels, our
Lord Jesus Christ and all the company of heaven,
our fellow-Christians and our fellow-sinners, the
accuser of the brethren and our own conscience;
and if these should hold their peace, the very
stones would cry out. Our whole life, from childhood, rises up against us. Each several age is a
distinct witness. Every season, and every year, by
our whole inward consciousness bears some witness against us. Happy for us if we so feel and
realise our true state before Him! It is a token
Who has come to us. It is the absolver coming
to convince, that He may pardon. When we repent, we are His by a twofold bond. We were
already His by baptism; we are His now by penance. He has revealed Himself to us by faith;
He is now revealing us to ourselves by an awakened consciousness of sin. He is drawing us
within the inner circle of His kingdom, where
He sits in the tribunal of self-accusation, arrayed
in the white stole of His eternal priesthood, ever
saying, “Thy sins be forgiven thee;” “Go, and sin no more.”
2. And this further teaches us that self-accusation is the test which separates between true
and false repentance. Among the members of the
visible Church, the faithful and unfaithful may
be, for the most part, easily distinguished by their
open and manifest lives; yet among the seemingly
faithful, it is not always easy to discern the truly
converted from those who have never in heart
turned to God. Many seem to others, and to themselves, to be faithful Christians, who have little
penitence; and many are believed, and believe
themselves, to be penitents, who have never truly
repented. The one only sure discerning test is
the spirit of self-accusation.
Under all the manifold appearances of religion
and of repentance, there are at last two, and only
two, states or postures of mind: the one is self-accusation, the other self-defence.
This runs deep into the conscience and the
heart.
I am not speaking of hypocrites, who live
grossly and profess fairly, nor of the more palpable
forms of irreligion; but of persons outwardly blameless, and of strict observance in religion: such,
in a word, as Simon the Pharisee. Their very
freedom from grosser sins generates a spirit, which
in the world would be called sensitive honour, in
religion is self-righteousness. Their theory of the
Christian life is, to be upright, faultless, without
soil, without reproach; to have a consciousness of
their own integrity, justice, and goodness. And
such they often really are in their dealings towards
men. In the outward keeping of the second table
they seem beyond blame. And yet they fall far
short in all things towards God,—in love, worship, devotion, humility, abasement, repentance,
spiritual affections, realisation of the sympathy and
passion of our Lord, and compunction under the
sense of a fallen and sinful nature. Their perceptions of God’s holiness, of the piercing spirituality
of His law, and of the malignity of sin, are dim
and languid. Therefore the consciousness of their
own inward state is shallow and untrue. Their
whole effort is to clear themselves of such sins
as strike the world’s eye; they have little shrinking from the eye of God. They believe its universality by an intellectual conviction; but they
have little feeling of its purity, which is known
only by a spiritual perception. Moreover, their
own inward eye is short of sight. And in the
consciousness of their hearts they find no startling
sins. Sinfulness, as distinct from sins of act, is,
for their conscience, an idea too fine and impalpable. They fall, therefore, into a spirit of security, which is a spirit of self-defence. Their confessions are close, vague, qualified, and apologetic.
They feel no need to confess to any but God alone.
They think that it is well, perhaps, for greater
sinners to use special humiliations and special
helps; but they conceive that they can well enough
quiet their own conscience with God in secret. I
do not say that this may not often be true; but
no one can deny that it may as often—some will
perhaps admit oftener—be false. It is strange
how dry and unloving such hearts often are towards the person of our Lord. There is a cold,
exact, judicious, and commendable propriety, an
avoiding of extremes and emotions of enthusiasm
and irregularity, which, if there were but life,
depth, and fervour, would be exemplary. Without these things, they become heartless, frigid, and
self-complacent.
It is very difficult to convince such hearts of
sin. The searching words of a pastor sound to them as reproofs; the lightest noting of omissions
is taken for rebuke; the gentlest admonition is received as charges against
their character. Their pastor seems to them as an accuser, and they must needs
be their own defenders. Who that has had the oversight of souls has not known
how much of this spirit of self-defence lives in the heart even of the good?
And if it is so with such persons, how much
more with the less religious, who, the faultier they
are, have generally a more vivid spirit of self-defence! How sullen, estranged, and full of offence
they grow, when faithfully admonished; and how
dangerous and useless is such a spirit! How useless, because it is but a little while, and a deathbed or the day of judgment will force them to
behold their very selves. How dangerous, because
there is no greater slight and provocation of the
majesty of God. Nothing so deafens the ear against
both warnings and promises, nothing so hinders the
influx of divine grace, and so estranges the heart
from the pastors of Christ. Instead of friends,
guides, physicians, comforters, they become censors and accusers. The whole heart and will is
turned away from them. We become pursuers of
the unwilling, not receivers of the willing and
penitent. It is the habitual thought and care of
these self-defenders to elude their pastor’s eye, and to conceal their festering wounds. Self-defenders
fly from his sight and voice, as self-accusers seek
it. The whole tide of the soul is turned in the
wrong direction. And the minister of reconciliation waits, in sadness and silence, till the heart,
knowing at last its own plague, opens of its own
accord. This is the sure discerning test which
separates the penitent from the impenitent in the
interior court of Christ’s kingdom.
3. And hence we see that the true source of
this self-accusing spirit is love. A heart once
touched by the love of Christ no longer strives to
hide its sin, or to make it out to be but little.
To excuse, palliate, or lighten the guilt even of
a little sin grates upon the whole inward sense
of sorrow and self-abasement. “Against Thee,
Thee only,” is the language of true penitents.
The wrong done to God and the hardness towards
our crucified Lord are their chief motives to
repentance. They have no peace but in laying
their sins to their own charge. The remembrance of sin makes them to feel ungenerous and
heartless. They have nothing left but to turn accusers of themselves; to take part against themselves before the tribunal of our Lord Jesus
Christ. They come with a forward and earnest
will, to lay open their own grief, and to bear their
own shame; for in their conscience there is a presence which opens them from within. He that
entered when the doors were shut, passes within
their heart; and the iron gate, so close, heavy,
and impenetrable, opens of its own accord. Their
sorrow is not turbulent, clouded, and unquiet, as
the sorrow of self -justifying minds when they are
detected and reproved, but gentle and soft, with
a brightness even in its shadows. It is a sadness which humbles and sanctifies, making the will
pliant, and even the words of self-accusing to be
sweet. “While I held my tongue, my bones consumed away through my daily complaining; for
Thy hand is heavy upon me day and night, and
my moisture is like the drought in summer. I
will acknowledge my sin unto Thee, and mine
unrighteousness have I not hid. I said, I will
confess my sins unto the Lord; and so Thou
forgavest the wickedness of my sin.”Ps. xxxii. 3-6.
So long as
we defend ourselves, God accuses us, and we go
heavily all the day long, our hearts glowing and
smouldering within: so soon as we accuse ourselves at His feet, God and all the powers of His
kingdom shelter and defend us. This is our true
solace and relief.
Now there are two signs by which we shall
know whether our confessions are the self-accusations of penitent and loving hearts.
The first is, that our confessions be humble.
The Pharisee, in the parable, stood and prayed
with himself, as separate from the common herd:
Simon invited his Master, and sat at meat with
Him. Many give thanks, not for what God has
made them, but for what they are; and bid themselves to their Lord’s presence, “feasting themselves without fear.” They confess, pray, communicate, as a matter of right and undoubted
freedom; never staying to ask, Am I meet to
draw near? am I worthy that He should come
under my roof? The words of Peter, “Depart
from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord,” perplex them; they think them contradictory and
unmeaning: they desire His presence, and they
think that enough. Not so he that “stood afar
off, and smote upon his breast,” accusing himself
in the sight of God and man; not so she that had
no care or consciousness of cavilling eyes, kneeling
at her Redeemer’s feet. This is one sure sign
of a true penitent: a willingness to be humbled,
to bear shame before man as well as before God;
to go alone into the presence of men and angels,
with no excuses or diminutions, no inculpations of
others, or mitigating pleas. “Every man must
bear his own burden,” when the secrets of all
hearts shall be revealed; and a humble confession strives to. anticipate that hour of isolated trial, and to fall down alone, as guilty above all, before
the judgment-seat of Christ.
The other sign is, that it be an honest self-accusing. And to this honesty it is essential that
we should use a moral diligence, that is, a sincere,
careful, and leisurely attention to remember and
to recount the sins of our past life and of our
present state.
It is plain, indeed, that no man can recall the
whole tissue and train of his past life; no human
memory can store it up, no human consciousness
can sustain it. Therefore it is enough that we
confess all we can remember, according to these
three rules.
First, the kind of our sins: not in vague general
terms, such as, “I am proud,” or “I am angry,”
and the like; but specifically accusing ourselves of
the instances in which we have so offended.
Secondly, we must confess the number of our
sins: not strictly every act, which is impossible,
but morally; that is, whether they have been
isolated events, or frequent and habitual.
And lastly, the circumstances which may change
the character, or aggravate the sinfulness of what
we have done: as, for instance, the persons against
whom we have offended; for an act of disrespect
is far guiltier if committed against a parent than
against an indifferent person: and the time; for sins derive a peculiar character from the season;
as, if we sinned after great warnings, or in the
midst of great blessings or chastisements. And
again, the manner, that is, whether deliberately,
and with mature intentions; for even lesser sins
have greater guilt when they are committed with
slighter outward temptation, and therefore with
stronger inward sinfulness; or whether against
motions to forbear; or persisted in after the moment of temptation, by the obstinacy of a perverse
heart. These plain rules will be enough for a
sincere conscience; for where the will is right,
rules are but little needed.
Humility and honesty, then, are the two sure
signs of a sincere self-accuser: where these are,
we may be strong in hope that the grace of a
loving and penitent heart has been bestowed by
the Spirit of God.
How pitiful and tender is this great ministry
of peace! All that the Absolver demands of us
is, that we kneel down before Him and condemn
ourselves. What miracles of Divine compassion
are working day by day! Throughout His whole
Church on earth the Blood of atonement is perpetually descending,—sins are perpetually blotted out
for ever, hearts cleansed for eternity. There is a
strange contrast between the outer and the inner
courts of His temple. Some who seem nearest to the kingdom of God are farthest off; such as the unhumbled,
unconvinced, who dissemble, and profess; pray, and live without a law upon their
will; communicate, and have no shrinking when their unworthiness meets His
searching presence: and such too as are impatient of a law or a truth above
themselves; self-flatterers and fearless; the lordly spirits who walk erect,
ruling, criticising, judging, and pronouncing judgments in His Church and at His
altars, on His faith, sacraments, and servants. Verily, “many that are first
shall be last.”
In like manner, there are those who seem afar
off, but are nearest, even already within the threshold of His kingdom; for sinners with compunction are nearer to Him than the righteous without
humility. “Publicans and harlots go into the
kingdom of God before” Scribes and Pharisees.
The world believes none of these things. It knows
what penitents once were; for it is keen-eyed and
retentive. It remembers their wanderings and
scandals j but it has no spiritual discernment to
read the conversion of a soul. The world rebukes self-accusers as shameless, unmanly, wanting in self-respect, and believes them still to be
what they are now no longer. But there is One
who knows all,—at whose feet they daily kneel.
He has seen all by His divine intuition. He has heard all in His patient ear of mercy. Go, then,
to Him continually; never suffering a sin to sink
unconfessed into the heart,—for harboured sins
soon fester, and one sin “will eat as doth a
canker,” infecting the whole soul. Fear Him not,
for He is pity. Only lay open your grief to Him,
and the blood of sprinkling shall come down. He
will bind up your oldest and sorest wounds. Believe in your absolution as a point of faith. Draw
near to Him, morning and night, especially as
you approach the altar, and there, before Him,
lift up your eyes to His heavenly throne. Whom
do you behold surrounding Him on every side?
A great company of saints now,—a little while
ago a great company of penitents; humbled and
self-accusing here on earth,—now spotless as
Himself.
SERMON IX.
THE ANALOGY OF NATURE.
1 COR. xv. 35-38.
“But some man will say, How are the dead raised up? and
with what body do they come? Thou fool, that which thou
sowest is not quickened, except it die: and that which thou
sowest, thou sowest not that body that shall be, but bare
grain, it may chance of wheat, or of some other grain: but
God giveth it a body as it hath pleased Him, and to every
seed his own body.”
THIS is St. Paul’s answer to objections against
the resurrection of the body. The objector
took his stand upon supposed impossibilities. “How
are the dead raised up?”—as if death were extinction; “and with what body do they come?”—as if
corruption were annihilation. St. Paul’s answer is
drawn, not from faith, but from nature. “Death,”
he says, “is a condition of life. ‘Thou fool, that
which thou sowest is not quickened, except it die.’
Death does not extinguish the seed; it must die
before it can be quickened. And ‘thou sowest not that body that shall be, but bare grain.’ The change or
corruption of the seed is not annihilation, but the germination of a new form, a
more perfect structure, the blade, the stalk, and the ear. Nature refutes your
fancied impossibility by her perpetual facts. The resurrection is before your
eyes. You believe it already. Nature has her resurrection as well as grace; both
are kingdoms of God, and His omnipotence is in both alike. There is a relation
of virtue and power, as between seed and fruit, so between the body sown and the
body that shall be raised from the dead.”
Such is St. Paul’s argument. He does not prove by miracle; he
does not cite revelations; he does not appeal to faith; and that for two
reasons: first, he is only answering objections; and next, the very thing to be
proved was the fact of a miraculous revelation itself. He therefore says with
great energy, “Why object to the resurrection of the dead?—the very world
rebukes you. O foolish, the seed of the field dies, that it may rise again.”
Now we will consider, not the particular subject of St. Paul’s controversy, the resurrection of
the body, but the form of his argument, which we
are wont to call the analogy of nature. It is of
great moment that we should well understand its
use; for no argument is so strong within its sphere, and none more fatal if pressed too far. Within its
legitimate range, it makes nature divine; when
pushed beyond, it reduces faith to a natural religion.
Let us see, then, how far it is good, and when it becomes bad.
The argument from analogy is good and unanswerable:
1. First, when it is used, as by St. Paul in this
place, to refute objections. It is plainly absurd to
argue against revelation, or any specific doctrines
of revelation, on the ground of difficulties and supposed impossibilities, the like of which may be
found already to exist in the acknowledged facts
of nature. When we say the like, it is plain we
mean the like in proportion and relation, not in
individual properties or specific kind; for instance,
a seed is not like a human body, nor a furrow like
a grave; nor an ear of corn like our flesh glorified.
But the terms are related in the two processes,
and have a proportion each to each: they run
in parallel. As the seed is to the ear, so is the
corruptible body to the incorruptible; and as the
furrow to the wheat, so is the grave to our flesh.
Now it is undeniable, that this is an argument
which puts unbelievers, if they persist, out of the
pale of reason. They are outlawed from revelation and philosophy, from faith and fact. The
same argument is good in defence of many other doctrines of the Gospel, such as future judgment,
reward and punishment, moral probation, and the
like. Whatever unbelievers may say, they are
already, in the order of nature, subject to the very
same laws. Do what they will, go where they
may, they cannot escape; nature, as they call it,
will deal with them and dispose of them according
to the very same laws as revelation. These laws
are facts in nature as well as doctrines of the Gospel. All this is solid reasoning, beyond the subtilty of objection to undo. It clears away at a
sweep the supposed preliminary objections to this
or that doctrine of the faith.
But a still further use may be made of this
argument. Hitherto it has been treated by way
of refutation only, as by St. Paul in the text, to
answer objections; but it may be used to some
extent affirmatively also. The correspondence between the facts of nature and the doctrines of the
faith forms a strong presumption that both come
from one author,—the marks of the same hand
are visible in both. We must bear in mind, that
in this use of analogy we employ it no further
than as raising a presumption. For, in arguing
with unbelievers, the very point at issue is, whether
the faith be a true revelation or not; that is,
whether it come from God. Believers may invert
the argument, and say, “He who believes the Scripture to have proceeded from Him who is the
author of nature, may well expect to find the same
sort of difficulties in it as are found in the constitution of nature.”Origen, quoted by Bp. Butler, “Analogy,” introd. p. 6.
But in arguing with unbelievers this is to beg the question. The point to be
proved is, that the faith comes from God. If they admitted this, the analogy of
nature would prepare them for mysteries which would be difficulties no longer,
but facts in the faith, as these visible facts may be called doctrines of the
natural world. But this is the point they do not admit. They meet us with a
direct contradiction. We cannot, therefore, take it for granted. We must open
our way to it; we must clear the path of approach. The hindrances which bar it
up are these supposed impossibilities, to which nature offers an analogy, and
therefore provides a reply. They are not impossible; for we see that they
actually exist. And this point being gained, the tide of the argument turns the
other way. What was simple refutation becomes a presumptive proof. We may now
say, “You cannot deny these facts in nature: you acknowledge that nature is from
God: the faith is so far a counterpart of nature, bears the same features, the
tokens of one and the same hand: how can you deny that the faith too is from
God?” This is not offered as a positive or constructive proof. It is a strong presumption, a
high probability; but revelation awaits its own
proper evidence. It does but reduce the assailant to his defence, and throws the burden upon
the objector.
We may go one step further still. The visible
coincidence between the facts of nature and the
doctrines of faith, so far as we can observe them,
make it probable that the same coincidence may
exist beyond our range of observation: just as the
coincidence of any complex figures, seen in part,
leads to a presumption that the correspondence
may run throughout. And this, perhaps, was in
the thoughts of the son of Sirach when he said, “All things are double one against another, and
He hath made nothing imperfect.”Ecclus. xlii. 24.
But it is plain
without a word, that such a hypothesis is no more
than a presumption, formed beforehand, and without proof or evidence. Of this, however, we may
better speak hereafter.
Thus far, then, the argument from analogy is irresistible. It
clears away supposed objections by fact; it raises a probability that revelation
is, like nature, the work of God; and that the analogy we trace in part, may
extend beyond our range of observation. Thus far it invests nature with a divine
character, and makes it the basis of the faith. It consecrates the visible world as a type and sacrament of the unseen; and so throughout holy Scripture we find it regarded. St. Paul convicts the
heathen of vincible ignorance; “because that which
may be known of God is manifest in them; for
God hath shewed it unto them. For the invisible things of Him from the creation of the
world are clearly seen, being understood by the
things that are made, even His eternal power and
Godhead; so that they are without excuse.”Rom. i. 19, 20.
In
like manner, again, he spoke at Lystra.Acts xiv. 17.
And the
whole use of natural illustrations in the language
of metaphor is founded upon the same implied
presumption. But, after all, the sum of the case
is this: the argument from analogy, in its refutative form, is absolute: in its constructive it is only
a presumption; clearing the way for the positive
and proper evidence of the point at issue.
2. And this leads us to notice shortly in what
form this analogical way of reasoning is bad and
destructive.
Every body will at once, and at first sight, acknowledge, that
it would be mere infidelity to take the analogy of nature as the measure or
limit of revelation. For this, in fact, has been the normal argument of
free-thinkers. In the last century, the phrase ‘Christianity as old as the
creation’
became an axiom and a watchword. And among
rationalists it is a favourite idea, that so much of
Christianity as they are pleased to believe resides
implicitly in the human consciousness, and has
been evolved from it. Now if this form of argument be examined, it will be found ultimately to
rest on an abuse of the analogy of nature and revelation. A likeness of observed proportions being
pressed beyond its range, leads to an assumed coincidence; as if nature were a counterpart of the
faith—a sort of material and visible exhibition
upon a lower scale, and with relation to temporal
ends, of the same agencies and laws. These supposed counterparts soon run into a supposed identity, and the faith sinks into a mere natural religion; or, to use words which have become technical, supernaturalism merges in naturalism.
We must take care therefore, lest, without intending it, we really lend our help in this direction.
There is also another and a very common misuse of this great form of argument. People who
would at once see the manifest falsehood of avowedly using the analogy of nature as the limit of revelation, are often not aware that they effectively
do the same thing when they employ it to prescribe
the manner and kind of the Divine procedure within
the precincts of the revelation they receive. This
will be better made clear by examples.
For instance, it is observed that the nature of
man is one, and common to the whole race: all
partake in it, and all are therefore consubstantial;
but this unity is consistent with an all but infinite
multitude of persons. This seems to be a direct
confirmation of the mystery of the Holy Trinity.
It need not be said that this analogy, if pressed
too far, would establish Tritheism.
Suppose, to escape this, the analogy of the perfect unity of powers in the individual soul be assumed. It then issues in Sabellianism.
The analogy of human paternity and human
sonship directly proves the Arian doctrine.
But this will be admitted at once. Let us take
other examples.
We find, then, that the race of mankind has no
common language, no common polity, no unity of
relations either of equality or of government; that
families, as they multiply, perpetually subdivide,
and nations expand till they cast off colonies and
hostile empires; that, in fact, the whole analogy
of nature and providence establishes the law of individual and national development—of a radical
unity, with no one visible form or organic polity.
Therefore the analogy of God’s actual dealings is
thought to be opposed to the theory of visible unity
in a polity of Divine institution, or, in other words,
to the visible unity of the Church.
Again, the testimony of all mankind agrees as
to the certainty of evidence based on personal experience, such as eye-witness, and the uncertainty
of any thing which seems at variance with the evidence of sense; therefore the holy sacraments are
sacred symbols, to be received reverently, but in
themselves still continue, to the last, without any
change, or supernatural element beyond the sphere
of sense.
Or, once more: We find that the inclination
of mankind by nature has universally tended to corrupt the truth originally received, and that the
clear sight of truth has been restored, from time
to time, only by the intelligence of individuals;
therefore the traditions of Christendom are human
corruptions of a Divine element, and the corrective
tests are the critical powers of the individual
reason.
And lastly, it may be said: We find that it has
pleased God to ordain our probation on laws which
often involve many doubtful questions and balanced
probabilities as to duty and truth; and so we find
also that Christianity is not universal; that its
evidences are peculiar both in measure and kind;
that they are not the strongest possible even to all
those to whom it is actually revealed; that the
quantity and quality of evidence are part of our
probation, to some men perhaps especially; that, as certainty is found nowhere in nature, it is not to
be demanded in revelation; that a measure of uncertainty, that is, of probability, is involved in the
idea of moral trial, and that the facts of nature
shew us on what laws revealed truth is to be sought
and held; and that therefore the whole analogy of
our condition is opposed to the supposition of an
unerring witness preserving and propounding truth
by Divine appointment in the Church.
Now, with whatsoever force and seeming probability these propositions may be maintained, they
are one and all examples of one and the same fallacy. They not only use the analogy of nature antecedently to the proper proof, so as to prescribe
à
priori the manner in which the Divine revelation
has been put and left, but ultimately even against
it. In fact, they are but the fine end of naturalism.
The principle carried out is “Christianity as old
as the creation.” The revelation based upon it is
only a heap of Christian facts, without unity, coherence, or procession from any supernatural idea.
The force of analogy is here assumed to be
positive and constructive, and that too in matters
beyond its sphere. It is as if we should argue,
that because the earth is a planet, describes an
elliptical orbit round the sun, is spherical in form,
and revolves on an axis, therefore the other planets,
in which all these conditions are equally fulfilled, are in all other conditions like the earth; for instance, inhabited and by a fallen race, and endowed
with no higher functions or conditions; that, in a
word, they are as our earth is, and transcend it in
nothing. Now it is scientifically true that this
analogy raises a high amount of probability; and
until the positive and proper evidence can be
brought to shew that it has pleased God to endow
other worlds more highly than our own, this analogy is master of the field. It has no antagonist:
high probability is, in this case, our highest proof,
and, as a presumption, no one can gainsay it. But
here is exactly the point where false analogies fail.
The planets can put in no proper evidence for
themselves, but revelation can and does.
In truth, as has been said by a great master
of analogy, we can be no judges of the wisdom of
God in the order we find established in the world;
and nothing but the knowledge of another world,Bp. Butler, Analogy, part ii. ch. ii. 3.
to which we might compare it, would give us the
criteria of such a judgment. We must take it as
we find it a sole and ultimate fact in itself. So
with revelation: the nearest analogy we have is
that of nature; but nothing can give us either
the grounds on which to measure, or the criteria
by which to judge it, except another revelation,
with which it may be compared. Nature follows by its side a little way, till revelation transcends
its sphere: the world is natural; revelation, by its
very term, a supernatural world. We must receive
it in its own light and upon its own proper proofs.
Let us, therefore, turn our thoughts for a while to
those proofs, and then conclude.
1. What, then, is this proper evidence on which
revelation, or, as we shall better say henceforth,
the Church and the Faith, repose? Plainly, upon
no presumptions or probabilities deduced before
the fact, that is, upon no à priori reasoning. We
are not able to say before the fact whether any
revelation shall be given or not; or, if given, to
what extent, to what end, on what evidence, or
how secured, and the like. In this, nature is silent
as death. Analogies have no existence. All our
proofs are after the event. The fact attests itself,
and reveals its own outline, character, and conditions. In the beginning, God revealed Himself
to the patriarchs by visions and tokens of His
Divine presence. That was their revelation and
its evidences. It needed no analogies, and would
accept of none. Abraham at Mamre, Jacob at
Bethel, Moses in Horeb, Israel in the wilderness,
Aaron in the tabernacle, Joshua by Jericho, Gideon at the oak in Ophrah, all the hierarchy of
Israel, the seers and the prophets, and the whole
family of the chosen tribes,—what proofs, what evidences, what analogies had they, or needed they,
to prove that God was with them as their Light
and their Sanctifier?
And just so has it been with the Church of
Christ. The Word was made flesh; the elect saw
Him in the temple; He was manifested at His
baptism; He chose out, first twelve to be with
Him, and then seventy; He wrought miracles,
taught, suffered, rose again, went up into heaven,
shed abroad the Holy Ghost, knit together His
mystical Body, gave life to it by His own presence
in the Holy Spirit. What analogies of nature
cast so much as a shadow of these things? so
much as a faint probability of the miraculous conception, the incarnation of the Eternal Son, the
descent, presence, inspiration of the Holy Ghost?
Plainly the whole argument from analogy is but as
a sign “for them that believe not.” It is for those
that are without. It is not the children’s bread,
nor has it any place before the Shechinah. The
supernatural inspiration of the Church is a perpetual illumination above the laws of nature. Its
conditions, limits, and modes of operation are all
its own. The fact of Christendom, the miracle of
the visible Church, the supernatural traditions of
the heavenly kingdom,—these are the proper evidences to those that are within the fold of Christ.
These, and these only, reveal the laws and the manner of God’s dealing with us through His
incarnate Son. Within the sphere of a miracle
as wide as the world, to be told of natural laws
ought in itself to be warning enough—“Take these
things hence.” Is there any part of the new creation that is not supernatural?
Is not even its earthly basis at once above nature by the gift of regeneration?
Because our human personality divides the
unity of substance, must, therefore, the divine?
Because our individuality admits of no more than
one personal subsistence, can there be no distinction of Persons in the Godhead? Because among
men the father is before the son, cannot the everlasting Son be co-eternal with the Father? Because the old creation is fallen and divided, may
not the new have an unity derived from heaven?
Because sense rules in the world, may there not
be sacraments in the Church? Because human
traditions grow corrupt, may not divine traditions
be kept pure? Because keen intellects rule among
human reasoners, are they to be instructors of the
Saints? Because natural truth is an uncertain
light, may not the light of Christ be sustained
by Himself infallible and clear? Surely all this
is nothing less than to take nature without revelation as the measure and limit of Christ’s presence
and office in the Church. What is the Church of Christ in its
first idea, but a supernatural economy, an order above nature; a creation which
is in itself a miracle, in which the course of its proper nature is miraculous?
By the very hypothesis, the analogies of this fallen world are excluded. And
yet, when I say excluded, I do not say violated or transgressed. They are
satisfied in full; they are satisfied to exhaustion, and beyond; as fully as the
laws of our humanity were fulfilled in the person of our Lord, which was also
divine, and in His unearthly perfection after He rose from the dead. While He
fulfilled, He transcended all our conditions. “It is I Myself; handle Me, and
see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see Me have.” He was all He
had been, and more besides: all that He had put off was infirmity. So, in its
measure, with the Church. It complies with all the true and divine analogies of
nature; it exhausts, and goes beyond them all. Nature has laws of probation,
reward, punishment, moral discipline, and the like; so had the law of Moses; but
our Lord said, “I am come, not to destroy the law, but to fulfil.” Nature was
exalted into the elder covenant, and the law ascended into the Gospel: it went
up “from strength to strength,” “from glory to glory.” We are under an economy
above nature, miraculous and heavenly. The idea and principles, the laws,
limits, and conditions of the kingdom of Christ in the revelation and perpetuity of truth, in the effusion and
distribution of grace, are as far above the reach
of natural analogies as heaven is above earth. In
what do they begin, in what are they continued,
but in a series of supernatural facts, in original
revelations, in spiritual consciousness, in the words
of inspired Scripture, in apostolical traditions, in
the testimony of the Church, in the definitions of
Councils, in the collective discernment of men
sanctified by the Spirit of God? In every one of
these there is an element of which nature has no
counterpart or analogy. It is only after all these
that we come to the region of this world; to the
judgments of philosophers, the labours of critics,
the deductions of reasoning, and the testimony of
uninspired histories. Such, then, is the proper and
positive evidence on which the faith is built.
2. And lastly, let us consider, What is the
proper faculty or instrument by which the truth
is to be apprehended? The whole word of God
answers at once, By faith. Let us only remember
how the revelation of God was given. Was it
discovered by investigation, or was it simply received from heaven? There is no third way to
arrive at the original truth: it is either by discovery or by reception; either, that is, by reasoning or by faith. How, then, was it given? To the prophets, by the inspiration of God; to the
Apostles, by the descent of the Holy Ghost, by
the presence and guidance of Christ. And that
gift which was received by faith has been, by the
Spirit of Christ, perpetuated through faith. It
was not first given, then left to be discovered;
first consigned to faith, then to be proved by reason. It brought its own proof: the inspiration of
Apostles became illumination in the Church. The
illumination of the Holy Ghost is as perpetual as
His presence. His office is, as His presence, “for
ever;” that is, unto the end of the world. Did
any Christian ever doubt that both “grace and
truth,” which came by Jesus Christ, are necessary
for our salvation? And has any one ever imagined that the Holy Spirit has ceased to sanctify
Christ’s body? Did He sanctify the Apostles and
first believers, and then leave the family of Christ,
for all ages, to work out their salvation by moral
habits and the force of nature? And if this be
as impious as incredible, does He continue to sanctify, but not to illuminate? Does His presence
sustain the stream of grace, and not sustain the
stream of truth? If the Church is not thrown
upon its mere moral powers for sanctity, is it
thrown upon its mere intellectual powers for doctrine? Surely the traditions of grace and the
traditions of truth are both sustained by the same perpetual and infallible presence. Is it possible
to believe that the supernatural illumination of the
Spirit was so given as to rest upon no higher
base than reason, discovery, criticism, and analogies of nature? “Are ye so foolish? having
begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by
the flesh?”Gal. iii. 3.
What is moral evidence, of which
so much is said? It is the highest probability
which can be attained in matters where there is
no manifest certainty in the object, and no higher
light than the light of nature in the subject.
Suppose the natural light of the individual mind to
be aided in some general way by grace: even then,
at the highest, moral evidence is only probable;
that is, uncertain both in the subject and in the
object. Is it possible to believe that this scheme
of probabilities (that is, of uncertainty) in doctrine,
and imperfection (that is, of doubt) in evidence, is
a part of the probation of the regenerate within the
revelation of the faith? Because to unbelievers
the nature and quality of the proof is a trial of
faith, as the mission of our Lord was to the Jews,
are we to suppose that probable evidence was a
part of the trial of the Apostles after the descent
of the Holy Ghost? And if not of the Apostles,
was it to those who heard them? For instance,
is it a part of the trial of the Church to hold the doctrine of the Trinity, the Incarnation, the
holy Sacraments, the Resurrection, upon probable
evidence? Surely we are mistaking the very
meaning of faith. Faith means trust in a divine
authority. The trust we repose in human authority and reasoning may be called faith by an
analogy which invests it with a dignity above its
own: it is a human and earthly type of a divine
gift: just as we speak of natural religion, or the
revelations of nature. But faith is an infused
grace of God, by which the soul casts its whole
confidence upon the authority of God. The infallibility of God is the foundation of that trust.
The infallibility of the Church is made up of these
two elements; perfect certainty in the object revealed, and spiritual illumination in the subject
which perceives it, that is, the Church itself.
Shake this foundation, and faith becomes uncertainty; and what is uncertainty, as a rule of life
or as a principle of action? the best, indeed, that
nature can give in most things, but the least truth
in the kingdom of God is greater than it. What
gives to faith its confidence of trust, its enduring
strength in action, its intense insight in contemplation? Certainty founded on revelation. And
what is the very first idea of revelation but a clear
and infallible knowledge of the truth given direct
from God?
