BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.
IT seems desirable that those who make public references
to a man of note should have an opportunity of making
themselves acquainted with his opinions and character. A
religious paper some time ago filled up a corner with this
little piece of intelligence: “It is a very notable fact that
a son of Hegel, a son of Schelling, and a daughter of
Schleiermacher, are not only orthodox Christians, but most
deeply interested in the progress of religion.” Another
periodical presently repeated the paragraph, prefaced by the
remark that what is true in regard to faith—that it is not
hereditary—is happily no less true in regard to unbelief.
No; faith is not hereditary in the strictest sense, as Schleiermacher took pains to make clear, enforcing in his baptismal
addresses, as well as on other occasions, the truth, “that
which is born of the flesh is flesh.” And yet we know, not
only from Scripture, but from the undeniable witness of
history, public and private, that there is a blessed heritage
of faith; that “the seed of the righteous is blessed”; and
she were no true daughter of Schleiermacher who should
be otherwise than most deeply interested in the progress of
true religion. As to orthodoxy, that is a term in these days
so difficult to define that the readers of this volume must
be left to judge for themselves whether or not it is anything
wonderful that a child of the author of these sermons should
be an orthodox Christian. This is, on every ground, more
desirable than that a translator unversed in the fine distinctions and definitions of theologians, should attempt to give
a categorical statement of the views of one to whom has
been imputed, on the one hand, every shade of heterodox
opinion,—who has been denounced in turn as pietist, rationalist, pantheist, even atheist; and who, on the other hand,
has been held to fill a place in the Christian Church not
inferior to that of Luther or even of Paul.
The sermons have been selected with a view to as wide
a range of subjects as possible, from the four volumes of
Schleiermacher’s published discourses; and they are arranged, so far as this could be done, according to the order
of time in which they appeared, that the reader may be
more able to judge of the development and progress of the
author’s mind. It will also tend to a clearer understanding
and a juster appreciation of the sermons, as well as give
them a more living and personal interest, that the reader
be made acquainted with something of the author’s history,
and of the times in which he lived and worked.
Friedrich Ernst Schleiermacher, born at Breslau, November 21st, 1768, was the firstborn son of a poor army chaplain
of the Reformed faith; a man of earnest, evangelical piety,
whose heart, as well as that of the mother, was set on the
spiritual prosperity of their children. The little Fritz, in
the frequent necessary absences of his father, took his first
steps in education under his mother’s care. At five years
old he went to school, where, as he tells us, by his ready
memory and the ease with which he acquired mere verbal
knowledge, he came to be thought very clever,—an opinion
with which he himself entirely agreed; and so became very
conceited. But from the character of his master’s school
reports, it is plain that the boy was not only clever, but a
uniformly good and diligent pupil. The removal of his
parents, when he was in his tenth year, to Pless, and then
to Anhalt, brought a change that was greatly to the benefit
of the delicate child. For nearly two years he lived much in the open air in the country, his mother wisely judging
that if he kept up the book-knowledge he had, it was
enough for his years. “Fritz,” she says, “is all spirit, and
Carl all body.” So, for the time, Fritz occupied himself in
making Latin and French translations, acted as schoolmaster
to his wild little brother, teaching him reading and arithmetic, and, these duties accomplished, shared his games and
rambles out of doors, sometimes joined by the quiet, retiring
elder sister Lotte, the loving, beloved and trusted friend of
Fritz through all changing circumstances till the day of her
death in 1831.
But even in those earliest years the boy was a thinker;
and open and docile as he was to all his good mother’s
Christian instructions, the active, inquiring mind could take
nothing for granted. “I had already,” he tells us, “sustained manifold internal religious conflicts. The doctrine
of eternal punishment and reward had already exercised a
disturbing power over my childish imagination; and in my eleventh year I spent
several sleepless nights in consequence of not being able to come to a
satisfactory conclusion concerning the mutual relation between the sufferings of
Christ and the punishment for which these sufferings were a substitute.” A boy of ten losing his sleep, not through anxiety
as to his own spiritual safety, but in the endeavour to solve
a theological problem which has exercised the minds of
devout and scholarly men in every age of the Church! It
was clear this boy’s life would not run on common or smooth
lines. He spent most of two years in a boarding-school at
Pless, where scepticism attacked him in the form of doubting the authenticity of all the ancient authors, because he
himself did not know any proofs of their genuineness. But
a politic fear of losing his much-valued reputation for cleverness, by betraying his ignorance, made him keep a wise
silence about those doubts until he should be able to sift the
matter for himself.
Before Friedrich was thirteen, lie and Carl, as well as
their sister Charlotte, were placed under the care of the
Moravian Brethren, at first, for a time, at Gnadenfrei, whence
the boys went in 1783 to Niesky. Steeped as Germany then
was, almost universally, in the benumbing poison of rationalism, or wrapped in the chilling slumber of a deep
formalism, the faithful few, like the good chaplain and his
wife, with whom the pure gospel light and life still remained,
felt themselves a somewhat helpless and discouraged remnant; and the parents thought they found in the pious,
tranquil, well-ordered life of the Congregation a haven of
safety for their children. And the children themselves,
impressed by what their parents represented to them of the
depravity and dangers of the world, became, as the father
writes, “more and more anxious not to be sent away from
us and out into the world, full of their natural corruption,
and implored to be allowed to go to Niesky.” Here the
boy spent several happy years, pursuing eagerly every
path of knowledge that was opened to him; the seeds of
pure faith and love and Christian fellowship, sown from
his tenderest years on good soil, and fostered by this genial
atmosphere, already bringing forth fair fruit. His letters
to his sister, during his stay at Niesky, show how honestly
and earnestly the young heart was set on serving and pleasing the Saviour whom he already loved.
“He alone is my
stay; the God who died for me on the cross. . . . Ah,
did but the love of Christ fill our hearts day and night!
. . . did we but cling to Him, so that not even for one
moment could we be drawn away from Him!” “In this
short period how much have I not experienced; that is to
say, much evil as regards myself, and much mercy as regards
the Saviour. I have merited wrath, say I, on my side; I
have atoned for yon, cries the Lamb, from the cross.” Expressions such as these indicate what was the prevailing
tone of the young student’s letters for some years.
But it was necessary that he who was to lead others to
new and firmer standing-ground should himself struggle
through the flood and test every step; it was fitting that
the soldier who was to lead the fight against the deadly evils
of his time should learn the use of his weapon in battling
for his own life and liberty. Even at Niesky, the earnest,
loving heart, longing after real communion with the Saviour,
yet as rigidly honest with himself as with others, had
undergone sore perplexities and struggles from having never
been able to feel sure that the spiritual experiences which
he saw and believed to be real in those around him, and
which he felt to be very desirable for himself, were, in his
own case, anything but inventions of his imagination. And
when, in his seventeenth year, he was sent to the seminary
at Barby, while these difficulties still perplexed him, he was
soon plunged into deeper troubles. These will be most
clearly explained in his own words.
In the autumn of 1786 he writes to his father: “With
one thing only I am not content. I wish very much to
study theology, and that thoroughly; but I shall not be able to boast of having
done anything of the kind when I leave this, for, in my opinion, we are kept
within too narrow limits in point of reading. Except what we see in the
scientific periodicals, we learn nothing about the objections, arguments and
discussions raised in the present day in regard to exegesis and dogmatics. Even
in the lectures delivered to us sufficient mention is not made of these matters, and yet knowledge of them is absolutely necessary for a future theologian.
The fact that they fear to lay them before us awakens in many minds a suspicion
that the objections of the innovators must approve themselves to the intellect
and be difficult to refute. I do not, however, share this opinion.”
This was meant to prepare the father for what the
son knew would be a terrible blow to him—the avowal of the change in his views, which he thus makes in a letter
six months later: “Alas! dearest father, if you believe
that, without this faith, no one can attain to salvation
in the next world, nor to tranquility in this and such,
I know, is your belief—oh! then, pray to God to grant it
to me, for to me it is now lost. I cannot believe that He,
who called Himself the Son of man, was the true, eternal
God; I cannot believe that His death was a vicarious atonement, because He
never expressly said so Himself; and I cannot believe it to have been necessary,
because God, who evidently did not create men for perfection, but for the
pursuit of it, cannot possibly intend to punish them eternally because they
have not attained it.”
Let it be remembered that these are the words of a lad of
little more than eighteen; and yet the letter in which they
occur is the furthest possible from resembling the utterance
of some callow theologian, who imagines that because an idea
is new to him it is new to every one else, and whose most
profound conviction seems to be, “I have more understanding than all my teachers.” On the contrary, its tone is
throughout humble, self-distrustful, full of deepest regret for
his lost faith and for the conclusions to which he has felt,
in the meantime, compelled to come; and full, even more,
of reverential tenderness towards his father and bitterest
sorrow for the pain which he is so unwillingly inflicting,
and which he tries to soften by the hope of a change by-and-by. “Comfort yourself, dear father,” he writes;
“for I
know you were long in the same state in which I am now.
Doubts assailed you at one time as they now do me, and yet
you have become what you now are. Think, hope, believe
that the same may be the case with me.” He entreats to be
allowed to go to study at Halle; representing that by so
doing, and having the opportunity of examining different
views, he would be much more likely to change his own;
whereas, by remaining among the Brethren, “I should
never,” he says, “be able to get rid of my doubts. For I am
debarred from the possibility of examining for myself in how far the objections
of the innovators may or may not be well founded, as I am forbidden to read
anything of the kind, and no one here will even refute my own objections.”
The correspondence following this letter is pathetic in its
painfulness. The father, whose deep affection for his son
and pride in his superior gifts only added a tenfold keenness to the sting of the disappointment, could see nothing in
the youth’s doubts but the pride and depravity of his heart,
and a longing after the world and its honours; and poured
out tears and reproaches, mingled with entreaties to return
from his evil way. He even spoke of feeling compelled to
discard him; but this is evidently a mere figure of speech.
And the son, on his side, miserable with the strife in his
own mind, heart-broken because of his father’s grief, meekly
justifying himself against misunderstandings, and yet unable
to give the only comfort that would avail, suffered probably
still more keenly.
The question of leaving Barby was settled by the
Brethren, who refused to allow one who had imbibed such
views to remain among them even on probation. Thus cut
off from all his moorings, external as well as spiritual, his
position was sufficiently trying. But in his uncle Stubenrauch, his mother’s brother, then a professor of theology at
Halle, he found the very friend for his need; one who, while
better able than the father to understand .the young man’s
position, gave him sound and Christian advice, and also set
things before his brother-in-law in so wise and hopeful a
light that ere long the old man’s letters to his son regained
all their wonted affectionate tone. Under the roof of this
kind uncle, Schleiermacher spent two years at Halle, studying with his usual passionate eagerness, but without any
definite plan; as he says himself, taking a taste of everything, making a fragmentary study of all sciences, and
“hindered in various ways by that conceit which is peculiar
to the self-educated.” The necessity of self-support led him
to cultivate the English and French languages with a view
to teaching; and when at the end of those two years the
uncle retired to a living at Drossen, the nephew accompanied
him, and spent another year chiefly in adding to his knowledge of theology. His life-long gratitude to this fatherly
friend finds graceful expression in his own words: “Nothing gives me more pain
than to think that I have not availed myself sufficiently of his friendship to
be able to say, in lieu of all praise, ‘See what I have become, and to him I
owe it.’”
What great and essential changes took place in his views
during these and succeeding years will be best seen in the
following sermons. Throughout his life he retained a most
kindly feeling towards the Brethren, with whom a strong
tie remained for him through his sister having taken up her
permanent abode among them. He often and gratefully
spoke of what he owed to his early training among them,
and more than once revisited them. On one of those
occasions, writing from Gnadenfrei, Charlotte’s home, he
says, “Here it was that that mystic tendency developed
itself which has been of so much importance to me, and has
supported and carried me through all the storms of scepticism. Then it was only germinating, now it has attained
to its full development; and I may say that, after all that
I have passed through, I have become a Herrnhuter again,
only of a higher order.” And later, in 1805, after spending
the Easter as a welcome and honoured guest at Barby—that
Barby which had cast him out as poison—he describes to
his friend the “beautiful service on Good Friday, based
altogether on the great idea of the Atonement,” and goes on
to say, “there is not, throughout Christendom, in our day, a
form of public worship which expresses more worthily, and
awakens more thoroughly, the spirit of true Christian piety than does that of the Herrnhut brotherhood! . . . I
could not but feel deeply how far behind them we are in our
church, where the poor sermon is everything . . . and
is rarely animated by a true and living spirit.
“It will soon be my duty to institute divine service here
[at Halle], which is to present a pattern, and to act as a
stimulus, to new and far-spread generations of religious
teachers; but how wretchedly cramped am I as to means, and how much I deplore
that I cannot transplant hither the best and most attractive elements of what I
witnessed at Barby!”
These long extracts, while showing his own feeling
towards the Brethren and their institutions, will also serve
to show what estimate they had by that time formed of his
Christian character.
In the summer of 1790 Schleiermacher passed his examination as a licentiate of theology, and soon afterwards
obtained a situation as private tutor in the family of Count
von Dohna of Schlobitten. Here he spent three years very
happily, treated with great kindness by the whole family,
delighting in the happy domestic life and in the opportunity
of forming his manners in polished society; preaching, visiting the sick, and studying as diligently as time permitted.
This pleasant episode was brought to a close through his
being unable conscientiously to agree with the views of the
parents as to the system to be followed in the children’s
education. After about half a year spent in teaching in
Berlin, he was appointed and ordained as assistant to an
aged pastor at Landsberg on the Warthe. He writes to his
father on entering on this new office: “From my heart I do
wish that God’s blessing may be upon my sermons, so that
they may be sources of true edification and speak to the
heart, as, I trust, they will ever come from the heart. To
you I need not say how deeply I am moved at the thought
of being numbered among those to whom so important an office is entrusted, nor need I assure you that I do not now,
and never shall, look upon it merely as a means of livelihood.”
After two years of faithful pastoral work at Landsberg, he was
appointed preacher to the Charity House in Berlin, a position which he held for
the next six years. These years mark a new and most influential era in his life.
He very soon became a daily and honoured guest in the house of the Jewish
physician, Dr. Marcus Herz and his beautiful and highly gifted wife Henrietta.
There he met the most intellectual and cultured society in Berlin, as well as
many distinguished foreigners, for whom the Herzes always kept open house. In
this congenial and stimulating atmosphere, Schleiermacher’s mind revelled and
expanded, while ever steadily holding on its own independent course. He carried
on his researches now, as throughout his life, in every department of knowledge—literature, science, philosophy, theology; he gave a candid and attentive
hearing to the views of others, patiently and without prejudice weighed them,
and held to what he accounted truth, whether sup ported by others or alone. “I
do not believe,” he says, “that I shall ever attain to a fully wrought-out
system, so that I could answer every question that could be raised,
conclusively, and in agreement with all my other knowledge. But I have all
along believed that the proving and investigating, the patient hearing of all
witnesses and all parties, is the only means for attaining at last to a
sufficient amount of certainty, and above all to a well-defined boundary between
that about which one must necessarily take a side, and that which one may leave
undecided with out detriment to his repose and happiness.”
In this social circle also, not only his intellect but his
large, deep heart found the outlet and the sympathy which
seemed to him a necessity of life. From childhood onwards
he felt it impossible to live without loving and being beloved. To one friend he writes: “I stretch forth all my
roots and leaves in search of affection, . . . and when I
am unable to drink in full draughts of it, I at once dry up
and wither.” In forming his friendships ho was slow to
give confidence till sure of his ground. Intellect and genius
no doubt attracted him, but in a friend he demanded more
than these. “I cannot,” he says, “allow any one to penetrate into the inmost recesses of my mind until I am
satisfied of the purity and uprightness of his character. I
cannot philosophize with any one whose moral sentiments I
do not approve.” And again: “For his intellect alone I love
no man. Schelling and Goethe are two mighty intellects,
but I shall never be tempted to love them.” And once
more, in defending himself against the charge of having
undesirable friends: “Never will I be the friend of a man
of disreputable principles; but neither will I ever, out of
fear of the world, withdraw the consolation of my friendship
from any one who has innocently incurred its ban.” But
when sure of a pure, true character, he was ready to love in
spite of many faults; and having once given his confidence,
he was eager to lay open his whole soul to his friend, and to
receive a like fulness of communication in return; to have a
constant and full and sympathetic interchange of opinions
and feelings on all possible subjects. It was perhaps this
need of expression that in part made it more natural to him
to form friendships with women than with men; though
more probably the reason was in the deep, delicate tenderness of his nature. With Henrietta Herz, who was as lovely
in character as in person, he formed a friendship that lasted
for life; and with several other female friends, all distinguished both by intellectual culture and by personal
character, he kept up the closest intimacy.
His faithful sister Charlotte, whom, in her cloistered
seclusion, he kept fully acquainted with all his doings and
interests, feared, not entirely without reason, that these friendships might injure him in his professional position by
exposing his conduct to misconstruction, and also that there
might be a danger of his deceiving himself as to the nature
of his feelings. He replies at great length, affectionately
and patiently going into detail to relieve her loving anxiety.
He grants, as to the latter point, that the danger does exist,
but assures her that he is always and entirely on his guard,
and that between Mrs. Herz and himself any warmer feeling
than friendship would never have been possible. And as to
the danger to his position, he expresses his conviction that,
just because he is a minister, it is his duty to disregard
appearances, not, of course, out of mere bravado, but when
ever there is good and sufficient reason. And therefore, as
he feels sure that these friendships are, on the one hand,
essential to him in the cultivation of his mind and heart,
and that, on the other hand, they enable him to do much
good, he maintains his right to enjoy them.
One faculty which Schleiermacher greatly valued in his
friends, that of minutely and exactly observing and describing their own mental processes, was a very strongly
marked characteristic of his own mind. This feature indeed
comes out so very prominently in his letters that we are
obliged to remind ourselves that they are the letters of a
German. And yet this habitual, deliberate introspection,
which is so commonly an indication and accompaniment of
a morbid self-consciousness, was far from being so in his
case. Self-conscious he was, in the sense of being fully and
intensely aware of every phase and variation in his inner
life; but in his relations with his fellow-men his manner
had the childlike simplicity that marks every truly great
man.
There must have been few more attractive guests in those
days at Mrs. Herz’s gatherings than the small, slightly
deformed man, with keen, flashing eye, and calm, self-possessed manner, who quietly listened and discussed and gave his opinion, and at the same time saw and heard all that
was done or said in the room; whose face expressed at once
intellectual power and a most winning kindliness.
The most notable of the male friends whom Schleiermacher
acquired during this first residence in Berlin was Friedrich Schlegel, who
arrived in the city not long after him, and who for some time shared his
lodgings. He regarded Schlegel’s mental powers with intense admiration,
and considered his intimate association with him as the
greatest possible advantage to himself. “In regard to intellect,” he says, “he is so infinitely superior to me that
I cannot speak of his mind but with profound reverence.”
For a few years his connection with Schlegel occupied a large
place in his thoughts and time; a connection of which he
said that it would ever remain one of the most remarkable
epochs in his life. Mrs. Herz says he was liable to the
not very uncommon weakness of greatly exaggerating the
merits of his friends; and it is evident that whatever
Schlegel’s real merits were, his friend saw him through
some glorifying medium in his own imagination. “I cannot
help,” he says, “loving the ideal that dwells in him, al
though I am very doubtful whether it will not be shivered
to atoms before he succeeds in embodying a harmonious
presentment of it, either in his works or in his life. How
ever, I see before me, in imagination, the great and truly
sublime image of what he may be if he ever attain his true
development. How could I then feel otherwise towards
him than I do? “It was probably from thus idealising his
friend, and also from a generous feeling of his having been
unfairly dealt with, that Schleiermacher was moved to write
a series of letters in defence of Lucinda, a book of Schlegel’s which was severely condemned, and, it would seem,
not without good reason; and which Schleiermacher himself
had at first disliked. Of this incident a German critic
remarks, that “the astonishment felt at seeing a healthy and pure mind, such as Schleiermacher’s, finding pleasure in
the Lucinda is exceeded by the admiration experienced at
beholding the purified reflection of the work furnished by
the pure mind.” Schleiermacher probably did in this case
like the godly old woman who, after hearing a sermon that
was very dry bones to most of the hearers, gave notes of
it that were savoury and wholesome food. She had read her
own devout thoughts into it.
On his twenty-ninth birthday he writes to Charlotte a
lively account of how he had been surprised in the morning
by the arrival, first of two young Dohnas, (his former Schlobitten pupils, now officers resident for a time in Berlin,) and
then of Schlegel and some of his lady friends; how his table
was spread with chocolate and cakes, how “Mrs. Herz gave
me a watchguard and Mrs. Veit a pair of gloves and a small
wineglass out of which to drink the Burgundy she had
ordered for my stomach, and Schlegel a small bottle of perfume for my linen, which he knows I am very fond of.”
And then he goes on to say how Schlegel had incited the
others to join in extorting from him a promise to produce
something original in writing before the end of the year; “a promise that weighs heavily on me, as I have not the
least desire to be an author.” This promise was redeemed
by his beginning to contribute short papers to the Athenaeum,
then conducted by the brothers Schlegel.
But he soon found weightier work for his pen. In the spring of
1799, during a short absence at Potsdam, he completed in two months his Discourses on Religion, addressed
to the cultivated Classes among its Contemners. He was
very far from anticipating what was to be the effect of this
work, and had doubts of its being allowed to pass by the
public censor; doubts not unfounded, for it was barely
sanctioned. Its aim was to prove that religion is an eternal
necessity in human nature, and to distinguish what is
essential in it from the accidental and false additions of men.
The book startled the nation as with the blast of a
trumpet. Men awoke, especially young men, from the torpor
of unbelief or fashionable indifference, and began to inquire,
What is truth? The appearance of the work is regarded as
forming a distinct epoch in the religious history of Germany.
Harms, who had become dissatisfied with rationalism, relates of himself after reading the book twice through, hardly
pausing to eat or sleep: “I suddenly recognised that all
rationalism, and all aesthetics, and all knowledge derived
from ourselves, are utterly worthless and useless as regards
the work of salvation; and the necessity of our salvation
coming from another source, so to say, flashed upon me. . . .
I may, with truth, call it the hour in which my higher life
was born. I received from that book the impulse of a
movement that will never cease.” The great Neander also
regarded the reading of these Discourses as the turning-point in his religious life, and many of the most noted
thinkers and preachers of Germany were no loss deeply
impressed and influenced. It is significant of how little the
author sought or valued fame that in none of his letters of
that period is there the slightest reference to the sensation
produced by the book, nothing indeed to indicate that he
was even aware of it. On its being sent to the printer
he writes to Mrs. Herz: “It is a strange coincidence that
one of my sermons should have appeared at the same time
as my Discourses on Religion. My name thus stands
among a number of great theologians and preachers, and
in order to excuse himself for having placed it there, B—
has been so bold as to say in the preface that I am highly
valued in Berlin on account of my talents and my knowledge. . . . What may I not yet become in this sublunary
sphere!”
In the following year he published his Monologues, which
he describes as “a man’s deepest and most intimate communings with himself.” These gained him many friends among
the best kind of people. Indeed he found it necessary more than once to explain that the Monologues presented
the ideal to which he desired to attain, not the
picture of what he really was. Amiel, in his Journal,
after a criticism of the Monologues at considerable length,
thus winds up. “What a life! what a man! These
glimpses into the inner regions of a great sould do one
good. Contact of this kind strengthens, restores, refreshes.
Courage returns as we gaze; when we see what has been,
we doubt no more that it can be again. At the sight of a
man, we too say to ourselves, Let us also be men!”
In the first year of the new century the first collection
of Schleiermacher’s sermons was given to the world, dedicated
to his good uncle Stubenrauch. This must have been
done at the urgent desire of his friends; for even so late
as 1824, in referring to the fourth collection which had
then been published, he says: “I am still opposed to the
publication of the sermons in a printed form; because all
sermons, and mine more especially, are only intended to be
heard.” Something of this he expresses in the dedication to his uncle, and adds,
among other interesting explanations: “Others will be offended that the
distinction between moral and immoral men, between the pious and the worldly-
minded, is so strictly drawn, as among our theologians it has for a long time
been supposed to be no longer the fashion to do so; but you know that I could
not avoid this offence without being unfaithful to what I hold to be the
essential part of Christianity.”
In addition to all his other labours, Schleiermacher undertook,
jointly with Schlegel, the translation of Plato, from
which, however, the latter soon withdrew; and Schleiermacher,
after years of toil, completed the task alone.
Schlegel remained only a short time in Berlin, and the
increasing difference of their views on various subjects, and
perhaps, above all, on religion, gradually made the tie
between the two much less close, though Schleiermacher
never ceased to speak with warm affection of his early
friend.
It should be noted that Schleiermacher carried on all these
labours under the burden of wretched health, from which he
suffered during most of his life. His eyesight also was weak,
and at one time he seemed in danger of losing it altogether;
but his resolute will refused to allow even severe physical
pain to put a stop to his work, or hinder his enjoyment of
social intercourse.
About the same time that Schlegel left Berlin, Schleiermacher
was introduced, during a visit in the island of Rügen, to an earnest young preacher, Ehrenfried von
Willich, with whom he at once formed a warm friendship—a friendship that was to
lead to very important results for his own future life. His remarks to Charlotte
show how much more congenial to him was the Christian pastor than the brilliant
philosopher. “Willich has not Friedrich
Schlegel’s great, deep and all-comprehensive intellect;
but he is in many respects nearer to my heart, and his
sentiments regarding life are more similar to my own.” And after each of them
had visited him in Berlin: “Willich has been here. . . . That I derive more
enjoyment from his presence than from Schlegel’s you may easily guess.”
One portion of his experience, which began during those
six years so full of import and of progress for him, must
not be omitted; not only because it for the time so deeply
and powerfully affected him, but because it illustrates so
strange a state of society, as well as some peculiar views of
his own.
One of his most intimate friends was Eleanore Grunow, a
highly cultured and gifted woman, most unhappily married to
a clergyman in the city. Schleiermacher held very strongly
that a marriage in which there is nothing but the outward tie—no inward oneness, no heart
union—is an immoral connection, and no real marriage; and that therefore the
dissolution of such a connection is a moral duty. Most right-thinking men and
women will grant his premisses;
but to admit his condition would open the door to dangerous consequences. From keen sympathy with the daily
sufferings of his friend, as well as the congeniality of mind
that had first drawn them together, Schleiermacher’s feeling
deepened into a strong attachment, which, so far from being
frowned on by his conscience, was mixed with his most
sacred thoughts and plans. The law of Prussia permitted
divorce on the ground of mutual consent, without any
criminality on either aide; public opinion attached no stigma
to the practice; there were instances of it in Schleiermacher’s
immediate circle; and it was his earnest desire that Eleanore shonld obtain a dissolution of her miserable
union and become his wife. All his intercourse and correspondence with
her was carried on with perfect openness, and his best
friends, good and pure men and women, knew and sympathised with his wishes. But
Eleanore could not come to
a decision; and in the distress and trouble of his mind, he
accepted, in the spring of 1802, an appointment as court-preacher at Stolpe in Pomerania, thus voluntarily going
into what he felt to be banishment.
At Stolpe he consoled himself with long letters to various friends, filled with details of his work, literary and pastoral,
criticisms of books read in his solitude, or of prominent
literary men, and of course, above all, with minute accounts
of mental experiences, or comments on such accounts received. It would be pleasant, if apace permitted, to give
large extracts from those letters, which present so much more
vividly than any description a picture of the man; his unceasing mental activity, his quiet, playful humour, his warm,
deep sympathy. The letters are not the less interesting in
that they are in some respects so utterly unlike the letters of an
Englishman, and still more those of a Scotchman. The effusiveness, the
sentimentality, if one may so speak, is probably quite as much a national characteristic as a specialty
of Schleiermacher individually. But it seems to us more
like a school-girl than a profound philosopher when wo read
how he, as it were, fell in love with some of his male
friends at first sight, as for instance with Willich, with
whom he “communed in silence,” while the rest of the
company sang. Speaking of another, with whom ho had
exchanged a few letters before they met, he says, when they
mot accidentally, “We exclaimed in one breath, ‘What, this
is Hülsen!’ and, ‘What, this is Schleiermacher!’ And
then we fell into each other’s arms. After having gazed at
each other in silence a few moments, it was as though wo
had been in the habit of seeing each other daily for years.”
And of his friend Reimer, who published his works, he tells
Charlotte, “Yesterday a sudden action took place within us, . . . during which we
took possession, as it were, of each other as intimate heart-friends. Do not ask
me at present to describe this. I am too much overwhelmed and too perplexed. . .
. He folded me in his arms, with the words, ‘Henceforward let there be no thing
concealed between us!’”
One quotation of another character we must give, as
showing both the state of the Church at the time, and
Schleiermacher’s position and feeling in regard to it. “Last
Wednesday the synodal assembly of this diocese took place,
and the dean was so kind as to invite mo to be present.
This occupied almost the whole day. How sad it made me!
Ah, dear friend, to find yourself among thirty-live such
clergymen! I did not feel ashamed of belonging to the
profession, but with my whole heart I longed for and I
pictured to myself those future times which, I trust, are
not far distant, when such an assembly will be impossible.
I shall not live to see it, but could I only in some way contribute to bring it about! Of the openly disreputable
among them I will not speak; . . . but the universal
degradation, the entire unsusceptibility to all higher influences, the base and sensuous views depend upon it, I was
the only one among them who mourned in heart, the only
one; for had there been another I must have found him, I knocked and searched so
earnestly.”
During his stay at Stolpe, in the autumn of 1803,
Schleiermacher published his Critical Enquiry into the
Existing Systems of Ethics, criticising especially the systems
of Kant and Fichte, and giving the highest place to Plato
and Spinoza, but formulating no completed system of his
own.
But his mind was still disturbed and unsettled, and his
heart often deeply distressed in connection with Eleanore,
who seemed, just at this time, to have given him up, though
the correspondence was resumed for two years more. He
calls this book his tombstone—a remnant of the happy past.
And yet it was at this very time he undertook to carry on
alone the translation of Plato! But it is only fair to add, that he explains his
doing this, though with the prospect of a speedy death before him, by saying
that, “just as a man ought to do nothing because of death, so also he ought to
leave nothing undone because of death.”
In May, 1804, Schleiermacher was appointed preacher to
the University at Halle, and professor extraordinarius of
theology. In the interval of comparative leisure, before
turning his steps southward, he paid a short visit to Willich,
now settled at Stralsund; and in Rügen, where they had
first met, was introduced to Willich’s betrothed bride,
Henriette von Mühlenfels, a charming and beautiful girl of
sixteen, then living in the house of her married sister,
Charlotte von Kathen. Schleiermacher entered with joyful
sympathy into their happiness. Ho and the young bride
forthwith adopted each other as father and daughter, and from that time there was a frequent interchange of letters
overflowing with affection on both sides. In October he
was settled at Halle, and there, in H. Steffens, professor of
natural philosophy, he found another friend in whose companionship he took great delight. He writes about him: “Steffens profound and inexhaustible mind, joined to his
childlike and amiable nature, so susceptible of every generous emotion, gives me new pleasure every time I spend
a few hours with him.” And again: “Never have I with
such sincerity of heart placed another man as high above
myself in every respect as I do this one, whom, were it
seemly between man and man, I could almost adore. . . .
The man is altogether so indescribably attractive—as deep,
as spontaneous and as witty as Friedrich Schlegel at his
best.” And so on, with much more in the same strain.
And the feeling was thoroughly reciprocated.
In speaking of a night spent together on a pedestrian
excursion, Steffens says: “This night will be to me ever memorable. . . . Never
did Schleiermacher seem to me intellectually greater, morally purer. Even to
this day that night appears to me one of the most remarkable of my life, as if
sanctified. . . . I have a testimony of the impression this night made upon him,
in a letter to his dear friend Mrs. Herz. It was the reflection of his own
purity that made me appear to him in a glorified light during these truly holy
hours. Never did the deep religiosity of his morality strike me more forcibly.
The Saviour was with us, as He has promised to be ‘when two or three are
gathered together in His name.’”
The following Easter Schleiermacher made the visit to
Barby which has already been referred to; and later in the
summer took another little tour, in the course of which he
visited his dear Lotte, and made acquaintance for the first
time with his younger half-sister, Nanni, whom he brought
with him to Halle, thus making for himself, at last, a little home. One very characteristic passage in his account of the
pedestrian portion of this tour may be quoted. “Our longest
and most interesting day’s journey I went through under
intense suffering from cramps in the stomach; yet I did not give in, or allow
the state of my health to cause us one hour’s delay, nor did the difficulties
and sufferings in any way impair my enjoyment, and now they seem as nothing
compared with the glorious and lasting impression which the sight of nature in
its sublimity has made upon me.”
And now, October, 1805, occurred the crisis which
Schleiermacher regarded as an unspeakable calamity, but which was in reality a
merciful deliverance from a great evil. Eleanore seemed to have decided on the
final step. Schleiermacher writes to the Willichs of visiting them again, and
adds his hope that it may be “with the excellent Eleanore,” “the best loved of
all my belongings.”
She had gone to the house of her brother, who had under
taken to conduct the business of the divorce, the husband
had given his consent, when Eleanore was suddenly overcome
by scruples of conscience, and returned to her husband’s
house, and all communication between her and Schleiermacher was thenceforward at an end.
It came upon him as a crushing, heart-sickening blow;
he spoke of it as having destroyed his life and made it
utterly worthless; but he lived to take a wiser and sounder
view of the position, and to thank, God who had reserved
some better thing for him.
But neither sorrow nor any other personal interest was allowed
to hinder his work. His influence extended rapidly, especially among the
students. He devoted an evening weekly to receiving in his house any of them who
chose to come, and of this plan he says, “I do not know which party gains most,
the young people or myself.”
In the beginning of 1806 he published anonymously the
Christmas Festival, a delightful little book in the form of a dialogue, in which he introduces several of his friends—Henriette von Willich, with her baby daughter; her sister,
Charlotte von Kathen, with her sick child, and others. The
book is pervaded with earnest Christi an feeling, and bears
on the condition of the country in consequence of the French
invasion. For now the troubles of war were pressing
heavily; and when, in October, the battle of Jena threw
Prussia for the time entirely under the heel of the conqueror,
the University was suppressed, the students dispersed, and
Schleiermacher’s professional occupation was gone. He
writes to his friend Reimer an account of the pillage of
the town by the French, humorously describing his own
part in it, in which he and Steffens were deprived of their
watches, besides “all my shirts, with the exception of five,
and all the silver spoons, with the exception of two.” After
this he and Nanni united their housekeeping with Steffens
and his family; a measure which he says “was imperative,
for I had only very little money, which I had borrowed, and
Steffens had none at all.” And thus they economized fuel
and light as well as other items, though Nanni did not enjoy
it, as what housekeeper would? But he still held to his
post, in hope of better times for the University, and exerted
all his influence, which was not small, to stir up a true and
noble patriotism and a spirit of determined resistance in
defence of all that the nation held dear. A few extracts
from his letters during this stirring time may be given.
“Would you desire to be spared any danger, any suffering,
at the cost of the conviction of having delivered over future
generations to base servitude, and of having exposed them
to be inoculated with the despicable sentiments of an utterly
corrupted people? Believe me, sooner or later, a great and
universal struggle must ensue, the objects of which will be
as much our sentiments, our religion, and our mental culture,
as our outward liberty and worldly goods, . . . a struggle
which will unite sovereigns and people by a more beautiful bond than has existed for centuries.” “The general demoralization is fearful; on all sides yawning abysses of infamy
and cowardice stare you in the face. Only a few, and fore
most among these the king and the queen, form glorious
exceptions.” “The rod of wrath must fall upon every
German land; only on this condition can a strong and happy
future bloom forth. Happy they who live to see it; but
they who die, let them die in faith.” “I have no fear,
except, sometimes, of a dishonourable peace, which may
save the appearance—but only the appearance—of a national
existence and freedom. But even in regard to this I feel
tranquil; for if the nations submit to it, it will prove that
they are not yet ripe for better things; and the severer
visitations, amid which they are to mature, will not fail
soon to fall upon them.” “The king alone, in his steadfastness, it is gratifying to behold;
and I trust, now that he has got over the capture of his capital and the
surrender of his fortresses without suing for peace, he will not think of
separating his fate from that of the rest of Europe. . . . The conflict must
become wider and deeper, if new life and prosperity are to rise out of the
universal desolation.”
In the following spring, February, 1807, during the siege
of Stralsund, young Willich, who had refused to desert his
flock, was smitten by a fever that raged in the town, and
died after a week’s illness. The poor young wife, still only
nineteen, turned in her desolation to her “dear father,
Schleier,” for comfort; and few real fathers could have
entered more fully into the sorrows of a stricken child.
Henriette returned to Rügen, to be near her relatives, and
during the unsettled, troublous times that followed, Schleiermacher maintained a steady correspondence with her and
her sister, so far as the distracted state of the country
permitted. He lingered in Halle until the winter, in the
hope that the University might be restored; but when, in
December, prayers were ordered in the churches for Jerome Bonaparte and his wife as king and queen of Westphalia,
it was more than his patriotic spirit could brook, and he
betook himself to Berlin, to preach and to lecture in the
meantime as he might find opportunity.
Once more, in the following summer, Schleiermacher found
his way to Rügen. In personal intercourse, his fatherly
affection for Henriette easily and naturally developed into
a deeper and warmer feeling, and he carried back with him
to Berlin her promise to be his wife when more settled times
should come.
Early in 1809 he was appointed pastor of Trinity Church
in Berlin, and when, in May, he brought home his bride
with her two little children, he felt that his happiness was
complete. Even in his much younger days he had delighted
in studying family life, and often spoke of it as man’s most
perfect state; and now he wrote to his old friend Mrs. Herz: “I have taught so much about the beauty and holiness of
family life that I ought to have an opportunity of showing
that what I have taught has been to me more than empty
words, and that the doctrine has in truth sprung from my
deepest feelings and from my inward energy.” And though
he was nearly twenty years older than his Jette, nowhere
could he have found a wife more thoroughly suited for him.
Thoughtful and intelligent, she grew and developed in
contact with his strong nature, while yet retaining her individual character; and their deep, mutual love only deepened
through the years until the end. And when, in addition
to the two little ones whom he had so fully taken to his
fatherly heart, children of his own came to make it a complete family, his cup of joy overflowed. Now at last he
had found a sphere in which his rich nature and his great
intellect had full scope. His genial, loving, social disposition made him the centre of a wide and ever-increasing
circle of warmly attached friends of all classes. He went
much into society, and received much at home; not merely because of his unceasing delight in intercourse with his
fellows, but because he believed that intimate personal
association was the most effective medium of influence for
good. And in this he seems to have judged correctly; for
those who knew him agree in their testimony that great as
was the effect of his written works, and still greater that
of his preaching, it was the whole living personality of the
man that told most powerfully on all who came in contact
with him.
In 1810, when the University of Berlin was re-constituted,
with Fichte as rector, Schleiermacher was called to a chair
of theology, and the next year became Secretary to the
Academy of Science. One public office after another was
thrust upon him; while preaching, writing and lecturing
went on with unabated diligence. It fatigues the mind
even to read the list of the subjects on which he lectured:
New Testament exegesis; introduction to and interpretation
of the New Testament, ethics, both philosophic and Christian,
dogmatic and practical theology, church history, history of
philosophy, psychology, dialectics (logic and metaphysics),
politics, pedagogy and aesthetics. His preaching drew in
creasing crowds, not only of the more intellectual classes,
but from among the poor and uneducated, who found that
they received in it food for the hunger of their hearts,
guidance from Scripture for the practical affairs of daily
life, and comfort in its sorrows.
It has already been said that Schleiermacher considered
all sermons, and his own more especially, as intended only
to be heard, not read. The specialty in his own case arose
from the fact that his sermons were never written; all his
published discourses being printed from notes taken during
delivery. They were very deeply thought out; but a few
very brief notes were all that he committed to paper;
leaving his already well-defined thoughts to take shape as
his feelings warmed with his theme and took a special tone from the sympathetic reflex influence of the people assembled
before him. This habit of speaking without previous
arrangement, with the wealth of ideas that would flow in
upon him—one thought suggesting still another—probably
accounts in part for the strange, often obscure style of his
sermons—the long, involved sentences, reaching occasionally
the fearful length of a page and a half; sentences in which,
however, one of his constant hearers says he never lost his
way (which is much more than can be said of all his readers),
and in which he always arrived with certainty at the right
conclusion. His friend Wilhelm von Humboldt says of
him: “Those who may have read his numerous writings
ever so diligently, but who have never heard him speak,
must, nevertheless, remain unacquainted with the most rare
power and the most remarkable qualities of the man. His
strength lay in the deeply penetrative character of his
words, when preaching or engaged in any other of his
ecclesiastical functions. It would be wrong to call it
rhetoric, for it was so entirely free from art. It was the
persuasive, penetrative, kindling effusion of a feeling, which
seemed not so much to be enlightened by one of the rarest
intellects as to move side by side with it in perfect unison.”
A recent writer says of his eloquence, that it was almost as
golden as that of Plato; and a short German notice of him
gives the much more valuable testimony, that by his preaching thousands were won to the Saviour. Another criticism
from Ami el may here be quoted. u While some shock me
by their sacerdotal dogmatism, others repel me by their
rationalizing laicism. It seems to me that good preaching
ought to combine, as Schleiermacher’s did, perfect moral
humility with energetic independence of thought; a profound sense of sin with
respect for criticism and a passion for truth.”
In the pulpit as elsewhere, Schleiermacher was, during
those troubled times, a fearless patriot, and laboured unceasingly, in conjunction with Fichte and other noble-hearted
men, to arouse in the people a true spirit of freedom, that
should lead them to unite in casting off the foreign yoke; his friend Moritz
Arndt, who had been obliged, after the battle of Jena, to flee from the wrath of
Napoleon, but had now returned, greatly aiding the cause by his stirring patriot
songs, especially the one, popular wherever the German language is spoken, “What
is the German’s Fatherland?”
Schleiermacher’s second collection of sermons, published
in 1808, twelve in number, all bear on the special circum
stances of the country. Eight of them were preached in
Halle, and the rest in Berlin. In his preface to them he
says: “May this work contribute something to effect what we so greatly need, to
arouse and animate pious courage and true desire for thorough improvement, and
to make it clear whence alone true prosperity can come to us, and how each one
must help towards it.”
When at length, in the spring of 1813, Europe began to feel
that she had had “enough of Bonaparte”; when Prussia
at last aroused herself to cast off her humiliating chains;
Schleiermacher felt that Berlin was no longer a safe place
for his most precious treasures, and sent his wife and
children for some weeks into Silesia, remaining himself, and
taking an active part in all the exciting events of those
stormy days. He writes to his wife, “As for regular study,
that is not to be thought of till the immediate crisis is over.
I am continuing my lectures, but I believe I am the only
professor who does so.” The danger to Berlin, however,
blew over; and he was able again to gather his little flock
around him. Among the sermons in this volume is one
preached at the calling out of the Landwehr in that eventful
year; and we transcribe a part of Bishop Eilert’s eloquent
account of one which does not appear in the published
collection.
“The students of the University and the gymnasium, who
were about to start for Breslau as volunteers, in uniform
and armed, had in a body requested Schleiermacher to
deliver a sermon and administer the sacrament to them
immediately before their departure, thus to consecrate them
for their holy undertaking. Their firearms were piled in
front or rested against the walls of the church of the Holy
Trinity. The beautiful old hymn, ‘In all my acts,’ sung
with heartfelt effusion, had attuned the minds of the congregation to the proper pitch of solemnity. After having pronounced a short prayer, full of unction, Schleiermacher went
up into the pulpit. . . . There, in this holy place, and
at this solemn hour, stood the physically so small and
insignificant man, his noble countenance beaming with
intellect, and his clear, sonorous, penetrating voice ringing
through the overflowing church. Speaking from his heart
with pious enthusiasm, his every word penetrated to the
heart, and the clear, full, mighty stream of his eloquence
carried every one along with it. His bold, frank declaration
of the causes of our deep fall, his severe denunciation of our
actual defects, as evinced in the narrow-hearted spirit of
caste, of proud aristocratism, and in the dead forms of bureaucratism, struck down like thunder and lightning, and
the subsequent elevation of the heart to God on the wings
of solemn devotion was like harp-tones from a higher world. . . . And when, at last, with the full fire of enthusiasm,
he addressed the noble youths already equipped for battle,
and next, turning to their mothers, the greater number of
whom were present, he concluded with the words, ‘Blessed
is the womb that has borne such a son! blessed the breast
that has nourished such a babe!’ a thrill of deep emotion ran through the
assembly, and amid loud sobs and weeping, Schleiermacher pronounced the closing
Amen.”
When the country was once more restored to freedom,
Schleiermacher shared the experience of many another public-spirited man who has cared more for his country’s
real welfare than for his own advancement. The men who
had stirred the people to assert their liberties against a
foreign tyrant were regarded with suspicion by the government, as being equally likely to encourage resistance to an
undue exercise of power on the part of their lawful ruler.
Fichte’s pure, beautiful life had already closed, during the
war, at the comparatively early age of fifty-one, stricken
down by hospital fever caught from his wife, who, with
loving devotion, nursed the war-patients for five months,
and all but fell a victim as well as her husband. But Arndt
and many others of the leading patriots were deprived of
office or suspended, and Schleiermacher himself, often in
danger of dismissal, probably escaped only because the
authorities feared to deprive the city of so bright an ornament, and of a teacher so greatly beloved. Those things did
not greatly disturb his equanimity. He calmly and earnestly
went on with his work, enjoying the society of his friends,
at perfect rest in his happy home circle, and often recruiting
health and spirits by a summer tour, sometimes with wife
and children, sometimes alone, or in the company of a congenial friend. In 1817 a little change took place in his
household. Nanni, who had continued to live with him
after his marriage, became the wife of Arndt, and her place
was supplied by his own sister Charlotte, the gentle play
fellow of his childhood, and his life-long trusted friend, who
at last left her retreat among the Brethren to spend the
evening of her days beside her beloved Fritz.
It was for Schleiermacher one of the penalties of greatness that his far-seeing wisdom, which made him so much
in advance of his age, and his outspoken boldness in stating
his independent opinions, compelled him, notwithstanding
his peaceable and loving disposition, to be a man of war for
the greater part of his life. In the question of proposed
Church Reform, he declared that it was vain to attempt to improve the constitution of the clergy if the reform were
not founded on a well-organized Christian presbyterian
system, with extensive assemblies of elders chosen by the
community; just as a truly free state-constitution is based
on a free and living communal system.
In the great question of the union of the Reformed and
Lutheran Churches he also took a very prominent part. The
leading opponent of the union was Claus Harms of Kiel,
who, in the beginning of his career, had owed so much to
Schleiermacher’s Discourses. He held that such a union
would be an apostasy, not only from Lutheranism, but from
Christianity. But Schleiermacher, with deeper insight,
pointed out that none of the Reformers had created a new
thing; that they had only cleared the old, pure doctrine from the rubbish with
which it had been overlaid, and that therefore the work of the Reformation was
not to found a Lutheran Church, nor a Reformed Church, “but to bring forth in renewed glory the Evangelical Church, which is guided and governed by its founder,
Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of God, . . . the quickening centre of the
Church.”
From his letters during a holiday tour in 1818, we give a few
short extracts:
“The cathedral (Prague) is a noble, but unfinished edifice,
in Gothic style; . . . beneath it the history of Bohemia lies
interred. . . . The people seem to be quite indifferent to all
the beautiful monuments that surround them, and to all the
great memories that are attached to them, and appear to be
utterly unconscious that, with their Protestantism and their
religious liberty, they lost all their dignity. . . . I was
actually seized with a shudder—a religious shudder—at the
sight of the immense Jesuit college, and with a political
shudder at the equally gigantic palace of Wallenstein. But
what shall I say of the ruinous state of churches and convents? Protestantism has been wrenched from the people
with unheard-of cruelty, but Catholicism they cannot prevent from rotting among them.” “We received a visit from
a Catholic ecclesiastic, who pleased me so much, that we
parted from each other with a brotherly kiss and with tearful eyes.” [Munich] “Old Jacobi was actually moved on
seeing me. We endeavoured to come to an understanding
relative to our views, but we got no further than to under
stand wherein the difference between us consists; and he always listened to me
very good-naturedly when I told him that I thought his great mistake was that he
confounded this difference with another.”
Schleiermacher’s family at this time consisted of two
daughters of his own and an adopted daughter, besides the
young Von Willichs; and in 1820 his joy received its crown
in the birth of a son. He writes to his sister-in-law announcing the event, and says: “This time I had not felt so strong a wish that it
should be a boy as on former occasions. I was too much penetrated by the feeling
that we do not know what we wish for, more especially in the present times. But
when it proved to be a boy, you may conceive with what joy and thankfulness I
received him, and that my first prayer to God was, to be inspired with wisdom
and power from above to educate the child to His glory.”
It was, alas! but a short time that the training of the
boy was left in his hands.
In 1821 Schleiermacher published what is considered his
chief theological work, The Christian Faith systematically
presented according to the fundamental Propositions of the
Evangelical Church, familiarly known as the Glaubenslehre. “The fundamental principle of this classical work” (we here
quote from the Encyclopaedia Britannica) “is that religious
feeling, the sense of absolute dependence on God, as communicated by Jesus Christ through the Church, and not the
creeds, or the letter of Scripture, or the rationalistic under
standing, is the source and law of dogmatic theology. It
is therefore simply a description of the facts of religious feeling, or of the inner life of the soul in its relation to
God, and these inward facts looked at in the various stages of their
development, and presented in their inner connection. It aims . . . to put an end
to the unreason and superficiality of both supernaturalism and rationalism, and
to deliver theology from dependence on ever-changing systems of philosophy.”
This great work caused him fresh troubles, by arousing
the bitter opposition of those whose systems he attacked.
He also incurred anew the ill-will and suspicion of the
government by his boldly contending for the right of the
Church to frame her own liturgy, without the dictation of the
king and his ministers. In 1824 he writes to Charlotte von
Kathen: “My outward position is very precarious, perhaps
more so than ever. The suspicions of demagogical tendencies
in regard to me have, I trust, been allayed; but the ecclesiastical questions must soon be brought to a head, and should
the result be violent measures, I must infallibly be one of
the first victims. I cannot say that I am alarmed, or that
in itself the thought of this troubles me; for in regard to
these matters I know that I have done nothing but what
t was bound to do; and I almost think I may say, also, that I have done all that
I ought to do.”
And again, in 1827, to the same friend: “When you
hear how constantly I am engaged in conflicts which I can
not avoid without doing violence to my conscience, you
will, I am sure, feel sorry that the last part of my life
should be spent amid so much turmoil, and that I should
be obliged to waste so much time on these matters,
which, according to all appearance, might be used to much
better purpose. However, I do not repine, but think, on the
contrary, that it is all for the best; and when my book of
life is made up, I shall have greater reason for thankfulness
than most people. From what I have heard from several
quarters, things seem this time to have been very near coming to a crisis. As for myself, I rarely know how these
matters stand, and generally do not hear the worst until it has blown over. May
it ever remain so; for it is my endeavour to do nothing that I may have to
repent of after wards, and for the rest I leave the result to God.”
In the autumn of 1827 Schleiermacher and his wife took
a journey into Galicia to bring home a second adopted
daughter, a little child of Nanni’s sister, who had died there,
leaving a young family. Thus in almost continual outward
strife, but in home happiness and heart peace, the years
sped on.
Schleiermacher’s only visit to England, a very short one,
occurred in 1828. His companion on this journey was Alexander von Forstner, son-in-law of Charlotte von Kathen. On
the way they spent a few days at Bonn with Nanni and her
husband; and in a letter to his wife, Schleiermacher gives
a pretty picture of Nanni’s little flock of five, one of whom “said a little prayer in the true Arndt style.” Arndt had
been, so early as 1819, suspended from his professorship on
a charge of “demagogic movements,” though allowed to
retain his salary. It was not till 1840 that he was restored,
when he was already above seventy. The brave old patriot
lived to be ninety-one, and only died in 1860. Schleiermacher
preached once in London, at the re-opening of the church
of the Savoy.
In the following year a heart-breaking sorrow came upon
him in the death of his only son, his little Nathanael, who
was taken from him after a short illness, when only nine
years old. The blow, he said, drove the nails into his own
coffin; yet, with his wonted self-control, he would not allow
his grief to hinder his work. He had delighted in helping
the child with his lessons for the gymnasium, and having
his bright companionship in his study; but on the very day
of his funeral the mourning father took up again the burden
of his daily duties, and “life,” he says, “goes on in its old grooves, but more slowly and more heavily.” His discourse
at the child’s funeral, included in the present selection, is
considered one of his finest.
The king seemed at last to become aware that it was
possible for thorough devotion to the liberties of the people
to exist in perfect harmony with utter fidelity to the
sovereign, and in 1831 he conferred on Schleiermacher the
Order of the Red Eagle, an honour which was valuable to
him only as an assurance of the restored favour and confidence of the king. In the same year his faithful Lotte was
taken to her rest. She had in her last days retired to the
house of the Brethren in the city, to secure the quiet that
had become desirable in her feeble state.
Schleiermacher’s habitual feeling towards his opponents
may be understood from the following extract.
“Amid the various conflicts which I am necessarily exposed to in my career, and amid the numerous misunderstandings of the extreme parties on both sides, through
which I am obliged to wind my way, it is ever a great
encouragement to me when I discover even a faint glimmer
that leads me to think that we hold the same goal in view,
and are labouring for the same end. . . . Thus at least I
learn to unite, quietly within myself, with many who believe
themselves far distant from me, and herein dwells a peculiar
life-giving energy.” He only grieved that profitless controversy inevitably consumed so much precious time, which he
would gladly have used in more pleasant and lasting work.
In the midst of his other labours he took time to write to
his step-son, Ehrenfried von Willich, wise and most loving
counsels as to his studies, his companionships, and the
future direction of his life. This young man obtained
in 1831 a government appointment at Aix-la-Chapelle. To
him the mother sends a pleasant picture of Schleiermacher in
holiday guise. “I shall never forget the impression it made
upon me to see dear father in his blue blouse, with his silvery white hair, as lively and youthful as a young lad
about to wander forth into the world for the first time, giving a parting word
to all, who pressed round him with joyful emotion.”
One other extract from the mother’s letters shows us a
pleasant part of the family life. “Our Wednesday receptions are very much frequented, so that we cannot be said
to live in great retirement. . . . The Wednesday
evenings are often rendered doubly cheerful by a great
number of young people. The circle of young maidens in
our house is a spectacle which gladdens many hearts; and how this fresh and
youthful circle gathered round your father embellishes and sweetens his old age,
you will readily conceive.”
In the summer of 1833 Schleiermacher went, in company
with his friend Count Schwerin, of Putzar, in Pornerania, on
a tour which he said would be his last, “with the exception
of the long one,” through Sweden, Norway and Denmark.
His home letters during this journey are marked by a deepened tenderness, and still more, as we are assured by the
translator of his letters, by the absence of every indication
of the fact that his progress through the northern kingdoms
was a continual ovation; his arrival in Copenhagen being
hailed with the greatest enthusiasm, professors, students and
distinguished men joining to honour him by a public banquet,
winding up with a torchlight procession.
His last letter was written January 30th, 1834, to Ehrenfried von Willich. In it he speaks of the happy prospect of
having all the children assembled in May to celebrate the
silver wedding of the parents, refers to arrangements for the
approaching marriage of one of the girls to the son of Count
Schwerin, playfully enlarges on the wonderful accomplishments of the first grandchild, probably the child of Ehrenfried’s sister; and closes by saying he has been for three
days confined to the house by a cough and hoarseness, but hopes to resume his usual work on the morrow. But his
ailment suddenly developed inflammation of the lungs, and
after a week of intense suffering, the great, brave, tender
spirit passed away. His wife, in her notes of that week,
relates that after the death film had already overspread his
eyes, and his whole aspect was that of death, he suddenly
raised himself, and in a clear and strong voice spoke out, “I have never clung to the dead letter; and we have the
atoning death of Jesus Christ, His body and blood.” He
then desired the things necessary for Communion to be
quickly brought, and after solemn prayer, administered it to
each of those present, while an expression of heavenly rapture spread over his features, and a strange lustre shone in
his eyes. Finally he himself partook, adding, “On these
words of the Scripture I rely; they are the foundation of my
faith;” and after pronouncing the blessing, sank back on
his pillow with a farewell word and look of love, and in a
few minutes breathed his last, February 12th, 1834.