Now it is no answer to this to ask, But how
many attain to such a certainty? This is only the
objection urged against the Gospel by free-thinkers
from without the Church, namely, its want of universality. It is no objection against either the
universality of redemption, or the infallibility of
the Church. What has been said amounts to this:
that the doctrines of the faith, fully and clearly
revealed by inspiration in the beginning, were fully
and clearly apprehended by the Church; that the
original inspiration has descended in a perpetual
illumination; that this divine gift, as it was, at
the first, not discovered but received, so it has
been, not critically proved, from age to age, by
intellect, not gathered by inductions or by the
instruments of moral reasoning, but preserved and
handed on by faith; that the office of reason is,
not to discover and attain, but to illustrate, demonstrate, and expound; that the perpetual preservation of truth is a part of the divine office of the
Holy Ghost, ever present in the mystical body of
Christ; and that the presence of an infallible
Teacher is as necessary to the infirmities of the
human reason, as the presence of an omnipotent
Comforter is necessary to the infirmities of the
human will; that both the will and the reason,
without such a presence, omnipotent and infallible,
would be in bondage to evil and to falsehood. This miraculous and supernatural gift was promised through the prophets.
“As for Me, this
is My covenant with them, saith the Lord; My
spirit that is upon them, and My words which I
have put in thy mouth, shall not depart out of thy
mouth, nor out of the mouth of thy seed, nor out
of the mouth of thy seed’s seed, saith the Lord,
from henceforth and for ever.”Isaiah lix. 21.
And this promise was renewed and fulfilled by
the Word made flesh. “The Comforter, which is
the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in My
name, He shall teach you all things, and bring all
things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have
said unto you.”St. John xiv. 26.
“When He, the Spirit of truth,
is come, He will guide you into all truth: for He
shall not speak of Himself: but whatsoever He
shall hear, that shall He speak: and He will shew
you things to come.”St. John xvi. 13.
“Ye have an unction from
the Holy One, and ye know all things.”1 St. John ii. 20.
“The
anointing which ye have received of Him abideth
in you, and ye need not that any man teach you:
but as the same anointing teacheth you of all
things, and is truth, and is no lie, and even as it
hath taught you, ye shall abide in Him.”1 St. John ii. 27.
“Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.”St. Matt. xxviii. 20.
I have dwelt the longer upon this particular
example, because it may be taken as the most
exalted form in which the revelation of God transcends the presumptions and analogies of nature.
Before it was revealed, how unimaginable was the
incarnation of the Son of God, the descent and
perpetual indwelling of the Holy Ghost! how exuberant of supernatural mysteries, how fruitful in
Divine ministries of grace! Since the fall, there
had been one heavy downward tide bearing mankind away from God: perpetuity, steadfastness,
growth of sanctity, except in scattered saints, was
nowhere seen. Even the elder Church was but a
shadow of good things to come, though, through
all its visible declensions, it preserved its elect,
and the promise of Messiah. “As a teil tree, and
as an oak, whose substance is in them, when they
cast their leaves; so the holy seed shall be the
substance thereof.”Isaiah vi. 13.
And this prophecy, though
the teil tree and the oak are types and illustrations, was fulfilled by a divine person and a divine
production above the analogies of nature; by the
mystical unity of Christ and the Church.
Let us, then, while we trace the unity and harmony of all God’s works, both in nature and in
grace, beware how we limit the manifold fulness
of the Divine procedure. All the creation of God reveals itself
upon an ascending scale, a mystical ladder, the foot of which rests on this
lower earth; but as we climb upward, new and more perfect ministries, laws of a
heavenlier tenor, begin to move and reign; as subjects of the city of God, we
pass under conditions of probation, guidance, light, grace, and sustenance, of
which nature gives the prelude and the hope, but the realities are transcendent
and eternal.
SERMON X.
THE NEW CREATION.
REV. iii. 14.
“These things saith the Amen, the faithful and true witness,
the beginning of the creation of God.”
BY these divine titles our Lord made Himself known to the
Church of Laodicea. They have each one of them a deep and ineffable meaning, far
beyond the reach of our intelligence. He is the eternal, self-affirming,
self-attesting Truth; the changeless revelation of the unchangeable wisdom; the
fulness of the promises; “the beginning,” and first producing cause, “of the
creation of God.”
It is of this last title we have now to speak.
Let us consider, therefore, why He is so called.
And first, the Son of God is so called because
He was Himself the creator of all worlds.
In the book of Proverbs we read of the Word
or Wisdom of the Father: “The Lord possessed me in the beginning of His way, before His works
of old. I was set up from everlasting, from the
beginning, or ever the earth was. When there
were no depths I was brought forth; when there
were no fountains abounding with water. Before
the mountains were settled, before the hills was I
brought forth: while as yet He had not made
the earth, nor the fields, nor the highest part of
the dust of the world. When He prepared the
heavens, I was there: when He set a compass
upon the face of the depth: when He established
the clouds above: when He strengthened the fountains of the deep: when He gave to the sea His
decree, that the waters should not pass His commandment: when He appointed the foundations of
the earth: then I was by Him, as one brought
up with Him: and I was daily His delight, rejoicing always before Him.”Prov. viii. 22-30.
Again, in the book
of Psalms: “By the Word of the Lord were the
heavens made; and all the host of them by the
breath of His mouth.”Ps. xxxii. 6.
The beloved disciple
writes: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. . . . . All things were made by Him; and without Him
was not any thing made that was made.”St. John i. 1, 3.
And
St. Paul writes: “Who is the image of the invisible God, the first-born of every creature: for
by Him were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible and invisible,
whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or powers: all things were created by
Him, and for Him: and He is before all things,
and by Him all things consist.”Col. i. 15-17.
And again: “His Son, whom He hath appointed heir of all
things, by whom also He made the worlds.”Heb. i. 2.
And
so the Church confesses in the Nicene creed, “God of God, Light of Light, very God of very
God,” “by whom all things were made.”
From these words we learn that the creator
of the world is the everlasting Son of God. The
Word of God is He by whom “He spake, and it
was done: He commanded, and it stood fast.”
He said, “Let there be light: and there was
light.” That same almighty and eternal Word is
not a mere effluence, or emanation, or radiance
of the Father, but a divine Person, consubstantial, distinct, but undivided,—the Power of creation, as voice is the power of speech,—true, living, almighty. Thus He was the beginning, the
first moving cause, making that to be which was
not, shaping and moulding it after the forms of
His own eternal wisdom; ordering, harmonising,
uniting all things; filling, quickening, upholding
all things. All creation was a visible revealing of
the divine Word. He was in all things, clothing
Himself with His creatures; imaging Himself forth
in wisdom, goodness, and power. All orders of
being, visible and invisible, had their life in Him
who was “the Life,” the sustaining bond of their
life and unity. This is one, and the first, sense of
this divine title.
2. Again, He is the beginning of the creation
of God, as the first cause or principle of its restoration. After the world had fallen from Him,
and was at war with Him, the same power of endless life, out of which in the beginning they first
arose into being, became a power of healing and
restoration. There is a mysterious law which pervades the creatures of this fallen world, healing
over and smoothing out even the scars of their
wounds. So is He in the creation of God. He is
the power of health and restoration, renewing all
things. Before the fall of man, this mystery of
restoration was conceived in heaven, though the
voice was not heard for long ages upon earth: “Behold, I make all things new.” The beginning of the new creation was even then at work.
“Known unto God are all His works from the
beginning.” Time is not, with Him. Though
His divine purposes are unfolded and fulfilled in
time, with Him they are already perfect in order and fulness. In the first four thousand years of the world the
Son of God was preparing all things to unfold the great mystery of the new
creation. He spake with man by the ministry of angels, and intermingled with the
earthly life of His chosen people. He spake with Abraham when the burning lamp
passed between the sacrifices, and with Moses at the unconsuming bush in Horeb;
He journeyed in the midst of Israel in the wilderness; He put His Spirit on
prophets and seers, until the fulness of time came, that the Word should be made
flesh and dwell among us, and that men should behold His glory. This was the
first act of the new creation. By the mystery of the Incarnation it began to be,
and the Word made flesh is “the Beginning.”
As the first Adam, who was by creation the
son of God, was made of the virgin earth, so the
second Adam, the only-begotten Son of the Father,
was made man of a virgin mother. The first
miraculous birth of the dust of the earth was a
shadow of the second miraculous birth of the substance of the woman. Our manhood, which in
the fall of the first man was marred and sullied,
He took in all its sinless infirmities in will, conscience, and affections; and He bare it in all its
measures and ages, of childhood, youth, and manhood. He hallowed it, and filled it with the Divine presence, and reconsecrated it to God. In it He
died, and laid it in the rock, and bare it through
the valley of the shadow of death; raised it from
the dead; exalted it above the conditions of matter; of a natural body, made it to be a spiritual
body; carried it upward to the holiest of all, and
arrayed it in glory at the right hand of God. Such
is the mystery of the Incarnation, as now perfected in the kingdom of heaven. It is the restoration of our manhood to God in the Person of
Jesus Christ. But as the first creation was not
a single and final, but a sustained and continuous
act, so also is the second. As in the first was contained the multiplication and increase of all germs
of nature and the perpetual preservation of the
whole order of life, so in the new, which is the
mystical body of the Son, He began a new family
of man upon the earth.
In the mystery of the Incarnation is contained,
therefore, the mystery of our renewal, in body, soul,
and spirit, to the image of God. Our Lord Jesus
Christ is the principle and power, and, as it were,
the root of the new creation. We are so united
to His incarnate nature, as to be incorporated
and summed up in Him: we are made one with
Him, as by our natural lineage we are one with
the first Adam, the father of all flesh. When He
ascended up on high, the virtues of His glorified manhood were shed abroad upon His Church.
Through His holy Sacraments began a new line
of spiritual generation. We are new-born, or regenerated. We were made partakers of that manhood which is sinless, immortal; we are incorporated
in that new creation, of which the second Adam is
the head, the source, and the beginning. Therefore the Apostle calls the font of baptism
“the
laver of regeneration.” We can be born into this
fallen world but once; and into the new world,
which is the Church, but once. As, then, there
is no second birth in nature, so no second regeneration. There is but “one baptism for the remission of sins.” And as our birth is an isolated
event, shut up within the narrow boundaries of
the moment in which we enter into this fallen
world; and therefore our after existence is not
still called birth, but life, or living;—so is our
new birth perfected at the font; and therefore
our after life of faith is not called regeneration,
as if spiritual birth were a continuous fact, as if
we could be always entering for the first time into
the new creation of God, but our renewal. We
are thenceforward under the continual transforming and restoring power of Him who in Himself
hath made all things new. The work of our renewal, indeed, is not perfected in regeneration, but
only begun. All our life long we must grow into the perfection and ripeness of the new manhood we have
received from Christ. Our renewal shall never be perfect until we shall be made
like Him, in that day when “we shall see Him as He is.”
We must pass to Him by the gate of death; for
the death of the body is a witness of God’s justice
and of our sin. Our body of earth is a partaker of
the new creation, but its time is not yet. It must
die, turn into dust, be changed, and raised again.
This is a great and wonderful mystery of God’s love and of our humiliation. But death is no
longer an enemy; it is a minister of the resurrection. As the mystery of the Incarnation was not
complete till Christ rose from the grave, and the
new man, the first-born of the dead, came forth
into the world, having destroyed death for ever,
so neither shall our renewal be fulfilled until the
morning of the resurrection. Then the mystery of
baptism shall be completed. What was begun in
the soul shall be made perfect also in the body.
The whole outline of the restoration shadowed
forth in that holy sacrament shall be fulfilled.
The whole family of God shall be renewed, every
one in the perfect likeness of the Son of God;
and the Word or Wisdom of the Father shall
manifest Himself afresh through a new creation. “The Beginning” shall once more reveal Himself
in the unity and the perfection of a world, not restored only, but raised to more than its original
perfection: to sin and die no more, but blissful and
eternal in Him who is the “Alpha and Omega,
the beginning and the end.”Rev. xxi. 6.
If this divine title of our Lord had been more
patiently and devoutly considered, many of the
deepest and sorest wounds suffered by His body
on earth, and at the hands of His own professed
servants, would have been turned aside.
1. We have here seen two great spiritual facts:
the first, that the Word, who is by eternal generation of one substance with the Father, by the mystery of the Incarnation became of one substance
with us. Unity of substance does not mean unity
of persons, as the Socinians blindly say. God the
Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost,
are in substance one, but in person distinct. Their
personal distinctions are incommunicable; so that
the Father is not the Son, the Son is not the
Holy Ghost, the Holy Ghost is neither the Father
nor the Son. The word ‘substance’ expresses
their common nature, excluding all personal proprieties, as paternity, filiation, and procession, by
which each Person is distinct. And the word ‘consubstantial’ guards the distinctness of personality,
while it affirms the unity of Godhead. So, to
pass from the infinite to the finite, Christ took of the substance of the blessed Virgin. He thereby
united Himself to the line of which Adam is the
first father. The very substance originally created
of the dust, multiplied throughout mankind, and
descending in the generations of four thousand
years, was taken by the Son of God in the womb
of His Blessed Mother. His union with us is a
consubstantial union. His substance as Man, and
our substance, are one and the same. Yet His
Person is not our person: unity of substance does
not in the finite, any more than in the infinite,
carry with it unity of person. Our personal distinction and entity is incommunicable. Every living man is as personally distinct as every star of
light. The unity of brightness does not confound
the distinctness of their several existence. So far
we may use this parallel, but no farther; for with
us personality involves also distinction of will,
power, and the like; but in God all these are one.
Here, then, we see one great spiritual fact, one
great law and mystery, that between God and man
there is a person who is both Man and God; consubstantial with the Creator and the creature, the
finite and the infinite; that by one consubstantial
unity He is God, by the other, Man.
There have been from the beginning teachers
and sects who have endeavoured to destroy the
faith of the Holy Trinity and of the Incarnation, as the Gnostics, Docetae, Arians, Nestorians, and,
of later times, the Socinians. It is never to be
forgotten, that all these sects have alike adopted
one principle in the interpretation of holy Scripture. They have treated its language as metaphorical and figurative: they have explained it
as a symbolical expression of relations and affinities. For instance, the unity of the Father and
the Son is not, according to them, in substance,
but in volition and in love: the Word and the
Spirit were impersonal attributes, personated only
in figure, and the like. Now, against this the Catholic Church has always held one uniform doctrine in one uniform language, namely, that all
these divine mysteries are real, spiritual, and substantial; and that spirit is substance and reality.
%. The other great fact issuing from the last is,
that as by this substantial unity and personal distinctness the Son lives by the Father; so we, distinct in person, but partaking of His substance,
live by the Son. He Himself hath said it. “As
the Father hath life in Himself, so hath He given
to the Son to have life in Himself.”St. John v. 26.
And again: “As the living Father hath sent Me, and I live by
the Father; so he that eateth Me, even he shall
live by Me.”St. John vi. 57.
As the unity of the Father and
the Son is not a figure or metaphor, an external
relation or affinity, but a real, spiritual unity of
substance; so our union with the Word made flesh
is not figurative or metaphorical, by affinity and
relation of will, or love only, but in substance,
spirit, and reality. As the Son partakes of the
Godhead of the Father, so we partake of the manhood of the Son: as He lives by the Father, we
live by Him. Surely this great spiritual fact is
doubted by no one who does not also deny the
truth of the Incarnation, or the mystery of the
ever-blessed Trinity. How can there be any living
union which is not real? or real union which is
not substantial? “God is a spirit.” Branches do not derive their life by a
figurative engrafting, neither is the union of the trunk and the root a
metaphor. The Incarnation is a real and substantial partaking of our manhood;
and our union with Christ is a real, substantial partaking of His. He partook of
ours by the operation of the Holy Ghost, and we of His by the power of the same
Spirit. The miraculous Agent in the Incarnation and in the holy Sacraments is
the same third Person of the ever-blessed Three, uniting first the divine nature
to ours in the person of the Son, and now our fallen nature to Him as “the
beginning of the” new “creation of God.”
If this had been ever borne in mind, the
Church would have been spared many a rent, and love and truth many a wound. For how, then,
could true believers treat the holy Sacraments as
metaphors and figures? How could any confound
the nature of substance with the dimensions of a
person; or misconceive the blessed truth of the
real presence of Christ, as God and Man, in the
holy Sacrament of His Body and Blood? How
could notions of quantity, locality, circumscription,
division, and the like, find a place in the contemplations, or even in the controversies, of Christians?
Alas, we have but ill learned the mystery of the
Incarnation, so to wander from the mysteries of
the Spirit. We are united, indeed, to Him as to
a Person, but our union with Him is by participation of His substance. “As I live by the Father,
so he that eateth Me, even he shall live by Me.”
Let us, then, with veneration and veiled faces
adore His presence. Let us believe His very
words when He says, “I am the Resurrection and
the Life.” “I am the Bread of life.” “This is
My body.” “This is My blood.” My flesh is
meat indeed, and My blood is drink indeed. He
that eateth My flesh and drinketh My blood dwelleth in Me and I in him.” These are not metaphors nor figures. God forbid. Neither are they
to be carnally understood. “It is the Spirit that
quickeneth; the flesh” (that is, apart from the
Spirit, not “My flesh, which is meat indeed”) “profiteth nothing: the words that I speak unto
you” are substance and reality; “they are spirit,
and they are life.” What is an unsubstantial spirit
but no spirit? an unsubstantial life but no life at
all? or an unsubstantial presence but an unreal
presence—a very and true absence? What is an
unsubstantial regeneration but a word, a figure,
and an empty sound?—a worthy doctrine only for
those who believe in an unsubstantial incarnation,
a figurative resurrection, a metaphorical creation.
O the dreaming shallowness of the reason of man!
O the depth both of the power and of the spirit
of God! Let us hold fast what we have, that no
man take our crown. The law had “a shadow of
things to come, but the body is of Christ.” We
have entered into the order of the spiritual world,
where shadows are not; where all things are real
and eternal. Let us trust in Him who is “the
Amen,” the very and true Life, the giver of life,
the multiplier of all creatures, the Maker and the
Healer of the substance of our manhood, first in
Himself, and then in us who by faith are His.
SERMON XI.
THE BODY OF CHRIST.
HEB. x. 5.
“Sacrifice and offering Thou wouldest not, but a body hast
Thou prepared Me.”
THE parable of the True Vine sets before us
the great spiritual mystery of which these
words, spoken by the Messiah in prophecy, plant
as it were the root. In that parable we see the
perfect outline of the Incarnation, or Christ mystical in all fulness: the root, the stem, the branches,
the stately perfection and the exuberant fruit of
the elect vine. It describes by anticipation the
life, growth, and fruitage of the Church, and reveals also the source and channels through which
the quickening life passes into all its structure and
farthest sprays.
These words of the Psalmist, quoted by St. Paul, are therefore a prophecy of the Incarnation.
In the fortieth Psalm, as it stands in the Hebrew,
the words here quoted by St. Paul run, “But
mine ear hast Thou opened;” that is, as the ear
of a servant was pierced by his master, in token
of perpetual service. But the Septuagint, which
St. Paul here follows, reads, “A body hast Thou
prepared me,” or “fitted to me.” These two readings are one in substance. The
form of a servant which He took upon Him was our humanity; and the boring of the
ear is a still more vivid prophecy of the Incarnation of the Word made flesh,
who became “obedient unto death.”
This prophecy, then, plainly declares that the
everlasting Son, who created the world, and ministered in divers appearances to the saints of God,
would, in fulness of time, of His own free and
loving will, humble Himself still more deeply, and
take upon Him the body of our flesh. God had
prepared for Him in His foreknowledge, in love
and wisdom, by His election of grace, a body of
the substance of a virgin, chosen to bear the Son
of God; and this predestination has in it a wonderful depth of mystery, an abundant and eternal
fruitfulness. May He who foretold His own humiliation for us, lead us by His Spirit, so far as
is for our good, into the knowledge of this stupendous work of love and power. Let us, then, see what is this “body” which was prepared for Him
of God.
1. First, it plainly means the natural body,
which He took of the substance of the Blessed
Virgin His mother. This was a very and true
body of flesh, even as our own. And here let us
observe, that as, in speaking of men, the word of
God uses to speak of our noblest part, and puts
the soul for our whole nature; so in speaking of
the humiliation of God, as if more openly to express His abasement, it describes His whole manhood by its lowest part:
“A body hast Thou prepared Me.” We must not, however, fall into the
Apollinarian or Eutychian errors, and imagine that
the Word took only a body of flesh and blood, as
if the divine nature were the quickening mind and
soul; or that the spiritual nature of man was absorbed in the divine. In the mystery of the divine
Incarnation two whole and perfect natures were
united in one person; the Godhead, with all attributes and perfections, infinite and eternal,—the
manhood, with all its properties and powers of
body, soul, and spirit. “As the reasonable soul
and flesh is one man, so God and man is one
Christ.” All that makes up the natural perfection of man as a moral and reasonable intelligence,
together with a passible and mortal body, He assumed into the unity of His person. It is only by bearing the whole truth in mind that holy
Scripture can be rightly understood. This being
the mystery of the Incarnation, we should be prepared to find two distinct currents of language, one
relating to the divine and infinite, the other to the
human and finite nature. And these, so far from
being contradictions to be explained away, are confirmations of the mystery, which rigidly demands a
twofold language. We read, for instance, of the
Son, “All things were made by Him;”St. John i. 3.
and again, “He was crucified through weakness.”2 Cor. xiii. 4.
How can
these be understood of the same person? How
could the Creator be crucified, or one that was
crucified create all things? At one time we read
that He is in heaven,St. John iii. 13.
one with the Father;St. John x. 30.
in
the Father, and the Father in Him;Ibid. xiv. 10.
at another,
that He increased in wisdom and stature,St. Luke ii. 52.
was
subject to His parents,St. Luke ii. 51.
was weary,St. John iv. 6.
and was less
than the Father.Ibid. xiv. 20.
These things, which seem to
cross each other, do indeed attest the union of two
natures in one person. If we did not read them,
heresy would have somewhat to say; because we
do read them, it has only somewhat to pervert.
But neither do the divine attributes absorb the
human infirmities, nor do the human properties lessen the divine; forasmuch as both so unite in
Him, that neither are the proper natures of God
and man confounded, nor the unity of the person
destroyed.S. Leo, Ep. cxxxiv. ad Leon. Aug.
This, then, is the meaning of the prophecy: “Thou hast ordained for Me the perfect
nature of manhood, in which to sanctify humanity,
to fulfil Thy will, O God, and to die for the sin of
the world: ‘a body hast Thou prepared Me.’” In
this nature He conversed for three and thirty years
among us, eating the fruits of the earth, taking
rest in sleep, subject to all the laws of our earthly
state: only thrice in His mortal life, so far as we
read, the properties of our nature were for a while
suspended; once when He fasted forty days, again
when He walked upon the water, and a third time
when He was transfigured in the mountain. But
His very and true natural body was, like ours, subject to all infirmities, visible, circumscribed, and
local; and of this the unbelief of the people of
Capernaum is witness. “How can this man give
us his flesh to eat?”St. John vi. 52.
They saw with their eyes
a body like their own, subject to all the same conditions; and, according to those conditions, visible
and natural, they misunderstood His divine and
supernatural promise. Wherefore He said, “What
and if ye shall see the Son of Man ascend up where He was before?”St. John vi. 62.
As if He had said,
“Can flesh
and blood, then, ascend up into heaven? If ye
see this, will ye believe that ‘My flesh is meat indeed, and My blood is drink indeed?’ that there
are with God powers and virtues, gifts and mysteries, of which ye know not? ‘It is the Spirit
that quickeneth.’ The Spirit is not come, as yet: ‘the flesh,’ mortal, visible, and local, as ye see it, ‘profiteth nothing.’”Ibid. 63. See S. Aug. in Joan. Tractat. xxvii. 5.
And of this it would seem
that He gave, while yet on earth, a type and shadow. After He had suffered in the flesh, and
had given His mortal body to be broken upon the
cross, He rose again from the dead; no more under
the conditions of flesh and blood, though still flesh
and blood. He appeared to them “in another
form;”St. Mark xvi. 12.
He passed the closed doors; He vanished
out of their sight, and at the last ascended into
heaven; where now, in the local presence of His
natural body, visible to heavenly hosts, He sits
exalted at the right hand of God.
2. There is yet another mystery contained by
virtue and force in this same prophecy. As there
was a natural, so there is a supernatural presence
of the body of our Lord Jesus Christ. He said, “The bread that I will give is My flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.” “Except ye
eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink His
blood, ye have no life in you; . . . . for My flesh is
meat indeed, and My blood is drink indeed. He
that eateth My flesh, and drinketh My blood,
dwelleth in Me, and I in him.” We have already
seen how, when the people of Capernaum understood these words in a gross and fleshly sense, as if,
in St. Augustine’s words, “our Lord was about to
divide and give to them a portion of His body”S. Aug. Enarr. in Ps. xcviii. 8, tom. iv. p. 1065.
as then visible before them, He, still affirming the
reality of the mystery, raised their thoughts to
a supernatural manner of fulfilment. And when
at the last supper He gave this great Sacrament
to His Apostles, He said openly, “This is My
Body,” “This is My Blood.”St. Matt. xxvi. 26, 28.
Upon these words
of power St. Paul speaks with the plainness of
our Lord Himself: “The cup of blessing which
we bless, is it not the communion of the blood
of Christ”? The bread which we break, is it not
the communion”—that is, the partaking—“of the
body of Christ?”1 Cor. x. 16.
It is not for us to attempt
to explain the secrets of this mystery. Who can
tell how the light was created, or how the earth
and the world were made; by what change flesh
and blood were fashioned of the dust, and woman from the side of Adam? Who can expound the
productive power of the first created root, bearing
seed in itself; or trace the lineal descent of substance in the corn and the olive, or in the family
of man? Who can reveal the manner of the
resurrection of the body, or the mystery of the
Incarnation? Then here let us stay our thoughts.
In the sphere of sense all is unchanged, and sense
is absolute; in the sphere of faith all objects are
divine, and His word is sure. What He has said,
that He will give, in spirit, substance, and reality.
Only let us keep aloof from vain questions of false
science and sensual logic. The mystery of the
Real Presence is not within the order of nature,
nor to be either explained or limited by natural
conditions. Nature is fallen and dead. It fell
and died in Adam, but is quickened from above
in Christ. What place have the laws of nature
in mysteries which issue from the miraculous
conception of a virgin, from an Incarnation of
God? Oh, foolish and faithless that we are!
foolish in philosophy, and faithless as members
of a divine Head. In our baptism we received “that which by nature we could not have;” we
were taken up out of the conditions of nature into
a supernatural order: and yet when, in full Christian maturity, we are admitted to the altar, we
would fain fall back again into “the beggarly elements” of this sensual world. Is it not enough
for us to know that He who took our manhood,
and, in the personal attributes of our nature, is at
the right hand of God, is present in the Sacrament
of His Body and Blood? It is enough for us to
know, that as truly as the life and substance of
the first creation are sustained and perpetuated
until now, so in the second, which is the mystical
Vine, He is root and trunk, branch and fruit;
wholly in us, and we in Him.“Non solo sacramento sed re ipsa
manducaverunt corpus Christi, in ipso ejus corpore constituti, de quo
dicit Apostolus, unus panis, unum corpus multi sumus.”—S. Aug. de Civ. Dei,
lib. xxi. c. 20.
“Non enim Christus in capite et non in corpore, sed Christus
totus in capite et in corpore.”—S. Aug. Tract. in Joan. xxviii.
The mysteries of
the faith are believed unto salvation, but are analysed with neither blessing nor reward.
3. There is, moreover, yet another and a wider
mystery springing up out of the last. The natural
body of our Lord Jesus Christ is, as it were, the
root out of which, by the power of the Holy Ghost,
His mystical body is produced. And therefore He
seems to take this title, “I am the root and the
offspring of David;”Rev. xxii. 16.
the offspring according to
the descent of the first creation, the root as the
beginning of the new.
This great work of the regeneration He began
to fulfil when, at His descent into hell, He gathered to Himself the saints who of old were sanctified through the hope of His coming. In what
way His saints from the beginning were made partakers of the Divine nature, which to us is given
through the Incarnation of His Son, God has not
as yet revealed. In what way the power of a holy
resurrection wrought in their mortal bodies unknown even to themselves, we know as little as
they. But we know that they of old could say, “In my flesh I shall see God;”Job xix. 26.
and
“my flesh
also shall rest in hope.”Ps. xvi. 9.
In their souls they were
made members of the mystical body by “the spirit
of Christ which was in them.”1 St. Peter i. 11.
At His descent
into the grave they at last beheld their glorious
Head revealed, and were united to Him by the
presence of the Incarnation. They were engrafted
into the stock of the Word made flesh. And though “they without us” could not, when on earth,
“be
made perfect,” yet at His descent unto them, they “came behind in no gift,” but were made equal
to the saints of the kingdom. Then began the
growth and expansion of the mystical vine. Upon
this unity of patriarchs, prophets, and saints of old,
were engrafted apostles and evangelists, and all the
family of the regeneration.
When the natural body of our Lord had been
veiled from the eyes of flesh, a new object arose
before the sight of men. Then was manifested
upon earth His mystical body, which is the Church.
St. Paul writes to the Church in Corinth, “Ye
are the body of Christ, and members in particular.” “For as the body is one, and hath many
members, and all the members of that one body,
being many, are one body; so also is Christ.” He
here even calls the whole mystical body by the
personal name of its Head: He calls it “Christ.” “For by one Spirit are we all baptised into one
body.”1 Cor. xii. 27, 12, 13.
God “gave Him to be the head over all
things to the Church, which is His body, the fulness of Him that filleth all in all.”Eph. i. 22, 23.
“From whom
the whole body fitly joined together, and compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure of
every part, maketh increase of the body unto the
edifying of itself in love.”Ephes. iv. 16.
Again, He is “the
head, from which all the body by joints and bands
having nourishment ministered, and knit together, increaseth with the increase of God.”Col. ii. 19.
The
Church, then, is called His body, because He partook of our flesh and blood, and became Head of
the Church; and the Church again, by the Holy Spirit through faith, is made partaker of Him.
Therefore St. Paul says, we are “of His flesh and
of His bones.”Ephes. v. 30.
In one sense the Church is called
the body of Christ, by metaphor and analogy to
the members and unity of a natural body: in another sense mystically, because of its true and vital
union with Him.
The mystical body of Christ, then, is the whole
fellowship of all who are united to Him by the
Spirit, whether they be at rest in the world unseen, or here in warfare still on earth; differing
only in this, that all His members who have been
gathered out of this world are secure for ever;
but in this world, they who are still in trial may
yet be “taken away,” and, as the fruitless and
withered branch, “cast forth”St. John xv. 6.
for the burning.
It is remarkable how this figure, which expresses
the intense inwardness and spirituality of the body
of Christ, expresses equally its visible unity and
organisation. It is as visible, sensible, and local
as was the natural body of Christ Himself. In all
the world it is visibly manifest as the presence of
its unseen Head. It speaks, witnesses, acts, binds
and looses in His name, and as Himself. And so
in all lands, and through all ages, since He went
up into heaven, His mystical body, inspired and
sanctified by the Holy Ghost, has filled His place on earth. The mustard seed has become a great
tree, the stone a great mountain; the vine has “sent out her boughs unto the sea, and her
branches unto the river.”Ps. lxxx. 11.
The Body which, in
its natural and local condition, was enclosed in an
upper chamber, or wound in grave-clothes, has multiplied its life and substance as the first Adam in
the family of mankind, and spread itself throughout the generations of God’s elect.
Such is the mystical body of Christ.
Are there, then, three bodies of Christ? God
forbid: but one only; one in nature, truth, and
glory. But there are three manners, three miracles of divine omnipotence, by which that one
body has been and is present; the first, as mortal
and natural; the second, supernatural, real, and
substantial; the third, mystical by our incorporation. The presence is one, the manner threefold;
the substance one in all three: all three one in
Him; whether He be in the holy Sacrament of
His Body and Blood, or in His mystical members,
which together make His Church, it is He who,
of the substance of the Blessed Virgin, took our
nature, was born and crucified, rose and ascended
into heaven. Other body than this was not prepared of His Father, and other than this we know
of none.
Surely these great realities ought to teach us
many high and practical truths.
1. As, for instance, with how much of loving
reverence we ought to regard every baptised person. He is “a member of Christ;” what more
can be spoken or conceived? He is united by the
Spirit of Christ to the mystical body, of which the
Word made flesh is the supernatural Head. He
has in him a life and an element which is above
this world; even “the powers of the world to
come.”Heb. vi. 5.
St. Peter, by the inspiration of God, declares that we are made “partakers of the divine
nature.”2 St. Peter i. 4.