The sensation his death caused in Berlin, and indeed
throughout Germany, was indescribable. The honour which
had so often been withheld from him by prejudice and
jealousy during his life was abundantly accorded to him in
death. The carriages of the king and the crown prince
were the foremost of a hundred that formed his funeral procession, thirty-six of the students who loved and revered him
as a father shared the privilege of bearing his coffin to the
grave, and the streets and the cemetery were thronged with
weeping thousands, mourning for a teacher and a friend
whose like they might never see again.
I.
THE POWER OF PRAYER IN RELATION TO
OUTWARD CIRCUMSTANCES.
TEXT: MATT. xxvi. 36-46.
TO be a religious man and to pray are really one and the
same thing. To join the thought of God with every
thought of any importance that occurs to us; in all our
admiration of external nature, to regard it as the work of
His wisdom; to take counsel with God about all our plans,
that we may be able to carry them out in His name; and
even in our most mirthful hours to remember His all-seeing
eye; this is the prayer without ceasing to which we are
called, and which is really the essence of true religion.
As to the benefit of prayer there can be no question.
Surely, surely we have all experienced it! If our joys have
often remained innocent, while others strayed into ways
of sin; if our judgments have been mixed with gentleness
and modesty, where pride and arrogance might most easily
have gained the day; if we have been guarded from the
evil which the judgment of man all too willingly excuses;
then we owe this beneficent protection to the power of
prayer.
Whether prayer has another kind of power in the world
besides this, is a question that may easily be raised, and on
which, if we are not to have our minds needlessly disturbed,
we must come to some fixed belief.
If we are to bring all our thoughts into harmony with the
thought of God, then we may and shall direct our wishes to
certain things that we desire may occur to, or be averted
from ourselves or others. Now if we regard the fulfilment
of those wishes as the aim of our prayers, and connect with
this idea what is promised in answer to prayer then,
whether we consider this answer, as some do, as a distinct
and infallible mark of the divine favour; or if we only
believe, as very many do, that our prayers throw some
additional weight into the scale; either way, what a narrowing of our mental condition accompanies such a belief; how
it sets limits to the reasonableness of our wishes, and even to
the humility of our hearts! For thus our minds are filled
with hopes, the usually disappointing issues of which disturb
our peace, and indeed may bring us into the most painful
uncertainty as to our standing with God. Let us therefore
consider together this aspect of prayer. The portion of the
history of our Lord’s passion which we take as our subject
is specially suitable for this purpose, as it shows us our
Lord Himself engaged in the kind of prayer we are speaking of.
We will consider the nature of His prayer and its results:
and you will certainly grant this beforehand, that the disciple is not above his master, and that we cannot expect
more from our prayers than Christ obtained by His. For if
the granting of our petitions is a token of God’s favour, then
it would certainly have been given above all to Him in
whom God was so supremely well-pleased. If it is only to
be given when a man’s own strength is not equal to what he
seeks, and when there is need of special help, then let me
remind you how utterly the Saviour denied Himself all
human succour, and what strict limits He set to Himself by
the laws which He followed in all His actions. If the
success of the prayer depends on the importance, or on the
innocence of the thing desired, then you know that no trifle ever occupied His mind, and that though in all points
tempted like us, He was without sin.
If, then, we cannot beforehand come to the conclusion that
what Christ’s prayer effected ours can also effect, this at
least is certain, that where His prayer could not prevail
neither will ours succeed. This similarity of our position
with His must be a soothing thought to us all, whatever
may be the result of our inquiry; and therefore I ask the
more confidently for your calm and unprejudiced attention.
We have here a direct view of the Saviour, before He fell
into the hands of His enemies, in an agitated and anxious
state of mind. He knew that there was a plot against His
life, which was now on the point of being carried out; and
plainly and calmly as He had before talked with His disciples of what was before Him, now that He was to enter on
the conflict—now that all, as it came nearer, looked darker
and more certain—the various feelings that such a prospect
could not but excite in His mind threw Him into a state of
stronger agitation than was at all usual with him. He
sought solitude, and then fled from it; from prayer He went
back to His disciples, who were in no condition to comfort
or cheer Him; and from them He went back again to prayer.
In circumstances like these, oven to those who are furthest
from true piety, the old, half-forgotten memory of God comes
back, and they turn to Him for help and deliverance; in
such circumstances even those whose spirit is bravest, and
who are absolutely submissive to the divine will, are yet not
quite without anxiety or without wishes; and therefore, in
this instance, the prayer of the Saviour took the form of one
of the ordinary petitions of men for a result according to
their desires.
It is the value and the power of a prayer of this kind that
we wish to consider. Let us first examine carefully the case
before us, to see what it teaches us, and then, secondly, note
any deductions to be drawn from it.
I. First, then, fix it firmly in your minds that you have
the privilege of laying before God your wishes about the more
important concerns of your lives. It cannot be superfluous,
in these times, to strengthen ourselves in this belief. Those
who would like to banish everything belonging to religion
from the minds of men, by allowing no room for the exercise
of it in daily life, do not fail to represent such a prayer as
an offence against the Most High. It is irreverent, they say,
to express a wish rising out of the narrowness of our intellect and heart, about something which His decree has long
ago settled; it is an ill-timed curiosity to say, I wish it might
be so and so, when we shall presently learn how He has
willed it. Do not be perplexed by such words. Christ did
it, therefore we, too, may do it. It is one of the privileges
that belong to our position as children of God. That would
be a slavish family in which the children were not at liberty
to express their wishes in the presence of their wiser father.
And is any one able all at once to suppress his desires? If
we cannot do so, then let us always speak them out when
our heart is moved to do so; for even if we do shut them up
within us, they are not hidden from Him. Do not listen to
those who tell you that, before you approach God, you must
have your mind composed and your heart at peace; that it
is unseemly to appear before Him in this agitated state,
while the dread of pain and disappointment, the clinging to
some good thing which you are on the point of losing, still
tosses your heart to and fro, and leaves no room for submission to the holy will of God. If you waited until
submission had won the victory, you would feel neither the need
nor the inclination for such a prayer, and the privilege of
offering it would be useless to you. If the feelings that stir
your heart are sinful emotions; if these emotions are kindled
by the fire of passion; then the thought of God and prayer to
Him can have no place beside them, But that disquietude,
so altogether natural to man as God has made him, which agitates us at the touch of loss and misfortune, or when
threatened with a check being laid on our activities, or with
separation from those we love—such disquietude should not
keep us back from God; for only thus will our hearts not
condemn us, and we shall have confidence towards God
(1 John iii. 21). Christ Himself, as you see here, used no
other means to allay this so unusual agitation in His holy
soul. Prayer alone was the means He took. In the very
midst of His trouble He turned in supplication to His
heavenly Father; just when His soul was sorrowful even
unto death, He left His disciples to go and pray.
But while I most sincerely encourage you to do this, I
just as earnestly entreat you, in the second place, by no
means to feel sure that what you ask will of necessity take
place because of your prayer. The words of Christ leave no
room to doubt that He really and most earnestly prayed that
the suffering before Him might be averted; He uses the
very same words which He always used in speaking of it;
and we know only too well from the close of His history
that the event was not according to His prayer. That which
He had always foreseen and foretold befel Him; He had the
cup of suffering, just as He saw it set before Him in His hour
of sorrow and dread, to drain to the last drop. And a result
which His prayer did not effect will not and cannot be
effected by ours. Do not then infer, as many do, from the
promises in certain passages of Scripture, that God always
gives what is asked of Him in true faith and out of a pure
heart. You will not deny that Christ had a faith that might
have been pre-eminently a reason for God’s favour, and in
His filial and submissive entreaty you will find nothing unbefitting to a pure heart. Such an answer then must have
been given to Him above all others; and the words spoken
by Himself, “Ask, and ye shall receive,” must therefore
have some other meaning than that which we have indicated,
since this was not the sense in which the promise was fulfilled to Him, the Author and Finisher of our faith. And if
not to Him, how should it come to pass that God should
fulfil your wishes because of your prayers? Do you think
it might be more possible in your case than in His, because
His suffering and death was a part of God’s great plan for
the restoration of the human race? But in reality every
thing is taken into account in God’s plan, and it is all one
plan. Whatever your heart may long for, sooner will heaven
and earth pass away than the slightest tittle be changed of
what has been decreed in the counsels of the Most High.
Or is this your idea: it is true that the Eternal cannot
change His purpose, but knowing all things beforehand, He
knew when and what His pious and beloved children would
ask from Him, and has so arranged the chain of events that
the issue shall accord with their wishes? That is to try at
once to honour the wisdom of God and to flatter the childish
fancies of men. God has not called us to so high a place as
that our wishes should be prophecies; but certainly to some
thing higher than that the granting of those wishes should
be to us the most precious evidence of His favour. This is
really among the most perverted of the devices with which
people have tried to adorn religion; but it is only an invention of a warped understanding, not a conclusion drawn from
the way in which God reveals Himself in the world. It is dishonouring to Christ to think that He should not have been
the first in this respect; and it is dishonouring to men that
if God had arranged all this, we should so seldom meet with
examples of answered prayer.
Let us see then, in the third place, what really is the
effect of our prayers, if it is not to be sought in the agreement of the result with the expressed wish. Just the effect
that it produced in Christ’s own case. Consider, with me,
what passed, on that occasion, in His mind. He began with
the definite wish that His sufferings might pass away from
Him; but as soon as He fixed His thought on His Father in heaven to whom He prayed, this wish was at once qualified
by the humble, “if it be possible.” When from the sleeping disciples, the sight of whom must have still more disheartened Him and added fresh bitterness to His sense of
desertion, He returned to prayer, He already bent His own
wish before the thought that the will of the Father might
be something different. To reconcile Himself to this, and
willingly to consent to it, was now His chief object; nor
would He have wished that the will of God should not be
done, had He been able by that means to gain all that the
world could give.
And when He had prayed for the third time all anxiety
and dread were gone. He had no longer any wish of His
own. With words in which He sought to impart to them
some of the courage He had gained, He awakened His friends
from their sleep, and went with calm spirit and holy firmness
to meet the traitor.
There you see the effect that such a prayer ought to have.
It should make us cease from our eager longing for the possession of some earthly good, or the averting of some dreaded
evil; it should bring us courage to want, or to suffer, if God
has so appointed it; it should lift us up out of the helplessness into which we are brought by fear and passion, and
bring us to the consciousness and full use of our powers; that
so we may be able in all circumstances to conduct ourselves
as it becomes those who remember that they are living and
acting under the eye and the protection of the Most High.
But prayer will more necessarily produce this effect if
some point is not entirely lacking in our conception of the
Divine Being. If we lay before God a wish that this or that
may so happen in the world as it seems to be best for us, we
must remember that we are laying it before the Unchangeable,
in whose mind no new thought or purpose can arise since the
day when He said, “all is very good.” What was then
decreed will take place; we must not lose sight of the indisputable certainty of this thought. Well, and suppose that
which you fear has been decreed? Suppose you are to be
torn away from your beloved field of labour, or to lose the
friend to whom your heart cleaves, or that the undeserved
calumny is still to rest on you? Inevitably our first impulse will be to thrust back those fears. It cannot be, we
say; it will not be: it would be too hard; too unfatherly.
But the thought, it cannot be, will perish in our hearts when
we remember that it is the Unsearchable whom our hope
seeks to limit in this way. It may easily be—it may easily
be, is the voice that reaches us from a thousand examples of
unmerited and hardly endurable suffering. And if it should
be so—we cannot bend His will; then what remains to us but to bring our will
into accord with His?
And we are drawn to do this, and to do it from the heart,
by the encouraging thought that He to whom we would present our petition is the Only Wise. You imagine something
to be beneficial and good, and you wish that God may allow
it to happen. Does not your wish as well as your judgment
stand silent at the thought of Him? How far can you see
into the consequences and the connection of those events,
even as regards your own well-being? He knows the best
and the whole. If according to His appointment you must
do without what you desire, you have compensation for that
in all the good that you see in the world. And thus will be
called forth in us distrust of our own wisdom; humility,
that looks on ourselves as only a little part of the whole;
benevolence, that will find its satisfaction more in consideration of the world than in our own prosperity.
But the Wise is also the Kind. He will not let thee suffer
and lack thy desires merely for the sake of others; His will
is that to the upright man everything shall serve to his own
highest good. And so there comes to us the trust that, little
part as we are, account has been taken of us among the
whole; and from this comes repose of the spirit; for, whatever befals us, good must come out of it; and thus, at last
the quieted and soothed heart can cry, Father, Thy will be
done. If we once face the dreaded evil with calmness and
submission, we shall readily see in the right light the intention of all that happens to us, and our chief attention will
be directed to that. He who prays must remember that
everything that befalls us has its end in ourselves, and is
intended for our improvement and the increase of good in
us. Then he will become conscious that this aim of the
Most High, which his excited feelings had for a little while
pushed out of sight, is yet in reality his own aim also. And
if everything can be, and ought to be, a means to this end,
why should he shrink from anything that may come upon
him? If both prosperity and adversity draw out and confirm good points of character; if in both he can act worthily
and in a way well-pleasing to God; why should he not welcome both as coming from the hand of God and by His
direction? When the heart has reached this point it has
taken the right attitude. Now we are occupied with some
thing else than our feelings; with the question, What will
be required of me should this or that befall? what kind of
powers shall I employ? what kind of stand shall I make
against it? what acts of thoughtlessness must I avoid? And
if we find that it always depends on those same qualities
which we have often exercised and studied over; that the
whole of what we may be able to accomplish consists of
single acts which we have often before performed with good
results; then the soul that had shrunk in fear comes back to
the consciousness of its powers; then we feel ourselves strong enough to walk in the way that God has traced out for us,
strong enough to comfort those who are sad on our account
and more disheartened than ourselves; and if the hour comes
when the evil does befall, we can say, with a mind composed
and at peace, Let us rise and go to meet it.
According to the example of the Saviour, these are the right effects of such a prayer. I hope they will appear to
you all great and important enough to make you willingly
forget the impossible and wonderful which so many regard
as the main point in prayer. If you count it a better thing
to teach those whose training is in your hands to bear all
kinds of trouble and hardships, than always to guard them
from it, then praise the divine wisdom which, in giving us
prayer, has put into our hands a powerful means to the
former, but not to the latter.
In order to enable you still further to consider this
important subject, let me add—
II. Some general inferences that may be drawn from what
the example of Christ has taught us.
1. If nothing is changed on account of our prayers in the
course of things ordained by God, we must not attach any
special value to occasional apparent answers that we may receive. There seldom elapses any considerable time in which
our health, or our outward prosperity, or our relations with
those who are dearest to us in the world, are not threatened
by various dangers; and I hope there are few among us who
do not make such things subjects of prayer. But whatever
may be the issue of these critical circumstances, beware of
asking in your prayers for the reason of them, or seeking to
know how far God has been pleased or displeased. Besides
that this is dishonouring God, as we have already seen, it
utterly corrupts your judgment of your own and of other
men’s merits, and teaches you to attach importance to things
that have none whatever.
And yet on this judgment, if you are intelligent and consistent with yourself, depends your whole mode of life and
action. And this holds good even as to the fulfilment of our
purest and noblest wishes, that is, those which are concerned
with the progress of good, whether in general or that in
which we are instruments and fellow-labourers. Rejoice if
your righteous undertakings are successful; rejoice if God makes use of you as direct instruments for the increase of
good in the world; rejoice if at last you are specially successful in what has long been the chief object of your efforts,
your anxieties and your prayers; but let not those things
lead you to the proud belief that they are a distinctive sign
of God’s satisfaction with your spiritual condition. Many a
one with whom nothing succeeds, and whose work in the
world seems to be in vain, not only purposes as honestly, but
certainly does his duty as zealously and is as thoroughly
devout as you. To measure human merit by such things is
a dangerous imperfection of faith, and one of those for which
very specially Christ became the Mediator between God and
us. See how even He seemed to fail in everything, and yet
how God made use of Him in the noblest way! How His
request was not granted, and yet He was at that moment,
as always, the Son in whom the Father was well pleased.
2. You will now, I hope, admit that there is no true
prayer but that which I described in the beginning of our
meditation; that is to say, the prayer we offer when we have
the living thought of God accompanying, purifying and
sanctifying all our other thoughts, feelings and purposes.
All other forms which prayer may assume in isolated cases
must, if you would really please God, resolve themselves into
this one highest aspect, which takes in your whole manner
of life. Our prayer of thanksgiving is just our thought of
God united with our joy at what has taken place; and it will
only be pleasing to Him if it hallows and elevates this joy,
if it is the means of raising our interest from earthly to
higher things. If it is only thanks, mere joy in the new
possession that God has lent us, our thankoffering has no
value in His eyes.
And it is the same with our petitions, whether they concern our own circumstances, or are brotherly intercessions.
If our prayer has not the effect of moderating the wish that
it expressed, of replacing the eager desire with quiet submission, the anxious expectation with devout calmness; then
it was no true prayer, and gives sure proof that we are not
yet at all capable of this real kind of prayer.
3. In the third place, I will say to you frankly that it
seems to me a mark of greater and more genuine piety when
this entreating kind of prayer is only seldom used by us,
and we do not allow our thoughts to be long occupied
with it. For why is it, after all, that our prayer takes
the form of entreaty? When we desire something that
we ourselves cannot accomplish, and at the same time remember God; then occurs to us first of all the thought of
His almighty power in contrast to our weakness, and we
would like to try to make that power favourable to us. That
is prayer as dictated by the weak human heart. But there
lies at the bottom of this a defective idea of God. If we
called to mind what should always come most readily to our
thoughts—His holiness and wisdom—our wish would quickly
take the form by which the prayers of pious men must
always be distinguished. And, no doubt, the more habitual
real piety is with us, the oftener we think of all that we
can learn about God, just so much the more quickly will this
change take place.
Those who boast that they can persist in prayer, that they
do not grow weary in beseeching God to bring about this or
that, are still very far from the spirit of true godly fear.
It is told us of Christ several times that He retired into
solitude, and spent whole nights in prayer. But it was not
the fear of anything that might occur, not interest in any
event, that drew Him to prayer; but the need of His heart
to give Himself up to devout meditation, and to the undisturbed enjoyment of communion with His Father, without a
definite wish or a special request. Whereas, when we find
Jesus entreating, it is in exceptional and therefore only in
rare instances. It needed, indeed, an occasion of strong
emotion, such as is not likely to occur very frequently in our lives, to call forth in His holy soul so much that must tend
to our comfort in the subject before us. Are you overtaken
by such an occasion? Then entreat, until true prayer makes
you forget entreaty.
As for those who boast that they often supplicate in this
way; that they seek God’s presence several times a day to
ask about everything, either that has already happened or
that they wish to obtain, and to thank Him for every trifle
connected with their daily life; it seems to me they have
little to boast of. However much they may say of the
devotion with which they offer these prayers, I really
believe that in such prayers there is no real devotion. At stated times
they lay their wants before God; their prayers belong, like other little pieces
of business, to the order of the day; and from them they go at once to other
employments or pleasures in which no trace of religion can be seen; and in the
same way they come from the midst of cares and work and merriment to prayer,
with their minds filled and pervaded with earthly things. Does that, to a heart whose
intercourse with God is habitual, indicate a good state of
things? He who is chiefly aroused to the thought of God” by a sense of dependence certainly does not think really of
Him at all, and the true Christian spirit is utterly wanting
in him. Whatever assurances such persons may give us of
the blessings brought to their hearts by such prayer, these
are certainly only incidental and passing emotions. Do they
not always speak the same customary words? Do they not,
for the most part, pray with their thoughts far away? We
all know how little effect such prayer can have on one’s
inner life. It is in truth no loss to Christianity when such
customs fall into disuse. No; with a light heart would I
see all these forms and fixed hours of prayer disappear; free
as they may be from any superstitious intention, and what
ever bearing they may be thought to have on morality and
fulfilment of duty. A heart-stirring thought of the Creator, when our eye rests on His works, out of the quiet delight
which we take in His creation; a thought of the Ruler of
the world, checking our false estimates, amidst our talk of
the fortunes and undertakings of men; a sense of Him
whose image becomes manifest in us when we feel ourselves
overflowing with love and good-will, amidst the social enjoyment of those noble human feelings; a glad sense of His
love when we are enjoying His gifts; when we succeed in
some good work, a thankful sense of His support; when we
meditate on His commandments, the great hope that He
wishes to raise us to His own likeness; this is true prayer:
the blessings of which I heartily desire we may all abundantly enjoy.
II.
THE DYING SAVIOUR OUR EXAMPLE.
(On Good Friday.)
TEXT: MARK xv. 34-41.
HEAVENLY Father! On all who are assembling to
day to commemorate the death of the Holy One,
in whom Thou wast well pleased, look graciously down!
Let not one go away from the cross of Thy Well-beloved
without exclaiming, with new, living faith, Truly this was
the Son of God! Let not one wipe away his tears of
emotion until the heartfelt desire has taken possession of
him that his end may be like that of this righteous One!
Let not the feeling of holy reverence and admiration, that
must lay hold on every one at the remembrance of the dying
Christ, be left behind within these walls and bear no fruit;
let it go forth with us all into our life, so that it may be
more and more consecrated to Thee, and become more like to
His, until at last we follow Him, in departing with good
courage to Thee. Amen.
A sad and moved heart, my brethren, I take for granted
in all of us at this hour, and to this I wish to address
myself. Let us, I entreat you, lay aside, at least for the
present, all the separate notions that each of us may have
of certain particular benefits and blessings from the death of Jesus. I honour them all, if they dwell in a heart that I
honour; but it would be sad if the most sacred of days were
spent in raising questions, in sifting opinions, in instituting
discussions, by which minds are not moved for good, and are
often quite turned away from each other, through differences, which of course there must always be, coming to light
at the very time when we desire to be most cordially united.
No, we wish to unite in such meditations as may be of equal
importance and equal blessing to us all, as surely as we all
reverence in Christ the Author of our faith, as we all count
His death a death of love and obedience, as we all set before
us His life even to death as the pattern which we seek to
follow; yes, His life even to death, not even excluding the
last experiences of His holy soul. Whether we, like Him,
shall retain to our last heart-beat the full use of all the
faculties of our minds, is a question on which we can come to
no decision; it is a special favour of God, depending on the
circumstances in which He brings about the close of our
life. But the last heart-beat is not really the end of life;
life ceases with the last thought and feeling that our
spirit brings forth in union with its body; with the last
glance in which the surrounding world is still visible to us;
with the last consciousness of our earthly circumstances;
and if we are then to treat those circumstances, and to
regard this world, and to look back on our past life just as
He did, that can be the fruit solely of a life led just as His
was, and of a mind just as collected. Therefore let us learn
to die in seeing Christ die! It is no small thing that I
expect from you in calling on you to do this; for it is with
the death of the Saviour as it was with His life; let him
who seeks only happiness and joy shun likeness to Him;
let him alone seek it who covets what is great and perfect at
any price. An easier end, a gentler sleeping away than the
Saviour’s there may easily be; but none that would be more
sublime, none more worthy of a pious and virtuous heart. Let him who covets such an end look now with me at the
perfecting of the Holy One of God.
In wishing that we may die as Christ did, I do not mean
to advert to that state of mind which for every one who has
walked in the right way is a matter of course. That regret
for a wasted life may not be our last crushing feeling, that
a too fond clinging to the joys and possessions of this world
may not make the leaving of it more difficult than it ought
to be, that no anxious doubt may mingle in our childlike
submission to Him who is leading us into the valley of
death; let there be no question of these things among us.
There are three other particulars to which I wish to direct
your attention as something greatly to be desired; desirable,
I mean, just for this reason, that in order to act as Christ
did in those circumstances, the close and complete likeness
to Him, at which we are all aiming, will be necessary. I
desire, then, that in dying we may all have, in the first
place, the same sorrow over unaccomplished deeds; secondly,
the same calmness under the unjust judgments of the world;
and thirdly, that we may be in the same way surrounded
by tender and faithful friends. Let your devout attention
be directed for the present to these particulars.
I. Oh, that we might all die with the same sorrow over
unaccomplished deeds, which was so plainly revealed in
the Saviour’s sorrowful cry, “My God, My God, why hast
Thou forsaken Me?” For do you suppose that this cry
was wrung from Him by bodily suffering? Heavy as the
pressure of that may have been, yet for Him to whom it
still left strength for such expressions of kindness, of care
and sympathy as Christ gave from His cross, it could not
obscure the principle He had so often asserted, that suffering can just as little be a token of the displeasure of the
Most High as success is a pledge of His favour. Or was
it that Jesus clung to the joys of life, so that He was afflicted
by the necessity of leaving it while so young? Or was it perhaps that His imagination was so filled with ideas
of future worldly greatness that He was mortified at not
being able to attain to it? No; but He loved His duty
with His whole heart; the thought of the great work to
which He had devoted His life still filled His soul. And
when He reflected how far that work still was from completion; how in fact not one of His disciples had clearly
understood His views and feelings or seen into His plan,
how little they were prepared for all that must now burst
upon them, and how easily the bond that held them together
might be dissolved; could we well wonder if He had asked,
My God, My God, why hast Thou withdrawn Thy protecting
hand from this undertaking? But this He does not ask.
fie knew how closely the thread of His designs was woven
into the plan of Providence; He only wished that it had
been appointed to Himself to carry on the great business
still further; He only asks, from the depth of a heart
that cannot do enough of good, why the Eternal should
now call Him away, in order to carry forward the great
work without His help; He saw so plainly what more He
would have brought to pass; and the Most High was not
permitting Him to do it.
It is this very desire and sorrow that I wish for us all
in our last hours. It is not needful for this that we be
snatched away, as Christ was, in the prime of life from
some great work; every one may feel thus, in whatever
position he may be. Are you servants of the State, administrators of public regulations; may you grieve that you
cannot still reform abuses and introduce improvements!
Are you independent and wealthy; may you grieve that
you cannot set agoing one more benevolent institution, or
do this thing and that for the unfortunate whom you protect!
Are you scholars and philosophers; may you be reluctant to interrupt an
instructive presentation of your thoughts, or to turn away from a new field of
human knowledge! Are you artists and workmen; may it grieve you that you
are not to bestow on one more piece of work at least the
new perfection that you have planned or practised! You
young men, may you long for even a little while in which
to practise and set forth, in your own domestic life, the
principles of virtue and religion which you hold dear! You men in your prime,
may it break your hearts not to be able to complete the training of your
children, to bring on further the young who were trustfully clinging to you! You
old men, may it grieve you not to be able still longer to use, for the good of
your descendants, the well-earned respect in which you are held, and to support
with the counsel of your mature wisdom any good work that is undertaken around
you!
In wishing this for you, my brethren, I am, in fact, only
wishing that you may never cease to love your work, and
to devote to it your whole consideration, your whole strength.
If there could ever be a point in human life at which, for
those so disposed, the account might be closed, and no work
in process, I should be inclined to wish, for the sake of
sparing you this pain, that each of you might die at that
point of time, before a new series of operations were begun,
which you could not complete; but such a resting-point you
will not find. There is no rest and no standing still in a
spirit that loves duty and work. Every change brought
about by the course of nature and of human affairs brings
with it new problems and new duties; while you are occupied in meeting the duties of one relationship another has
already developed. And even were it not so, the reciprocal
influence of action and reflection produces an incessant
movement, and ever new desires and efforts. Each action
enlarges and corrects our insight into the subject; and all
improved insight makes us eager at once to apply it. In
the midst of work, therefore, in the midst of unfinished
work, death finds every one who is making a right use of life; and from the painful feeling that results from this,
he alone can be free who cowardly flees from his obligations
and buries himself in vanity and shadows when the voice
of duty is addressed to him; such a one may die weary of
life, for he has never known its fairest charm. Or the man
of slavish spirit, who is content with an empty show of
virtue, and knows no higher aim than to have done nothing
deserving of punishment—he also, provided his delusion
holds out so long, may meet death without feeling; for the
future which he is losing has not drawn him with the
attraction of new services and completed works, but has
only shown him fearful struggles and new temptations.
But, some one might say, even thus there remains also
to the sensual and earthly-minded, who is driven from one
desire to another, a still unsatisfied longing for some enjoyment; are we, then, with our pain, really in the least degree
better than he? Are we better, indeed! We can do what
he cannot: we can ask God why He sends us this pain, and
He will answer us. Even Christ did not die in asking this
sorrowful question. Whatever in it proceeds from the
blameless desire that good may be done through us will
be lost in the thought that His grace must be sufficient for
us; whatever zeal we have for the cause of God will be
changed into childlike confidence in Him who will find ways
and means for His purposes without us. A divine repose
thus soothes away that pain. If it is really only good that
we have in view, then let us in commending our spirit to
God also commend with comfort our works and plans to
Him; and whatever may remain incomplete, we shall yet be
able justly to say, It is finished.
II. Again, we could all desire to die with undisturbed
tranquility, notwithstanding all unjust and unreasonable
judgments, the most unfeeling and hostile behaviour of
men. This we see in the case of Christ.
With the meanest cruelty His adversaries found amusement in the sufferings of His last moments, and misconstrued, out of malice or ignorance, His plain words, that they
might turn them to ridicule; yet not the slightest sign of
displeasure escaped His lips. That treatment from men to
wards Him who had deserved so much from them appears
perhaps the very bitterest ingredient in His cup of suffering;
and yet I feel bound to say that even this is a kind of suffering which, as long as things are in their present state in the
world, we also shall have to bear, though in a slighter degree; and in the face of which, in whatever way it ma} come
upon us, the composure of the Saviour must be welcome
and desirable to us. Unreasonable judgments are something
that we must inevitably bear. No one is so high, and no
one so low, that they cannot reach him. And a really
Christian and upright disposition—why should we shut our
eyes to the fact?—is everywhere so rare that men have too
little opportunity of observing it to be able to discover and
distinguish it. Then why should they presuppose just what
is unknown and rare, in order to explain men’s conduct
by that? They take most satisfaction in what is most
improbable; they exhaust themselves in ingeniously imagining what is absurd.
Moreover, it is not at all difficult to attribute every
separate expression of this Christian feeling to some other
motive. If incidentally something results from it that is
agreeable to the ordinary inclinations of men, then the
explanation is ready. If it cannot well be said that such
a satisfaction was sought or aimed at in what was done,
then it was vanity, the desire to appear singular; hypocrisy, seeking to make a show of virtue and unselfishness;
or there was some hidden motive at the bottom of it, which
the sagacity of a spy quickly discovers. And then if
one action, thus explained, contradicts others, the assumptions become the bolder, and scorn is poured more maliciously on so inconsistent a man. He casts out devils by the prince of devils; this is the way in which those who
truly honour God and His law in the most difficult positions,
where they have acted most nobly, are judged by the great
majority of men. They will rather believe that we do good
out of hatred, that we care little for the good things of the
world out of selfishness, that we expose ourselves to the
ridicule of the world from a desire for glory—rather all
this than attribute anything to real and unfeigned godliness.
If we are obliged during our lifetime to make a considerable
experience of this, it will be all the more certainly the case
in our last hours.
If we continue to the end vigorous and active in the community, the attention of many will be directed to our manner
of withdrawing from the scene. If to the end we are the
centre of a little circle of beloved and congenial spirits, with
whom our thoughts, our counsels, the expression of our
opinions had always some influence, other eyes will be
turned with curiosity to our dying bed. And if we have
then still strength to express our inmost feelings, those
spectators will see in those hours everything that they
were unable to understand or reconcile, pressed into very
narrow compass. Our unchanged attachment to the occupations of life, which we have loved and earnestly carried
on, and the joy with which we look forward to what is
prepared for us in the better kingdom of Christ; the calmness with which we shall be ready to part with all that
belongs only to our surroundings in this world, and to
what is peculiar to the earthly condition; the calmness
with which we shall even see our powers decaying, our
senses failing, and our limbs growing benumbed under the
first touch of the cold hand of death; and, together with
that, our continued lively interest in everything that concerns the welfare of our friends and relatives, the prosperity
of the Fatherland, the peace of society, the extension of
truth, and the unimpeded progress of good in the world; how can all these things together be anything but incomprehensible to them? Then, that they may not be obliged
to admire this greatness of soul, as they call it, they will
call to mind every act of weakness, perhaps from long ago;
or if they have not that at command, they will remember, as
they did with Christ, words and actions which breathed the
very spirit of His, but on which they had long ago pronounced a perverted sentence of condemnation; then, even
in the last utterances of a pious heart that honours the law
of God, they will again discover the old pride, which was
long ago their abomination, the fanaticism that they long
ago despised, the party zeal that they have always hated,
the hypocrisy that they had often felt compelled to expose.
Alas for us if then those who love us should be obliged
carefully to conceal from us the last hard and false judgments that have been pronounced on us, lest they should
awaken us from the sweet dream that men at least know
and honour true piety and a moral tone of feeling, though
they themselves have no share in it! Alas for us if it were
necessary then to deceive us as to the opinion of men, lest
some bitter feeling should cloud our last hours! It would
be a sign that we had never learned to know men; that we
had gone about among them innocently but also very ignorantly, and that if longer life were allotted to us, we should
go on being mistaken about them, It is therefore with good
reason that I wish for us all in this event the Saviour’s
calmness and equanimity; for it is the result of the most
mature wisdom and the most genuine piety. He whose
heart would not even in his last moments be broken by the
blindness that degenerates into abuse and calumny, should it
come under his notice, must be one who has long known the
foolish wisdom and the deep corruption of men. He who,
in such a case, is not betrayed into angrily repenting of the
kindness he has shown them has certainly had in view in
all his doings, not the favour of men, not praise, not gratitude, but only the will of the Most High. He who even
then retains enough of goodwill to say, Father, forgive them,
for they know not what they do,—his love is of the purest
and most divine kind.
III. We could all desire to die surrounded, as the Saviour
was, with loving and suffering friends. There stood His
tender mother and the disciple whom He loved, and He
established between them a heartfelt bond of care and faith
fulness; there stood the women who had followed Him, and
no doubt many others of His worshippers less known to us.
What a comfort must it have been to Him that He could
still exert a beneficent influence on them all, and strengthen
their faith and their purposes by everything great and
divine that was manifested in Him! And as certainly must
their fidelity and their presence have softened for Him the
sufferings of death, and filled His heart with comforting
feelings. If His sorrow at the interruption of His work
bore witness that He had worthily maintained His post; if
His equanimity under the mockery of His enemies could
be a proof of the reality and fulness of His wisdom; on
the other hand, this love and faithfulness, enduring even
to death, were the best testimony that He, with His loving
heart, had enjoyed in His whole sphere of work the highest
happiness of life. And it is for such reasons that I wish
for ourselves, above all things, to die in such company; nay,
as much as lies with ourselves, I demand it of every one.
Do not say that it does not depend on you, but on the free
grace of God, whether before your death the fairest ties of
nature may be loosed, whether many a one among you may
not perhaps remain the last of all his connection, whether
death may not come upon many of you far away from parents
and children, from brothers and sisters and kindred. I entreat you, honoured and blessed as those affections are which
nature itself has created, do not think solely of them. It
is the common rule that death has here made many blanks before it takes ourselves away from our place; but though
all who are related to us by ties of blood were gathered
round our dying bed, we could not experience the comfort
afforded by the presence of friendship, unless they were at
the same time the confidants of our sentiments, and under
stood our inmost heart. Behold, said Christ once, pointing
to His chosen friends, these are My mother and My brethren;
just those it was, for the most part, who now, as sorrowing
friends, stood round His cross; and. just such ought not to
be lacking to any of us so long as we are still on earth. Do
not doubt whether you can attain to this happiness; it
would be no adverse fortune, but a mournful sign that you
had not rightly solved the highest problem of life. The
world is not arranged in so malevolent a spirit that from
any one who needs and deserves it a friend should be with
held to whom he may open his heart. The power of human
nature in drawing congenial minds together is so great that
if you only think more correctly and deeply about every
thing, if you feel anything more heartily and particularly,
and express it in your actions, the people who are certain to
find this out are just those who know how to value it, or
who are like you in that respect. It will only depend on
your need of enjoying love and friendship whether a firm
and lasting union of spirits is brought about; it depends
only on your own will whether you shall still enjoy even in
death the peculiar comforts imparted by the presence of
friends. Do not fear, when you have found them, that the
mutability of the human heart will deprive you of them;
that does not reach the depths in which true friendship
strikes its roots. Look at Christ; He lost none of His own,
but only the one lost sheep, that the Scripture might be
fulfilled; and be convinced that in real friendship there can
be no instability, no unfaithfulness. Do not fear that death
may nevertheless carry off all these from you before the goal
of your own life is reached; for that faculty of the human spirit never ceases, and you can never be quite without
objects on whom to use it. It is true, a friend whom you
have lost will never be replaced; each later connection will
take a different form from the preceding; but yet it may
be deep and heartfelt, and then it gives the happy consciousness that you enjoy love and respect for your own
sake, and influence the depths of a human soul by your own.
And fear least of all, I entreat you, the destructive inroads
that time may make on your own mind. Do not suppose
that dying in possession of loving friends is a special
privilege of those who, like Christ, are called away in the
flower of their days. Whatever may be said, it is not in
the nature of the human soul to become in old age blunted
to those joys, to treat the old connections more coldly, and
to form new ones reluctantly. If you have ever rightly
estimated them, you will always long for them, and never,
even in extreme old age, will you stand alone in the world;
nay, even if you knew that the next day was to be your
last, you would yet, if you met to-day for the first time with
one whom you could embrace with hearty love, long to win
his affection and try by tender ways to attract it to yourself.
But, you will say, although it is possible and desirable to
have friends till the end of life, ought we not then at least to
send them away from us rather than to gather them round
us? Why increase still more the bitter sensations connected
with death by witnessing with sadness and anxiety the sorrow of our friends, and thinking of the critical circumstances
in which we are perhaps leaving one and another? Why
should we mutually make it obvious, by all that is most
vivid in the present, how great a loss we are suffering?
We see that Christ did not think in this way. He did not
send away His mother and His friend from His cross, but
willingly allowed them to be witnesses of His death. A
sacred duty calls on us to do the same. We are not by our
own fault to break off man’s highest ministry even by a moment too soon. We do not know what profitable results
the very last outpourings of love may have; and if we show to
our friends how a man is exalted even in death by the power
of piety and of true wisdom, it will be a blessed impression.
But even for our own sakes I desire for us that very sorrow
and sadness; for in order not to shrink from such experiences we must be animated by a certain courage, which has
the most important effect on a man’s whole life, and imparts
something great and sublime even to its close. It is cowardly
and ungrateful to deny ourselves the last enjoyment of any
blessing, because we are obliged to remember that it is the
last; for that would lead to casting away from us all the
gifts of God, and prematurely to deprive our life of every
thing pleasant. Even in happy youth does not the feeling
of the transitory nature of all earthly things arise? Are we
not often involuntarily seized by the thought that each joy
may be the last; and ought we not often intentionally to
hold fast that thought and look it in the face? but it ought
just as little to disturb and discourage a brave spirit in his
last moment as in the midst of the hope of a long life. It is
an ignoble thing ever to shrink from a pain which is only
made possible by the finest instincts of our nature; with so
cowardly a state of mind we should have been obliged from
the beginning to neglect what was best in us, because we are
always exposed in some way to this pain; but a brave spirit
will, even at the last moment, feel more strengthened and
elevated by the consciousness of having possessed and cultivated this disposition than shaken and weakened by the
deepest sorrow.
Let us all strive until our last moment after these purest
joys of life! let us bind firmly every tie of love and goodwill, and most firmly
of all, not perhaps those which afford us the most lively pleasure, but that
which is meant to strengthen and perfect what is highest and noblest in us
through real union of minds. Who could help thinking, in this connection, of the union which some of us are about to renew at the
Lord’s Table, of the covenant of brotherly love and of faithful following of Jesus! The more we value the being fellow-members of Christ, and the more worthy we are, so much the
more certainly shall we become like Him, even in our death,
in regard to all that we have now been considering. We
know that wherever several persons are united in seeking the
same end, each one’s pleasure and zeal is increased. And if
we take this serious view of the fellowship in which we
stand with all to whom, in common with us, is committed the
promotion of Christ’s great work, on whom, as on us, His
Spirit rests, how much more opportunity does that give us
for all kinds of good! how much more cheerfully can we take
up what lies in our own way! how many a call do we meet
to lend our support to what others have begun! Oh, none
are more diligent in good works than the members of this
covenant! Death assuredly finds them in the midst of
manifold activities; they certainly look with sad wistfulness, when leaving the
world, at their noble legacy of deeds begun!
You are now engaging anew to go on according to our
common rule of faith, you make your profession of this
publicly and aloud, and there is no doubt that the more
honesty and seriousness you show in this act the less can
you escape the derision to which those who reverence
religion are exposed. But the encouraging approval of your
brethren will compensate you for the cruel judgments of the
world; the example of so many who have patiently borne
what was to be suffered for the faith will strengthen your
courage. And what should be the nursery of sincere and
faithful friends, if not the Church of Christ, the association
of men with whom unselfishness and benevolence, sympathy
and helpful love are natural sentiments, among whom every
kind of wisdom and perfection ought to exist and to be ready
for the service of each? Thus then renew with sincere and devout hearts this glorious covenant, and let us all desire
that the Saviour who instituted it may look down on us well
pleased, and that His Spirit may rest abundantly upon us.
(Preached before the King, in the Royal Garrison Church
at Potsdam, probably in March. 1799.)
III.
A NATION’S DUTY IN A WAR FOR
FREEDOM.
(Preached March 28th, 1813.)
TEXT: JEREMIAH xvii. 5-8, AND xviii. 7-10.
MY devout hearers! Through an extraordinary occurrence we find the order of our discourses on the
suffering Saviour interrupted, and our to-day’s meeting devoted to a very different subject. How deeply have we all
been moved by the events of the last weeks! We saw
march forth from our gates the army of a people nominally
allied to us, but our feeling was not that of parting with
friends; with thankful joy did we feel at last the long,
heavy pressure removed from us. Immediately after that
came the troops of another nation, nominally at war with
us; but with the most joyful enthusiasm were they received
when they made themselves known as the friends of the
king and the people. And when, not long after them, we
saw our own warriors also returning, then no one could any
longer doubt, and the word passed joyfully from mouth to
mouth: Thanks for the heavenly, unmistakable tokens which
God the Lord has given through the fearful turmoil of war
in the North; thanks to the noble and brave military leaders
who, disregarding the appearance of disobedience and the
infraction of the letter, and acting really according to the
mind and spirit of the king, dared to take the first decisive step towards freeing us from the intolerable bonds under
which we had so long been held; thanks to the king, who
when this favourable moment presented itself, could not do
otherwise than let his feeling, which was entirely the same
as ours, bear sway; thanks to all this, the great change, the
transition from bondage to freedom, is in preparation. But
openly as wo thanked God with joy among ourselves, it was
not yet time to do so publicly; for the king had not yet
spoken. At last sounded forth to us the long and impatiently
expected royal word, which, although certainly the public
papers have deeply impressed it on us all, we shall as certainly hear once more with joy and emotion when it is read
to-day by the king’s command from every pulpit in the city.
It runs thus. [Here followed the summons of the king, To
my people.]
Thus the king; and I count it only fair to abstain from
speaking in laudation of this royal word. It is still fresh in
all our hearts, the delight in the certainty of battle which
this word gives us, in the high and noble spirit which here
gives utterance to what all the best in the nation had long
felt and thought. And now, hardly had we heard this
glorious call when our ear was greeted by the triumphant
shout of a city loved and revered by every German heart,
which was the first to be freed from the direct yoke of the
enemy; and, as the crown of all, we saw our beloved king
himself come among us with a feeling—we may freely admit
it to ourselves—that can never before have lifted up his
heart, for he never before had an opportunity of feeling so
deeply and truly that which is the source of the highest
happiness and exaltation to a ruler, the purest harmony
between his will and his people’s wish; we saw him lead
forth on the way to meet the enemy the army which, at his
command, had been consecrated and blessed for the battle by
prayer. This then, the departure of our army to battle, to
decisive battle for what is highest and noblest, is the subject which, as it assuredly fills and stirs all our hearts, is to
occupy our attention at this hour, so that for us also this
holy war may begin with humble, elevating thoughts of God,
and that our hope and our joy may be sanctified to Him.
I have taken these words of the prophet on which to found
our meditation, not at all, as it may possibly appear, in order
to institute a comparison between ourselves and that nation
against whom we are going to war; but merely in order
rightly to distinguish what is conflicting in our own history,
that we may thus be led up to the essential part in the great
change in which we are rejoicing. For, my friends, the joy
that befits us in this place is not joy merely because the
oppression and suffering under which we have long sighed
are now at an end; not the joy which paints for us in
anticipation bright pictures of future prosperity which we
hope to attain; here this must be only second and last with
us. And if, nevertheless, this contrast still presents itself to
us, let us apply it to ourselves in this way, that we feel, as the
prophet represents to us, that in the individual, but still more
in the mass, changes in the lot depend on the rise and fall of
intrinsic worth. Yes, let us here consider the great change
entirely from this point of our worthiness before God. On
two things included in this, these words give us light;
first, what, in this aspect, is the exact significance and the real
nature of the change; and second, what we must therefore
feel called on to do.
I. In order to understand rightly what is the main point
in the great change in our position as citizens which is begun
by the present declaration of war, wo must look back to a
former time well known to us all, and through which many of
us lived, when deep decay and fearful devastations had fallen
on these lands. Then, through the efforts of several wise and
strict rulers, through a judicious taking advantage of events,
through successfully conducted wars, but most through the
growing up of a noble and free aspiring spirit in the people themselves, we became a nation and kingdom regarding which
the whole world saw that the Lord would build and plant it
and had promised to do it good. And suddenly enough for
all those to whom gradual growth is less perceptible, we
found ourselves at this height. But gradually, and while
dreaming of rising yet far higher, we slipped downwards,
and then just as suddenly plunged to the bottom. For we
began to boast of our strength, to rely on the fear with which
we might inspire other nations, and thus the effects of our
former fame were to carry us ever higher without the forth-putting of our own power, without works on our part pleasing
to God. We became the man who makes flesh his arm and
whose heart departeth from the Lord. Dishonest acquisitions
enlarged our territory in a way more apparent than profit
able; for we acquired but few true brethren who willingly
obeyed the same laws and laboured for the same end. While
other States put forth efforts and wore themselves out in constantly renewed wars, partly for the sake of the same great
blessings for which we are now about to fight, we thought
to become ever mightier and more formidable through repose.
Thus our self-confident prudence was gradually followed by
despondency, and we became in yet another way the man
who trusts in man; for he also who flatters men and fears
them trusts in man. And with our fame our very sense of
honour became, more and more, as time went on, an empty
name. And more and more our heart departed from the
Lord. In a puffed-up, unnatural prosperity the old virtues
were by degrees lost, a flood of vanity and dissipation laid
waste the laborious works of long and better years; and
plainly as the voice of the Lord made itself heard warning us
to repentance, we did not obey Him; we did evil in His
sight, and therefore He repented of the good that He had
promised to do us. And suddenly, just as we seemed about
to rouse up out of the long blindness and stupidity in which,
however, the greater number were still wrapped, though not more deeply than before—suddenly the Lord spoke out
against us as against a nation and kingdom which He would
pluck up and pull down and destroy. Then there fell upon
us that grievous, crushing disaster in war, and this sudden
fall from the height into the abyss was followed by the ever
more deeply and painfully suicidal calamity of peace. I am
not speaking of the privations, of the distress, of the poverty,
of the constantly increasing difficulty in all the external
relations of life; I speak only of the inward spiritual corruption which was, one hardly knows whether to say, brought
to light by this state of things, or actually created and formed
by it. The wretched habit of continually bearing indignity,
which we practised publicly and privately during those
seven dismal years with the feeling that to let righteous
indignation have free course could only increase the evil
without any beneficial result—that habit and that feeling
are the fruit of sluggishness, of enervation, of cowardice; but
how did they in turn increase and spread cowardice, sluggishness and enervation, until all confidence in ourselves, every
hope, except the foolish hope of a help that was to come
merely from without—till even the wish to be able to help
ourselves, nay, till even the sense of being worthy of a better
condition disappeared; and the miserable idea took possession
of men’s minds that the living, mental energy of the nation
was entirely exhausted, and the hour of utter ruin had come.
This fear had power with not a few among us, who were day
by day expecting the dissolution of our separate existence,
and who, no longer hoping to see any comfort in the future,
were only speculating how they could most comfortably
accommodate themselves to the foreign yoke. The impossibility which we so often met, of escaping the danger of the
moment without falsehood and fraud, the necessity to feign
praise and approval, nay, even agreement and friendship,
where we could only despise and detest; all this was no
doubt the fruit of that loss of shame which for the sake of life ignored all life’s noble aims; but how fearfully was this
shamelessness developed by that condition of things, and what
an amount of humiliation it took even to provoke public indignation! The insecurity of all property and all rights was
no doubt in great part a consequence of the thoughtlessness
with which, in times of calamity, people so often try to free
themselves from the distress of the moment or to enjoy its
fleeting pleasure, without remembering what they ruin or
risk in the long run; but to what a degree did that in
secure condition increase this thoughtlessness! How did we
see luxury and extravagance as in the most prosperous times!
how did we see usury and regardless violence sucking up
the property of others and lavishing its own, as if all were
indeed devoted to speedy ruin! This is the deep corruption
into which, on the one hand, we had fallen; and if, on the
other hand, our fall and these its effects opened the eyes of
many for the first time, others made it more plainly visible
than before what was wanting in us; if, in many, a noble
ardour was kindled to cast off the indignity that oppressed us
from without, and to banish what defiled us within, yet even
these noble germs of better things, without definite form or
connection, could only excite apprehensions of an irregular
outbreak, behind which the cowardice and baseness of others
would only the more impregnably intrench and fortify themselves.
Such was our condition, my friends, and no one could conceal from himself that if we continued in the same alliances
and in the same state of dependence, we must become more
and more like the heath in the desert. Now if I regard the
renunciation of these alliances and the attitude of war which,
on the contrary, we have assumed, and the beginning of which
we are celebrating—if I regard these as the beginning for
us all of being lifted up from this deep fall; if I hope that
God will now repent of the evil that He purposed to do us;
this is founded chiefly on the following things.
In the first place, and to begin with what every one must
at moments have most deeply felt; this change is in itself
the turning back to truth, the deliverance from the humiliating hypocrisy, which every one, the more he believed him
self bound to represent in his talk not himself but the State,
really carried to a dreadful perfection. Now, thank God,
we can again say when we abhor, or when we love and
respect; and as every man of honour must stand to his
word with deeds, we must surely feel free and strong in
this, we must feel that we have a right to hope; for he who
yields himself to truth without reservation is trusting in
the Lord. But just because the word alone is nothing, and
because this word more than any other demands deeds,
therefore this change is the return to free action and to
independence. How long, my friends, have we really had
no will about our common affairs, always accommodating our
selves to circumstances, and to the oppressive foreign force,
so far as it chose to reach! Now we have once more a will;
now the king, confiding in his people, has declared a determination in which (because after this no reconciliation
can be hoped for) there is involved the resolution to
enter on a course of brave deeds which can only end, as the
royal word says, in glorious ruin or in the firm establishment of this precious blessing of liberty. And hence we
found on this change the hope that we shall preserve
for ourselves our own distinctive character, our laws,
our constitution and our culture. Every nation, my
friends, which has developed to a certain height is degraded by receiving into it a foreign element, even though
that may be good in itself; for God has imparted to each its
own nature, and has therefore marked out bounds and limits
for the habitations of the different races of men on the face
of the earth. And yet how the foreign element has lately
been thrusting itself upon us! how it threatened the more as time went on to
drive out our good manners and ways! And what a foreign element! Half the product of the
unbridled ferocity of those horrible internal disorders, half
devised for the later tyranny. In rising up to cast this
utterly off and to keep it away from us for the future, we
become once more a kingdom that trusts in the Lord; for
in Him is that nation trusting which means to defend at any
price the distinctive aims and spirit which God has implanted in it, and is thus fighting for God’s work; and only
in proportion as we succeed in this can we become as a tree
planted by the waters, that fears not when heat cometh, and
brings forth its own fruit without ceasing.
But a joyful hope of revival arises very specially from
the way and manner in which the great work of which we
are celebrating the commencement is developing. First of
all, let us not pass unmentioned the gifts which we see
offered by rich and poor, great and small, on the altar of
the Fatherland. We do not wish to consider those according to their sufficiency for the purpose to which they are
devoted—for willingly and abundantly as they are given,
they yet meet but a small part of the need—but according
to their inward significance and to the spirit of which they
are the expression. In offering them we did not wait till
a requisition was made and a command given, but as soon
as we knew the need we hastened to offer. As it is death
to any commonwealth if only the letter of the law prevails,
and no one takes more interest in it, by act or feeling, than
that prescribes; as this is a sure sign that the higher
blessings of life are not produced by fixed regulations;
so this loyal, living feeling about whatever is necessary for
the commonwealth is a sure sign that the life-giving sap of
true love has penetrated into the State, and that the leaves
of this spiritual tree will remain green even in the heat and
in the year of drought. And if many a one has devoted all
that he had remaining of earthly jewels and treasures, let
us regard this as the necessary avowal that in this war it is not a question of earthly, but of spiritual possessions, and
that we are ready, and will be so to the last, to do without
and sacrifice all the former in order to gain the latter, and
content although we should be obliged, after the successfully
decisive battle, to begin the building up of our earthly
prosperity from the very foundation. That is what it is
to trust in the Lord, and to seek only after His kingdom.
But let us look particularly at the form which the defence
of the Fatherland is to take. Among all the divisions that
crippled our powers and impeded our progress, there was
none more unhappy than that between soldier and citizen,
resulting from the rooted opinion that he who was engaged
in a peaceful trade or profession could have neither knowledge .nor skill to defend his property and the common
Fatherland in the time of danger. Hence the special privileges which were granted to those on whom alone the safety
of the State depended, and still more to those who were
exclusively appointed to command them; hence the jealousy
of the citizen as to those privileges, and the general dislike
to a class which in time of peace seemed only a burden to
all the rest. Many commendable attempts were no doubt
made to diminish this evil, but without results of any consequence. Now this separation is to be abolished; the
difference is now to exist only between those who, constantly
occupied with the proper arts of war, are, in the precision
of their exercises and performances, an example to all others
as well as the nucleus to which they gather, and those who,
scantily instructed and drilled, only take up arms when it
becomes necessary; but courage is to be expected from all,
all are to know the use of their weapons, all are to take a
growing share in the danger, the greater it becomes. We
have been wisely led thus far step by step. The brave
ardour of our young men was known whenever it became a
question of this struggle; they were appealed to, and we
saw them at the first call pour in from all ranks, from all nobler occupations to arms. Where a new good thing is to
be quickly spread, the fathers must often be taught by the
children; we have good reason to hope that it will be so at
present, and that after that example of the young, for whom
we should venture everything rather than they for us, every
one will now be prepared to take part in the defence of the
Fatherland according to his assigned order. For this
reason the king is now instituting the Landwehr. And as
this is also to be specially published to-day, hear what he
says about it. [Here followed the summons to the Landwehr.]
What an exalted feeling this call must awaken in all of
us! what a firm confidence in the strength thus united!
what a happy foretaste of the harmony and love in which all
ranks will be bound together, when they have all stood side
by side face to face with death for the Fatherland! what a happy anticipation of
the united endeavour to lay in this way the foundation of a life that shall be
worth such efforts, and in which unity and strength shall be equally seen!