What does this mean? It does not
mean that we are made partakers of the incommunicable Godhead, but that we are made partakers of the manhood of the incarnate Word. It
is our nature made divine. We partake of Him:
of His very flesh, of His mind, of His will, and
of His spirit. He dwells in us according as the
capacity of man can receive the indwelling of the
incarnate God.S. Athan. contra Arian. Orat. i. 16 et 38.
αὐτὸς υἰοποίησεν
ἡμᾶς τῷ Πατρὶ, καὶ ἐθεοποίησε τοὺς ἀνθρώπους γενόμενος αὐτὸς
ἄνθρωπος. also Orat. iii. 25.
This is salvation and the holiness
of saints; the mind of Christ infused and reigning,
kindling the will with all its affections, quickening
the whole spiritual life with the fire of divine love, with the power of obedience and patience, of
sanctity and the cross. In every regenerate soul
this exists in germ and virtue. When it is unfolded, we see the imitation, the mystical presence
of Christ. Who can describe the communion of
saints, or even the mind of one saint? None but
saints alone. It is a wonderful and incomprehensible depth of love and power. We can but humble
ourselves in our own dust, and be silent.
This is the divine reality which has restored to
the world two great laws of love, the unity and the
equality of man. All the members of Christ are
one in Him, and equal because He is in all. The
highest and most endowed is but as the poorest
and the lowest. Christ’s kingdom is full of heavenly paradoxes. All are rich, and all are poor:
all are equal, and all are “subject one to another:”1 St. Peter v. 5.
the wise are foolish, and fools are wise; the rich are least, and the poor
greatest; the last first, and the first last. What a mystery of peace and bliss!
How does this harmonise all sharp worldly contrasts, all abrupt and unequal
lots, with the soft light of a divine unity. Even the poor working man, with his
hard palms, sits at the marriage-supper with “the king and princes;” it may be
sits higher than his earthly lord. With what gentleness, reverence, humble and
loving distance ought we to converse together. How sinful it is to scorn, or to ridicule, a member of
Christ’s body! In the least we despise the Word
made flesh. How would this habitual memory refine, purify, and elevate all our intercourse, and
shed a grace upon the humblest and homeliest
life. There is a courtesy and a mutual observance
which is the peculiar dignity and sweetness of a
Christian; and the source of it is, that he sees
the presence of his Lord in others, and reveres
Him in himself. Only the true Christian can
have real self-respect. From this springs purity
of manners, language, conversation, and amusements in private and social life. How awfully St.
Paul uses this great spiritual fact of our incorporation with Christ to enforce the sanctification
of the body.
Hence, also, arises the great law of charity and
alms: our blessed Lord has founded it upon His
own mystical presence in all His members, especially in the poor, the hungry, the sorrowing, the
sick, and the dying. And what thought is so full
of soothing and consolation? The union of Christ’s members with Him gives us, not only a law of
loving reverence for the living, but above all for
the dead. When the soul has departed to a more
intimate union with Christ in the unseen rest,
the body also is still united to Him who is “the Resurrection and the Life.” Though the soul is
parted from the body, both are still one in Him;
and that union is the pledge that they shall be
reunited at His coming. It is this faith which
has taught Christians a loving care for their dead.
Though the sleeping body can no longer consciously receive the offices of love, yet it does not
cease to be worthy of a sacred honour: it is a
part of the mystical body of the Lord. Before the
Word was made flesh, a dead body was an unclean
thing; to touch it was pollution: but since His
holy Incarnation, the bodies of the regenerate are
holy,—honourable in the dishonour of corruption.
Therefore we lay them out, and deck them with
pure and spotless array, dressing them with flowers
or with costlier beauty, and bear them forth in
processions with chants of thanksgiving. A Christian burial, from the most royal pageant to the
lowliest bier, is a work of loving reverence, an
earthly type of baptism, a confession of the faith,
a shadow from the altar, where is the true body
of Him who died and rose again.
2. And one more thought we may take from
this blessed mystery; I mean, with what veneration and devotion we ought to behave ourselves
towards the Presence of Christ in the Sacrament
of His Body and Blood.
The first truth which must force itself upon every one who has faith in this great gift of love
is, the duty and blessedness of celebrating it with
the greatest possible frequency. Nothing surely
ought to restrain this frequency, except the awfulness of the blessed Sacrament, and the danger of
unworthiness in the celebrant and the receivers.
But this is a subject far too wide to enter upon
by the way. Frequent communion does indeed
demand a high tone of habitual devotion and of
inward recollection in the pastors of the Church.
And this is both their highest blessing and their
strictest law of life. Happy, and full of all benediction to ourselves and to our flocks, if we could
so live as to be always meet to draw near to Him.
But it is not more certain that frequent communion demands high devotion, than that a belief in
the Real Presence demands frequent celebration.
How can we be said to believe what we do not act
upon? “Shew me thy faith without thy works,
and I will shew thee my faith by my works.”St. James ii. 18.
Surely, if there be any thing in which “faith without works is dead,” it is in a
profession of believing Christ’s Presence in the holy Sacrament while we rarely
celebrate it. They who do not believe in this divine gift are consistent in
approaching it once a year: but should we be consistent, if, believing, we
celebrate it but three or four times a year? A living faith in this spiritual reality would
make infrequent communion impossible. Where
the holy Eucharist is not, the ritual of the Church
is as a day when the sun goes down at noon.
We should feel as if the worship of God through
Christ had lost its central light. All the whole
life of the regenerate is related to this great fountain of grace; all issues from it, and returns into
it again. When the altar stands cold and hare,
they are bid to go empty away.
But if this be the effect of such a faith upon
the frequency, what must it also be upon the
manner of celebrating this holy sacrament? What
do mean and naked altars, often wormed and decaying; worn arid paltry furniture, worthless vessels, and, worse than all, rough and reckless handling, certainly reveal? Belief of His presence, or
assurance of His absence? But alas, our own
sins are enough—too many and too deep that we
should look on others. With what a conscious
feeling of direct and personal service done to our
Master should we tend and dress that which is
a shadow of His cross and of His grave; with
what respect should ‘we handle and care for even
the least and poorest vessel, sacred by relation to
His presence. Above all, with what a collected
sense of His nearness ought we to fulfil our function in offering the memorial of His one only sacrifice, by taking, blessing, breaking the Bread of
life to His people! If only we could apprehend
by a living faith, and realise the very truth of
what we do, we should feel that after His sacramental Presence, and our standing there to serve
before Him, nothing remains but the homage of
the blessed in the vision of His face in heaven.
SERMON XII.
THE ONLY SACRIFICE.
HEB. x. 12-14.
“This Man, after He had offered one sacrifice for sins, for
ever sat down on the right hand of God; from henceforth expecting till His
enemies be made His footstool. For by one offering He hath perfected for ever
them that are sanctified.”
THERE is, and there can be, only one atonement for the sin of the world—the sacrifice of the death of Christ. This alone is in
itself meritorious, propitiatory, and of infinite price
and power.
And this is, in fact, the whole argument of
the Epistle to the Hebrews. St. Paul is shewing that the law of Moses was in itself of no
power or price; that it could make no propitiation, no true atonement in the eternal world;
that the vileness of the sacrifices was enough to
shew their impotence: “It is not possible that
the blood of bulls and of goats should take away sins.” If the vileness of the sacrifices confessed
their impotence, much more did their perpetual
repetition: “For then would they not have ceased
to be offered? because that the worshippers once
purged should have had no more conscience of
sins.” This very iteration, like the repeated use of
medicines in sickness, proved that they were of no
avail: for when medicines heal, they are no longer
needed. Nay, those sacrifices did more, they directly declared the sin which they could not take
away. “In those sacrifices there is a remembrance
again made of sins every year.”Heb. x. 2, 3.
They were a
shadow and promise of a sacrifice yet to come,
which in itself should be full, final, and absolute. “Sacrifice and offering and burnt-offerings and
offering for sin Thou wouldest not, neither hadst
pleasure therein; which are offered by the law;
then said he, Lo, I come to do Thy will, O God.
He taketh away the first, that He may establish
the second. By the which will we are sanctified
through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ
once for all. And every priest standeth daily ministering and offering oftentimes the same sacrifices,
which can never take away sins: but this Man,
after He had offered one sacrifice for sins, for ever
sat down on the right hand of God.”Heb. x. 8-12.
Such is the
whole idea of this divine argument. These many priests, many sacrifices, daily offerings, were shadows of the one only true Priest, the one only and
continual Sacrifice for sin, which is Jesus Christ.
In this we see the true and full perfection of
the sacrifice of the cross; and that perfection may
be expressed in two words,—that it is one, and
that it is continuous. Let us, by His help, dwell
a while on this blessed mystery.
1. The sacrifice of Jesus Christ, then, is one.
There is no other like it, or second after it. It
is not the highest of a kind, or the perfecting
of any order of oblations; but like His person, a
mystery sole and apart: “for such an high-priest
became us, who is holy, harmless, undefiled, and
separate from sinners.” And as with the priest,
so with the sacrifice. In what does this unity
consist? In the nature, the quality, and the passion of Him who offered up Himself. It is one
and unapproachable, because He was a Divine Person, both God and man. In Him was not only the
blood of the animal life, nor the blood of man
made in the image of God, but the blood of a
Man who is God: why shall we fear to say with
St. Paul, the Blood of God?Acts xx. 28.
Never was such
oblation as this offered up before, since the world
was made. Man had sinned against God, and
God as man offered Himself up for man. The guilt was against an infinite love, and infinite was
the atonement. The broken law was infinite in
sanctity, the price which healed the breach was
infinite in worth. A world’s ransom must be divine, and God gave it when He gave Himself.
In like manner the sacrifice is one, and above
all, in the quality of the person who, as God, was
holy, as man, was sinless. It was not the obedience
only of man for man, but of man without sin; nor
only of sinless man for sinners, but the obedience
of God. The obedience unto death was both human and divine. He who was born of the Ever-Virgin Mother was God, He who hung upon the
tree was God, spotless and holy, the fountain of
holiness, the sanctifier of the world.
And further, as the nature and the quality, so
the passion of Christ gives to His sacrifice an unity
of transcendent perfection. Being sinless as man,
and being also God, He suffered all the sorrows of
the fall, and died. All that was due to sin, the
Sinless bare in Himself; all that was due to us,
but as far as the breadth of eternal righteousness
from Him, He willingly endured. Wonderful and
stupendous mystery. God “made Him to be sin
for us who knew no sin, that we might be made
the righteousness of God in Him.”2 Cor. v. 21.
“His own self
bare our sins in His own body on the tree.”1 St. Peter ii. 24.
Christ “hath once suffered for sins, the just for
the unjust, that He might bring us to God.”1 St. Peter iii. 18.
The
very heart, will, soul, and sensitive nature of our
manhood, both in the flesh and in the spirit, was
in Him afflicted and crucified. All that sorrow,
pain, and death could wreak upon Him He received into His open heart for us. Righteous,
holy, pure, perfect in love both to God and man,
He offered up Himself as a sacrifice of atonement
between God and man. What other sacrifice has
even the shadow of this unity of perfection? What
self-sacrifice of man is sinless? What other sacrifice is divine?
Therefore we adore this one great Oblation as
one, alone, unapproachable, absolute, and transcending the order of creation: the only true
“perfect
and sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction
for the sins of the whole world.” This, then, is
its unity.
2. But further, it is not only one, but continuous. As by its unity it abolished the multitude of oblations, so by its continuity it abolished
the repetition of sacrifices. To add one more
would be to deny its final atonement. That which
is infinite cannot be numbered. It is one, not only
because it has no second, but because infinity has
no number.
For the same reason, what is infinite must be,
in time, continuous; for in itself it is eternal. The
sacrifice of Christ is as everlasting as His person. All the new creation of God is built upon it.
The cross is the foundation of “eternal redemption.”Heb. ix. 12.
Even in foresight its atonement was perfect. The Lamb was
“slain from the beginning
of the world.” All the generations of God’s elect,
from righteous Abel until the oblation upon Calvary, were redeemed by the continuous virtue of
this one great sacrifice offered in the Divine foreknowledge. After He had, in time, once offered
up Himself for ever, He sat down, the everlasting
sacrifice, at the right hand of God. From the
great day of atonement until now, all the elect of
God have been made perfect through the continuous power of that one oblation, made once
for all. He is now fulfilling the Priest’s office of
intercession over the blood of atonement “within
the veil.”Heb. vi. 19, 20.
His intercession is the perpetual
presenting of His own sacrifice, that is, of Himself, bearing the wounds of His
passion. The memorial, the very and true reality of the cross, is always in
heaven. He was pierced on Calvary, but His passion is still before the
mercy-seat. He was pierced eighteen hundred years ago, but His blood was shed
four thousand years before, and His wounds are fresh and atoning until now.
His sacrifice is eternal. Though every light in
the firmament of heaven were a world, and every
world dead in sin; and though time should multiply the generations of sinners for ever; yet that
one sacrifice for sin would infinitely redeem all
worlds.
Now this leads to two high and blessed truths,
revealed to us for our endless consolation.
1. The first is, that the holy Eucharist is a
real and true sacrifice. Can it be necessary to
say, that when the Sacrament upon the altar is
called a sacrifice, it does not mean a sacrifice
added to the sacrifice of the cross? That would
be to contradict alike all revelation and all reason; to make not one only sacrifice, but many;
to make them either nothing or infinite; either
to add to what is already infinite, or to give an
infinite value to a finite oblation; which is, in
truth, to deny the need and reality of all sacrifices whatsoever. Let such a thought, then, be
at once and for ever cast aside. Nothing can be
added to that which is already perfect. Neither,
again, is the Eucharist a sacrifice separate from the
sacrifice of the cross; for what sacrifice but that
alone can “take away sin?” No acts or offerings
of men, any more than the blood of bulls and
goats, can take away sin. Faith and adoration cannot; for they need an atonement to be themselves accepted at all. No creature, no universe
of creatures, even deathless and sinless, could atone
for one sin. Therefore, neither as added to, nor
as separate from, the sacrifice of Christ is the holy
Eucharist a sacrifice. In what sense, then, is it
so called? Let us take the analogy and progress
of the great evangelical revelation as our guide,
and we shall be at no loss to understand.
Before Christ offered up Himself upon the
cross, God ordained the sacrifices of the Law, as
types and shadows of a sacrifice yet to come.
They were sacraments looking forward to the cross.
Since Christ has offered His one oblation of Himself, the broken bread and the wine poured out
upon the altar are memorials of a sacrifice already
perfect. It is a sacrifice looking backward to the
cross.
Thus far is clear. It is representative and
commemorative. The bread and the wine represent the mystery of the Incarnation; the breaking
of the bread, and the pouring forth of the wine,
the passion of the crucifixion; the offering them
upon the altar before God, the mystery of His own
sacrifice upon the cross. So far the analogy of
God’s earlier revelation gives an exact parallel.
But this is not all. It also applies the one Sacrifice to us.
The Law had “a shadow of good things to
come, and not the very image of the things.” The
Gospel is not the counterpart of the Law, but
its fulfilment; or rather, it is the greater which
contains the less. Whatever we find of grace in
the Law, we shall find with much more, in “measure pressed down and running over,” in the Gospel. The Law was a shadow,
“the body is of
Christ:” that is to say, first, the personal work
and passion of Christ, His incarnation and atonement, all that He did and suffered in Himself,
summed up in the one sacrifice upon the cross;
and next—for this is not all—the application of
this work, that is, of His one all-sufficient sacrifice, to the souls of His elect. The Law, then, is
fulfilled in the body of Christ, that is, in the person of Christ, and in His Church. Shadows,
by passing through His cross, have become sacraments; what before stood empty is now full of
grace; symbols are now mysteries; the outward
signs have received the fellowship of inward grace.
They are wedded together, as the Church is to
Christ, by the Holy Ghost, which, through His
incarnation, has been shed abroad upon His mystical body. We are now in a dispensation of faith,
and “faith is the substance of things hoped for.” “By one oblation He hath perfected,” that is,
consecrated wholly to God, “for ever them that are sanctified.” In and for Himself, therefore,
in virtue, price, and power, He has redeemed all
mankind. But for our salvation, that one perfect
sacrifice must be directly and personally applied
to every particular soul. The offering of the one
sacrifice to the Father is the ministry of Christ by
Himself; the application of that one sacrifice to
us is the ministry of Christ by the Spirit.
There are some, indeed, who say that we apply
this sacrifice to ourselves—as the Pelagians, and
their followers, whether they adopt their whole error, or only a part of it. All these agree in thinking that we can of our
“own natural strength turn
to God,” “do good works,” or, at least, apply God’s grace to ourselves. Many other and better Christians, who believe the sovereignty of God’s grace
as a doctrine, but are careless either in thought or
language, use the same words. When their attention is called to such phrases as that
“by faith
we apply the sacrifice of Christ to ourselves,” they
at once correct themselves, and say, that “faith is
the gift of God; and that they mean no more
than that, through the gift of faith, we receive
the application of the sacrifice of Christ at the
hands of God.” This is, indeed, the pure truth
of the Gospel; for it is as much a work of Christ
to apply His sacrifice to us, as to offer it to His
Father. It is His sovereign and sacerdotal act as priest and king. By baptism He first applies
to us the blood of His Passion for the remission
of sins; through faith and love He continually
unites us more and more unto Himself; by absolution He applies His atonement to every true
penitent; by the holy Eucharist He applies His
passion to the sanctification of all faithful souls.
All these are, as it were, fruits of His one sacrifice—channels through which the grace of it flows
to us, and pledges of its application to us, one by
one. But it may be asked, Why, then, are not
all these called sacrifices? In one sense all may
be, that is, spiritual sacrifices, acts of faith, love,
thanksgiving. But there is an eminent and peculiar sense in which the holy Eucharist bears this
title, in which no other sacrament or office of the
Church partakes.
For, as we have already said, the Sacrament of
the Body and Blood of Christ is a visible memorial
and representation of His crucifixion and oblation.
This baptism is not, and no other mystery of the
Gospel is ordained to be. Our blessed Lord, in
the very act of institution, made it a representation
of the sacrifice of Himself. “With desire I have
desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. . . . . And He took bread, and gave thanks, and brake it, and gave unto them, saying, This is My
body which is given for you: this do in remembrance of Me. Likewise also the cup after supper, saying, This cup is the new testament in My
blood, which is shed for you.”St. Luke xxii. 15, 19, 20.
In this our blessed
Lord did truly, in a symbolical act, offer and give
Himself to die upon the cross. Through all His
life no man could lay hands on Him, because His “hour was not yet come.” But now, knowing
that the time was come that He should “go unto
the Father,” and having “power over His life,”
so that no man could take it from Him; having “power to lay it down, and power to take it
again;” He here, by a solemn act of self-oblation,
gave Himself, as the true Paschal Lamb, to be
offered and eaten by us. The act of that hour
was related to the oblation upon the cross, as its
shadow cast on before. He then, in will and purpose, offered Himself; and His own body, which
He had there consecrated for our sakes unto His
Father, He afterwards gave in full on Calvary. In
its first institution, therefore, the Sacrament of His
Body and His Blood was a true sacrifice of Himself,
through the symbols of bread and wine.
And thus, St. Paul expressly declares the tradition of the
Church: “I have received of the Lord that which also I delivered unto you, That
the Lord Jesus, the same night in which He was betrayed, took bread: and when He
had given thanks, He brake it, and said, Take, eat: this is
My body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of Me. After the same manner also
He took the cup, when He had supped, saying,
This cup is the new testament in My blood:
this do ye,” as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance
of Me. For as often as ye eat this bread, and
drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord’s death till
He come.”1 Cor. xi. 23-26.
“Ye do
shew;” that is, shew forth
and exhibit, as St. Paul said to the Galatians, “before whose eyes Jesus Christ hath been evidently set forth, crucified among you.”Gal. iii. 1.
And not
only so; not only before men, but before God, exhibited in the sight of heaven. The Sacrament of
His Body broken and Blood shed is spread forth
upon the altar as before God, to whom He offered
up Himself. All sacrifice, and all memorials of
sacrifice, terminate in the Divine presence, before
the mercy-seat.
What the sacrifices of the Law then offered
in type, we offer in fulfilment; what they promised, this applies to us. When our blessed Lord
took bread, and said, “This is My body,” and
the cup, saying, “This is My blood,” He did not
speak in metaphor and figure. What He spake,
they are; what they are, we offer. In that holy
Sacrament He is really present; and by His real presence it is the one and continual offering of
Himself.
2. And this leads us to the other truth of
which I spoke; I mean, that it is He who truly
offers Himself for us perpetually, both in heaven
and earth, through and with His mystical body, the
Church. The Church is so united to Him as to
be one with Him. It lives and acts in Him alone.
Every member of it, and every act of it, out of
Christ is dead. “If a man abide not in Me, he is
cast forth as a branch, and is withered; and men
gather them, and cast them into the fire, and they
are burned.”St. John xv. 6.
This is the first foundation of the
Church—its perfect unity of life and act with
Christ its Head. As there is but one sacrifice, so
there is but one priesthood. All that the Church
offers is Christ, and all that the priesthood of the
Church does in spirit and in truth is done by
Christ. They are but His representatives and
vicars: many, because finite; but all one in Him,
their office one, and their acts one. He alone is
king and priest, and in Him the whole Church is a “royal priesthood.”1 St. Peter ii. 9.
He has “made us unto our
God kings and priests.”Rev. v. 10.
Every Christian is
spiritually a king and a priest, because anointed in Christ. The Church has
therefore a twofold priesthood, internal and external; the internal, which is hidden and universal in every member; the external, which is visible and particular, delegated
to the sacerdotal order by Christ Himself. The external priesthood is the expression and embodying
of the internal, which thereby fulfils its ministry
of sacrifice and worship. It is as the ministry
of the body to the powers and endowments of the
soul; as speech is to thought, or power to will.
But whether internal or external, it is all one
priesthood still; the priesthood of Christ descending from the Head to the body, whereby He offers
the body in Himself, and the body, in and for itself,
offers Him unto the Father.S. Aug. de Civ. Dei, lib. x. 19; xxii. 10.
In this, then, we see what is the Christian
sacrifice. It is Christ in heaven offering Himself
in visible presence; and on earth, by His ministering priesthood, offering Himself in the Sacrament of His Body and Blood. Though manifold
in operation, and various in kinds and accidents,
it is still all one sacrifice, one priesthood, one
continuous act of memorial and exhibition to the
Father, of union and application to the Church. In
one word, then, what is it that we offer unto God?
It is the infinite merits of His Son; the infinite
price which, by His incarnation and His death, He
has paid for our redemption. These merits He has
given to His Church. They are hers, because they
are His. Having nothing of her own, no riches,
no “upper or nether springs,” no “raiment of
needlework,” no “form or comeliness,” no dowry
of her own, He has endowed her with Himself:
Christ is the dowry of the Church. This is the
sole and only foundation of our hope. Through
Him, and in Him alone, we come unto the Father.
Every prayer must pass through His merits.
Every work of repentance, faith, and love, must
ascend through His one sacrifice of Himself.
Blessed poverty, to have nothing, that we may
possess Christ! for then “all things are yours, and
ye are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s.” Verily,
for our sakes He became poor, that we by His
poverty might be made infinitely rich. Wonderful
mystery of eternal love! As all the multitude of
stars hide their borrowed light in the brightness
of the morning sun, and all mountains, lands, and
seas are fulfilled with the overflow of his one
universal splendour; so all shadows and types
of sacrifice, offered up through the long weary
night of expectation, vanished before the one great
oblation made upon the cross. And now from
the highest heaven that infinite atonement sheds
itself abroad in all the earth. Wheresoever there
is an altar in the name of Christ, there is the
memorial of His cross. “The people that walked
in darkness have seen a great light; they that dwelt in the land of the shadow of death, upon
them hath the light shined.”Isaiah ix. 2.
The sacrifices of
one nation, impure, and with blood of beasts, have
passed away, and the words of the prophet are
fulfilled: “From the rising of the sun unto the
going down of the same, My name shall be great
among the Gentiles; and in every place incense
shall be offered unto My name, and a pure offering.”Malachi i. 11.
Even so as Thy prophet hath spoken; in
Thy holy Church throughout all the world Thy
name is glorified; the incense of perpetual prayer
goes up before Thee, and the pure oblation, the
Lamb without blemish and without spot, is laid
alway upon Thine altar. Blessed mystery, too little
realised, even by those who trust in it. The world
cannot receive it, “because it seeth Him not,
neither knoweth Him.” “The Light” even now “shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not.”St. John i. 5.
Let us strive more clearly to
discern this great object of faith, Christ evermore
offering Himself for us. Evermore: not “that
He should offer Himself often; for then must He
often have suffered since the foundation of the
world; but now once in the end of the world hath
He appeared to put away sin by the sacrifice of
Himself;”Heb. ix. 26.
not often, but evermore: reconciling us continually, after all our sins of wilfulness, ignorance,
infirmity; making steadfast the peace He has wrought between God and us upon the
cross. Let this thought dwell in us continually, that all our hope may be in Him
alone. Day by day let us draw near to Him, to wash our soiled robes and make
them white in the blood of His only sacrifice. In that fountain we must wash
ourselves, our souls and bodies, our sins and our good works, our prayers and
our repentance. And when these are washed, what can remain unclean? Above all,
let us ever adore Him more and more in His blessed Presence with us in the
sacrament of His love. To that let us come as to the foot of His cross, in
sorrowing faith and loving hope; praying that, as He suffered a poor penitent
with unclean lips to kiss His feet at supper, and to stand all cleansed beside
His cross on Calvary, so He may suffer us, all trembling with our conscious
guilt, to touch Him through the sacrament of His atonement, lest we die. Let us
come to Him, saying, “If I must die, Lord, rather will I die here at Thy feet,
than afar off; if haply even the shadow of Thy sacrifice may fall upon me, and
under it I be found at last, resting in hope at that day.”
SERMON XIII.
THE FEAST OF THE OLD CREATION AND THE NEW.
ZECH. ix. 17.
“How great is His goodness, [and how great is His beauty!
Corn shall make the young men cheerful, and new wine the maids.”
ZECHARIAH wrote this prophecy when he
and his brethren of the captivity were in
Babylon. All through the earlier part of the
book he has been foretelling the return of God’s people and the rebuilding of Jerusalem. This is
the literal intention of his words: “Thus saith
the Lord; I am returned unto Zion, and will
dwell in the midst of Jerusalem: and Jerusalem
shall be called a city of truth; and the mountain
of the Lord of hosts the holy mountain. Thus
saith the Lord of hosts; There shall yet old men
and old women dwell in the streets of Jerusalem,
and every man with his staff in his hand for very
age. And the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing in the streets thereof.”Zech. viii. 3-5.
“The seed shall be prosperous; the vine shall
give her fruit, and the ground shall give her increase, and the heavens shall give their dew.”Zech. viii. 12.
“Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love:
therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee.
Again I will build thee, and thou shalt be built,
O virgin of Israel: thou shalt again be adorned
with thy tabrets, and shalt go forth in the dances
of them that make merry. Thou shalt yet plant
vines upon the mountains of Samaria: the planters
shall plant, and shall eat them as common things.”Jerem. xxxi. 3-5.
“They shall come and sing in the height of Zion,
and shall flow together to the goodness of the
Lord, for wheat, and for wine, and for oil, and for
the young of the flock and of the herd: and their
soul shall be as a watered garden; and they shall
not sorrow any more at all. Then shall the virgin
rejoice in the dance, both young men and old together: for I will turn their mourning into joy,
and will comfort them, and make them rejoice
from their sorrow. And I will satiate the soul
of the priests with fatness, and My people shall
be satisfied with My goodness, saith the Lord.”Jerem. xxxi. 12-14.
“Fear not, O land; be glad and rejoice: for the
Lord will do great things. Be not afraid, ye beasts of the field: for the pastures of the wilderness do
spring, for the tree beareth her fruit, the fig-tree
and the vine do yield their strength. Be glad,
then, ye children of Zion, and rejoice in the Lord
your God: for He hath given you the former rain
moderately, and He will cause to come down for
you the rain, the former rain, and the latter rain
in the first month. And the floors shall be full of
wheat, and the fats shall overflow with wine and
oil.”Joel ii. 21-24.
“Your threshing shall reach unto the vintage, and the vintage shall reach unto the sowing
time: and ye shall eat your bread to the full, and
dwell in your land safely. And I will give peace
in the land, and ye shall lie down, and none shall
make you afraid.”Levit. xxvi. 5, 6.
“The ploughman shall overtake the reaper, and the treader of grapes him that
soweth seed; and the mountains shall drop sweet
wine, and all the hills shall melt. And I will
bring again the captivity of My people of Israel,
and they shall build the waste cities, and inhabit
them; and they shall plant vineyards, and drink
the wine thereof; they shall also make gardens,
and eat the fruit of them.”Amos ix. 13, 14.
In all these prophecies there is a blessed vision of peace—a time of
joy after sorrow, of freedom after bondage: every
man calling his neighbour “under the vine and under the fig-tree.”Zech. iii. 10.
And the symbols by which
the goodness of the Lord is exhibited are corn and
wine. “It shall come to pass in that day, I will
hear, saith the Lord, I will hear the heavens, and
they shall hear the earth; and the earth shall
hear the corn, and the wine, and the oil; and they
shall hear Jezreel.”Hosea ii. 21, 22.
“Behold, I will send you
corn, and wine, and oil.”Joel ii. 19.
“Israel shall dwell in
safety alone, and the fountain of Jacob shall be
upon a land of corn and wine.”Deut. xxxiii. 28.
“How great is His goodness, and how great is
His beauty! Corn shall make the young men cheerful, and new wine the maids.”
In all these passages there is a voice of joy, a
grateful and festal gladness: the city “full of boys
and girls playing in the streets thereof;” the waste
cities inhabited; virgins rejoicing in the dance, “old men and young together.” As corn and wine
are chief symbols of the Divine goodness, so the
feast of harvest is a chief symbol of a divine joy.
It is spoken of as the special token of gladness;
and its taking away, as the special token of affliction. “Therefore I will bewail with the weeping
of Jazer the vine of Sibmah; I will water thee with
my tears, O Heshbon, and Elealeh; for the shouting
for thy summer fruits and for thy harvest is fallen. And gladness is taken away, and joy out of the
plentiful field; and in the vineyards there shall be
no singing, neither shall there be shouting: the
treaders shall tread out no wine in their presses;
I have made their vintage shouting to cease.”Isaiah xvi. 9, 10.
And so, when God poured out blessings on His
people, the prophet says, “They joy before Thee
according to the joy in harvest.”Ibid. ix. 3.
Surely all this is not only history, but prophecy. All these visions of earthly blessing have
their heavenly substance. They shew us the joy
and the feast of the old creation; God’s people rejoicing under His benign
Fatherhood, eating the fruits of the earth with a holy gladness. But what are
all these,—the joy of God’s people in Jerusalem, the holy mountain, the cities
of peace, the fair lands, the fruitful vineyards, the corn and the wine, the
harvest and the vintage, the shouting and the feast of ingathering,—what are
they all but one great prophecy, a symbol and a sacrament, the old creation in
its earthly festival witnessing and waiting for the new?
In this same chapter, the prophet, by one word,
lights up the whole mystery. “Rejoice greatly, O
daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jerusalem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee: He is
just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon
an ass, and upon a colt the foal of an ass.”Zech. ix. 9.
This
reveals all. It is “the Israel of God,”Gal. vi. 16.
after long
waiting and affliction, redeemed from death; the
whole election, both the elder and the later, not of
Israel alone, but of all nations, gathered into the
city of God. “When the eyes of man,” that is, of
all mankind, “as of all the tribes of Israel, shall
be toward the Lord;”Zech. ix. 1.
“and all nations shall flow
unto” Him.Isaiah ii. 2.
“The Lord their God shall save
them in that day as the flock of His people: for
they shall be as the stones of a crown, lifted up as
an ensign upon His land;”Zech. ix. 16.
that is, they shall be
gathered to the Word made flesh; to the cross
high and lifted up on Calvary; unto which, by
His love and power, He draws all hearts.St. John xii. 32.
What
is this but the rejoicing of His mystical body, the
Church, in all the world; the song of His saints:
all kindreds and people coming up out of dark
lands and the shadow of death, to the light of
eternal life, worshipping “the brightness of His
rising;” lifting up their oblations and their hands, with the voice of
adoration: “How great is His goodness, and how great is His beauty!”
It is a luminous prophecy of the Word made
flesh, revealed first by personal manifestation upon
earth, and then by His Spirit through the Church. What is this “goodness” and this “beauty,” but
the perfect mystery of His divine manhood? They
are not so much two attributes as two aspects of
His person. Goodness is inward beauty, beauty
is outward goodness. They are inseparable; and
express to us the perfection of Him who is God
and Man: perfect alike in both; in majesty and
meekness, in love and in humility, in His passion
and in His power.
And as it is a prophecy of the Incarnation, so
it is also of the holy Eucharist, the feast of the
new creation. For He is this “corn” and “wine” of gladness. “Except a corn of wheat fall into
the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it
die, it bringeth forth much fruit.”St. John xii. 24.
“The bread
of God is He which cometh down from heaven,
and giveth life unto the world. Then said they
unto Him, Lord, evermore give us this bread.
And Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life. . . . . The bread that I will give is My flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.”Ibid. vi. 33-35, 51.
“Who is this that cometh from Edom, with
dyed garments from Bozrah? this that is glorious in his apparel, travelling in the greatness
of his strength? I that speak in righteousness,
mighty to save. Wherefore art thou red in thine
apparel, and thy garments like him that treadeth in the wine-fat? I have trodden the wine-press
alone.”Isaiah lxiii. 1-3.
This is the true corn and wine of God’s kingdom, the harvest and the vintage of the
cross. He was bruised by a divine agony in the
garden of oil-presses: He gave His body to be
broken, and His blood to be poured out for us. “For this” the true “Melchisedec, king of Salem,
priest of the most high God, . . . King of righteousness, . . . King of peace,”Heb. vii. 1, 2.
“brought forth bread
and wine,”Gen. xiv. 18.
and “blessed it, and brake it, and gave
it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is My body. And He took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it; for
this is My blood of the new testament, which is
shed for many for the remission of sins. But I
say unto you, I will not drink henceforth of this
fruit of the vine, until that day when I drink it
new with you in My Father’s kingdom.”St. Matt. xxvi. 26-29.
“Christ our passover is sacrificed for us: therefore let us keep the feast.”1 Cor. v. 7, 8.
We have the wine of
Cana; the bread of the five thousand in the wilderness, the feast of joy and love, of goodness and
beauty, as “the joy of harvest, and singing, when
the vintage is done.” This is the feast of the new
creation, which the Church on earth keeps by a
perpetual celebration, until, when our toil is over, we shall sit down with Him at the “marriage supper of the
Lamb.”
Let us see now from what deep fountain the
joy of this feast overflows. There is something
sad and repulsive in the tone of command with
which the blessedness of the holy communion is
forced upon sated and reluctant minds. If there
be a precept in the kingdom of God, this is indeed a commandment sanctioned by the most awful
realities of love and fear. It is our Redeemer who
said, “This do in remembrance of Me.” It is the
command He gave in His night of agony, when
His “soul was sorrowful even unto death.” If
love and gratitude can awaken obedience, who then
can disobey? or if gratitude and love cannot obtain it, will not even fear prevail?
“Except ye
eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and drink His
blood, ye have no life in you.”St. John vi. 53.
And yet, after
all, there is something unloving and cold in alarming and upbraiding those that will not come. It
may be necessary to alarm cold and unloving Christians; but it is a sad necessity, convicting us of
being cold and loveless. If we see no goodness or
beauty in His sacrament of love, words of chilling
duty will never kindle our hearts, or open our eyes.
What we lack is love: this would give us the prophet’s sight to say, “O how great!” But perhaps we believe that we do already honour the holy sacrament, duly frequent, and worthily receive it;
perhaps at times we have a perception of its sweetness, or at least we think so: and yet to how many
communicants would He say, “Because thou sayest,
I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need
of nothing; and knowest not that thou art wretched,
and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked: I
counsel thee to buy of Me gold tried in the fire,
that thou mayest be rich; and white raiment, that
thou mayest be clothed, and that the shame of thy
nakedness do not appear; and anoint thine eyes
with eye-salve, that thou mayest see.”Rev. iii. 17, 18.
This is
the state of too many. They are as men that
have no eye for beauty, no ear for harmonies.
With too many of us “He hath no form nor comeliness,” nor any “beauty that we should desire
Him.”Isaiah liii. 2.
And what is this incapacity for the blessedness of His presence but the
beginning of that state in which His face shall be no more seen?
Let us, then, endeavour, by His help, to meditate, not on the worthiness required in us, but on
the blessings which the Lord of the harvest pours
out on those who come to this supper, where He is
both the Master and the Feast.
1. The first grace He gives is rest. “Man goeth forth unto his
work and to his labour until the evening.”Ps. civ. 23.
But the Master stands in the midst,
ever saying to His servants, “Come unto Me, all
ye that travail and are heavy laden, and I will
give you rest.” This is the labourer’s reward when
the work is done: at eventide, when the toil is
over, and the sun is down, when the burden and
the heat of the day have been endured, then comes
rest. But we serve a pitiful Master, and He, in
His compassion, gives us rest, not only once for
all, when this toilsome life is over, but oftentimes
all through our life; all day long He breaks in
upon our toil with times of resting. Month by
month, week by week, day by day, if our hearts
were ready and yearned for the food of life, He
would restore our strength.
Rest is manifold, and in the holy Sacrament
He gives it in its fulness. First, He gives rest
from the burden of sin, assuring us of forgiveness.
If we come with true contrition, and with a pure
and humble confession, He will unbind the burden,
and take it from our shoulder. He will make us
to feel that He is at peace with us; that between
Him and us there is no veil of fear; that our sins
past are put away; and that the long chain by
which we have dragged a load of many iniquities,
galling and wearying our soul, is broken asunder.
This is the rest He gives to contrite hearts. And
if we may kneel before Him loosed from our sins,
what more can we desire? Is not sin the one thing
that makes life unhappy, and death terrible? Why
should we fear to die, but because “we are tied and
bound with the chain of our sins;” because “the
remembrance of them is grievous unto us, and the
burden of them is intolerable?” The sting of guilt
and the stain of sin, these are our chief unrest. To
be free from these would be the beginning of bliss;
and in the holy Sacrament of His death and passion, if only we would believe, He would perfect
our absolution. The mortal sins which in times
past we have committed, having been penitently
confessed, He will make us to feel that it is in
the power of His Church to loose. All through
life this assurance grows deeper in the devout
communicant. The past is not forgotten, it does
not lose its blackness; nay, it is more keenly perceived; it is seen to be even darker than we saw
before; and yet we seem to pass through the holy
communion farther and farther from our former
selves, into the depth of His presence. The consciousness of past guilt remains, but it is suspended
in a consciousness of present rest. It abides for
our humiliation, and as a mark of shame within;
but it loses its angry and awful countenance. It
condemns no more, but is itself condemned. We
can hate it, and fear nothing; for our Redeemer loves us, and in Him we are “clean every whit.”
In like manner of the sins which we commit daily.
Happy is the man who passes from one act of holy
communion to another without laying up a score
of sins needing to be forgiven. I do not mean
deliberate and wilful, though these, alas, too often
mingle with the throng of lesser offences; but sins
of weakness or surprise, of strong and sudden temptations. These cleave to us; and though no number of them make one deadly sin, yet their effect
upon the soul is dangerous, preparing it for greater
evil. Often falling needs often cleansing; and this fountain stands ever open to
us. Who that knows the world and sin, the tempter and himself, and will not
rather need a fence, lest he come too easily, than a goad to force him to this
sacrament of pardon?
For, again, it is not only in the peace of forgiveness that the holy communion gives us rest.
It also sets the heart and will free from the misery
of inward faults. It is a remedy, all-healing, never
failing, except through our fault, against anger,
pride, luxury, sloth, envy, and the like. And
what but these are our chief tormentors? What
holds us in bondage but ourselves? We are
our own scourges: we carry our miseries within.
What makes us fretful, sensitive, wincing, sick at
heart; what, as we say, galls and stings us, but our inward heart sins? While these live in us,
we can have no rest. Though all the world go
smooth and fair without, these would make our
days bitter and our nights sleepless. Now it is
from these also that the power of Christ’s presence
sets us free. He plucks up the very roots of this
bitterness, and quenches the smouldering heats
which sear the heart. But none can speak of
this rest, except he that knows it by experience j
and none know it but the sincere and watchful.
It is a foretaste of that sinless calm which remaineth for the people of God.
2. And when He gives rest, He gives also refreshment. He does not only say,
“I will give
you rest,” but in words that mean, “I will refresh
you,”Compare St. Matt. xi. 28, with the “Office for the Holy
Communion.”
He renews our strength for labours still
to come. We are not yet at the great Harvest
Home. The sun must go down again and again
upon our reaping field before our work is over.
We all know what is the exhaustion of bodily
strength, the drying up of powers, and almost of
life, by heavy toil; but how few are conscious of
the perpetual decays of the spiritual life, that is,
of humility, sincerity, patience, gentleness, devotion, which come upon us all day long! The soul
wastes faster than the body. Every night gives back to the body what every day takes from it:
but with the soul, not so. The pride, sloth, impatience of to-day fret and prey upon the grace
which is in us, as a blight upon the promise of
harvest. The spiritual decays of to-day run on
into to-morrow, and to-morrow begins with an inclination to a lower tone; its own temptations
swell the evil: one day heaps its sin upon another, and our spiritual decline gains in speed as
it gains in time. In this there is one specially
alarming thought. The degrees are so shadowy,
and the transitions so imperceptible, that it is
like a motion too slow to be measured by the eye,
or so intense as to seem like rest. These decays
are always advancing in every soul not supported
by habitual communion with Christ. Even the
most devout complain of them, and fear them
more than others. And this is one cause why
frequent communion is a special mark of a devout
life. Such persons feeling in themselves a perpetual inclination to decay, seek in the blessed
Sacrament a perpetual supply of restoring grace.
It is this that keeps them from declension. “In
the strength of that meat” they toil on “to Horeb,
the mount of God:” by the sustaining corn and
wine of His elect, they “go from strength to
strength.” If any one, then, has some peculiar
temptation which habitually besets him, and often gains the mastery, that is a special reason for frequent communion. Let him not disquiet himself
by alarms, as by remembering that he has lately
fallen, and fearing to fall again; if only he be
truly sorrowful and ashamed, out of a sincere love
of Christ, and a sincere hatred of his sin, let him
by all means return to the blessed Sacrament as a
strength and remedy against relapse. If he refuse
strength, fall he must. If he say, I will not come
till I have got the upperhand of this temptation,
when will he come? And how can he get the
mastery? Can he overcome without the grace of
Christ? Can he have it if he turn away from
it? Now here is an unspeakable consolation for
the tempted; for all who feel the lowering and
blighting effect of the world, of dangerous companions to whom duty binds them, of trying positions
from which they cannot escape, of fiery temptations
searching their inmost thoughts. Let them be of
good heart. Only stand firm against the assaults
and crafts of Satan, only divide your sins from
you by the barrier of fear and hatred, by the
opposition of your will and prayers; the blessed
Sacrament shall then be your strength, and the
presence of Christ shall restore all your spiritual
decays. What you have lost shall be made up
to you; what you have still to encounter you
shall be abundantly strengthened to endure. Be your path never so rough and sharp, “thy shoes
shall be as iron and brass; and as thy days, so
shall thy strength be.”Deut. xxxiii. 25.
Come and cast yourselves
upon His full forgiveness for the past, and upon
His omnipotence for the future. What more can
you need? And this not once, not twice, nor for
a third time only, but always, and for ever; continually bringing to Him your sorrows and your
complaints: pleading against yourselves, then, go
forth again refreshed, as if to begin anew, and as
for the first time, another life of hope.
3. Lastly, in this great feast of joy He gives
us the conscious perception of His love. I say
the perception, because we already have the knowledge, the tokens, and the pledges. He has said,
“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man
lay down his life for his friends.”St. John xv. 13.
We have His
word, we have His holy passion, we have the benedictions and mercies of our whole life long. Is not
this enough? Enough on His part, and to spare;
but not enough on ours. We know it, confess
it, believe it; but we do not feel it. Love alone,
by its own kindred perception, feels love. And
this crowning grace the Master gives to His servants, at this feast of rest. He
“sheds abroad” His “love in our hearts by the Holy Ghost.” His
love falls as a light of fire, making hearts that long for Him to burn. Then all is revealed:
His cross and our sin, His goodness and our evil,
His beauty and our deformity of soul. Love is the
light in which He is seen, and all things in His
presence. “The love of the Lord passeth all things
for illumination.”Ecclus. xxv. 11.
If we would see ourselves as
we are, we must first “see Him as He is.” And
this gift of light He infuses into the lowliest
penitent, howsoever slow of intellect, howsoever
dull of understanding. If the heart be pure or
broken, He will pour in oil and wine, His spirit
and His blood, the gift of light and love. This is
the source of all devotion. To feel His love shining down upon them draws them in love to Him
again; binds them in love to all the creatures of
His hand, to all for whom He died; kindles in
them repentance and compunction, holy patience
and holy obedience; cleanses and consumes away
the sins of flesh and spirit, and makes their whole
life a living sacrifice, in likeness of His own. O
words easily spoken; too high and excellent for
such as we; still, spoken they must be. May He
not lay them to our charge, or judge us by them!
Blessed life, to which they who know it say
nothing of earth may be compared. They have
seen His goodness and His beauty, His passion
and His purity, the “Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the valleys;”Song of Solomon ii. 1.
and the burden of their
heart all day long is, “O how great!” Nothing
in this world allures them, for they have seen
fairer things than these; nothing dazzles their
eyes, for they have looked upon a brighter glory;
nothing draws them aside, for they have tasted of
the eternal sweetness. The Beauty, ancient but
always new, drowns all lights of earth. And not
fair and bright things only, but crosses and sorrows, rods and afflictions; these have no terrors
and no sharpness, They can see by whose hand
these gifts are stretched forth to them, and in
each they count the print of the nails, the pledges
of His love and nearness. They have one great
longing, in which all other desires are lost; not
wealth, honour, power, learning, home, or happiness; nothing of time, or in time. Their whole
soul is an hungered to “eat bread in the kingdom
of God;” to drink of the fruit of the vine, “new
with Him in His Father’s kingdom.” They are
athirst for the great Harvest Home, where the
feast shall be eternal. When the white cloud shall
be seen in heaven, and the Son of Man shall sit
upon it, having on His head a golden crown, and
in His hand a sharp sickle; when He that was
reaped, bruised, and garnered, and hath given
Himself to us for our spiritual food in power and mystery, shall reap the earth; when the harvest of the elect
is stored in heaven, and the eternal feast is spread in the new creation of God:
O blessed and glorious fellowship! O holy feast! O banquet of desire! where care
is not, nor cloying, but fulness with endless desire; when we shall for ever
rest, and shall behold how sweet the Lord is, and how great the multitude of His
sweetness. O blessed vision, to see God in Himself, to see Him in us, and
ourselves in Him, with blissful joy and joyful bliss; to sit at that feast
ineffable, “where Thou, with Thy Son, and the Holy Ghost, art unto Thy saints
true light, perfect fulness, everlasting joy, gladness consummate, endless
bliss!” “To whom be blessing, and glory, and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and
honour, and power, and might for ever and ever. Amen.”
SERMON XIV.
THE PASSOVER GREATLY DESIRED.
ST. LUKE xxii. 15.
”And He said unto them, With desire I have desired to eat
this Passover with you before I suffer.”
THESE words were spoken by our Lord in the
night of His betrayal. When the hour was
come, He sat down to the last supper with His
disciples, and His “soul was exceeding sorrowful,
even unto death.” As they were eating, He said: “With desire have I desired to eat this Passover
with you.” It must indeed have been a desire “stronger than death,” ardent and divine, which
could rise above the anguish of such an hour.
Sorrow and the shadow of death draw men’s hearts
into themselves, and quench the vividness of other
thoughts, the desires of other days. But His
thirst of love nothing could slake. It burned
the more as the hour of His Passion drew near.
We cannot enter into the divine intensity of this
desire; but it would seem that the longing He had to eat this Passover with His disciples before He
suffered, arose from the consciousness, that in that hour and in that act He
would for ever put an end to shadows, and bring in the substance of our
redemption. Year by year, until that night, the lamb of the Passover had
prophesied the atonement in His blood. The whole Church had yearly celebrated a
sacrament prefiguring His death; but the shadows were now passed away. The true
Light was come; the true Lamb, the true Sacrifice, the only bloodshedding was at
hand.”
And besides this, we may believe that He desired that hour with the ardent longing of our
human infirmity, because it was the winding up
of the long years in which He had waited for His
bitter passion: “I have a baptism to be baptised
with, and how am I straitened till it be accomplished!” The fear of death is a pure human
affection, a natural and sinless shrinking from
grappling with the powers of sin, and from the
pangs which we must suffer in the struggle. He
too foresaw the sharpness of death which He
had undertaken to overcome; and this foresight “straitened” Him. It was now near to begin, and
the end was not far off. The sooner begun, the
sooner ended. We go forth even with impatience
to meet sorrows which we cannot turn aside.
But there was, perhaps, another reason. That last mournful Passover was a solace to the Son of man. It was
sad, but sweet. It was to be the last time that He should so converse with the
disciples and friends who had long loved and followed Him. We all know what the
last day or the last night is before some great parting, before some happy time
comes to an end; before some departure, some change which reaches to the
foundations of home and heart: the last evening spent in some loved haunt, the
last meeting with some fond friends, the last time of doing some familiar work,
the last partaking in some act of common devotion. It is soothing, and yet so
calm as almost to take away its power to soothe. We look on to it, and long for
it, though its coming only brings the end the sooner. Yet in itself it is so
blessed, that we shut our eyes, and will not look beyond, leaving the morrow to
come, if it must. There are two great seasons of perfect sweetness and sadness,
farewells and death-beds. They are times which draw out all tenderness and love:
and some such thoughts and feelings were no doubt in the heart of our blessed
Master when He looked on to this eventide, and said, “With desire I have
desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer.”
These thoughts give a peculiar depth, and, if I
may so speak, a divine pathos to His words. Perhaps we have never heard them without feeling their intensity of meaning. How powerful and
persuasive is every word and act of His in that
hour of unutterable tenderness and sorrow. What
a light it casts upon the blessed Sacrament which
He then bequeathed to us, and on the law which
binds us to it.
1. For first, this shews us that the holy Sacrament is this last Passover continuing still. What
was then begun is a perpetual celebration. “Christ
our Passover is sacrificed for us, therefore let us
keep the feast.” The whole life of the Church is
a paschal festival. Every year brings Easter back;
but Easter is in every week. It ought to be in
every day. This is the Passover He so ardently
desired; the very substance which He then brought
in and ordained for ever. When He sat with His
Apostles, He took bread and wine, and offered up
Himself both in figure and reality. The sign and
the substance were then united in one act, and are
inseparable. He now, for ever, offers up Himself
in Heaven; and His Apostles, through their successors, offer up the same Passover on earth, and
they will offer it alway, even unto the end of the
world. In heaven and in earth, it is but one
act still, one priesthood, and one sacrifice. The
Church is the upper chamber spread abroad; a
sphere above this visible world, hanging over all
the earth. It is in all lands, under all skies, upon the floods and in the mountains, in the wilderness
and on trackless shores, wherever two or three are
gathered together, there is the upper chamber,
and the paschal table, the disciples, and the Lord
of the true Passover, the Sacrifice and the Priest.
At every altar He takes bread and wine, blesses,
and gives His body and His blood. This whole
action and event is a continuous and ever-present
reality. We do not repeat or imitate, but perpetuate and continue the act which He began that
last night before He suffered. And, by continuing
it, we unite ourselves to Him in it. We go up
into the room furnished and prepared; and are
present, not more now than then, not more here
than there. The kingdom of our Lord is in spirit
and in truth. Our Sacrament is the true paschal
sacrifice, indivisible and one.
2. And this may shew us further, that with
desire He desires still to eat this sacrament of
His love with us. How strangely this inverts our
common ways of speaking. We look upon the
holy communion as a commandment to be obeyed,
or a blessing to be sought. Perhaps we may also
regard it on our part as a source of strength
and solace; but do we realise that it is He who
is desiring to eat it with us? that the chief desire is on His side; that it is He who invites,
calls, beseeches us; that He stands at the altar waiting and longing for our approach; and all
this because of His divine love for sinners, because our sanctification is His joy? How full of
all wonder is this tenderness and patience of love!
That He should suffer such as we are to draw
near; that He should endure to receive sinners,
and to eat with them; that after our sins, backslidings, betrayals, our wilful infirmities and cold,
heartless estrangements, He should at all accept
of our advance, this is miraculous: but that He
should desire to be touched by the hands of lepers
and the lips of the unclean; that He should long
for us while we stand aloof from Him; that when
we draw near, His desire should be ardent and
ours languid; that the joy and solace, if I dare
so speak, should be more with Him than with us,
and that the blessedness of that divine communion
should be deeper in His heart than in ours,—all
this is the mystery of love, the length and breadth
and depth and height whereof pass all understanding. And yet there is somewhat we may comprehend, for His desire is like His love, divine. The
infinite and unextinguishable love which brought
Him from His Father’s bosom to die upon the
cross; the tenderness of the Good Shepherd, in
whose eyes the lost are precious as His own blood;
these make Him to yearn over us when our swerving, cold, slothful hearts draw near with a scanty and feeble desire. The greater desire is always
with the more perfect; the greatest is with Him
in whom no imperfection can be. And what is
the source of this divine longing? Why does He
desire us to eat this Passover with Him? It is
because He desires our faith and love, our repentance and obedience, our presence at the paschal
feast in the kingdom of God. His “delights are
with the sons of men,” therefore He surrounds
Himself with His friends, and so fulfils His promise: “And I, if I be lifted up from the earth,
will draw all men unto Me.” The first moving
cause of this divine desire is that He may pour
forth His blessings of power and grace upon us.
The law of the Divine love is to overflow upon
the creation of God. The eternal fountain sheds
abroad its fulness on all orders of His works. His
love is “the first arid the last.” It moved Him to
create all worlds; to redeem us by the gift of Himself; to regenerate us by the inspiration of His
Holy Spirit. The same love moved the Word to
be made flesh, and to suffer for our sins. It was
the source of this strong desire on His night of
agony; it is now the spring from which life, healing, cleansing, illumination, solace, strength, and
bliss flow down upon His Church. When we draw
near to Him at the altar, He sees our wounds,
our weakness, our infirmities; He sees our needs, and our strong desires, and it is His joy to heal,
strengthen, and save.
Let us now see in particular what are His
intentions and acts of grace to all His faithful
servants in this feast of redemption.
1. First, He desires to apply to us the benefits
of His passion. The sacrifice upon the cross,
which is of infinite worth to redeem all mankind,
is made salvation unto each of us, as it is applied
to us one by one. It is no more in our power to
apply it to ourselves than to redeem ourselves.
The application of the blood of Christ is an act
of His sovereign grace. It is applied to us first
in the laver of baptism; but its cleansing needs to
be perpetually renewed, that the sins of our frail
and evil will may be perpetually washed away.
We stand before God in virtue of that one sacrifice, and by that alone. Therefore in the eating
of the true Lamb of atonement, our compassionate
and loving High Priest applies the sacrifice of
His death for our perfect pardon. He desires to
absolve us by the power of His atoning oblation,
and to present us in Himself without spot unto
His Father. No sinner hopes to be forgiven so
as He thirsts to forgive. To pardon is even more
blissful than to create. To draw us to the foot of
the cross, to sprinkle us with His own divine blood,
to unite us to His own sacrifice, this is His desire. Who, then, when He calls will go away unforgiven? who can fear
to come?
2. And again, He desires to give Himself to
be our spiritual food. It was His delight to give
Himself in our stead; to leave His kingdom, His
glory, His eternal joy, to make Himself poor, outcast, and ashamed. He humbled Himself to be
a servant, to be made in the likeness of men, to
obey and to die, and that upon the cross, and all
for us. But as if this were not enough, He has
humbled Himself to be for ever our spiritual sustenance; He comes to us, “that we may dwell in
Him, and He in us.” He has “compassion on
the multitude,” toiling onward to the heavenly
country, and gives them to eat in the wilderness,
lest “they faint by the way.” It is His delight
to work this divine miracle, not in the mountain
or by the sea alone, but in all the world, and in
all ages, upon every altar feeding every hungry
soul with Himself. With desire He desires to see
the thousands that follow throng about Him for
the bread of life, and to satisfy them.
3. And lastly, He desires to make us, even
now in this life, behold His love. Love pent up
withers away; but Divine love cannot be straitened: it is like the light of heaven, which pours
down in floods upon the earth. He is God, and
God is love; and the bliss of God is to shew His love to all His works. As He gathered round
Him the twelve and the more favoured three; as
He cherished the disciple beloved above all; as He
delighted to shew His love to “Martha and her
sister and Lazarus;” as the trembling, the brokenhearted, and the penitent, came to Him upon earth,
and He made them conscious of His compassion;
so He desires us to approach Him now in the
Sacrament of His death, that He may give us
the inward pledges and perceptions of His love.
We know how among friends the interchange of
mutual love is sweet, and how they who love most
have most joy in making their love felt. What
we call tenderness is the desire love has to cherish
its object with endearment. Dare we ascend from
things of earth to things of heaven? Was it not
for this that the Son of God, who was in heaven,
came down to earth? What is the mystery of the
Incarnation, but God loving and cherishing man
with a love not alone divine, but also human?
Our Redeemer is not only very God, but very
man in all the truth of our humanity. And His
human affections follow the laws of our perfect
manhood. With desire He invites us to Himself, that He may shew to our intimate consciousness the personal love which moved Him to
give Himself, with full intention, for each several
soul.
And now, from all that has been said, let us
learn one great and searching truth.
Above all other motives for drawing near to
the holy Sacrament of His body and blood, this is
the first and chiefest: because He desires to eat
this feast of love with us.
O cold and constrained hearts, who draw near
only because He has commanded. O close and
calculating souls, who come because it is for their
advantage. Hard and perishing are they who
have cause to be afraid to come; unbelieving and
ungrateful, who, without cause, turn their backs
upon His desire. On earth, “He was despised
and rejected of men.” So is He now. “And we
hide, as it were, our faces from Him.” He stands
upbraiding with tones of love: “O My people,
what have I done unto thee? and wherein have I
wearied thee? Testify against Me:” “All the
day long have I stretched out My hands:” “How
often would I . . . . but ye would not:” “Ye will
not come to Me, that ye might have life.”Micah vi. 3; Rom. x. 21; St. Matt. xiii. 37; St. John
v. 40.
If
any dying friend, in the night of his last agony,
should say, “Day by day kneel down at noon and
remember me,” love would constrain us to fulfil it.
The known desire of one loved and departed is
among the most powerful and persuasive motives. If we should forget it for a day, we should be cut
to the heart; we should reproach our unstable
affections. “Out of sight, out of mind,” is the
world’s reproof to heartless friends. How, then,
shall we escape rebuke, if we neglect so fervent a
desire? Blessed thought, that He is drawing us
to Himself; that all His will is towards us, and
all His heart set upon us, even in the midst of
our faults, follies, weakness, inconstancy, and sins.
What we are He knows, and yet, such as we are,
He desires our fellowship, that, by communion with
Him, we may be cleansed and changed; that the
altar here may be a preparation and a foretaste
of the marriage-supper in heaven, where, with face
unveiled, He will sit down, and all His saints and
all His beloved ones with Him, at the eternal Feast
which shall be eaten ever new in the kingdom of
God.
SERMON XV.
WORTHY COMMUNION.
ST. MATT. ix. 21.
“If I may but touch His garment, I shall be whole.”
THIS miracle sets before us many of the deepest
realities of the life of faith. It shews us,
as in a parable, the source and the manner of our
spiritual healing.
This poor woman had been afflicted with a
long infirmity. For twelve years she had tried
all human skill; she “had spent,” St. Luke says, “all her living upon physicians, neither could be
healed of any.”St. Luke viii. 43.
Or, as St. Mark says, she “had
suffered many things of many physicians, and had
spent all that she had, and was nothing bettered,
but rather grew worse.”St. Mark v. 26.
When she heard of
Jesus, she thought that He had power to heal;
that even “His garment,” “the border of His
garment,” if she could but touch it, would make
her whole. She came “in the press,” as if fearing
her own unworthiness, and touched Him, “and was
healed of that plague.” And when Jesus knew that
virtue had gone out of Him, she, finding that she
could not be hid, came, “fearing and trembling,” falling down at His feet, and “told Him all the truth.”
Now we have here a remarkable example of
faith bringing conscious unworthiness into the presence of our Lord. Even after she was healed,
she was full of trembling fear. Before, she dared
not to meet His eye, or to ask His pity; she ventured only to come “in the press behind,” and to
touch “the border of His garment.” We may see
in this a temper not uncommon among devout and
lowly minds, a mixture of longing and shrinking,
of desire and fear. They dare not think that they
may meet the presence of our Lord, and yet they
fully believe that He alone can heal them. This
applies to every act of faith and devotion; but,
above all, to the Sacrament of His body and blood.
What is more common than the desire to communicate, mixed with the fear of communicating unworthily? How many would fain come
“in the
press,” and yet tremble and fear. How often do such Christians ask, with anxious
hearts, What is the fitness required for the holy Sacrament? and how do I know
that I am not coming unworthily? By what tests can I try and judge myself, that I
be not “judged of the Lord” at that day? Let
us see, then, what this miracle will teach us.
We have here, as in a parable, this whole
spiritual mystery, and the dispositions necessary
to worthy communion.
1. For in the holy Sacrament our blessed
Lord is as truly and personally present as He was
in the midst of that great throng. As God He
is present always; therefore as man He can be
never absent: for in His divine person the Godhead and manhood are so united as never more to
be divided. The Eternal Word is with us in the
person of Jesus Christ. It is not a partial and
divided, but a whole and undivided presence. The
manner and the manifestation is no longer visible
and local, but invisible and transcendent. As in
a place, and in the proper dimensions of His personal form, He is visibly manifest in heaven; but
after a divine and invisible manner the Incarnate
Word is present in the new creation of God.
This is true of the whole Church; but it is true,
in a way peculiar to itself, of the holy Sacrament.
We are too apt to conceive low and earthly notions
of this divine mystery, and to suppose the presence
of His body and blood to be something partial and
apart from the fulness of His perfect and living
presence. His body and blood can no more be separated from His presence than His Godhead
from His manhood. But in that holy Sacrament
the object of our faith is the presence of Christ,
God and man, in all the reality and substance of
His Godhead and His manhood. He is personally
with us, under the veils of the consecrated elements, as truly, though in another manner, as He
was present in the garment, the hem of which
wrought miracles of healing. The holy Sacrament is not the sign of an absent person, nor a
mere figure or symbol, suggesting, picturing, commemorating. In the order of nature it is sign and
shadow; but in the order of grace, which is supernatural, it is substance and life.
2. And this shews us further, that when we
come to the holy Sacrament, we verily and indeed
touch Him. It is the form in which He offers
Himself to us, thereby prolonging His presence
and healing on earth. The mystery of His sacramental presence is the time appointed by Himself
for our approach: it is the occasion when He
suffers us to draw near, as He invited Thomas: “Reach hither thy finger.” And let us not think
that, for our salvation, there is any real difference
whether we touch Him by the sensible touch of
the hand or not. It was not the hand which drew
forth the healing virtue that went out of Him, but
faith, of which the hand was but the instrument. And we touch still by faith. Neither was it the
garment which had power to work miracles, but
He who bare it. Faith touched Him by the hand
through the hem of His garment, as now faith
touches Him under the veils of the holy Sacrament.
Let us realise this great gift of Christ, by divine
faith in the order of grace; let us truly conceive
the dignity of this holy mystery, its heavenly truth
and power.
Is it not because we do not believe this divine
work that we come so languidly and coldly to the
holy Sacrament? I am not now speaking of those
who come sinfully and in sacrilege; nor of those
who are indeed unworthy to come; but of those
who, though fearing, are yet worthy according to
the measures of our sinful hearts. It may be
said that they are least worthy to come who think
themselves the most so; and that they are most
unworthy who least feel their own unworthiness:
such, for instance, as come not “in the press” and
with fear, but with boldness and a confident approach, never doubting their own fitness: or such,
again, as are high-minded, self-esteeming, fearless,
slothful, easy, shallow, undisturbed in their self-persuading assurance. These communicants come to
the altar with little or no perception of the divine
reality they are approaching; their lives are lives of sense, and they judge of the holy Sacrament by
sense and in the order of sense. They, indeed, ask
no questions, having no fears; but awakened and
humble hearts mistrust their own fitness, and desire some rule by which to judge themselves. If,
then, to approach His sacramental presence now is
all one with approaching His visible presence then;
if to touch the hem of His garment was a prophetic
type of the touch whereby we receive the virtue
which goes out from Him in the mystery of holy
communion; must we not believe that the dispositions of heart with which we
should have ventured to approach Him then, are the same as those with which we
should approach Him now?
Let us therefore see what they are.