Thus, my dear friends, we see in this glorious and spirited
change in our condition the beginnings of a happy rising
again from a deep fall, the returning favour of the Most
High, who is again promising to do us good. Let us, then,
also reflect how we are obeying His voice, let us further
consider, in a few words, what we must in the first place
feel called on to do, by this change of affairs. I shall be
able to be the shorter about this, as your minds must
already, by what has gone before, be directed to what I
have to say.
II. I speak first of those who are called directly to the
defence of the Fatherland, whether they belong to the
armies that are already in motion, or whether, according to
their own inclination or by the law of the lot, they are incorporated in that great bulwark which is still to be formed.
I do not wish to do what is superfluous, by exhorting them
to courage and bravery. He can never be wanting in courage whose mind is filled with the common aim, and who
has made it entirely his own. For if, in that case, he finds
himself in the great mass of conflicting powers which are
organized into a noble whole; if he finds it impossible to
think of himself singly, but must regard himself as only
a little part of the whole; then his attention and his wishes
can also only be directed to the movements of the whole.
And that these movements may always accomplish the
proposed aim—that alone is what he works for with all his
strength; and thus whatever may befal himself in doing
so, even were it the final human event, must appear to him
only as an utterly insignificant casualty, which he himself
regards as little as it can be regarded among the whole.
This is the natural courage of him who loves the cause for
which he is fighting. But I should like to warn you lest
personal ambition weaken the high nobility and the true
effectiveness of this courage. Let your emulation never be
as to what each one brings to pass; let it be only as to the
spirit that each manifests and the virtue he practises. He
who strives to do this and that, and not just what always
comes to him in his own place, is withdrawing from the
natural arrangement of united work, to the injury of the
whole. If public distinctions must certainly depend on
success, then let every one strive, not to earn them, but to
deserve them; let every one remember that all who did
their duty faithfully helped to earn those things which
others have received; and that the consciousness of having
done all that it was possible for zeal and goodwill to do,
and the recognition of those who know this, outweigh all
other distinctions. I would caution you, moreover, not
to let thoughtlessness weaken this natural courage. Not a
few seem to think that everything is already done, that
there is hardly need of the armies that have already gone
forth and are doubtless about to begin the pursuit of the
scattered, terrified remnant of the enemy’s ruined forces to the utmost bounds of the German Fatherland; and that
if more men lit for arms were called out, it could only be,
not so much for immediate need, as to make use of this
splendid opportunity in forming a better and more powerful
system of defence for the future. Let such people beware
lest the unexpected, which is what oftenest casts men down,
come upon them with its terrible force, and they then
indeed fear, when the heat cometh. The king’s message is
very far from countenancing this light view; it does not
conceal from us the power of the enemy, nor the greatness
of his resources; and we ourselves have some idea of the
embittered feeling that he must have against us. Let us
secure our courage by being prepared for everything, even for
each of us in person to defend or avenge home and hearth.
I speak in the next place of the rest of us in connection
with those, the defenders of the common cause; of our
selves as their relatives and friends. The feeling which
formerly, when the State was involved in war, was shared
by only a few, and as to which they were sometimes pitied
and sometimes envied by others—the seeing of their best-beloved ones exposed to the danger of death in battle and
to the various disasters of war; this feeling will now be
come universal. For which of us is there that will not
now see among the hosts of the army or of the Landwehr,
at least relations, benefactors, pupils, heart-friends, if not
father, husband, brother and son going to meet those very
dangers? And let us then feel that we are not on this
account to be pitied, but to be counted happy; that the
more highly we value those connected with us, the more
ought we to sympathise with and enter into all that is great
and glorious in their calling. And the more we love them
as ourselves, let us all the more offer and consecrate them to
the Fatherland, just as we would yield up our own lives
for it were we called on to do so. Much precious blood
will flow, many a beloved head will fall; let us not embitter their glorious lot by mournful fears and weak sorrow,
but see to it that, worthy of the great cause, we remain
green and fresh; let us remember how much happier it is
to offer up life as a sacrifice in the noble struggle against
this destructive power than in the impotent struggle of
medical art against the unknown powers of nature. And
the loving cares which, if we could, we would gladly bestow
on our own when sick and wounded—let those cares make
us entirely a joint community, as the cause is common; let
us care for and serve all whom we can, in the firm confidence that in the same way there will be no lack of tender
nursing and treatment of our loved ones from others who
feel as we do. But, above all, let us take care that the well-deserved honour of those who have dedicated themselves to
this sacred struggle be not lost. As we ourselves have been
most deeply moved by the distress and humiliation of the
past years, and the glorious resurrection of the Fatherland
in these days, let us also impress all this most strongly on
the rising generation; that this eternally memorable time
may indeed be remembered, and that each descendant whom
it concerns may say with just pride, There fought, or there
fell, a relation of mine.
I speak further, on the other hand, of those who, while
others have gone out to defend the Fatherland, are to regulate and direct its internal affairs, and discharge all the
various offices which it requires. May this great decisive
time arouse them all to redoubled faithfulness and solicitude,
to redoubled abhorrence of all neglect at home through indolence or irregularity—for I will not say through self-interest or unfaithfulness—while in the field citizens are
offering up their life-blood. May they abhor it as the most
shameful treachery to this very blood and to all the virtues
that offer it up. Let them remember that every power must
be conscientiously applied, every department of the common
wealth faithfully administered; if the great work is to succeed. Above all, let them remember that if the courage of
those who have gone to the war is to hold out, they wish
to see, in the strength and wisdom of the constitution and
government, a guarantee for the higher blessings for which
they are fighting. Therefore be it far from any one among
us to think himself wise when he is not so; let no one
thrust himself, to the exceeding detriment of the common
wealth, into an office which he is not capable of filling; let
no one allow himself to be so blinded by friendly partiality
as to favour such presumptuous undertakings. But when
one is wise, then let him strive to act, and to act vigorously and
faithfully. Let those who administer justice remember that the sacred sense of
the rights of nations and states, which lies at the foundation of this whole
struggle, can only be in a healthy state where the rights of the citizens are
faithfully observed; let those who have the care of keeping order and security
remember that very specially in the exercise of their occupation is to be shown
most gloriously that noble and beautiful combination of liberty and obedience in
which we have long prided ourselves, and by which, in days of repose as in times
of war, we must chiefly mark our difference, both from the former licence and
from the later servitude of the nation against which we are contending. Let
those who are to elevate the sentiments of the people and to form the minds of
the young remember that they, in their quiet work, are the guardians and keepers
of the most sacred property; that on their faithfulness in duty and on the
blessing resting on it, it depends whether there shall be faculties with which
to light, and above all whether there shall be anything to fight for—a faith, a
hope, a love. Lastly, let those who manage the public taxes remember that under
the poor earthly form of money and of goods there is offered to them in tribute
the efforts of all the noble and intellectual faculties which have established
the dominion of man over nature; that it is not the people’s superfluity, not their savings which are to be disposed of,
but what they have pinched themselves to give. Let all
remember how greatly the importance of their work is
increased in such times as these, so that, in the first place,
they themselves, to whom obedience is to be given, may in
their great calling obey the voice of the Lord.
And finally, in contrast with those who are directly at
work for the Fatherland, I speak of those to whom this is
not permitted, who dare not even wish that the necessity
should arise that would call them also to arms. Well, if it
is painful to them to devote this great time entirely to quiet
work, although they would gladly be waging war, let them
consider that we have an internal war to carry on, which is
of equally decisive importance. If our real low condition
consists in evil of many kinds, let us begin first by lifting
ourselves out of that; there is still much to be rooted out,
much to be fought against. Let us be brave in this war—it also requires courage; it has its dangers also. Let no
one enjoy unshaken respect in society, who still by word or
deed preaches despondency or indifference, and who seems
inclined to prefer our former condition with quietness to
the struggle for a better! Let every one be watched and
unmasked who thinks that the more the eyes of all are
turned to those at a distance, he may the more securely
and secretly indulge in a now more than ever criminal and
traitorous selfishness. Let no one remain unchecked, who
perhaps in the foolish delusion of preparing for himself a
more endurable fate in the event of an unsuccessful issue,
seeks to exempt himself from, or in any way to obstruct,
the vigorous measures which are indispensably necessary
to making the issue successful. And even if narrow-mindedness and baseness of this kind should try in a
greater or less degree to creep into the public administration, then, because the danger is doubled, let us also
fight with double energy and take no rest until we conquer. Thus shall we also have our own part to sustain,
we shall wage the same war as the others, only in a
different way; and if those who are placed behind doubtful
troops to intimidate those who might think of giving way
prematurely, take credit to themselves for a part of the
victory, though they have done no fighting, this may also
be permitted to us.
These, my friends, are the demands which the present
times make on us. Let each of us, then, stand to his post
and not give way! let each of us keep fresh and green in
the sense of the great holy powers that animate him! let each of us trust in God
and call on Him, as we are now about to do together!
Merciful God and Lord! Thou hast done great things for
us in calling our fatherland to fight for a free and honour
able existence, in which we may be able to advance Thy
work. Grant us in addition, safety and grace. Victory
comes from Thee, and we know well that we do not always
know what we are doing in asking of Thee what seems
good to us. But with greater confidence than ever, even
with a strong faith, we entreat of Thee prosperity and
blessing on the arms of our king and his allies, because it
seems to us almost as if Thy kingdom and the noblest gifts
that past centuries have won for us would be in danger, if
these efforts were in vain. Protect the beloved head of our
king, and all the princes of his house, who are now with the
army. Grant wisdom and strength to the commanders,
courage to the soldiers, faithful steadfastness to all. And
grant also, as Thou canst change and turn the fortune of
war, that its blessings may not be lost to us; that each one
may be purified and grow in the inner man; that each may
do what he can, be it much or little; that we may grow
stronger in confidence in Thee, and in obedience to Thy
will, an obedience reaching even to death, like the obedience
of Thy Son. Amen.
IV.
NECESSITY OF THE NEW BIRTH.
(On Trinity Sunday.)
TEXT: JOHN iii. 1-8.
WHEN the Saviour promised to His disciples the Spirit, who, after His own departure from the earth,
was to come upon them abundantly, He said to them,
He will take of Mine and give unto you, and thereby
He will glorify Me in and through you. We have once
more completed the circle of our memorial festivals, from
His birth to the fulfilment of that promise; and now,
without being reminded, by the universal custom of the
Church, of any specially great event in the times of the
founding of Christianity, we have before our Christian
assemblies a long period of quiet meditation. What better
can we wish for that period, than that this very Spirit who
glorifies Christ may be always among us, so that each of
our devout meditations may exalt Him in our eyes, and that
thus, through His having a more constant and active power
in us, He may be also more and more glorified through
us.
It is therefore my purpose, in the period on which we
are entering, to follow the words of the Saviour that I have
just quoted; we will take of His own, that His Spirit may
more and more enlighten us and glorify Him before us. They shall be words which the evangelists have preserved
for us as His own; the most direct sayings from His lips,
with which we intend during this time to connect our
meditations. If, then, His Spirit is actually among us, if
Christ becomes increasingly glorious to us through our
study of His words, our inward parts more and more enlightened by the eternal, divine light, which He brought
from heaven, our hearts more and more purified; we shall
then, when the next time of commemorating our Lord comes
round, return with new joy and gratitude to the beautiful
circle of our Christian festivals, and anew, with yet purer
spirit and in a way more worthy of Him, participate in
adoring remembrance of His birth, His sufferings and His
glorification.
And with what words can we better begin the series of
our proposed meditations, than with one of those which most
closely connect the festival period just closed with that
which lies before us? The Saviour has now, as it were,
completed anew before our eyes His work, of the chief
points in which our Church festivals were meant to remind
us; He has taken to Himself flesh and blood, He has become
obedient, even to the death of the cross, He has comforted
and instructed His people, He has sent down the promised
Spirit after His own final departure from the world, and
prepared His disciples for the founding and extension of His
kingdom. Now as He generally began His work of teaching
by inviting men into the kingdom of God, which had come
near to them, we may suitably begin by asking, How are we
to attain, or how have we at some former time attained to
our part in the Saviour’s benefits? How does His kingdom
still go on extending in the present day? The remarkable
saying of the Saviour which we have taken as the ground
of our meditation, gives a clear answer to these questions.
In this whole conversation of the Saviour with Nicodemus,
it is very difficult to understand the precise connection, more so than in most of the Saviour’s other discourses; but we
shall not be surprised at this if we reflect how it is with
ourselves when we wish to communicate our most important
thoughts, and are limited to a brief conversation in which
to do so. We cannot in such a case bestow the usual pains
and attention on so arranging our discourse that the other
shall instantly take up our meaning; we cannot so enlarge
that all the bearings of one thought on another shall become
quite obvious; but, knowing that only a little time is granted
us, we feel constrained, and strive to give expression only
to what is most important, to comprise in few words a real
wealth of thoughts and to impress these thoroughly on the
hearer, so that he may afterwards reflect more minutely on
their import, and may then be able to discover what at
present escapes him. It was in this position, so far as such
a comparison can be made at all, that Christ here found
Himself. He was only rarely in the capital, on the occasions of the great feasts, and this man could only come to
Him during the night. Hence the Saviour hastens to point
out to the inquiring man the main points on which every
thing depends; hence the conversation that must contain
so much, passes abruptly from one great thought to another;
and it is possible that John also may have had too little room
to communicate much in the course of the conversation
which would have given us here and there clearer insight
into the connection.
But the chief of all the weighty matters which our Lord
had to say to Nicodemus is just the answer to the question
we have proposed. A man must be born anew, else he
cannot see the kingdom of God. One life must be destroyed
and give place to another—the life of the flesh to the life
of the Spirit: that is the only way in which any one can
enter the kingdom of God; the new birth is the only manner in which new numbers
are ever being won to it. The inquirer has various objections to this, and the
Saviour removes them; but certainly in a way which we may believe left him still
much to think about, and intimated to him that nothing but
a higher personal experience would help him to a full clearness of understanding. Let us take the same course, by
considering that a man comes into the kingdom of God only
through the new birth of the Spirit. We will first make
plain to ourselves, according to the Saviour’s words, our
common understanding of this in its simple truth: secondly,
we will see what objections the masters in Israel have now
as then against this doctrine; and thirdly, how we know of
no other information or advice to give on the subject than
what the Saviour said to Nicodemus.
I. Verily, verily, I say unto thee, except a man be born
again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. These are the
Saviour’s words, and this, rightly considered, may be said to
have been always the common understanding of Christians;
I mean, the faith of the Church. There is no doubt a sense
in which it may be said that every one who is born at all,
whatever he may be, sees the kingdom of God and is in it.
For as a man’s kingdom is there where his will is held to be
law, and where he arranges and commands; in this sense the
kingdom of God is indeed everywhere, as certainly as God is
almighty, and all that live are in it. But we all speak, just
as the Saviour did, of a kingdom of God which does not include every one. For as the kingdom of an earthly prince
does not, strictly speaking, extend over every place where
people act outwardly according to his will, but only where
his will is also the real and common will of those who serve
him and live under his rule, while the rest—however much
outward appearances say the reverse—are in a state of secret
enmity against him; so the kingdom of God, in this narrower sense, is only in
those who are actuated by a spirit common to them all, making known the will of
God in their hearts. Those manifold gifts, which always work in harmony towards
the same end, because they proceed from the same Spirit; those fruits of the Spirit, love, joy, peace, patience, faith,
purity; those various ministries which are fulfilled now
by this one, now by that one—for if one is gone another is
never wanting—and always faithfully and ably, under the one
Master; those willing servants, bound for ever, for life and
death, ministering in the word of truth, in the power of God,
by the armour of righteousness; those unknown, and yet
well known; those dying ones, who always live anew; those
poor, who make many rich; those strong ones, who are never
covetous of vain-glory, so as to envy and hate each other—that
is the kingdom of God. And in each individual it is, as the
Scripture says, peace and joy in the Holy Spirit; the peace
of God, which, confiding in the eternal love and wisdom, is
disturbed by nothing; resting in the faith that the Lord will,
as time goes on, glorify Himself more and more in the world
of spirits; the peace of God, which brings quiet and calmness to the otherwise stormy soul, by which its conflicting passions are brought to rest, so that it is like the pure
mirror, in which every object is clearly and correctly pictured. The kingdom of God in each person is joy in the
Holy Spirit; the joy, far above all earthly things, in the
fellowship of men with God; the joy that wants nothing
more eventful than that we always feel the power of God
more influential in us, and are always less losing the consciousness of Him in whom we live and move and have our
being. But all men do not live in this union, nor experience
this peace and joy. We know the great multitude of those
who, born of the flesh, are only flesh. It is true they have all,
at least many among them, a common aim; but because what
each of them seeks belongs only to his worldly existence, the
association they form is far from stable, hardly to be compared to that higher kingdom of God; they are only
temporarily allied as individuals, and none of them can really
regard what another does or enjoys as being also his own and
advancing his purpose. And thus they have no peace but in the gratification of their wild passions, their natural instincts, or, it may be, of the gentle, cheerful, social affections;
and next to this, from no outward hindrance coming in the
way of their doings. Nor have they any joy but that of
finding themselves in full possession of the wealth and appliances of life, from which that gratification proceeds; of
having new treasures of this kind thrown open to them, and
of finding themselves abundantly endowed in comparison
with others, so that their enjoyments are secured for a long
time or for ever. This is certain, that those persons are not
in the kingdom of God, but are leading, far away from it, a
life that is rich, luxurious, and in its way, splendidly expanding. It may be highly refined and ennobled; but even
the noblest and most refined natural life and motives are still
only flesh, and never become spirit. Although in the whole
life of such men there occurred no act that might not also
occur in the life of him who is led by the Spirit of God, yet
so long as truth, integrity, love are regarded only as means
towards enjoyment, and that alone is aimed at, of whatever
kind it may be; so long as this and no other is the inner
motive; so long as the ruling sentiment does not refer to
God and to His plans, we perceive the difference most distinctly. From no amount of still higher elevating or
perfecting or outward purifying whatever of this life, which, as
to its inmost motives, is carnal, can that spiritual life ever
be produced; such a life is born of the flesh, and remains
flesh although developed to the highest bloom of health and
beauty; there is no possible transition, such as that from a
state of coarse, carnal life to a cultured, restrained, pleasing
condition, and from this to what is really good and holy.
If such men are to come into the kingdom of God, they must
lead there an entirely different and new life, and the be
ginning of a new life is a new birth. And we are assuredly,
all of us, far from assuming that those who so live could
never, just because they have once given this form to their lives, attain to the new life; and that a new birth, although
necessary for them, would be impossible—but that what is
once born flesh must for ever remain flesh. For from that it
must follow that what is spirit must have been originally
born of the Spirit; but that is by no means what we know
of ourselves. On the contrary, our experience, our distinct
remembrance, tells each of us that the peace of God has not
always dwelt in us from the beginning, but that it was
given to us, that the flesh ruled in us before the Spirit.
Though we may never have had a period of gross transgressions, of disgraceful passions or degrading pleasures,
yet, beginning from innocence and purity of heart, we did
not attain gradually more and more to the complete strength
and virtue of a life pleasing to God. Between the beginning
of our existence and our present life and aims there lies a
time in which lust was the prevailing power; in which it
conceived and brought forth sin. If we are honest, we can
say that there is a period on which we look back only with
the feeling that we appear to ourselves to have become since
then different men. That which was then our innermost I
and Self has now become something far off. and strange to
us; and the law of divine appointment, which has now
through the grace of God become the law of our life, which
we love and obey, was then far off and strange. We were
only aware of it as an external force, impeding the free
course of our life, just as now the separate stirrings of the
flesh and of sin are a force which we do not ascribe to our
real life. Thus, then, it is true that one life has ceased and
another has begun. But the beginning of the new life is
the new birth; and this holds good universally, If any
man be in Christ, he is a new creature; the old is passed
away, behold all is become new.
Thus Christ makes a division between two periods of the
human race, and He is Himself its regeneration. The
Christian period is not the continuation of the Jewish and pagan period, but a new one. And so for every nation the
appearing of the gospel in it is its regeneration, not only
a perfecting of its former condition; for, as we learn from
history, much that was really good and beautiful often
perishes in the first place, and the whole form is changed,
the whole life takes another direction. So almost every
great historical event is a judgment on some evil that has
gained the mastery, and it thus becomes in one aspect or
another the germ of a new life; and only where we find and
understand the two things in their connection do we find
and recognise a great phenomenon. And the same is true
as to individuals; sin must have somewhere gained the
upper hand, the flesh must have been active and ruling, that
grace may have the mastery when the spirit attains to life;
every one must first have tasted the life of corruption, and
then, by the second act of divine omnipotence and love, he
is born of the Spirit and becomes spirit. We have all, as
Christians, an invincible and inalienable consciousness of
this transformation; and when we welcome as members of
our alliance in a stricter sense some who formerly did not
belong to it, we take for granted that they have become
such by the new birth which is from God.
Yet, my friends, this very thing is, on the other hand, a
hard saying, a much-disputed doctrine; and as that inquiring and well-meaning master in Israel could not reconcile
himself to it, but asked, How can such things be? so very
many Christians, even masters in Israel, and among them
those who are longing for knowledge and honest in motive,
have a great deal to object to this demand, that a man must
be born again. Let us now, in the second place, consider
those objections.
II. When to the Saviour’s assertion, Except a man be
born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God, Nicodemus
made the objection, How can a man be born when he is old?
can he enter the second time into his mother’s womb, and be born? we are not to suppose that this man, who was a
ruler of the Jews and a master in Israel, was so simple as to
believe that Jesus, whom he regarded as a teacher sent from
God, wished this to be understood literally of the physical
birth, or that, if he had believed this, he would have had
anything more to do with one who made such an assertion.
On the contrary, from the words of the Saviour that follow,
when to the question put by Nicodemus a second time, How
can these things be? He answered, Art thou a master in
Israel and knowest not these things? we must certainly
conclude that this form of expression under the figure of the
new birth was known to him. And indeed it could not be
unknown among a people who made so great endeavours with
so confident a hope of extending their faith and their institutions, and who prized the exclusiveness of their descent.
It was a glory and a gain with this people when any
foreigner was moved to seek participation in their law and
in their hopes; but they could only attain fully to this
by receiving a share in the nation’s genealogy; they must
become children of Abraham, and hence the expression of
being born again might and must often have been used.
This new birth, then, was also the beginning of a new life,
which was to be lived no longer after the customs of the
pagan fathers, but according to the manner of the new
father, and according to the later law, which unite all his
genuine and true-born children. But this new life was, after
all, only a life according to a new outward law, which
became more and more by habit a part of a man’s life, other
wise everything remained essentially the same; the same
reverence which they had formerly divided among many
supposed gods, was directed to the one true God, who yet
had been dimly guessed at behind those many illusions; and
the same virtue which a right-thinking heathen had no
doubt already practised before he became inclined to
Judaism, he had to practise and cultivate under that new law. That new birth was thus, as it were, only a new birth
from a different flesh, and this Nicodemus could understand.
What was born flesh remained flesh, notwithstanding this
change. But now, when the Saviour required of all who
would see the kingdom of God, even of him and all his
brethren, that they should be born again; he concluded,
and that most justly, that it was a question of a different
and more inward change; and it was just in looking at this
as required of himself, that he asked doubtfully, How can a
man be born again when he is old? How a man who had
so long been flesh should yet be able to be born of the Spirit,
and to lead, with all his heart, a life actually and entirely
new; this he did not understand.
Very closely related to this are the objections of the men
of our own days, and, in part, of the present masters in
Israel. Their opinion takes this direction—that a man is
of course constantly changing during his life on earth, one
in a greater, another in a less degree; and that with one this
change may be more a real advance from good to better, with
another more a mere variation of conditions the value of
which may be pretty much alike. Every man, they say, is
at the same time flesh and spirit; thus has God in a similar
way endowed all; only in some, through that progress which
they make, the spirit gains more and more command over
the flesh, and those are the good; with others, on the contrary, the spirit is long kept under, is only rarely seen in
its beauty and strength; and the greater part of their life
is devoted to various manifestations of carnality, in violent
secret or open conflict with the spirit, and those are the
wicked; but the great majority of men are those whoso
lives pass away in continual vacillations, without a decisive
preponderance on the one side or the other. But still the
spirit is present and at work in all; for otherwise they could
not be men, but would be beasts. Now if, after a long
apparent resistance, during which, however, the spirit is inwardly gaining strength unseen, it suddenly comes forth
with increased power, this looks like a special divine communication and revelation, and if from that point onwards
there is a permanent supremacy of the spirit over the
flesh, then this is regarded as a transformation, and it is
called conversion or new birth. And yet it is not the beginning of a new life; the same spirit has always been in the
man and has lived and worked in him, warning, threatening,
resisting, punishing, making him ashamed. For, say they, if
it is to be supposed that this power which draws man to a
higher and better life, and which people are accustomed to
call the Spirit of God, is not given to men until later, how
could it be said that a man was the same man as before, if
an entirely new element were added to his being? and if
only some receive this power and others do not, how can it
be said that the two beings are of the same kind and partake
of one and the same nature? And if that higher life which
is the condition of the divine approval and of a man’s present
and future blessedness, can only be attained by means of a
power to be thus specially communicated to him by God, and
God imparts this power to some earlier, so that they are able
to attain a higher perfection in this life, and to others later,
though He does impart it to them, and to others again not
at all, what a change takes place in our idea of the divine
Being, in whom we strive to imagine infinite righteousness
and infinite love united; how does this change into an idea
of utterly unintelligible, and for that very reason terrible
despotism! For why does He take compassion on the one,
and leave the other to his fate? If man is at first born
only of the flesh and is wholly flesh, then there is nothing
beforehand in any one that would make him more fit for the
kingdom of God or inclined towards it, and therefore no
ground in the one for being preferred or in the other for
being set aside. And can that be regarded as a Christian
doctrine, or indeed at all as one, without which the whole of Christianity is not rightly understood, which brings such
confusion into that living sense of God, which is really the
source of everything good in man?
And to this they further add, that it is a doctrine that
burdens and perplexes the conscience, and on account of it,
all that God does for men is for a great many of them fruit
less, so that they attain to no real repose and joy in life;
and if this is not the case with still many more, that is only
because they do not really hold this doctrine very firmly.
For if in the midst of a man’s life a new life must be begun,
one must surely be able to show and give proof when and
how it began. With the lower creatures, whose life assumes
different forms one after another, this is the case—we can see
how the one life dies out and the other springs up—and
therefore we ought to be able just in the same way to perceive when the flesh dies and the man is born of the Spirit.
Hence among the friends of this doctrine a desire naturally
prevails to be distinctly aware of the moment of this change,
this new birth. Now the more this new life, as is the way
with life in general, has been the outcome of hard struggles
amid tears and groans, the more sure every one feels able to
be, that he is born of the Spirit; and the less one particular
moment stands out distinctly from all others as the starting
point of this new life, the more uncertain it seems to be
whether the new birth has actually taken place, and every
thing that seems to indicate the new life is suspected of
being possibly an empty show. But, it is said, not without
justice, how few men come in a natural way to such a distinctly marked out moment, which perceptibly and, as it
were, visibly separates the two parts of their lives! And just
because this is so, this opinion has always produced a vain
striving after such a moment, with which the conviction of
divine grace may be specially connected, and on the remembrance of which the mind may rest in full confidence.
Hence it has always stirred up a multitude of tormenting and useless anxieties in the best of men, who though obedient
to all the teachings of Christianity, yet could never attain
to any real comfort on account of this one opinion, which it
was not in their power to verify. Indeed how many examples have there been in every age, that these doubts have
gnawed away a man’s life, have dried up the inmost marrow
of his spirit, and have, not unfrequently, shaken his mind
into complete derangement! And this—so it is asked, not,
as it seems, unreasonably—this is supposed to be a doctrine
revealed by the God who does not even desire the death of
the sinner, much less that of the righteous? This is sup
posed to be the teaching of the Saviour, the friend of man,
who came to seek that which was lost, as if He had rather
come to cast into awful perplexity those who are walking in
the straight and safe way?
These are the objections, not only of worldly people (who
are not the persons to whom the demands of Christianity
appear too rigorous), but also of many masters in Israel, to
the Saviour’s words, that a man must be born again in order
to enter the kingdom of God. And if we ask them what they
propose to make of those words, if they are really Christians
and do not dispute the words of the Saviour, then all that
probably remains for them to say is, that at the time when
Christ spoke these words they had their own important meaning, and that the mistake is only in trying to apply them to
the present time. For at that time, they will say, every one,
even he in whom a spiritual rule was already established,
needed to experience so great a change, in order to enter the
kingdom of God through Jesus, that it might really be regarded as a complete revolution. It was necessary that his
idea of God, from which all good ways and doings of a man
proceed, should be changed; the God of Abraham, Isaac and
Jacob, although He was certainly not thought of in a fleshly
way as an idol, but spiritually as the source of all good,
needed to become for him the universal Father of men, who desires only to be worshipped in spirit and in truth, and who
purifies the hearts of the heathen also through faith in His
Son. In like manner it was necessary that his whole endeavours to observe the externals of that separating law which
was, nevertheless, a spiritual law, seeing that it told against
evil desires in every way—that these endeavours should be
directed to the universal law under which all men can unite.
His love had to change from the narrow-hearted love of those
of his own race, which, nevertheless, being opposed to selfishness, was a work of the Spirit, into that love which embraces
in all men alike the image of God; and his hopes of earthly
power and greatness, which yet were to be the power and
glory of the righteous, behoved to change into joy in a wholly
spiritual kingdom of God. But no, there is no such revolution
as this, seeing that the very beginnings of what is spiritual
in a man born and brought up as a Christian can have no
other distinction than this. For this very knowledge is in
stilled into every one from his youth up; these sentiments
are in every way required from all; and as certainly as every
man is born at once flesh and spirit, just as certainly every
Christian has from the beginning this spirit, which therefore
only needs gradually to increase, without any entire change,
in order to the man’s becoming a man of God, fitted for every
good work.
III. Now what are we going to reply to all this? I know
nothing else than what Christ answered to Nicodemus, Marvel
not that I said unto thee, ye must be born again: the wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof,
but knowest not whence it cometh or whither it goeth; so is
every one that is born of the Spirit. Just so should we have
to tell those objectors, that they seem indeed to know the
works of the Spirit very well, and yet not to know whence
they come. You think, I would say to them, that this is the
way of it, that the right knowledge is now instilled into all
from their youth, so that now no one can think less or worse of God and divine things than is according to their amount
of Christian knowledge. You think it is enough that every
one is called on by all means to have sentiments conformed to
the gospel; because, seeing that these sentiments are widely
diffused, and that it becomes publicly known how each person stands affected towards them, it is certain that every one
who stands in awe of public opinion and to whom the respect
of men is of consequence, is very careful not to set them openly
at defiance; and if he goes on being thus careful, he becomes
naturally more and more unaccustomed to act in direct opposition to them, and more incapable of doing so: and hence,
because these sentiments and principles have passed into all
social institutions and regulations, the carnality of men is
restrained even from childhood, and thus at a very early
stage the flesh is, as it were, spiritualized. So that in a kind
of casual way, you think, it is to be done? and that if this
kind of thing went on continuously, a man would gradually
become, without the need of a further great inward change,
a man well-pleasing to God and fitted for the work of God!
Do you actually fail to see the vast difference between the
highest perfection to which man can attain from this point, and
the still most imperfect virtue of the beginner in true faith?
We, on our side, cannot but say that while the kingdom of
God no doubt has an effect on those whom you describe, the
latter alone is actually in it, and bears it within him. The
evil that the former avoids is, as regards his being in the
kingdom of God, just the same as if he had done it; and the
good that he does must be forgiven to him just as much as
the evil, if he is to enter that kingdom, because it is never
the result of faith. Yes, between your perfect man and our
beginner there is just as great a gulf as between the man in
Abraham’s bosom and the one in the place of torment. For
what we seek is only effected when that which, as you say,
every one now knows,—although this universal knowledge
must be of a very subordinate kind, so long as it remains a dead knowledge in so many,—when this becomes ill the individual
man a living impulse, his only impulse, the essence and the inmost strength of
his life; not a law that comes to
him from without and which he fears and respects, but his
one pleasure and love, without which he does not feel right.
And that is the faith of which it is truly said that it comes
by preaching, which, however, only means that the grace of
God brings it about through the word and life of those in
whom it already is; not at all that it develops naturally and
of itself out of the dead knowledge. From that knowledge to
faith there is no gradual transition; we come to it only by
means of an entire change and a new birth. And is it the case
in any other sphere that what is dead becomes gradually and
of itself a living being; what belongs to others a thing of our
own; fear and dislike of anything, not mere habitude and in
difference, but delight and love? And yet such is the difference which we have described. For if the opponents of our
doctrine appeal to the feelings of approval of good, of shame
and regret for evil, which originate and develop as of themselves in the Christian community; and if we further concede,
what may be much more rarely the case than is supposed,
that those feelings are quite pure and genuine; yet it is certain that notwithstanding all the keenness of those feelings,
the will is quite void of what the feeling approves, and leans
to something quite different: it is certain that, much reason
as there may be for maintaining that man does not of his own
accord will evil as evil, just as little does he of his own accord will good as good, and that the strength and persistence
of this feeling does not even in the longest time transform
the will; but on the contrary, if such a change do not take
place through grace, even the feeling itself does not continue
in its sharpness and purity, but gets gradually blunted into in
difference and obduracy. And if our opponents further appeal
to the fact that every man, even the most wicked, has moments
in which he feels really moved to good, and that therefore even for such there is no need of a new birth, but only that
those moments be made permanent; yet we all know only too
well from a former time those unsatisfactory, fleeting emotions, in which there was certainly a hint of the new man;
but we know also that we then felt only as if taken hold of
by an unknown power. We felt that if this power became
a part of us and constantly dwelt in us, we should become
different persons; but even the most earnest wishes were
not capable of effecting this. Now this very thing, the renewing of the will, which is undoubtedly the centre of the
whole being, the continual indwelling, as the Spirit of God,
of that which before only stirred the feelings from with
out, and in a passing way as the power of the Word and of
the Church;—this is the new birth, before which, now as in
the time of Nicodemus, a man, though possessed of all those
advantages, is still only flesh; and of which no one will assert
that it is connected with the natural birth into earthly life;
for he who should assert this about himself would make him
self equal to the Son of God; but on the contrary, we have all
come short of this glory that we ought to have before God.
The second birth may be easier now than at the time when
Jesus talked with Nicodemus; it must be so, otherwise there
would be no consistency in the work of God; but it is quite
as necessary for entering the kingdom of God; and every
one must be so much the more shut up to it, because the
servant who is always hearing his Lord’s will, and has in
deed in himself a warning voice to remind him of it, and yet
never does it, is deserving of the greater contempt, and more
over of double punishment.
And as to the difficulties that may arise in adhering to
these words of the Saviour, that a man enters the kingdom of
God only through the new birth; we have no cause to allow
our faith or our feelings to be confused by such fancies. Is
there a single one of the doctrines peculiar to Christianity,
about which those to whom it is distasteful, or who cannot understand its nature, do not make the same assertions?
Believers are not perplexed in this way; it is only those who
pervert the terms of faith into sophistries which are beyond
man’s province, who are caught in their own net. They ask,
if it is thus with the Spirit of God, and some may have it
and others not, how can it be said, in that case, that men
have all the same kind of nature? But are there not in every
higher, living nature, faculties, and those indeed the noblest,
that are not developed until a later- period? Now, if with
certain persons this development is delayed, those faculties
are imperfectly cultivated, and therefore unhealthy—marred
and disfigured in many ways. And we say this freely of
those who are without the Spirit of God; for to have that
Spirit belongs to the original nature of man, who was created
in the image of God. They say, if a man has not been born
again, and this can only take place through grace, then it
seems a mere arbitrary choice on God’s part, that He shows
this grace to some and not to others. Is not this the
creature speaking foolish words against Him who has formed
it? words which are too high for him, and which he does not
understand? Well, suppose that you admit no difference
between those who are born anew of the Spirit and those
who are only flesh; does that, if you are set on reasoning in
this way, at all take you past the difficulty of having to
think of God as acting in an arbitrary way? You place
your comfort, your satisfaction, we will suppose, in virtue,
in piety, in the cultivation of your mind; or if you chose to
place them in something lower it would be all the same. For some are certainly better and more pious than others,
have more virtue and culture, or if you prefer it, more gifts
of fortune, more comforts and enjoyments. Now, if you take
together all those accomplishments that you possess, all these
delightful circumstances in which you are placed, would you
really be arrogant enough to maintain that you owe all this
to yourself? that you have given much to yourself, or if you have but little, that you have withheld more from yourself?
Have not God’s leadings a great share in the developing
of your faculties, in the determining of your position?
And when you look at the inner nature of each one, and find
one richly gifted and another but scantily; has each made
his own nature, or is it of God? Therefore it is not the new
birth that is the stumbling-block of those sophistical objectors; it is that they are trying to contend with God, as
no man can possibly contend with Him! Assuredly never
yet has a believing soul become doubtful about receiving
afresh the divine grace, or been troubled in the lively and
vigorous use of it, because he saw that others did not possess
it just as he did; and never has a heart that was honestly
longing for that grace left off entreating for it from heaven,
because all did not possess it in exactly the same degree!
The man who really desires what is good will make no such
mistake; it is only the vain sophist who becomes a fool in
counting himself wise. What can hurt the man who follows
after good? Nothing; not even the deepest mystery of the
divine will.
And none of us, my friends, must let himself be perplexed
by the suggestion that if a new birth were necessary, every
one ought to know and be able to point out when this
miracle of divine grace was wrought on him. On what
alone is it that this demand is founded, which certainly
many Christians, because they count too much on certain
special experiences, are accustomed to make? It cannot
be denied, in regard to such persons, that they certainly
argue too much from their own experiences; by which they
have perplexed many an anxious heart. But the Saviour
says nothing of this; He rather leaves us free to give a
wider meaning to the words, Thou hearest the sound
thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh; a meaning in
which they less imply a reproach, than express the man’s
necessary uncertainty. For could it be the same thing to require, Ye must be born again, and You must know when
and how you were born again. Do we know it about our
natural birth, otherwise than by the accounts of others, such
as no one can give us about what has been transacted
between God and the soul alone? Is not the beginning of
every form of life, from the lowest to the highest, hidden in
the impenetrable darkness of divine creation, and is it likely
that this would not be the case with the most mysterious
creation of the Spirit? that the new life would be just as
imperceptibly entered on and developed as the old? And
certainly those also are mistaken who think they have actually watched the beginning of this life. It may be that they
regard as such one of the many preparatory stirrings of the
mind, from which, after all, no continuous spiritual life
resulted, or that they confound the first full consciousness
of that life with the beginning of it. To this consciousness
each of us attains sooner or later; it reveals itself in certain
moments of exuberant feeling; it is authenticated by the
fruits of the Spirit, which are love, joy, peace, patience; it
is the witness of the Spirit of God in our hearts that we are
the children of God; and with this let us be satisfied. But
let us never sit down so contented with the sense and the
certainty of our own life in the kingdom of God, as not to
make it our most earnest endeavour to help others forward
into this new life. And in this loving endeavour let us aim
at nothing less, and set nothing less before them than this
great word of the Saviour, so that the little that we can do
may be done in the right direction, and that even we may
help in the work of the Spirit of God. Amen.
(From the Author’s third collection, published in 1814.)
V.
CHRIST AND THE UNSTABLE.
TEXT: MATT. xxi. 10-16.
WE have lately seen from several examples that what
is properly to be regarded as the suffering of the
Saviour, that is, His pain on account of sin, and of the opposition which it offered to His divine work, did not begin
merely with the time which, in a stricter sense, we indicate
as His period of suffering, but accompanied Him from the
beginning of His earthly life, and more especially during
His public career. We shall consider this to-day more
closely in connection with those events which immediately
preceded the sufferings of the Saviour, specially so called.
Now, if a meditation of this kind is to be really profitable to
us, we must have regard to two things. On the one hand,
as we are called and chosen as members of the consecrated
body, the Church, of which Christ is the head, to devote our
selves to the work of Christ in order to carry it on according to the measure which God has dealt to each; so in the
same warfare against sin, we must also meet with the same
opposition which He experienced, and Christ’s pain must be
come ours; and by what He showed Himself to be in the days
of His life on earth, He is set forth as the shining example
which we are to follow. And on the other hand, as we are
invited, with all who are weary and heavy-laden, to enjoy
the fruits of His redemption; and as we can only enjoy these with the humble feeling that, mighty as His strength may be
in us who are weak, yet sin is never quite eradicated in us,
and that the remainder of it in us opposes His work, thus
making us the cause of sufferings to Him and His people
such as He met with at that time; so, those who caused
Him pain in the days of His earthly life must stand before
us as a warning and alarming example, lest we sit down
idly and indulge that which is like them, in ourselves; causing rather to burn increasingly in us a holy anger against
evil, that thereby there may be more and more room for
the Holy Spirit to work in us and by us.
The words of our text show us the Saviour in His last entry
into the capital of His nation, at the summit of His popularity
among men, and at the highest stage of His influence. He
is no longer called simply Jesus of Nazareth; His disciples,
and after them the people, and, following their example, the
children in the temple, cried, Hosanna to the Son of David!
the very name by which the expected deliverer of the nation
was designated, We see Him exercise magisterial authority,
as it were, in the temple, as, besides the existing rulers, it
became Him alone to do, who was called to institute a new
and higher order of divine things. But how soon, my friends,
how unexpectedly soon do we see the whole state of things
change! How easily are all the people who have just been
shouting their applause around Him, turned away from Him!
How soon do we find the Lord, who seemed so lately to have
everything at His command, a prisoner and bound in the
hands of His enemies! How soon is He who but now had
been hailed as the Son of David that cometh in the name of
the Lord, brought forward and accused as a malefactor! If
we ask the reason of this, we meet, no doubt, on the one
hand, the unhappy disciple who betrayed Him; on the other,
the enmity of the niters, restrained only by fear of the
enthusiastic people; but how would they have ventured to
lay hands on Him, how would hatred and treachery have dared to approach Him, if this enthusiasm of the people had
been less evanescent, if the fickle disposition of the people
had not favoured their purpose? And the Saviour knew
this disposition, even when they were all strewing palms
before Him and greeting Him as the Deliverer; we can
trace this sting in His heart through all His sayings; and
this suffering of soul was present with Him even in the
height of His popularity. This then is the subject on which
I wish to speak,—the fickle disposition of men as a source of
suffering to our Saviour, and in the order that I have already
indicated; namely, considering first, how our Saviour bore
Himself in regard to this, and how, therefore, we also are
to act; and secondly, setting before us, as a warning example,
those who prepared this suffering for our Saviour.
I. Yes, my devout friends, we cannot and dare not conceal
it from ourselves, the position of those who seek to promote
what is good, who are in earnest in labouring at the work of
redemption, is still the same as that of the Saviour Himself.
They are a little handful—each one of them alone—but,
still more where they would like to work in union, beset by
enemies and traitors. They meet, no doubt, on the other
hand, with much admiration; much enthusiasm is aroused
by their courage, their self-sacrifice, their constancy; but
often in the most decisive moment this enthusiasm fails to
stand the test, and they see themselves forsaken and thrown
back upon themselves. Under these circumstances then,
surrounded by people of this fickle disposition, what can we
learn from the conduct of the Saviour? In the first place,
He knew the fickleness of the populace, and hence did not
allow himself to be deluded by their ebullition of kindly
feeling. Who among us, my friends, in the Saviour’s position, if at that feast which drew together many thousands
from all parts of the country into Jerusalem, he had been
met with such universal favour by the populace—if on every
side so much willingness to accept his help had been manifested, so much eagerness to commit themselves to his
guidance—who would not have formed the most flattering
hopes, which yet no results would have justified; who would
not have allowed himself to be seduced into schemes which
would have had no relation to the actually existing means
that were to be put in operation! Very far was the Saviour
from this! Though we do not find that He expressed aloud
His suspicion of the real import of these marks of honour,
or that He rejected them, yet all His discourses between
this brilliant moment and the time of His being seized, of
which the evangelists have preserved for us so great an
abundance, show plainly how correctly He estimated His
position. How many hints there are that the people would,
notwithstanding all this, refuse and reject Him; how many
open and more private warnings to those who led others
astray or suffered themselves to be so led; how many words
of comfort because all the good that He had planned for
men would not be spread abroad until future generations.
He even saw plainly beforehand the temporary painful
timidity of His disciples, and foretold that when the Shepherd should be smitten the flock would be scattered. And
so He did not allow Himself to be misled into building any
far-reaching project on those utterances of the multitudes
that poured around Him with their plaudits; no open war
against those who, to their own condemnation and the ruin
of the people, sat in Moses seat; no attempt to give to the
kingdom of truth a striking, outward form, and put it in
the place of the worn-out, dead priesthood; only all kinds
of precautions that it might be brought safely, in its unseen
form, through all the coming storms. Oh, my friends, that
we might learn this from the Saviour! For there is nothing
more bitter than hopes and plans for good that have proved
vain, and of which we are obliged afterwards to confess that
they had not been so well-founded as we thought, and that
we might easily have foreseen their unsuccessful issue. But we shall only acquire this wisdom by keeping our zeal for
the kingdom of God pure from all culpable thoughtlessness,
and by letting the deepest earnestness rule our lives; we
shall only learn it if in our judgment of men’s state of mind,
vanity has no part whatever, and if, in order to estimate it,
we always look into the inmost recesses and the former
history of our own hearts.
But in the second place, the Saviour by no means neglected
to make use of the favourable, though transitory, emotions
of the people. If we assume, as we must, that He who had
no need that any one should tell Him what was in man,
knew the multitude for what they were, even in the midst
of their enthusiastic acclamations, we see how little this
interfered with His usual manner of acting. Though He
knew that these same people who were now shouting their
rejoicings around Him, would soon by their acts be against
Him, just as His open enemies had always been, yet He did
not now hesitate to make it understood that He was indeed
the One who was to come: If these should not speak, He
says, according to another account, the stones would immediately cry out. What He would gladly have done long
before, cast out the crying abuses from the temple and
cleanse His Father’s house, He felt that He could now do;
He felt that these stirrings of feeling, transient as they
were, made all opposition to His absolute authority for the
moment impossible; and if He knew equally well that in a
few days it would all sink back into the old disorder, yet
He omitted nothing that the moment allowed, nothing that
was an indication of His office, and worthy of His having
effected in so short a time. He did not scorn to effect
what was to pass away, because even previsions of the future
are profitable; and thus He sought to draw from even
this transient excitement every advantage which it really
offered.
As to ourselves, my friends, as we allow ourselves too easily to be carried away into indulging extravagant hopes,
when we see men better than they really are, so we are also
too much inclined to despond when we observe that their
movements towards good were only passing and superficial
ebullitions. We are disgusted with their praise, their
honour, their attachment, when we find how at other times
they give the same to those who are utterly different from
us, to whose views and mode of action we are thoroughly
opposed. We lose all delight in their pious emotions, in
their interest in what is good, when we see plainly how soon
it is swept away by anything whatever that touches them
personally, or how readily the same easily-moved feelings
may be enlisted on the opposite side. And, indeed, because
what we really love and honour is only real goodness that
flows from the pure fountain, we would prefer to have
nothing at all in common with such people, and rather fear
to injure our work by using the passing impulses of such
uncertain characters even as instruments and means towards
what we are trying to do. Would that we could in this
matter follow exactly in the footsteps of the Saviour! Holy
indignation at the changeable character of men was not
indeed unknown to Him, nor did He reckon this fluctuating
multitude, in their favouring mood, in the number of His
people; but He had no hesitation in availing Himself of their mood in order to
effect something good by means of it. On men themselves there can certainly be
nothing built in such a state of temporary excitement, and nothing that it
produces is of much value, in so far as it is their work. But why should it not
be of value as a work of ours, which yet could not have been accomplished
without them? If we can wring from them a contribution or some co-operation in a
good cause, which does not on that account become theirs, nor is the worse for
it, are we to miss the opportunity? Rather let us avail ourselves the more
quickly of the uncertain and brief help, the more uncertain and brief it is; and let us reflect that this also is a talent that God has
entrusted to us, a power that we are to use, each of us
where he is placed in the Lord’s vineyard, so as to accomplish with it as much as we can. And this will become the
more easy to us if, in the third place, we become like the
Saviour in this, that even in these transient stirrings of
feeling we do not fail to recognise their noble and divine
origin. For in His conduct this is plainly to be observed.
Therefore He bore with, and indeed took pleasure in, the
acclamations which expressed the emotions that His superior
dignity had aroused, though but for a moment, in their
minds. Therefore He did not oppose them with that sullen
sternness with which another would perhaps have told them
that they were not worthy thus to greet Him. But when
the chief priests and elders came and asked Him in doubt,
Hearest Thou what these say? or, according to another
evangelist, Rebuke Thy disciples and forbid the people; He
did neither the one nor the other: on the contrary, He
acknowledged it as a good thing, as praise offered to God
and to Him, by referring to the Scripture that says, Out
of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast Thou prepared
praise; He recognised it as necessary, by answering them,
as another evangelist tells us, Verily, if these should hold
their peace, the stones would cry out. And can we, my
dear friends, do otherwise than, like the Saviour, recognise
the Spirit of God even in such transient excitements among
men? No man can call Jesus Lord, says the apostle, but
by the Holy Spirit, and this word we may neither wrest nor
explain away. Every impression, therefore, even though
transient, produced by the words or the person of the
Saviour, that bends the knees of men to the dust in real
feeling before Him; every honest, though only momentary
testimony of their reverence towards Him, by which they,
as it were, glorify His throne set up in the Church; every
feeling of horror that seizes their hearts at the thought that His rule round about them, which they themselves have
so little supported, may some day come to an end; every
service, every contribution which they pay, with their heart’s
consent, to what we as ministers and servants of our Lord
undertake:—all this is the work of the Divine Spirit. And
are we not to honour and recognise it? Are the indications
of it too many and too various, so that we may easily do
without or neglect some of them? If we justly feel grieved
that every stirring of this Spirit in the hearts of men does
not take a thorough hold and renew and sanctify them, are
we therefore to rejoice the less at His every lightest knock
at the door of men’s hearts, at even the first traces of a life
of their own, though it is not yet permanent? Ought we
not to be less cast down by the fugitive character of such
moments than cheered because there is, nevertheless, a
stirring in the hearts of men? Though we do not always
venture to prophesy that such stirrings will at some future
time lead to fear, and to a point at which men will repent
and smite on their breasts and ask, What shall we do to be
saved?—even supposing we did not foresee this, are we, on that account, not even
to take the pure enjoyment of the thing itself? For what better proof can there
be how deep the germ of the divine lies in human nature, and properly belongs to
its essence, and hence what can be more moving and cheering to us, than those
very fits of piety wrung from hardened or thoughtless men?
May we all thus learn from the Saviour to restrain the natural
feeling of aggrieved indignation at the fickleness of men, by striving to find
out all that God is effecting, and being set with our whole soul on every good
work that our hand finds to do. But do we become altogether like Him in this
matter, only by thus acting in regard to the fickleness of others? Must we not
also think about banishing it from ourselves? Only remember that in Him there
was and could be no trace whatever of this infirmity of human nature; remember, at the same time, how often you good men, even
at heart pious men, have yielded to it in dismissing your
weightiest convictions and resolutions; look around you;
how much good is forgotten through fickleness, that was
begun vigorously and with noble zeal; and you will not fail
to acknowledge that even the best are not quite free from
this mischievous weakness.
II. Let us therefore, secondly, set before ourselves as a
warning, the inward condition of those who in this fickle way
forsook the Saviour, and the responsibilities they incurred.
We have certainly no reason to assume that many of those
who had celebrated the Saviour’s entry, who had publicly
directed the hope of the whole nation to Him, and, as His
numerous retinue, had supported His strong measures in the
temple, would, a few days after, have joined in the cry,
Crucify, crucify Him! that the very same people who so
confidently proclaimed Him as the Messiah, had afterwards
a hand in His death as if He had been a base impostor; or
even that their hope of a new and better kingdom of God
had entirely vanished, and that just for that reason they
would have preferred to see Him utterly destroyed on whom
this hope had rested with so decided a predilection. No, the
sentiments of men are seldom so entirely turned round,
especially from what is good and true to what is perverted
and evil! It is not so, assuredly, with any of us, that we
could by any possible means become doubtful as to Christ
being the foundation-stone of our faith and our salvation,
His image and His word the universal standard of all our
actions. But just as those people would not likely have thus
kept silence, so that we cannot understand what has become
of the great host of admirers and adherents, but rather there
would have arisen a great and serious struggle, if they had
not become doubtful whether supporting Jesus was really
after all the means by which that better kingdom of God was
to be brought in, or if they must not postpone their hopes to another time; so we also as individuals are often unstable,
and what we held with the strongest conviction as good and
right, and as necessary for the well-being of present and
future generations, and were ready to promote with all our
powers, we not unfrequently become again uncertain about,
when the decisive moment is at hand. Now, in seeking to
point out, from the example of that mixed multitude, what is
the cause of this changeable behaviour, I think that many a
one is saying to himself, But how are we to know at first, and
who is to judge, if such a thing occurs with us, whether it is
instability, or rather a later and correct knowledge? for how
often it is only through a state of vacillation, and after having
inclined alternately to this side and to that, that we arrive at
a firm conviction! And how often a man is too hasty with
his resolutions, so that it is a real step in the way of improvement when from a false certainty he comes to doubt and
uncertainty! But this question need not interfere with the
view I have started, for just how these changes of conviction
come to pass can only be determined by what has preceded
them in us and without us. Let us only, in the first place,
not forget that we enjoy a great advantage over those contemporaries of Jesus whom we are setting before us as a
warning example. That is, that a Christian guided by the
Spirit of Christ will seldom come to a firm decision on any
important matter by himself, but through that same Spirit,
who is the Spirit of truth; and if he takes up anything in a
fit of passionate excitement, a sense of insecurity will arise at
the same moment and will go on increasing; and therefore
with him it is rarely an advance when from firm conviction
he goes back to doubt. Now if with ourselves, what we
felt certain about becomes again doubtful, the firm purpose
unsettled, whence does that come? This we shall see in
those men, in whom we see mirrored both the bold and the
cowardly heart.
In the first place, my friends, what is expressed by the jubilation of that multitude at the entry of Christ, but the
hope that He would redeem Israel? They believed that the
time was come, or would presently be, when He would come
forward publicly, and announce Himself with authoritative
credentials, as God’s ambassador; everything would then bend
before Him, and they, reminding Him at the same time of the
way in which they had even now professed their faith in
Him, would then renew their profession, and would not only
obtain from Him deliverance from all their troubles, but
would also share in all the glory of His kingdom. But now
they saw Christ Himself in trouble; and if they meant to
be loyal to Him, they must have felt called on, instead of
merely receiving help and deliverance from Him, to help
Him, as it were, in the first place, by making their voices
heard in opposition to the demand of the angry crowd. You
see here, my friends, how it is not infrequently with many
people. Some prospective undertaking of an individual or of
a community appears to us in the highest degree desirable
and profitable, perhaps even necessary, to prepare the way for
and to support what most concerns ourselves. We long for
the moment when they will begin their operations, we receive the first indications of it with rejoicing and exultation,
we set ourselves in readiness to apply the hoped-for help to
our own uses, and then we join in the cause itself with all
our might. But if, meanwhile, the enterprise itself come into
danger; if those in whom we hoped meet with difficulties
and opposition, and seem to be themselves in need of help;
then we become doubtful, and think that in those who are
themselves in want of our help there cannot surety be the
power that we supposed to help us; we think we must have
been mistaken, and are quite rejoiced that we have been
warned at the right time and have discovered our mistake.
But is not this a very strange way of thinking, opposed to
universal experience and to the first principles of all human
action? Is there any power in human affairs except by the union of human faculties? Is there any kind of help and
support that should not be mutual? Can any one receive
help in any way, whether from friendship, or through family
connections, or by the public authority, if he has not him
self without intermission upheld and maintained those very
powers? Is it not, therefore, the greatest folly if, instead of
supporting with all our might that from which we expect
good—as the friends of the Saviour ought to have showed
publicly that the voice of His accusers was by no means the
voice of the whole people—if, instead of this, we think that
there can certainly be no help and deliverance for us in what
will perhaps perish if we ourselves do not support it? Did
not the Saviour for this very reason come in the form of a
servant, was He not tempted in all things like as we are, that
we might understand that God will bestow everything on us
only in a human way; that is, growing up gradually from a feeble beginning that
stands in need of help?
But, in the second place, it is certainly still worse if the
fickleness arises from the fact that it is just we ourselves
who ought to afford help to what we have counted good and
excellent; if it is when the consummation is to be reached
perhaps in doubtful, unpromising circumstances, that the
firmness of our resolutions is lost; in short, if a timid disposition or
cowardice is the source of our instability. That was certainly the case with
many who, when they shouted their Hosannas to the Saviour, had firmly resolved
to join Him and share His fate; who at that time were not intimidated by the
well-known hatred of the upper classes towards Him, but intended nobly and
gloriously to maintain that struggle together with Him; but now, when it was actually begun, they
drew back. And how often do we meet with the same
spectacle in individuals among men who have recognised
what is good. At a distance, opposition, struggles, self-sacrifice cannot alarm them; but when the moment conies
they lose heart; anxiety and misgiving master the weak mind, and instead of saying to themselves, The thing you meant to
do is still right and good, but you are too timid, too feeble,
too weak of will to carry it out, you have given yourself credit
for what you are not capable of doing;—instead of this, the
desponding heart abuses and deceives the understanding and
poisons the judgment with worthless fancies, as if what had
formerly been aimed at with lively zeal were neither so good
nor so necessary a thing as had then been supposed; as if
beneficent time had now for the first time revealed the true
nature of the case. Oh, my friends, I cannot begin to tell
what deep debasement there is in this condition; with what
compassion, bordering on contempt, noble and strong souls
look down on it, and how they grieve or reproach themselves
for having perhaps reckoned more on us unstable ones than
the Saviour did on the men of His time. And how much
shame do we prepare for ourselves if that from which we in
our cowardice drew back, is yet splendidly carried out! how
much reproach if, just because of our cowardly instability, it
is discontinued! For we are not, of course, to covet that
every good work should be done through us, and we may rejoice just as deeply in that which, through the grace of God,
is done by others; but this joy befits only those, and in fact
they alone share it, who have themselves done all they could.
And if we are disappointed of something that we had desired
as a great blessing, there remains to us, it is true, the comfort that all is only for the best as the Lord orders it; but
this comfort befits only those, and they alone actually enjoy
it, who have risked everything in order to attain what they
desired. Shame and confusion, on the contrary, on those who
are compelled to say to themselves, If you had continued
steadfast, you might now be among those who are thanking
God that He has made use of them for the furthering of what
is good; but now you have done everything that lay with you
to hinder it. And a burning and grievous sting must be
fixed in the hearts of those who are obliged to say to themselves, that God will now again prepare praise for Himself
only out of the mouth of sucklings; that everything on which
perhaps their hopes, with those of many thousands, were set,
is again deferred for the next generation; nay, that perhaps
only the stones are speaking of that which was then undeveloped and went back, while free and pious men might be
joyfully thanking God if it had been accomplished; and that
this also is their fault. For where an unstable disposition
gains the upper hand, there the little number of the good
and strong labour in vain for the present, and none but
babes, who are witnesses of the great fault without sharing
in it, dare to hope; when faint-hearted hesitation prevents
the aim from being promptly met at the right moment,
then all that men, moved by the presence of what is great
and divine, have felt, is like sterile blossoms from which
there remains no fruit. But monuments of ruin will speak;
for where precious opportunities are missed for the kingdom
of God, there ruin breaks in, there follow close behind,
as they did then, the judgments of God.
Yes, my friends, unstable souls are like that fig-tree, the
account of which comes soon after our text, the tree to which,
in returning to the city next morning from Bethany, the
Saviour went to pluck fruit, and found nothing but leaves.
So also those people, however much cultivation has been
bestowed on them by the stirring and inspiring presence of
what is good and beautiful, have never anything to show
but the barren decoration of fine feelings and high-sounding words. But the Saviour’s heart was vexed; He said
to the tree, Be thou forthwith dried up! And what have
such people to expect, especially in so decisive a time, but
that the power that exhausts itself in empty utterances will
entirely leave them, and nothing but the outward life remain,
as a warning monument.
Let every one then, trembling at the thought of such results, strive to have his heart kept steadfast, to be ready at any cost to cleave to what he has recognised as true and
right. And that we may be able to do this, oh let us be
branches in our vine, the Lord, so pervaded by His Spirit
and His presence, that, far from being sounding brass or
tinkling cymbals, we may enjoy the living faith that makes
no difficulty about mountains being removed, and the living
love of which our eternal fountain is the Lord, who clung
even to the weak disciples with heartfelt fidelity, and bound
them together, as may He also bind us, to loyalty in life and
in death. Amen.
VI.
FORGIVENESS AND LOVE.
TEXT: LUKE vii. 36-50.
HOWEVER much admiration and honour was given to
our Saviour by many of His contemporaries during
His life on earth; however powerfully a yet greater number
were struck, at least for the moment, by His exalted character; still just His greatest words and His noblest deeds
often remained dark even to the noblest and best around
Him, and seemed to the rest a piece of insolent pretension.
When He spoke of His eternal relation to the Eternal Father,
even His more intimate disciples asked in childish perplexity, Lord, show us the Father; while the mass of the people were shocked at His
words as at a blasphemy. When He spoke to an unfortunate the great word, Go, thy
sins are forgiven thee, they murmured among themselves and said, Who is this
that forgiveth sins?
And even the ideas they had of Him were inconsistent
with each other. Daily they heard from Him and His
disciples that He had come to set up the kingdom of God:
could they wonder, then, that Ho who affirmed this of Himself, also claimed the right to forgive sins? Could they
believe in the possibility of a kingdom of God in which the
great word, Thy sins are forgiven, would not be spoken to
every one belonging to it? Did they believe that through
their sacrifices they found forgiveness of sins, although no power could proceed from them to elevate and advance men
so far that they should not be always needing forgiveness
anew and as much as ever; and yet did it seem to them a strange thing that now
at last this greatest and most comforting of all assurances so necessary to
them, should proceed from the depths of this divine heart, from Him who so
mightily moved the souls of men?
We all feel that true love to the Saviour could have struck
no deep roots in hearts that could so marvel.
It is of course different with us, my Christian friends.
We acknowledge Him as our Mediator with His and our
Father, through union with whom the forgiveness of sins
comes to us once for all, and who pronounces it to us ever
anew in His word, and by the special manner of His presence
with believers. But while those people long ago asked,
Who is this that forgiveth sins? it well befits us to raise
the question, Who are we to whom sin is forgiven?—are
we, at least, in so far worthy of this great word that we
thoroughly feel its deep meaning and that it stirs us to
fervent gratitude and love? There is an idea very common
among us,—which has indeed its true side, and which is
founded on living faith,—that if we have once found the way
of salvation we should no longer let our thoughts dwell on
the weakening and tormenting sense of sin; but that when
it is confessed and put away by repentance and faith, it
should only serve in the way of instruction and warning;
that we should then go forward with alacrity and courage
in the work of establishing, specially on this foundation, our
relationship of love and fellowship \vith the Saviour, as the
power for a life more honouring to Him flows ever more
abundantly into our souls from His word, from His memorial,
and from His image present to our minds. This is all quite
true; but the one view must not exclude the other, and there
is certainly great danger of our relation to the Saviour losing
its distinctive character if this thought does not keep a lasting hold of our hearts, that it is He who speaks to us the
great word, Go, thy sins are forgiven thee. For He Himself makes this very consciousness at once the ground and the
measure of the love that we are able to give Him, and that
love is certainly the source of the power that proceeds from
Him.
The simple and touching narrative of our text has never
failed to take a wonderful hold of every heart not utterly in
capable of feeling. In reading it we cannot but be struck
afresh with the sense of how glorious a thing it is to be
drawn to the Saviour by a feeling of one’s own lost condition;
and every one must recognise the profound truth of the direct
application which the Saviour makes of the incident, when
contrasting the weeping woman who was a sinner with the
righteous man whose guest He was. But the broader inference which our Lord finally draws from it has always seemed,
to many minds, questionable and obscure. Let us therefore,
for the present, confine our attention to these last words,
“Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much:
but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little.” Let us
consider the universal connection between the forgiveness of
sin and love, as here laid down by the Saviour. Let us note
how the conduct of this woman bears on the relation of men
to the Saviour, and how all the lessons of the narrative serve
first of all to illustrate this; while at the same time there are
allusions throughout to everyday human relationships, and
the Saviour states His main principle in quite a general way.
Let us, therefore, consider first our common relation to
Christ, and then our ordinary brotherly relationships with
each other.
I. First, then, as to our common relation to the Saviour.
Can we accept as universally true this principle which He
lays down, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she
loved much: but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth
little? Serious difficulties have in fact been raised as to the first part of the statement. Thus, when the Saviour says,
She has been forgiven much, for she loved much, He takes
the love as the ground of the forgiveness, and so, in fact,
places love in the position of claiming forgiveness—even much
forgiveness; which will yet be granted for the sake of the love. But he who
needs much forgiveness must of course have sinned much. Then is love—at once the
deepest and inmost source and the richest and purest outcome of every thing good
and noble—always to spring out of evil? is sin to be the soil that yields the
largest returns, from which good grows the most richly and produces the noblest
fruits? And if love is the only true virtue—the sum of all the commandments of God—then must not all sins just amount to
this, that love is wanting in a man’s heart? But how can
you reconcile these things? The more a man needs forgiveness, you say, and therefore the more he has sinned—that is,
the further his heart is from love, the deeper he is sunk in lovelessness and selfishness—is he just so much the more
able to love? Is he to be made capable of love by its very absence?
Now, how shall we answer such objections? Simply by
what experience teaches us. For what, in fact, does produce
more love—above all such love as comes from the gratitude
of the needy—than a keenly felt sense of need so entirely
possessing a man’s heart that he is conscious only of the one
longing for help and deliverance, and then his actual experience of deliverance? The very name Jesus, Saviour,
implies that our love shall be of this kind. The power of sin
creates such a sense of need. And when is this great word,
Thy sins are forgiven thee, spoken to a man? When can he
receive it? Not until his heart, long as it may have been
hardened, opens at last to the eternal light; and the more
clearly a man recognises, in that light, his own position, just
so much the greater must be his sense of the misery from
which he longs to be delivered. And it is thus—with this feeling of the guilt of a heart that has become a stranger to
love—with this longing to escape from the consciousness of
condemnation—that every one who for the first time seriously
and truly estimates what is meant by being a Christian,
comes to the Saviour. And ever as he sees things more
clearly in the eternal light of truth, he becomes more fully
conscious that, if he is to be forgiven at all, he must be
forgiven much. And in order to the full strength of this
conviction, and through it to the man’s capability of grateful
love, there is no need, as objectors fear, that a man should
be guilty of great and open sins, of extraordinary and
heinous offences; as if the more sins a man should commit,
it were the better for him. There is nothing whatever in
the words of the Saviour to imply that the power of loving
belongs pre-eminently to him who has made himself preeminently a mark for the scorn of the world. Christ simply
means to deal with the Pharisee according to his capacity
for understanding; and therefore He sets before him one man
who owes a certain sum and another who owes ten times as
much, and bids him decide which will be the most grateful for the remission of the debt. But if we examine this
story of His in a spirit of simple desire for truth, and with
the honest purpose of discriminating between the mere external and the spiritual, can we really believe that the greatness of the debt is meant to figure a great amount of specially
aggravated sins? For the person who has contracted a
small debt may have just as far exceeded his means, and
may have just as carelessly overlooked the impossibility of
restitution, as another who contracts a great one. He must
then, naturally, be as grateful as the other for remission.
And, just so, the same amount of guilt may attach to very
different amounts of sin; and he who, tried by the mere
external test of the world, is pronounced pure, may have as
much to be forgiven as he who, to the world’s eyes, seems
laden with sins. But we may be very sure that the Saviour did not mean to measure the need of forgiveness by any such
external rule; and it is just as certain that the mind has
no measure by which to estimate spiritual corruption, either
when we compare men with each other or with the purity of
the Saviour. What can we conclude then, but that by these
different amounts of debt the Saviour means to indicate the
different degrees of the sense of sin? And thus shall we see
this, first of all, to be no more than true, To whom much is
forgiven, the same will love much; he who has seen deep
and clearly into the abyss of his sinful heart, will cling with
proportionate gratitude to Him who has delivered and raised
him up.
But on the other hand the Saviour is entirely right when
He inverts the statement, and says, Much is forgiven to
her, for she loved much. For, my friends, how do we attain
to the pardon of that for which we must be forgiven, be it
much or little? Is it not those very people who find the greatest difficulty in
the declaration of our Lord, who also say most confidently that God can only
forgive, and in point of fact does only forgive, when a man is firmly resolved
on a new life, and has set out in the way of holiness?
But is it of any use to think of holiness if we are not
thoroughly convinced of the opposition between good and
evil? and will holiness not advance the more steadily just
in proportion to the abhorrence with which each one regards
the evil of which all, including himself, have so much to
be forgiven? And if the life of God to which holiness
leads is a life of love, then the sense of forgiveness cannot
awake in the heart until the stream of Divine love which
accompanies the forgiveness has begun to work its way
through the hardened crust of the heart, and the living
water to flow in; and the heart in which this fountain of
love flows abundantly is, without doubt, the heart to which
comes most strongly the glad assurance that much is
forgiven.
And now we can quite simply take up the other half of
the Saviour’s declaration, But to whom little is forgiven,
the same loveth little, without any stirring of anxious
doubts or misgivings, as if it implied that it was an advantage to have sinned more than others; as if grace could
go forth most powerfully only on him in whom sin had been
mightiest; as if he who, while still far from the life of
God, was restrained, possibly by some mere external check,
from plunging deep in the slough of sensuality, should now,
as if in punishment of that abstinence, be able to attain
only to a low degree of the spiritual life; and as if this
statement offered a dangerous incentive to hardened and
obdurate sinners to persist in their sins; or, as the apostle
expresses it, to continue in sin that grace may abound;
giving themselves up utterly to their lusts and passions in
order that there may be a deeper repentance and therefore
a higher measure of gratitude when the hour of grace
arrives. All this is mere vain and empty talk. He to whom
much is forgiven is not he who has sinned much, but he
who feels that, in this respect, the difference among men
as a whole is not so great as we foolishly imagine, and that
one has little honour above another so long as all lack the
honour that comes from God. It is he, in short, who, in his
own sin, mourns over all sin the sin of the whole world;
who bathes the feet of the Saviour with his tears, and pours
forth on Him the fragrant ointment of a grateful and lowly
heart. He to whom little is forgiven is not he who has
sinned little—for who indeed could stand forth and say, It
is I—but he who still thinks too lightly of his sin, perhaps
because, unconsciously, he is unwilling to owe too much to
the grace of God in Christ.
Such a man was the Pharisee who had invited Christ, but
in the worldly wisdom of a cold heart still doubted His
being a true prophet, and who was afraid of showing the
Saviour too much honour, even in his own house.
And just such as he are all who wish to come to the
Saviour, not with the grateful love of the needy, not with
the humble love of the outcast, but with the easy, complaisant love of one who, in the strength of his own
excellence, can easily afford to acknowledge the excellence and
godliness that shine forth from Christ.
And such are all those who readily admit the Saviour’s
claim to gratitude for bringing blessing to mankind, but are
not willing to admit that it was necessary in their own
case that this blessing should begin with their being rescued
from a state of degradation and ruin. To all such, little is
forgiven, and so they love little. Either they have little
love, little heart or feeling in any direction, or it goes out
chiefly on mere earthly things. Lukewarm is their love to
the Saviour. Since there is really such a Saviour, they
keep up a connection with Him; but in their innermost
heart they think they could perhaps do very well without
Him. Lukewarm too is their interest in His work. For
they do not perceive that all coldness of feeling, all stupid
indifference to what is good, all slothful relaxing in our
efforts to please God, are really sins; and therefore it is
easy for them to boast that little has been forgiven
them.
But the true love of the really godly takes quite another
view. In the consciousness of our calling, made clear to us
only in Him, in the thought of our vows so often made to
Him, how can we but feel that to us much has been for
given, and that there must always be much to forgive.
II. Let us, in the second place, apply these words of the
Saviour to our brotherly relations with each other. We
are justified in doing this, because He Himself, in the lesson
of our text, chooses such a human relation, though but a
very external and slight one, to illustrate the relation of
His people to Himself; and still further because He, who
has manifested Himself to all in order to say to them, Thy sins are forgiven thee, does not shrink from even then
calling us brethren.
It is true, indeed, that in our relation to the Saviour, this
connection between forgiveness and love is, in two aspects,
one-sided. It is only we who are forgiven, while it is He
alone who forgives; and again, it is only we who love
because much is forgiven us, while He, on the other hand,
loves because He has forgiven much; because the consciousness of having raised us up and united us to the Father
commends us ever anew to His love.
But in our relation to our brethren the bond is reciprocal.
We are forgiven, and therefore we love; we forgive others,
and therefore also we love them; and for the same twofold
reason do our brethren love us. If the mutual forgiveness
is large and generous, so must the love be that springs from
it; if it is small, the love will also be poor and lukewarm.
Yes, my friends, in every relation of life we must feel this,
that much is forgiven us because we have loved much—that we love little, if little is forgiven us. Look at the
dearest and closest relationships; those with husband or
wife, with children, with brothers and sisters, with all
whom God has laid specially on our hearts, and made the
objects of our warmest love. Which of us can boast that
in these relationships we have sinned little, and that little
has been forgiven us? Oh, consider what life is, with all
our variable moods, our little unfairnesses, our never-ceasing
battle against selfish ways and cowardly sloth; and you will
feel constrained to confess that it is only those who love
little to whom little is forgiven; those who are satisfied
with what can be measured by a mere external and legal
standard. But he who requires of himself what the Spirit
in His fulness can accomplish—and how much that is, the
spirit of love alone can estimate; he who longs for the good
of those whom God has given him just as he longs for his
own; in a word, he who loves much;—oh, how often will he find cause to entreat for patience and forbearance; how
deeply will he feel that to him much must be forgiven.
But just because all who live with him know so well
the deep-seated principle of his loving character; because
in presence of this master-feeling all roughnesses are
smoothed away, all vexations vanish;—for these very reasons he meets with patience and forbearance; and much is
forgiven to him, because he loves much.
And just so it is in all the less intimate social relations
among men. He who is content with standing in no one’s
way, injuring no one, neglecting nothing that the rules of
a correct life can demand, may readily suppose that there is
little to be forgiven him; but then he loves little. He who,
on the other hand, lays himself out to exert a kindly and
cheering influence on the lives of others,—how many sins
of omission, how many moments of lazy indifference or cold
reserve will he have to reproach himself with! But if men
are only aware that this is the ruling principle of his life,
if they feel how much he loves, and see how much ho
lovingly accomplishes, then much is forgiven to him.
Let us think of what we owe to the fathers, the sons, and
the servants of our country. How common it is among
us to think that only he who has been guilty of glaring
offences against these relationships needs forgiveness. But,
alas, how little love there is! How does each of us, under cover of external
laws, seek only his own advantage!
Oh that the hard crust of the heart were shattered, and
that in the pure vital air, real, unrestrained love might
burst forth into a flame! How would the scales then fall
from our eyes! how clearly should we then see how infinitely much we all need to be forgiven! but at the same
time how surely would the sense of a free, full life of love
bring to us forgiveness and oblivion of all the past.
Let us think of our special connection with those to
whom we are united by the common bond of faith and of the forgiveness obtained for us by Christ. How much more
we could do to purify and strengthen this holy bond, by
teaching, by help, and by example; how much more in the
way of finding out and helping forward everything good,
and in sifting out and suppressing the evil; how much more
by counsel and comfort, by forbearance and long-suffering,
to be representatives of Jesus! How much we have to be
forgiven! and yet how plain it is that nothing but love—the earnest longing and effort always to do more and to be
more—can cover the multitude of sins. But think also how
much this bond of believers itself, so to speak, forgives;
how it acknowledges us notwithstanding our weaknesses;
how from it the strength of our oneness in spirit and faith
flows into our inmost being and draws us towards the
holiness which is our goal.
On the other hand, my friends, how can we as believers—as those who are strong in love and faith—shut our eyes to
the fact that others stand to us and to a whole community
of men, so far as we represent it, in the same relation
which we ourselves bear to the whole Church and to Christ,
her Head? Well, once more, then, let us forgive much,
that from this cause we may be able to love much and to
be much loved! Let us reflect how Christ’s forgiveness
acts on the feelings; how not those whose closed eyes He
opened, not those whom He healed of grievous infirmities,
not even those whom He awakened from physical death,
clung to Him with such fervent gratitude, or received from
Him so lasting a gift of love, as they to whom He could say,
Go in peace; thy sins are forgiven thee. And so it is
among ourselves. All other benefits and gifts that we can
bestow have less power to strengthen the bond of love than
gentle sympathy with the inmost feelings, helpful support
given to the weak, restoring and raising up and comforting
the fallen and penitent. That was the brightest glory of
the Saviour, of whom the seer under the old covenant foretold, the bruised reed shall He not break, and the smoking
flax shall He not quench. Oh, how many such do we see
around us here! Let us bind up every bruised reed with a
tender hand; let us gently breathe the breath of love on the
expiring spark, if by any means we may revive it; that so
we may draw the closer to Him, and feel how blessed are
those who gain from Him the name of brethren, and that we
may be able to pray with truth, Forgive us, as we forgive.
Amen.
VII.
ON MARRIAGE.
TEXT: EPH. v. 22-31.
IN completing lately the annual round of our Christian
holy-days, I expressed to you the wish that the holy
emotions which our hearts experience at such seasons might
not pass away with them; but that the impressions then made
might accompany us during the other half of the year, so
that without any extraordinary festival incitement we might
constantly retain a more lively sense of communion with the
Redeemer, and a fuller enjoyment of what the eternal Father
has done through Him. Now if we find that this is not the
case, and inquire for the reason, we usually hear this answer,
That it is the pressure of daily life that continually draws us
back from elevating communion with God into the tumult
of the world. And yet, my friends, what constitutes the life
on which we would so fain lay the blame of our waning
feelings of devotion, of our instability and our transient
impressions? It consists, in fact, of just those natural
relations which God the Lord Himself has established, out
of which the Christian community must be built up, and in
which, in their turn, all the blessings of true Christian piety
are to take root, that they may be more and more widely
extended. How then can this life draw us away from communion with God and the Saviour, when it is really His own
holy body winch ought to be thoroughly pervaded by His own living power? If this does take place, must it not be
because we have lost sight of the real meaning of these relationships, or
because vain and false ideas that have become associated with them have hidden
from us their true nature?
I have therefore thought it might not be superfluous to
take a survey of the most important of our life-relationships,
and to study them in the glass of the divine Word, in order
both to revive in our minds the Christian meaning of them,
and that we may more consciously realize that, far from
drawing us back from communion with God and devoted
love to the Saviour, they are fitted greatly to confirm those
graces in ourselves and through us to call them forth in
others.
We will begin this series of meditations with the relation
ship which is the foundation of all others, namely, the holy
bond of marriage, which we must regard as the first appointment of God after His almighty Word had called man into
existence. Out of this sacred union are developed all other
human relations; on it rests the Christian family, and
of such Christian families Christian communities consist.
Moreover, on this union depends the propagation of the
human race, and the transmitting of the power of the divine
Word from one generation to another. Therefore let us to
day consider this foundation of the whole Christian Church
in the light of God’s Word.
The leading idea in this representation of Christian marriage is, that while the apostle reveals to us the inmost
depths of love on which the whole fabric of the Church is
founded, he at the same time draws our thoughts to the
holy relationship between Christ and His people. I say it
is the leading idea; for we thus see clearly that in marriage,
as the original root of all social life, there should be nothing
that could draw us away from Christ our Lord; rather we
are taught to refer everything belonging to it to that great union of our hearts with the Saviour. We shall best under
stand the apostle’s ideal of Christian married life by considering two points in his description of it: first, an
earthly
and a heavenly view of it, which are yet one; and secondly,
a difference which resolves itself into a most perfect
likeness.
I. First, then, let us see how the earthly and the heavenly
view of Christian marriage which the apostle presents to us
are thoroughly one, and cannot be separated.
He gives us first the earthly view in the words, A man
shall leave his father and mother and shall cleave to his
wife, and they two shall be one flesh. Certainly it could
not be more clearly and strongly set before us than in these
words, and we could find no clearer rule by which to judge
of the many and varied phases of the married state which
we see around us, even in what calls itself refined society.
For, alas, how often among Christians does marriage assume,
even from this earthly point of view, a truly dreadful
aspect! How often do we see the two who should be one
giving way to anger against each other, separated by dissension and strife, and sometimes even so embittered against
each other that, instead of trying to avoid quarrels, they
wilfully seek out occasions for them. In such cases it need
not be said that two have not become one. Again, how often
has the married state a troubled aspect, when, for want
of any glad assurance of being one in heart, both parties
keep watchful guard over themselves, seeking by the most
obliging and compliant manner and behaviour, and by self-denying sacrifice, to avoid all occasions for dispute, and
trying by the most tender considerateness to make up, if
possible, for the absence of true love. And here also, even if
it is only one of the parties who is obliged to exercise this
self-constraint, while the other is in the right position, it is
easy to see that the two have not become one—that there is no true union, but
only a carefully maintained contract. Once more, how often has marriage a
repulsive aspect, when
married people live, it is true, in peace and harmony, but
only because in course of time they have become accustomed
to each other, and because, while they make as little demand
as possible on each other, both find their real satisfaction in
other relations of life and in other companionships! That
in a connection so indifferent and dead the two are not one
flesh is certain, for that implies a living union; and it is
equally certain that in this case there has been no heart
impulse constraining to leave father and mother and cleave
to husband or wife, and that therefore even the earthly side
of a Christian marriage is wanting. But why should I go
on to multiply these illustrations? Let me rather say in a
word that, in so far as each has separate joys and sorrows
(even supposing that they have much more regard to the
interests of each other than to their own); in so far as the
wife needs to remind herself to be submissive, and the
husband to remind himself to give honour to the weaker
vessel; however faithfully they may obey those admonitions
of conscience; and in short, wherever there are opposing
wishes and aims to be adjusted, fully and generously as
those mental concessions may be carried out; just in so far
as these conditions exist, the word of the apostle is not yet
fulfilled,—the love that makes truly one is not and never has
been enthroned there.
But let us suppose that a conjugal union, viewed on its
earthly side, does fully correspond to the deep meaning of
that apostolic word about the life that has become one
through love; let us suppose that there is no need for one
of the pair to forget himself or herself out of love for the
other, because each feels and shares every emotion of the
other, and a kind of intuitive perception of the wishes on
the one side inclines the other towards the same objects.
Let us suppose that no happiness is enjoyed and no pain
borne, apart; that the minds arc occupied with the same
desires and aims, so that they have really one common life;
and that even if days of adversity come, the consciousness
of their true heart-union will enable them to bear the trial
so well and wisely that, when it is past, they will be glad
to have gone through such an experience together. Let
there be all this, and so a marriage answering, in this aspect,
to the word of the apostle; yet, if it is nothing more than
this, we can hardly venture to hope that it will continue to
be even thus. Rather we should be ready to fear that, as
is too often the case, this beautiful harmony was only the
effect of the first glow of affection, which might gradually
die away as the more lively emotion gave place to a tranquil
and customary state of feeling. A union like this is indeed
rare and beautiful; and much good, in many ways, may
result from it; but if this earthly perfection is not founded
on something greater, it still lacks its true proportion, and
the marriage still fails to correspond with the picture which
the apostle has drawn for us, because there is still wanting
the resemblance to the union of Christ with His Church.
For this is the other side of the apostle’s picture; setting
before us Him who so loved the Church that He gave Himself
for it, that He might sanctify and cleanse it.
Here, then, is the heavenly side of Christian marriage
union; its higher aim is that each should sanctify and be
sanctified by the other. Without this aim, even that perfect
harmony that we have described is so wanting in an
adequate object, that it can hardly fail to be resolved back
into nothing. And what gain worth reckoning could come
from a life-fellowship so narrow that it could only be nourished
or exercised in connection with outward life ? The
twofold life would in that case be no better than the single.
Where married life is such as this—regular, pure, cultured,
it may be, but still, when weighed in the Christian balance,
only sensuous, and in the highest sense of the word, unspiritual—we cannot count the difference so very great, whether it is lived by each separately, or by the two for each
other and unitedly; nor can that union deserve the high
honour which is here put on marriage by the apostle. The
results of conjugal love in such a marriage are no doubt
great and beautiful. It makes a cheerful and pleasant life
even when there are few external helps; it makes it easy to
be tranquil on all occasions of difficulty and vexation. But
for us Christians this is not enough. Things are only right
when all the faculties and energies of the human soul thus
developed are at once instruments of the divine Spirit, and,
in order to continue such, find their own natural key, and
keep it steadily in tune. For if in a thoroughly Christian
marriage we had no other joy than this, that it exhibited to
us a harmonious play of natural powers, and if this were the
highest end of conjugal love, I could find there no resemblance to the relationship between Christ and His Church.
Married love is Christian only when each party receives a
spiritual stimulus from the other; when that which, in the
nature of the one, is opposed to the influence of the Spirit,
is restrained and softened by the other; when each, if inclined to grow weak in this direction, is lifted up arid sup
ported by the other; when both see more clearly through the
eyes of each other how they stand as to their fellowship with
God; in short, when both parties feel the power of the Spirit
exalted and enhanced in this union as it could be in no other
way. Where the manifold blessings which God has associated with this union are thus experienced and enjoyed in
all their warmth and fulness, riot in a mere earthly way, but
each heart saying from its depths, Our conversation in in
heaven; where love to each other is thus hallowed by
mutual, higher love to the Saviour, so that the wife can say
to her husband, You are to me as Christ is to the Church,
and the husband to the wife, You are to me as the Church
is to Christ; where this love is always growing stronger, as
experience proves that with their strength united both make more rapid progress towards their common aim of holiness;
there, my friends, is the heavenly side of Christian marriage.
And of such marriages we may say with truth that they
were decreed in heaven; for it has been by the mysterious
drawing of the Spirit Himself that the wife has been guided
to her husband and the husband to his wife; the unaccountable conviction which is daily more clearly proved to have
been true, that each has been predestined as specially belonging to the other, as the most peculiar blessing and the most
helpful companion on their common way. But where these
things are wanting, beautiful and commendable as every
thing else may be, there must be wanting also the true
fidelity and security, and with those, the true Christian
value of married life.
But if that earthly part of which we have spoken is
nothing without the heavenly, it is equally true that the
heavenly part cannot do without the earthly, without the
closest fellowship in the pleasures and pains, the cares and
the work of this world.
It is an old delusion, already long recognised as such
among us, but in earlier times very common in the Christian
Church, that the Christian who wished to give himself up
to the influences of the Spirit, to obtain the salvation of his
soul, and to win even in this life something higher than its
transitory things, could do no better than to withdraw him
self as far as possible from the world, and to flee at once
from its pleasures and its business, its sufferings and its
cares. From this delusion—as if the heavenly could exist
and dwell in this world apart from the earthly—arose that
long-continued and mistaken habit of looking down on this
holy state; a habit which was the cause of so much confusion
and vice; and now, after we have so long been aware that
no one is so good as to be above this God-appointed means of
grace, why should we again surround it with this delusion?
And yet this is done when it is asserted that, though it would not be justifiable in a single man, yet a united pair
would have the most perfect right, because each found sufficiency in the other, to separate themselves as far as possible
from the world, and retire from it for the sake of each other.
It is a reviving of this delusion to suppose that by a many-sided, active life, the bond of conjugal love is not sanctified,
but desecrated; not enriched, but robbed of a great part of
the joys designed for it. A dangerous mistake! for even
the deepest love can only make men capable of good and
purify them from evil in proportion as it strives to fulfil its
whole duty, and shuns no part of its vocation; and two
human beings united by God can only be sufficient for each
other in so far as a life of activity brings to each the temptations and trials against which they need respectively to
guard, and sharpens the eyes of both to search into the
depths of their hearts and bring hidden things to light. A
questionable fancy at the same time, because even in the
most beloved ones we can only have lasting joy and pleasure
when we see them in the active exercise of their natural
faculties, so that when time has stripped off its early blossoms
we see the ripening fruits of the life. And how very far
this delusion is from being sanctioned by the apostle’s words!
For when he points us to the connection between Christ and
the Church, is that union in any sense identified with a
morbid, contemplative life? Must it not have cost the Lord
toil to take captive all those thousands? And is not His
Church made up of servants who are blessed only when the
Lord finds them watching at every hour? And when the
apostle bids the wives be subject to their husbands, has he
in his eye that modest, retiring spirit, which makes the
distinction between command and obedience naturally disappear, while every desire to rule might be only a groundless
whim about little or nothing? No; undoubtedly he was
thinking of the necessary relations in which every Christian
home stands to the larger economy of the community with which it is associated; in which the husband alone represents
the household, and in relation to which it is therefore he who
must act, while the wife takes part, not directly, but only
through her connection with her husband. And in laying
down as a rule the position that naturally results from this,
the apostle shows us that it is God’s, will that each Christian
household should form a part of that wider association, and
fill its place in it by fitting and honour-able work. Therefore,
without regard to their different positions, or to the greater
or less facility with which in union they can avoid hard
work, each pair entering on the married state is reminded of
the divine rule, that the man is to eat bread in the sweat of
his brow, and that it is appointed to the woman, not only to
bear children with sorrow, but with the most earnest and
diligent solicitude to tend and minister to them and to the
whole household.
And let us by no means regard this as a matter of
necessity, or as an interruption to our spiritual enjoyments,
which God has appointed on account of our weakness, lest
they should grow commonplace to us and lose their value.
It is only in common, social life that men’s happiness and
well-being have room to grow, and only by a judicious
division of work that each becomes most distinctly conscious
of his own powers; and so also it is only through this divine
arrangement that we find out what special gifts the Spirit
of God has created in each family, and both husband and
wife, earnestly working together at their everyday duty, at
once find out what is their own work, and enjoy their work
in the vineyard of the Lord.
II. I have thus laid before you various considerations, in
order to prove that if we are to experience the power and
blessing of Christian marriage we must not try to maintain
the heavenly aspect of it to the exclusion of the earthly.
But these same considerations lead us to the second point
which I desire you to notice, namely, that while there is in these
two sides of marriage a great apparent dissimilarity, it is needful that we be
convinced that even this dissimilarity
resolves itself into the most perfect likeness.
Look first at the dissimilarity. When the apostle says
husbands are to love their wives as Christ loved the Church,
we know that this is a love which not only permits but
requires love in return, seeing how constantly we are exhorted to love Him who has first so greatly loved us; but
we know also that it is from another point of view a love
that is raised far above all reciprocal love, seeing that the
Church cannot in any way repay Christ her Redeemer,
and can do nothing for Him, but only go on receiving from
Him a more and more complete redemption. Now if, in
the same way, the wife can do nothing for her husband,
but be always receiving from him, then the wife is in a
bad case as regards her husband, and the woman is always
placed at a disadvantage. And again, when we read that
the wife is to be subject to her husband as to the Lord,
for the husband is the head of the wife, as Christ is of the
Church; then if the wife is to be always subject and the
husband alone may command—as unquestionably the Church
can never in any sense command Christ, but He must always
continue to be absolutely Master—in this light also the
wife is in a bad position in relation to her husband. And
we husbands might seem to have just as little reason to be
satisfied with the position here assigned to us, well aware
as we are that we cannot worthily fill such a position, and
that the more spiritual the marriage union is seen to be,
the less room have we for the proud assumption that we
have got so far in advance of our wives as Christ is above
the Church. But neither could we be satisfied with what
some say; that as this epistle was written in a time when
the marriage union was only beginning to be understood
as a union of holy love, and when women still had a much
inferior position to men, therefore the language must be taken less exactly, and in a somewhat different meaning,
so as to be adapted to present times. For we could not be
willing to have the meaning of anything changed that we
find in God’s word; nor can we allow ourselves to under
stand the language less exactly, lest by sophistry and vain
interpretation we miss the true comfort which that divine
Word contains. Therefore let us rather try to penetrate
still more deeply into the meaning of these words, and in
order that we may succeed in doing so we must study them
in their right connection.
Taking first the words to the wives—that they be subject
to their husbands, and that the husband is the head of the
wife—let us set alongside of them those other words which
recall to us the Scripture narrative of the first institution
of this holy union, that a man shall leave his father and
mother and shall cleave to his wife. How clearly do these
words, which describe the universal divine order, point
to a power going forth from the feminine nature which takes
possession of and masters the man. As soon as a man is
in a position to leave his father’s house, justified by education and religion in beginning an independent life, he seeks
for himself a wife; he seeks, but woe to him if he chooses
merely according to his own will, whether he is led by some
prudent calculation, or in the self-will of impatient passion
seizes on the object of his choice. No security has he in
this way that he has found her with whom he can enter
on the true life of love; nothing that guarantees to him an
attachment that will compensate him for all that he leaves
and gives up. If he is to cleave to his wife, a power must
proceed from her that keeps so firm a hold of him that he
feels every desire satisfied, every longing stilled; and it
must be this same power that at first unconsciously attracts
and captivates him. And when the wife pronounces the
Yes, by which the man becomes her head—a freely spoken
Yes, without which no man can become the head of his wife in Christian communion—she feels that, according to the
universal order and special counsel of God, he has become
her head, through an unconscious and involuntary exercise
of that power which dwells in her; she feels that, for their
whole life together, true Christian fidelity, full unweakened
affection depends on the continued operation of this power,
which raises a Christian marriage union out of the region
of change and accident, and shows it as an eternal work of
the eternal Love, worthy to stand among the holiest and
greatest of such works.
Therefore the divine rule, that the wife shall be subject
to her husband, and the husband the head of the wife, stands
unchanged, and it certainly could not be changed by us
with impunity; it stands, because it is only in the Christian
Church and in a civilized community that there can be a
Christian marriage; and in both of these it is the part of
the man, to whom God has assigned the binding word and
the public deed, to represent the household; and it is never
well if the wife takes a direct part in those larger concerns.
The rule stands; and yet we find no painful contrast with
the higher union, but one which resolves itself into the most
glorious likeness. For if things, even at home, in so far
as they have more or less bearing on those wider connections, are regulated by the husband; if he pursues his daily
work from home quite alone, without the help and company
of his wife, so causing to the family some measure of pain
and anxiety while providing honourably for their comfort;
nevertheless, if he always returns with a heart cleaving to the
wife whom God has given him, according to that first divine
commandment; if he finds refreshment in his weariness, and
strength against difficulties in that union of faithful love;
then the true wife also feels that her power and blessing
are in all that he does, and orders, and provides; and thus
before God and to their own consciousness, they still stand
equal as in the moment when, through that voluntary Yes on either side, the husband became the head of the wife,
and she became subject to him.
And now let us look once more at that word, that men are
to love their wives as Christ loved the Church, in connection
with those other words, that He is the Saviour of His body,
and that He gave Himself for the Church that He might
sanctify and cleanse it. For when we find how often, from
the beginning, His Redemption is spoken of in the same
terms that we have used in picturing the seeking love of
the husband—for Christ also came to seek;—when we think
how, drawn down to us by the sole power of love, He left
the glory which He had with the Father to establish a life
and kingdom for Himself on earth; when we remember
that His own did not first choose Him, but He them, though
now, it is true, they love Him with all their hearts who first
so loved them; finally, when we realize that Christ now
binds Himself up so closely with His people that whatever
they ask in His Name He will obtain for them from the
Father, and that, though separated from them in body, He
is always with them in Spirit; then wo are powerfully
struck with the resemblance between this deep, holy mystery of love in individual lives and the great mystery of
redemption, and we feel that we understand the apostle’s
injunction to husbands to love their wives as Christ loves
the Church. Are we still inclined to mistake here? to feel
as if, according to this view, the husband alone must do all,
and that the wife could as little do anything for him, or be
profitable to him, as the Church can for Christ? Are the
wives, and, for their sakes, the husbands, troubled by the
thoughts that what we suggested as equalizing conditions—the wife refreshing and strengthening her husband while
he plans and rules—must thus come to nothing? Then let
us remember that it is impossible that a comparison between
Christ and men should apply at every point, and of course
the relation of wife to husband cannot, in every particular, present a parallel to that of the Church to Christ. And if
we ask, in what special points is this possible, and in what
not so, we have the answer in these words,—that Christ loved
the Church and gave Himself for her that He might sanctify
her. The husband is to take this self-sacrificing love as
his example; gladly returning from his wider circle in the
busy world to the quiet of his fireside, there to share with
the wife of his heart all that is purifying or elevating in
what he has met with or done or felt. The likeness is
found, not in this, that Christ is our King (as if implying
that an exclusive and unlimited authority should belong
to the husband), but in this, that to the Church, as His body,
He is Saviour and Redeemer. We know that as our Redeemer He has freed us from bondage, for it is the liberty
of the children of God to which we are redeemed. Let
the husband, then, take this freedom-giving love as his
example, and act as the head of his wife in delivering her
from all bondage both of heart and life, to which her sex
so easily resign themselves, in removing out of her way
all restrictions, so that the power of their united life may
have unimpeded exercise in her. Then, even on this side,
the contrast will pass into likeness; when the husband,
although the ruling head, not only is in full sympathy with
the body, but draws the brightest gladness and the most
powerful stimulus toward everything good from the spiritual
freshness and healthfulness of her whose life is one with
his own. And thus, in their life together, will be more and
more fully realized that which is only promised to the
Church in her relation to Christ in the distant future, that
we shall be like Him because we shall see Him as He is;
as the wife, without leaving her quiet, modest sphere,
becomes ever more like her husband, because she both
understands and influences him in all his ways and actions.
Daily experience teaches this in Christian marriage in the
happiest way; and it is thus that our wives enjoy their proper share in all that their husbands accomplish or aim
at in the different spheres of public life.
If, then, the wife, while she is and must be subject to
her husband, is made more and more free by him who loves
her after the pattern of Christ; and the husband, while
truly the head, is so only as he cleaves to his wife in
inviolable fidelity and deepest love; each merging the
thought of rule on the one side and subordination on the
other in the nobler and higher sense of a perfect oneness
of life; then every appearance of difference from the great
model disappears, as even the apostle himself lost sight of
his heavenly and glorious ideas in the one thought that two
should become one.
When thus every difference is resolved into the mutual
and gladsome sense of heart harmony; when to the common
life is added a pure spiritual union, that gloriously pictures
the Saviour’s soul-satisfying love, raising the soul to fellow
ship with God; when the hearts so purified feel impelled
with increased power to labour earnestly in carrying on the
work of God in themselves and in those whom He has given
them, and among whom He has placed them; then, according to the mind of the apostle, we have the realized ideal
of Christian marriage, the foundation stone of the Church
of the Redeemer.
But all these glorious things, and whatever besides may
be contained in our text, are summed up in another passage
of Scripture in the simple words, Let marriage be had in
honour among all. These words indeed send us to self-examination and to humiliation. All the great things that
the apostle says to us about Christian marriage come just in
plain words to this, that we be honourable in it. So that
wherever in marriage the earthly side is not closely joined
to the heavenly; where both parties do not lend their
strength to each other, that both may faithfully and perfectly fulfil their vocations; where all distinctions are not being constantly equalized into a perfect and conscious
unity; that marriage is wanting in true honour. Either it
has not been honourably entered on, and the mutual Yes,
instead of being true before God, has been an insult to Him;
or it has not been honourably maintained, one or other
having gone back more or less, and certainly not unwittingly, from that Yes. And indeed the latter failure
naturally results from the former; for we find it easy to
take back a little from a plighted word when it has not
been given with a deliberate and steadfast purpose. Let
all then ponder how much is implied in this, that it is
only in the Christian sense that the married state can be
maintained with true honour. In truth it can only be so
when both husband and wife have received into their hearts
our Lord and Master, and Ho forms the third in the union
consecrated to Him through love. For He never goes back
from His word, but is ever mindful of His promise that
wherever two are together in His Name, there will He, in
whom alone we can be strong and happy, be with them.
VIII.
THE CHRISTIAN TRAINING OF CHILDREN.
TEXT: COL. iii. 21.
MY devout hearers! Christian families, founded on the
holy bond of marriage, are appointed, in the divine
order of things, to be the nurseries of the future generation.
It is there that the young souls who are to be our successors in cultivating the vineyard of God are to be trained
and developed; it is there the process is to begin of restraining and cleansing away the corruption inherent in
them as the children of sinful men; there that their earliest
longings after fellowship with God are to be stirred, and
that they are to be fitted, by training and exercise, for future
usefulness in every good work. Therefore what more interesting subject can we consider than this most important
work of Christian parents? which, however, is not the
business of parents exclusively. If it were so, the subject
would be less suitable for us; for we are not all parents
who are met here; not all even engaged in the training and
teaching of children. But in this case, as in others, the
great, universal law of human life holds good, that two or
three are not sufficient for the carrying on of a Christian
work. And therefore the bringing up of children is not
the work of the parents alone, nor even of the parents in
conjunction with those whom they have directly engaged
to help them in the way of oversight and instruction. Rather, because we all live in relations more or less intimate with the young, and exercise an influence on them;
because it deeply concerns us all, as members of the Christian Church, that Christian dispositions and faculties should
be called forth in them, we may correctly say that the
bringing up of the younger generation, as a whole, is a
work that belongs to the whole adult community, and wo
are all bound to see that our share of the work is of the
right kind.
But how difficult it seems to treat in a general way a
subject like this in a manner suitable for a gathering of
this kind. For how is it possible in a few separate discourses to review in a profitable way so wide a field of
human wisdom and skill? and what an endless diversity
of opinions must be taken into account, which would first
have to be reconciled. However, this is not at all the place
for setting forth a finished system of human wisdom and
art for the training of our children. All that we can do is
to awaken or confirm in our minds convictions of duty
which shall lead us, at each moment, to the right steps.
And when this is all we aim at, we shall be the less disturbed by the differing opinions, though they do indeed
seem, at first sight, to present a difficulty. For some people
hold that a man is entirely a result of training; that if it
is only set about in the right way, and each part of the
plan exactly calculated and fitted to the rest, one may make
anything he chooses of any child; may draw forth in him,
by practice, whatever natural gift he will, and may endue
him, by instruction, with all kinds of intelligence and skill.
Others, on the contrary, perhaps as lazy and careless as the
first are proud and over-confident, maintain that with all
our labour and skill we are, after all, helpless against the
power of nature; that what we have built up with long
toil is often overthrown with a single blow, when the object
of our care begins to be more left to himself, and is able to give free play to his real nature; and that in reality every
one must accomplish the work of his own salvation and
education, in so far as that depends on man. It might,
therefore, seem impossible to speak with any profit to those
two classes of people together. But if I say to the latter
class, Little as you may promise yourselves from training,
yet, if you are careful to conduct yourselves according to
God’s will in all your relations with grown-up people, you
must be still more circumspect in your conduct towards
your children, and it is only about this we shall speak;
and if I say to the former, Much as you think you are
able to do, even if you think the whole matter lies in your
hand, yet you will not say that it is a matter of indifference
how you manage, and all is left to your good pleasure; you
will admit that there is a will of God, which you must seek
to do: and in this both parties will be agreed, if they wish
to treat the matter in a Christian way. And this is the only
way in which it can be spoken of here; from no other
standpoint can we consider any subject. We can only ask,
How are children to be brought up for God? What, if
we do not wish to miss this aim, is the will of God for us
as regards them; what must we chiefly avoid; to what
must we give the greatest amount of attention? Keeping
these points in view, then, let us, with God’s help, enter on
this subject.
It is somewhat remarkable that the apostle, in speaking
here of the various relationships of family life, while he
treats many other relations much more in detail, on the
great subject of the training of children says absolutely
nothing beyond the words we have read. In a similar context in the Epistle to the Ephesians, we find, it is true, a
further exhortation added; but even there it is prefaced
by this same warning of our text, “Fathers, provoke not
your children to wrath.” This error, then—the only one
against which the New Testament Scriptures so emphatically warn us—must be, it would seem, that which we are
above all to guard against in the training of our children;
indeed, it would almost appear that if we were only
watchful enough against that, everything else would be of
much less consequence. In the hope then that we have
found the most important point in this lesson, let us try
to-day to lay to heart this warning, not to embitter our
children.
It is evident that, in our relations with the young, we not
merely give, but receive; that they are given to us by God,
not only that we may mould and guide them, but that they
may be to us a strength and a joy. I believe, therefore,
that we shall only understand the apostle’s warning in the
full extent of its meaning if we examine, first, what it
implies as to what we are to be to the children; and
secondly, how much bearing it has on what the children
are to be to the parents.
I. When, in meditating on our text, I put to myself the
question, Why, out of all the things to warn us against in
connection with the young, the apostle should have singled
out just this, as of the greatest consequence, that they
should not be provoked to bitterness? it seemed to me this
must have been his idea; that, of all treatment, this was the
most unnatural and the most injurious.
Man has enemies enough within: corruption of many
kinds is deeply rooted in the human heart, and sooner or
later springs up and manifests itself in various forms,
according to different natural dispositions. And it is a
comparatively rare thing that sinful tendencies show themselves for the first time in mature life. It is only in rare
instances that, while much that is good and lovely comes
out in the character of a child under parental training and
teaching, there is no indication, however slight, of the
depravity that lies hidden in his nature, and that this depravity only breaks out suddenly and irresistibly when the attractions of a life of excitement and passion seize
on the soul. Much more usually all the evil tendencies
in the child’s nature will have shown themselves very
unmistakably before he has exchanged his father’s house for
the great stage of the world. And if during that time he
has been watchfully cared for and guarded by those under
whose authority God and nature have placed him; if every
influence on his mind has come more or less through the
medium of the parents, then does it not look very decidedly
as if all the vices and faults that have crept into his character, having come to light during his life with his parents,
have done so as the result of that life? I feel pretty sure
that Christian parents who walk uprightly before God will
not venture to repel this charge. If dispositions like our
own have been found in our children, it was the effect of
our hurtful example; the sin of the old called forth that of
the young. Or, if they have opposite faults from ours, it is
generally resistance of the wrong with which our faults
threaten them that rouses theirs to activity. How often,
too, do we see that even the tenderness of parents, when it
takes a mistaken direction, only promotes the development
of wrong tendencies and passionate tempers. In all this
there is, unhappily, sufficient cause of regret and humiliation; and we are not to try to excuse it, for we are undeniably in fault, and these things only prove how limited are
still our attainments in sanctification and wisdom; but as
we see the fact daily before our eyes, and can only congratulate him as happiest to whom it applies least, we must
conclude that it is at least human and natural. But when
children in their daily life with us are provoked to bitterness, and the bitterness makes them shrink from us, and the
shrinking grows to a secret repugnance, with all that such
a state of feeling necessarily implies; this is a condition of
things that the apostle could not bear to enlarge on, and
nothing can be more unnatural. For bitterness, beloved friends, is an emotion in the direction of hatred, and
therefore contains the possibility of a diminution, or rather, to
speak plainly, of an extinction (though, perhaps, but for the
moment) of the children’s affection. We were lately reflecting on what an unhappy and unnatural state of things
it is between married people when variance and discord
take the place of love, or are even found where love still
exists. And yet we must remember that the marriage union
is only entered into after the character and tastes on both
sides are fully formed; and that there may be many things
in each of which the other is not aware, which may therefore appear unexpectedly and disturb their peace. We
must also take into account that married pairs have often
come from widely different circles, and that each of them
may easily have habits and ideas that are strange to the
other, and to which they only gradually become accustomed.
Bat how entirely different the case is between parents and
children! The whole being of the child is, in its very
origin and essence, related to the parents; a thousand
resemblances declare this to us in the most striking way;
and it would seem inevitable that every new stage of the
child’s development must result in increasing love and unity
of feeling. The child grows up in the closest connection
with the parents; his earliest glance meets the loving
eye of the mother; it is her notice that the first bright
smile of the little one seeks to attract. The first lesson his
mother teaches him is to know and love his father; and as
the young minds expand, they cannot but feel more and
more how everything comes to them from and through their
parents. Here, therefore, is the inmost, inviolate sanctuary
of love; and if here, in children, who are at first all clinging
affection, there yet arises estrangement, anger, repugnance;
if the love which can never be uprooted from their hearts,
instead of being set on those who naturally and by God’s
appointment are nearest to thorn, turns away to other objects, so that they can bear from others what from their
parents would embitter them; this is surely the most
unnatural outcome that could be from the home training.
And in the same way it is unnatural, though in a different
degree, when children become embittered against other
grown-up people who take a part in their training, and have
an influence on their lives. For though those persons have
not so close a natural relation to them, the children are
given to their care by the parents; and if they work in
harmony with the parents they form a part with them of
the sacred family circle. The child feels himself helped
forward and supported by them; and this draws forth an
attachment strong enough to bear many demands and many
prohibitions. It is always thus when things take their
clear, natural course; and the contrary condition always
stirs in us a sense of repulsion, as from something unnatural.
And as this is the most unnatural state of things between
parents and children, it is also the most injurious. It is a
responsibility which we cannot evade, though it bears less
heavily on the more pious and experienced and wise among
us, that we must, by our own weaknesses and faults help
to bring out the faulty parts of our children’s natural characters. It is inevitable, too, that many tendencies may
begin to take shape in their nature without our at once
noticing them, and that, even when we do notice them, we
may not be able at once to deal with them, but must wait
until they become outwardly manifest, so that they can be
pointed out to the children themselves. And when we
reach this point, the question of the success or failure of
our work depends entirely on how far they will yield themselves to us to be cured of their faults; how far they trust
us, and believe that we mean well to them and will do well
by them, even in many ways that seem hard to them. And
if at first many things have been neglected, it is well if, as soon as our eyes are opened to see what weeds the enemy
has sown while we slept, we at once set to work heartily,
and are sure of finding a trustful heart that believes that, if
we weep, there must be some cause for tears, if we are
alarmed, there must be actual danger, that if we have recourse to hard measures, it is because milder means would
not suit the purpose. If this is the case, nothing is lost as
yet. We have in the reverent confidence of the child an
ally in the very stronghold which the enemy has seized;
and before powers thus united he will be compelled to
yield. And even if, as it may and often does happen, we
have entered on a wrong path, still there is nothing lost, if
at once, when we discover that in labouring against an old
evil we have called up a new one, we bravely turn round
and begin again. Time may, of course, be lost; many joys
may be lost or postponed; but as to the real work of training there is nothing lost; for there is no diminution of our
power to combat evil in our children so long as love remains unchilled and confidence unbroken. But how sadly
different it is when that which has crept into our children’s
hearts, without our knowledge perhaps, but assuredly not
without our fault, is a bitter, hostile spirit! What shall
give us courage then? What confident hope can inspire
us? Where are we to begin? If the salt has lost its
savour, wherewith shall it be salted? If love has perished
and confidence is gone, where is the key with which we can
once more gain admittance to their hearts? where is the
rein with which we can draw away these young spirits
from the path of ruin? It is easy to give the answer—unhappily, it is not far to seek for; it may be found in
many neglected, disorderly families of professing Christians.
For if the hearts of the children have been embittered
against us, so that they have learned to shrink from us; if
their natural confidence has given place to a sullen mistrust—a feeling that we always consider our own interests rather than theirs; then there is only one way—and God be praised
there is still one—by which even this malignant enemy can be overcome: it may
be, as it were, starved out, by our withholding from it all nutriment. Only a
long experience of an opposite course of conduct on our part, until even the
heart that has grown cold and suspicious can no longer resist the conviction
that our only desire is to win it back to us,—only this will gradually banish
suspicion, and, by making room in the closed heart for love, will give us once
more an entrance there. It will call for inexhaustible patience, absolute
self-control, thorough self-denial; it is a tedious and toilsome way,—a way
which I am persuaded is not followed in every Christian home in which
the children have become estranged through provocation.