1. The first disposition is a sense of our own infirmities. As a weary and lingering sickness drew
this poor woman to Him on earth, so a sense of
our life-long sinfulness draws us to Him now that
He is in His heavenly kingdom. The first reason,
therefore, why we must needs come is the reason
some plead for staying away. They ask, How
can I dare to come, who am so sinful? Ought
they not rather to ask, How dare I, who am so
sinful, stay away? what hope for me but in coming? When I say, a sense of sinfulness, I mean,
not a consciousness of indulged or unrepented sins,
but a consciousness of sins for which we continually sorrow. Be they what they may, heavy and numberless: though it be an indwelling sinfulness,
which spreads through the whole spiritual life,
in thoughts, tempers, imaginations; making us prone to fall, and weak to arise again; though at times we seem darkened, harassed, swayed, and almost turned aside from God; yet if we be truly grieved and
humbled, even these are no bar to worthy communion. Nay, a fear and a danger of falling even into mortal sin, a sense of the strength of temptation, the treachery of our own hearts, the weakness of our will, need not keep us away.
The consciousness of shallow repentance, imperfect sorrow, want of love, languid affections, cold devotion, wandering prayers, sluggishness in the spiritual life, restless activity of the animal and worldly nature,—all this burden of conscious un worthiness might well make us shrink from Him, if it were not the very reason why we must needs draw near. It is but a little trial of faith to believe that Christ loves us, until we have come truly to know our own sinfulness. So long as we do not feel this inward burden, it costs little to say we believe His love. We may believe it as an intellectual truth;
but we do not trust in it by the faith of the heart. When a conscious unworthiness of being loved rises up and condemns us, when our inward soul seems to contradict the
possibility of His love to us, then to believe that He loves us
still is faith. And we often find that people who
have been in the habit of coming without fear to
the altar while their inward convictions of sin were
slight and shallow, as soon as deeper thoughts begin to stir within them, and sharper convictions to
pierce their conscience—that is, when indeed they
are becoming more fit to communicate than before—begin from that very time to fear and to shrink
back from the holy Sacrament. Now it is just
at this very point that their faith is put on trial.
The grace of the holy Sacrament and the nearness of the presence of Christ has revealed to them
a fuller knowledge of themselves. If His light
were not in them, they would not see themselves;
they would be unconscious as before. It is by
shewing them what they are, that He tries their
trust in His love. The more they feel their lost
and sinful state, the more they need to hold fast
by Him; and He reveals it for this purpose, that
they may draw closer and closer to His presence.
Therefore, the first condition to worthy communion
is a sense of un worthiness—a trembling, self-accusing consciousness of sin, which, while it makes us
fear to draw near, makes us still more afraid to
stay away. It is our sin which makes us unworthy, ‘
and yet our sin is the necessity which forces us to
His feet.
2. Another disposition is a conscience clear
from sin. When I say, that our sinfulness ought
to bring us to the altar, I do not mean wilful
sin, even of the lightest kind. Indulged or unrepented sin, howsoever small, is a direct contradiction to the spirit of our Lord. We have been
speaking of the indwelling sinfulness which was in
our nature at the time when He first took us, by
baptism, into His mystical body. He opened between Himself and us a living relation, a channel
through which His sinlessness might sanctify our
sinful hearts; arid, such as we are, He still holds
us fast, maintaining, on His part, that relation of
love unbroken. We know that as sinners we were
all separated from God, and yet that by grace we
have been united to Him again. We know also
that some Christians by their sins separate themselves again from Him, for all sins tend to separation.
“There is no man that liveth and sinneth not;” nevertheless there are some who still
abide in union with God. Yet they too sin, but
their sins do not separate them from Him; they
are not free from sin, but their fellowship with
Him still endures. And how is this to be understood? “All unrighteousness is sin,” but
“there
is a sin not unto death.” Some sins do, and some
sins do not, separate the soul from God. All
have the sinfulness of sin, but all are not alike. There was sin in Judas: St. James and St. John
were not sinless; yet these were in perpetual communion with their Lord; while the traitor, even
at the last supper, was already cut off from His
fellowship. This shews us the distinction between
venial and mortal sins; that is, between those sins
which do, and those which do not, separate the
soul from God. Such sins need deep repentance,
yet they do not separate true but failing hearts
from their Redeemer’s grace and love.
When I say, then, a conscience clear from sin,
I mean, clear from the memory of sins unrepented,
and from the presence of sins still indulged. An
example, perhaps, may make this plainer. Suppose two friends, one gentle and forgiving, the
other smouldering with anger. They may live together and converse, they may
exchange outward tokens of affection, but they have no communion. There is in
the one a spirit which suspends all fellowship of soul. Light and darkness,
harmonies and discords, can as little blend as their sympathies and tempers. Or,
to take an example in our own minds. We know how any irritation or evil thought
clouds and casts out all holy love, aspiration, and desire. So long as it lasts,
it possesses the whole soul, and all higher affections are banished. They are
mutually destructive: they cannot co-exist. We are at variance with ourselves;
between our better and our worse self there is a direct contradiction. So it is
in the communion of Christ with us. A mind that is proud, selfish, or angry,
directly repels the mind of our Lord. Would this trembling woman have dared to
draw near and touch even the hem of His garment, harbouring in her heart a
consciousness of wilful sin? Her very faith, which taught her that there was in
Him a power mighty to heal, would have taught her that there was in Him also a
power mighty to punish. Her faith was not more strong than pure. So when we draw
near and touch Him in that holy Sacrament, we must take heed that there be not
in us any thing at variance with His character and spirit; that His love,
purity, gentleness, humility, truthfulness, may find in us no contradictions, no
provocations, no antagonists; that is, no wilful cherishing of a spirit at
variance with His own. There will be, alas, in all of us the remainders and the
inclinations out of which these provocations spring; but if they are not
indulged, if they are striven against and lamented, they are our sicknesses and
our afflictions; our wounds which moved His pity to die for us, to unite us to
His own life-giving body, and still to dwell among us by a perpetual presence, that we may touch Him and be healed.
3, We will take one more disposition of worthy communion, and that is, a sincere desire of perpetual union with Him. If we may venture to use
an earthly example, we may consider how the presence of any wise and holy friend subdues the worse
and sustains the better part of our character. We
know how variously we are tempted by various persons: how with some we have no restraint, with
others we are ever on our guard; how some provoke our faults, and others seem to lay a spell
upon them; their society raises us above ourselves, awakens better desires, higher aspirations,
worthier motives; their tone of voice, their look,
their bearing, allure and win us from ourselves.
So long as we are with them, we seem better men,
nearer to God’s kingdom, freer from temptation,
stronger to control ourselves. And this may in
some faint way express the power of Christ’s presence upon our hearts. So long as we hold by Him
and He by us, our inward sinfulness dies down
and disappears. Earthly desires, inclinations, and
thoughts seem cast out as a possession. So long
as the eye of our consciousness is fixed upon Him,
His light pours in upon us. The whole of our
mind seems to be cleared of every shadow, and to
be filled with the brightness of His presence, with
light, love, and a holy will. We feel that if He
were ever with us, if we could be ever with Him,
ever touching Him, we should draw into our souls perpetual virtues of sanctity and strength. It
seems to us as if we could never sin again, never
see sin in any other light than the light of His
presence, never again care for the world, or hanker after life, or faint in loving Him. It seems
at the time as if we were in very deed “bone of
His bone, flesh of His flesh,” spirit of His spirit,
mind of His mind, heart of His heart, will of
His will; as if He held us in our whole nature
to Himself, uniting us to His divine person, “that
our sinful bodies may be made clean by His body,
and our souls washed through His most precious
blood,” that, by an ineffable union and intermingling of His very self with
ours, “we dwell in Him, and He in us.”
SERMON XVI.
COMMUNION WITH CHRIST.
ST. JOHN xiii. 23.
“There was leaning on Jesus’ bosom one of His disciples, whom
Jesus loved.”
WHAT name is more blessed than this title
by which St. John conceals himself? Who
was ever more favoured than he? It was a sweet
memory in his old and solitary age, to remember
that night of awe, in which he lay upon the bosom
of his Lord. What was all that he had ever suffered, long years of toil and weariness, with contradiction and persecution, bondage, and a martyrdom of will, to the consciousness of his Master’s love? And yet it was doubtless for some deeper
reason that the evangelist wrote these words. It
was not to publish abroad his own peculiar favours,
nor to prefer himself to others in his Master’s presence. He had long since unlearned to seek
“the
right hand” or “the left” in His kingdom. It was perhaps to give warrant to the certainty of his
written testimony; but it was surely to reveal also
the deep and divine mysteries of love which lie hid
in the incarnation of the Eternal Word.
This was indeed a great and wonderful sight.
God taking man into His bosom—a man leaning
upon the bosom of God. As the words of our
Lord were miracles, and His miracles words of
grace, revealing ministries of His spiritual power,
so we may find in this, as in all His acts, a significant and symbolical character. Let us see what
may be implied in it.
1. First, we here see, as by a parable, the love
of the Son of God in the mystery of His own incarnation. He, being God, took our nature upon
Him; “not by conversion of the Godhead into
flesh, but by taking of the manhood into God.”
In His person, one and indivisible, the two natures
are united. Our infirmity leans upon His might,
our manhood upon His Godhead. In Him it is
sinless and divine. And now in the bosom of the
Father, “above all principalities and powers, and
every name that is named, not only in this world,
but also in that which is to come,” the man Christ
Jesus is exalted. There is a man in the bosom
of God. Our nature is in glory. As we say at
the altar, in the end of our Christian sacrifice, “For Thou only art holy, Thou only art the Lord, Thou only, O Christ, with the Holy Ghost, art most high in the
glory of God the Father.”
2. But, again, we may see here His love in the
salvation of His elect. When He took our manhood into God, it was that He might take us also
unto Himself. The glorious Body of the Word
made flesh is the centre of His mystical body, and
to it He joins us one by one. We who were by
nature dead in trespasses and sin, outcasts, and
without God in the world, He gathers together
from all ages and all lands unto Himself. The
Word made flesh, though in visible presence revealed always in heaven alone, is always present
upon earth, and He has been perpetually, and by
manifold ways, gathering His elect into His bosom.
They who, from righteous Abel until the hour of
His passion, had departed in His love, waited in
the world beyond the grave until He should break
up the unseen gates of hell, and go before them
into the paradise of God. Those who have since
that day believed on Him, through the words of
apostles, the writings of evangelists, the witness
of His Church, the inspirations of His grace, the
sacraments of His love, He has gathered in from
the world into His visible fold, and within the
visible circuit of His presence, ever nearer and
nearer to Himself.
What mean His own words? “Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will
give you rest:” and again, “Him that cometh
unto Me, I will in no wise cast out:” what are these but invitations to come and
to share the rest and the portion of St. John?
What, for instance, is the state of those blessed
servants, who, from their regeneration, have been
kept from falling into sins which separate the
soul from His presence? Of such St. John is
an especial type, in his love, pureness, and perseverance. They have a calm, undoubting, unfearing confidence in the love and care of Christ; a
quiet content and still strength, which others seldom attain. Such people have few cravings, no
eagerness, a satisfied desire, and a restful spirit.
The world thinks them languid and slow of heart;
but their stillness is the surface of a depth, and
their slowness the calm of an intense perception of
their Master’s love. They have no need of stirs
and excitements, of strong words and vehement impulses; there is within them a vivid consciousness
of love kindled from the bosom of their Lord, and
returning to Him again.
And so too, though in another manner, with
penitents. It is not without meaning that, after
He rose from the dead, He shewed Himself first,
not to the disciple who leaned upon His bosom,
but to the sinner who had washed His feet with tears. And she who first would but anoint His
feet, was afterwards made bolder by His compassion, even to anoint His head. It is a divine
seal upon the Gospel, that the special parables
of love are the penitent son and the lost sheep.
It is for them He seems to lay up all His tenderness for the weak and the wounded, the
famished and desolate , The father falls upon
the neck of the returning wanderer: the shepherd carries the lost sheep upon his shoulder.
What are all these to teach us, but the divine
tenderness of our Lord to penitents? After years
of wayward and wilful disobedience, of headstrong
and guilty provocation, of sullen and stubborn rebellion, when at the last they turn, He will embrace them in perfect love. They, too, know the
calm and rest of His intimate presence. Their
past life seems to have hurried by them like the
riot of a tempest, or to be dispelled as the anguish of a frightful dream. They know what
they have been, its horror and its peril, its iron
bondage and its stifling misery. It is still so near,
real, and vivid, that it affrights them to gaze upon
it; but they have a consciousness that they are
safe. An almighty power hangs between them
and the past; there is a fence about them which
nothing can break through j they are in a presence within which no evil can force its way. There they have found peace at last, a consciousness of inexhaustible compassion, a taste of everlasting love.
But there are others who may be truly said
to share the portion of St. John; I mean, the
afflicted, whose afflictions are sanctified. The solitary and the sorrowing find there an unearthly
rest: they carry their griefs and lay them on the
bosom of the Man of Sorrows. He bears both the
mourner and his burden, and in the depths of His
presence shews him the interpretation of his affliction. In the Heart of His divine sorrow all stands
revealed. We laid on Him the necessity of sorrow,
and He changed our penalty into our purification.
He became the chief among the sons of affliction,
that He might found an order of mourners, to
be His own especial followers and friends. It is
by sorrow that they are enrolled in the company
of His truest servants, and in the nearest approaches to Himself. And the signs of this approach are, patience, rest, and consent in all our
crosses, by a will conformed to His.
To take one more example. What is communion with Him in the Sacrament of His body
and blood, but a leaning on His bosom in especial
nearness? All His mystical body, in heaven and
in earth, all devout and holy souls who have been
united to Him in habitual fellowship of spiritual and sacramental communion, they, too, are numbered with the disciple whom Jesus loved. None
know but they what passes between them and their
Lord in hours of prayer, in silent adoration, in
secret oratories, in lonely chambers, in the sanctuary and before the altar. Some have seemed
to speak with Him as if He were unveiled—as if
He stood visibly before them, and they were lightened by His presence: their whole soul has seemed
to be united with Him, as light is one with its
centre; and their whole being to forsake this
world, and cleave to Him alone. It is good for us
to know these things, that we may be awakened
to a sense of their reality, and ashamed to live
on unconscious of them: but they are too great
and excellent for most of us j far above, out of
our reach: not by His will, but through our earthliness. Yet we must not leave them unheeded,
lest they should be disbelieved, and therefore never
sought; but we must speak of them with fear,
lest we be presumptuous or unreal, knowing what
we are.
The nearest approach, then, to the grace vouchsafed at the Last Supper to the disciple whom
Jesus loved, is to be sought in the holy Sacrament
which He then ordained. Was it to give us also
a visible type of the gift which He then bestowed
upon us, that He shewed this signal token of His love? Did it not seem to say, “This sacrifice of Myself shall
be with you for ever: this Sacrament of My love shall never fail until I come
again; and whensoever ye shall do this for My love’s sake, I will receive all
lowly, loving souls to rest in Me?”
All these may be said to lean on Him who is their only
strength, hope, and solace. In the midst of all sorrows, trials, and
temptations, they are at peace; in all the unrest of this tumultuous and weary
world, they rest on Him. They who have walked steadfast with Him from childhood,
and live on unconscious of this rough outer life which beats upon the penitent;
penitents who, after long wanderings past, find the peace and bliss of an
eternal absolution; mourners who feel no more the burden of the cross, while He
bears up both it and them; and all who with ardent desire yearn for the coming
of His kingdom, and are stayed with “white raiment” and a sense of His
ever-present love. The one great gift that all alike enjoy, is a sense of
repose, a placid calm of heart, a stay upon which they lean with all the weight
of their whole spiritual life. “Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace whose
mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee.”
Let us, then, seek this, so far as we may dare
to approach Him. But how may we hope to share
it?
1. By knowing our own un worthiness even to
sit down with Him at His table. It is no good
sign to talk, as some do, with a bold familiarity of
fellowship with Him, or to be forward to cast ourselves where the beloved disciple lay. Let us not
“seek high things” for ourselves, the right hand
and the left hand in His presence; we know not
what we ask, and, not knowing, we ask amiss. To
be unconscious of our unworthiness is to be blind
or proud; and pride loses all. The lowest place is
too high for us; to sit at His feet, or to gather up
the crumbs under His table, is too great a boon:
we must begin by taking the lowest room, that
He may say unto us, “Go up higher;” lest our
boldness meet a check, and He bid us give place
to humbler and worthier guests. They are often
nearest who think themselves farthest off; who say,
not “I am ready to go with Thee to prison or to
death,” but “I am not worthy that thou shouldest
come under my roof:” or with a guarded appeal, “Thou knowest that I love Thee.” It is not for
us to choose our place, except at the foot of the
cross. That place is ours, for He has given it to
us. Thither let us carry our sins, day by day, and
there we shall see them as they are. There we
shall learn the true sinfulness of sin, and the true
character of our own life and heart. There are
no illusions in the light of the cross; all the colours and
shadows, the false play and changeful hues, the gloss and the glitter which we
put upon ourselves in the sight of the world, and even in the light of our own
conscience, are there overwhelmed by the direct and all-revealing splendour of
His presence. He will not take to His intimate communion those who seem to
themselves the fairest, but those who humbly seek to know the worst of their own
hearts. Too deeply conscious of our sinfulness we cannot be. People often
misinterpret this humbling consciousness. They are tempted to think that,
because they feel themselves to be more sinful than before, therefore they are
so. But it is mostly the direct reverse. They are, at the worst, what they
always were; but they now feel what they never felt before. The change is not in
their state, but in their sense of it. And that change of consciousness is a
proof that if they are not what they were, it is not for the worse, but for the
better. What once they so little sorrowed for or hated, that they did not even
perceive it to be evil, they now in hatred and sorrow perceive with the keenest
sense. And who is with them teaching them this knowledge? Sin hides itself. God
alone reveals it. It is the nearness of His presence which wakes to life this
alarming consciousness. “Whatsoever maketh manifest is light.” The more unworthy
we feel ourselves to seek fellowship with Him, the nearer He
is to us. This very fear is the pledge of His presence: let us not shrink from it, but seek it; let
it not affright us, but draw us nearer to our help.
2. Above all, we shall attain such place as
He sees fit to give us, by trusting His miraculous love. Who was it that lay in His bosom?
Not the disciple who loved Jesus, but “the disciple whom Jesus loved.” It was not the love
of the servant which obtained that place, but the
love of the Master gave it. So must it ever be.
His love is “first and last.” It is boundless and
incomprehensible; surpassing nature, as His divine manhood is above ours; exceeding all measure, as His Godhead is above His manhood. It
is an object of faith, as the mystery of the Incarnation. To doubt of His love to us, all sinners as
we are, is to slight Him. It is to say, “Thou art
an austere man.” It is as if a child should cower
and shrink in his father’s sight; as if he should
shun him and stand aloof, mistrusting the free,
generous, self-forgetting affections of parental love.
And these doubts of our Divine Master’s love only
darken and chill our own hearts; they overcloud
the clear perceptions of His perfect character, and
turn our own affections into coldness. His pity is no
matter for bare intellect or reasoning, but for faith.
As Peter went down to Him upon the water, simply trusting in His power, so must we draw near to
Him in our sins, simply trusting in His love. Let
us go to Him as sinners, leaving the rest to Him.
If we may, to stand behind Him weeping is enough.
Let us leave all deeper, higher things for those
whom He shall choose. In a little time, it may
be, through His tender, forgiving love, we shall
have a share in their blissful rest. In a few short
years, after a few more sorrows, a few more seasons
of buffeting and weariness, after a few more fasts
and prayers, a few more weak strivings, a few more
longing communions, we shall sleep in Him, with
all those who lean—not now on Abraham’s bosom,
in the rest of God—but on Him, the Word made
flesh, in whom patriarchs, prophets, and all saints
find refreshment. They lean upon Him in paradise, waiting for the day when our frail humanity
shall be raised excellent in strength, and we shall
be united to Him in peace and rest, sinless and
deathless, in the glory of His Father.
SERMON XVII.
THE UNITY OF LOVE.
ST. MATT. xxii. 37-40.
“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and
with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great
commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as
thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”
BY these words our Lord teaches us the unity
of the kingdom of God.
All the commandments of the Law, written in
ten divine precepts on two tables of stone, expounded by an inspired lawgiver, and recorded in
sacred books; all the precepts and commands of
God’s prophets, the greater and the less, and of
all whose names and words pass before us in the
history of Israel;—all this manifold body of divine
injunctions for the government of man and for the
worship of God, run up at last into these two simple and divine precepts: to love God with all
our heart, and our neighbour as ourselves.
For these two commandments have the same
end and scope as all the law of Moses and all the
words of the prophets; they contain the whole
motive of universal obedience.
And these two commandments in turn run up
into a higher unity. For love is one and indivisible, a principle and gift of God. In these two
commandments it is parted, indeed, into two heads,
as two rays of light issuing from a common fount:
two only in direction and relation, one altogether
by an absolute unity of origin and nature.
Let us see, then, how this manifold scheme of
divine commands and of universal obedience has,
at last, but one principle and law.
And first, because “God is love.” There is
a divine depth in these words. They not only
mean that God is loving, as when we say that He
is wise or merciful, but that Love is God. For
all that is in God is God. The Father, Son, and
Holy Ghost, are not three names, but three Persons. Paternity, Filiation, and Procession is God
the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost.
The Intelligence of God is His very Being; so also
His Love, for God is a pure and perfect energy
of love and knowledge.
He said of Himself, “I am that I am.” And our blessed Lord says,
“I am the Resurrection and
the Life.” He means not only, “I will quicken
and raise mankind from the dead,” but “I am
the Resurrection, and all rise in Me: I am ‘the
Life,’ and all live in Me.” So the Eternal Love
is the Eternal God.
And further, God’s love is God’s law. From
all eternity He dwelt in His everlasting rest; not
solitary, though with no like or second; for there
are not two uncreated, nor two eternals: not alone,
though in perfect oneness; for in one Godhead
dwelt the ever-blessed Three in mutual love and
bliss; the Father in the Son, the Father and the
Son in the Holy Ghost; the Holy Ghost proceeding from both, dwelling in the Father and the
Son, being the love of the Father and of the Son,
the bond of the eternal Three.
So dwelt the Eternal in His everlasting rest,
until the uncreated Love, unmoved of any,—for
there was none other,—moved only by Himself,
began to create, that is, to give life of His life, and
to inscribe the law of love upon the creatures of
His will. Therefore He created “the heavens . . .
and all the host of them;”Gen. ii. 1.
that is, holy angels, spirits
of love and spirits of knowledge, and all the companies of the heavenly kingdom;
thrones, dominions, principalities, and powers; and surrounded Himself with an hierarchy of blessed intelligences. These dwell in the depths of the inaccessible light, in the folds of the eternal love,
loving, adoring, and ministering; and the law of
their Creator is the law of their existence. They
love God with all their strength, with all the energy
of angelic natures; they love each other as themselves, with a perfect equality of pure and heavenly
love. They are filled with the light of God’s countenance, and they cleave to Him with a perfect
adherence of their whole being. They are united
in a mutual joy, and their delight is in the depth
of an universal bliss. Such is the unity of God’s law in His eternal kingdom.
And that same love moved Him further to
create the earth, and mankind upon the face of it.
Man was made to love his Maker and his kind.
God, in like manner, impressed on him this same
law as the law also of his being. When man sinned against God, love moved Him again to redeem
the world. God gave the Son of His love to be
made man: the Son gave Himself to die. He gave
also His Spirit to dwell in His redeemed. The
whole work of the Spirit upon earth is a work of
love, “gathering together in one the children of
God which are scattered abroad,” bringing them
back once more to the unity of the heavenly kingdom. There is a throne in heaven, and above it is the glory of the ever-blessed Three; and in the
midst of the throne is the Word made flesh; and
round about the throne, saints for whom He died;
and round about the saints, angels who never were
redeemed. And all that heavenly fellowship is
ruled by this same one law: all are united by love
to the King of saints, all are united to each other.
Their whole being cleaves to Him. Every one
loves the other as himself; the outermost in that
blessed company loves the innermost with a love
more perfect as each is nearer to the uncreated
Love, and more beloved by Him.
And this law holds not in heaven alone, but
also upon earth; for we “are come,” now in this
present life, “unto mount Sion, and unto the city
of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem.”Heb. xii. 22.
What
is this but the company of heavenly hosts, at unity
in itself? All the faithful upon earth, all believing, hoping, loving, penitent hearts in all lands,
are gathered by this one law into the unity of the
mystical body, and “grow up into Him . . . which
is the Head.”Eph. iv. 15.
The laws of the city of God run
down to us. The unity of the heavenly Jerusalem
is the source of the unity of the visible Church.
It is one on earth, because it is one in heaven. It
is one in heaven and earth, because it is united in one law.“Quae est civitas Dei, nisi sancta Ecclesia? Homines enim
amantes se invicem, et amantes Deum suum, qui in illis habitat,
faciunt civitatem Deo. Quia lege quadam civitas continetur, lex
ipsa eorum, caritas est, et ipsa caritas, Deus est.”—S. Aug. Enarr.
in Psalm, xcviii. 4.
Love is one of the names of Christ,
and of His Church. Its visible body is the earthly
clothing, the mystical impersonation of the love
of God, in which all, whether visible or invisible,
are united to Him as the Father is in the Son.
The unity of love is a type of the unity of nature.
Our Divine Redeemer prayed “that they all may
be one; as Thou, Father, art in Me, and I in Thee,
that they also may be one in Us: that the world
may believe that Thou hast sent Me. And the
glory which Thou hast given Me I have given
them;”—what glory, but the glory of love and
unity?—“that they may be one, even as We are
one: I in them, and Thou in Me, that they may
be made perfect in one; and that the world may
know that Thou hast sent Me, and hast loved
them, as Thou hast loved Me.”St. John xvii. 21-23.
1. Let us learn, then, from this great mystery
of life, that a soul without love is dead: for a
soul without love is a soul without God; and as God is love, so is He life. By
nature we were born dead in sin, because without love to God; but in baptism God
gave us a capacity to love Him, an infused and passive habit, making us capable
of love. Fallen spirits have lost this capacity, angels possess it in
perfection. The regenerate receive it again in a passive disposition by the gift
of the Holy Ghost. But that which is passively received must be actively
unfolded. A capacity is not an active habit. The spiritual capacities of our
regenerate nature, such as faith, hope, and love, are powers subject to the
will, and depending on the will for their development into energy and act. But
the soul in which the regenerate life is quenched or stifled has no love, and
for lack of love is dead. It is parted from God by all the severance of moral
and spiritual contradiction. It is cast out of the kingdom of love. As Adam,
when he was driven forth out of Eden, had no more any lot in paradise, so the
unloving soul is parted from God and Christ, from holy angels and from all
saints, both in heaven and earth. Though all the companies of heaven are about
him, he is solitary; for a loveless soul has no fellow. He has no inheritance in
the city of God, no sympathy in the fellowship of the redeemed. They are united
by love, and in that unity the unloving cannot abide. By love the souls of the
faithful hang upon God, as the Psalmist says, “It is good for me to hold me fast
by God;” “my soul hangeth upon Thee.”Ps. lxxiii. 27; lxiii, 9.
The soul that
does not love looses its hold, and falls from the Divine Presence. As it recedes from God, it loses the
light of His countenance. It for ever falls lower and
lower; becomes darker and darker; grows colder
and colder. First it falls under the dominion of
self, next under the power of Satan; then it is
bound over into the throng and thraldom of fallen
angels. Take any example we will, and we shall
find it always true: for instance, pride, anger,
sullen jealousy, or a stubborn will; these sins
drive the Spirit of God away. So, again, love of
the world most surely makes men fall from Him:
for “if any man love the world, the love of the
Father is not in him.” Sloth also, and pampering
of self, wastes away the soul; it brings on fearful
departures, and great losses of God’s gifts and
presence. What are all the tokens and ministries of grace to slothful hearts? They read holy
Scripture, but it is a bare letter; they see the
surface of the page, but not the light which lies
beneath. Though they are sometimes moved with
its sublimity and beauty, its power and pathos,
yet it is only in the sensitive will and by the
animal emotions. Feeling is not love; and with
all this seeming religion, the spiritual life of such
souls towards God is cold and dark. The same is true of their prayers, which are estranged and formal; and
still more of their communions. An unloving heart before the altar is a sight of
fear. All is empty, without form and void; and darkness is upon the face of it;
but the Spirit of God does not move upon the face of those waters. Plain truths
of the Spirit to such cold hearts are parables; parables are incomprehensible;
mysteries have no significance, sacraments no meaning. All is darkness or
formality, a hollow, heartless custom. Such a soul is truly and deeply parted
from Christ, and under the apostolic sentence: “If any man love not the Lord
Jesus Christ, let him be anathema maranatha.”
And if such be the state of loveless Christians
in this life, what shall it be in the life to come?
Shall they be near God there, who are far from
Him here? Shall they be united to Him in eternity, who have cut themselves off from Him now
in time? The separation which now is, shall then
bring the doom of eternal loss. From the coldness and darkness of a loveless life, they fall still
further from God into “the outer darkness.” As
the sight of God to them that love Him is the
blessedness of heaven, so the loss of the beatific
vision is the nethermost hell. Even in this life it
begins to veil itself from unloving souls, but there
they must be cast out from before His face for ever. And why is the lack of love so heinous in
guilt, and a sin so fearfully avenged? Because
a soul without love rebels against the whole law
of God. As “love is the fulfilling of the law,” so
not to love is to break all the commandments at
a blow.
2. And we may hence also learn, that the least
beginning of love in the soul is the seed of eternal
life. As the least spark has the whole nature of
fire, its intense heat and its perfect brightness, so
the least pulse of love has in it, by virtue and principle, the whole nature of perfect love. There is
no measure of ardent charity to which it may not
be kindled. The love of the highest saint in the
kingdom of heaven, where love is the law of order
and exaltation, was once a faint beat, a weak motion
of the soul. The fervent and active devotion of
prophets and apostles was once but an infused
capacity of spiritual life. So it may be with you.
As the greatest have once been among the least,
so the least may one day be among the greatest.
The germ of a perfect love which shall adhere to
the beatific vision in perpetual adoration, is, by
God’s gift, in every regenerate soul. As we will,
so we shall live; and as we live, so we shall love.
It is our life, the activity and direction of our
living powers, that unfolds and perfects this divine
capacity. And as love is a principle indivisible in its nature, so it is in its working and expansion.
This shews us what is the law of its growth and
development. The love of God, which has its
centre in His eternal Being, spreads itself abroad
with an even, all-embracing, universal fulness. All
created beings are encompassed within the circles
of its expanse; every sphere is replenished by it;
heaven and earth are enfolded in its circuits; all
in its own measure and degree, without disturbance or inequality. So with the love which He
implants in His elect. As a spark swells into
flame, and as its spire of light ascends, expands
into a body of fire, full, even, and continuous, enlarging its reach and presence, ever moving outwards on all sides, yet ever flowing together in one
equable symmetry and outline, preserving always its
perfect unity; so love, which begins in the soul,
at once moves upward and outward, to God and
to our neighbour; growing with an even, simultaneous expansion; encircling first our kindred in
blood, then our kindred in the spirit,—first father
and mother, brethren and sisters, then neighbours
and friends, members and servants of Christ, strangers and enemies; always ascending towards God,
drawing the soul upward to His presence; uniting
it to the person of our Redeemer, and through
Him to all His elect. Love has no law but God’s love. As He loves, so must we. They are the chiefest objects of our love who are the chiefest objects of
His. All the love of His heavenly court is the reflection and response of His
own. In the heavenly country they love even now as He loves: every one in his
own order, in the measure of service, nearness, likeness, kindred to the King of
saints. And to us wayfarers still on earth, there is no other law than that
which descends from the eternal kingdom. “As He is, so are we in this world.”
3. And from this we may learn one more
truth, that the unity and expansion of love is the
cause and the law of unity and communion to
the visible Church. This unity had its beginning
upon earth in Him who is Love incarnate; from
Him it spread and embraced His disciples, binding
them in one visible fellowship, to which He imparted His divine commission. When He ascended
into heaven, love was shed abroad in fulness by
the coming of the Holy Ghost. The Love of the
Father and of the Son was thenceforward manifest,
not in a natural, but in a mystical body, which,
from age to age, perfects itself by the inward
working of its own principle of life. Its unity
and growth are properties of its very being, descending from “the Head, even Christ: from
whom the whole body, fitly joined together and
compacted by that which every joint supplieth, according to the effectual working in the measure
of every part, maketh increase of the body unto
the edifying of itself in love.”Eph. iv. 15, 16.