But even if, step by step, we gradually gain a little ground
on this tedious and toilsome path, we must at the same time
be fighting against other forms of evil, which far from
remaining in abeyance because the natural, loving relations
are disturbed, will only appear in greater number and gain
strength more rapidly. And what means of opposing these
new evils remain to us, if our admonitions find no willing
ear, our directions to profitable occupations no pliant will?
There remains only the harsh way of authority; and that
is the plan which, sad to say, we see only too commonly
followed around us. And oh, how dangerous a way it is!
We see clearly enough in other human relations how little
men can be influenced by force, and we always feel drawn
as by a secret spell to set ourselves in league against
sheer power and its doings. And justly so. For the less
a human being yields to force, he proves the more plainly
that there is nothing of a slavish spirit in him; that he is
conscious of a nobility in his nature that is above mere
power; and the more a man tries to gain his ends with
others by force, he shows the more clearly that either he is
not gifted with reason and love—the only powers that should be brought to bear on a human being—or he does
not understand how to use them. And are we to intro
duce force into the peaceful sanctuary of our homes, and
use it towards our children, at an age when they are capable
of being influenced by reason and love? Force cannot reach
their hearts, where we really wish our influence to tell; it
can only restrain the outward demonstrations of their faults
that disturb and annoy us. Thus we can protect ourselves
against them by force, and have a right to do so, if we
find ourselves in the unhappy position of needing such
defence: but nothing whatever can we teach by force. It
will only make their faults take deeper and firmer root, like
plants whose upward growth has been cut off. Indeed the
more successful we are in obtaining this mere external improvement, we have the deeper cause for sorrow; because
in this way we only make it more apparent into what a
slavish state our children have sunk. And therefore it is
not unusual with us who are parents, when we grow weary
of this struggle, to give up all godly training, and to leave
the children to their own way. And being thus, as it were,
defeated, we are left behind with nothing but our pious
wishes on their behalf, which we have often too much reason
to fear are in vain; and for ourselves remorseful tears, which
at best can only serve for warning to ourselves and others
for the future.
It is very clear, then, that the apostle had good reason
for giving this warning the most prominent place in his
counsels as to our conduct towards our children. If we
only guard against the children becoming distrustful of us,
everything else is easily put right; but if we have got into
this unhappy condition, it involves ruin and loss in our
whole relations with them.
II. But we are to speak not only of how we to whom
God has entrusted the hearts of the young are to fulfil His
will towards them, but also of what, according to His appointment, the young are to be to us. On this point I
cannot expect to say anything new to any of you: I hope
I need only appeal to the happy experience of each of you,
in proof of how much blessing has come to us through our
intercourse with the young; how this, more than anything
else, keeps us fresh and cheerful, so that the heart burdened
with many cares can still work bravely on; and how by
such intercourse we are at once purified from disturbing
passions and helped forward in the way of holiness. But
such results can only come from an intercourse that is
characterized by mutual love and by regard to God’s will; for
if we provoke and embitter the young spirits, all these blessings are lost. We shall be the more convinced of this if we
reflect how it is, exactly, that we derive such profit from the
young who are growing up in the midst of us.
Let us consider, in the first place, that the social world
around us is a constantly changing scene, a hurrying succession of endlessly complicated situations, in which, at
every step, we find more to impede than to help us forward,
and must keep a look out on every side lest we come into
collision with others. Every one will bear testimony to
this, whether he moves in a higher or lower social circle.
The external forms may differ, but the essential condition is
the same. When we contrast this with what we are told
of the peaceful simplicity of former days, we are sometimes
inclined to lament that such times are gone, and long to
recall them. But let us remember not only that this is out
of our power, but that as this simplicity was merely an
effect of the isolation in which different communities lived,
it must necessarily pass away when commerce and mutual
interest begin to be more widely extended. And it is God’s
purpose that such intercourse among men shall be extended;
were it only for this reason, not to mention any other, that
God’s life-giving Word may be carried everywhere, and
may lay hold of all men and all nations who are still strangers to it. But in proportion as this intercourse in
creases, life becomes for each individual a more difficult
thing; it becomes the more needful for every one to take
heed against complications in his own concerns; and each
one is the more liable to get involved in the cares and
mistakes of others, and to be swayed by their wishes and
passions. And from this maze of business, from these end
less precautions and projects, from the fretting contact with
the vain and selfish passions of the worldly-minded crowd,
whither can a thoughtful man withdraw to find quiet and
repose of mind, but first and best to his own little home
circle? It is there that life after the old peaceful fashion
should still be found, there that we should be able to
forget, as long as possible, the world with its ways and
doings, to realize afresh that God has created man with
simple tastes, and be anew refreshed and strengthened by
the sight of innocent, unaffected gaiety. But from whom,
for the most part, do we expect this kind of help? Not
from the grown-up members of the family; for either they are themselves taken up
with life’s troubles and cares, or their sympathy with us has by experience so
sharpened their eyes that they are quick to notice when anything has occurred
either to depress or to gratify us: and therefore they are often only too likely
to recall our thoughts to what we wished to forget. It is only the children,
joyous and free from care, who can diffuse around us this atmosphere of oblivion
of the world, that is so needful for us. It is they who, when we come back to
the home circle, see in our faces nothing but our joy in being there again, and
themselves feel only that they have been missing us and now have us back once
more. What a strengthening virtue there is in this bright atmosphere, which at
once takes us back to man’s original state! how quickly it effaces from the soul
all traces of even the busiest and most harassing life! Happy is the man who has
this as his daily experience! But this happiness is of course lost for him in whoso homo
the young hearts have become embittered; for he finds
awaiting him at home only more painful difficulties than
those he has left behind. For from whatever cause the
bitterness of children against a grown-up person may have
arisen, there must have been something like this to begin
with; that he has slighted them and their affairs as of too
little importance to be worth his notice; that when they
gave free expression to their feelings, they found in him
no sympathetic response; that instead of shaking off his
variable moods, before coming home, or, better still, getting
quit of them altogether, he has brought them with him, and
given vent to his ill-humour amidst his family. But for
some such coldness on our part, or some such indulgence in
uncertain tempers to cause it, no feeling of bitterness can
arise. But if unhappily that has taken place, and the children have learned to shrink from us; then of course their
ingenuous frankness is lost, and they themselves have only
become an additional part of our anxiety and care. The
gladness with which they should come to meet us is damped
by the feeling that it is not only one whom they respect
but one whom they fear, that is coming home; they wait
with closed hearts and painful suspense to see what kind
of humour we are in, and from each of our moods they have
something or another to keep carefully out of sight. In this
way all that is trying in our outward life, indeed almost
all the vexations and unpleasantnesses that we must encounter there, are transplanted, with their desecrating influence, into the sanctuary of the home: in this way we
deprive ourselves of the refreshment and strength that
should come to us through the children in our home life.
Alas for him whose experience this is, though only occasion
ally, and through only one or another of the little ones whom
God has given him.
Now let us take another thought in this connection. It is a very complicated state of things that prevails in the wider
circle of society in which we move; and from that cause,
though not from that alone, a most imperfect state. This
is a fact that, indeed, calls for neither discussion nor proof;
we all feel it to be so. But it is to be hoped that the more
this is felt the more deep and habitual is our longing for
the perfect state. And although we live here by faith and
not by sight; yet, just as we cannot imagine any life of
sight in which there should not be still some mixture of
faith; as little can we have any idea of any kind of faith
quite apart from some measure of sight, dim and uncertain
.though it might be. Thus, animated by the faith that
things are to improve in the world, we look forward gladly
to that better future, and there is nothing so effectual as
this hope in strengthening us to be steadfast in our warfare
and unwearying in our labours. But how can we look at
the future but in our children? It is they who are to come
after us and fill our place: it is for them we ought to lay up
an inheritance in a better order of things. And we are the
more content to lose sight of ourselves in the thought of
them when we recall the comforting words of the Saviour
Himself in a similar connection; His prediction that the
kingdom of heaven, into which the men and women at that
time refused to enter, should belong to their children.
Therefore if it is our inevitable lot to see our own or kindred infirmities manifesting themselves in our children, we
long to see, at the same time, indications of the presence
of faculties that will lighten many a struggle for them, and
hasten on many a victory; we long to see for ourselves
something of that which we hope for, that the sons will be
better than the fathers, and as the natural consequence of
that, will be more prosperous than they.
You remember that impressive scene in the life of the
patriarch Jacob, when though in a strange country, yet confident in the divine promise, he regarded the land as the possession of his descendants; and, seeing in his sons, now
grown to manhood, all the generations that were to follow,
pronounced on each of them, by the spirit of prophecy, a
blessing specially adapted to the peculiar characteristics of
him who received it. We could desire nothing better than
to find ourselves in a similar position when we feel that the
time of our work on earth is drawing to its close. A man
could hardly have a more enriching, and comforting feeling
in leaving this earthly scene than that of being able to indicate to each of those whom he leaves behind what is to be
his special place in the work of God’s kingdom, and what
his own personal share in its blessings. And if this would
be a comfort to us at the time of our death, so, even now,
nothing could be more cheering to us, when wearied with
the business of life and out of heart with our work, than
some such prospect of what our children may be able to accomplish and what will be their portion in life. But as this
prophetic vision of Jacob’s was not solely the fruit of his
faith in the sure promise of God; his exact acquaintance
with all the characters of his family contributing something
to it; neither can we attain to a similar comforting anticipation, unless the hearts of our children are opened to us, so
that we have penetrated to their depths and know their
inmost recesses. And how can this be if we have not lived
in gladsome harmony with them, if they have not been frank
and ingenuous in their intercourse with us? And therefore
we come back once more to the warning of our text. Parents
ought, by the nature of things, to be able to form a more
correct judgment about their children than can be done in
any other human relation. But this only holds good when
the relationship remains natural and pure. The more a feeling of constraint grows up between them and us, the more
readily shall we be mistaken in their characters. If they
have become distrustful by being embittered, they shut
up against us the access to their inner nature; the young spirit is enclosed in a crust through which often even the
eye of wisdom and love is unable to pierce. Then our
judgment varies with our feelings. We are able to make
no happy forecast of their future; and we lose what would
be our most effectual means of comfort when cast down by
the imperfection of present things.
You see the matter, then, on both sides. When we provoke and estrange our children, both they and we lose the
best of our life together. And as they, on their side, can
best guard against any growing bitterness by respectful
obedience, according to the first commandment with promise;
let us, on our part, be unremitting in that self-denying love
to them, which seeks not our own pleasure and advantage,
bat theirs, and which has its direct reward in the brightness and peace which the companionship of the young so
naturally brings when there are no jars and misunderstandings.
It would be beyond the limits and the proper scope of our
present meditation to go on to specify in what ways more
particularly the feeling of bitterness is produced in children,
that so it might be watched against the more surely. Therefore I can only repeat this general caution: be watchful;
notice the very first appearances, and turn round at once if
you find yourself entering on a wrong course. For however
excellent a plan it might be to have exact and certain
rules about this, who could depend on his being able to
keep them all? Who could boast of being so entirely
master of all his emotions that he could be sure of keeping
clear of everything that went against the precepts he had
himself laid down? No; even with the most thorough knowledge we cannot make sure that there shall not be now and
then moments in which we both feel and give expression to
something that we must acknowledge to be a cause of provocation. But let me not, in saying this, be thought to put
any discouragement in the way of Christian people. If we only turn at once and earnestly exercise self-control, no real
harm will be done. The evil in such cases is averted through
the working of two gifts with which God has endowed the
human soul; a capacity of forgetting, and clear-sightedness.
The young, ingenuous mind easily forgets, especially impressions that are unpleasant; because it is intended to be
nourished by love, not by fear. It is only the recurrence
of the harsh or painful ways that gradually sharpens the
memory of the children in that direction. Therefore we
may take comfort in thinking of this gift of God in connection with what are only our occasional and infrequent
failures in this respect. And it also tells in our favour in
such cases, that the human soul is, from childhood upwards,
abundantly clear-sighted. Children learn very early to
distinguish between what we may say or do in the mere
heat and agitation of the moment, and what is our real and
habitual feeling. And therefore while, on the one hand, we
may try in vain to bribe their confidence by a few occasional
indulgences or marks of favour while the ruling tone of our
intercourse with them is harshness or half-contemptuous
indifference; on the other hand, we may be equally sure
that if only we are truly and lovingly devoted to them, if we
earnestly seek their real welfare, if we attach to our inter
course with them the importance and interest it deserves,
they will not fail—even if our human infirmities should
sometimes make trouble—to take the exact and true measure
of our real and prevailing feeling towards them, and to cling
to us in childlike confidence and affection. Only let our whole
life be pure in their sight, and our inmost heart before God;
let it be our constant concern to keep far away whatever
may weaken love or be hurtful to frank simplicity; then we
shall never have the sad experience of our children growing
distrustful through bitter feeling, and the blessing of God
shall direct the whole sacred work of training in. the midst of us.
IX.
THE CHRISTIAN TRAINING OF CHILDREN.
(Second Sermon.)
TEXT: EPH. vi. 4.
IN making special mention of our children in our prayers,
as we have done to-day, what we have chiefly in our
thoughts is not merely to commend their earthly life and
welfare, with all that affects it, to God’s gracious care; we
are much more concerned to obtain a blessing on the unfolding of their spiritual faculties, that it may be carried
on in a right way, well-pleasing to God. This prayer is
prompted in the first place by the humble conviction that
if our manifold cares and painstaking for our children,
which fill up so large a part of our life, are to prosper
according to our heart’s desire, the Holy Spirit must work in
them; and further, we are encouraged to offer the prayer
by the devout confidence that this is so. It is just in this
confidence that we present our children in their tender
infancy to be received by the heavenly Father into the
Christian Church, that is, into the fellowship of His Spirit,
by the sacrament of baptism; and as often as we take part
in such an act we anew acknowledge this conviction and
profess this confidence. It is reasonable, therefore, to sup
pose that we should be agreed as to the kind of influence
we exercise on the young, and that in the hands of all
Christians this important work should take one and the same direction. For if the Spirit of God is at work in the hearts
of our children, what can we desire but to be His instruments? For Him alone, and in His name, not for ourselves,
can we expend our cares on them. To try to make out
of the rising generation either a profit to their elders or an
exact copy of them, is an aim which we must leave to those
who think first and most of themselves, because they lack
this glorious faith in a divine Spirit who works in man, and
with that, necessarily, the faith that there can be any progress in all that makes man’s true dignity. But for us, let
our one aim in the training of our children be the honour of
God; they are the fairest portion of the vineyard which He
has set us to cultivate. The essential point in all Christian
training of children is to make them susceptible to the
influence of the Spirit who is promised to them as well as
to ourselves. We are to aim at this by trying to check the
earliest symptoms of whatever might afterwards interfere
with or oppose that influence, and striving by word and
deed to awaken in them longings for what they can attain
to only by the Spirit’s help we are to do it by helping them
to judge clearly of every human model that appears to them
worthy of imitation, and making them quick to see what
is to be rejected. Thus they will be prepared for receiving
and retaining the image of the Saviour; and this is the aim
and spirit that should characterize both our general inter
course with the young, and all the special loving cares that
we bestow on them. And the less of selfishness there is
in this love, the less these efforts depend merely on natural
feeling and impulse, the more possible and right it is for
the whole of us as a community to participate in both. We
can receive all the little ones without distinction, as the
Lord said, in His name, for they are all represented to us
by that child whom He set before the disciples; and while
it is a most precious blessing from God to be directly entrusted with the care of a portion of the younger generation, there can be no object more worthy of the exertions of
those who have not been thus privileged, than the furthering of this great work by every means in their power,
despising no part of it that may fall to their share. In this
sense of brotherly and common interest, therefore, let us
pursue our meditation on this subject to-day, and may God
grant us His blessing.
In this passage we find another precept added to that
which I lately took as our subject of discourse from another
epistle. That first exhortation was meant to set before us
that which, according to the mind of the apostle, we ought
most carefully to avoid in the training of children; this
further counsel is meant, I might say, to include everything
that ought to find a place in our intercourse with them, in
order to their being brought up in the discipline and
admonition of the Lord. It may indeed seem at first sight
as if the apostle’s direction were partial and insufficient.
When we remember on how many different things we expend labour and pains in the education of the young, and
how we all, without exception, have it in view not merely
that they should turn out pious and Christian people, but
that they should be thoroughly fitted for every worldly business they may engage in, and should develop every pleasing
and estimable quality of mind and heart, this thought may
very naturally arise. But the apostle’s own feeling was
certainly not that he was speaking of some single part of
the work, incidentally selected, but that he had hit on a
counsel which included everything. Let us then see if
we cannot find in these words the basis of all training
such as God approves, And to this end we must inquire
what is implied in doing everything for the young, first
with a view to discipline, and secondly for a purpose of
admonition.
I. What then is included in, and what is meant by, all
our dealings with the young who are growing up among us tending to their
discipline; all that we teach them or
enjoin on them, or give or deny them. We must first of all
clearly ascertain the meaning of the expression, on which
everything depends in the question before us.
Discipline is by no means synonymous with punishment,
though in common conversation we are accustomed often to
use it so; but something entirely different. For punishment is incurred by disobedience; discipline takes obedience
for granted: punishment gives children merely something
to suffer; discipline, something to do: punishment adds
something of a disagreeable and bitter feeling, more or less
voluntary on the child’s part, to what is already wrong and
deserving of blame in him; while discipline rather calls
forth a commendable exertion of his powers to accomplish
something or to do without something; an effort which is
in itself sufficient to produce a feeling of inward joy. And
just as the law never effects anything better than the knowledge of sin, and gives no strength to do right; as little can
punishment, which derives its power from fear or from
bitter experience, produce anything but an outward avoiding of sin, without any turning away of the heart from evil.
Tor the heart can be disposed towards good only by love,
which drives out fear, and with fear all the power of punishment. But discipline, which aims by steady exercise to
control and regulate every emotion, and to subdue all the
lower instincts of nature under the rule of the higher, imparts a salutary knowledge of the power of will, and gives
an earnest of liberty and internal order. Such is discipline:
and so very different is it from punishment that, as all will
readily admit, the more we find ourselves obliged still to
have recourse to punishment after our children have be
come capable of a conscious effort of will and of being
stirred to shame, the more undeniable witness do we bear
against ourselves that we have erred and have done too
little in the way of discipline. For if we felt that we were teaching our children the right use of discipline, so that
they had begun to exercise a habitual command over themselves and to be wrought upon by the nobler emotion of
shame, we should have no need to call fear to our aid in
order to quell one mere external manifestation by means
of another. And thus, too, we should experience that the
larger a place we have given to discipline in our method,
the more must punishment lose its effect; because the
young mind is already practised in refusing to have its
decisions influenced by considerations either of pleasure or
the reverse.
But while discipline is on the one hand an entirely
different thing from punishment, it is just as far, on the
other hand, from that indolent quiescence in which unhappily
so many think they may watch the development of their
children. Such persons forget that while God the Lord has,
it is true, set heaven before us as a state in which we may
satisfy ourselves with simply beholding, and with enjoying
the blessings that flow to us through the exercise of
heavenly energies, it is far from being so among men on
earth. God has placed us here, not as spectators, but as
rulers in His name; as His instruments through whom He
means to carry out all His gracious purposes towards man;
the strong and those of riper years guiding and bestowing
care on the weak and the young. The right form for this
rule and this painstaking as regards the young is discipline;
but if we take no pains we impede the fulfilment of the
divine promises. And if, where the system of punishment
prevails, it might seem as if all hope of the Spirit of God
being able to take possession of the young minds had been
given up, the only endeavour being to keep each part of the
natural disposition in check by means of some other part;
it is equally true that the hope which predominates where
the system of easy-going, indolent looking-on at the development of our children is followed is a delusive hope, which is only too likely to be put to shame. For if it is expected
that admonition alone is to take the place of discipline, this
hope is grounded on the illusive idea that everything can
be effected by words, and that action is unnecessary: or if
the non-interference extends to speech as well as to more
active efforts, there is in that case a more mischievous
delusion; whether it be the idea that a work of the Divine
Spirit may begin in the children without God making use of
the parents and others as His instruments; or even that
they may naturally develop good dispositions and habits
without that Spirit who is the life of the Christian Church,
and who, in these words of our text, calls on us to train
our children by discipline. And the further we are, on the
one side, from that miserable condition, as slavish as it is
tyrannical, of being satisfied with what can be accomplished
by punishment; and the more free we keep, on the other
side, from the dangerous error of nattering ourselves that in
those respects which depend chiefly on us, our children can
of themselves turn out well; just so much the more must
we feel and acknowledge the great value and importance of
discipline. But we must practise it not only now and then
on special occasions, when we are struck by some quality or
disposition in excess that seems to call for repression, or by
some deficiency that indicates a need for stimulus; but
seeing that discipline is the one thing besides admonition
which the apostle commends to us in the training of our
children, that training will only be of the right kind when
all our dealings with our children and all the occupations
we prescribe or allow to them become to them means of
discipline, and are prescribed or allowed only in that light.
This perhaps sounds strange and too severe; but it is just
as true as it will prove, on closer consideration, to be kind
and loving.
For where could Christian parents be found who would
not try, so far as their position enabled them, to have their children instructed in all kinds of useful knowledge, and
taught by practice to acquire skill in all desirable arts?
Do we not in fact hold all those who “neglect this guilty of a
grievous wrong against their children and against the Lord
who has committed them to their care? But are all, even
of those who fulfil these duties, deserving of unqualified
commendation? I think not. For if we see that parents,
or those who occupy their place, do these things in an unreflecting way, just as the fancy may strike them, then, even
if their operations turn out well, we do not give them the
credit of the success, but ascribe it to the generally prevalent good customs and methods which they have followed
without knowing why they did so. Or when we see that
parents do act with consideration, and have reasons for
what they decide on, are they, even in that case, sure
always to be worthy of praise, and is it all the same, in our
opinion, what their reasons may be? If parents, instead of
waiting to see what their children may show an inclination
or a natural turn for, or taking into account any such
tendency that may already have shown itself, selfishly insist
on keeping them to the parents own special line of life, and
wish only to have the children initiated into that, in order
to make them as like themselves as possible, have we not
here bitter cause to complain of an un-Christian exercise of
authority over the young? And must it not be a source of
both pain and indignation to the young themselves, when
they are old enough to understand the conduct of those who
brought them up, to feel how much selfishness was mixed
with the love of their parents and guardians? Or, again, if
a direction towards some definite line of life is given to the
young by the kind and character of the instructions and
training given to them, from such motives as these: that
this special course seems to offer tempting worldly prospects; that patronage and support of various kinds make
it easier and pleasanter than other paths might be; that wealth and honour seem to beckon from its goal more distinctly than from other directions:—is there not cause of
reproach in this case also, that an utterly blind despotism is
guilty of the grievous wrong of daring, for the sake of uncertain worldly advantage, to turn aside the young nature
from that for which God has created it, and so to cripple
its actings by a sense of constraint? And what can be the
effect on the young themselves, but that either they will be
misled into treating the things about which we exhort them
as matters of indifference in themselves and holding them
lightly, while they esteem worldly gain the really highest
thing; or that, not less to the damage of their souls, their
reverence towards those whose example they ought to follow
must suffer shipwreck.
Or, to take another case: parents may take careful note of any
indications their children give of natural gifts, and then, as if it were only a
question of winning a race, strain every nerve to the utmost—often at the cost
of a lifetime’s happiness to their children, and at the risk of all permanent
success—only that they may have the gratification of seeing their children
surpass others, so that the excellence of their training may be admired, whether
in the strictly correct conduct of their young people, or in the stores which
they have acquired in the line of art and science. How this grieves us to the
heart, to see even the noblest gifts of the young under such guidance made to
subserve only vain and sordid ends!
In view, then, of all these ways in which we are liable to
go wrong, we cannot but feel how difficult it is to keep a
clear conscience in this important business. How alone
shall we keep it void of offence? Certainly in no other
way than this: we must neither set before ourselves any
worldly aim in the education and training of our children,
nor teach them to think of anything merely worldly and
external as the object to be attained by it; but rather, putting out of view all other results, we must try to Lave
them made distinctly conscious of what powers and capacities they possess which may, by and by, be used in
carrying on the work of God on earth; and to have those
powers brought under the control of their will, by their
learning both to overcome indolence and dissipation, and to
guard against being passionately engrossed in any single
object. And this is just what the apostle means. For
instruction and training of all kinds, so directed, will only
serve as discipline to the young; and only by such discipline will they acquire a real possession in the shape of a
thorough fitness for every work of God that, in the course
of their life, they may find occasion to do.
But see still further how far the province of discipline
extends. Even in the intercourse with their equals, and
the pleasures suitable to their age which we permit our
children to enjoy, our first consideration must be that these
things are such as will tend to their discipline. This may,
I admit, seem specially hard, that the very things that are
meant for recreation and unfettered amusement should be
used as means of discipline. But children receive quite as
much of their education by companionship and in their
plays as by direct instruction and regular work; and therefore when the apostle insists on their being trained by discipline, he refuses
to look at even this part of their training in any other light. And as we cannot
but acknowledge that, even with the best will, much is overlooked in the companionships and amusements of our children, so that they do
receive spiritual injury; would it not be well for us to consider whether this may not result from neglecting this view
of the subject, and regulating this important part of our
children’s lives on some other principle? I do not wish to
speak of those parents and guides who have regard solely
to worldly and external considerations in directing the
companionships of the young. We know how ill such arrangements usually turn out; how the children some
times become hard and obdurate, and sometimes deplorably
pliant and easily led; and how, for the most part, their
bright childhood passes joylessly away. I wish rather to
think only of those who select so anxiously and cautiously
the company in which they allow their children to mix, that
they have only desirable examples before them, while all
quarrelling and passionate excitement are as much as
possible avoided. For even care such as this is often
far from being successful; some of the children turning out
vain and puffed up with conceit, others peevish and discontented, and none perhaps attaining to a salutary self-knowledge. Whereas, if
we look at it simply in this light, that our children’s intercourse with others
is to be to them, as ours is to us, a means of discipline; teaching them to hold
fellowship even with characters very different from their own, and each to make
a happy life for himself by being ready to help others and willing to give way
to them, and learning to suppress all disturbing and unfriendly feelings; then even in this position they are taken care of in
the best way, if only at the same time we maintain rule and
order, and keep away from them temptations that might be
too strong for them. And it is the same as to their amusements, if we look at them in the light of discipline. In
their games they learn to use and control all the powers
that are least called forth in their work; in this way they
will have the greatest benefit and the greatest enjoyment
from them, and there will be the less danger of their be
coming devoted to pleasure, or lazy and averse to work,
liking mere pleasure as opposed to exertion; or even perhaps, if there is anything of sloth and idleness in their
recreation, becoming ungodly and giving place to the devil.
Thus, then, it appears to me that the apostle was entirely
right in laying down no other rule as to all the doings of
the young of which we have the regulation and control, than that they should all serve in the way of discipline. And the
more perfect we try to make our training, the less must
there be which we have not been able to direct on that
principle. And the more such training grows out of the
circumstances of everyday life, without any need of altering
or interrupting its natural course, so much the more pleasing
to God, we may be sure, and the more certain of a prosperous
issue, is the work of our love and wisdom on behalf of the
young.
II. But, my friends, however excellent a thing it is to
train our children by discipline, what is, after all, the
highest thing that can be effected by this means? The
preparing of the way for the Lord, that He may be able to
enter; the adorning of the temple, that He may be able to
dwell in it: but towards the actual entering and indwelling
of the Lord, discipline can contribute nothing. To have all
the human powers, in so far as they are capable of serving
the purposes of the Spirit, trained and brought under control,
so that they are accustomed only to act at the bidding or
permission of a higher power that warns and commands
through parents and teachers,—this is the work of discipline; and an admirable and excellent work it assuredly
is. But even if our children learn ever so well in loyal
obedience, to set aside their own pleasure and conform to
the wishes of their elders, what profit is it, if a time does
not come when the joy of the Spirit arises in their hearts to
fill the place of the repressed pleasures of the flesh; when
they, of their own accord, make a habit of following the
good ways into which previously our will has drawn them;
that is to say, what have we gained, if the Spirit of God
does not actually come and make His abode in their hearts?
For, until this takes place, the care and pains of our training
have not attained their end; not until then have the faculties which we have drawn out and trained found their true
Master; not till then can we comfort ourselves with the thought of one day seeing our children working alongside
of us as independent members of the Christian community.
And this, we are all well aware, no discipline is capable of
bringing about. But, it may be asked, is this not as really
beyond the province of all human influence as it is beyond
that of discipline? Can we in any way whatever contribute
to this end? Does not the Lord Himself say, that the Spirit
moves where He will, and that we cannot so much as know,
much less command, where He is to go? Yes, we recognise
the truth of that word of Christ in this connection also, and
therefore willingly confess our inability; both that God
alone may have all the glory, and for the mournful comfort
of all Christian parents to whom God has appointed the pain
of seeing that their children do not come direct from their
training hands as temples of the Divine Spirit, and to
whose sorrow we have no right to add bitterness by
assuming the place of judges, and charging them with the
blame of their children not yet having received the Spirit
of God. But while acknowledging our helplessness, let us
not forget that the same Saviour who spoke of the Spirit
acting where He will, yet charged His disciples to go and
teach all nations; and that it was just by this free movement of the Divine Spirit that the mouths of those on whom
He descended were opened to declare the mighty works of
God; that is, above all, His works wrought on the soul of
man, for there are none mightier. This, then, is what we
are capable of doing, and what we are even commanded to
do; in our daily intercourse with the young to commend
the mighty works of God, that we may stir up in their
minds aspirations after a happier condition, in which the
Divine Spirit is won to enter the heart of man; and this
is what the apostle, in the part of our text which we have
still to consider, calls the admonition of the Lord.
And here I must begin by examining an opinion very
common even among well-disposed people, which might seem to find some sanction in these words of the apostle.
It is said that as he speaks first of bringing up our children
by discipline, and then mentions the admonition of the Lord
as the second thing, he must agree with those who think it
is right to guard against speaking too early of divine things
to the young and directing them to the Saviour, and that
not till those riper years, when discipline shall have completed its work, will the young be capable of receiving the
admonition of the Lord. But we must certainly acquit the
apostle of holding any such opinion, and that all the more
confidently because we are sure that no one in his days
would have taken this view, not even those who now defend it. For in those early days of Christianity,—when
Christians were not only closely surrounded everywhere
with heathen or Jewish life, but were also exposed to their
adverse influence and opposition,—if parents had deferred
the admonition of the Lord to such a time, it must often
have happened that, before it arrived, the young spirit was
already deeply involved in un-Christian ways. But does this
not apply to every time, only in other forms, so long as
there is still a struggle between light and darkness? Docs
not ungodliness of every kind surround us only too closely
on every hand, seeking to obtain a footing, and to disturb
the holy regulations of Christian society? Has the enemy
fallen asleep, who, while we sleep, is wakeful enough to sow
tares among our wheat? And if he is sure to do this always, what will he not do, if we till the field indeed, but
neglect to sow the wheat? will he not in that case completely fill it with tares, so that there will be no room left
for the good seed? Therefore the admonition of the Lord,
which the apostle enjoins, must be found side by side with
discipline, as soon as we perceive that ungodliness is be
ginning insidiously to approach the young minds. And
with good reason; for we cannot permit it to have scope,
we know of nothing else to oppose to it but the one power in which we know safety is to be found the power
of redemption. Therefore as soon as the age of innocence
is past, as soon as sin becomes active and the law has
brought some knowledge of sin, it is a fitting time for us to
make the erring soul conscious of the need of a higher help,
to bring it into contact with God, and seek to arouse in it
love to the Saviour who is the fountain of life and blessedness, and love to God who has given us His Son. And this
is the admonition of the Lord.
But what are the grounds on which it is possible for even
well-meaning and pious Christians to fear that the young
may be too early and to their injury admonished concerning
the Lord? They evidently consider that the young can
not yet understand what we tell them about God and the
Saviour, and therefore will either take up some wrong and
merely natural and external idea, the effect of which will
be, partly, to degrade the holiest things, and partly, to prepare the way for unbelief when they see, as they grow
older, how poor and vain their conceptions were, and yet
suppose that this is really what was taught them in child
hood; or our instructions will become to them a dead letter,
which they retain and repeat without thought; which will
cause sacred things to lose their power with them, and will
blunt and deaden beforehand the desire after those things
that would otherwise have awakened when they were older.
But let us ask, do we ourselves, then, comprehend God?
are we capable of fathoming and measuring the Saviour?
are we able to express in precise, universally applicable and
universally intelligible language His mysterious influence
on us? and do we, because of our inability to do this, refrain from dealings with our God and Saviour, or from conversation and teaching concerning Him? And again, how
could we begin and carry on the education of our children
at all how strictly should we not have to shun all their
questions if we wished to avoid everything in teaching and conversation that they could not understand? Is any
thing that they meet with for the first time, and from which
we have no power to divert their attention, more comprehensible to them than the Eternal? Is it to be supposed
that their first ideas even of the things of this world can
be exact and right, and not, rather, all formed according to
their own childish fashion? And yet as their characters
gradually develop it becomes evident that even in this
childish way they have got hold of the germ of the truth,
which goes on unfolding with growing power, and in due
time casts away the husk that protected without disfiguring
it. Therefore we may hope that this will still more be the
case when we talk with them about Him who is Himself
the Truth; that a living seed, though hidden in a poor husk,
will gain a firm hold in their souls; and hence there is here
no reason for withholding from them the knowledge of God
and of the Saviour. But even supposing that we wished to
do so, should we be able? And do we not feel constrained
to say, God be praised that it is not in our power! for if it
were, the indications in our domestic and social life of our
belonging to a people of God and forming a community of
believers would be far more rare than unhappily they
already are. No; this cannot in any way be so kept concealed that the children should not very early hear some
thing of God and their Redeemer.
And as to the fear that too early teaching about God and
divine things might become to the children only a dead
letter; it would, no doubt, be well grounded, if our instructions were only meant to satisfy a mere curiosity which had
arisen in their minds about this as about other and mere
outward subjects. But that would be no admonition of the
Lord; for admonition has always a reference to something
that the person has to do and to alter, especially in himself.
Therefore it is especially when we wish to affect the inmost
feelings of our children that the apostle would have us turn their thoughts towards the Lord. If we see them indulging
in emotions either of joy or vexation, that border on sin,
we are to point out to them the difference between godly
and ungodly modes of feeling. And does it not seem to you
that this difference will be best understood by a mind which
has already felt the stirring of better things? If we see
them presumptuously uplifted, though it may be only in
half-childish over-confidence, or depressed and disheartened,—and this still more if they are old enough for greater and
graver concerns to have a place in their lives—we can tell
them of man’s dependence on God. We can tell them of
the blessedness of him who, making it his one endeavour to
fulfil the will of God, holds fast, amidst all earthly reverses,
the comfort that, without the will of the Father, from
whom come none but good gifts, not a hair of his head can
perish; and who uses all earthly possessions as entrusted
to him by God for the furtherance of His work. And do
you think they cannot understand this as soon as a sense
of duty has been awakened in them, and they have noticed
something of the difficulties of life? When we see that in their awakening minds
conflicting thoughts ‘accuse and excuse one another,’ we are to point them to
that law which God has written in men’s hearts and made manifest in His Son, and
teach them to distinguish its voice. And do you think they are not capable of
fixing their eyes on that guiding star as soon as uncertainty and conflicting
judgment has begun in themselves?
And it is not simply to God that we are to lead them in
this way, but equally and at the same time to the Saviour,
out of whose fulness they, like ourselves, must from the very
beginning receive all knowledge of God and all enjoyment
of fellowship with Him. This is indeed the direct meaning
of the apostolic words; for it is Christ who is the Lord,
and the admonition towards God is only included in the
admonition towards Christ; as the Son presupposes the Father. And as the Saviour Himself commanded His disciples not to forbid the little ones to come, and thereby
made it plain that even for them there was to be a blessing
in His presence; we may neither doubt of our having the
right nor of its being our duty to bring our children early to
Him who came for their salvation also, that He may bless
them. Did not He Himself thank His Father that He had
revealed the mystery which the wise and mature of His
time would not receive, to the little ones who greeted Him
with songs of praise as the Saviour who was to come. Why
should it not be specially fitting, at that tender age when
the mind draws so much of its food from pictures, to seek
God also in a picture,—Him of whom we are permitted to
make no image for ourselves, in that picture which He has
Himself given to us; why should it not be fitting that the
little ones should see and honour the Father in the Son, and
direct their earliest pious aspirations to the express imago
of the divine nature, the brightness of the heavenly glory
in earthly and human form? Why should not the young,
as soon as they begin to distinguish between good and evil
in themselves, to require perfection of themselves, and to
have some misgivings of its being unattainable, be capable
of receiving into their hearts Him who knew no sin? Why
should not they, who owe their birth and their sustained
life to human love, be both able and willing to hear and to
obey the voice of divine love in Christ? Why, as soon as
they begin to feel the burden of the law and to dread the
bondage of sin, should it not be possible to point them, for
their comfort and encouragement, to Him who alone is able
to make them free from both? And how can we but lead
them to Him, as soon as their attention is sufficiently
aroused by what they hear about Him to make them ask,
Who is He? Indeed as soon as they become capable of ob
serving ourselves and our whole manner of life, and begin
to take note of the more inward and spiritual part of it, and to ask, Why is that? could we at such a time deny to our
children the presence of Him whose life in us makes every
thing in us that they honour and love? Would it not be
taking to ourselves the honour that is due to Him, if we did
not direct them, for help in becoming such characters as
they admire, to Him who gave Himself that He might
sanctify to Himself a people fitted for good works. Let us
then, in this direction also, lay aside every anxious fear,
and train not only the growing-up young people, but also, as
the apostle says, the children, in the admonition of the
Lord, in the firm confidence that, as soon as sin can be
recognised and felt, and the fruit of the Spirit desired, it
can no longer be too early to tell the news of grace and
salvation.
But just as we saw that everything that we teach our
children and set them to do must tend to their discipline,
if the apostle’s first word is to be fully carried out; so we
should very imperfectly fulfil the second if we limited its
meaning to words of instruction, and to such words alone as
bear directly on spiritual subjects. On the contrary, every
admonition must be an admonition towards the Lord, for
otherwise some of them would very soon contradict others;
and every method by which we seek to influence and stir
their hearts is an admonition. Therefore if we wish to
excite in them love of what is good and right, let us not
point out to them the earthly blessings that result from it;
if we wish to warn them against the evil that is beginning
to show itself in their hearts, let us not talk to them of
the bad consequences which it brings; for that would be an
admonition towards the things of this world, not an ad
monition towards the Lord; but let us teach them to discern what is like God and pleasing to Him, or not so; what
is according to the covenant and command of the Saviour,
or the reverse; and this also will be an admonition to the
And if we cannot hinder the whole chequered drama of life unfolding ever more fully before them as time
goes on, with all the follies and weaknesses of men as
well as with everything good and noble; let us try rather
to turn away their thoughts about it from the judgment of
men, from the blame or the admiration of the world; lest
we should be admonishing them to vanity and to eye-service before men. But on
the one hand while we show them how difficult a thing it is to judge what is in
man, let us exhort them to the sole fear of Him who alone understands how to judge. And while on the other hand we
teach them to recognise the first appearances in their own
hearts of all the wrong and evil that cannot fail to be
there; and to seek out the hidden virtues of Christ’s
disciples, often very far from what makes the greatest
show in the eyes of the world; let us by this also turn
their thoughts to the Lord, who sees secret things, and tries
the heart and the reins.
But more than all words, our most powerful admonition
to the Lord must be our whole daily life, lived with our
children in true and faithful love; and this just as certainly as that God is love, and love is the most universal
and intelligible manifestation of the Eternal. If they feel
our love pervading everything, not as a mere form of
selfishness, that seeks only to be pleased and caressed; not
as the whim of the moment, favouring and slighting with
out reason; nor yet a variable natural instinct, that may
easily grow cold, or degenerate into weak indulgence; but
as a reflection—feeble, it may be, yet not too dim to be
always more or less recognisable—of the eternal love, and
as having the closest connection with that service which we
have vowed to the Saviour as our Head: this will be the
most powerful of all admonitions to the Lord; and only
through this will they learn to understand and practically
to accept all the rest.
In this way, then, the apostle proves his point, that everything that we can do with our children is summed up
in this, that we bring them up in discipline and in the
admonition of the Lord. But here we are constrained to
say, Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see
God! For if everything is to tend to discipline and the
admonition of the Lord for our children, we must lay
aside all vain and ungodly views that terminate on the
transitory concerns of this world, and seek only that our
houses may become temples of the Holy Spirit, and that
the abundant blessing of God may abide among us; we must
not cease to receive willingly and joyfully into believing
and obedient hearts every admonition to the Lord which we
ourselves still need, that we may go on growing in purer
love and more thorough self-command, and so allow nothing
to frustrate our great aim of having our children brought
to the Lord. If we keep this aim steadily in view, we
shall certainly become aware that God is with us, helping
in the work; and so far from the most assiduous care for
our children interfering with our own spiritual life, that
life will, through this very work, open out to us in the most
wonderful way. For in working for the training and sanctifying of others, we are ourselves sanctified and trained;
and thus a building according to God’s mind will rise on
the foundation which He Himself has laid, and which none
may remove with impunity. Amen.
X.
REJOICING BEFORE GOD.
(Preached on the Anniversary of the Battle of Leipsic,
October 18th, 1818.)
TEXT: PSALM lxviii. 3, 4.
ANY one who had heard our last hymn without knowing
the occasion of to-day’s festival might suppose that
we seemed more like entering on a day of supplication in
regard to the future, than on what it really is, a day of
thankful remembrance of the great and divine deliverance
wrought for us in the immediate past. But can we, or
ought we, to separate these? God’s kindness and grace
always anticipate our will and resolution; and therefore
we can only ground each request to Him for blessing and
prosperity in the future on our heartfelt sense of gratitude
for what we have already received from Him, for the
favours of the same kind with which He has loaded and
satisfied us. And so, in taking a thoughtful view of the
past, the more our eyes are turned to one important point
and we feel stirred up to thankfulness towards God, must
we not ask ourselves so much the more earnestly whether
we are even worthy, by the use which we make of them, to
offer thanks for His gifts; whether, by a life tending more
to His honour, we deserve to bring into His courts our
thanks and praise for His gracious help? Let this, then,
be the direction that our common meditations take to-day. Let us go down into the depths of our hearts, and examine
ourselves before the Lord, and beseech Him for cleansing,
that so our thanks may rise to Him well-pleasing and not in
vain.
In those times which we unite with all our brethren of
the Fatherland in commemorating to-day, we were firmly
persuaded that, especially in order to put far from among us
all godless habits which threatened to take root so firmly, to
maintain the old foundations of piety and loyalty which
were in danger of becoming insecure, and to strengthen
anew the natural ties of love which were becoming relaxed
by the intrusion of the stranger;—that for all these reasons
it was necessary to wage that perilous warfare. Well then,
the more we were convinced of this, the more must it
concern us now, in commemorating the divine help given
in that struggle, that we be not of those who must melt
like wax before the fire at the presence of the Lord; the
more careful must we be that our joy is a heartfelt joy
before the Lord, and that our whole being, consecrated anew
to Him in thankfulness, may be maintained before Him in
truth and faithfulness. To ask what is meant by a joy
before God, how it is distinguished from the transitory joy
of the world or in oneself, would be, unless in so far as
each of us is able to answer it or has already answered it
for himself, a wide question, too wide for one meditation.
I will therefore confine myself to showing what our joy
must be free from, if it is to deserve the name of a joy
before the Lord.
Three principal points here suggest themselves to me to
which I wish to direct your attention: that every joy that
is to hold its ground in God’s presence must be free; first,
from falsehood; secondly, from slothfulness; and thirdly,
from vanity.
I. Our joy in the deliverance which God wrought for us
is to be free from falsehood. We know that when the war was imminent, of which we are now celebrating the decisive
day (though not that day alone), all those whom we hail as
brothers and fellow-countrymen were not of one mind on the
great matter. If some had for long been waiting and
hoping for the moment when their desire to win back with
the sword a natural and honourable position should be gratified; there were others who thought that the existing condition of things could be borne, and that it was wiser to put
up with it than hastily to stake everything in an uncertain
war. Now those who thought and spoke in this way, must
always have a claim to our respect, in so far as, after the
resolution was taken, though contrary to their opinion, they
did all that the Fatherland and the law required of them;
because they fairly contributed their share to the common
cause. For the first thing at the forming of any great
resolution is always that every one should seek to bring his
own convictions to bear; the second, that he frankly join in
what has finally become the common will. But if the events
that followed have not changed the opinion of those our
brethren, and yet they feel able to take part in the general
joy of an anniversary such as this, we must point out to
them that theirs is a different joy from that of the rest, and
that it cannot be quite that which the joy before the Lord
ought to be. For by himself, perhaps, and in an earthly
way, one may rejoice when that which he has done with half
conviction or without any conviction comes to a successful
issue; but before God he can only be ashamed. For it is
not over outward things that we are allowed to rejoice
before God, who Himself has no outward part and who
makes no account of anything outward, but only of that
which is in the heart; we are not to rejoice over consequences and events, but only in the power and deed from
which they proceeded. But those persons cannot rejoice in
those things, who hold that the influential opinion at that
time was not the right one, but count that man should have a still greater power of endurance to bear what exasperates
him, and to bend still lower under what can only appear to
him an external necessity; for such persons rejoice only in
the results, not in the deed. But be there few or many
such, can the rest of us who are met here to-day to thank
God for inclining the hearts of men and nations at that time
to refuse any longer to bear dishonourable chains, for inspiring them with courage and hope and loving enthusiasm;—can we say that ours is a truthful thanksgiving, and can
our joy be a joy before the Lord, if those sentiments over
which we rejoice have no longer the same power in our
hearts? Can we claim this if we are now no longer inspired
with the same zeal to restore a social life befitting us and
pleasing to God; if we are not striving, with a perseverance
worthy of that first enthusiasm, to keep safe and to improve
what then through God’s blessing came anew into our
possession? Can we claim it if we have now become careless
about the difference between what is worthy and what is
unworthy of man; if we are now turning back, and after
the old, evil manner, each seeking his own; each one seeking
to gain, out of the treasure won for all, as much as possible
for himself: and all no longer united with that first love,
each denying himself to seek the common weal? No, in that
case our joy is no joy before God, for He is a God of truth;
in that case the false spirit must melt before Him like wax;
and the empty joy, let it show itself as it will, and put on
what pious appearance it will, can only be, for the most
part, the pleasure of this world; while the shout of our text,
Let the righteous be glad and rejoice before God, when it
sounds in the untrue soul, sounds like the cry of the avenger,
destroying its joy. Only if the old zeal has not been allowed
to cool; only if that is still true with us which we then felt
as the most sacred truth of our lives, that a man does not
exist for himself, but for the common cause; that to risk
life for the brethren is the call of God in the soul, and that not arbitrary power, but the well-knit bonds of justice are
the surest supports of piety and spiritual prosperity; only
if we feel those convictions as strongly as we then did, are
our hearts really rejoicing before God. If it is so with us,
we are in a position to think, if not without pain and mourning, at least with feelings purified from base mixture, of what
this war has cost us, to remember those who watered the
harvest of our joy with their precious blood, and set their
seal, by their death, to the faith and strength that inspired
us; while this remembrance especially must without doubt
cause the untrue heart to melt like wax before God.
II. But our grateful joy before God must also be free
from slothfulness. It seems really superfluous to say this;
for slothfulness and joy can never harmonize. Joy arouses
the spirit, so that it is nothing but strength and life and
activity; and this is pre-eminently true of joy before God, for
it is ever exciting, ever bringing into action whatever may
be specially in our hearts at the same time. But man’s
perversity has found out how to separate what God has intimately joined, and to join things which according to natural
law are opposed to each other. And so there is such a thing
as a slothful joy over even so great events as those which
we remember on days like this. For the man who only
rejoices because we have happily surmounted our miseries,
and because the source of manifold calamities is closed; who
after this happy turn of affairs would like to repose on the
results of those exertions, and now rejoices chiefly that the
time of exertion is past, and that now, without the putting
forth of such efforts, without interruption to industry (hindrances being successfully cleared away), the prosperity of all,
or at least his own must go on as a matter of course; such a
man rejoices, if he rejoices at all, with a slothful joy. And
of this joy, whatever else we may or may not be able to think
of it, we must certainly think and feel that it cannot be a joy
before God. In presence of the Eternal we cannot rejoice on account of anything being past; that which is but a concern of the passing moment vanishes at the thought of Him
and cannot be joined to that thought. Hence also it comes
that we can by no means associate the thought of God with
mere pleasures of the senses and rejoice in such pleasures
before Him; because the pleasures of sense pass away with
every moment, and must be renewed every moment if they
are to last. And those who have no better rejoicing to-day
than the poor joy that the former distress is past, what
means have they of quickening their joy, what makes their
condition still something like joy, but the hope of now enjoying the pleasures of life instead of bearing its miseries?
And thus the pleasure-seekers, who are slothful as to
spiritual concerns, can by no means rejoice before God.
But now we must inquire whether there may not be found some
slothful ones even among those who are conscious of a genuine sympathy with the
acts of that time, the remembrance of which kindles our joy to enthusiasm
to-day. We shall all, at least, be able to distinguish between two different positions. Besides the many who, in
taking part, each according to his circumstances, in the
efforts of that time, were laid hold of in a natural way
by the common ardour; there were others in whom this
sympathy was only a transient impulse, and who showed
themselves at that time capable of doing and bearing what
they would not have thought possible before, nor perhaps
would think possible now. But even then, how every
fluctuation of events was mirrored in their uncertain feelings; so that whenever affairs took an unfavourable turn
they were full of dread about what was to follow, and inclined beforehand to throw the blame of the misfortune on
those who had urged them on; and how much more must
a feeling produced in so superficial a way, being only the
effect of one momentous hour and without force in itself,
have become, since that time, thoroughly deadened! And from all who only participated in those great deeds in this
way, we can certainly expect to-day only a faint and dull
kind of joy, that is nothing more than the dreamy remembrance of an unwonted state of mind in which they found
themselves for a time, about which they know neither
whence it arose nor whither it has vanished; only they
know right well that they could not now rise to it again.
The very core of their hearts takes shape from the slothfulness and impotence of their own souls, and can neither now
nor ever send forth a living shoot of joy. If they desire to
rejoice with us, it is only from the contagion of our joy; so
that theirs is only a pale reflection of the lively joy of those
in whom that first zeal was a true and living sentiment, and
in whom still abides, as a steady and unchanging principle,
the strength by which they laid hold of the slothful souls
and carried them along with them. To those steadfast souls
alone belongs not only their own joy, but that of the others,
and they alone can truly rejoice before God, the living God
who controls our doings as well as animates and inspires us;
but those slothful ones would attempt in vain to appear
before God with their soulless joy, when the thought of
Him is not even able to keep their cold hearts steadfast.
We can rejoice before Him only when we feel in ourselves
an ever active power for good; feel it as His gift, flowing
out to us from Him, as the effect of His Spirit in us. Yes,
only when we are going forward in the work which we then
undertook; only when each of us is constantly presenting
anew to those who wish to sink down in indolent repose, the
picture of what is right in God’s sight and pleasing to men,
ever bringing before them what is still lacking in us, how
many enemies there still are to be conquered by the power
of faith and love; only when we are of this mind can we
rejoice together before God for all His good gifts, and so
also for that great day. And it is only such joy that can
be called a joy from the heart, as the heart is the source of life and activity in man, and of all the feelings that move
him and pass over from him to others. Hence if it is the
wicked who melt like wax before the Lord, it seems as if
we must say that the slothful are wicked; at least if they
cannot stand even before us, without being constantly
steeled anew by the pervading strength of others, still less
will their joy be able to stand before the thought of God.
For what is lifeless and slothful fears and shuns life, as
falsehood fears and shuns the truth.
III. Finally, our joy must be free from all vanity. That
is to say, there are two ways of looking at human affairs.
On the one side we really feel that all earthly and perishable
things are nothing in themselves, that all not only originate
from the Eternal, but are continually and actually carried
on and upheld by Him, and can only live and move and have
their being in Him. If we thus consider and feel about any
thing that concerns us, then we think of it in God, and we
cannot fail to have in our hearts true joy in the Lord. On
the other hand, the Eternal does none of His works directly
before our eyes, but does everything in connection with the
affairs of men by means of men and the influence of external
nature. Therefore individual men and individual events
always justly attract our attention. And in studying them
we are led on from each individual to another connected
with him, from each later event to one that preceded it; but
the more we allow ourselves to separate this way of looking
at things from the former, and please and satisfy ourselves
with thus arranging facts in a circle, the more does our
whole mind and character become tainted with vanity, and
it is only pleasure or pain about transitory things that stirs
our spirit. If, therefore, the joy that we feel to-day is to be
a joy that will stand before God, it must not be joy in what
this or that individual has done; it must not go back on—I
will not say, any merit of our own but not even on the
merit of other individuals. For if we are to rejoice before the Lord, we can only rejoice in the deed which He the
Lord accomplished among us. And if we rejoice in our
own work, we are no longer rejoicing before Him, and so our
sense of the Eternal becomes weakened, and that which the
Lord wrought is changed for us into a vain and unintelligible play of earthly powers and acts and sufferings;
indeed, the more we look into it in this way the more we
believe that we see in events only that sport of chance by
which man is always punished when he forgets God. And
how vain a thing is joy of this kind! how little power of
lasting there is in it! and how every human merit, even that
which we sought thus unselfishly to exalt, melts away,
when we reflect how often it would not have been earned at
all, if some outward circumstance, that no one could control,
had turned out differently! But certainly, be it said for our
comfort, if any set of events is fitted to cure us of the
vanity of a false joy like this, those great events are so. He
who wishes to rejoice in human judgment and intelligence,
in perfect art and skilfully calculated plans, must seek for
himself some other subject. For about this, the opposite
feeling is much too general for such ideas; the feeling that
there is no single person of whom it could be said that it
was his doing; no single event, not even the special one we
commemorate to-day, after the occurrence of which it could
be said that now all was safe. Rather, if we look at details
and study man’s part in the matter, the heroes and directors
of the war themselves will not deny, that even the most
brilliant deeds were accompanied by mistakes, and that as
God brought all about for the best, He caused even those
mistakes to prove a blessing. So that here very specially it
is clear to us all that the glory is due to God alone, and
here we can most easily resist all vainglorious joy. And
so we come back to what we began with.
If we choose to derive our joy rather from outward than
inward causes, from results rather than from sentiments, vanity will inevitably come into play; each individual may
then take credit for one thing or another, and follow out
endlessly the traces of what he has contributed to the work,
and each may seek out one among those who have done the
largest share, and make an idol of him, and give him the
glory: for if vanity is once aroused it can make everything
take what form it pleases. But if in our joy our thoughts
are turned to God and to the powers which He stirred up
at that time, we are constrained to take an opposite view,
and we have the clearest perception that not only the will
but the accomplishment of it came from God. Then we
understand that it was in His counsel that the events which
took place were determined; and we also feel that we
defraud ourselves of the purest joy, if, on a day like this, we
give the slightest place to vainglorious boasting. No, let all
empty show disappear from among us! It is only joy before
God that endures; while the joy of vanity is disposed of
with that godlessness of character that melts like wax before
God. For gratitude and confidence are inseparable companions. If we take credit to ourselves and to each other
for the great things God has done, we can also cherish no
confidence but in human strength and human counsel. And
let us only ask if things are now in such a position, through
what then took place, that such a confidence would satisfy
us? When we look fairly at our needs, our wishes, our
hopes, must we not still acknowledge that human help is
useless, and that it is the Lord alone on whom we can rely?
And therefore it is only from joy before God, far from all
self-applause, that the right confidence can proceed; a confidence, not that He will always in time of need again order
events for our profit and glory; but that He will not with
draw His Spirit from us; that He who at that time drew
out among us so much self-sacrificing love, so much pure
loyalty and faith, will preserve to us this treasure, and be
ever re-animating it in us by the power of His Spirit. It will not be a confidence that, after the outward enemies are
conquered, we may let things take their course, until a time
comes when there shall again be need to fight; but that the
Lord will keep the hearts of His people together in a living
unity; that He will keep their spiritual eyes clear to see
what is right; that He will work as effectually among us in
time of peace as He did, to His own glory, in time of danger.
It will be the confidence that the Lord is with the humble
hearts; that He never forsakes those who have no reliance
on themselves; that He will never suffer His glory to perish
among those who glory in nothing but His strength; and
that a permanent and inexhaustible power of enjoyment is
the portion of those who in all things rejoice in God alone.
Let us then cleanse our hearts from falsity, from slothfulness, from vanity! for we feel that if these are overcome a
pure and imperishable joy before God will naturally spring
up in our hearts. For this purpose the holy table of the
Lord is spread among us to-day. Join all of you in spirit
with those who will partake of it to-day. If we are one
with Him, who alone among those born of woman could say,
I am the way and the truth; if we are pervaded by the
spirit of Him whose motto was, The Father worketh, and I
work; if we are one with Him who was entirely possessed
with the conviction that it became Him to do the Father’s
will, and that He lived in God and God in Him; then we
shall be ever drawing closer to the eternal, imperishable life,
to freedom from all vanity, and ever becoming more worthy
of the great things which the Lord Jesus has done for us.
Amen.
Prayer.
Yea, Lord, to Thee be brought praise and honour! Thou
didst raise us up when we were crushed and had almost
perished! It is Thy will to make us again a vessel unto
honour, after we were despised and seemed like a vessel of
wrath; Thou alone hast done it, to Thee let all our hearts be devoted! Rule Thou in our hearts as Thou hast outwardly ruled among us. Make us by Thy Spirit more and
more a people to Thy praise, a royal and priestly nation;
govern us by Thy word and Spirit that we may be ever be
coming worthier of that highest name which we bear, the
name that comes to us from Thy Son. Amen.
XI.
LOVE AND SERVICE.
TEXT: JOHN xxi. 16.
“He saith to him again a second time,
Simon, son of John, lovest thou Me? He saith unto Him, Yea,
Lord; Thou knowest that I love Thee. He saith unto him, Tend my sheep.”
THERE is no more important charge than that which
the Lord gave to His apostle in these words. He
calls Himself the Shepherd of His flock; therefore what
He here committed to the charge of the apostle was to do
the Lord’s own work in His name, and under His oversight
and ruling direction as Chief Shepherd. But this is a
charge committed by no means exclusively to the Apostle
Peter, nor exclusively to the rest of the apostles, nor to
those alone who now in a special and official way serve
the Lord as teachers and overseers in His Church: it is
the duty of all Christians without exception; we are all
to be labourers in His vineyard. But in this vineyard, the
plants of which are none other than redeemed souls, its
fruits none other than the fruits of the Spirit, what can any
one find to do that would not be included in the expression, Tend My sheep? Co-operation and help in the work
which the Lord has to do on the souls that God has given
Him, this and nothing else can we supply to Him, and
He can make use of nothing else. If therefore we are to
present our whole life to Him as a living thank-offering;
if we are bound to show that He has sanctified our souls, by our making some use of the powers we owe to Him,
then we must all certainly take part in the work which,
in the words of our text, He commits to the apostle. But
He connects this charge with Peter’s answer to His question, Simon, son of John, lovest thou Me? And thus it
appears to us that in an examination to which, as it were,
the Lord subjects Peter, this love to Christ is the one thing
He requires of him, with a view to his feeding Christ’s
sheep. But we find among Christians in all ages very
different opinions about this. Some adhere strictly to this
word of the Lord, and say that there is absolutely no other
spiritual qualification for this duty; that a man has no need
to acquire anything else beforehand in order to render to
the Lord the service to which all are called; that he only
needs to be growing ever stronger in love to the Saviour,
and to be able ever more joyfully to answer with the
apostle, Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee. Others,
on the contrary, maintain that of course the Lord knew
everything else that was in the apostle; what spiritual
faculties were awakened, what light of knowledge was
kindled in him; but because Peter had fallen and denied
Him, He may have stood in doubt about just this one point;
or rather, though He, knowing what was in all hearts, could
not doubt, the rest of the disciples might have doubted
whether love to the Lord was still quite as lively in his
heart as it had been. And therefore, they say, the Lord
addressed this question to him, not as if there were nothing
else required in order to tend His sheep, but because all the
other disciples knew quite well the kind and measure of
everything else in the soul of Peter, but on this one indispensable point it was necessary for him to come out clearly.
In response to these different views, whether love to Christ
is sufficient qualification for the fulfilment of the Christian’s
calling, or something more is required, let us consider more closely the words pf our text. First, and most necessary, let us try rightly to understand the Saviour’s words in this
connection; and secondly, let us go further back and
inquire together how those different views may be supposed
to have arisen among Christians, in order still more fully to
assure ourselves as to what has been the mind and will
of the Lord.
I. First, then, if we wish to ascertain which of those
two meanings the Saviour may be supposed really to have
had, it will be necessary for us to begin by asking what,
according to the nature of things, is implied in the commission with which the Lord here charges His disciple,
Tend My sheep. Confining ourselves to the figurative
expression which the Saviour uses, it unquestionably
includes very specially two things: first, that the sheep
of the flock must be protected; then, that they must be
fed. The shepherd’s care takes in both of these parts;
therefore the Lord expects from His disciple and entrusts
to him both kinds of work. Well, now let us next ask by
what means and in what manner the souls of men are protected, so that they may not again withdraw or wander from
the Lord’s flock, and that in the flock no danger may
approach or evil befall them? Certainly, we answer unanimously, love to Him is the first requisite; that love must
call forth in each of us the strong desire to keep our own
soul and the souls of others in living fellowship with Him;
it must make us quick to notice whatever might be adverse
to that fellowship. But now if we are asked to go a step
further, and assert that this love to the Saviour is sufficient
by itself for the work, then, it seems to me, we must say No.
What a knowledge of the human heart in its obduracy and
in its despondency is needful in order to protect the soul
in spite of these; with what clear spiritual insight must we
penetrate its most hidden recesses if we wish to note and
trace out, before it be too late, anything in men’s own souls
that endangers their fellowship with the Saviour if we are to detect the first stirrings of evil, and make those aware
of it in whom we see it, so that if possible they may turn
before they have fairly entered on a wrong course! What
a knowledge we need to have of the ways of sin, and of the
various snares that are prepared by those who are still sunk
in earthly cares and sensual pleasures, for those who are
just beginning to show a desire to struggle towards the
higher, spiritual life! What experiences of the ways of the
world are needful—experiences always dearly bought—to
know how to bring flattery and dissimulation to light by
the truth, and to distinguish them by their fruits; to be
able to warn the inexperienced, and dispel for them the
illusive semblance of kindness and goodness behind which
those only too often conceal themselves who are trying to
entice others into the way of ruin. When we think of all
this, we must indeed admit that besides love to Christ,
true wisdom also belongs to the work of tending His sheep.
And now let us look at the second point—that the souls
belonging to the Lord’s flock are also to be fed. What
other food for souls is there but the Word of God? None,
certainly; for the Word that became flesh and came into
the world is also the true bread of life that came down from
heaven. And Christ Himself said that the flesh profits
nothing, but that His words are spirit and life. He therefore who means to feed redeemed souls must know how to
dispense and portion out to them the divine Word. Now
it is certain that if we are to partake of this food ourselves
and dispense it to others, in the first place, our love to
Christ must be a well-founded love which recognises that
He alone has the words of life. But, in the next place,
how needful it is on the one hand that we be able to form
a correct judgment on the various relations and conditions
in which men are found, to decide in each case what kind
of food is most necessary and suitable for the soul, and
with true wisdom to select from the great abundance and the infinite fulness of the divine Word that which is best
fitted to nourish each one and strengthen him for good in
every emergency. But then, on the other hand, still more,
what is needful in order to be able rightly to divide the
Word of God, although we know how it ought to be distributed to every one? Well, certainly this, that we first
clearly and fully understand it ourselves. But the interval
of a long course of centuries lies between us and the first
utterance of those words; they are written in a foreign and
now dead language: and yet the true and perfect under
standing of the divine Word can only be that which corresponds most nearly to the way in which all those who heard
it from the living lips of the Lord and His apostles—those
whose minds were most awake, most favourably disposed
and best prepared—understood it and applied it to themselves. Therefore a power of transporting our thoughts
to distant times and into conditions of society strange to us,
a knowledge of foreign tongues and customs, is a part of the
qualification for rightly dividing the Word of God. And
so, if we are to approach our brethren with the divine
words, and thus tend Christ’s sheep, love to Him is, no
doubt, the first condition; for this is the same thing as our
own pleasure and joy in the divine Word, and it is love to
Him alone that can constrain us to this whole work, for he
who does not love Christ Himself, does not love His flock.
But if it is asserted that love alone suffices, we shall again
deny it, and certainly still more truly in our case than in
that of His first disciples, and feel bound to say that, besides
love, a right perception is also needful for the work. And
thus when we consider the subject on this side, those
persons seem to be right who think, that when the Saviour
meant to commission His disciple to tend His sheep, He
asked especially about his love to Him, because there might
have been room to doubt whether that remained unchanged;
but everything else that he needed for the work—the wisdom and knowledge—He took for granted in him as
already known.
But that justice may be done to all parties, let us now
study the subject from another side. Suppose that love to
Christ is a living principle in us; must we not, in that case,
necessarily take a deep interest in the whole great work of
the Lord? Must we not burn with desire to become acquainted according to the full measure of our powers, both
with the Lord Himself and with the whole great work of
God which is committed to Him? The reverse of this would
indeed betray evident indifference. But if we wish to be
acquainted with the Saviour, with Him who alone is pure
and good, the one perfect Man of God, must we not at the
same time go on looking into the sinful heart of man, in
order that we may be able exactly to distinguish in it that
which is the work of the Saviour and bears the features of
His likeness, from what proceeds from human corruption
and has no part in His character; so that our idea of the
object of our love may be kept pure and holy, and nothing
extraneous be mixed with it. And thus we see that love to
the Saviour really produces in us, as a matter of course, that
knowledge of the human heart, with all its depths and
errors, which is necessary in order to our tending the Lord’s
sheep with wisdom, and fulfilling our work in His kingdom.
And in the same way, could we suppose it possible that
we should love the Lord without listening most eagerly to
every word from His own mouth, as well as to every word
which the Spirit, who took of the fulness of Christ and
glorified Him, has spoken by the lips of His disciples? Can
there be that living love to the Saviour, without our occupying ourselves diligently with His Word? And though every
part of it is not equally available, seeing that some parts
need more and some less of those helps that depend on all
kinds of human wisdom and historical knowledge; yet do
we not feel that in the Christian community, where no one buries his talent, every one has sufficient means at command
for attaining to a knowledge of the divine Word, such as will enable him, in so
far as can be expected of him, to feed the souls of his brethren, and at the
fitting time to offer them the bread of comfort and truth out of the abundance
of this divine teaching?
Yes, I will even go further. In this world each of us has
his own particular calling in the civil community, according
to the place in which the Lord has set us; and in order to
carry on that calling wisely and with good results on behalf
of his family, each one needs to acquire by practice, skill and
sagacity about various everyday concerns, as well as much
knowledge of the world and of men. Now do we mean to
say that all this business activity is a thing apart from love
to the Saviour, so that all our pleasure and joy in it comes
from a different source? Do we mean to say that when we
expend our time and put forth the powers of our mind on
this, it must be some other motive that inspires us; and that
every one who is engaged in any earthly calling must necessarily have a heart divided between love to it and love to
the Saviour, and must take away from the one what he
gives to the other? By no means; on the contrary, every
thing that can justly make demands on the powers of
Christians is closely connected with the great work of the
Saviour on earth. And when His apostles recommended to
their congregations that every one should work with his
hands to some good purpose, and should seek after all things
lovely and of good report, those exhortations were just
suggested, like all others, by the love of Christ which constrained His apostles; and this same love is to be the
motive power by which Christians are to carry out such
directions. For he who truly loves the Lord will do Him
honour in the presence of men; he will help to glorify
the spiritual presence of the Lord to the utmost; he
will show that his whole soul is thoroughly pervaded by love to Him; all its emotions will be sanctified by His
presence; and love to Him will be a power that helps the
believer more effectually in all the concerns of everyday life,
and that is able more thoroughly to overcome obstacles than
any other incentive that could be set before him.
But this is equally true; that all those various kinds of
human knowledge and insight which, when directed by the
love of Christ, are a help to us in every part of our work, if
they proceed from any other source, can only be injurious.
A knowledge of the world and of the human heart, if it is
only, as it were, a surreptitious means of carrying out more
successfully schemes of selfishness, or of indulging ambition,
will not only effect nothing in the kingdom of God and help
no human soul, but in the end it will cheat its very possessors
of their foolish aims. If all knowledge of past times and
of dead languages, and of everything that belongs to a
deep and thorough understanding of the different parts of
God’s Word, is only acquired in order to make a show
before the world, or because a man, having missed his
highest end, seeks to satisfy the cravings of his spirit
in another direction; and if one should nevertheless set
himself to use it in investigating God’s Word as he would
in any ordinary matter; oh, be sure he will never thus
attain to a correct and living understanding of it: and so
far from one who enters on the work of dividing the Word
of God with only this equipment being fit to feed the Lord’s
sheep; his doing so is much more likely to tend to his own
ruin.
Therefore, my friends, after all, it is nothing but love to
Christ alone! If we consider it in connection with all that
it leads to, we see that it does suffice for the fulfilment of
the great work which the Lord, in the words of our text
entrusts to all His disciples, in the measure that He expects
from each. If one has been thoughtlessly dreaming away
his time and has cared little about seeking out and employing the treasures hidden in every soul; it is love which first
awakens him and impels him to take up and gather about
him, according to the position in which the Lord has placed
him, everything that can make him more capable of fulfilling
in the world the great calling of all the servants of the
Lord. Or if a man, before he is brought into the living
fellowship of faith and love with the Saviour, has been
eagerly following some other course, and from some other
motive has been enriching his mind with knowledge and
cultivating its faculties; what a change is made on such a
person by love to the Saviour, as soon as it takes possession
of his soul! It pervades his whole being, transforms every
thing in him, gives a new direction to everything that has
been used in the service of vanity, and sets it free to be a
living power for good; so that he stands forth a new creature; all the powers of his soul united in active obedience to
the motive that inspires him, and obeying no other. The
first apostles of the Lord seem to us to resemble the first
mentioned class. He found them plain men, longing and
hoping in their honest piety for better times; but feebly
furnished, and far from having any deep understanding of
the word of God and therefore also far from knowing the
human heart and the world in which they were placed. But
they received everything from Him; love to Him and the
joyful belief that in Him they had found the promised
Saviour, and heartfelt gratitude that He had chosen them to
be His instruments—these motives impelled and constrained
them to receive and hold fast in their inmost hearts all the
words of wisdom from His mouth; and thus they were able
afterwards to come forward and teach differently and more
efficiently than they who from their youth up had been
instructed in the Scriptures and in the commandments of the
fathers. And on the other hand, those who had previously
been wandering in some opposite way are represented to us
by that apostle whom the Lord won to Himself when he was in the very act of persecuting His Church. He had sat
at the feet of great teachers, and was equipped with all the
wisdom of his people which concerned itself especially with
the earlier divine relation; and thus he was well practised
in everything that could in any way be necessary to ensure
success in the profession he had chosen of scribe and teacher
of the law. But how was everything transformed from the
moment when he perceived that the Way he was persecuting
was God’s way; when he was arrested by the voice, It is
hard for thee to kick against the pricks! from the moment
when the question, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou Me?
sank into his soul; when his heart recognised the Lord and
received from Him the great vocation to go and proclaim
the gospel among all nations. From that moment every
thing was made to serve the one end, everything in his soul
subordinated to the love of Christ, controlled and pervaded
by it, and thus fitted to contribute to the work of the Lord;
so that however much use Paul might make of what he had
been taught from his youth, he could nevertheless say with
truth that he did not come with the wisdom of men; for
everything in him was changed into a really divine wisdom,
learning and skill.
But if we were inclined to suppose from this that, because
love to Christ produces everything that really carries on the
work of His kingdom, therefore each individual should be
fit for every kind of work, in proportion as he is inspired
and constrained by that love; and if therefore each one
tried to take a part in everything that was to be done in the
kingdom of God this would be both a false representation
of human affairs, and a vain delusion. If we think of our
selves apart from all that has most to do in determining our
work in this world and giving it for the first time a fixed
direction, we see that we have got no further, with all our
love to Christ, than to resemble those of whom the Lord
speaks in His parable, who stood waiting in the market-place for
some one to hire them; and then the Master comes, and as often as He finds any,
leads them into His vineyard, and appoints to each his work, according to his
powers and circumstances. And so with us; if only we have love to Christ
this will not fail to occur; the Master calls us, some in this
direction, some in that; whither and when is decided by the
circumstances in which each of us is placed, and which are
more favourable to some and more adverse to others; but all
of us will certainly have experience of both. But whatever
lot has been cast for any one, he becomes a labourer in the
Lord’s vineyard only in so far as love to Christ constrains
him and teaches him what it is fitting for him to do in the
place where the Lord has set him. This is what each one
must see to; but for everything else, let him build nothing
on the skill of man, or what he may choose to do. For all
the rest is the mysterious dealing of God, who certainly
often directs things so wonderfully just that no man may
fancy that he himself is able to manage events, but that
all may acknowledge that the Lord has reserved it to
Himself in the secret course of His counsel, to appoint
to each the place in His vineyard in which he is to tend
the sheep of the flock according to his knowledge and
capacity.
Hence then, my friends, it appears as if there could really
be no dispute among Christians as to how far love to Christ
does or does not suffice for the fulfilling of the work which
the Lord has committed to us.
II. Let us, therefore, inquire shortly, in the second place,
whence this dispute has nevertheless arisen, and on what it
is founded. On this, of course, that alongside of the highway
of truth run two opposite byways, one on either side, such
byways as men are apt to wander into, even in the kingdom
of God. The person who teaches that love to Christ is sufficient and that a man needs nothing in addition, warns us
against one of these byways, and the person who says that love to Christ is indeed the foundation, the first and indispensable thing, but that we need much besides if we are
really to bring forth fruit and be useful in the Lord’s work;
this one, in his turn, sots himself in opposition to the other
byway. The first error arises from this, that many, even
devout men, do not sufficiently remember what the Lord
means when He says, My kingdom is not of this world.
The Lord’s Church still lives in perpetual warfare with that
which, in contrast with it, Scripture calls the world; the
conflict of light with darkness is still going on. For clearly
as the light shines in the darkness, there is still a portion
of the darkness that has not admitted it; and so the long
struggle goes on, the struggle of good against evil, of simple,
heavenly truth against the perversity of the children of men,
the struggle with which we are all acquainted. But because
this struggle is not always easy, and the Church of God
still often meets with hard usage here and there; many, out
of an ill-advised though really living and hearty love to
Christ and His kingdom, still hold the opinion that if the
world oppresses the Church by the employment of outward
means, by power and authority, the Church would, on her
side, do well to provide herself with all kinds of means of
defence similar to those with which she is attacked. They
think that if the opponents of the gospel seek to take ad
vantage of its simple-hearted professors by human wisdom
and skill, we ought also to try by a judicious use of our
knowledge and skill to intimidate and perplex those opponents. And thus we very easily lose sight of that great
word of the Lord, If My kingdom were of this world, then
My servants would fight for it with the weapons of this
world; and so men do fight for the kingdom of God with
the weapons of this world, and thereby only produce in it
more confusion and uncertainty; they dim the light and
increase the darkness. Now when such things occur it is
time to remember that when Christ commissioned His disciple to tend His sheep, He questioned him about nothing but
his love to Him. Whatever resulted from this love, therefore, was to be used for the profit of the Lord’s flock, but
everything else, not allied to it, could produce no beneficial
effect in His kingdom, and could neither protect nor help
His flock. But such things have occurred, and the Christian
Church has many times strayed into this byway, since from
being a persecuted and much-enduring Church she has be
come a ruling power; but above all since she was called in
a distinctive sense, the Church of Rome. For now she was
honoured and glorified by the powers of the world and her
self invested with authority, and every powerful weapon
was placed in her hands to be used for her own purposes.
And as worldly power uses speech in various ways to attain
its ends, so here also an art of speech was adopted and
practised, often flattering and treacherous enough, in order
to carry out designs which so much worldly effort made impure and base. And indeed it took much more than love to
Christ to accustom His flock to the oppressive yoke under
which they were to be held prisoners. And so it came
that, instead of a true temple of the Spirit of God, there
arose a building in which it must have become ever more
impossible for those to dwell who had learned to know for
themselves the spiritual union with the Saviour, and desired
to find their salvation in that alone; until at last the Lord
brought about the time for which we so often thank Him in
our meetings in our morning prayer; the time when the
clearer light of the gospel was able to shine for us anew.
Then we returned to the Christian’s living and profound conviction that the
Lord’s kingdom is not of this world; that no worldly power or skill can ever
protect or defend it; that spiritual power alone can enable it to stand against
all storms and attacks; and that in all the concerns of that kingdom, no power
must bear rule but love to the Saviour, and all that it begets in the souls of
men.
Now as to the other byway; what leads to it is this,
that there are really a great many Christians who would
like to turn their love to the Saviour into something that
they enjoy quietly and all by themselves. They wish to be
absorbed in the sense of His spiritual presence and nearness;
they reverence and love Him as the source of every good and
lovely emotion of their hearts, and as taking a lively pleasure
in them all. Now this is all beautiful and right, and is
certainly no byway. But if they desire to know nothing
but this kind of enjoyment, and thus virtually forget the
whole world around them; what can be the result but a life
whose aims terminate on itself, and which is therefore utterly
inefficient for the great aims of the Saviour? For it is
evident that a man is selfish if he allows himself to be satisfied with merely his own salvation, and so becomes always
more indifferent to the whole outward duty of a Christian,
and to the great work of the Saviour in the world—of that
Saviour to whom we owe deepest love and exclusive reverence very specially on this account, that He did not live for
Himself, but came to serve, to seek and save the lost, and to
invite the weary and heavy-laden to come to Him. Now if
a man truly enough feels himself lost and gone astray, and is
glad of the coining of Christ to save him; if he feels himself
weary and heavy-laden, and follows, not in vain, the path
that leads to Him who alone can refresh his soul; and if yet
it never enters his mind that the refreshed soul ought to
bring forth all good and beautiful fruits; that he is to set
himself, in the strength of love to the Lord, to save and
refresh others; and that each one is not only to be a sheep of
the flock, but is called to take his own part in tending the
Lord’s sheep, then he has got into a byway. And the
greater the number is of those who follow this course, even
though each does not mean to be for himself alone, and
though they rejoice together by hundreds, but still only in.
this self-centred enjoyment of love; just so much the more numerous are those who are withdrawing themselves from
supporting the kingdom of God, and from carrying forward
His work. And when things come to this state it is high
time for a voice from the opposite side to make itself heard
by those secluded souls, buried in slothful love to Christ,
and to say to them, Such a love as that is not enough; more
than that is needful for meeting rightly the call which
Christ addresses to you as to others: if you really wish to
live with Him you must also act for Him; if spiritual gifts
have been developed in you, you must put them to use in the
kingdom of God. In this sense, then, it may no doubt be
said that something in addition to love to Christ is wanted
for the tending of His sheep; and yet the full truth is this,
that such a love is not true love, but an impure and selfish
substitute for it. For the Lord did not come in order to
dwell in souls in an isolated way, and to begin His life
mysteriously and specially in each; the blessings of His
presence are to reach to all by means of fellowship and communion; and this ought never to cease until all the sheep
are gathered from every quarter of the world, till all have
come to the maturity of a perfect man in Christ, till His
Church stands before Him blameless in regard to the whole
duty of man on earth. Now he who does not labour in this
work of the Lord, does not love it; and he who does not
love the Lord’s work would boast in vain of loving the Lord
Himself. And if it is a poor, pitiful love like this we are
thinking of—a love that will certainly always be impure
and false as long as it is confined to mere personal enjoyment—then we are right in saying that for the fulfilment of
a Christian’s whole duty, more than love is necessary. But
if we mean the real and vigorous love to Christ, such as it
was in the apostles, and such as it has always been in all
faithful, actively-working Christians, whose hearts are set
on the common weal; then we must say, we need nothing
beyond that. That love will produce everything that can in
any way be useful to us as labourers in the Lord’s vineyard,
it will develop every faculty that each of us needs in order
to exercise an influence wherever the Lord has placed us;
and thus we shall be able with our whole being to praise
the Lord, when everything that is lovely and commendable
and of good report among Christians proceeds from no other
source than love to the Lord.
It is just the same here as with the dispute whether faith
is sufficient to justify and save a man, or whether works
must be added to faith. As this is always only an empty
strife about words—for faith which is not active by works is
no true faith, but dead, and the works that do not come from
faith are only dead works—in the same way the dispute as
to whether love is enough to fit us for tending the Lord’s
sheep, or whether something more is needed, is only a vain
strife of words: for that is not real love to the Saviour
which has not the effect of making us devote and sanctify
all our powers to Him, and use them in the work of His
kingdom. If it does this, then we need nothing more. All
occupation about earthly affairs, to which Christians, as
men, are called, all knowledge of what is needful for the
furtherance of Christ’s cause on earth—all these things
come rightly to us if only, in every moment and every part
of our life, we are inspired by the right kind of love to
Christ, if we regard everything that comes to be done only
in the light of its being something belonging to His holy
kingdom.
If then, my friends, we have concluded that one thing
alone is needful, let us seek to experience in its glorious
fulness, and to keep clearly before our minds, what is included in this one thing. Let us put out to interest this
talent committed to us, and by means of it obtain whatever
tends to the glorifying of God’s kingdom, so that if the
Lord asks in our inmost hearts the question he put to Peter,
we also may be able, with a good conscience, to answer, “Lord, Thou knowest that I love Thee.” Then shall we
all, with joy, and with gladsome hope that the word has
not been spoken in vain, hear from Him the call, Go, then,
and tend My sheep. Amen.
XII.
GOD’S RESTRAINING POWER.
(New Year’s Day.)
TEXT: JOB xxxviii. 11. “Hitherto shalt thou come, and no
further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed.”
THESE words are taken from a sublime discourse, which
— is put by the writer in the mouth of the Highest
Himself, the Creator and Preserver of the world. In it He
answers Job out of the whirlwind, when he had complained,
though reverently and humbly, that the Lord did not allow
men to find Him; that, moreover, He gave no account of His
matters to them, and that therefore nothing remained for
them but silently to fear Him. Then the Lord came forth,
it is said, out of the whirlwind, and talked with Job about
his want of understanding; and from this discourse the
words of our text are taken. And when, on a day such as
this, we look back on the past, on so many unexpected disasters, so many hopes left unfulfilled, wishes disappointed,
complications, as the results of which the Lord brought
about something totally different from what we had anticipated and hoped, not always, perhaps, out of mere human
selfishness, but out of genuine love to what is good, and
from wise desires for the common welfare—when all this
is gathered into one view before us, how ready are our
thoughts to take the same direction as Job’s! The Lord is
not to be found out by men; we do not divine His counsel, either in our most aspiring hopes or our most moderate
wishes. He renders no account to us; for as one year
after another passes, none of them solves the problem of
those that went before; His ways are ever unsearchable, and His thoughts beyond
the comprehension of us poor children of men. But if the Lord had wished us to
rest content in this state of apparent submission, He would not have answered
Job out of the whirlwind, and—which signifies still more—His Son could not
have said to us, “Ye are no longer servants, but friends, for ye know what your
Lord doeth.”
To this knowledge of the doings of the Lord we shall be
helped by this sublime address, the kernel of whose whole
contents is contained in the few words of our text. The
Lord represents Himself, throughout this discourse, as He
who has called into being and who sustains by His
almighty word all things that are, and has also appointed
to everything in the world its measure and rule; nothing
can hold back from obeying His mighty word, nor may any
thing go beyond what He commands it. “Hitherto, . . .
and no further: and here shall thy proud waves be
stayed!”
Let us, then, consider more closely how the spirit and
meaning of all the Divine counsels, the great secret of the
Divine government of the world, is contained in this fact,
that God the Lord has appointed to all things their fixed
and definite limits. And in connection with this day, let
us see, first, how we find in this truth our best comfort in
turning our eyes from the past into the future; and,
secondly, how these words also contain for us the most
sacred and precious example, the great law, according to
which we are to regulate our whole life in the service of
God.
I. A great part of the discourse which is ascribed to God
the Lord in this ancient and sacred book is occupied with the works of Nature, and sets forth how, even in the natural
creation, God has appointed all things their measure. As
when the world came into being, and took shape at His
word, He set free the infinite variety of forces by whose
active agency all things consist, He also held them in
check. Each of those forces is in itself just as proud
and ungovernable an agent as that element to which the
words of our text directly refer, and, tends to go on extending in all directions, and to overwhelm everything, far
and wide. But the Lord calls forth an opposing force, and
checks the one by means of the other. In this way, at the
creation, He separated and united all things; thus He
separated the light from the darkness, while He caused
to remain, in fixed and definite degrees, the beneficent
alternation of day and night; thus He separated the solid
land from the waters, and yet, by means of the appointed
proportion between them, each supports, preserves, and
fertilizes the other.
But looking at the natural world as it lies before us in
these days, we know even by our own eyesight, and still
more from the well-grounded and harmonious testimony of
those who have seriously and continuously occupied themselves in studying those natural facts, that there are to be
found manifold traces, both on the surface and in the depths
of the earth, of great and repeated disturbances. The
hidden subterraneous fire has cast up vast masses from
below, devastating and transforming the face of Nature;
the sea, which the Lord seemed to have gathered together
and shut up within impassable barriers, has yet often over
flowed; but only thus, by the repeated mingling and dividing
of the solid and the fluid, could the earth gain that perfect
proportion by which it becomes capable of supporting and
nourishing the whole mass of infinitely diversified life that
moves upon it.
And even yet, though all these natural forces seem partly to be brought into equilibrium through the often recurring
alternation of agitation and repose, and partly to be turned
into other directions and controlled in various ways by
human intelligence, the Lord sometimes allows them—though mostly in small and isolated instances—to overpass
their ordinary limits, so that men again become afraid that
this force or that might work its way to uncontrollable
power, and sweep away all the rest. Often still the fires
of the abyss, released from their bonds, burst forth into the
air, and cover the ground with flaming death; the waters
still often pour down in torrents from above, and far over
flow their accustomed shores, destroying the works of men,
and laying waste great tracts of the laboriously cultivated
land; but the Lord, in His own time, extinguishes the fire,
and causes the waters to go down, and man gathers again
the spoil they have left; and everywhere it is God who
determines, and gradually develops more and more clearly
and exactly, the right proportions; and everywhere we see
arise out of the seeming destruction a new and better order
of things. But where one natural force seems to rise uncontrollable after having been confined, and in its unmeasured
power threatens the ruin of all that is calm and peaceful,
the presence of the Eternal is more hidden from us; just
as the prophet did not find Him in the whirlwind and in
the fire. Our predominant impression at such times is that
of a force of Nature which has, as it were, broken loose;
and we are overpowered by a sense of our own helplessness,
and of the insignificance of man in presence of those
universal powers. But when the floodgates of heaven or
the doors of the lower world are closed, when the destroying tempests are stilled, and that which had poured forth
without control returns to the limits within which it can
subsist alongside of all other forces, then we perceive the
Lord; then He makes Himself known to us, where order
arises and is exercised, where a kindly and benignant rule prevails. And when we have thus grasped the idea that it
was the Lord who spoke, saying, “Hitherto, and no further:
here shall thy proud waves be stayed,” then we begin also
to reflect that the two aspects of Nature are closely connected, and we no longer see in that apparent destruction
a revolted power of mere Nature, but the governing will of
Him who commanded that the waves should so far overflow,
in order that the just proportions should be obtained for
each new step in the order of things.
But all natural things are really for us either a feeble
shadow of spiritual things or a specially significant emblem
of them. Let us therefore consider in particular that part
of His creation into which the Lord breathed the breath of
life; let us consider man, whom He formed into a living
soul. Oh! here it is above all, my friends, that we have so
often to exclaim that the ways of the Lord are unsearchable
and His thoughts past finding out. Those who, by natural
relationship, are meant to be bound together in love, are
severed by pride and selfish passion; those who should be of
one heart, often scorn even the most superficial connection;
those who should be serving each other as equals having
mutual interests, aim only at lording it over others. Wild
passions break out and distract men’s minds, so that there
is an end to all rule and unity, not only for each individual
but even for society as a whole. Thus in this department
also we see Nature, after being brought into some degree
of order, ready to destroy itself and to perish in confusion.
And it is not always self-interest alone that kindles this
fire, nor is the fire itself always a strife only over the possession of earthly things. This state of things occurs very
specially when opposite views are taken in consulting and
arranging about ordinary affairs; or as to the deepest
sources of the public and common weal and woe; or the
most efficient means, in difficult given circumstances, for
promoting one object and discouraging another. And when such views are no longer confined to discussion, but each
party, believing himself obliged to take precautions against
the damage that might result from the other view, sets him
self to oppose his antagonist by force, then what rumpus
disorders take place in human affairs! How eagerly do men
toil in their fury, believing that they are only destroying in
order to build up what is fairer, but only building what must
in its turn be overthrown. What a horrible game is then
carried on with this as its watchword, that it is better for
a few to perish, and so the mass be preserved, than that all
should be corrupted through weakly sparing some infected
members! and into what an abyss of ruin do great portions
of our race sometimes plunge in this manner! But be it
arrogant self-seeking and criminal ambition, or wild passions
and burning rage; be it sensual lusts and ignoble pleasures,
or only the man’s better will, aiming at what is really good,
but misguided, and so inflamed into the resemblance of those
evil motives; sooner or later a point is reached at which the
Lord says, “Hitherto, and no further: here shall thy proud
waves be stayed.” If men are no longer willing to derive
their knowledge of sin from the law, God allows all the
horrors of lawlessness to break loose, that they may see what
is hidden in their hearts. But yet the Lord does not permit
the reign of reason and morality to be utterly subverted.
He has laid their foundations in human nature with a power
that can never be entirely overcome. So if the wild flood
has overflowed those shores, God brings man back to his
senses, matured by sorrowful experiences; if there have
been fierce outbreaks of hatred, the counsel of the Lord
brings about a heartfelt love, made stronger by sufferings
endured in common.
But let us turn our eyes from this chequered and tumultuous scene of outward acts and circumstances, and look into
the more silent depths of the human soul. Think of a
reflecting man who studies the mysteries of man’s mind, and seeks to understand the internal nature of the world in
which he lives, and to search out the laws according to
which everything in it goes on. In thus penetrating ever
more deeply into his own nature and into the essential
nature of all things, he may soon become aware how much
nobler a pursuit such investigations are than those in which
the greater number of our brethren, constrained by the cares
of daily life, are obliged to toil. But if he then begins to
imagine that they are too noble to be mixed up in any
degree with common life, and therefore more and more
withdraws from it, then the balance of the soul and of life
is in danger. Actual life appears to him petty, or even contemptible, in comparison with the ideals with which his
mind is occupied; then, in a very different spirit from the
humility of those in this book of Job, who, in their debates
and interchange of thought, sought to vindicate God’s hiding
of Himself, he imagines that he has fathomed the mystery of
the world and its laws; nay, that even the Highest Himself
is not hidden from him, but that he stands within that
light which is inaccessible to all others. Thus he builds for
himself a temple of pride and sets himself up in it as the
object of worship. And from this temple flows forth an icy
stream of loveless and unbelieving sophistry, chilling to
death the tender life of the spirit, and often even making
the wonderful life-giving fountains of the Divine word for
long periods unavailable to many because of its sweeping
flood. But this flood also can only rage for its appointed
time; then, to those spiritual elements that have burst their
bonds, the voice of the Lord calls, “Hitherto, and no further:
here shall thy proud waves be stayed.” New problems arise
in the mysteries of Nature as well as in the human mind, and
bring to nought the premature self-complacency of the wise
of this world, who thought they had grasped and fathomed
everything: they seek in vain the key to the riddle, and are
obliged to acknowledge that they have unwisely spoken about what they did not understand, that which concerns
them most nearly becoming indeed a witness to their ignorance. And when this spell of self-conceit is dissolved, then
the killing frost also begins to yield, and a more genial
atmosphere is spread over the spiritual life. That life
absorbs only the more eagerly all the renewing and refreshment of childlike confidence; and the spirits that had grown
afraid to trust accept all the more cordially the wholesome
mysteries of faith, the longer they have been deprived of
these comforts. And so these proud waves of the human
mind not only subside, but leave a permanent blessing be
hind them, and thus God appoints measure and limits to
everything that seems to rise against His rule, and even to
that which appeared to intend to take heaven by violence.
But however comforting are the prospects for the future
which the knowledge of these truths opens to us, we have
one point more to consider in this respect; that is, the new
creation of God which has only taken shape since the Word
was made flesh, and appeared to us in the glory of the only-begotten Son of the Father, full of grace and truth. In this
new creation which the Spirit of God establishes in the
hearts of men, and from which we more and more expect, as
time goes on, a new heaven and a new earth to result, it
might be supposed that all would go on within right limits,
and that the new earth would be distinguished mainly by
this, that it should never again be the scene of ruin and
devastation, though only in appearance; but that everything
should progress in regular and successful order. But unhappily we nowhere see this. The praise of never swerving
from the fairest and most perfect rule, and of maintaining
the most perfect harmony of character, belongs exclusively to
One, after whose measure we, indeed, are to become a perfect man, but only taken as a whole; and from whom,
according to the measure that pleases Him, each of us, as a
portion of the whole, receives manifold but variously diversified gifts of the Spirit, which manifest themselves in different
ways according to differences of time and situation as well as
of Nature. And already in the earliest times, when it was a
still easier thing for all Christendom to agree, did there not
arise under the very eyes of the apostles, as we see from
Paul’s epistles to the Corinthians, an emulous contention as
to those separate gifts, which presents to us an idea of confusion, in the single member separating itself from the body
and wishing to be something by itself, as if it could do with
out the rest. That was not the effect of the Spirit’s guidance, it was the impulse of human nature that did not yet
understand itself in these higher circumstances, and which in
newly receiving the gifts of the Spirit, wished to break
away from obedience to His control. God allowed this to
occur that it might be seen how much this mysterious bond
still needed to be strengthened, and then the authoritative
voice of the apostle interposed, reconciling and laying down
rules. And when the Spirit of God was no longer confined
to the limits of the Jewish nation, but brought heathen also
to the knowledge of the truth in Christ, and the Church
rejoiced that out of every nation he that feareth God and
worketh righteousness is accepted of Him, to be brought to
the knowledge of the Gospel; how soon was that first joy
disturbed by hot contentions that threatened to rend the
Church of God even in its earliest infancy! But through the
wisdom of the apostles and the earnestness and love of the
primitive Church, God spoke a calming word of peace, and
the waves stopped short at threatening, and were not permitted to overflow. And when the Divine word in its rapid
course laid hold of widely different peoples, and the diversity
of tongues refused to be brought into harmony; when the
variety of dispositions in the Church of God was always
becoming greater, and each one had something different to
fear as being injurious to the new life in him, as well as
some point in the doctrines of salvation that he felt peculiarly bound to maintain; when, as the result of this,
doctrine was presented in various lights and the Christian
life assumed various forms, according to the riches of the
Divine wisdom, which provided that the Gospel should be all
things to all men so that by any means some might be gained;
how very far were the minds of men from recognising and
entering into the purpose of this rich wisdom! What strife
and misunderstandings arose! and how quickly in this
sacred territory of the Christian Church and of the Divine
Word sprang up all the overbearing arrogance of a fancied
exclusive knowledge, all passionate desire to persecute and
destroy, by which means it is falsely imagined that social
relations are best protected, and the fruits of human wisdom
most securely preserved and extended! It was difficult to
believe that there yet lay in the inmost hearts of the
excited disputants, as the cause of all this, a true zeal for
the kingdom of God. These sad scenes of devastation with
in the Lord’s vineyard have indeed always been the most
dreadful of all the manifestations of human nature broken
loose from restraint. The Most High, in permitting them,
wished to appoint a sign by which Christians might discern
in how small a degree that word of Christ, “My kingdom is
not of this world,” had yet become spirit and life in their
hearts. Often has the bloody sign been repeated, but ever
again came the command of the Lord, “No further! “to
those waves also; and so strife was again turned into peace,
estranged hearts were again bound together, and always new
light and life were gained. But now? Has not a permanent separation taken place since the time when a part of
Christendom came to the conclusion in regard to all the
teaching that still inculcates the legal spirit of the Old
Testament, making much of outward ceremonial and never
allowing men to feel secure; in regard to all the worship
that is borrowed from the glittering pomp of sensuous
paganism, and everything that compromises the equality of all believers under the one Master—that these are nothing
but a defiling of our holy temple? And what a distracted
condition was that of the Christian world so long as the
warfare on this matter went on!—a warfare that was only
ended by a schism which still continues, and makes itself
from time to time more sharply felt; and the end of which
we cannot forecast! Yet even in this case the Lord has
spoken the same word of power, “One Lord, one Spirit,
one baptism, one God and Father of us all.” At this
watchword of the apostle, for unity in the Spirit by the
bond of peace, a halt was bound to be made; this barrier
could not be forced; before it even those waves of strife
were compelled to subside.
Oh, what comfort for the future is warranted to us by
such a retrospect! what comfort both in view of that which
lies directly before us, and for the more distant future! All
the forces that have ever been roused to strife and contention against each other, not only still exist among men, but
are still far from being bound in an indissoluble union. On
the contrary, as the summit of perfection has in no respect
been reached, the same occasions still present themselves
from time to time, now for one force, now for another, to
break out, and with destructive power to overpass their
boundaries, so that the Lord must again draw them within
their lines, and prescribe bounds and limits. And even in
the Church of Christ—nay, within the borders of our own
Church—the thing that has been still is. Vanity still stirs
up rivalry in connection with men’s different gifts; and the
great diversity of views and opinions, instead of throwing
increasing light on each, and helping men towards the
truth in mutual love, still stimulates them to passionate
contention, through their narrow and partial reliance on
their own investigations on the one side, or the traditions
of the elders on the other. Be it so! Even with these
things in prospect we will look forward cheerfully to the future. The Lord has hitherto appointed limits in the
natural world; and in the time to come that world will
not deviate from His rule, according to which temporary
disturbances are ever becoming of less significance. He
has hitherto set limits to every outbreak of human passions;
to all the complications that have arisen from men’s conflicting dispositions and wishes, up to the present time; He
has thrown over the kingdom of grace the defence that
He promised to Him whom He set on His right hand; and
He will do so still in the future. And this is not all. Out
of every apparent convulsion Nature has come forth into
more fixed order, and more receptive to the formative influences of man. All the often-recurring ruptures and wars
have brought the relations of the nations to each other, as
well as the internal relations of each people, into such a
form, that their brotherly connection comes out more distinctly, and peace and concord are gaining a firmer footing
and more enduring power. After every display of the overweening extravagances of the human mind, the chasm
between what is evolved out of its own depths, and what is
produced in devoutly exercised spirits by the power of the
divine Word, is gradually becoming less. Through all the
sufferings of the Christian Church, she has fought her way
to a blessed liberation from the bondage of human authority,
and to a clearer light of truth. And so it will be with all
the troubles that may be before us in the future. God the
Lord will set bounds and limits to them with the same
result as before, and not without an equal blessing; and we
may indulge the special hope that the Church of God,
although passing through many forms of strife and division,
will, as the salt of the earth, be ever attaining a closer
likeness to the perfection of Him in whom, as the express
image of God, there can be nothing discordant, but all is
holy unity and blessed peace.
II. But we are to find in the consideration of this truth, not only our comfort for the future, but our direction and
the law of our life, for this and for every year which the
Lord is still pleased in His grace to grant us on earth.
But we need to be on our guard in this matter against
two forms of error. Men are often inclined, with an only
too easy indifference, to accept it as a settled thing that
the ways of the Most High are unsearchable. Out of this
easy acquiescence the Lord thundered Job by the power of
His sublime discourse. When men’s views on this point
are in some degree corrected, and they allow themselves to
be persuaded that though they cannot understand God’s
doings in detail, or all at once—in which sense we may say
everything is unsearchable to us—yet that at least in the
great, general course of human affairs, they do see, though
but as in a glass darkly, something of the beneficent rule
and glorious wisdom of the Most High, in connection with
all the struggles and commotions in this world; when this
point is reached, most men are apt to fall into error, which
takes with some the form of a culpable carelessness in
regard to their own conduct; with others, that of an entirely
passive expectation of coining events.
The latter class, when they see excess and overbearing
pride bearing sway in the circle in which they move, and
outbreaks of hostile and excited passions—though they are
not without anxiety and concern as to how far the evil may
have power to go, and all that may be ruined or retarded
by it—yet console themselves with the thought that the
Lord holds the reins over all, and directs in such a way that
they may hold themselves entirely aloof, and regard themselves as not at all called on to co-operate in those divine
plans. But for this comforting thought they would probably have taken some action, but now they wish to be
mere spectators of what the Lord may bring about, as if
in regard to human things, He carried out His purposes
otherwise than by means of human instruments. The former class are persons who, if they believed that human
instrumentality alone came into play, would perhaps often
be alarmed at the manner in which they yield to their
depraved inclinations; but they cherish the thought that
the Lord Himself appoints bounds and limits, and restores
order after confusion; and therefore they hold themselves
no longer bound to feel any anxiety about the consequences
of their acts, but think that, for their part, they can all the
more readily follow, without measure or rule, the desires
of their own mind. For, according to their theory, even
though they could do no otherwise than obey the impulse
of inward inclination and external necessity, the Most High
will no doubt see to it that the consequences are neither
more nor less than what He has determined. But what
can we call this but a criminal indifference as to whether
the will of God is to be done through us with our own
will, or against it? And yet this is just what makes the
essential difference between those who are God’s servants
and friends, and those who are only His slaves—involuntary
and unconscious instruments. What can we call it but
criminal indifference as to whether the things we desire
belong to what God will establish and maintain, or to what
He can only suppress and destroy? And yet in the one
case we belong, by our will, to the kingdom of God; in the
other case, to the world.
And to return to that class of persons who—while recognising
God as the upholder and mover of all, who out of everything can bring good—are
yet pleased to wait in slothful inaction for what may happen, without caring to
take a share in His work—have they not cause to charge themselves with knowing
God and seeing Him, only apart from themselves?
So let it never be with us!—us who claim to be not far
from God, but in Him to live and move and have our being;
not so with us, who have not merely a God working apart from us, but to whom Christ has promised to come, and
with the Father take up His abode in our hearts! And if
it is this very Father in heaven who appoints to everything
its just limits and appropriate law, and if He has given us
of His Spirit, manifestly this cannot but have the effect
of leading us also to endeavour to maintain and restore
limits and law everywhere. First, in the kingdom of
Nature; for when, in the beginning, the Most High made
over the earth, with all that breathes and moves on it, to the
first parents of our race, it was His design that man should
subdue it, and have dominion over it. Thus we ourselves
are to be the standard of all earthly things; their relation
to us is to be brought out in all circumstances, and is to
be the true law of their being, and to this we are to direct
our efforts. And if the Lord should again, for the moment,
set free the forces of Nature from this law which is ordinarily in operation, so that they overpass the bounds
appointed to them, and lay in ruins, more or less of the
works of men, then what is the only wise and fitting course?
Not, surely, to sit calmly waiting to see what the issue may
be; still less to allow ourselves foolishly to be seduced into
irregularity and strife, throwing it over on the Lord to
restore, as He may please, the old state of things out of the
new disorders. No; all such events should be a new call
to us to bring our measure and rule to bear more powerfully
on external Nature, to establish more and more the dominion
of mind over it, and to impress on it ever more deeply the
stamp of that dominion; in short, to subdue it more and
more, by every means, under the spiritual power of man,
whom the Most High Himself has appointed as its ruler.
The more we unite our powers on every such occasion, in
this new year; the more faithfully we support each other
in this work, each one with the gift that he has received,
whether it be clear insight into affairs, or power over minds,
or abundance of outward means; so much the more shall we glorify the Name of the Most High, by making progress in
fulfilling the great vocation to which He has called us.
But this is no doubt only the outside view of the subject,
that to which the better educated part of the community,
who decide the action of the rest, are naturally prompted
by the well-understood motive of personal advantage, or the
most careful calculation as to the best means of securing
what is required by their social life, which is constantly
becoming more artificial and complex, as well as mutually
dependent. Much more should we be concerned to keep
rule and order in the spiritual world, and generally where
man has to do with man. Nowhere should we be able to
look on idly at men wandering away into error. Wherever
the restless excitement and inflamed passions of the human
soul have broken out in fury; where selfishness and lust
of power have engaged in conflict with the right and good,
and are reaching the point of tyranny; there we are to
interpose: wherever arrogance and violence work hand in
hand with cowardice and servility, in the most mischievous
alliance that can be formed against right and truth, we
must, as a matter of course, come openly and boldly for
ward. Only we are to do this, not at all in the way of
bringing to bear a force equally lawless and out of bounds,
though of an opposite kind; but in this way, that by our
whole life, by our opinions and modes of action, we really
and truly represent law and order. And not only so: the
spirit of order, that is a vital principle in us, should make
us quick to detect the very first indications of the approach
of a condition of things that in its consummation annihilates
safe boundaries, and threatens to endanger and destroy all
that promotes and preserves social life. But even without
such premonitions, and without a definite purpose on our
part, every one of us ought, in the circle of his work and
of his social relations, so to contribute to the maintaining
and strengthening of rule and order, that efforts in the opposite
direction are restrained beforehand. Well for that community—and for such a
community alone—in every rank of which there is a goodly number of those who, by
their manner of life and the whole tone of their daily conduct, serve as a
mighty voice of God, sounding out on every side the cry, “Hitherto and no
further: here shall the proud waves be broken!”
But, my friends, if we are in earnest in this matter—and
what could more nearly concern us on such a day as this?—if we really long that in each new year of our lives these
principles should come more powerfully into action, we
must guard with special care against what happens only
too easily, allowing ourselves to be carried away either
by the violent or the more insidious evil ways of men; and
so, perhaps with the best intentions, giving vent to our
feelings in an extravagant way, which it becomes needful
for the Lord to check. For nothing can have more disastrous results than our attempting to overcome evil, not
with good, but with counter-evil, and, in contending for
law and order, ourselves going beyond what is lawful. But
how easily do many, even of the best people, fall into this
mistake! Indeed, we may as well say plainly, we shall
only be safe from such errors in so far as we live fully and
heartily in the new creation to which, God be thanked,
we all belong, and obey the Spirit who rules in that creation. For only through this Spirit has the Lord caused
His eternal and holy laws to find an entirely natural soil
in the human soul. The Spirit who in our hearts cries, “Abba, Father,” the Spirit who is at once the Spirit of sonship and the Spirit of liberty, He alone it is who brings
us thoroughly into accord with that inward character of
the divine government in human affairs, by virtue of
which everything passionate and uugoverned must be
opposed, so that law and order may be everywhere
restored. But where the power of this Spirit of Christianity is not yet felt, even the rational desire to extend knowledge is not pure love of truth, for many side
issues find a place; and even the most zealous and self-sacrificing public spirit is, in that case, still a selfish feeling,
seeing that it does not embrace the whole human family,
and is therefore still liable to be swayed by passion or even
by hostility. Nothing but the universal love and the pure
truth taught by the Spirit of God can make men wholly
free.
But how can we possibly count on maintaining rule and
order, by means of a pure and vigorous life as new creatures,
in the whole world of men, even among those whose hearts
are, alas, still closed against the Spirit of God, who desires
to dwell in all,—how, I say, can we do this, unless this
Spirit in the first place demonstrates by actual fact, in the
Christian Church itself, the blessed power of overcoming
all inferior motives, that the Lord’s beneficent rule and
order may be upheld? How shall we do it unless the
Church is more and more getting rid of the delusion that
the profit and honour of one may be shame and loss to
another; and all are becoming more and more united in ono
Spirit, with a common aim; unless each seeks the good of
the rest without fearing to lose his own in doing so; unless
there is the most joyful and confident seeking of the truth
in love, so that love may have the glorious courage to be
everywhere and always true and only true? For only thus,
we are well assured, is that blessedness advanced, which
the Lord came to bring, and in this way alone are men
more and more freed from the influence of every meaner
power, which makes them in reality weary and heavy laden.
For this end, my friends, the Lord opens to us all another
year of forbearance and grace. If, during its course, the
comforting truths that furnished the first part of our
meditation constantly confirm us in the resolutions that
have occupied our later thoughts, we shall employ this year according to the holy will of God. Let us, for this purpose,
seek after all spiritual gifts, in so far as we are able to
stir them up and cultivate them in ourselves; for all have
the power, if they will use it rightly, to maintain and
restore rule and order in their own minds. And as to those
gifts that seem to be denied to ourselves, let us not only
rejoice heartily when we find them in others, but hold
such persons in honour, and protect and further them in
their operations as wo alone can; for a thorough co-operation of all faculties and gifts of the Spirit is necessary, if
suitable resistance is to be made where there are proud
waves to be broken. But only in the proportion in which
we allow the one Spirit, from whom come at once the gifts
and the knowledge to use them rightly, to have undisturbed
control; only in so far shall we be, each for himself and for
the community, a pure example of divine moderation and
eternal order.
As the divine Spirit who moved on the face of the waters
established law and order in the natural world, so that those
conditions are only developed more fully through all disturbances and warring forces; so when Christ appeared and His
Spirit was poured out on all flesh, the eternal foundations of
law and order were laid for the disordered spiritual world.
Here also they will go on developing; each period as it
passes will bear witness to their growing power; and as
often as a new period begins, all in whom this Spirit lives
and works should have this in view. But this Spirit is
none other than the Spirit of love. And therefore the
apostle, after exhorting Christians, as I have just been
doing, to seek after all spiritual gifts, and most earnestly
after the best, said rightly, in reference to love, that he would show them a more excellent way; for without love
all the rest is worthless. And as those gifts are certainly
perfect gifts, and the more richly any community is endowed
with them the better times they may expect, love is even in this case the only bond of perfectness, because by love
alone are those perfect gifts so united and kept in union
that each fills up its appropriate measure, but never goes
beyond it. Think of what spiritual gift you will; without
love, it will either lie dormant in the soul like a dead
faculty, or, once awakened, it will need only some slight
provocation to exalt itself beyond the bounds of friendly
concord with the rest. But love is this bond because love
is itself the power that calls forth divine law and order.
For it was through law and order that God, in His love,
meant to reveal Himself in the creation of the world; and
it is to love we owe the law and order of the new creation.
Rule and limits must be set to all things else, but love,
that produces and includes both, has no need to be so restrained. Love needs no rule, for she is not unruly; she
has no proud waves that must be broken, for she envies not,
is not puffed up, but is long-suffering and meek; she seeks
not her own, and is not easily provoked (and what could
raise more wild and foaming waves than that?), but beareth
all things, because she hopeth all things. Therefore if, in
the new year we are entering on to-day, love only dwells
ever more richly among us, then the love of Christ, which
is the source of all Christian brotherly love, will, on the
one hand, constrain us to promote, by every means, thorough
harmony and cheerful co-operation in every good work.
And so it will come to pass more and more that, without
great noise and battle drowning the voice of Christ; by a
gentle but irresistible power—the power that belongs to
the creating and upholding word of God alone—all threatening waves will be broken, and all hearts so bound together
by this mysterious and yet unmistakable power, that wherever in the spiritual world anything still rises in rebellion,
it may find no solid support; and the swollen streams in
separate places may never again increase to a general and
destroying flood. And on the other hand each of us will experience, in himself and in our whole community, fewer
and fewer interruptions of the inward peace which the
Lord left to His people; and there will more and more
rarely occur such seasons of disturbance, that even to His
own Church the Lord must address these words—words of
healing, it is true, but still always the threatening words
of a judge, “Hitherto, and no further; here shall thy proud waves be stayed.”