It is, therefore, by
its very nature and law, one and indivisible, ever
enlarging, all-embracing; gathering in all nations,
fusing all races, harmonising all tongues, blending
all thoughts, uniting all spirits: making the earth
once more of “one lip,” of one speech, of one
heart, and of one will. All the order of the
Church; the spiritual relations of fatherhood and
sonship, of brotherhood and mutual service; the
communion of all grace and gifts, of sacraments
and sympathies—all this is either the effect or
the bond of an indivisible life. “There is one
body and one spirit, even as ye are called in one
hope of your calling: one Lord, one faith, one
baptism,”Ibid. 4, 5.
one altar, one holy sacrifice, one divine
tradition of corporate identity and living consciousness, sustaining the illumination of truth, seen by
love alone, and itself sustained by the Holy Ghost.
Therefore are all the members of Christ united in
one visible family under “one God and Father of
all, who is above all, and through all, and in you
all.”Ibid. 6.
Hence comes the sinfulness of schism: it is a sin against the
indivisible love of God. To separate from the Church is to forfeit love; for love cannot be divided. Schisms do not rend it,
but are rent from it.“Erat ibi tunica, dicit Evangelista, desuper texta. Ergo
de coelo, ergo a Patre, ergo a Spiritu Sancto. Quae est ista
tunica, nisi caritas, quam nemo potest dividere? Quae est ista
tunica, nisi unitas? In ipsam sors mittitur, nemo illam dividit.
Sacramenta sibi haeretici dividere potuerunt, caritatem non diviserunt. Et quia dividere non potuerunt, recesserunt: illa autem
manet integra.”—S. Aug. in Psalm. xxi. Enarr. ii. 19.
As the life retires into the
living trunk when branches are cut away, so love
still dwells undivided in the life of the Church
when members fall from its communion.
And this shews also the sinfulness of an unloving spirit within the visible fold of the Church.
I am not speaking only of strife, malice, and contention, but of the likes and dislikes, the estrangements and differences, by which the equable and
calm spirit of love is grieved within the communion of the Church. We could as easily divide
the daylight, and give to it uncertain and capricious inclinations, as divide the love which God
implants by partialities and unequal distributions.
As the sight of the eye, though intently fixed on
one object out of all, yet embraces the whole visible
horizon; so divine love in the soul, though it be
fixed with all its force on God alone, yet embraces
all around. Its very nature is expansion. It cannot exclude: to exclude any, is to destroy itself. Where love is at all, it will act always and every
where, towards all persons, and under all circumstances of advantage or disadvantage, help or hindrance, at home or abroad. It is the very life of the
soul. We could as well live by fragments, as love
by partialities. Love can no more vary and change,
come and go, single out one and slight others,
be fervent afar off and cold at home, than life
can exist by freaks and caprices towards this person
or that, in this or that place, at this or that season.
As our life pervades our whole nature, in body,
soul, and spirit, all our actions and movements, all
our thoughts and words; so love is the one ever-present, ever-active, informing, sustaining, quickening life which orders our whole spiritual being. If
we love God, we shall love our neighbour. “He
that loveth Him that begat, loveth him also that
is begotten of Him.” If we love not our neighbour, we love not God: “If a man say, I love
God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he
that loveth not his brother, whom he hath seen,
how can he love God, whom he hath not seen?”1 St. John iv. 20.
If we think to love one and hate another, we deceive ourselves; for “whosoever hateth his brother
is a murderer:” a heart that can hate even one
soul, can love no one. If we love them that love
us, “sinners also love those that love them.” No man can truly love God who does not love his
friends; no man can truly love his friends who
loves not strangers; and no one can love distant or
indifferent persons who does not love his enemies.
And this will give us a test which enters into
our every-day life, our inmost heart and home.
The first step in the ascent of love rises in our
own dwelling. From our very threshold it goes
up to the eternal throne. There too is “the
house of God,” and there “the gate of heaven.”
A heart unloving among kindred has no love
towards God’s saints and angels. If we have a
cold heart towards a servant, or a friend, why
should we wonder if we have no fervour towards
God? Let us not deceive ourselves. It is very
sweet and flattering to self to imagine ourselves
in great works of devotion and charity; living at
the foot of the cross, content with scanty fare
and raiment, and the love of Christ alone: but
if we are cold in our private prayers, we should
be earthly and dull in the most devout religious
order; if we shrink from the sick-bed of a servant,
we should have no charity to turn the pallet of
Christ’s poor; if we cannot bear the vexations of
a companion, how should we bear the contradiction
of sinners? if a little pain overcomes us, how could
we endure a cross? if we have no tender, cheerful, affectionate love to those with whom our daily hours are spent, how should we feel the pulse and
ardour of love to the unknown and the evil, the
ungrateful and repulsive? In all this we should
be simply deceiving our own souls. What we are
in one place, we should be everywhere; as uncertain and fastidious, as sensitive and capricious, as
full of likings and dislikings, which are the leprosy
of the heart, fretting its life away.
The law of love had its perfect and uniform
fulfilment in our blessed Lord, who is both man
and God. In His words and works, His tones
and accents, His calmness and majesty, His gaze
and countenance, His obedience and patience towards all who loved or hated, served or thwarted,
blessed or reviled Him; in all things, great and
small, in all seasons of peace or agony, His love
neither failed nor fainted. It was never chilled
nor clouded: no ear ever heard His voice sharpened, no eye ever saw His brow grow dark.
And how shall we fulfil this great law of two
precepts, but by likeness to His Heart of love?
and how shall we be likened to it, but by union
with Himself?
He shews us the perfection of divine charity: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man
lay down his life for his friends.” The perfection
of love is sacrifice; the beginning of sacrifice is
self-denial. “He pleased not Himself.” He loved us, and gave Himself for us. He loved us even
more than Himself. Let us pray Him to unite
us to His own spirit, that His love may flow down
into our hearts, and make us as He is. It is by
spiritual contact and communion with Him that
love is kindled; and the oftener we come to this
fountain of heavenly fire, the more we shall be
inflamed, and “His love perfected in us,” until
that day when, from this jarring and conflicting
world, the Eternal Love shall gather in His own
to that unity where there is no variance, to that
communion which shall be for ever visible and
one. In that world of light and peace all shall be
loving, all beloved, all blessed in themselves, and
doubly blessed, each in the other’s bliss, in the
pure sphere of joy where Love uncreated dwells,
of whose boundless overflow all created life shall
be filled eternally.
SERMON XVIII.
THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS.
REV. xiv. 1.
“And I looked, and, lo, a Lamb stood on the mount Sion, and
with Him an hundred forty and four thousand, having His Father’s name written in
their foreheads.”
THREE times this great vision was revealed
to St. John. “And I heard,” he writes, “the number of them which were sealed: and
there were sealed an hundred and forty and four
thousand.”Rev. vii. 4.
“After this I beheld, and, lo, a great
multitude, which no man could number, of all
nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues,
stood before the throne, and before the Lamb,
clothed with white robes, and palms in their
hands; and cried with a loud voice, saying, Salvation to our God which sitteth upon the throne,
and unto the Lamb.”Ibid. 9, 10.
Again St. John writes: “I saw as it were a sea of glass mingled with fire: and them that had
gotten the victory over the beast, and over his
image, and over his mark, and over the number
of his name, stand on the sea of glass, having the
harps of God. And they sing the song of Moses
the servant of God, and the song of the Lamb,
saying, Great and marvellous are Thy works, Lord
God Almighty; just and true are Thy ways, Thou
King of saints.”Rev. xv. 2, 3.
And in this place: “And I looked, and, lo,
a Lamb stood on the mount Sion, and with Him
an hundred and forty and four thousand, having
His Father’s name written in their foreheads.”Ibid. xiv. 1.
This is a revelation of things which shall be
hereafter; an anticipation of the perfect fulfilment
of the secret mystery of grace now advancing in
the world.
This blessed company seen upon mount Sion
is the whole Church as it shall be, “without spot
or blemish,” gathered and glorious: the Head and
the Body, the whole mystical Person of the Second
Adam, the beginning and the fulness of the new
creation of God.
The hundred and forty and four thousand is a
number divinely chosen to express the multitude
of God’s elect, as they are foreknown in the Book
of Life; a number which stands as a symbol for a number unrevealed, as the stars of the heavens
for multitude: the fellowship of all saints, from
all ages and generations, of all families, races,
and tongues.
It reveals also the perfect unity of the whole
mystical body. They were arrayed all alike, bearing each the palm of victors and their harps of
praise, symbols of the divine ineffable unity of all
God’s saints. They chanted before the throne a
new song, which no man but they could learn;
and their voice went up all one, as the mingled
voice of many waters.
We have here the multitude and the unity of
the saints of God. Though beyond all number,
they were but one; having one bliss, one crown,
one eternal energy of love and worship. This reveals to us the great mystery we confess in the Catholic faith:
“I believe the Communion of Saints.”
Let us look into it awhile.
1 . First, then, the Communion of Saints is the
restoration of fellowship between God and man.
God and man were united in the first creation
as the substance and the shadow, the type and the
likeness, the very and true original with its image
and reflection. There was an unity of love and
will between the Lord as He walked in Paradise,
and the man whom He had made from the dust
to dress the garden of Eden.
But there was no union of the divine and
human substance: neither was God man, nor man
God; but God and man were each several and
apart. The finite and the infinite, the created and
the uncreated, were joined in no personal unity.
The communion of God with man was external
and perishable, hanging on the frailty of an infirm, created will.
Sin dissolved that fellowship, and the creature
fell into corruption. The will of God and the will
in man were turned in variance, with the energy of
direct contradiction. The whole soul of man rose
in rebellion against God, and the whole majesty of
God stood in array against the sin of His creature.
And in this original revolt the race of man fell
off from God, and gathered itself against Him.
The multiplication of mankind was the multiplication and perpetuity of the conflict between God
and man. There was no fellowship between heaven
and earth; for the divine foundation had been
broken up, and no new foundation had been laid.
God, therefore, sent His Son into the world; “God was manifest in the flesh.” God and man
were united in one inseparable mystery; two whole
and perfect natures in one person—the divine and
human, the created and the uncreated—never to
be again divided, never to be dissolved for ever;
as a foundation of eternal communion.
There are in the will and work of God three
perfect and eternal unities: the unity of three
Persons in one nature; the unity of two natures
in one Person; and the unity of the Incarnate
Son with His elect,—the Head with the members
of His Body mystical.
This is the foundation of the communion of God and man. “A
Lamb stood upon mount Sion, and with Him an hundred and forty and four
thousand.”
2. And next, the Communion of Saints is the
restoration of the fellowship of men with each
other. It is the mutual and universal fellowship
of those who have fellowship through Christ with
God.
Sin, which dissolved the communion of mankind with God, dissolved also the fellowship of
man with man. The will once turned against its
divine Lord is turned also against all its like.
The will in man, by its selfish intensity, turns
every way, with the vehemence of a tempest.
And therefore, by nature, we are isolated and
isolating. Sin begets self-love; self-love destroys
sympathy. Cain is the very type of our fallen race:
bound by kindred, but without affections; herding
together, but without a common soul: “Am I
my brother’s keeper?”Gen. iv. 9.
By our first birth into this world we have a common heritage of flesh
and blood; but no communion, because no spiritual
life: we have a common portion of death and sin;
but no fellowship, because no head or centre. By
nature we may unite in bonds of kindred, and in
a material life of social order; but we can have no
communion of spirit with spirit and of soul with
soul. No imperfect person could unite us, or be
our head. Every individual will born into this
world is several and selfish, and therefore in conflict and division.
Such is the natural state of man on earth;
such are fallen angels, for whom is no Redeemer;
and such will be the misery of hell,—the perfection of conscious isolation, banishment from God,
and estrangement from universal being, loneliness
in a throng, multitude without unity, discord and
strife, sin carried out to its perfection; individual
wills absolute in solitude, hateful, and hating one
another. This is the nethermost hell.
Such, then, are we by nature, and such is the
eternity to which the impenitent are doomed.
But, by the power of God, through the Incarnation of His Son, we are redeemed from our
natural isolation, and, by union with Him, united
to each other.
Our regeneration unites us to the Divine Person in whom God and man are one; and by union with Him we are reunited to all whom He has likewise united to Himself. All the regenerate are
partakers of one nature, the divine manhood of the
Son of God, who, as God, is consubstantial with
the Father; as man, is consubstantial with us.
We are one with Him, as He is with His Father.
As He is united with the Father, not by mere
unity of likeness, or love, or will, but by a true
participation of His Father’s nature, “God of God,
Light of Light, very God of very God;” so are we
united with Him, not by mere unity of likeness,
love, or will, but by a true participation of His
divine humanity. And as we are united with
Him, so with each other; not by mere moral
affinity or intellectual agreement, nor by mere likeness of character or harmony of disposition; not by
an outward figurative union, which changes communion into a play of the imagination, or a metaphor of unsubstantial notions. The members of
Christ’s body, both in heaven and earth, are united
in a kindred as real as the bonds of blood, but
higher than all earthly brotherhood, by a participation of one common nature, of a restored humanity, sinless and deathless, in the Person of the
Second Adam. As the head and the body are of
one substance, so are Christ and His saints. As
the vine has one nature in root and stem, branch
and spray, fibre and fruit, so the mystical and true Vine in earth and heaven has one substance and
one life, which is the basis of all fellowship in love
and will, in sympathy and action, in mutual intercessions of prayer, and in united ministries of
power.
All, then, who have communion in His visible
Church, the evil and the good, the saint and the
hypocrite, outwardly partake in this sacrament of
inward unity. And the visible Church on earth is
the root out of which the mystical vine is rising.
Within it all holy hearts have an interior fellowship. The mystical Body has its supernatural life,
its heaven-born soul, breathed into it on the day
of Pentecost, sustained by a perpetual influence
of Christ’s living presence. And in this living
soul all who believe, love, repent, obey, have fellowship. This expanding life for eighteen hundred years has been filling the world unseen with
souls elect and purified. The communion begun
on earth passes upward into heaven. Death cannot suspend it; the gates of hell shall not prevail
against it. The mystical body in heaven and
earth is one. As all rays are united in the sun,
so “all spirits and souls of the righteous,” before
or since the Incarnation, are knit and united in
one common centre—the person of the King of
saints. “Ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellow-citizens with the saints, and of the household of God: and are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ
Himself being the chief corner-stone; in whom
all the building fitly framed together groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord.”Eph. ii. 19-21.
“Ye are come
unto mount Sion, and unto the city of the living
God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly
and church of the first-born, which are written
in heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to
the spirits of just men made perfect.”Heb. xii. 22, 23.
“And one of the elders answered, saying unto
me, What are these which are arrayed in white
robes? and whence came they? And I said unto
him, Sir, thou knowest. And he said to me, These
are they which came out of great tribulation, and
have washed their robes, and made them white in
the blood of the Lamb.”Rev. vii. 13, 14.
What may we learn, then, from these mysteries of the kingdom of God? They are not
parables, but visions; not shadows, but realities;
seen, indeed, by anticipation in their fulness, but
actually fulfilling now. The Communion of Saints
is not only that which shall be, but that which
now exists. There is in the world unseen an unnumbered company which has sympathy with us on earth, and we with them are even now partakers of their heavenly work and worship. The
whole book of Revelation, as its beginning is past,
and its end is still to come, so all between is the
history of the career and warfare of the Church
on earth, and of the sympathy and communion of
the Church in heaven.
1. Let us, then, learn, first of all, that we can
never be lonely or forsaken in this life.
Our Lord has promised: “Lo, I am with you
alway, even unto the end of the world.” And in
Him all His saints are with us too. Where He is,
they are; for they reign with Him; they “follow
the Lamb whithersoever He goeth;” the armies
which are in heaven “follow Him.” The sympathy of the Son of God is with us; and His sympathy, as it is human in its tenderness, so it is
divine in its perfection. As the anointing upon
the head of the high priest ran down to the skirts
of his clothing, so all the perfections of the Head
of the mystical body flow down upon His members.
They share His sympathy with the Church militant on earth. Shall they forget us because they
are “made perfect?” Shall they love us the less
because they now have power to love us more?
If we forget them not, shall they not remember us
with God?
No trial, then, can isolate us, no sorrow can cut us off from the Communion of Saints. There
is but one thing in which the sympathy of Christ
has no share, and that is, the guilt of wilful sin.
If we live sinfully, we isolate ourselves. Both heaven and earth alike will cast us out. We have no
home or fellowship, for there is neither fellowship
nor home where God is not. What wonder, then,
if sinners are miserable? What wonder if they
go up and down in a crowded solitude, under the
conscious burden of their own loneliness? What
more outcast than a proud, angry, false, revengeful
spirit? Or who is more alone than a close hypocrite, who wears white that he may pass among
Christians in the worship of the Church, and perhaps at the very altar? Or,
again, what share in the kingdom of God have the soft and selfish, the refined
and luxurious?
The Communion of Saints has no sympathy for
them, as they have no tokens of their Lord. The
sign of saints is the cross of Christ. Somewhere
it must be found stamped upon them, either in
their outward life or their inward spirit, upon some
affection or desire, upon some infirmity or fault,
upon something willingly foregone or gladly given
to another. Some mark of the cross there must
be; for where no cross is, there is no communion.
In all hard strife with sin and with the world, in
all stubborn temptations and ever-returning trials, in all the sorrows of repentance, and all the sharpness of affliction, though without visible friends,
we cannot be forsaken. Above all, they who labour for Christ and for His kingdom can never be
alone. They are “workers together with God,”
and He is on the field of their daily toil: “His
eyes are upon them all the year long.” Angels
and men in a wonderful order labour with them:
unseen ministries are about them, and the great
cloud of witnesses is intent upon their strife. So
long as we are within the truth, be we never so
lonely, all the kingdom of Christ is with us. Truth
unites us with eternity. Outside of the truth,
though we be in a multitude, we must be ever
alone. But the laws of the kingdom are universal,
reaching beyond time and the world, and bringing
us into communion with all the servants and saints
of the Most High. Sects and schools, individual
judgments, private opinions, and the like, are selfish and solitary. But the faith is the common
consciousness and life of the elect; and they who
stand for it, although they stand alone against all
the world, are never alone, for all the companies
of heaven and all the generations of the Church
are at their side. Kneel down, and you are with
them; lift up your eyes, and the heavenly world,
high above all perturbation, hangs serenely over
head. Only a thin veil, it may be, floats between. When the prophet stood with his servant all alone
in Dothan compassed with enemies, the whole
mountain was full of the chariots of God. So all
His holy ones, prophets, apostles, martyrs, saints,
all His pure and perfect servants, compass His
Church on earth. All whom we loved, and all who
loved us; whom we still love no less, while they
love us yet more, are ever near, because ever in His
presence in whom we live and dwell. Awaken
this blessed consciousness. Keep ever open your
living fellowship with the Lord Jesus, who is the
pledge of all sympathy, the channel of all fellowship, and the head of all communion.
2. And let us learn further, by the reality
of this heavenly fellowship, to live less in this
divided world. Christ died for the sin of the
world; but the hundred and forty and four thousand, a few from among many, are gathered out
of it, and “the world lieth in wickedness.” Every
one of that perfect number, in his day, renounced
the world, and died to it. There is an eternal
opposition between the world and God. “The
friendship of the world is enmity against God;”
because the world is the kingdom of the flesh, and “the carnal mind is enmity against God: for it is
not subject unto the law of God, neither indeed
can be.” If it became subject, it would cease to
exist: enmity is its very existence. It matters not in what forms this may be embodied; whether in
sensual or refined sins, in the grosser or the more
cultivated forms of atheism; only that the grosser
are often less guilty, and the cultivated are often
more intense: or in luxury, self-worship, vain-glory,
jealousy, wrath, scorn, rivalry, effeminate hardness
of heart, and the like: it is all one before God. “Love not the world, neither the things that are
in the world. 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.”1 St. John ii.
15, 16.
If we live in fellowship
with the world, we have no fellowship with Christ.
If we love the world, the love of the Father is
not in us; and if no love of the Father, then no
communion with His kingdom.
Between these two we must make our choice.
We are between two cities—the one visible, the
other invisible—the one an object of sense, the
other of faith—the one garish, splendid, and tumultuous, the other calm, glorious, and serene.
On the one side, the world, and this earthly life,
with its fair show, luring gifts, bright promises,
gilded ambition; on the other, the city of God,
the fellowship of saints, the sympathy of Christ,
the love of the Father, the Beatific Vision.
1
Choose one you must. Either you must have
a life—not sinful, or gross, or reckless, or profane—of these we are not speaking—but in this
world, and of this world, loved by it, courted, followed, endowed, gifted, smooth, and fair, without
sharpness or cross, without contradiction or shame,
without devotion or self-denial, without saintliness
or repentance; or you must have a life of striving and suffering, of temptation and weariness, of
faith and faintness, of hope and fear, of longing
and waiting, of anxious desires and slow tarrying
answers; bearing the weight of a conscious immortality, with sins remembered in the conscience, and
intentions pent up in the heart. One of these
two you must choose to be your own. Either in
this world “to have your reward,” or to have your
“life hid with Christ in God.” For He has said, “I came not to send peace upon earth, but a
sword;” and with that sharp two-edged weapon
He is severing His own from this perishing world.
He has been cutting all round you to set you free
by His ministries of truth and grace, by warnings
and chastisements, by blessings and visitations, by
His words piercing the outward ear, and His presence moving your inward heart.
Look back upon your past life. Retrospect
will interpret it as a whole, and marshal all its
parts in order. Through all your earthly trial He has had one steadfast intention, to bring you to
Himself.
3. And lastly, let us learn from this Communion of Saints to live in hope.
They who are now at rest were once like ourselves. They were once fallen, weak, faulty, sinful; they had their burdens and hindrances, their
slumbering and weariness, their failures and their
falls. But now they have overcome.
Their life was once homely and commonplace.
While on earth they were not arrayed in white
raiment, but in apparel like other men, unmarked
and plain, worn and stained by time and trial.
Their day ran out as ours. Morning and noon
and night came and went to them as to us. Their
life, too, was as lonely and sad as yours. Little fretful circumstances and frequent disturbing
changes wasted away their hours as yours. Many
a time their “feet were almost gone,” their “treadings had well nigh slipped.” They had their professions and business, their works and trades, their
cares and burdens; they were fathers, mothers,
masters, servants; rich or poor, learned or unlettered, even as you; their life was in a sheltered
home, or in the glare of the noonday world; they lived either free from hard
cares and toils, or worn down with labours and anxiety. There is nothing in your
life that was not in theirs; there was nothing in theirs but may be also in
your own.
Only one thing there is in which we are unlike them: they were common in all things except
the uncommon measure of their inward sanctity.
In all besides we are as they; only it is now our
turn to strive for the crown of life. And now,
because our turn is come, we think some trial
new and strange is come upon us; that God has
changed His way, or sent us fewer graces and
greater temptations.
Let each one search, then, and see what is his
especial sin, danger, and trial. And let him remember, that already, long ago, many a like sinner or sufferer has been gathered into the rest of
saints. They have overcome, each one, and one
by one; each in his turn, when the day came,
and God called him to the trial. And so shall
you likewise.
Live, then, in this blessed fellowship. Ponder
their examples and their lives: their infirmities,
for your encouragement; their masteries, for your
humiliation. And now, how peaceful are they,
and secure; how full of rest and God. Make sure
your lot in their inheritance in light. All around
you, God is gathering out His own, making up
the number of His elect. All around, the world
is ripening to the rankness of corruption. The world is falling, because it is divided from God,
and against itself; the Communion of Saints is
rising heavenward, because it is united in conscious
unity with itself and with its Head.
Before long, we too shall be without sin. The
longest life, how short. The fairest earthly bliss,
how poor. A few short years, and all will be
over. Then there shall be no more sin and jar,
no more infirmity and imperfections: then we shall
have the power to taste of bliss, and to endure the
taste.
Then cometh the end. O what a day, when
the earth and the heavens shall give token of
His coming. When you shall lift up your heads
and say, “Is this the end of all? Is it come at
last?” O what an hour, when He shall come, and
all His holy angels, and all the children of the
kingdom: all who have loved, served, waited, suffered for Him: the first and the last, all in perfect sameness, recognition, bliss, and splendour;
their raiment white and glistering, and their countenance as the sun shineth in his strength. O
vision of majesty and beauty, when the holy city
shall come down from God out of heaven, and a
great voice shall say, “Behold, the tabernacle of
God is with men, and He will dwell with them,
and they shall be His people, and God Himself
shall be with them, and be their God. And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and
there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor
crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for
the former things are passed away.”Rev. xxi. 3, 4.
SERMON XIX.
THE SEALING OF THE ELECT.
REV. vii. 2, 3.
“And I saw another angel ascending from the east, having the
seal of the living God: and he cried with a loud voice to the four angels, to
whom it was given to hurt the earth and the sea, saying, Hurt not the earth,
neither the sea, nor the trees, till we have sealed the servants of our God in
their foreheads.”
SIX of the seven seals had been already opened
before the prophetic vision of St. John, and
both heaven and earth were filled with the tokens
of God’s last judgment upon the world. “There
was a great earthquake; and the sun became black
as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as
blood;” and voices went up from the earth in terror and great fear, saying “to the mountains and
rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of
Him that sitteth on the throne, and from the
wrath of the Lamb: for the great day of His wrath is come j and who shall be
able to stand? And after these things I saw four angels standing
on the four corners of the earth, holding the four
winds of the earth, that the wind should not blow
on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree:”
that is, in vision, where time and space are not,
St. John saw the whole face of the earth as it
lies expanded before the eyes of God. He saw
the scourges of God gathered to the full, ready
to burst upon mankind; and four angels, the
ministers of the justice of God, holding back the
powers of divine retribution for a time appointed.
And afterwards he saw “another angel ascending from the east,” the minister of God’s grace
and mercy—the harbinger of the day-spring, the
bright and morning star—“having the seal of
the living God,” that is, the power and commission to mark off, with a signet of salvation, the
number of God’s elect. “And he cried with a
loud voice,” laying a divine command upon the destroying angels, that they should stay their work
till the elect should receive the seal of the living
God. There was a suspense in heaven and earth
until the work of grace should be accomplished. “And I heard,” writes St. John,
“the number of them which were sealed: and
there were sealed an hundred and forty and four thousand.”
In this majestic vision we have clearly revealed
to us, not only some special action of the kingdom of God in judgment and in mercy, but also a revelation of the continuous exercise of His sovereignty
of grace.
This awful transaction is not an event of time
past, though, as in a type and prelude, it may have
had already a fulfilment; neither is it an action
simply in time to come, as if it were not yet in
operation, though, doubtless, it will be once for
all accomplished when, under the suspended judgments of the last day, the angels shall go abroad
to gather His elect from the four winds of heaven.
There is here revealed to us a divine idea, and a
divine law of action, which is now advancing with
perpetual energy, past, present, and to come.
It reveals to us the state of the world, doomed by God’s righteous sentence, but spared for a while till the work of God is done. It
shews us:
1. First, that God has a foreknown number
whom He will gather out unto Himself.
In the foreknowledge of God all is eternally
perfect and complete. There is no succession in
the eternal mind. All His works stand perfect in
their first and final type; each one a whole and
perfect idea, eternally conceived, willed, accomplished. Even now, in the Divine foreknowledge,
the mystery of redemption is beheld in its fulness.
To Him who “calleth those things which be not
as though they were,” it now is as to us it shall be. The whole of the new creation sprung from, and
surrounding, the second Adam in the kingdom of
life eternal; the mystical Person of Christ, both
the Head and the Body, all perfect “by that which
every joint supplieth;” the true and eternal Vine,
complete in all its symmetry from root to spray;
the heavenly court, compassed about with ranks
of angelic hosts: the order of patriarchs, and the
multitude of saints, ascending to the Mother of
God and to the Incarnate Son: all this divine
and glorious mystery of miraculous love and power
stands in the foreknowledge and gaze of the Eternal, full, perfect, and accomplished. Time is not
with God, save as He works in time. Time is
subject to the Divine intent. Time waits upon
His will, and serves it; and then, as the Divine
purpose is fulfilled, ceases to exist. What is with
us gradual and successive, with God is absolute
and complete. The series and unfolding of creation and redemption to us are progressive, to Him
are one symmetrical and perfect whole, on which
the Divine will and gaze is fixed.
Before creation, God dwelt in His eternal rest,
blissful in Himself, in His own goodness, power,
and love; and into the same rest He will return
again when all the works of creation and of redemption shall be exhausted, and the fruit of them
gathered in. Until then, all power in heaven and in earth is given unto the Son. But when all is
accomplished in time, then shall the Son also Himself, with all His elect, the hundred and forty and
four thousand in perfection and in unity, “be subject unto Him that put all things under Him,
that God may be all in all.” When that predestined hour is come, all orders and ranks of sinless creatures, angels, archangels, virtues and dominions, thrones, principalities, powers, cherubim,
seraphim, and the mystical body of the Word made
flesh, shall dwell together in the eternal rest before
the face of God. This is the end for which all is
ordained, to which all conspires, for which all things
are waiting.
2. We see further, that the course of this
world will run on until this foreknown number
shall be gathered in. All things are for the elect’s sake. For their sake the world standeth; for their
sake the last judgments are held back; “for their
sake these days shall be shortened.” “The Lord
is not slack concerning His promise, as some men
count slackness; but is long-suffering to usward,
not willing that any should perish, but that all
should come to repentance.”2 St. Peter iii. 9.
But though God’s work in creation was simultaneous, His dominion
in providence is progressive. He has ordained the
generations of mankind in a successive order; and from each
succession, as it comes up, He gathers out those whom He hath foreknown.
Meanwhile the world runs on its course. The power of sin, which entered in the
beginning, casts itself into a thousand forms, lifts itself in enmity against
God, moulds the fallen creatures of God into endless shapes of provocation, and
wages a perpetual rebellion. Mankind had hardly multiplied upon the earth, when
the world was ripe for destruction; wrath was long threatened, and yet long held
back. It is withheld still for the sake of the elect. What is the history of the
world, but a history of man’s warfare against God? of our provocation, and of
His patience? What are the religions, philosophies, kingdoms of the old world,
but idolatry, atheism, rebellion? What are they now? What is philosophy without
faith, civilisation without Christianity, education without moral laws, empires
owning no omnipotence but their own, wars without justice, wealth desecrated,
refinement without the cross? And what are the traditions, characters, and moral
life of the nations, people, and masses of our Christian world? What is the
state of the whole world at this hour? Two -thirds heathen or infidel; and of
what remains of the old wreck of Christendom, what judgment is recorded in
heaven? What hatred and enmity, what mockery and provocation, what schisms and
heresies, what spiritual revolts and national apostacies, what
challenge and defiance of the long-suffering of God and of His Christ!
Why, then, “tarry the wheels of His chariots?”
They “are twenty thousand,” “more than twelve
legions of angels.” Why do not the armies of
heaven ride forth on white horses to avenge the
name of their Lord upon a hardened and hopeless
world? Why are the four mighty whirlwinds yet
stayed? What holds them from blowing upon the
earth? They are hound by the hands of the Divine
patience, only till the servants of God are sealed
in their foreheads.
3. And this shews us, once more, that even
now, while judgment is stayed, the Church in the
midst of us is sealing God’s elect.
The angel ascending from the east is a type
of the ministry of angels and men knit together
in one order of grace, to gather out the heirs of
salvation. Ever since the world began, this invisible work of mercy has been carrying on.
“One
has been taken, and another left.” Abel was sealed,
and Cain cast out; Enoch “was not, for God took
him:” and they are types of the ingathering of
God’s secret ones from the ruin of the elder
world. So afterwards, Noah and Abraham, Melchisedech and Job, the saints of Israel, every tribe
in its own order, from generation to generation, yielding up its remnant to be sealed with the seal
of God. In the darkest times of God’s Church of
old there were found seven thousand men who had
not fallen away: even at the last, when the holy
city had become an harlot, and sects and factions
in the Church of God crucified the Lord of glory,
there were still saints hidden from the world, “waiting for the consolation.” Their feet wore
the threshold of the temple; and they knelt, day
by day, unknown before the altar.
So, too, in every age till now. In times of
persecution, heresy, apostacy, or in earthly peace,
splendour, and dominion, the Church has been
gathering out God’s chosen servants from all nations and from all lands, from all families and
households, here one and there another, one by
one, sealing each individual soul, as if there were
no other in the presence of God.
The visible polity of the Church, its stately
ritual and public solemnities, its fasts and feasts,
its chants and litanies, its missions and preachings, all the public order and movement which
meets the eye and the ear,—all this is as the “not
let down into the sea, which taketh of every kind,
both good and bad.” But this is not the sealing
of the elect. It is an inner work of grace, a
choosing from among the chosen, a preparation for
that day, when, upon the eternal shore, the angels “shall gather the good into vessels, and cast the
bad away.” There are, therefore, two special
truths to be noted in this matter, lest we deceive ourselves.