Let us then, with such comfort and such purposes, enter
with cheerful courage on this new year of our lives. This
year, like the rest—let us not deceive ourselves—will bring
to us many occasions on which we shall find it needful to
say, remembering with hope and confidence the words of
our text; these waves also will find their boundary, and
the limit which the Lord has appointed them. And if we
are far from seeing how this can be, let us only, in the
strength of love which rejoices in the truth, not be found
wanting in our service to God; let us bear witness to the
Lord’s will whenever a favourable door is opened to us,
and seek to overcome evil with good, and to hush the
tempest with words of peace: and thus shall we also be
fellow-workers, and in a similar way, though it may be only
in a small degree, with Him who commanded the winds
and the sea. And so it will come about that all the storms
will be only external to us, while in our spiritual house there
will only be heard the rushing of the Spirit, bearing witness
with our spirits, that we, who are faithful according to law
and order, as the Son was faithful in all His house, are the
children of God. And this house itself will prove to be
like that one which, though the floods come and the winds
blow, and beat upon it, stands immovable, being founded on
the true rock. Amen.
Prayer.
Even so, Almighty God and Father, we humble ourselves
before Thy throne at the beginning of a new year that
Thou givest us to use in Thy service, and in advancing Thy
kingdom. Thou who restrainest and measurest all things,
and under whose government nothing can happen but
according to Thy command, wilt reveal in this year also
Thy power and Thy wisdom, by all Thy dealings, to those
who take pleasure in Thy ways, and whose eyesight is
clear to behold Thy works, and their ears open to hear Thy
holy voice. Oh, let that voice speak to us ever more distinctly from Thy written Word, and from the depths of our
hearts, where Thou hast given Thy Spirit to dwell. Oh,
that we might hear it ever more clearly, and follow it in
loyal obedience more than hitherto, so that we should find
the right measure of things without contention, and should
live without times of disturbance and disorder in the kingdom which Thy Son has founded. To this end we commend
to Thee, for this new year, all Christians on earth, and
especially our evangelical Church. Build her up more and
more, through the operation of Thy Spirit, into a Church
well-pleasing to Thee! Let the light of the gospel be by
her means ever shining brighter and further, that many
may be awakened and born again to the new life, who are
still sitting in the darkness and shadow of death! Glorify
Thy Son more and more in all those who profess His name,
and let the Spirit of order and of peace rule everywhere in
the Christian Church! To this end grant Thy blessing on
the bond of love and fellowship which unites Thy people,
on the preaching of Thy Word, and on the distribution of
the memorials of Thy Son.
We specially commend to Thee also, for this year, our
beloved Fatherland. Bless the king, the crown prince and
his consort, and the whole royal House. May that House be in this year an equally blessed and beautiful example
of Christian piety, so that all loyal subjects may rejoice
in seeing its undisturbed and ever-increasing prosperity.
Continue to the king the enlightening and the support of
Thy Spirit, for the fulfilment of the great duty which Thou
hast laid upon him. Surround him with faithful and zealous
ministers, who understand how to help him and to carry
out what is right and well-pleasing to Thee. Keep all his
subjects loyal and obedient throughout the kingdom Thou
hast given him; so that under his protection Christian
churches may rise up everywhere, and that we may be
always coming nearer to our common aim of likeness to our
Saviour. We likewise, gracious God and Father, commend
to Thy special care the training of the young, and the
Christian households throughout our Fatherland, and in this
city; that so every family that guides its affairs according
to Thy will, may have the sense of Thy good pleasure
within, and may shine as a helpful example to those with
out. Yea, do Thou bless each one in that calling to which
Thou hast guided him; so that we all may have the happy
experience that we also can contribute something to the
advancement of Thy kingdom, by wise use of the talent
which Thou hast entrusted to us; and that from one year
to another each of us, as a faithful servant of Thine, may be
able to be set over more. And for those to whom, in the
course of this year, Thou hast appointed sorrow and adversities, take Thou a loving concern when they seek refuge
with Thee; and let us all experience, more and more, that
in the measure which Thou appointest to all things, the
purpose of Thy fatherly love is that our souls, for which
Thou hast so graciously cared, may be more and more
attaining to the right stature, and that for this very reason
all things must work for the best to those who trust in Thee
and love Thee. Amen.
XIII.
THE LAST LOOK AT LIFE,
(Passion Sermon.)
TEXT: JOHN xix. 30. “When Jesus therefore had received the
vinegar, He said, It is finished.”
THESE greatest and most glorious of the last words
-*- of our Saviour on the cross come immediately after
those which are apparently of the least significance and
importance. The Lord said, “I thirst;” then the moistened
sponge was handed to Him; and when He had received the
soothing, though not pleasant draught, He cried, “It is
finished.” And we must not break the connection of these
two sayings, for the apostle has joined them most closely by
placing just before his report of them the words, “When
Jesus saw that all things were now finished, that the Scripture might be accomplished.” Now if the former is the
least important of the Saviour’s last words, seeing that,
considered in itself, it concerns merely the satisfying of a
bodily need; the latter is indisputably the greatest of all
those words; it is the saying which has always been, as it
were, the anchor for the faith of Christians; the word in
which this truth is perfectly proved and made glorious to
them; that according to the divine counsel, salvation could
be won for men in no other way than this; that He who
was sent into the world for their salvation should be
obedient even to the death of the cross. But if we direct our attention to this great word alone, we are overpowered
by the infinity of the subject, and we have reason to be glad
that the very apostle who has preserved this word for us
has also left us a key to it, which gives our thoughts a more
definite direction. Such a key we find in those preceding
words, “When Jesus saw that all things were finished, that
the Scriptures might be fulfilled, He said, I thirst.” John
knew that the soul of the Saviour. was engaged in thus
comparing all that had so far befallen Him, with the divine
promises, as they were uttered through the whole series of
revelations in the written word of God; and as He thus set promise and
fulfilment side by side, and so became conscious in a human way of the
completion of the divine purpose, He cried, “It is finished.”
Of course at that moment everything was not yet finished.
As our redemption from sin and our justification before God
must go together; so also it was necessary that He who
needed to die there for our sin should be raised again for
our justification. As the fact that the disciples saw the
Father only in Him, was connected with this, that when
He left the world He returned to the Father; so also the
fact that He loved the disciples implied that He could not
leave them orphans, but must send them another Comforter
who should abide with them, and after them with us also;
even the Spirit of truth. But the spiritual eye of the
Saviour saw everything finished in the sacred moment of
His death; and for this reason that moment is the central point of our faith. For by His obedience unto death
He obtained for us the life-giving Spirit; in that He
suffered, He has been crowned with glory and honour.
Therefore if in the moment of His death He could say, in
this sense, “It is finished,” He must have regarded His
death in that infinite connection which begins with the first
promise given to fallen man concerning the seed of the
woman, and reaches forward into that eternity in which He will bring to the Father all those whom the Father has
given Him, that they may share in the praise and glory
with which He has been crowned. All this is no doubt
perfectly true; but let us return to the definite direction
that the apostle gives us, and confine ourselves to considering this word chiefly as the final look at a past life; and let
us, especially in the first place, see in it as the Saviour
did, the accomplishment of His destiny during this earthly
life; and secondly, apply the great word of the Lord, as our
heart constrains us to do, to ourselves.
I. As the Saviour said so often during His life that the
Son of Man did nothing of Himself, but did the things that
He saw with the Father, and spoke the words that He heard
from Him; we must naturally suppose that He was constantly engaged in the profoundest meditation on the ways
of God; and that, raised as He was above all human weakness of mind, it was so still, even in these last painful
hours of His life; and thus all words relating to Himself
in the Divine revelations of the Old Testament were present
to His soul. We have already had an example of this in
His earlier words on the cross; when even the pains and
weakness that He had to endure recalled to His remembrance words of holy Scripture, and He applied one and
another of them to- His own circumstances. But certainly
we should ill understand Him, if we believed that it was
these personal details in which He found everything finished
that the Scriptures might be fulfilled. That He was hanging
there on the cross, surrounded by the powerful enemies
who had brought about His death; that His bones were
consumed and His tongue clave to His jaws; that He saw
His clothes shared among the soldiers and lots cast for His
coat; the contemplation of separate incidents like these,
and the comparing of them with the words of the Psalm,
might indeed to a certain extent, and perhaps more than
would have been the case with another, turn away the attention of the suffering Saviour from the torturing sense
of physical pain; but to occupy entirely His soul, that was
ever bent on greater things, was what those outward details
could not do; nor was it those things on account of which He cried with such
satisfaction, “It is finished.”
If then we must seek for greater things, let us not give the reins to our own imaginations, which certainly
would not succeed in understanding Christ; rather let us
speak of such words of Scripture as His disciples, in
speaking of the essential facts of His life, apply to Him
with inspired unanimity, and which must now have come
most naturally before His mind. Now where could we find
His whole office and- work in relation to the ruined and
weakened human race more perfectly expressed than, in
the first place, in those words of the prophet, in which one
of the evangelists describes to us the Saviour’s whole
manner of dealing—I mean those words, as tender as they
are strong, “He will not break the bruised reed, and the
smoking flax will He not quench”? These are words which,
through what He had done throughout His life of duty, and
what He was now doing in dying, were now being fulfilled
to the whole human race, which might well be regarded
as only a bruised reed and an expiring taper; so that even
in the hour of death, yes, dying there alone, He could yet
feel called on to praise and glorify the name of His Father
in the great congregation; like him whose words He used
when He said; “My God, why hast Thou forsaken me.” And
thus He also found that other word perfectly fulfilled,
which His disciples universally apply to Him; that He took
upon Him our sicknesses and that through His pains we
are healed; it was this which now in the last look at His
life He saw finished, that the Scriptures might be fulfilled.
But we cannot properly feel the full value of this last
word of Christ’s, unless we can transport ourselves in
thought into that time, and into the state of mind of all those who clung to the Lord with a faith that was still
weak and imperfect. When He made His entry into the
capital of His nation, coming to the feast which was to be
the feast of His own death and resurrection, and was hailed
by thousands as He who came in the name of the Lord,
the promised Son of David; when the palms, the emblem of
the victorious king who with victory brought peace, were
strewn before His feet; what kind of expectations were
probably stirring in the minds of that joy-intoxicated multitude, that streamed in from all directions to share in this
triumphal entry? For the most part, unhappily, expectations of an external glory and power; expectations which
the Saviour had never encouraged, and which He had not
come to fulfil. And even His disciples, though many words
must have lived in their remembrance by which the Saviour
had often, indeed on every occasion, sought to turn away
their hopes and their love from the glory of this world,
and had pointed them to that spiritual world which would
be subject to Him as its Lord and Master;—even they were
not yet quite sure whether in some way, though perhaps
further off in the future, an outward power and authority
might not be the means of setting up this kingdom in its
full splendour; and even they were perhaps carried away by
the enthusiasm of the people in those glorious days to share
in such earthly expectations. But the palms that were
then strewn before the Saviour’s feet were now first wound
into the true, glorious victor-wreath around His dying head,
when all that was at that time said in human misunderstanding was fulfilled in its real, spiritual sense, according
to the secret counsel and purpose of God, Thus, on the
cross, in His death, Christ was altogether He who came in
the name of the Lord, and thus and no otherwise was He
to be magnified and blessed from that moment to all eternity. It was thus also that the apostle felt it, who has
recorded this word for us; and therefore he says, When Jesus saw that all was finished, that the Scripture might
be fulfilled. So that the Scripture was now completely
fulfilled in Him, and, erroneously as the great majority had
always interpreted these glorious words of prophetic men,
their true import would now be better apprehended by all;
and therefore, in this sense also, all was finished, that the
Scripture might be fulfilled; and then He bore testimony
to Himself in that great word, which, uttered now and
here, must have made His disciples abandon for ever all
their false earthly expectations;—then He exclaimed, “It is finished”! And now they knew also that seeing they could
not fare better than their Lord and Master, they too could
fulfil their vocation only through suffering and tribulation,
and so enter into the kingdom of His glory; now they knew
that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; for
the flesh and blood of Christ had fastened Him to the cross,
and that therefore they were now to know no man according
to the flesh; now they knew that His whole work was a
purely spiritual work, and that His authority, for which they
were to fight and which they were to extend, was no other
than that which He, as the Crucified, sets up for Himself
in the hearts of the children of men.
But there is one thing more that we must not overlook.
When the Saviour, in this connection with the fulfilling of
Scripture, uttered the words, “It is finished,” we cannot but
feel that the reference is not only, nor indeed even chiefly,
to what He has done; that He is not merely looking back
on what He might regard as His own work; but what He
very specially points to is what has been done in and
through Him. It was not His own work, and He could not
mean in these words to represent it as such, that He had
so early reached the goal of His great destiny; but it was
the fulfilment of the divine decree, through the divine
leading and foreknowledge. His death was the great
moment for which all human things from the beginning of our race had been bound to work together; it was indicated
long before through manifold pictures of the sufferings of
God’s servants in an evil world; and who could question
that those pictures, wherever they are found, contained the
expression of a knowledge that came from above, although
as yet seen only in a very feeble and glimmering light?
But those representations became more and more distinct
in the sacred discourses of men who were filled with the
divine Spirit; and now they were being realized; for the
appearing of the Saviour was an offence and foolishness to
the perversity of the human heart; and this perversity
was increased to spite and malignity by the faith in the
Saviour and love to Him that began to be manifested. It
was what was done to Him He was now chiefly looking at. His life, as regarded work, He had closed already
with that sublime prayer which this same evangelist has
preserved for us, in which He gives account to His Father
of how He had glorified Him, the Father, through His whole
life, and at the same time declares His hope that now the
Father will also glorify the Son. But confidently as He
could at that time present Himself before God with those
whom the Father had given Him and chosen out of the
world, perfectly conscious as He was of duty fully and
purely fulfilled, it was not then that He spoke the great
word, “It is finished.” But if, speaking exactly, He did
nothing more after that, what are we to understand by
His refraining until now from saying, “It is finished”?
Most evidently this: that the divine counsel concerning a
man is never accomplished through that alone which the
man does; and this holds good even of Him, the one gracious
Man, of Him, the only righteous One. The counsel of God
is always fulfilled through the working together of all the
forces which the Most High sets in operation; not only
those of which we can say, in a restricted sense, that He
gives both the will and the accomplishment, but those also of which we like best to think that He merely says to them,
Hitherto, and no further. The Divine counsel is only fulfilled through that which is utterly hidden from us—the
reciprocal influence of all times and all spaces; one day must
tell it to another, the earth to the heavens, and the heavens
again to the earth; from everything, taken together, that the
individual man has power to do, and does, though never from
that alone, there results that of which it can be said, “It
is finished.” This word of the Lord therefore indicates to
us that, in His last great moments, He forgot, or set in the
background, even His own work on the earth, which for
this very reason He had previously wound up, in order again
to direct His thoughts solely to the work of His Father
in heaven. That which filled up the last moment of His
human life was this—He was absorbed in contemplating the mystery of the divine
counsels; so that even this great act of His departure, though, in another
aspect, it was emphatically His own deed and His holiest service, He preferred to regard as what had been not only foretold but
prepared, as what was now directly accomplished only through
the divine wisdom and its leadings, working together to
this end.
II. Now if this is the right idea of the state of mind in
which the Saviour spoke the words of our text; if we recognise even in this greatest and most important of His last
words the profound humility of Him who, though He was
in the form of God and thought it no robbery to be equal
with God, yet in the last hour of His life, putting in the
shade His own deed and service, rested and rejoiced only in
this, that the counsel of His Father was being fulfilled, how
can we then think of applying this word to ourselves, and
how shall I redeem the promise that I have given for the
second part of our meditation? Were it a question merely of
the active life, of the human influence of the Saviour, even
then we might well ask, what are we in comparison with Him, and how could any one of us think of comparing him
self with Him? And yet in that case the application to
ourselves might be an easier thing. For when Christ, as
our High Priest, in that prayer to which I have already
referred, closed His account with His heavenly Father, it
was with Him just as with other children of men. Although
God was in Him, reconciling the world to Himself, yet that
world still lay before His eyes unreconciled, enveloped in
the darkness and shadow of death; and He presented to His
Father only some few who had attached themselves to Him
in faith and love as the fruit of His life-work, as those who
were chosen out of the world, so that He could say with a
glad heart, “They are not of the world, even as I am not of
the world; they have heard and believed Thy word that. I
have come forth from Thee.” And even then He had to
mourn over a lost sheep, so that even in His own immediate
circle what He Himself had said was fulfilled, that all are
not chosen who are called; and thus He also experienced
that in direct influence on men there is no perfect and in
variable success. Then He also needed to come with prayer
to His heavenly Father for the work from which Ho was
now, as to His human agency, to withdraw His hand; and
He thus acknowledged that though in another and a higher
sense He had done all, yet the direct results were only
now beginning, and that it was needful for the Father to
complete what the Son could only initiate. In all this,
therefore, my friends, we should find a great deal that we
could apply to ourselves, if the question concerned the last
converse of the soul with God before quitting this earthly
scene. Each of us has those whom the Lord has given us,
whom we are to present to Him as chosen out of the world;
and he who, though feeling his own weakness, has faithfully
and wisely carried on the work of the Lord on earth, desiring nothing besides, will also be able to say in faith,
“Here
am I, Father, and those whom Thou hast given me.” And to him who, like the Saviour, has to mourn over disappointed
hopes, if one or another forcibly tears himself away from the loving and guiding
hand, in spite of all guarding and upholding love, to him there will assuredly
not be wanting such a comfort as this, “that the Scripture might be fulfilled.”
But this is not exactly the question with which we are
concerned here in this great word of the Lord; it is rather
as to what befel Him so that all that was written of Him
might be fulfilled, and nothing left undone. And what kind
of a comparison can we institute here? Do the Scriptures—which, as He Himself said, testify of Him in every page, if
the Spirit of God enlightens the eyes of the reader—those
Scriptures in which He was promised, from the beginning,
and which He had in view as fulfilled in Himself when He
spoke the word, It is finished—do those Scriptures speak
also of us, my friends? Can we also, at the close of our life,
cast such a look into the past as to be able to rejoice that the
Scriptures are fulfilled in us? Oh, doubtless, they speak of
us all! Do they not say, the whole of you are sinners, and
come short of the praise that you should have with God?
That, you see, is the first Scripture which is fulfilled in us
all; and if we imagine our eye directed, in the last hours of
our life, to the time that will then be past, and to Him in
whom glory to God and to the divine will is portrayed to us
all, ah, then each of us will say, Now I am dying; this
Scripture is fulfilled in me! But the Scriptures say also,
Christ is become to us wisdom and righteousness and sanctification. Well, then, he who can glory in the grace of the
Lord, who has not been deaf to the voice of His Spirit, who
finds himself in that living fellowship with Christ in which
all things are common to Christ and him, and in his last
moments can look back on such a life, lived in faith on the
Son of God, and Christ living in him,—to him this Scripture
is the most genuine expression of his consciousness of what
has formed the full and complete value of his life. For whatever cannot be included under this, forms no part of
the value of his life; and in the glad assurance that
this Scripture, this edifying, saving Scripture, is fulfilled
even in him, he will then be able to say, It is finished.
But let us not stop short, my friends, at the most general
point of our faith, at the consciousness of salvation which is
involved in fellowship with the Saviour; for in that fellow
ship (though assuredly never but through and with Him)
we can certainly follow out still further the analogy between
this word from His lips, and our experience in the moment of
our departure; or rather, in the last look at our past life
that we may be permitted to take with as entire consciousness as the Saviour had. For the whole time of the
Saviour’s presence on earth, but very specially the great
moment in which He completed, by His death, the work of
reconciling the world to God, was, to an extent in which it
can be said of no other time, the great point of transition, at
which two different periods divided: the time of longing
desire and hopeful anticipation, and the time of blessed
fulfilment and of life-giving faith, creating men anew to
works of love. But we also, as a whole, yea, every one of
us, mean and obscure as our existence in the world may be,
are in a similar way included in the great connected plan
of the divine dealings. For the same thing is always occur
ring over again in the Church of the Lord, only in less
degrees. When Christ said to His disciples that He had
yet many things to say to them, but they could not bear
them now, and referred them to the Spirit whom He would
send to them, He in fact introduced even for them a time
of longing and anticipation, the fulfilment of which was not
to come until later. And everything in the present time
which we recognise as deficiency and imperfection stirs us
to longing and anticipation, and these are followed by fulfilment. Now if this goes on until we have attained to the
fulness of a perfect man in Christ—and until then we cannot cease to wish and hope—we are all so situated that longing
and fulfilment alternate; and no sooner is one desire fulfilled, though always in only an imperfect way, than we
long after something else. But to this still imperfect state
of fulfilment something connected with the good pleasure
and will of God is to be added by each living generation,
leaving to the young only its unfulfilled aims; and to this
work of the men of his time, every one who accounts himself
a living member of this God-sanctified body is to contribute
his share. Now as all that was to take place had not yet
actually occurred when the Saviour cried, “It is finished,”
so in our case, also, we may, with the same faith which we
see in Him who is the Author and Perfecter of ours, regard
that which we have still to meet as included in what has
already taken place. And just in the same way, when we
come to our last look at the life we have spent, our thoughts
may rest with heartfelt thankfulness to God, on what has
been done, not certainly through our own merit, for that is
the Lord’s alone, nor by our work exclusively, for our out
ward position and a great deal that does not depend on us
has always some part in it; but still, on what has been
brought, through our presence, our agency, our indirect influence in many and divers ways, to its sole completion; or
has, at least, gone on from being a wish and anticipation to
the beginning of fulfilment. And we are to regard all this
taken together, and indeed estimate it, as that which our
natural characteristics, as well as the circumstances in which
God has placed us, indicated from the first as our work; and
in our last look at life we shall praise God with equal
humility and gratitude that what He apportioned to us,
according to His wisdom, as our day’s work, is actually
accomplished. We shall acknowledge humbly how much
we have found it needful to avail ourselves of from without,
in order to accomplish even the little that we have actually
done; how many obstacles there were that could only have been removed through favourable circumstances or by the
help of others; so that we may seek in vain anywhere for
work that is exclusively our own. But if God will, we shall
then also have to acknowledge thankfully how even in us,
though it may be but in small measure, the beautiful word
of Scripture has been fulfilled, that all the gifts of the Spirit
in the Church are manifested for the common good; and
that as the Scripture sets before us the fruits of the Spirit
in the delightful group of love, joy, peace, long-suffering,
gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, purity; some of those
fruits, though not perhaps perfectly ripened, nor of the
choicest beauty, have grown up in the garden of our heart.
It was no doubt Christ alone in whom everything belonging
to the image of God in this human nature developed ever
increasingly and without interruption, in the fairest symmetry; and the time at which He appeared, the circum
stances amidst which He lived, contributed nothing to this;
they only helped to make it possible for this glory of the
only-begotten Son to take effect in the way and measure
which the divine wisdom had determined from all eternity.
And it was just that divine decree that He counted as
accomplished, when, while He was yet on the cross, this
glory appeared to Him in its full splendour. With us the
case is certainly very different; for none of us will be able
to look back on his life without becoming aware of the
fluctuating and unsteady progress of his soul. Falls and
risings again; the hand bravely laid on the plough and then
dubiously withdrawn; the work of God eagerly entered on,
and then again the hands hanging feebly down; this and
no other is the manner of our spiritual life, only taking
different forms in its early bloom and in its gradual coming
to maturity; and different also in each according to his
natural disposition and his outward circumstances. But
however saddening this may be, yet, in another aspect, if
at the end of our life we, like Christ, look less at what we ourselves have done, and rather at what, according to God’s
gracious counsel and foreknowledge has been done in and
through us; then wo shall be like Him, even in this, that
everything at the close of our life will still harmonize in a
joyful, “It is finished.” For if once the Word of God has
been held up before us as the pure mirror of the truth, in
which each of us may recognise himself, and we have really
looked into it; then we shall feel constrained to testify that
though we have once and often forgotten what manner of
men we were, yet we have been always drawn to return and
look into that mirror anew; and that even our vacillations
and falls, our negligence and our evil desires, have served to
give us a deeper and clearer self-knowledge, which is one of
the greatest possessions that can be granted to us with
which to depart hence. If we have once turned away from
the universal restlessness of the human race to the true
Shepherd and Overseer of our souls, and have experienced
that in Him we find rest and refreshing; if then we have
at any time, through the cowardice of the human heart,
sought, when something painful threatened us, some other
shelter that seemed to lie nearer to us;—or if, in the self-will
of our heart, we have ventured alone into seductive pastures;
yet our Shepherd has followed and sought us in various
ways: and through these changes in our experience we
have become the more firmly convinced that protection and
safety, as well as comfort and refreshing, are only to be found
in union with Him. Have we often, it may be, under the
pressure of the world and amidst its obstinate opposition,
admitted the thought that the Lord, whose pound, entrusted
to us, we are to put out to usury, is a hard Master, who
wishes to reap where He has not sown? yet we have been
hindered, sometimes in one way, sometimes in another, from
utterly burying it, and shall have something, little as it
may be, to show, that has been gained by it. Now if
through the gracious over-ruling of God, who glorifies him whom He has justified, even our weaknesses and mistakes
have not only tended to confirm our own character, but have
also been useful to our brethren in the way of doctrine, and
warning, and instruction in righteousness,—as indeed we
have often ourselves experienced this effect from the weaknesses of others,—then we shall be constrained to acknowledge that true as that other word of Scripture remains,
which we shall each of us separately apply to himself,
regarding the praise that we ought to have with God; yet
to each individual member of the Church of Christ, as well
as to the body in which we are united as a whole, that word
is also fulfilled, and will always go on being fulfilled, as to
our whole life, sufferings and work, that to those who love
God, all things must work for good. If we thus some day
look back on the life we have spent, when we have reached
its close, we shall thankfully and gladly acknowledge that
it has been the eternally wise kindness and the compassionate love of the heavenly Father towards all who are
called His children, which, through errors and weakness,
through joys and sufferings, has bound us ever more closely
and at last inseparably to Him, whom indeed we cannot
let go if the Scripture is to be fulfilled in us, and in fellow
ship with whom, and comforted as He himself was, we shall
be able to cry, “It is finished.” Amen.
XIV.
THE DEATH OF THE SAVIOUR THE END
OF ALL SACRIFICES.
(Good Friday.)
TEXT: HEB. x. 8-12.
DEEPLY as our feelings may be moved on a day such
as this, deeply as our hearts may be affected with a
sense of sin, and at the same time filled with thankfulness
for the mercy from on high, that planned to save us by God
not sparing His own Son, we can only be sure of having
found the right and true use of the day, when we bring our
thoughts and feelings to the test of Scripture.
We find there a twofold treatment of the supremely important event which we commemorate to-day. The gospel
narratives unfold to us the facts of Christ’s life and death,
setting them before us, each with its own accompanying
circumstances; and in every line of their history we see,
closely side by side, the clearest light of heavenly love and
purity, and the darkest shadow of sin and perversity.
Which of us would not gladly linger over this history
during this time set apart specially for meditation on the
sufferings of Christ? Who would not expect once more
to experience the purifying and elevating power of those
sacred narratives? And the more we kept in view, in such
meditations, the spiritual aspect of the facts, not allowing
it to be pushed aside by what is only external, the purer would be the blessing that we derived from such a contemplation of the life of Christ. But the apostles, in their
letters to individual brethren as well as to Christian congregations, take this acquaintance with outward facts as a
thing for granted; while they seize every opportunity of
directing the attention of Christians to the deep, mysterious
significance of the death of Christ for our salvation, and to
its connection with the great end and purpose of redemption, with the whole of our hopes and our faith. And the
more suitable such meditations on the historical facts are
for the days preceding this great day, during which no
doubt all the pious members of our congregations have been
constantly so engaged, not only during our meetings, but in
the quiet of private devotion; the more natural it seems
to me to turn in this sacred hour to one of those apostolic
utterances, and to devote our attention to the deep significance of Christ’s death for the salvation of men.
It is very clear, from the whole context of these words,
that the sacred writer regards the Saviour’s death as the
real transition point at which the old covenant terminated
and the new covenant of God with man began. While he
represents the death of the Saviour as an offering for sin,
he at the same time sets it forth, in the words, “through
one offering are perfected,” as the end of all offerings and
all sacrificial services, which, in the times before Christ,
formed the essential element both in the worship of the
Jewish people, and in the sacred rites, mixed with much
delusion and error, of other nations. And we have here
set in the sharpest contrast the inadequacy of all former
offerings, and that eternal, divine power through which
the offering of the Saviour transcends them all, and in
so doing has made an end of all offerings. Let us then
consider the death of the Saviour in contrast with all other
offerings, and as the end of them.
In the earlier part of this chapter the writer had said that the offerings would have ceased if those who offered
them had had no more conscience of sin, but had been
cleansed once for all; but through the offerings there was
only a remembrance made of sins year by year; the sins
themselves, he says in our text, can never, by the repetition
of the offerings, be taken away. We shall, therefore, not
only get hold of the real meaning of his discourse, but
exhaust it as to its essential bearing, if we regard the death
of Christ as the termination of all offerings in these two
respects: first, because there is no longer need of any other
remembrance of sin, to be renewed from day to day and
from year to year; secondly, because, sin being really taken
away, there is no longer need of any such insufficient offerings.
I. Offerings, then, served at first as a remembrance of
sin; but now, since Christ became a sacrifice for sin, there
is no longer need for any other remembrance of it.
How was it, then, that all the offerings under the old
covenant were a remembrance of sin? In this way—that
while the offering was supposed to make satisfaction for
individual acts that transgressed the law of the Highest,
so that there was no longer cause to fear being reproached
or punished for them; at the same time the presenting of
the offering was a confession of the guilty act; and by this
public presentation each offerer made a remembrance of his
sins, of everything in which he had come short of the law.
We may only notice here, in passing, what an imperfect
system this was. For what, after all, are the single out
ward acts, in which sin manifests itself, in comparison
with sin itself? Nothing but occasional outbreakings of
the inward corruption, dependent, in a thousand ways, on
external circumstances. If we compare two persons, of
whom, on the same day, one has a multitude of such outward
offences to repent of and to expiate, while the other can
boast of not having committed one, is the latter, on that
account, better than the former? By no means! Only he has fallen on a favouring hour, the other on an evil one;
and corruption may have just as deep and firm a hold in
the soul of the one as in that of the other. For just look
at it in this way! How do we suppose a man can single
out particular acts that he commits as those which are to
be attributed to himself alone? That man may indeed be
always right who in his inmost heart ascribes to himself,
without reflecting on any one else, a culpable and criminal
deed committed by him; but it would be unjust in others
to let him settle his account in this manner, and think
themselves cleared from all blame of his act, because he
imputes it to himself alone; and therefore that man will
never be quite wrong who includes others as connected
more or less remotely, and often at who can tell what
distance of time, with his fault. No, my friends, if we are
only in any measure seeking the truth, if we look intelligently into the manifold ways in which the concerns of
society are woven into each other, and become aware of all
the open and hidden influences that people exercise on each
other, we shall be ready to admit that each of us has his
share, directly or indirectly, in the sins that appear in
others; and that we can by no means consider that our
reckoning ends with those which we personally commit.
Oh, in very manifold ways,—not only by misleading example
and inconsiderate speech, but by easy, lenient judgments,
by neglecting to express disapproval, and in many ways
besides, we all help to cause sin in others; and we can hardly
say that any sin is the sin of one alone. For this reason,
then, all remembrance of sin made by the offerings was
imperfect and unsatisfactory, because it depended on this
division of human responsibility, because it only dealt with
sin when it became outwardly manifest, so that there was
no true remembrance of inward sin impressed on the mind
of the worshipper. And when the apostle says elsewhere
that “by the law is the knowledge of sin,” he is perfectly right; for this is, in fact, the highest merit that can be
ascribed to an external law, although it possesses no power
for real amendment; but he could certainly never have
meant that the remembrance of sin, provided for by the
offerings prescribed in the law, could ever have produced a
complete consciousness of sin or a true knowledge of it.
No, this is only effected fully by the contemplation of the
suffering and dying Saviour. There we have presented to
us in one view, in the authors of this death, the full depth
of human depravity, and in Him who suffered it, the full
glory of the only-begotten Son of the Father; so that we
may say with perfect truth that there is no real remembrance of sin but the death of the Lord. In this, sin has
accomplished its greatest work; here it shows itself in its
full strength and completeness. The apostle John must also
have taken this view when he summed up all sin in “the
lust of the eyes, and the lust of the flesh, and the pride of
life.” It was the lust of the eyes, the mistaken tendency
of man to be captivated by outward appearance, and by that
to estimate character, which caused so many of our Lord’s
contemporaries to perplex themselves by superficial judgments. What good can come out of Nazareth? Of what
consequence can this man be who has not learned the
Scriptures in our way? The lust of the flesh, the delight
that men take in the transitory blessings of the present life,
the striving after distinction and honour in the world, after
the securing and increasing of every outward possession,
the joy of seeing others dependent on them and of being
looked up to by them,—this was what caused the high
priest and the elders of his people to agree in the decision.
It is better that one man should perish than that the whole
constitution, under which we can direct and restrain the
people, should come to ruin. And the pride of life,—what
is it? It is the pride built on man’s presumptuous self-confidence when he imagines that, in his sagacity and experience of life, he has already possessed himself of
what is best and most perfect, and therefore holds the
powers unsurpassed to which he owes those possessions.
Thus nothing better can gain entrance to his mind, and in
the pleasant twilight of self-complacency all pure light is
scorned and rejected. It was through this pride of life that
the wise and powerful of those times did not believe John’s
announcement of the kingdom of God; and it was because
of it that afterwards the secret of the divine counsels
remained hidden from them, and could be revealed only to
babes. But from this very cause, that the light was hidden
from the wise and mighty because of their pride, they were
able so to sin against Him who was the centre of all the
promises, that they crucified Him. Hence we may truly
say that we find, in that which was the cause of the Saviour’s
death, the most notable example of all that darkens the
human soul and keeps men far from the way of truth and
salvation: and a remembrance of sin, ineffaceable to all
eternity, was recorded in the fact that in the one nation
in which the knowledge of the only true God had been
preserved, those very persons who should, above all others,
have possessed and kept up this knowledge, were sinful and
corrupt enough to slay on the cross the Prince of Life and
the Lord of Glory. What more can we need as a remembrance of sin? There it stands, once for all, just as much
for every individual, as for all times and for the whole
human race. For whatever stirrings of sin we still have,
whatever in us resists the will of God, of which He was the
eternal embodiment, may always be traced to something of
that which was the cause of the Lord’s death; and thus we
must regard all sins as having a share in crucifying Him.
And hence every succeeding generation needed, just as little
as we, any other remembrance of sin than that which was
created by the death of the Lord: and He is thus the end
of all offerings; because the sorrowful confession of single sins by means of such sacred observances, and the sorrow
and repentance for separate outbreaks of sin, of whatever
kind they may be, cannot by any means be compared with
the sorrow with which we all, without distinction of better
or worse, must be bowed down by this thought, that it was
our kindred, men like ourselves, who, through the same
corruption that we find in ourselves, crucified the Lord of
Glory. A remembrance which thus bears upon everything
evil in the human soul, makes every other for ever superfluous. And again, if in connection with distinct sinful
acts that we have committed, we prescribe to ourselves,
or have prescribed to us by others, certain performances,
whether works of love or exercises of devotion; these can
never make what is done as if it had not been, nor dry up
the fountain of such acts, and therefore can be nothing but
a remembrance of sin; so what would this be but to turn
back to that imperfect system which has only the shadow
instead of the reality? and what would be proved by our
doing so, but that we fail to ascribe the due value to the
remembrance of sin made by the death of Christ? Let us
then use this day’s solemn commemoration of that death,
to establish ourselves anew on this article of our Church’s
faith; that even in this respect we have regard to nothing
but the perfect sacrifice once finished by Christ on the cross.
And let each one whose heart admonishes him to think of
the corruption in his own breast, and every one who is still
conscious of occasional symptoms of his old sin. cast himself
down before the cross of Christ, and there, in the name of
Him who was made the offering for sin, beseech the Father
to preserve him from ever again, by his lust of the eyes and
lust of the flesh and pride of life, crucifying afresh the
Prince of Life and Lord of Glory.
II. And as those offerings, often as they were repeated,
were always only this imperfect kind of remembrance of
sin; so, in the second place, they were quite incapable of taking away sin. But inasmuch as, with the repeated confession of sin they could only renew and keep up the
remembrance of it, while its life and strength in the soul
remained unchanged, those offerings kept alive the longing
for some better help, and the earnest desire that One should
appear, even though He must come down from heaven,
who should in very deed be able to take away both sin
itself and its power. Therefore in saying that the death of
the Saviour was the end of all offerings, the author of our
epistle specially means that even the sin itself was taken
away, and so there was no further need of offerings; as he goes on to say, “Let
us draw near with true hearts, in full faith, free from all evil conscience, and
made clean.”
But how—in what manner and in what sense sin is taken
away through the death of the Saviour—that, my friends,
is the great mystery of the fellowship of His death and His
life as declared in the Scriptures. For these two positions,
that we are buried with Christ in His death, and that we
have risen with Him to a new life, cannot be separated from
true faith in the Saviour. For what is believing in Him if
it is not at least this acknowledging Him as the promised
Deliverer of men, as He who could direct the lost to the
right way, and bring life to the dead, because He was Himself the Truth, and because sin had no place in Him. But if
we acknowledge Him as all this, how T would it be possible
that we should not all, just through His death, die to that
which caused it? Believers could not have been willing to
put the Saviour to death; therefore their faith must constrain them—otherwise it is no faith—to renounce every
thing that brought Him to the cross. And thus the old
man, everything that manifests the power of sin in us, is
crucified with Christ.
And not only so; it is just as necessary an effort of our
faith in Him, that we receive His life as our own, so that we
pan say with the apostle. “I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.” For it belongs to man’s nature to desire communion
with Him by whose breathing he became a reasonable soul.
Even in times of the deepest darkness and corruption, men
have not been able entirely to lose sight of the desire to be
acquainted with the supreme Being, and to link their existence with His. Rather than leave unsatisfied this highest
and most vital need, having once lost the right track, they
associated their worship, as the apostle says, “with corruptible images of the creature, and served the creature instead of
the Creator.” And therefore if, in the foolish fables of
paganism, in the gloomiest delusions of idol-worship, nay,
even in the unnatural abominations that arose out of it, we
cannot fail to recognise this striving and feeling after the
divine Being; (although we freely admit there can be no
greater pain or horror to an enlightened mind than to see the
holiest things represented in so distorted and dishonouring a manner)—if this
was so, was it not quite natural that those efforts, partly misguided and partly
repressed, should be turned in the right direction when the Father revealed
Himself in the Son; when the divine Word became flesh, and the teacher who
points to the Father appeared in human form; when the divine Love became visible
in the glory of the only-begotten Son, who knew nothing else and lived for
nothing else than to labour to communicate to His brethren all that He had received,
and to draw them all to Himself and into the one life which is His with the
Father? For in truth there was nothing in the human soul beyond this sense of
need and unsatisfied longing, that could take the side of the Saviour; there
was no real perception of truth, no real inclination to wards good. But as it
was a part of His work both to communicate such a perception and directly to create such a
desire, His mighty, divine influence required no other ally
than this sense of need, And thus it came about that those
who acknowledged Him by faith not only died with Him as
to the old man, but also rose again with Him to a new life; that is, to a life that was peculiarly His own, but which
He gladly shared with them; a life that constantly drew
fresh nourishment and strength from every word of wisdom
that He spoke, and from every glance of divine compassion
and love in His eyes. And these life-giving processes are
now made permanent in the Christian Church by the preaching of the Word, and by the divine Spirit, who works by
means of it. The works of creation, on the other hand, considered in themselves, although our knowledge of them has
largely increased, have not become more efficacious, as experience sufficiently teaches, in making us acquainted with
God and leading us to Him than they were long ago; and
thus it still always comes to pass that the Father manifests
Himself to us only in the Son; and that the mysteriously
communicated life comes in the same way, by our rising
again with the Saviour to the new life, but only after we
have been buried with Him in His death, and therefore
always in connection with that death.
Seeing then that in this sense we are crucified with
Christ, and with Him have risen to a new life, sin is in
truth taken away; for not only the consciousness of it, or as
the writer of our text expresses it, the “conscience of sin” is destroyed, but also its guilt is cancelled.
For, as regards the first, we may surely say that he who
has died to sin and the law—for both of these had a part in
crucifying the Lord—has thereby lost the consciousness of
sin thus far, that his will has thrown off its authority, and
all participation in it. And he who has risen with the
Saviour to a new life, so that Christ alone lives in him and
is ever being more fully formed in him, while his former self
lives no longer,—he has in so far lost the consciousness of
sin, that he has gained the consciousness of something else,
of this oneness of life with Christ, who never willed to do
anything but the will of His heavenly Father. Now as in
Christ Himself there was absolutely no sin, so no consciousness of sin can exist alongside of the consciousness of His
life in us. Rather, as the life of Christ was a blessed life,
so also our consciousness, in so far as we are united with
Him, is only blessedness. For when our will is in thorough
harmony with the whole will of God, so far as we can in any
way know or conjecture what it is, there can be nothing to
disturb or trouble us; while even the weakness that still
remains in us, finding no encouragement from our will, is no
longer a part of our real life, but rather belongs to the
things apart from us against which we are to fight the good
fight of faith; and in that fight we feel truly blessed, be
cause we act as God’s instruments and in His strength. It
is true, therefore, that just in the measure in which Christ
lives in us we are free from the “conscience of sin.” This is indeed a doctrine
of which, on the one hand, we may well say, “Not that I have already attained,
but I follow after, if by any means I may attain”; but on the other hand we
must admit—and praise God that it is so—it is the deepest,
simplest, purest truth even now in the life and heart of the
Christian. Union with Christ means for us nothing but
blessedness, pure joy in the Lord, closest communion with
His and our Father in heaven.
But, it might be said, all this being granted, How is it
brought about? How is this new consciousness which expels the “conscience of sin” wrought in us exactly through
the death of the Saviour? For manifestly His disciples had
faith in Him as the Son of the living God, and took heartfelt
delight in the words of life which were at His command
alone; and thus, even before His death, had that participation in His life. That is true: but to Himself at least, even
from the beginning of His public life and work, the knowledge and the prospect of His death,—of the very death He
died, were always present, so that we must say He always
acted under the power of His death. That which He could
not make His disciples understand until after His resurrection, —that it behoved Christ to suffer these things and to
enter into His glory,—was always alike deeply impressed on
His own heart, and influenced His words and works through
out His public life. And thus His disciples, long before they
distinctly knew about His death, were already living in the
power of it. For it was only because He had been pointed
out to them from the beginning as “the Lamb of God that
taketh away the sin of the world,” and because they saw
Him, who alone was without sin, thus setting Himself to
destroy the sin of the world, that this true and living faith in
Him as the Saviour could spring up in the hearts of His
disciples. And for us it is still less possible to separate the
power of His death from that of His life.
But it is not only the conscience of sin that is taken away
when we are crucified with the Lord and risen again with
Him to newness of life; the guilt of it is also cancelled; God’s
verdict about us—the relation to the Highest in which sin
had placed us—is reversed. This is the meaning of the words
of our text, “Sacrifice and burnt-offerings Thou wouldest not,
neither hadst pleasure therein; then hath He said, It is
written of me in Thy book that I am come to do Thy will;
He taketh away the first that He may establish the second.”
For that which is taken away is just the system of sacrifices,
which could not justify from the guilt of sin. But its guilt
consists in this, that “to be carnally minded is enmity against
God.” Now he who has died with Christ to sin and the law
and risen to new life, still lives, it is true, in the flesh, that
he cannot deny, nor will be able to deny throughout his
earthly life; but the mind of the flesh is no longer in him,
the enmity against God is taken away, and God also loves in
the Beloved those to whom the Son, because they believe on
His name, has given “power to become the children of God.
And when it is said in verse 16 “This is the covenant that
I will make with them after those days, that I will put my
will into their heart, and write it in their mind,” that is just what we have described as the simple and natural effect
of our oneness of life with the Saviour. And we desire that
you should all note these words, so that no one may under
stand us as meaning that the guilt of sin can be taken away
by any mere wish, however sincere, for amendment. For a
wish, even though with no reservation, is still a mere empty
and inefficacious thing, and leaves everything in the man as
it was, so that God’s verdict mast also remain the same, and
the guilt the same: he who wishes, turns to God with only
the lips of his soul, if I may so speak, not with his inmost
heart. But to have the will of God written on the heart and
mind is something much more than this. In that case all
the man’s aims and efforts, all his works dictated by his
inmost feelings, are directed to fulfilling the will of God; and
in mixing with the world his mind will most readily concern
itself with what has reference to this. Therefore even the
weakness that may still remain in the man as the consequence
of old sins, is there against his will, which is entirely at one
with God’s will in being set against all sin; and where the
whole will is in this way opposed to all sin, there the guilt is
taken away. For that is laid to no man’s account which
really takes place against his will. This will is just fellow
ship with Him who came to destroy the dominion of sin;
and we only attain to such a will when we are united to
Christ, and His will—the only pure will—is communicated
to us. Love to Christ, and the good fight of the whole will
against sin are one and the same thing. But every attempt
to improve ourselves and others by our own power, and other
wise than in fellowship with the Saviour, is not only unsatisfactory, but comes so very far short of what we ought,
at least, to wish, that it cannot be distinguished from the
useless wish, which cannot determine the verdict of God.
If then we put forth our powers—repressed, it may be,
hitherto, but ready to expand and grow by the power of Him
who alone can make us strong—in building up the kingdom of God, and labouring to put down all sin within and around
us, the guilt of sin is thus taken away; God no longer looks
on us as each of us was in himself and might have remained,
but only in the Beloved and as what we have become in
Him. Nay, more; if, according to this new covenant, the
will of God is put into our hearts and written in our minds,
then even He can remember our unrighteousness and our sin
no more; but only regards as ours the new life that we live
in His Son.
Let us then fix in our minds what is the real meaning of
the writer in the words of the text: that the death of Christ
is a sacrifice which He offered for sin, because free obedience,
even to the death of the cross, is the crowning act of all
obedience. The Saviour’s obedience, and the sacrifice which
He offered, are not different, but one and the same. And
the holy death of the Saviour is the end of all imperfection
in the view and representation of our relation to God, of all
outward ceremonial, of all other offerings and purifying
observances. While we see in Him, most specially in His
death, the glory of the only Son of the Father, and see, at
the same time, by that death, the power to which sin had
risen as enmity against God, by this very means, for all of
us who have died with Him to that which is imperfect, old
things are passed away, and a new life with Him is begun,
which, in fellowship with the Saviour, seeks after righteousness and true holiness. And the more we desire to see this
life extending on all sides and exercising an ever mightier
influence, the more thankfully do we constantly come back
to the Lord’s death as to the everlasting remembrance of sin,
ever anew calling on all to die to it in the death of the Lord,
as the one offering by which “He hath perfected for ever
them that are sanctified.” Yes, my friends, those who are
sanctified, all who hold on and grow and make progress in
the life that the Saviour has kindled in them, and in deed
and truth go on renouncing all participation in sin, and all trust in the law and its works, building themselves up
together more and more in the spiritual love of Christ,—all
those who are thus sanctified are perfected once for all by
the offering that He presented; their obedience, although to
outward view always imperfect, being yet an outcome of the
perfect obedience of Christ and of a piece with it. They are
perfected for ever for this very end, that they may really be
able to be sanctified in a new life, after the conscience of sin
and the guilt of sin are taken away from them, and they have
become partakers in the liberty of the children of God; the
only position in which there can be progress in what is truly
good. Therefore, as the apostle Paul says, there is now no
condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus; and we may
thank God who has delivered us from this body of death,
and given us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
We owe it to His sacrifice, which He once offered for sin,
that the guilt and the consciousness of sin are taken away
from us, so that we can no longer live in fellowship with sin,
which crucified Him, but in glorious and blessed fellowship
with Himself.
How, then, can we but bring deeply moved and thankful
hearts to commemorate the death of Jesus? And in meditating on His eternally efficacious sacrifice, how can we but
ever more fully yield ourselves as a living sacrifice, holy and
acceptable to God? How can we but become, through this
eternal and ineffaceable remembrance of sin, ever more confirmed in a holy hatred against all that is enmity against
God and opposes His will? And moreover, how can we but
clothe ourselves more and more in the righteousness and the
love of Him who, even when we were yet enemies and
sinners, gave His life for us all, in order that with a love
like His we may embrace those who are still held in enmity
against God, and may win them to share with us the happiness of reconciliation. How can we but invite all who are
wearing themselves out in delusive and fruitless service to come, weary and heavy-laden, to Him, in whom they will find
rest and refreshing for their souls; if in a right spirit they
allow us to direct them to the only and eternally availing
sacrifice, through which all may be made perfect! And
thus let us in deed and in truth praise Him who, equally by
His life and His death, has become to us redemption as well
as holiness, wisdom as well as righteousness. Amen.
Prayer.
Yes, merciful God and Father, who didst not turn away
from the sinful world, but in Thine eternal love didst conclude all under sin that Thou mightest have mercy on all,
praise and thanks be to Thee that Thou hast been mindful
of us in Thy Son, and didst reconcile us unto Thyself in
Him, to open to us the way to that blessed communion with
Thee, which we enjoy in Him. Oh, let Thy power be felt
more widely in the kingdom of Thy Son on earth, that He
may gain many more as the reward of His life and His
death; that the number of those who find life and blessedness
in Him may go on increasing; and establish all those who
have already come to the saving knowledge of Christ ever
more firmly in the holy bond of faith and love, so that it
may be ever becoming more true that we are dead with Him
to sin and to outward law, and that the life of God, which
He alone could bring, may be more and more gloriously
manifested in us. We beseech Thee, in the humility of
children, that Thou wilt give us to enjoy these fruits of His
death. Be pleased to cause them to increase more and more
abundantly on earth, so that the renown of the Crucified
may ever become more glorious, until all shall bow the knee
before Him to receive from His hand what Thy fatherly love
and compassion have wrought through Him. Amen.
XV.
CHRIST’S RESURRECTION AN IMAGE OF
OUR NEW LIFE.
(Easter Sunday.)
Praise and glory be to God, and peace with all who with joyful
hearts greet one another with the cry, The Lord is risen! Amen.
TEXT: ROM. vi. 4-8.
IT is natural, my friends, that the glorious festival of our
Saviour’s resurrection should attract the thoughts of
believers to a far remote time, and that it should make them
rejoice to think of the time when they shall be with Him
who, after He had risen from the dead, returned to His and
our Father,—a joyful prospect, expressed in the hymn we
have sung together. But the apostle, in the words of our
text, recalls us from what is far off to what is close to us—to
the immediate present of our life here. He takes hold of
what is the most immediate concern, of what we are at once
to share in and which is to form us, even here, into the likeness of Christ’s resurrection. We are buried with Him, he
says, unto death, that as He was raised from the dead
through the glory of the Father, we also might walk in newness of life. And this new life is that which, as the Lord
Himself says, all who believe in Him possess even now as
having passed through death to life. The apostle compares
this with those glorious days of our Lord’s resurrection; and
how could we more appropriately keep this feast—a feast in which, above all others, many Christians draw renewed
strength for this new life from the most intimate union with
our heavenly Head—how could we better celebrate it than
by endeavouring to receive this directly for ourselves from
the words of the apostle? Let us then, according to the
teaching of these words, consider the resurrection life of our
Lord, as the apostle presents it to us, as a glorious, though it
may be unattainable, model of the new life in which we are
all to walk through Him.
I. This new life is like that of our risen Saviour, first,
in
the manner of His resurrection. In order to appear to His
disciples in that glorified form, which already bore in it the
indications of the eternal and immortal glory, it was necessary that the Saviour should pass through the pains of death.
It was not an easy transformation; it was necessary for Him,
though not to see corruption, yet to have the shadow of death
pass over Him; and friends and enemies vied with each
other in trying to retain Him in the power of the grave; the
friends rolling a stone before it, to keep the beloved corpse in
safety, the enemies setting a watch lest it should be taken
away. But when the hour came which the Father had
reserved in His own power, the angel of the Lord appeared
and rolled away the stone from the tomb, and the watch fled,
and at the summons of Omnipotence life came back into the
dead form.
Thus, my friends, we know what is the new life that is to
be like the resurrection life of the Lord. A previous life
must die; the apostle calls it the body of sin, the law of sin
in our members, and this needs no lengthened discussion.
We all know and feel that this life, which Scripture calls a
being dead in sins, pleasant and splendid as may be the form
it often assumes, is yet nothing but what the mortal body of
the Saviour also was, an expression and evidence of the
power of death, because even the fairest and strongest presentation of this kind lacks the element of being imperishable. Thus with the mortal body of the Saviour, and thus
also with the natural life of man, which is as yet not a life
from God.
And this our old man must die a violent death in the name
of the law, such as the Saviour died, not without severe
suffering and painful wounds. For if the body of sin dies
out in a man of itself, through satiety of earthly things, and
because no excitement can any longer affect his exhausted
powers, that is a death from which we see no new life
proceed. The power of sin must be slain in a man by
violence; a man must go through the torture of self-knowledge, showing him the contrast between his wretched condition and the higher life to which he is called; he must
hear the cry, and accept it as an irrevocable sentence, that
an end is to be put to this life; he must groan and almost
sink under the preparations for the execution of that
sentence; all his accustomed habits of life must cease; he
must be conscious of the wish that he were safely through
it all, and it were at an end.
And when he has yielded up the old life to a welcome
death, and the old man is crucified with Christ, then the
world, which knows nothing better than that previous life,
if it only goes on well and easily, uses all kinds of efforts to
hinder the rising up of the new life, some of them well-meaning, others self-interested and therefore hostile. Some,
with good intentions, like those friends of the Saviour, consult together, and try all in their power, keeping away all
extraneous influences, to preserve at least the appearance
of their friend from being defaced, and though no joyful
movement can ever again be awakened, to preserve the
form of the old life. Others, seeking their own interest and
pleasure in a way by which they almost certainly accuse
themselves, try to prevent an abuse being practised in this
state of things, and also to guard against the gay, merry life
which they lead, and into which they like so much to lead others, being brought into contempt by a question of a new
life arising after this dying off of the old man, when, as they
think, there is really nothing else and nothing better here
on earth, and when it is a vain pretence for some to assert
that they know this new life, and a mischievous delusion
for others to attempt attaining it. Therefore wherever they
perceive such a state of things, they have their spies to watch
against every deception that might be practised about such
a new life, or at least at once to discover and publish what
kind of delusions prevail in connection with it.
But when the hour has come which the Father has kept in
His own power, then in one form or another His life-bringing angel appears to such a soul. Yet how little do we
know about what part the angel had in the Saviour’s
resurrection! We do not know if the Saviour saw him or
not; we cannot determine the moment at which he rolled
away the stone from the tomb and the re-animated Saviour
came forth; no one witnessed it, and the only persons of
whom we are told that they might have been able to see it
with their bodily eyes were smitten with blindness. And
in like manner, neither do we know how the soul lying, so to
speak, in the tomb of self-destruction, is wrought upon by
the angel of the Lord in order to call forth the life of God
in it. It arises unseen in that grave-like silence, and cannot
be perceived until it is actually present; what is properly
the beginning of it is hidden, as every beginning usually is,
even from him to whom the life is imparted. But this is
certain, as the apostle says, that the Lord was raised from
the dead by the glory of the Father, and thus also, according
to the words of the Saviour, no man comes to the Son
except the Father draw him; that same glory of the
Father, which then called forth the Saviour from the tomb,
and which still awakens in the soul that has died to sin the
new life, like the resurrection life of the Lord. Indeed,
among all the proofs of the Father’s glory in heaven and earth, there is none greater than this, that he has no
pleasure in the death-like condition of the sinner, but that
at some time or another the almighty, mysterious, life-giving
call sounds in his ears—Arise and live.