The first is, that the ultimate and true election of God is not collective but several, not of
bodies but of persons. The national election of
Israel was a type of the Catholic election of the
Church; the Jewish election was the personal election of Abraham enlarged, and the Catholic election is the visible ministry of grace for gathering
in the heirs of Abraham’s faith. The visible
Church is elect for the elect’s sake. It was this
great mystery of grace of which St. John Baptist
spoke, when he said, “Think not to say within
yourselves, We have Abraham to our father: for
I say unto you, that God is able of these stones
to raise up children unto Abraham.”St. Matt. iii. 9.
Their national or traditional election would not save them;
nothing but the personal and individual election
of grace. So with the visible Church of Christ. “Many are called, but few are chosen.” The
world-wide tradition of baptism gathered into the
visible election of the Church, first individuals,
one by one, then households, then families, races,
nations, all alike gathered into the way of life,
and within the sphere and powers of the world to
come, sealed all alike with the outward seal of
confessions and sacraments. But what do we see
all around? what does every age of the Church
attest, every land in Christendom, every portion
of the Church? The baptised are many, holy
hearts are few; many called to be Christ’s, few
chosen; many regenerate, few sons of God; much
sowing, little reaping; much planting, but a scanty
vintage. Let this teach us to look deeper than
our baptism and our creed: both are of God, and
both necessary to eternal life; but neither, nor
both, suffice alone. Let us search below the passive Christianity of our childhood, and the visible
election we share with the inconsistent and unconverted. Nations do not inherit the kingdom of
God as nations, nor do households as households
enter into life; but each several soul, as it is born
into this world alone, is ever lonely before God:
even in the throng of multitudes, when we fall
down before God in worship before the altar, when
we adore Him in united chants, and in fullest communion, with a voice as of many waters; yet even
then each soul is several and alone, standing or
falling by itself, bearing the weight of its own immortality, with the burden of its sins and graces,
its gifts and responsibilities, its time past, present,
and to come. Born alone, alone we must live; alone repent, pray, fast, watch,
persevere, and die; each one for himself “work out his own salvation,” and make
his “calling and election sure.”
And the other truth is, that this mystery of
election, as it is personal, so it is strictly consistent with our personal probation. Strange that
they who believe the eternity of God should entangle themselves in questions about predestination. Once believe an Eternal Mind, and we have
ascended into a sphere of faith where all things
are transcendent. We can no longer reason by
terms of logic or by definitions in words. If God
be omniscient, must He not foreknow all things?
and if He be omnipotent, why can He not create
free agents. Who are we to set His perfections
in contradiction? But it is plainly declared, not
more by words of holy Scripture than by the whole
revealed character of God, and the universal consciousness of man, that every several soul is a free
moral being, responsible for the powers and will
with which he is divinely endowed, and for the
acts and words which issue from them.
On whom did St. John see the angel impress
the seal of the elect? On the servants of God;
that is, on those who were found faithful, each
one in his place fulfilling his Master’s work. The
parable of the talents is a key to the name ‘servant.’ It is the title of those who, having received
the grace of their Lord to lay out in His service, use what is entrusted to them with care and diligence: it describes the state of the regenerate,
and the law of their probation.
After years well spent in faithful service, when
the will and heart are ripened by trial into steadfast faith and love, then, in His mercy, God bestows a crowning gift upon His servants—the
grace of perseverance.
There is an interior ministry of the Spirit,
ever working, sealing by an inward and divine
seal the proved servants of Christ: not by a capricious or mechanical predestination, but by an
election founded on the moral attributes of God
and on the moral nature of man. God made man
free, and elects him to and in the exercise of freedom, will, and power. And what is this seal of
the living God, but the image of God renewed in
the soul by the power of the Holy Ghost; the likeness and the mind of Christ stamped upon us by
a perfect regeneration; the inward reality of a saintly spirit wrought in us,
either by a life of steadfast obedience or by a true repentance, by a
persevering grace or by a perfect conversion?
This work of grace is now, by the ministry of
the Church, fulfilling all around, and will work on
unseen unto the end. Then, when the mystical
number is accomplished, and every soul foreknown
has received the seal of God, the seventh and last seal of the Book shall be opened, and the scourges
of God, long pent up, come down upon the earth.
Ask yourselves, therefore, whether or no you
are of this secret number? whether or no you have received this seal of God?
What else is worth living for? Though you should have all, and
not this alone, what shall it profit in the day of judgment? Though you have
nothing else but this alone, what shall you then desire?
But how shall we try ourselves? By what tokens shall we discern the hope of our election?
Not by any external signs, nor by any supernatural
intimations, nor by resting upon absolute decrees
and the like; but by the deep inward marks of
the work of God in us, by the correspondence of
our spirit with the will and working of the Spirit
of God. Let us, then, try ourselves by some plain
questions of self-examination.
1. The first question to ask ourselves is, What
is our character? This very word, which we so
habitually use, signifies a stamp impressed upon
our spiritual nature. It is the counterpart of
sealing. And we use it to signify the whole outline of our moral being. Character is to the heart
what countenance is to the features: it is the form
and shape into which the affections, powers, and
actions of the will have been cast and moulded. And this inward shaping is always at work. We
are from childhood between two strong powers—this world and the world to come; and both exert
a strange and searching influence, according as we
turn our hearts towards them. To the one or to
the other we are being surely likened. Therefore
St. Paul says, “Be not conformed to this world:
but be ye transformed by the renewing of your
mind.”Rom. xii. 2
Either we are perpetually changing into
a worldlier, earthlier soul, or we are being changed
by union with Christ “into the same image from
glory to glory.”2 Cor. iii. 18.
When we speak, then, of character, we mean the clear, conscious, and definite shape
and direction which has been given to our whole
spiritual nature.
How many people never ask themselves what shape their mind and
spirit have assumed. How many live on unconscious that they are being either
sealed or branded; that they are daily fixing their eternal state. Yet surely it
is no hard thing to find out whether we are living in any known sin or not;
whether we are striving against temptations or not; whether we have mastery over
our faults or our faults over us; whether we desire the love of God or not;
whether sin is to us a sorrow, and the very thought of holiness a delight;
whether we are living for this world or for the next. Surely it can be no hard
thing to answer these questions, nor to find whether we are taking as our example the character
of the world or the character of Christ; the tone
of society or the sermon on the mount; the maxims
of worldly wisdom or the eight beatitudes; whether
we follow the majority of Christians or the company of saints, the plausible and pleasant religion
of social life or the severe and lonely spirit of the
cross.
Perhaps we are forced to confess that this
higher character is so faintly traced upon us, that
we hardly dare to claim it; then let us ask ourselves another and a more lenient question.
2. If we have not this character, what are our
tendencies? To what do our desires, aspirations,
thoughts, incline? To what does our will tend?
If we dare not say that we are penitent or devout,
dead to self and to the world, can we say that such
is our tendency? that we are moving, be it ever
so slowly, in that direction? If we look back on a
number of years, do we seem to have moved at all
in that direction? Has sin been losing hold, and
the spirit of sanctity gaining power over us? Are
our temptations weaker, and we stronger; our
faults fewer, and our repentance deeper? Or, to
take any one besetting sin, do we less often fall
into it, more quickly rise from it, hate it more keenly, and humble ourselves more sorrowfully?
Or, to take any one work of charity or devotion,
do we give ourselves to it with a fuller, freer, and
more generous heart? Are our prayers less wandering and irksome? Is crossing our own will
easier? The service of the sick, the care of the
poor, the instruction of the ignorant is it more
soothing and pleasant? Do we exercise ourselves
in meditation on the person, presence, and love
of our Lord, on the purity and bliss of His kingdom, with greater desire and joy? By some such
questions we shall see whither we are tending, and
to what we are being conformed.
But it may be that we may be forced to give
sorrowful answers to these questions, and to say
that we feel neither holier nor humbler, more devout or penitent, than we did. And yet it is probably true that we are moving steadily onwards
in the path of life; for the changes of our spiritual nature are like the changes of our stature,
so slow as to be insensible: it is only after some
years of growth that its advance can be perceived
and measured; nevertheless the tendency is steady
and unceasing. So with sincere hearts; the outline of the mind of Christ is ever shaping and
deepening within them. It often happens that
the more it advances, the less they perceive it,
that the increase of inward sanctity conceals itself, and shews only by an intenser light the sinfulness
of their sinful hearts: so that the less sinful they
grow, the more sinful they see themselves to be;
that is, the more truly they see both what they
have been and what they are. And by this they are often cast down, not daring to believe that the increased sense of sin is an increase of sanctification: but this is a sure token which
way their
whole spiritual nature is tending.
3. The last question we may ask is, What is
our habitual intention? What, at your best seasons of recollection, is your deliberate aim? In
times of sadness, sickness, anxiety, or in moments
of prayer and devotion, what do you choose before all as the object of your supreme desire? At
such seasons you feel the emptiness of time and
the substance of eternity; you would give the
whole world to save your soul; you would rather
die sevenfold than sin once mortally; you would
choose the love of God rather than all His gifts;
to be numbered among His elect here in this world,
albeit with repentance, hardness, solitude, temptation, and the cross, rather than to taste all sweetness, and possess all gifts of life, with a doubtful
perseverance. At such times, it may be, your one
great desire is to be sealed with the seal of the
living God. And yet at other times you are conscious of sinking into a life so easy and forgetful, so unconscious of your one great aim, and so in
harmony with this earthly state, that the higher
tone seems to be artificial, and the lower to be
your true tendency and character.
Now to this it may be said, Take courage.
The true self of sincere minds is that which speaks
and aspires in their better moments. The lower
level on which they move at other times is the
way of their infirmity. As the resistance of the
atmosphere stays the keenest arrow’s flight, and
bends it to the earth again, so the purest and directest intention is slackened by the gross thick
airs of our daily life. Not to sink into a slower,
earthlier motion is the portion of those who are
lifted into a higher and heavenlier sphere, where
the actings of the soul have nothing to resist them.
In heaven “they rest not day nor night;” but on
earth the most unresting intention is overcome by
weakness and weariness at last. It cannot always
be conscious and actual; but that does not take
away its true and habitual reality.
Let this, then, be your continual endeavour, to
uphold and to prolong these higher intentions.
He who inspired them will sustain them. These
heavenward aspirations are not the emotions of
nature, but the stirrings of grace, which, as it
descended from heaven, so always strives to ascend to heaven again. Quicken and strengthen these desires by a life of prayer, by meditation, by habitual
communion, by self-examination, by confession; by exercises of the heart, and by
acts of faith, hope, and love. A soul united to God is endowed with the gift of
perseverance; a will restored to its true freedom, hating sin, and delighting in
the presence of Christ, shall be steadfast eternally; a heart kindled by the
Holy Spirit is “sealed unto the day of redemption.”
Every day this work is advancing, and the impression of the saving sign sinks deeper and deeper
in those who serve Him. It matters not where
or what we are, so we be His servants. They are
happy who have a wide field and great strength
to fulfil His missions of compassion; and they too
are blessed who, in sheltered homes and narrow
ways of duty, wait upon Him in lowly services of
love. Wise or simple, gifted or slender in knowledge, in the world’s gaze or in hidden paths, high
or low, encompassed by affections and joys of home
or lonely and content in God alone, what matters, so that they bear the seal of the living God?
Blessed company, unknown to each other, unknowing even themselves; not daring to believe what
they would die to gain; hoping against hope;
hopeless in themselves; hopeful ever, because their
Lord is patience, pity, and love. Blessed and numberless fellowship, from Abel until now; some in the world unseen, already sealed and sure; some
yet scattered in all lands, of every tribe and tongue,
most diverse and manifold in state, lot, and trial,
yet all of one character, one stamp, one seal,—the
image of the Son of God. In a little while, a few
short years, it may be, and all will be over. We
shall then know what now we hardly dare to
hope. Our election will be revealed, the mystery
of God’s elect accomplished, the world tried out
in patience and long-suffering, in love and justice.
Then cometh the end, when the angel of grace
shall no longer stay the judgment of the earth.
In that hour, before the face of the Lamb, who
shall be able to stand? Be we among the quick
or dead, may we “find mercy of the Lord in that
day.”
SERMON XX.
THE RESURRECTION.
ST. JOHN xi. 25.
“I am the Resurrection.”
ALL the titles of our Lord are names of power.
They express His nature, perfection, or prerogatives; what they declare, He is. They are
shadows of a divine substance. He who is Very
Life raised Himself from the dead: “I am the
Resurrection.” So He had declared before: “I
give My life for the sheep. . . . No man taketh it from Me. . . . . I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again.”St. John x. 15, 18.
After His week
of passion, He lay down to rest, having taken both
sin and death in their own snare. Sin crucified
Him, and death received Him into the grave.
By His death He destroyed sin; by His rising
again He abolished death; breaking up the snares in which He had given Himself to be entangled.
His resurrection reveals the mystery of His Godhead and of His Incarnation. From the hour of
the Annunciation, Godhead and manhood were in
Him eternally united. When He gave up the
ghost upon the cross, His human soul and His
human body were parted asunder, as in the common death of man; but both soul and body were
still united with His Godhead. His human soul
went down into the abode of departed spirits. All
who, from righteous Abel until that day, had
waited for the revelation of the Redeemer—patriarchs, who had the promise of His coming, and
prophets who foretold it—then at last beheld Him.
Abraham, who afar off saw His day, and was glad,
then saw His very presence. All His saints of old,
with the penitent absolved upon the cross, beheld
the divine seed of the woman, and entered with
Him into the paradise of God. Meanwhile His
sacred body, lying in the grave, pure and incorruptible, united still with His Godhead, waited
the appointed hour. On the first day of the week
His glorious soul returned to His pure flesh, and
His manhood, whole and perfect, through the
power of His Godhead, arose of His own will.
He woke up as from rest in sleep; He came back
the very same, and yet the same no more. The
dishonour of His holy passion had passed away, but its tokens still were there. Though His sacred flesh was no more torn and stained by thorns
and scourges, yet the signs of His cross were there.
The five hallowed Wounds are still imprinted on
His glorious and immortal manhood. They are “the wells of salvation” to His elect, the fountains
of light and love to the world of the redeemed.
And as in body, so in soul. He was no more
the Man of sorrows, no more sorrowing unto death,
no more in anguish, no more in agony of spirit,
but calm, blissful, majestic. Death had no more
dominion over Him; yet He was full of sympathy,
learned by dying. All the depths of His human
experience were in Him still. His past life of humiliation; the sorrows which, as God, He could
never taste; the knowledge of our inheritance of
pain, learned at Nain and Bethany, in the upper
chamber and in Gethsemane; all this still lived
in His divine consciousness. “He learned obedience by the things which He suffered;” and the
ineffable mystery of His three and thirty years of
sorrow rose with Him from the grave.
Wherefore this divine name, as it reveals the
power of His own resurrection, so it is the pledge
of ours. As He raised up Himself, so He will raise
us likewise. He is our resurrection: “Because I
live, ye shall live also.” “In Him is life, and the
life is the light of men.” “As the Father hath life in Himself; so hath He given to the Son to have
life in Himself.” “As the Father raiseth up the
dead, and quickeneth them; so the Son quickeneth
whom He will.”St. John i. 4: v. 26, 20, 21.
For like as the seed contains
the harvest, and the power of a multiplying life
ever rising from itself; and as the sun draws up
after it the lights of the morning and the splendours of the day, so, because He is risen, we shall
rise. As His Godhead and manhood are united
in one divine person, so we and the Lord of the
resurrection are united in one mystical body. A
living head must needs have living members; and
a Head that is risen must raise His members in
due season: at that day when “He shall come to
be glorified in His saints” in the fulness of His
kingdom. Our union with Him, therefore, is no
figure or metaphor, but is truth and spirit, reality
and life. He is our resurrection.
This divine Name, then, is a pledge to us of
many joys; but chiefly of three divine gifts.
1. The first is a perfect newness of body and
soul. This is a thought of wonder almost beyond
conception or belief. Death and the forerunners
of death have so fast a hold upon the body; sin
and the soils of sin pierce so deep into the soul,
that the thought to be one day deathless and sinless seems to be a dream. Who has ever felt in THE RESURRECTION. [SERM.
himself the working of sickness, or watched over
it in others—who has ever seen it withering,
wasting, crippling, deforming, dissolving the fairest and the strongest—baffling all skill of man,
and all power of healing,—and not felt as if the
body were a spoil given up for ever to the grave?
People believe, indeed, that we shall rise again,
not disembodied, but clothed in a bodily form;
but do they realise that they shall rise again with
their own bodies, in their very flesh, healed and
immortal? Do they, as they hang over the clouded
and darkened form of those whom they have loved,
say, “I believe the resurrection of the body, of this
very frame, made new in the kingdom of God?”
And yet this is pledged to us. This very body
shall be deathless and glorious as the body of His
glory when He arose from the dead.
And so, too, of the soul. It shall be still more
glorious than the body, even as the spirit is above
the flesh. The more we know of ourselves, the
more incredible, if I may so speak, for very blessedness, this promise seems. To be without sin,
what else is heaven? And can it ever be that we,
who brought sin with our life-blood into the world,—who have fallen and soiled ourselves through and
through with wilful evil,—that we shall be one day
clear as the light, and white as the driven snow?
Yet this is His pledge to us. To believe it is even harder than to believe the mysteries of the Incarnation. For these are objects of the intellect, a
faculty comparatively pure; but here it is the heart
which must believe of itself that it shall be one day
sinless. Our consciousness seems to rise up and
say, “It is impossible.” What must we feel, as
penitents remembering sins unnumbered and coldly
repented; or as tempted and fearfully inclined towards our own destruction; or
burdened and conscious of the inward taint and susceptibility of all spiritual
disorder,—what must we feel at the thought that one day in all our conscience
there shall not be a blot, in all our affections there shall not be a blemish,
in all our will there shall neither be a shadow of variance with the will of our
Lord, nor a moment’s relaxation of our love and worship?
To be ourselves the subject of this miracle of
love and power; to be personally and inwardly
restored to a sinless perfection, and raised to the
glory of an endless life, as if death and sin had
never entered, or we had never fallen,—is among
those things which we almost “believe not for
joy.” This is the first divine gift pledged to us
by the resurrection of our Lord.
2. Another gift also pledged to us is the perfect restoration of all His brethren in His kingdom.
“Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast
given Me, be with Me where I am; that they may behold My glory.”St. John xvii. 24.
“I go to prepare a place for you. . . . . I will come again, and receive you unto Myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.”St. John xiv. 2, 3.
From His eternal throne “He shall see of the
travail of His soul, and shall be satisfied.” “He
shall see His seed,”Isaiah liii. 11, 10.
and they “shall serve Him,”Ps. xxii. 30.
“and His name shall be in their foreheads.”Rev. xxii. 4.
He and all His servants from the beginning of
the world shall be there united; all His patriarchs and prophets, all His martyrs and apostles,
all His saints and penitents, all the companies and
orders of life, all the hosts and armies of heaven,
each one perfect as Himself, shall be gathered in
His presence. We shall be “with Him.” We
shall behold Him as He is; He will behold us as
we are: He in the perfect sameness of His person;
we in ours. What, then, means this unbelieving
Christian world, when it asks, Shall we then recognise each other? Will not they all know Him as
He them, and all know each other as He knows
each? Will He know Daniel and Isaiah, and
shall they not know each other? Or shall the
Apostles, who knew Moses and Elias upon Tabor,
know them no more, when all are transfigured on
Mount Sion? And they who knew Him after He rose from the dead, and knew each other as they
sat in amazement before Him in the morning at
the sea of Tiberias, shall they not know each other
in the light of His heavenly kingdom? O dull
hearts, and slow to believe what He has Himself
spoken: “God is not the God of the dead,”—of nameless, obscured, obliterated spirits, of impersonal natures, beings robbed of their identity,
spoiled of their consciousness—of blinded eyes, or
marred aspects. The law of perfect recognition
is inseparable from the law of perfect identity.
Our individual consciousness must be eternal. We
should not be what we are to ourselves, if we were
not so to others. They would lose their identity,
if they were not the same to us. The whole of
God’s kingdom, from His own incommunicable
glory to the least among His elect, is founded upon
the truth and identity of personal being. The
whole mystery of our probation, and of the atonement, of our sanctification and reward, all alike
rests upon the perpetuity of individual character.
And the kingdom of God in glory is the perfection
of His kingdom in grace, in which every several
soul here tried, chastened, and purified, shall be
there blessed, crowned, and sainted—the same in
person, changed only to perfection.
And more than this. The perfect restitution
which shall be in the kingdom of the resurrection will bring back, not only perfect mutual recognition, but the restoration of all pure and consecrated
bonds. Shall we be told that in the kingdom of
God Jacob will no more be the son of Isaac, nor
Isaac the son of Abraham? that Ruth shall not
be to Naomi in bliss what she was in widowhood?
Shall James and John be brothers no more, nor
Martha and Mary sisters? or shall not St. Joseph
be the espoused husband of the ever-virgin Mother,
and the Lord her Divine Son? These bonds and
relations are imperishable as the persons whom
they unite. They stamp eternity and bliss upon
the name of brother and friend, daughter and sister, husband and wife, son and mother. All bonds
of God’s first creation shall be transcribed into the
new. They are of His creation; therefore are they
pure and steadfast, and shall be blissful and eternal. Surely, if this divine law were not written in
nature, it is in grace. The mystery of the Incarnation has revealed to us a Mother and a Son,
whose bond of ineffable love is eternal. This alone
would be enough to shew that all bonds of love, all
orders and relations of God’s institution, shall be
likewise glorified. For in the new heaven and new
earth the course of nature shall not pass away, but
ascend upward into a supernatural perfection. As
in the holy city there shall be neither sun nor moon,
but the uncreated light, so shall all nature purified abide in God, and be filled with brightness;
“for
the glory of God” shall lighten it, “and the Lamb
is the light thereof.”Rev. xxi. 23.
3. And lastly, this title pledges to us an immortal kingdom. In the beginning God made
man, and placed him in the garden, to dress it
and to live of its fruits. Eden was to be his own,
until translated to the Paradise of God. When he
sinned he lost his inheritance and died: earth and
heaven turned against him. The heaven lowered
with perpetual changes, the earth gave scanty and
reluctant fruits; storms and scourges, toil and
thorns were his portion. “In the sweat of thy
face shalt thou eat bread,” was his earthly chastisement: and with sin death spread on every side.
All his fairest joys became transient; the most
perfect could only endure for a time, and then
pass away; eternity had departed with God from
the soul of man. What are our sorrows and griefs,
toils and weariness, but this, that all our life and
state has become transient and changeful? What
are poverty, hunger, sickness, early deaths, the
breaking up of the most lasting homes, the cutting off of houses and lineage, the failure of hopes,
the bitter lamentations of baffled labours, the sickening disappointment even of success,—what
are all these but the penalty which fell upon the world when man sinned, wasting away his earthly happiness with a perpetual blight? Though he had all
his heart’s desire, it could not endure for ever;
though it endured for ever, it could not satisfy
his soul. But the resurrection has restored to us
a changeless and eternal home. It has given back
to us our inheritance in the Paradise of God,
where there shall be a new heaven and a new
earth, of which the first creation, even in its perfection, was only an imperfect shadow. In that
true paradise there shall be no seasons nor vicissitudes, no sweat of the face nor hard toil for bread.
An everlasting noontide shall be there; an endless
spring in the newness of unfading joy, a perpetual autumn in the ripeness of its gifts. There
shall be “the tree of life, bearing twelve manner
of fruits;”Rev. xxii. 2.
all joy and all delight for every capacity of man; reward for every toil, and health for
every wound, after the manifold trial of every soul,
in the Israel of God.
O home of the weary and over-laboured, of
the toiling and careworn, of the struggling and
heavy-laden, blessed be thou! In thee shall be
no more blasts and conflicts of the world, no more
pining and want, no more straining and galling of
hands and sinews, of heart and intellect. “There
shall be no more curse.”Rev. xxii. 3.
But all shall be full, and all shall be at rest for ever. When all things
here shall pass from us and we from them, this
yet awaits us. “There remaineth . . . a rest for
the people of God.” When the happiness of this
life burns down, who can rekindle it? The joy
of to-day sinks with the sun, and is remembered
with sadness to-morrow. The happiness of this
world is in the past; at best it lingers in the present, and, even while we are speaking, is gone for
ever. All things are fleeting and transient; to
see them, we must look behind us. Old friends,
old homes, old haunts, old faces, bright days, and
sweet memories, all are gone. Such is the best
the old creation has for man. But the kingdom of
the resurrection is before us, all new, all enduring,
all divine; its bliss has no future, no clouds upon
the horizon, no fading, no instability. All that we
are, by the power of God, we shall be, without cloying, or change, or weariness, for ever.
It has been asked, “Do they keep Easter in
heaven?” Not, it may be, by revolution of seasons, or by successions of a changeful calendar;
but surely in a perpetual solemnity, in one ceaseless and pure act of heavenly joy, they keep all
feasts in one. The feast of the Incarnation, the
feast of the Resurrection, the feast of the Ascension, the feast of the Holy Ghost, the feast of the
ever-blessed Three in the Beatific Vision,—these they keep always, in the fulness of adoration, and
it may be more than this. If there be “joy in
heaven over one sinner that repenteth;” if the angels of God’s little ones do always behold the face
of their Father; if there be perpetual sympathy
and perpetual intercession between the Church in
warfare and the Church in rest; if at the altar
they adore with us before the eternal throne, and
in the light of God’s countenance behold all that
He wills for their beatitude,—we may surely believe that the festivals of the Church on earth are
no less noted than its repentance; that as they look
down upon our sorrows, they keep harmony with
our praise; that the fellowship of heavenly hosts,
which is ever about the altar, shares with us in
the celebration of our Easter sacrifice. Be this
as it may, it is but a little time, and we shall all
keep Easter in heaven: yet a little while,—and
what matters a little while of sorrow or care, toil
or weariness, hardness and solitude, repentance and
striving, temptation and patience? After the fret
and fever of a few short years will come the river
of the water of life, “the times of refreshing,” and
the rest of God. Let us remember that He who is
the Resurrection is always with us; and if we be
in Him, all things are ours; all shall be restored
to us, all made new, all sinless and deathless, all
our own again for ever.
O eternal Life, O everlasting Peace, O Beauty
uncreated, O changeless Love, Thou didst say, “Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground
and die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.” Thou hast fallen into the
earth and died; Thou art “the first-fruits of
them that slept;” and from Thee, the divine seed
of the new creation, shall spring up the harvest of
God upon the everlasting hills. Quicken us by
Thyself, that Thou mayest now be our Life; and
that at Thy coming we may rise in Thee.
SERMON XXI.
LIFE EVERLASTING.
ST. JOHN xi. 25.
“I am the Resurrection and the Life.”
AFTER the resurrection comes life everlasting. “I am the Life.”
“As the Father hath
life in Himself; so hath He given to the Son to
have life in Himself.” The Eternal Son is the
Life of the world, the fountain from which all
created life descends. Therefore He says, “‘He
that believeth in Me,’ that is, he who, being
joined to Me by My Spirit, holds to Me by his
heart and soul, partaking thereby of My divine
life, as members derive life from a living head,—‘though he were dead, yet shall he live;’
though soul and body were already parted—the
soul unclothed, the body in the dust—‘yet shall
he live.’ I hold both body and soul unto Myself, and will knit them together again by the power of a life divine. He shall rise again, and
live eternally. ‘And he that liveth and believeth
in Me shall never die;’ that is, shall not die for
ever, or shall live for ever. Death shall not be
death to him. Death shall be changed to sleep,
full of life and rest, gentle and soft, the body in
the quiet earth, the soul in the Paradise of God.
And that short slumber of the weary dust shall
have its waking; at the resurrection he shall
awake up into eternal life.” Such is the promise. What does it further teach us?
1. First, we learn that this life and the life to
come are not two, but one and the same. Death is
not the ending of one, and resurrection the beginning of another, but through all there runs one
imperishable life. A river which plunges into the
earth, is buried for awhile, and then bursts forth
more mightily and in a fuller tide, is not two,
but one continuous stream. The light of to-day
and the light of to-morrow are not two, but one
living splendour. The light of to-day is not
quenched at sunset, and rekindled at to-morrow’s sunrise; but is ever one, always burning broad
and luminous in the sight of God and of holy
angels. Night is but a veil between the light
and us. So with life and death. The life of the
soul is immortal, an image of God’s own eternity.
It lives on in sleep; it lives on through death; it lives even more abundantly, and with fuller and
mightier energy. “We that are in this body do
groan, being burdened.” The flesh that is upon
us is a clothing of mortality; and death weighs
heaviest upon us while we live. Our true life is
vast in expanse, capacity, and power; but in the
body it is pent up, narrowed, and enthralled. A
sinless body, as in the beginning, was a worthy instrument of its perfection; and the glorious body
of the resurrection will be a diviner raiment: but
the body of sin is a thraldom and a shroud upon
our immortal being. When we put off our sinful
flesh, we are delivered “from the body of this
death.”Rom. vii. 24.
We begin to live indeed. The one endless life of the soul comes forth from its restraint,
and passes onward to a wider and more kindred
world.
2. Another great law here revealed is, that as
we die, so we shall rise; as there is no new beginning of our life, so there is no new beginning of
our character. The stream which buries itself
cloudy and turbid shall rise clouded and foul.
The waters that pass clear and bright into the
earth shall issue from it bright and clear again.
As we fall into eternity, so shall we be eternally: “He that is unjust, let him be unjust still: and
he which is filthy, let him be filthy still: and he that is righteous, let him be righteous still: and
he that is holy, let him he holy still.”Rev. xxii. 11.
What are
these but the words of Him who is “the resurrection and the life,” sealing every soul at death by a
particular judgment of its existing character? We
brought nothing into this world, and of all outward
things “it is certain we can carry nothing out;”
but there is an inward reality here acquired, which
we shall each one carry into the eternal world.
We shall all carry with us the very self which we
have here stamped and moulded, or distorted and
branded,—the renewed image of God, or the image
of the evil one. Our life, from first to last, teaches
us this lesson; it is one continuous whole, gathering up itself through all its course, and perpetuating its earliest features in its latest self: the child
is in the boy, the boy is in the man; the man is
himself for ever. For good or for evil, we see this
constant law prevail. So with the resurrection of
the dead. They who die rebellious will rise in rebellion against God; they who die impenitent will
rise impenitent; they who die without God in the
world will rise without God in eternity. And they
too who die in obedience shall rise in obedience;
they who die absolved shall rise absolved; they
who die united with God in devotion and prayer
shall rise united in love and adoration. As we die, so shall we be: our character running on into eternity; the bent, disposition, inclination of the soul,
with all its powers and affections, shall endure and
abide with us for ever; with this only change, that we shall either be better or
worse, for good or for evil, absolute and changeless. For we may learn, further:
3. That the resurrection will make each one
perfect in his own several character. Nay, even
at death it shall be unfolded into a new measure
and fulness. Our character is our will; for what
we will we are. Our will contains our whole intention; it sums up our spiritual nature; it contains what we call the tendency of our character:
for the will gives the bias to the right or to the
left; as we will, so we incline. Now this tendency,
both for good and evil, is here imperfect; but it
will be there fulfilled. Here it is hindered; the
wicked are restrained by truth and grace, by laws
and punishments, by fear and shame, by interest
and the world; the good are hindered by sin and
by temptation, by their own infirmities and faults.
But there all restraints shall be taken away, and
all aids shall be supplied. It is both an awful
and consoling thought. The sinful soul, which
has here been curbed by outward checks, will
there break forth into an intensity stretched to
the utmost by despair. As lights, when they pass into an atmosphere akin to fire, burst forth into
a volume of flame, so the soul, charged with sin,
issuing into the abode of anguish, will break forth
into the full measure of its spiritual wickedness.
The proud, angry, vindictive, and envious, shall
each become absolute in their several kind; tormented, but stamped for ever by a conscious rebellion against the Spirit of God, and eternally rejected from His kingdom. What sinners are now
in measure, they shall then be in its fulness. So
likewise with the faithful: what they have striven
to be, they shall be made. God’s grace shall perfect what they had here desired. He sees what is
contained in the intensity of a death-bed repentance. The virtues of the will are above the successions of time. To fulfil in a series of acts all
the humiliation, devotion, love, self-sacrifice of a
contrite will needs time and duration; but to conceive the perfect purpose of “a life hid with Christ
in God” may be the act of a moment. And God
reads the thought and the resolve of the steadfast
will. So in all the life of the regenerate. He sees
what is in the intention of each. He measures
the sincerity of the heart, the repentance of the
soul, the self-rebukes of the conscience, the struggles of the tempted, the perseverance of the weary,
the toils of the heavy-laden. He knows what they
are striving to become; what they are suffering rather than consent to sin; what they are giving
up, that they may be His, and His alone. All
their heart’s desire, all the full meaning of their
intention, He knows, interprets, and accepts; and
when they pass out from the burdens and straits
of this mortal life, He will fulfil their desire, and
make them what they have striven and prayed to
be. Blessed change to the tempted and buffeted
soul, to pass into a sphere where sin can harass and
tempt no more; where all that burdens the will
and heart shall fall off as bands of flax in the fire,
and the whole soul put forth its energies of love,
intense and pure, by union and contemplation of
God, in foretaste of the hour when our perfect consummation and bliss shall come. Let this, then,
teach us two great truths of practice.
1. First, how dangerous is the least sin we do.
Every act confirms some old tendency, or develops
a new one. This we may see in childhood. A
child’s whole character is sometimes turned altogether aside by one single act awakening an unknown tendency to sin; and every further act gives
force and speed, and, as we say, multiplies the intensity of the will. This life is the childhood of
eternity. We are all day long unfolding and fixing
the character which shall be eternal. Every act
of sin strengthens the inclination which produced
it, and reacts upon us, inflaming and aggravating the evil disposition of the soul. Acts are the most
consummate forms of evil; they express the whole
force of the sin which rules us, and of our spiritual
nature, which conceives and perfects them. Acts
are to the soul what fruits are to a tree,—the
full and complete effort of its nature, the production of its entire life and kind. They concentrate
our intention, will, thought, desire, and strength;
and therefore return with the heaviest recoil upon
ourselves, making us more prone to the same sins
again, and less willing to resist.
Only less than acts are words of sin; for they
also express our whole inward being. And often
it is no want of sinful inclination, but only of
common courage, which makes men speak what
they dare not do. In this case it is hard to say
whether sinful words be not in one way even more
corrupting than sinful acts; for acts sometimes
bring sharp chastisements, while words escape with
an impunity of shame. By the tongue men may
blacken their whole inmost soul; for verily it “setteth on fire the course of nature; and itself is set
on fire of hell.”St. James iii. 6.
In like manner, sins of thought fix the whole character
and dye of the heart, whether they be thoughts of gross or spiritual wickedness;
for not only the baser, but the more refined sins are fatally corrupting. Of the seven sins commonly called
deadly, the greater number are spiritual sins, and,
as such, peculiarly Satanic. Thoughts of pride,
envy, scorn, jealousy, and the like, steep and discolour, wither and scorch the soul; and such as it
becomes by its inward actings, such, except by the
grace of God converted, it must die, and such it
must rise again, and be made perfect in evil for
ever.
2. The other truth is, how precious is every
means of grace. The patriarch saw in vision a
ladder reaching from earth to heaven, and at the
head of it the Presence of the Lord. This mystical ascent of many steps is, as it were, a parable of
the way which leads to a holy resurrection. Every
means of grace is a step in that heavenly stair.
Our baptism is a sacrament of the resurrection.
In it we died unto sin, were buried with Christ,
and with Him rose again. “Buried with Him,”
St. Paul says, “by baptism into death: that like
as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory
of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life. For if we have been planted together
in the likeness of His death, we shall be also in
the likeness of His resurrection.”Rom. vi. 4.
By the gift of
our regeneration we were united to the mystical
body of Christ; we were made members of a Head already risen from the dead; we were joined
to Him who is “the Resurrection and the Life.”
This is the first step in the way; and every act
and grace in our regenerate life is a further step
towards perfect newness of soul and body. Our
Lord Himself, speaking of the resurrection, calls it “the regeneration;” so that baptism is the resurrection begun in us, and the resurrection is baptism made perfect. The whole life of the Church
is a continuous regeneration, or a perpetual resurrection: dead souls ever rising, earthly bodies ever
changing from mortality to our kindred earth, to
be raised again in the perfect glory of everlasting
life.
What a depth and worth does this put into
all the means and acts of a life of faith; into our
prayers, self-examination, and confessions; into all
our works of repentance, love, and mercy; but
above all, into the blessed sacrament of the Body
and Blood of Christ. He has declared to us, “This is the bread which cometh down from heaven, that a man may eat thereof, and not die. I
am the living bread, which came down from heaven: if any man eat of this bread, he shall live for
ever: and the bread that I will give is My flesh, which I will give for the life of the world. . . . . Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except ye eat the
flesh of the Son of Man, and drink His blood, ye have no life in you. Whoso eateth My flesh, and
drinketh My blood, hath eternal life; and I will
raise him up at the last day.”St. John vi. 50, 51, 53, 54.
“As the living
Father hath sent Me, and I live by the Father:
so he that eateth Me, even he shall live by Me.
This is that bread which came down from heaven:
not as your fathers did eat manna, and are dead:
he that eateth of this bread shall live for ever.”St. John vi. 57, 58.
Therefore this blessed sacrament has been honoured
from the beginning, as the medicine which expels
the power of death, and the food of immortality.
Let this, then, be our first aim in life, that
we may attain unto the resurrection of the holy
dead. Let us learn to count all things “but loss,
that we may win Christ,” and at that day “be found in Him;” “that we may know
Him, and the power of His resurrection;” working in us with a new and vivid
life, awakening our whole soul, to live by Him, to Him, and in Him, “if by any
means we may attain unto the resurrection of the dead.”
“Blessed and holy is he that hath part in the
first resurrection; on him the second death hath
no power.” Whatsoever be this mystery of a first
fruits from among the dead at Christ’s coming,
there is a first resurrection which must now pass on all who would partake of it hereafter; a rising
now from the death of sin to a life in God’s spirit
and presence. Let this be our great work from
the present hour until the resurrection of the dead.
For what else will suffice, what else endure, when
all things below God shall pass away? What, then,
is life for a while, even the saddest, loneliest, sharpest? what are the cares and forebodings, the sorrows and tears, the pains and sicknesses, the tears
and sighs of repentance, the fears and shrinkings
as death comes near? Where shall all these be
when “the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall
be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed?”
O where then will be the care-worn and mourners,
the sick and the penitent, when all shall be full
of heavenly joy, and clothed in heavenly array;
when loved faces shall be no more clouded or
death-struck, but blissful and radiant with eternal
beauty? Believest thou this? and yet weepest thou?
There shall be no wounds then in flesh or spirit,
no pining and wasting of body, but eternal health;
no griefs of penitent souls, but the peace of a perfect absolution. Believest thou this? O day of
miracles! O miracle of power and love divine! we
shall rise again in all personal perfection, as if sin
had never entered, nor death ever set foot upon
the earth; we shall be gathered unto Him who is
our life, with all our loved ones in perfect mutual knowledge, and all bonds made new. We shall
be a new creation, and yet still the old; new in
all the perfectness of bliss, old in all the truth of
our being. He hath renewed, not another creation, but our own; He hath created again, not
another race in our likeness, but our very selves.
He partook of our very substance, that He might
raise us up each one in the newness of His Divine
humanity.
And there shall we see Him face to face; we
shall fall down and worship with the full flow of
love made perfect, with the direct energy of a heart
made like His own. We shall not only behold
Him, but have power both to love and to adore;
our whole spiritual being spotless as the angels
of God; all our intelligence filled with uncreated
light; all our affections kindled with eternal love;
all our will steadfast in a changeless and blissful
union with His own. To behold Him unveiled,
and to have power to love Him; to be with Him
in manifest presence, and to be like Him in the
soul of our inmost life,—this shall be our eternity;
this is everlasting Life.
SERMON XXII.
THE INTUITION OF FAITH.
2 COR. iii. 18.
“We all, with open face beholding as in a glass the glory of
the Lord, are changed into the same image from glory to glory, even as by the
Spirit of the Lord.”
ST. PAUL here contrasts the revelation given
by God through Moses, with the revelation given by the Word made flesh. The first
was given to one alone; Moses alone saw the
skirts of the divine glory, and spoke with God in
the mount: we all behold His glory, and have
access through the Son to the Father. Moses,
after speaking with God, had need to put a veil
upon his face, for the people could not bear even
the reflected brightness of God’s Presence: St.
Paul says, “We all with open face” behold it.
The Word made flesh has both revealed to us the
glory of the Lord, and has given to us the power
to look upon it: “God was manifest in the flesh.”
He is “the brightness of His glory, and the express image of His Person;”Heb. i. 3.
“the image of the invisible God:”Col. i. 15.
He
“dwelt among us, and we beheld
His glory.”St. John i. 14.
But this revelation upon earth was
transient; it had passed away when St. Paul wrote
these words. Yet though past, it was not withdrawn: though hidden, it was yet revealed.
“The
glory of the Lord,” in Christ, is an eternal revelation, open still to us: “We all with open face” behold it now.
By faith we stand before the throne, out of
which go forth “lightnings and thunderings and
voices;” by faith we dwell continually in the presence of the Divine Majesty. The Son hath returned unto the Father, and His visible presence
is no more seen. But “God, who commanded the
light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our
hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the
glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.”2 Cor. iv. 6.
Let us first see what is this great sight, “the
glory of the Lord.” It is fourfold. First, there
is the glory of His Godhead—eternal, infinite,
invisible, all-wise, all-mighty, love, wisdom, and
power; the glory of the Divine Personality, the
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; “the Father made
of none, neither created nor begotten; the Son
of the Father alone, not made, nor created, but begotten; the Holy Ghost of the Father and of
the Son, neither made nor created, nor begotten,
but proceeding.” This is the essential glory of
God, inhabiting eternity, “the blessed and only
Potentate, the King of kings, and Lord of lords;
who only hath immortality, dwelling in the light
which no man can approach unto; whom no man
hath seen, nor can see: to whom be honour and
power everlasting. Amen.”1 Tim. vi. 15, 16.
And in this glory, descending from the uncreated to the manifestation of Himself, is the
glory of the Word made flesh. “God of the substance of the Father, begotten before the world,
and man of the substance of His Mother, born in
the world; perfect God, and perfect man:” two
natures in one Person, never to be divided; who
having “by Himself purged our sins,” hath sat
down, with the stigmas of His passion, upon, the
throne of glory, of whose “kingdom there shall be
no end.”Heb. i. 3; St. Luke i. 33.
This is the glory of God, before which the
spirits of love and the spirits of knowledge cry “Holy” evermore, which angels worship, and the
whole heavenly court adores; the mystery of the
eternal Three, one God, blessed for ever, revealed
in the Incarnate Son.
But around this beatific vision, and from this Incarnate Presence descending, is the glory of the
kingdom of God, the throne and government of the
Incarnate Son, to whom, when He laid “the government upon His shoulder,”Isaiah ix. 6.
the Father said,
“Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever.”Ps. xlv. 7.
“Behold, a throne was set in heaven, and one sat on the
throne. And He that sat was to look upon like a
jasper and a sardine stone: . . . and round about the
throne were four and twenty seats: and upon the
seats I saw four and twenty elders sitting, clothed
in white raiment; and they had on their heads crowns of gold. . . . . And there were seven lamps of fire burning before the throne, which are the
seven Spirits of God. And all the angels stood
round about the throne, and the four and twenty
elders fell down before the Lamb, having every
one of them harps, and golden vials full of odours,
which are the prayers of the saints.”Rev. iv. 2; vii. 11; v. 8.
“And I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the testimony
which they held: and they cried with a loud voice, saying, How long, O Lord,
holy and true, dost Thou not judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell in
the earth? And white robes were given unto every one of them; and it was said
unto them, that they should rest yet for a little season.” “And another angel
came and stood at the altar, having a golden censer; and there was given unto him much incense,
that he should offer it with the prayers of all
saints upon the golden altar which was before the
throne. And the smoke of the incense, which
came with the prayers of the saints, ascended up
before God out of the angel’s hand.”Rev. vi. 9-11; viii. 3, 4.
What is this vision which was unfolded to the
sight of St. John in Patmos, but the glory of the
kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ? To the prophet it was an object of vision; to us an object of
faith. He beheld it as it is revealed to the orders
of saints and angels in heaven; and he saw the angelic ministries of power and
grace, by which the elect of God are sealed and gathered into His unseen rest.
What is this but the kingdom in which apostles, prophets, martyrs, and all
saints, reign with Christ—the invisible head and source of the spiritual
kingdom, both in heaven and earth, ever multiplying and expanding its fulness,
as from age to age it gathers in the generations of the faithful from our lower
world?
And what is the visible Church militant on
earth but the outskirts and lower sphere of this
ever-enlarging mystery of grace, here in its faint
beginnings, sinful and mortal, there sinless and
redeemed from death? This, too, is the glory of
the Lord.
He that sitteth upon the throne “holdeth the
seven stars in His right hand, and walketh in the
midst of the seven golden candlesticks.”Rev. ii. 1.
He who
filleth all in all, visible in heaven, as touching His
manhood, is present, though unseen on earth, in
the undivided fulness of His incarnate personality.
The Lord Jesus Christ reigns by the direct exercise of His divine government throughout heaven
and earth. He has knit together “the services
of angels and men in a wonderful order,” and out
of earthly elements created sacraments of grace.
The Church in heaven and earth is one: the twofold manifestation of His glory on either side the
veil. The invisible and blessed part of the Church
which has gone before us with the sign of faith,
and rests in the sleep of peace, is an object of
faith, because wholly withdrawn from sight; but
the Church on earth is as yet partly an object of
sense. We see it and converse with it, behold
its worship, kneel at its altars, touch its sacraments, handle its mysteries. And yet it is not an
object of sense only, but also of faith. For what
is its visible order but the manifestation of the
presence of the Holy Ghost? What are the gifts
of regeneration, the invisible operation of visible
sacraments, the spiritual illumination and guidance
of the Church, the power of prayer, the communion of saints, the mutual love and intercession of
all members of Christ’s body, the pledges of the
resurrection,—what are all these but realities issuing from the incarnation of the Son, laws of His
mediatorial kingdom, descending from on high into “all places of His dominion,” manifold miracles issuing from the one great
miracle of His perpetual presence, against which the gates of hell shall not
prevail?
And, lastly, what are all these degrees of glory but
revelations of the moral glory of the Lord; that is, of the love of God and of
His Son Jesus Christ? This is the central light, of which all other glory is the
brightness and the radiance. This is the image of God as seen of angels,
revealed in the face of Jesus Christ; into the likeness of which every faithful
soul is changed by the Spirit of the Lord. The divine character of God, and the
human character of the incarnate Son; the love and sanctity, the humility and
meekness of the Son of Mary, God and Man in one person, our Redeemer and our
example. He created us by His power, and now, through faith, changes us by His
Spirit, making us like unto Himself, and will “change also even the body of our
humiliation, that it may be like unto the body of His glory, by the mighty
working whereby He is able to subdue all things unto Himself.”
This, then, is the glory of the eternal God,
the blessed Three, the holy One, the glory of the
Son of Man, the glory of His kingdom and His
character, both in heaven and earth. And all
these together make up but one divine and spiritual reality, which through our baptismal creed is
as truly proposed to our faith as the world we see
is presented to our sight.
Now St. Paul says that we, as members of
Christ, behold all this manifold glory “as in a
glass,” as if it were a direct object of vision, and
that by beholding it we are changed. It has an
assimilating power; and that which makes us
capable of its transforming influence is our beholding it “with open face.” What, then, is this
power of vision, this spiritual sight, by which the
unseen is visible; in one word, what is faith? It
is the power which the Son of God has given us
to behold the glory of the Lord.
But we are asked, What is this power, this faith, which is
given to us?
The controversies of these later ages have committed two evils: they have dethroned the object
of faith, and have degraded faith itself. Faith
is something more divine than disputants believe.
Some will have it to be a speculative assent to
truths revealed; and some, to correct them, will
have it to be a principle of moral action; and others, to set both sides right, join together these
two definitions in one, and tell us that faith is a
principle of moral action springing out of a speculative assent to truths revealed. As if faith were
something partial and fragmentary, the action of
half our being; an effect without a cause, or with
a cause simply human, and within the natural endowments of the human intelligence. Surely all
these alike, if not all equally, come short of truth.
We might as well say that sight is a belief of
things seen, or that sight is action arising out of
a belief in what we see. What are these but the
effects of sight demanding and pointing to a cause?
They are the consequences of sight, not sight itself. So action and assent spring from faith;
but what is that cause or power which is before
both the assent and action of faith? What but
faith itself? And what is it? Faith is a spiritual consciousness of the world unseen, infused into
us, in our regeneration, by the supernatural gift
of God. “The natural man receiveth not the
things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because
they are spiritually discerned.”1 Cor. ii. 14.
He needs a divine power of intuition implanted in the soul and terminating on
the world unseen, as sight is a natural faculty of perception terminating on the
world we see. And faith is that power of spiritual perception analogous to sense, that is, to sight, hearing,
and feeling; and also to affection, that is, to love,
fear, and desire. It is as wide as the whole soul
of man, uniting it in one continuous act. As our
waking sense checks our irregular thoughts, and
subjects us to the conditions of the world we see;
so faith brings the whole spiritual nature of man
under the dominion and laws of the unseen kingdom of God. This supernatural gift was infused
into us as a habit by the Spirit of God; but in
its acting it depends upon our will.
Now to make this somewhat clearer, let us
take it in order.
We have by nature two powers by which we
attain to knowledge, and two objects upon which
these powers terminate. Revelation and regeneration have superadded a third object and power,
which embrace and perfect the other two.
By nature we apprehend this sensible creation
by sense. Sensations are the beginning of knowledge, as to this visible world. And sensations
are bounded by the limits of sense. They cannot
reach beyond the horizon of sight, hearing, feeling,
taste, and the like.
But we have a higher power directed to a
higher object. We have intellect, which terminates upon the intellectual world. And by intellect we interpret our sensations; we perceive such
objects as cause, relation, proportion, substance,
and the like. Intellect is a higher power than
sense, and corrects its errors. Phenomena are the
objects of sense; ideas are the objects of the intellect. The ideal world is a reality which informs
the world of sense. To the phenomena of creation
intellect adds at once the idea of God, not so much
by inference as by consciousness, that is, by a concurrent perception.
But revelation has proposed to us another and
higher object—a world of spiritual realities; and
regeneration has infused into us a power to apprehend it. Sense gives us the perception of the
visible world; intellect its interpretation, namely,
the power and perfection of God; faith, the mystery of the Godhead. Intellect corrects and exalts
sense; faith corrects and exalts both. To take
an example. Sense beheld in Jesus of Nazareth
a man; intellect, a man endowed with supernatural
powers; faith, the Word made flesh. The judgments of sense and of the intellect were true, but
inadequate: faith included and corrected both,
exalting them to a spiritual intuition. Take another example. The blessed Sacrament to sense
is bread and wine; to intellect a symbol; to faith
the Body and Blood of Christ. Or, once more, to
sense the visible Church is a society of men; to intellect an organised and historical kingdom; to
faith it is the heavenly court on earth, the beginning of the new creation of God.
The consciousness of spiritual life unites itself
with the presence of God, and in Him is united
to the proper objects of faith, that is, to things
unseen. And therefore faith has been defined as
the perfection of the will and of the intellect—of the will as it sanctifies, of the intellect as it
illuminates, of both at once as it issues in its congenial fruits. It is one all-penetrating, manifold,
wakeful, energetic power, like the principle of life
itself, universal, quickening, and prolific. Acting
towards God, it issues in trust, love, prayer, contemplation, worship; towards man, in charity, gentleness, self-denial; upon ourselves, in abasement,
discipline, and penance.
When it draws motives of action from the unseen, it is “the
victory which overcometh the world;” when it dwells with fixed and confiding
desire upon the kingdom of God, it is “the substance of things hoped for, the
evidence of things not seen;” when it conforms our will to the will of God, it
is the transforming intuition which changes us “into the same image from glory
to glory, as by the Spirit of the Lord.” It works in all the workings of our
nature, taking up all our natural powers, restoring to each its original
perfection, uniting them in conscious harmony with
God.
But this infused gift of faith, like all gifts of
God, is subject to the will in man. It is the
matter of our highest probation. It may he used
or abused, matured or neglected, made perfect or
perverted. It may be quenched, until it dies down
into a mere consciousness of spiritual agony; or
it may be sustained by its proper acts and energies upon the objects of faith, upon God, and the
mysteries of His kingdom, the Word made flesh,
the heavenly court, the real presence of Christ on
earth, the perpetual mystery of Pentecost, the grace
of sacraments, and the effusion of the Spirit of
God.
If, then, our salvation depends upon beholding this glory of
the Lord, and if the power to behold it be a gift entrusted to us by God,
depending for its exercise and for its very existence on our will, then how may
it be unfolded and matured?
First, by purifying the conscience. The gift
of this spiritual consciousness is implanted in us
by baptism; but the sin which still dwells in us
perpetually sends up exhalations of its sensuality.
As these prevail, men live by sense, and “walk
after the flesh;” and in that proportion the regenerate consciousness is obstructed and stupified. It becomes deadened and inactive. This is what
we call unbelief. Not that Christians do not believe in God and Christ and judgment to come;
but that they are insensible: what they believe has
no power to alarm or to persuade them.
They so develop the consciousness of self and
sin, of the flesh and of the world, that they become
habitually unconscious and insensible towards the
world unseen. I do not mean absolutely unconscious, for none except the imbruted actually lose
consciousness of God and judgment. The sinful
retain a consciousness which is their scourge and
torment; the remembrance of a world beyond the
grave, in which every holy power is arrayed against
them, is their anguish. They cannot shake it off.
Day and night it haunts and clings to them. It
holds them with a frightful tenacity; for St. James
says, “The devils believe, and tremble.”St. James ii. 19.
A regenerate soul, in rebellion against the spiritual
light within, has a power of wickedness greater
than that of mere humanity. This accounts for
the intense malignity of regenerate sinners. They
have a twofold capacity of evil, both of the flesh
and of the spirit. And they have a twofold measure of remorse. The spiritual consciousness is
keen and vivid in its sense of fear and pain; it
is the gnawing of “the worm that dieth not.” It wraps them about as the flame which never shall
be quenched.
We can see at once the effect of gross sins in
destroying this gift of sanctifying and enlightening consciousness. But we often fail to purify our
conscience from the infections of more refined evils;
and yet these are almost equally destructive to the
intuition of faith. We may see this in what we
call worldly men. The action of the world deadens
the keenness of their spiritual perceptions; the
habit of fixing attention on objects of sense and
of intellect has a tendency to draw the mind from
the objects of spiritual contemplation. The external eye is busier than the internal, and draws all
thoughts after it. We all know that familiarity
with the outward world makes men unimaginative,
dry, and matter-of-fact; they become bounded by
sense, and by the round of daily experience and
events; they live in habitual forgetfulness of the
unseen.
We see this in ambitious men. Forecasting
and keen-sighted as they are for the doubles and
changes of political life, they seem wanting in the
very faculty of realising the kingdom of God. This
world dazzles and intoxicates them; they become
excited in their career, and concentrated in their
aim. Every thing bends to it; all is lost in it; all
beyond it is nothing to them. The least event, chance, or probability, will summon up all their
power, and launch them in long and obstinate
struggles. But the Word of God, which smites
as a hammer, and the certainty of judgment soon
to come, fail to move them. The same is true of
all intense application of mind, as in professions,
science, literature, or business; the over-wrought
and weary mind loses its inwardness, and becomes
passive and external. It forfeits also its sensitiveness, and comes at last to perceive nothing but
that which powerfully excites it. This is specially
true of the love of money; both in getting and
hoarding, its rust passes into the soul. The same
is true also of a life of pleasure; nothing more
deadens and relaxes the fibre of the mind, and
wears out its perceptions. The languid and exhausted soul grows too heavy to dwell on the invisible. The noise, hurry, and perpetual excitement of self-indulgence wastes away the deeper
and finer senses; then a refined selfishness turns
all the powers of the mind to minister to itself.
It becomes absorbed in the one thought of self-pleasing and self-worship. Every thing high and
true is too severe and real for its softened and
shrinking touch. No unbelief is nearer to practical atheism than the unconsciousness of a frivolous
and worldly heart.
It is not only unlawful things, but also lawful things in unlawful measures, which dull the consciousness of things eternal. A life of God’s best
earthly gifts may so overgrow the soul as to make
it dim and insensible. Friends, possessions, happiness, fill up the heart, anticipate every wish,
clog every desire, and bind the soul by fond and
tenacious affections to home, its gifts and joys.
There is no craving for another state, when this
is so full of pleasures. Such men have no desire
to wind up this daily happiness and to depart.
Life has too many pledges; eternity is too severe.
These things, too, cloud the inward vision, and
draw a veil over the objects of faith.
This must be purged away, if we would waken
up our spiritual consciousness of God and the kingdom of His grace.
A single cloud, even a film of conscious sin,
dulls the spiritual sense. It closes its sight for
fear, and shrinks from the realities which condemn
it as it beholds them. Then darkness thickens
over the soul, and hangs as a veil between it and
the presence of God: “If thine eye be evil, thy
whole body shall be full of darkness.”St. Matt. vi. 23.
A clear intention is the very life of the consciousness of God
and of His kingdom. And this clear intention of the heart is to be attained only
by habitual self-examination and penitent confession, made under the eyes in which the heavens
are unclean.
This is the first and absolute condition to beholding “the
glory of the Lord.”
2. The next is, a habitual use of spiritual exercises, such as meditation and prayer, whether
mental or in words, and the like. By spiritual
exercise is meant specially, an exercise of the will
awakening the consciousness of our spiritual life.
Reading and thought are almost passive states, so
far as concerns the will. Emotions and desires
we cannot control; but the wall is our very self
summed up in a continual energy or act. Prayer
is chiefly an act of the will. Both desires and
thoughts often flag and wander, while the will is
steadfast in prayer. It is by such an exercise
of the will that the intuitions of faith, and the
actings of faith, are awakened and matured; for
faith, as we have seen, is a moral habit, having
its root in the will. If we will, we can realise
spiritual things; or, if we will not, all is impalpable and dark. Truth is truth
to us only when
we perceive it. The unseen world is a reality to
us only when we are conscious of it. The whole
Catholic faith, the worship of the Church, the
discipline of spiritual life through devotions and
sacraments, has no existence for us, until we have
united our spiritual consciousness with them by acts of faith and of the will. Catholic tradition can only
propose these things from without; pastors can only
provoke or stir us to personal acts of faith.
There is one severe and absolute condition to
our knowledge of eternal realities; we must know
them by our own experience and intuition: “God
is a spirit: and they that worship Him must worship Him in spirit and in truth.”St. John iv. 24.
Therefore
so few worship Him indeed. There are many
kinds of religious character, but only one has the
true faith which beholds “with open face.” Some
Christians are conscientiously formal; some faultless in their intellectual views of truth; some full
of devout emotions and sensations: but all these
may alike fall short of the calm, severe, penetrating, and spiritual insight of faith.
It is not difficult to find the reason of this.
Religion has touched this or that part of their
nature,—the conscience, the intellect, the emotions,—but has passed lightly
over the will. They have exercised the conscience, intellect, and emotions, but
have left the will undisciplined and immature. Therefore they complain of
weariness, coldness, and weakness. The objects of faith are faint, and wield
little power over them, because the inward consciousness is languid and dim.
This is the reason why their prayers are so broken and lukewarm. They are the occasional conditions of
their heart, not the occasional utterances of an habitual intention.
Without mental prayer and the exercise of the
will, all devotions fall into a mechanical recitation.
The mere intellectual habit of dwelling on unseen
realities seems altogether wanting in many minds.
They find it no hard task to listen, or to read, or
to pass ideas in rapid succession across the eye of
their mind; but to dwell steadfastly on any one
thought, such as sin, judgment, the love of God,
the passion of our Lord, and to hold it fast by
repeated meditation and sustained reflection till it
has awakened a response in their personal consciousness, seems to many people intellectually
impossible. Their mind appears unable to poise
itself so long upon a solitary thought. As soon
as it begins, it wavers and falls into distraction.
They are variable and restless, passing and repassing from truth to truth without realising any; and
what we do not realise is as powerless as a shadow.
But if the unseen world have no transforming
influence over us, this world will surely and deeply
conform us to itself. All things around play upon
us: all the day long its incessant and importunate
activity warps us into its own mould and inclination. We become sensual, or intellectual, or formal; familiar with truth, but without feeling; full of sensations and emotions without stability, of
aspirations without attainment, of intentions without perseverance. And why? Because the object
of faith finds no intuition or response in our consciousness or in our will.
Let us, then, make it part of our daily life to
exercise ourselves in acts of faith, hope, and love;
that is, to dwell on these, and on the motives from
which they spring, till our spiritual life has taken
their form and direction. Every day we should
endeavour to renew the decaying perceptions of our
hearts, by recalling the realities of our baptismal
creed, and making them a part of our inward life
by deliberate acts of will. And all the day long
our endeavour, and at least our habitual intention,
ought to be to realise the presence of God, and
of our Lord Jesus Christ, in the midst of His
heavenly court, until we live before Him with a
sustained consciousness of His nearness, that He
is our Life, and that we dwell in Him and He in
us, ever changing us “into the same image from
glory to glory” by the power of His Spirit.
3. And the last and highest means of perfecting the gift of grace is, to exercise it habitually
upon the real presence of our blessed Lord in the
Sacrament of His Body and of His Blood. For
this very end it was ordained, that when He
should withdraw His visible presence, He might still abide with us unseen; that when He ceased
to be an object of sight, He might become an
object of faith; and that the spiritual consciousness of our hearts should there for ever meet with
the reality of His presence. The holy Eucharist
is the point of union between what is subjective
and what is objective in our life of faith. It is
in itself an object both of sight and of faith. In
the sphere of sense it is unchanged; and of all
matters subject to its cognisance, sense is an ultimate and absolute judge. But the realities of the
unseen world are not subject to sense; they are
objects of faith alone. And that holy mystery is
what it is made by the consecration of the Son
of God. It represents to us His Incarnation, Sacrifice, and Death. It presents to us the realities
of His Body and Blood. It applies them to us
by His Divine power, and incorporates us with
Himself. As an object of faith, it is made what
it is called by consecration; to us it is what it becomes, whether unto life or death, by our faith: we
can neither make nor unmake its objective reality.
We have power only over our manner of receiving
it. It stands as the visible witness of the world
unseen: a supernatural object in the midst of this
natural order; “the glory of the Lord” “as in
a glass,” yet beheld “with open face.”
In this divine mystery the order of the new creation of God is visibly set forth. What the
Church does on earth, our only and true High
Priest does in Heaven. The blessed Eucharist
is the earthly counterpart of the altar, seen in
the apocalyptic vision. We offer the Lamb of
God in a mystery. It lies slain upon mount Sion.
The great oblation of the cross is a perpetual
propitiation, ever fresh and all-prevailing before
God. In the holy Sacrament it is exhibited and
applied. The whole work of redemption is there
visibly proposed to our faith. The incarnation
of the Eternal Word: the love of the Son of
God: His quickening death: His body wounded,
His blood shed for the life of the world: our incorporation in His mystical body: His true and
substantial union with us: our participation of His
divine nature: our perpetual sustenance by His
presence, who is the Resurrection and the Life,—all these compass us about; we are in their presence and in contact with them. This is the closest
access to which we are now admitted with the Presence of Christ. Since our regeneration, no other
mystery so intimately grafts our life upon the
eternal world. It is the food of the new creation;
the bread of angels; the power of the world to
come. To those who believe in no series of supernatural facts linking the mystery of our Lord’s incarnation with the resurrection of the saints, holy sacraments are mere solemnities, expressive rites,
or, as some in secret feel, tedious and unmeaning
ceremonies. No wonder that natural men lift the
heel against the visible sign of an invisible presence, and deride the mystery of a divine incarnation. It is a pride akin to that by which it is
believed that angels fell, They would not adore
the divine manhood: the faithless will not believe
it. To such high hearts our altars must be an
empty ritual. To us the blessed Sacrament is substance and life. It reveals to us the glory of redeeming love:
“Herein is love; not that we loved
God, but that He loved us, and sent His Son to be
the propitiation for our sins.” Herein is pity, that
the Son gave Himself to be born and die; that
He came down to us in our flesh; that He comes
down to us in His compassion, veiled in a mystery.
All His tenderness, patience, pardon, are there.
The fulness of His divine love and of His human
sympathy draw us to His feet.
Be often, then, before the altar. Let holy communion be, if it may, your daily bread—the holy
Sacrament your daily meditation. Look through
the transparent forms which for a while hide Him
from your sight. Muse upon His presence, His
nearness, His indwelling. Exercise your faith, and
awaken the conscious affections of your heart towards Him, humbling Himself to you within the sphere of your infirmity, that He may exalt you to
the kingdom of His glory. Yet a little while, and
all veils which hang between heaven and earth
shall be taken away, and you shall behold the King
in His beauty, not as now “in a glass darkly,” but “then face to face,” when all desires are fulfilled, and all “the pure in heart
shall see God.”
END OF THE FOURTH VOLUME.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY ROBSON, LEVEY, AND FRANKLYN,
Great New Street, Fetter Lane.