II. And, secondly, this new life resembles its type and
ideal, the resurrection life of Christ, not only in being risen
from death, but also in its whole nature, way and manner.
First, in this respect, that though a hew life, it is, nevertheless, the life of the same man, and in the closest connection with his former life. Thus, with our Saviour; He
was the same, and was recognised by His disciples as the
same, to their great joy; His whole appearance was the very
same; even in the glory of His resurrection He bore the
marks of His wounds as a remembrance of His sufferings
and as the tokens of His death; and the remembrance of
His former state was most closely and constantly present
with Him. And just so it is with the new life of the Spirit.
If the old man has died to sin, and we now live in Christ,
and with Him in God, yet we are the same persons that we
were before. As the resurrection of the Lord was no new
creation, but the same Man, Jesus, who had gone down into
the grave, come forth again from it; so in the soul before it
died the death which leads to life in God, there must have
lain the capability of receiving that life when the body of
sin should die and perish; and that life is developed in the
same human soul amidst the same outward circumstances as
before, and with its other powers and faculties remaining
unchanged. We are entirely the same persons, only that
the fire of the higher life is kindled in us, and also that we
all bear the signs of death, and that the remembrance of
our former state is present with us. Yes, in manifold ways
we are often reminded of what we were and what we did
before the call to new life sounded in our hearts; and it is
not so easy to efface the scars of the wounds, and the numberless traces of the pains
under which the old man had to die that the new man might live. And as the glad faith of
the disciples rested on the very fact that they recognised
the Lord as being, in the glory of His resurrection, the same
person that He was before; so also in us, the confidence in
this new life, as a permanent and now natural state with us,
rests only on this—that we recognise ourselves in it as the
same persons that we were before; that there are the same
faculties, lower and higher, of the human soul, which
formerly served sin, but are now created anew as instruments of righteousness. Indeed, all the traces of that death,
as well as of the former life, make us more vividly conscious
of the great change that the life-giving call of God has
produced in us, and call for the most heartfelt gratitude.
And as the Saviour was the same person in the days of
His resurrection, so His life was also again of course a
vigorous and active life; indeed, we might almost say it
bore the traces of humanity, without which it could be no
image of our new life, even in this, that it gradually grew
stronger and acquired new powers. When the Saviour first
appeared to Mary, He said, as if His now life had been, as
it were, timid and sensitive, “Touch Me not, for I am not
yet ascended to my God and your God.” But after a few
days He showed Himself to Thomas, and bade him boldly
touch Him, put his hand in the Master’s side, and his
fingers into the marks left by the nails of the cross, so that
He did not shrink from being touched even on the most
sensitive spots. And also even in the earliest days, and as
if the new life were to be fully strengthened by doing so,
we find Him walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus, and from
Emmaus back to Jerusalem, as well as going before His
disciples into Galilee, and leading them back to Jerusalem,
where He then ascended to heaven in their sight. And as
He thus walked among them, living a life with them, human
in every part, and exercising a human influence on them;
so also His most important business was to talk with them of the kingdom of God, to reprove and rouse them up from
their slowness of heart, and to open the eyes of their minds.
Now so it is, my friends, with our new life,—that is like the
resurrection life of the Lord. Oh, how very gradually it
gains its faculties in us, grows and becomes strong, only
bearing still more than the new life of the Lord the traces
of earthly imperfection. I can appeal on this point to the
feeling of us all, for assuredly it is the same in all. How
intermittent at first are the manifestations of this new life,
and how limited the sphere of its action! How long does
it retain its sensitive spots, which cannot be touched
without pain, or even without injurious consequences, and
those are always the places in which the old man has
been most deeply wounded in his dying hours! But in
proportion as it becomes stronger, this new life ought
the less to give the impression of being a mere phantom
life,—the impression the Lord’s disciples had when in the
first moments they thought in their fear that they saw a
spirit, so that He was obliged to appeal to the testimony
of all their senses, that they might perceive He was no
spirit, but had flesh and bones. And thus if our new life in
God consisted in mere states of feeling and emotions, which
were not in the least capable of passing into action, or perhaps did not even aim at doing so; which were too peculiar
and special to ourselves to be actually communicated to
others or to move them with good effect, but rather might
touch them with a chill sense of awe; what would such a
life be but a ghost-like apparition that would no doubt excite
attention, but would find no credence, and would make men
uneasy in their accustomed course, but without producing
any improvement in it? No, it is a life of action, and ought
to be ever becoming more so; not only being nourished and
growing stronger and stronger through the word of the Lord
and through heart-communion with Him, to which He calls
us, giving Himself to us as the meat and drink of eternal life, but every one striving to make his new life intelligible
to others about him, and to influence them by it. Oh, that
we had our eyes more and more steadily fixed on the risen
Saviour! Oh, that we could ever be learning more and more
from Him to breathe out blessing, as He did when He
imparted His Spirit to the disciples! Oh, that we were
more and more learning like Him to encourage the foolish
and slow of heart to joyful faith in the divine promises, to
active obedience to the divine will of their Lord and Master,
to the glad enjoyment and use of all the heavenly treasures
that He has thrown open to us! Oh, that we were ever
speaking more effectively to all connected with us, of the
kingdom of God and of our inheritance in it, so that they
might see why it was necessary for Christ to suffer, but also
into what glory He has gone! These are our desires, and
they are not vain desires. The life-giving Spirit, whom He
has obtained for us, effects all this in each in the measure
that pleases Him; and if once the life of God is kindled in
the human soul, if we have once, as the apostle says,
become like Him in His resurrection, then His powers are
also more and more abundantly and gloriously manifested in
us, through the efficacy of His spirit for the common good.
But along with all this activity and strength, the life of
the risen Saviour was yet, in another sense, a secluded and
hidden life. It is probable that when, in order to show
Himself to His disciples, He went here and there from one
part of the land to another, He was seen by many besides
them, who had known Him in His previous life. How
could it be otherwise? But the eyes of men were holden,
that they did not recognise Him; and He made Himself
known only to those who belonged to Him in faithful love.
At the same time, however, He said to them, Blessed are
they who do not see, yet believe! And what was the little
number of those who were counted worthy of seeing Him,
even if we add to them the five hundred whom Paul mentions, compared with the number of those who afterwards
believed in their testimony to the Lord’s resurrection? And
thus it is also, my friends, with the new life in which we
walk, even if it is, as it ought to be, strong and vigorous,
and ever at work for the kingdom of God; yet it is at the
same time an unknown and hidden life, unrecognised by and
hidden from the world, whose eyes are holden; and he who
should set himself to force the knowledge of it upon them,
who should hit upon extraordinary proceedings in order to
attract their attention to the difference between the life of
sin and the resurrection life, would not be walking in the
likeness of the Lord’s resurrection. As the people in the
time of Christ had opportunity enough to inquire about His
resurrection, in seeing how His disciples continued to hold
together, so our neighbours also see our close alliance, which
has nothing to do with the affairs of this world; and if they,
because of this, inquire about what unites us, the answer
will not be lacking to them. But our inner history we will
as little thrust upon them as the risen Christ thrust His
presence on those who had slain Him, and who had therefore
no desire to see Him. Instead of this, as He showed Himself only to His own, we also will make known our inner
life only to those who are just in the same way our own;
who, glowing with the same love, and cheered by the same
faith, can tell us in return how the Lord has revealed Himself to them. Not by any means as if we followed some
mysterious course, and that those only whose experiences
had been entirely alike should separate themselves into little
exclusive groups; for even the days of the Lord’s resurrection present examples of various kinds of experience, and of
one common inner fellowship connected with them all. And
not only so, but even those who as yet have experienced
nothing at all are not sent empty away. Only they must
first become aware, by what they see without our thrusting
it upon them, that here a spirit is breathing to which they are strangers, that here is manifested a life as yet unknown
to them. Then will we, as was done then, lead them by
the word of our testimony to the foundation of this new
life; and as, when the word of preaching pierced men’s
hearts, when to some of them the old man began to appear as
he really is, and they felt the first pangs that precede the
death of the sinful man, there also sprang up faith in the
resurrection of Him whom they had themselves crucified; so
will it always be with the knowledge of the new life proceeding from Him who has risen. Therefore let us have no
anxiety; the circle of those who recognise this life will
always be widening, just because they are beginning to share
in it. And as soon as even the slightest premonition of it
arises in a man’s soul, as soon as he has come only so far as
to be no longer pleased and satisfied with the perishing and
evil things of the world, as soon as his soul absorbs even the
first ray of heavenly light; then his eyes are opened, so that
he recognises this life, and becomes aware what a different
life it is to serve righteousness, from living in the service of
sin.
III. And lastly, my friends, we cannot feel all these comforting and glorious things in which our new life resembles
the resurrection life of our Lord, without being at the same
time, on another side, moved to sorrow by this resemblance. For if we put together all that the evangelists
and the apostles of the Lord have preserved for us about
His resurrection life, we still cannot out of it all form an
entirely consecutive history. There are separate moments
and hours, separate conversations and actions, and then the
risen One vanishes again from the eyes that look for Him;
in vain we ask where He can have tarried, we must wait till
He appears again. Not that in Himself there was anything
of this broken or uncertain life, but as to our view of it, it is
and cannot but be so; and we try in vain to penetrate into
the intervals between those detached moments and hours. Well, and is it not, to our sorrow, the same with the new
life that is like Christ’s resurrection life? I do not mean
that this life is limited to the few hours of social worship
and prayer, glorious and profitable as they are; for in that
case there would be cause to fear that it was a mere pretence; nor to the services, always but small and desultory,
that each of us, actively working through the gifts of the
Spirit, accomplishes, as it were, visibly and tangibly according to his measure, for the kingdom of God. In manifold
ways besides these we become conscious of this new life;
there are many quieter and secret moments in which it is
strongly felt, though only deep in our inmost heart. But
notwithstanding this, I think all without exception must
confess that we are by no means conscious of this new life
as an entirely continuous state; on the contrary, each of us
loses sight of it only too often, not only among friends,
among disturbances and cares, but amidst the commendable
occupations of this world. But this experience, my dear
friends, humbling as it is, ought not to make us unbelieving,
as if perhaps our consciousness of being a new creature in
Christ were a delusion, and what we had regarded as indications of this life were only morbid and overstrained
emotions. As the Lord convinced His disciples that Ho
had flesh and bones, so we may all convince ourselves and
each other that this is an actual life; but in that case we
must believe that, though in a hidden way and not always
present to our consciousness, yet it is always in existence,
just as the Lord was still in existence even at the times
when He did not appear to His disciples; and had neither
returned to the grave, nor as yet ascended to heaven. Only
let us not overlook this difference. In the case of Christ we
do not apprehend it as a natural and necessary thing that
during those forty days He led a life apparently so interrupted; but each of us must easily understand how, as the
influence of this new life on our outward ways can only gradually become perceptible, it should often and for a long
time be quite hidden from us, especially when we are very
busy with outward work, and our attention is taken up
with it. But this is an imperfection from which as time
goes on we should be always becoming more free. Therefore always back, my friends, to Him who is the only fountain of this spiritual life! If, ever and anon, we cannot find
it in ourselves, we always find it in Him, and it is always
pouring forth afresh from Him the Head to us His members.
If every moment in which we do not perceive it is a moment
of longing, as soon as we become conscious of the void;
then it is also a moment in which the risen One appears to
our spirit, and breathes on us anew with His life-giving
power. And thus drawing only from Him, we shall attain
to having His heavenly gifts becoming in us more and more
an inexhaustible, continually flowing fountain of spiritual
and eternal life. For this He rose from the dead by the
glory of the Father, that we should be made into the likeness of His resurrection. That was finished in His return
to the Father; our new life is to become more and more His
and the Father’s return into the depths of our souls; there
they desire to make their abode; and the life of God is to be
ever assuming a more continuous, active and powerful form
in us, that our life in the service of righteousness may
become, and continue even here, according to the Lord’s
promise, an eternal life.
Prayer.
Oh, for this end, Thou exalted Saviour, help us more and
more by the contemplation of Thy glory! As Thou art
exalted from the earth, draw us more and more towards
Thee! As Thou didst walk in the days of Thy resurrection,
so let us more and more live and walk in the bond of love
and faith which Thou didst form among Thy people, and be
ever receiving more abundantly from Thee nourishment and strength for our spiritual life! And as Thy resurrection
was blessed to Thy disciples for the establishing of Thy
kingdom on earth, for the encouraging of the faint-hearted,
for banishing despondency from men’s hearts, and for making
known the deepest mysteries of the Scriptures; oh, thus
may our new life be more and more, through the power of
Thy Spirit, a proclamation of Thy word and of all the mysteries of Thy grace, a loving support to all that is weak, an
effectual call to life for all that is still dead, a quiet, undisturbed enjoyment of Thy love and of the blessed fellowship
with Thee in which Thy people stand. Amen.
XVI.
JESUS BORN THE SON OF GOD.
(Christmas Sermon.)
“Glory to God in” the Highest, on earth peace;
goodwill towards men. Amen.”
TEXT: LUKE i. 31, 32. “Behold, . . . thou shalt bring forth a
Son, and shalt call his name Jesus. He shall be great, and shall be called the
Son of the Most High.”
THESE were the words of promise spoken by the angel
to Mary, that Ho whom she should bear should be
called the Son of the Highest; and as this promise is after
wards brought into direct connection with the statement
that the power of the Highest should overshadow her,
Mary had no room to suppose that her son was only to
become the Son of God at some future time through some
specially great deeds of His own, or by the outpouring of
God’s grace upon Him. She was made to understand that
from His very birth He was to be the Son of God, for from
that time she was to call His name Jesus. And it is only
in this fact that we grasp the full meaning of our solemn
Christmas joy, to-day and always. For if the Saviour of
the world had not been different from others at His birth,
if the divine nature which we adore in Him had only come
down upon Him afterwards, then our special connection
with Him would not have begun with His birth; and our
joy in His appearing would make less account of His birth
(seeing that He was not yet, in that case, the Saviour) than
of that moment of His life in which He became filled in a special manner with the power of the Highest. This, then,
is the central thought in all that stirs our hearts on these
days of solemn festival; that the Saviour was born the Son
of God; that the divine power by which He was able to
redeem the world dwelt in Him from the beginning of His
life; and let this be to-day the subject of our devout meditation. Let Us consider the necessary connection of this
truth on the One hand with Our common Christian faith; On
the other, with that love through which faith works.
I. We assert first then, that it belongs to the deepest
foundations of our Christian faith, (as this very festival
bears witness), that we regard Christ as endowed, from the
moment of His appearing in this world, with all that was
necessary for Him as the Saviour of the world. We are to
believe that He was already in Himself the eternal Word,
though as yet silent; the Light sent to shine in the darkness, though as yet concealed; distinguished from all sinners by that saving power that dwelt in Him; and separated
from the fellowship of sin. This, I admit, is a hard saying.
It is so because of the difficulty we find in doing in connection with spiritual things what we are constantly doing
in material and natural things—fully believing in what we
cannot clearly imagine and picture to ourselves in all its
bearings; and that is what is required of us here. Our
own experience contributes to this difficulty. For while
there is no question that we know something of an inward
union of a divine power with the human soul, because all
of us who can glory in belonging to Christ know that in
becoming partakers of the Holy Spirit, we become partakers
of a divine Being, thus being made one with God; we know
also that we could not actually receive this divine gift until
full human consciousness had begun in us, and all the mental
powers which the Spirit of God should directly and specially
control were awakened, so that He could begin this control,
and with it His sanctifying work; and otherwise than thus we have never become conscious of Him. But in the case
of the Saviour, if we are to think of the divine power being
in Him while He was still in man’s most imperfect state,—that of the newborn
babe, in whom all the faculties, through which the presence of the higher divine
power could be manifested and proved, were still dormant,—we must conceive of it as having been present without being in any
way brought into exercise; and it is just this that we find
it difficult to imagine, and therefore hard to believe.
Hence it comes that there have always been Christians
who hold an opinion such as I have referred to,—that not
only in the years of the Saviour’s childhood, but up to the
time when His human faculties attained maturity, He was
in no way different and bore within Him nothing different
from other children; and that not until He was to enter on
the great work to which He was appointed, did the power of
God come upon Him and pervade His whole being. And
hence it is also that many Christians, though they do not
hold this opinion, yet cannot quite heartily join in the child
like devotion which, going back to the very beginning of
Christ’s life, with the full reverence which binds the grateful soul to the Saviour, recognises in the new-born Babe,
even in His unconsciousness, the Son of God, in such a
sense that He needed to receive nothing new from above,
but would become, by the ordinary development of His
human soul, the Saviour who, by word and deed, by His
life and by His death would both merit and produce that
faith which those doubtful Christians themselves cherish;
that He was, in short, the Son of the living God, He through
whom God would in these last days speak for the last time
to men, and after whom we need expect no other. But if
these fellow-Christians will only look at things clearly; if
they are really in earnest in that faith which brings us
here together, then must they not grant that it would be at
least as hard for us to give up this faith, on which the festival of to-day is founded, merely because we can no
more understand the beginning of the second creation than
that of the first or any other beginning? For if in Christ
the divine Word did not become flesh so soon as His human
eyes opened, what follows? This much is certain, that it is
the experience of all without exception that in every one
who has appeared on earth, endowed only as the children of
men, sin has sooner or later developed. There will be
differences; but these, great as they may seem to us, are
really slight when we take into account the differences in
mental capacity and strength of will; but that the development of sin should ever be wholly wanting, is entirely contradicted by the testimony of our consciousness. And
therefore we cannot but believe that so it would have been
with the Redeemer Himself if he had been from His birth
like other children. Whatever promise the angel had left
laid up in the humble soul of Mary, however thoughtfully
she might have prepared herself, in childlike and fervent
fear of God, to be the mother and nurse of One who was to
be called the Son of the Highest; still, if He was only to
become this in the future, however faithfully and wisely she
might have watched over the tender mind, and kept far
from Him the wide-spread poison which, alas, is breathed
by every child of man, she would not have been able entirely
to guard Him from it; for here we recognise the limit of
all, even the most perfect human love and faithfulness and
wisdom. And if Christ had been a sinner even in the
least degree, could He have been our Saviour? God might
have spoken through Him, as through the prophets of the
old covenant, who were, like ourselves, sinful men. But
would we call ourselves after the name of a prophet—would
we gather together in the name of a prophet, whose work
was only a continuation of what had gone before? And in
deed, as there can never be little sin anywhere, however
little it were thought to be in Him, we could never be sure that this continuation of the old way was the last. And
though God might speak more fully by Him, and manifest
Himself more clearly through His life than ever before,
still all this would come only under the head of law. And
whether an external law, written on tables of stone or
brass, comes directly down from heaven, or is a human
law and given through a man, such a law can never redeem
the human race. Even when spoken by the holiest lips,
and written with the finger of God, it can only produce
a consciousness of sin, from which it provides no deliverance,—a consciousness which, the more fully we recognise
our sin, constrains us the more to cry, “Who shall deliver
me from the body of this death?” Salvation must consist,
before everything, just in this, that we are freed from the
consciousness of sin. We must have sinlessness clearly set
forth to us; and the Redeemer is this living sinlessness;
and only as we make this our own by the most intimate
friendship and fellowship with Him, (as all things are common with friends), only so can we partake of the peace and
blessedness which are the fruits of redemption.
Could this sinlessness, then, have been manifested to us in
the Saviour and have claimed so entire a self-devotion on our
part, if He was only at some future time to be filled, in some
mysterious way, with the Holy Spirit and with divine power,
even though it should be without measure and quite differently from those former prophets? If after this change He
was still a man, and the very same man, and had not become
a weird, spectral vision, whose history would constantly give
us a feeling of repulsion, in spite of our reverence for His
nature, still the remembrance of His former life and position could not be effaced, even supposing that after this
wonderful, sanctifying change, He were incapable of ever
again committing sin. And if He retained the memory of
His former sinful state,—well, let us see, from our own and
the most common experience of men, what would follow from that. We feel that it is a sorrowful experience, one which
in many respects we would rather leave hidden in silence
than communicate, that even the most remote remembrance
of former sin which our soul retains, never remains there
only as a dead letter, a mere piece of knowledge, as of things
that exist and go on apart from us. It remains as something
alive, and often casts a stain on our holiest thoughts and
actions, even on those in the beginnings of which we were
most distinctly conscious of the power of the Holy Spirit; it
lives in us to teach us that so long as man walks as sinful
man on earth, richly as the grace of God may be poured out
on him, his soul can never become so perfectly pure a mirror
for that grace as it might have been if its depths had never
been penetrated by anything of that poison. Then, if the
Saviour was like us in having such memories, His after
experience must also have been similar to ours. And do we
not know that every sin of which even the slightest stirring
remains in the soul will inevitably have the effect, in particular instances, which a besetting sin has habitually, of
darkening our understanding, blinding our judgment and
swaying it to false conclusions, and making dim and impure
our view of the divine will? If, then, the Saviour had retained in His soul the faintest shadow of sin, how could we
hope that the words in which He declares to us the will of
His and our Father and unfolds our whole relation to Him,
were such perfect truth, and rested on so clear and complete
an understanding, that men might safely be guided by them
for ever? How could we suppose that His whole being
was in harmony, His human nature being entirely pervaded
by and made one with the Spirit, so that He is the model
after which all are to form themselves, the guide in whose
footsteps all are to walk; without feeling at the same time
that we could never exhaust His truth, even by our most
earnest appropriation of it; never, even by the truest obedience, quite attain to His likeness? And yet it was just such a Saviour we needed if we were to feel entirely satisfied, and have no wish for any other to come after Him.
Let us look in this connection at the great and weighty
words of the Saviour Himself—words that so essentially
distinguish Him from all the sons of earth: “I and my
Father are one”; “He that hath seen Me, hath seen the
Father.” Let us reflect that these words contain, at the
same time, the measure of our own union with Him; which,
though we are brought into it by faith, is, as an effective
reality, only to be attained to by degrees, according to His
prayer for us, that we should be one with Him; from
which it necessarily follows, that He who sees us sees
Him. How can we take these words but in their full
sense, as they stand? And how, in the case we have
supposed, could the Saviour have used such words, without
thereby appearing, as one who was either deluding himself
with a vain fancy, or who, lest his hearers should apprehend his words too slightly, had, even with the best intentions, chosen expressions stronger than was consistent with
truth, and so deluded with false hopes those who took His
words in their exact meaning? Certainly, He must have
given this impression, if, while He thus spoke, there had
been about Him even the slightest taint of sin. For how
could he, in whom remained the very faintest trace of sin,
say that he was one with the Father, with Him who is the
Father of Lights, Him who alone is good and pure, and to
whom each one comes near only in proportion as he becomes
a partaker in His goodness and purity? If those words of
His are true,—if there is a fellowship between Him and us
which is an outcome of His oneness with the Father, the
Word of God must have been in Him from the very beginning of His life, and have protected Him from all that had
even the most distant likeness to sin: it must have guarded
every development of His natural human powers,—so
guarded them that His very senses remained pure; waiting, as it were, till that indwelling divine power should gradually
come into visible action, and seeking to be nothing but
instruments of that power. Only if it was thus with Him
from the beginning of His life could He justly say this of
Himself.
And, finally, let us think of the holiness of Him before
whom we come short, through sin, of all the approval that
we should have had from Him; and that therefore we
needed a helper, for whose sake this holy God could count
and declare pure the whole human family; and who should,
in His perfect purity, represent us all before His Father.
Oh, even the faintest breath of corruption and sin cannot
be hidden from this holy God; and if anything is impure
in His sight, even in the smallest point, that may escape
all other eyes, then the whole is impure. And thus our
faith in the Saviour’s mediation with the Father,—our
faith that we see in Him the image of the heavenly
Father and the brightness of His glory, our faith in the
completeness and perfection of His teaching, and its perpetual application, as well as in the sufficiency and
unquestionable character of His commandments,—our faith
in all these respects depends on the fact that He came
into this world as already the eternal Word, who was
made flesh,—as the light from above that shone into the
darkness.
II. Let us consider, secondly, that if we do not take this
view of the Saviour, the pure and unfeigned love of which
He is the source, lacks its true motive. For both the
spotless purity of true Christian love, and its breadth, in
which it embraces the whole human race, depends on this;
that He, for whose sake we thus love, and apart from
whom such a love would certainly not be striven after,
is such as He is here described to us.
Undeniably one of the strangest phenomena of the
human soul is the conflict between two feelings, both lying deep in the noblest part of our nature, and yet
constantly opposed to each other: our love to our fellows
on the one side, and our pure sense of right and wrong,
of good and evil, on the other. We may hate and oppose
some fault ever so strongly, and yet if we find that fault
in one to whom we have already become bound in love,
how much we are inclined to excuse it, and to take a more
lenient view even of what is most odious.
Does some human form or character attract our love?
then, the more devoted our soul is to good and truth, the
more readily is it seized with repulsion when we perceive
the stirrings of sin or the breaking out of sensual corruption and foolish conceits,—a repulsion that only too easily
passes over into passion, and checks our love. Now, if
we always mixed only with each other, having no other
object of love than those who were sinners like ourselves,
should we be capable of any other than this troubled kind
of love—a love always disturbing our noblest instincts?
And could we, even in that case, be willing that our moral
sense should be incapable of such emotions?—emotions that
cause us, even in a passing way, to pronounce harsh and
cutting judgments on those we love, or actually to oppose
them with something like enmity. No; we could not give
up our noble and vigorous indignation against all that is
opposed to the divine will. And hence, it follows that we
could just as little love ourselves rightly as our brethren.
For even the allowable and necessary love that we bear to
ourselves is modified in the same way. The more strict
a man is with himself, the more clearly the voice of the
divine will speaks in him; just so much the oftener is he
found in a state of transition and wavering between undisturbed satisfaction in
the progress of which he is conscious, and the noblest scorn of himself. And it
cannot be required of us to love even those nearest to us more than
ourselves, or in quite another sense and manner. Indeed, to a man who loves and judges himself after this strict
fashion, there can be but few, even among those who are
most highly esteemed, and who seem the best and noblest,
about whom his opinion and feeling will not have to vary
as often as about himself, that is, if he is closely enough
associated with them to have their inner life clearly revealed to him. This trial, then, is common to all! For
we cannot but feel that a dark shadow thus broods over
all human love, by which the pure light is clouded and
broken, and the blessedness of our love is marred.
But, must we not as Christians refuse to accept such a
position? Is it not unfeigned love to which the Bible calls
us? Could the disciples of the Lord be known by their
love to each other, if that love were only more or less
different, in some indefinite way, from that natural, but,
alas, so unsatisfying love which is found in all sound-hearted
men? Well, then, how are we to attain to a different kind
of love to others, and, therefore, also to ourselves? If we
acknowledge Christ as having had the divine nature united
in Him with the human from the beginning, so that, in
our love to Him, love to our neighbour and love to the will
of the heavenly Father are most perfectly the same thing;
then we have at least One to whom our hearts can cling in
entirely pure and unalloyed love. And only on the same
assumption can His love to us be pure and unsullied. For
the fact that He does not find the divine will living and
reigning in us, forms no impediment to His love; it only
stamps it with the special impress of helpful sympathy.
And as we, remembering the voice from heaven, “This is
My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased,” live in the
firm confidence that if we can in real truth say, by faith, “I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me,” God regards
us not as we are in ourselves, but only in this union with
Christ, making us sharers in the good pleasure which He
has in His Son; so, just as the result of this faith, the circle of our pure and unfeigned love becomes enlarged, and
embraces all whom we know to be in union with Christ.
Then whatever of human corruption we still find in our
brethren appears to us to be taken away and annulled in
Christ, and can only excite in us such a love as that with
which He has loved us,—a love that seeks to promote the
life of Christ in them, so that it may become strong enough
entirely to overcome the sin, whose occasional appearances
will only remind us that the happiness we find in unalloyed
love is a gift which we have received from above, and which
could become ours through One alone. Here then, is a love
very different from that natural kind! We may say of it, “Old things are passed away; behold, all is become new.”
But only through Christ, and for His sake, can we thus
love. That uncertain, imperfect love can do nothing to
wards purifying itself. One must be given to us, who
directly both claims and creates pure love. Only so could
the imperfect put on perfection; our love to others is only
a truly sanctified love when it is a result of our love to
Him, and a reflection of His love to us.
But if Christ was not One who gave us the impression
of perfectly pure love, without the slightest suspicion of
an imperfection in the beloved object, then we must always
have remained in the old incomplete condition, and nothing
better would have fallen to our lot. For if what we explained before is true, that even Christ, if at any time
whatever in His human life there were motions of sin in
Him, was not in a position to obliterate the remembrance
and the living traces of them, then what follows? Glorious
as He might appear to us afterwards in His public life,
in His holy proclamation of the kingdom of God, in the
courage and the certainty with which He invited men to
Him and promised them refreshment and rest, as the greatest
of the children of men, the choicest and greatest instrument
pf God; yet hew could we restrain ourselves from striving to detect the traces of sin that we knew must exist?
Indeed, the less we succeeded in finding out any definite
imperfections or defects in His life, just the more surely
would we assume that there were hidden defects under all
that excellence that we are accustomed especially to laud
and praise. And whether we were always obliged to do
no more than assume, or had actually discovered individual
instances, it would be all the same so far as love is concerned. We might love Him infinitely more than we love
all others, we might cling to Him with a reverence to
which nothing else could be compared, but still it would
be an impure, a tainted love; it would not be different from
our love towards other men, and therefore could not change
and sanctify that love.
We have thus seen how this view of the Saviour affects
the purity of true Christian love; let us next consider how
on this it also necessarily depends that this love shall be
universal; embracing, like Christ’s salvation, the whole
human race. It is true we usually regard it as an instinct
of human nature, quite independent of the appearing of
Christ, and as a precept dictated by human reason, that
wherever we see a human being we should enter into
relations of giving and receiving love. But we do not
always remember that this only came to us first through
Christ, and that it is one of the sad and ruinous results
of sin that it confines and limits love in the human heart.
And where, before the Son of God appeared, were the men—where does history refer to any such?—who so much as
thought of requiring universal and unrestricted love either
from themselves or others—not to speak of really feeling
it and acting on it? Such a conception could hardly take
shape even in a few of the souls who devoted themselves
to quiet meditation, and it passed away without becoming
a living impulse in any direction; nor would it have shown
itself more powerfully even in themselves if they had gone back to active life. For was not love everywhere confined
to those who were related in language and race, so that
to all beyond those limits there was a feeling, if not of
hostility, at least of indifference? And indeed this was
quite natural. Because reason itself, which demanded a
universal fellowship of love, declared by that very demand that such a love ought to be natural to the human
race, and that there would also be natural dissimilarities
of all kinds in all the greater sections of the race, in virtue
of which some would be more able to give and others be
obliged to receive. But it was easier for every one to
carry on this interchange of giving and receiving with
those who spoke his own language. And therefore it
seemed most fitting that every one should remain among
his own people, and so it came to pass that out of this
separation grew strife and hatred whenever the separate
districts became embroiled either through the faults of individuals or by the pressure of human needs. And seeing
that this state of things still exists everywhere in some
degree, men not having yet fully embraced in heart the
one Shepherd of the one flock, we know by experience that
no human wisdom, wherever it might appear, no softening
of manners that might be brought about in the course of
time, could set us free from this limitation of love. But
if men ceased to think that each community could find
in itself all that was needful for its well-being,—imperfection still existing everywhere, though everywhere also
some germ of goodness and truth,—and if the news were
announced that the Dayspring from on high had somewhere
appeared, a pure light that could and would dispel all
darkness;—if, on the one hand, men’s hearts, wearied with
imperfection, turned to that perfect light; and on the other,
the Saviour, equal with the Father in love to the whole
human race, inspired those who believed in Him as the Son
of God with the conviction that in bringing Him and His peace to men they gave them something that could be obtained
nowhere else; and if the love of Christ constrained them to carry the good news
ever further and further, then the partition wall would fall, and hearts would
be filled with a universal love, a love of which we catch glimmerings through
the darkness of earthly strife that, alas! still sur rounds us; a love that,
working outward from the heart, is ever becoming more victorious over that
strife. And where indeed was that narrowing and isolating race-prejudice keener
and stronger than just where our Lord was born? The nation who regarded all
other nations as unclean, and avoided intercourse with them; who interpreted
the Word of God as laying down the precept, Thou shalt love thy brother, and
hate thine enemy; a people who, utterly failing to recognise that the narrowing
laws under which they lived were only meant to keep them together till the light
of the world should appear, imagined that God was their peculiar property,—such
a people could not of themselves have produced, nurtured, and instructed Him who
is the Fountain of universal love. Had the Word of God not dwelt in Him from the
beginning, guarding and protecting Him, how could He have escaped sharing in
those narrowing ideas, rooted as they were in the whole life of the nation, and
hallowed by all their traditions from the most ancient times?
Or are we to believe that He did not escape? that His
disciples were the first to get above those prejudices—they
who had nothing but what they received from Him, and
who so often failed to understand what He wished to communicate to them; they who afterwards only spoke and
acted by the Spirit, who could not do otherwise than take
of the things of Christ and show them to them? No,
this we cannot believe; for the disciple was not above
his Master, and they were constrained almost against their
will, by the Lord’s command, to preach the gospel to Samaritans and heathen, and to hold fellowship with them.
But He, through the divine Word that dwelt in Him from
the beginning, was safe from the influence of all those narrowing habits of thought; He was through His oneness
with the Father the Author of a universal love, which,
founded on the eternally planned union of all men, indicates
the incarnation, in His person, of the divine power which
can effect that union.
And now, in conclusion: without that faith which we
have briefly denned, without that love which we have
faintly pictured, what would redemption be worth to us?
where would be the sanctification, where the righteousness which Christ was to be made, and has been made to
us? If there is to be through Him glory to God in heaven;
if through Him is to be glorified the spiritual creative
power of the universal Creator, who has called the human
race to something very different from their present imperfect state; if peace is to be established on earth through
Him before whom all discord and hatred are constantly
giving way, that all may become one in love; if an unmixed
goodwill is to be possible to us—and without that no salvation is to be thought of,—then there must be a truly
divine person as a Saviour, on whom our eyes can rest;
One of whom it is true, from the beginning of His life,
that in Him the Word was made flesh. And we have a
sacred right to greet Him, even in the infant form in which
He first appeared on earth, with holy reverence, not as He
who was only to become the Saviour of men, but as being
then actually such; not as He in whom the Father was
afterwards to be glorified, but as already, though not manifestly, glorifying Him, and as He who was one with Him
from the beginning.
This festival of the Saviour’s infancy, which we all celebrate, is very specially the beautiful and joyful festival of
the children. When we think of Him who for their sakes also took flesh and blood like them, our eyes rest on them
with tender interest, while we lovingly promise them the
blessedness that is to be found in faith and loyalty towards
the Saviour. Let us then hold fast this truth, that, while
He did indeed become a child like others, because He was
to be like us in all things except sin; the divine power
through which He was able to be the Saviour of the world
must have been in Him, living and active, though concealed,
from the beginning. Let us maintain that only in connection with this faith can that word which He spoke out
of a loving heart towards the young have its complete
fulfilment: “Of such is the kingdom of heaven.” Amen.
XVII.
CHRIST BRINGING A SWORD.
(Christmas Sermon.)
“Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, and goodwill
towards men!”
TEXT: MATT. x. 34. “Think not that I came to send peace on
earth: I came not to send peace, but a sword.”
HOW wonderfully out of harmony these words sound
with the angelic greeting that we have just heard;
threatening to rob us of all the joy and blessedness of this
holy season! For is the sword pre-eminently the glory of
God? and if it rages anew, is that a special delight to men?
When the message has come down from heaven, Let there
be peace on earth, how can the Lord Himself say, “Think not that I came to send
peace, but a sword”? and even
though this is true, should we not, on this very day of rejoicing over His coming, try our utmost to conceal from our
selves the sorrowful truth and to put it far from our souls?
No, this will not do. It has long been the custom in a great
part of the Christian Church to commemorate, on this second
day of the Christmas festival, that first martyr who died for
the name of the Lord. It was in that death that this Word
of the Lord began to be fulfilled. And why then do we thus
connect the two events? Does it not seem just to express
this thought, that the birth of martyrdom is, as it were, the first and most direct glorification of the birth of Christ Himself? Yes; and as at other times we think of what it cost
Him to redeem us at so great a price, so now, in these our
days, we ought to know and lay specially to heart what
kind of crowns of victory are thereby procured for us—I
mean for the whole race of believing men since Christ’s first
appearing. All the suffering that men have endured for
His name’s sake, all the misery that has come upon His
believing disciples, all the disquiet that has been caused on
earth by strife about His name—all these things we should
keep in view when we celebrate His appearing; and thus
we shall recognise Him as the Dayspring from on high who
hath visited us, as the Prince of peace, who guides our feet
into the way of peace. “Well then, in this way we shall not
be afraid to join the thought of this earnest and weighty
word of the Lord with our Christmas joy; rather, let us use
the consideration that the Lord came to bring a sword, in
the way of exalting and purifying our joy on account of His
coming. It is to this thought, then, that I beg your devout
Christian attention for this sacred hour. And the points to
be considered are these; first, the fact that the Lord came
to bring a sword on the earth affords us the strongest
security for the truth that He became really our Brother;
even to the extent of His whole life and work being subject
to all the conditions of really human work; secondly, we
find in it the best guarantee that the fulness of the Godhead
truly dwelt in Him; and, finally, it gives us the most comforting assurance of the immovable firmness of the covenant
between Him and us. Let us try to look at these more
clearly in their order.
I. I say, in the first place, the fact that the Lord could
not but bring a sword on earth gives us the strongest
security that His life and work were, from the very first,
truly human.
For how do men act in relation to every human influence that acts on them? They inherit, as the indelible mark of
their frailty, the liability to mistake, to which, however
well-intentioned they may be, and however earnestly
striving towards good, they are still unhappily so subject
that it may even steal on them unawares. Hence a man
may blind himself about everything that is offered to him
by others; that which is most beneficent may appear to him
dangerous; what is most salutary he may think hurtful; even
what is divine may seem to him wrong and unpleasant.
Now if the influence of the Lord Himself was to be a really
human influence, with no secret power modifying the usual
way of communication between the minds of men, then He
also must have been subject to having His work received
and judged in the same way as that of other men. When
the evil spirits fled before Him, it could not fail to happen
that some of those who witnessed His deeds should be so
blinded about Him and what He was, as to imagine that
He cast out devils only through the prince of the devils.
When the rumour of Him began to spread abroad, and men
softly and, as it were, stealthily whispered to each other the
surmise whether this Jesus of Nazareth might not be He
who was to come, the Helper, the Saviour, the Messiah;
it could not but be that even among His own people,
acquainted though they were with the divine promises given
to that nation through many generations, there would be
some so blinded about Him that even the proofs and indications of Scripture confirmed them in their blindness. And
thus it came about that some said, When Christ comes, we
shall not know whence He is; but we know whence this
Man is, we are acquainted with His father and mother, his
brothers and sisters. Others again held to another prejudice, and said, Is He not from Nazareth? and did you ever
hear that a prophet had arisen, or should arise, out of
Galilee? It was inevitable that this should be the lot of
the Saviour if His influence was to be genuinely and purely human; and it was just this blindness of men who wished
to find salvation in some other way than that in which alone
it is to be securely and abidingly found, that was the cause,
in the first place, of His bringing a sword on earth, by
parents taking up arms against children, and children against
parents, brothers and sisters and friends against each other,
on His account.
How, we ask again, do men act in relation to every human
influence that acts on them? We are like each other, we
know, so far as it concerns the deepest and most essential
parts of human nature; and yet the same event that occurs
to several persons, that touches many at once, affects them
in very different ways according to the different general
attitude of each, or to something that may determine their
feelings at the moment. And so it could not but be that as
it was in the case of the Lord Himself, as long as He lived
on earth, so, now that He is here no longer, the preaching
of the Word which He has appointed in His Church should
affect men in various ways. When it was proclaimed that
this Jesus, whom they had delivered up and slain, was made
of God both Lord and Christ, and that salvation and forgiveness of sins could be found only in His name, some were
cut to the heart, and asked, What shall we do to be saved?
But how many others heard it with indifference, shook their
heads, and went away just as they had come? Now when
men are so differently affected, is it not quite according to
human nature that he who has remained indifferent counts
as only a foe to his repose his neighbour who has been
moved to the depths of his heart, and who would fain have
all others to share his feeling? And it is just thus that
things have gone on from the beginning until now. Ever
since the word of reconciliation began to be proclaimed, there
have been men who refused to be disturbed out of the rest
in which they were in reality only sitting in the darkness
and shadow of death, though they probably thought themselves safe and well-advised, till at last the divine impulse
reaches their perhaps already hardened heart.
Hence it could not be otherwise than that He who
occasioned such a stirring of men’s minds as the Saviour did,
must in doing so bring a sword on the earth. For, my
friends, if once men are at variance, and yet they restrain
themselves and keep within certain limits, so that their
difference never reaches such scenes of violence, such conflict and destruction as are indicated by the word
“sword,”
what is the reason of this but that they do not hold the subject to be of sufficient importance? But although the life
and influence of the Lord was subject to all those limitations which told on the influence of other men; yet this, at
least, always necessarily belonged to it, that the movement
which He awakened on earth must have always, as time went
on, appeared to every one a greater movement than any
other to which they had ever been prompted; otherwise the
kingdom of God could never have proceeded from it. Hence
the variance between men of different minds, produced by
His appearing, and afterwards by the tidings of Him, was
generally keen enough to justify the expression that He
had come to bring a sword on the earth; and hence it is also
that we see this sword raging, now more now less bloodily
and destructively, everywhere without exception where the
word of peace is proclaimed. Now if it had been otherwise
than this, how would the matter have stood? In that case
this word of the apostle could not have been true, “When
the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth His Son,
born of a woman, made under the law.” For the absence of
the sword would imply that men’s minds were not yet prepared to be sufficiently interested in the object of His
mission to be very strongly moved by it, or stirred either to
eager approval or vehement dislike. But when the human
race had reached such a stage of progress that wherever the
Saviour appeared He brought the devouring sword, then the fulness of the time was come,—then it was time for the
Saviour to appear. And well for us, my friends, that He
came at that time! Or would it have been better, perhaps,
that His appearing had been delayed until it would have
been no longer necessary that with the promise of peace
He should bring the sword—until all the blessings of His
appearing could have been brought in gently and peaceably,
with no disturbing movement in opposition? Nay, verily.
If men had been able of themselves to make so much progress that they would at once, without variance or division,
have ranged themselves on the side of the divine life and
the heavenly light as soon as it appeared to them, then they
might also have found it out for themselves, and there would
no longer have been any need for the Saviour’s appearing.
But if it is not and cannot be so, then we might still be
sitting in darkness and the shadow of death, thousands of
generations might still perish, but never would salvation
come. Therefore either no real redemption could have been
found at all, or it was inevitable that the Deliverer of the
world must first have brought a sword, before the peace
which He left to His people could extend its blessings over
them. Thus the stern and sharp word of the Saviour, that
He came to bring a sword, coincides exactly in this respect
with the milder saying of the apostle which we have quoted,
that He should be born of a woman and made under the law.
For in the law of His nation, everything that had any
resemblance to magic, every use of any secret power, was
most strictly forbidden. And therefore the Saviour, just
because He was made under the law, was limited to the
mode of acting on the minds of men that was in accordance
with Nature. If it could have boon otherwise if He had
drawn hearts to Himself in any other way than by genuine,
human influence, then He could not have been our Brother;
because the divine power in Him still made use of other
instruments and means than His human nature, and set it aside as useless. We could not then glory, in the sense in
which we so gladly do so, that in Christ the Dayspring from
on high has visited us. For this beautiful and precious
word means nothing less than this, that when the Dayspring
from on high appeared in this world, which is our dwelling-place, He took part in the whole order of our life and
wrought in no other way than as one of ourselves, in this
world; where everything, as we have just been showing, is
what is natural, and can only cease to be natural and in
order when His work is completed at the end of the day.
Therefore while we rejoice in Him and in His appearing, we
will rejoice also in this, that He so came, born of a woman
and made under the law, that His redeeming, saving work
could not fail to bring a sword on the earth.
II. But this is also, secondly, a sure guarantee to us that
in Him dwelt the fulness of the Godhead, and that He who
visited us was truly the Dayspring from on high.
For, as we know from the words of our text and from
so many other utterances of the Lord, this result of His
coming was not hidden from Him; He knew it well and
most clearly foresaw it. He who had seen so deeply into
human nature and the human heart, as well as into the
special circumstances of His own times, knew that He was
bringing a sword on the earth; and yet He came; and yet, because no other way
was possible, He could not forbear from saving the human race in this way, and
freeing those who sat in darkness and the shadow of death!
My friends, just call to mind that account which the
Lord gave to the disciples of how He was tempted in the
wilderness; consider how, in His so purely and simply
rejecting every seductive suggestion, we find the clearest
proof of the Divine strength that lived in Him; and then
Bay what, nevertheless, are those temptations, as there
related, in comparison with what we can imagine they might
have been. Let us suppose that the tempter had come to Him, and instead of showing Him, from the top of the mountain, the kingdoms of the world and their glory, had shown
Him the rivers of blood which would flow on earth because
of Him; that he had not merely shown Him His own cross,
but how it would be endlessly multiplied for the whole host
of His believing confessors and disciples,—had shown Him
how the devouring sword would sweep away thousands on
thousands, the bonds of slavery in which His witnesses
would have to groan, all the insult and scorn of the world,
all the pains and privations of love: suppose that he had
showed Him the full fury of the persecution that would
come upon His people, far more bitter than the bondage
out of which Moses had by a strong hand freed the people
of the old covenant; and, finally, the heart-rending breaking
up of the holiest human relationships for the sake of His
Name,—that he had showed Him all this in one dark picture
embracing hundreds and thousands of years, and had then
earnestly put it to Him, whether, having thoroughly considered all this, He was yet firmly resolved to bring upon
men this incalculable amount of woe and misery, in addition
to all the sufferings which, apart from this, by their own
fault or innocently, they had to bear,—whether He were even
sure that the salvation He hoped to introduce on earth
would outweigh all this misery. Suppose further that the
tempter reminded Him how men, through their ancient and
inveterate tendency to follow delusions and error, would pervert His teaching,—and here again what a terrible picture
he might have drawn,—what multitudes of wretched figures
in hair shirts, reduced by fanatical mortifications to feeble
shadows, their minds darkened by a system of genuflexions
and prayers in which heart and thought have no part,
vainly wearing themselves out in a narrow round of dead
works, yet all this without the old man being slain in them,
and a new glad life created. Let us suppose that he showed
Him all this also, and then pressed the question whether He really meant to risk the undertaking at this cost,—whether
it did not seem to Him more prudent to return to the
secluded life from which He was just in the act of coming
forth, and in quiet prayer to avail Himself of the Father’s
regard for Him, in inducing Him to alleviate the lot of those
brethren of His in some other way; or even whether He
should not leave the human race to themselves, if perchance
they might find without Him a less costly way out of the
darkness that encompassed them. Now think of a man,
the very bravest, who so far as he himself alone is concerned goes firmly on in the way of faith, though devils
should threaten him from every roof; think of the most
cheerfully willing-hearted man, who does not shrink from
demanding both from himself and from others all kinds
of self-sacrifice for the good cause; and then reflect whether
in view of all this, with such a prospect for the future, even
such men would not faint in spirit, and withdraw their hand
from the plough. But, you perhaps ask, did the Lord actually encounter this temptation, or were not those still far
distant events and conditions rather at that time unknown
to Him, as indeed He said Himself that the Father had
reserved many things in His own power? But then we
have sufficiently clear evidence in His own words how distinctly these things were before His mind, not only from
the words of our text, but still more from what follows,
where He speaks of setting the son against the father and
the daughter against the mother, as well as from other
warning and encouraging discourses. And with what unshaken tranquillity, with what heroic calmness He says all
this, seeming indeed hardly able to wait for the first blazing
up of the fire which He had come to kindle! Yes, without
a doubt He knew that He was very different from other
benefactors of His race,—that He had something more to
bestow than what had until then been counted the best
human possessions; and as He had no external possessions whatever, but on the contrary was in this respect the
poorest of all men, He must have had within Himself some
thing more than human; He must have been aware of an
inexhaustible source of spiritual blessings, and indeed have
known that He was the sole possessor of those good things,
and that through Him alone men could attain to the possession of them. And all this just means that He must
have been conscious of a Divine power and fulness in Himself; so that in dealing with this temptation, about which
He kept silence to His disciples, because they were not yet
able to bear it, He did not so much as put all those terrible
things into the balance, but let them pass Him by in
effectual, that He might worthily pursue the path of His
duty.
Now, if a man could foresee in spirit even the smallest
part of such troubles and scenes of destruction as the result
of his efforts, supposing those efforts to be merely selfish,
aiming only at his own security and repose, at personal
fame or dominion; and yet were capable of going on in
cold blood, with tranquil mind and undisturbed self-possession, should we not say—nay, why do I put the question,
have we not said it a thousand times—that there was some
thing more than human,—that such a man was driven on by
some dark power, stronger than himself? But even when
a man’s labours are directed to the reviving and blessing
of others, to furthering the common salvation and the
common welfare,—when he who in this way brings a sword,
yields himself, and that not without consideration, as the
first victim to the power of the sword, desiring nothing
but to awaken and to establish permanently among men
the higher life which is in his own heart; even in such
a case we may well say that not only would such a purpose
and plan be mere empty delusion without a higher than
human strength; but also, unless there were a higher strength
Dwelling in him, no man could bear the picture of the misery that would precede and accompany what he meant to bring
about. The Saviour must indeed have been divinely certain
of this, that, after all the troubles caused by the sword, and
in the midst of them, He could not fail to guide the feet
of the children of men into the way of peace,—a peace higher
than any that the world had known before; He must have
known certainly that, after all those scenes of destruction,
and in the midst of them, He would draw men out of the
darkness and shadow of death, and transplant them into the
glorious kingdom of light and love; He must have been
certain that all those hostile demonstrations were only the
last struggles of that ancient power of death, from which
He was just redeeming men, the decisive birth-pangs of
that new and eternal life which was just being received
into human nature. But such a confidence implies nothing
less than this—the consciousness that in Him dwelt the
fulness of the Godhead, that it was the Father’s words that
He spoke, the Father’s works that He did, and that what
He was going forth to accomplish was the eternal counsel
and will of the Father, which could be carried out through
Him alone. The confidence that this Divine purpose, holding steadily on through all those horrors, could not possibly
fail of its fulfilment; this confidence, it must certainly be
evident to us all, is one and the same thing with the
certainty that He Himself was divinely moved to this work;
and that this will of God was so thoroughly His own that
even in the moments of life most fitted to suggest doubt
the two wills could never be separated. We can have no
Saviour who brings a sword in such a way, unless that
Saviour is the only begotten Son of the Father, and as such,
even in all this, full of grace and truth.
But, my friends, this is still not all; we have not yet
fully examined these words, “I am come to bring a sword,”
even in this one aspect. Can we think it enough to
remember what the Lord’s witnesses and disciples have suffered from those who are the
enemies of His word? No;
in these days, when we desire so specially to rejoice in His
appearing on earth, and therefore in His whole work, we
dare not close our eyes to the inner history of the Christian
Church! Ah, the sword has raged even there! Even there
we see fathers and children, brothers and sisters opposed to
each other in bitter strife as to what is the real and true
meaning of salvation in Christ, what are the necessary
means, the essential and indispensable conditions for becoming partakers of it. Did He know and foresee this also?
We certainly cannot doubt it. For although His gentleness
did not give it such distinct expression, yet let us remember
how fervently, in His last solemn prayer, He besought His
Father for this very thing, that they whom the Father had
given Him during His life on earth, as well as those who
should believe on Him through their word, might be perfectly one, even as He and His Father are one;—a petition
that suggests to us a sorrowful, but only too sure foreboding
of His divine mind, that it would not always be so. And
when they are not entirely one in spirit,—and they are so
and can be so no longer when they seek after some other
unity than the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace;—then they are exposed to all those troubles which continually arise from all kinds of schism, and from the manifold
delusions produced by the magic power of the letter and the
law. This sad page of Christian history, which has so often
been repeated in various forms,—this also the Saviour was
aware of! Did He know that He must bring, instead of
peace, even this sword? And yet what could be more fitted
to weaken and darken the pure impression which otherwise
His work might make on men? Could we imagine a greater
hindrance to faith for those who are not yet believers, than
to see that even there, where love is set forth as the law
which is to govern all, where internal peace could be the
only sure compensation for all outward adversities,—that even there discord reigns, that even there enmity breaks out,
that even there the sword rages? And yet so it is. But
when the Lord on the cross prayed to His Father for His
enemies and persecutors, and even spoke of them to Him only
as men who knew not what they did, He was even then
regarding in the same light the great host of souls who,
since His appearing and the completion of His work, have
fallen into deplorable dissension over His word, His doctrine, and the constitution of His Church. All the mistakes
of love, and the turning aside into the path of strife by those
who yet desired to walk in the way of peace;—all this He
recognised beforehand, as ignorance of what they did. Now
we know that none of these things kept Him back nor
arrested His steps; that He was able, with all this clearly
in view, to retain His tranquillity and calmness. For He
knew that though His people might be at variance among
themselves, and to outward view excited to so bitter a
hostility against each other that no common eye could distinguish it from an
outbreak of selfish passions; yet they were certainly delivered out of the
darkness and shadow of death, with which these clouds of division, through which
the light was really shining, had no longer anything in common. He knew that their feet were really turned into
the way of peace; because, although human blindness made
them wage this noble spiritual warfare for the truth with
unseemly and prohibited weapons, they were yet seeking to
become one flock under one and the same Shepherd. And
while His judging of these things in this way and no other
wise affords, on the one hand, the clearest proof that He
saw human affairs exactly as they are seen by the Father
in heaven, to whom He commends His people; on the other
hand, we must admit that to be able, with such a view of
the future, to enter on this path and continue in it in
effecting the work of salvation, demanded a consciousness
of divinity in Himself; and that human strength was incapable of either planning or carrying out such a work. He
alone could thus act, with the knowledge of all these things
before His mind, who had come down from above, and was
conscious of possessing an eternal dominion and a firmly
established authority, by which all those difficulties would
be adjusted and smoothed away; nay, more; changed into
peace and happiness.
III. And because of all this, my friends, the fact that the
Lord could not but bring a sword is to us the surest measure
of the immovable steadfastness of the union between the
Saviour and His people.
How little His work had advanced when He had so
suddenly to leave this earthly scene, so that even His own
human soul desired that the cup which He was to drink
might pass away from Him, though only for a time,—all this
we know. But even then it did not come upon Him unexpectedly: it was really that when He meant to begin the
work which His Father had committed to Him, He was
obliged,—He who knew what was in man,—to resign Himself to the necessity of doing the greatest work by means
of weak instruments. And,—without recalling the fact that not only was he who
betrayed Him among the twelve, but that the others also asked, “Lord, is it
I?”—weak indeed the
whole of those whom He had gathered round Him as His
dearest and most trusted friends still were when He was
obliged to leave them. This is evident, whether as regards
the pure fulfilling of His precepts; for they had only a
short time before disputed about which of them should be
next the Master in the kingdom of heaven; or as regards a
correct conception of His aims and a mature understanding
of His teachings;—for they were still thinking of an out
ward glory in which He would sooner or later reveal Himself; and even later, many of them countenanced those
Christians who still clung to the ceremonial of Judaism. In
every respect, therefore, they were still children as to their faith; like those Christians of whom the apostle says that
they were not yet able to bear strong meat, but needed still
to be fed with the first milk of the gospel. And yet they
were to begin at once themselves to feed others; indeed, on
their testimony and their preaching depended from that time
forward the whole result of the Saviour’s mission. For
while most assuredly the work of reconciliation and of
justifying the human race in the sight of God was accomplished by Christ alone, who not only needed help from no
one in that work, but could have made use of no one in it;
yet if men were to reap the benefit of that work, it was
necessary not only that He Himself should actually appear,
but that after His departure the gospel should be preached
and the association of Christians instituted. And so the
Apostle Paul places these two things in direct connection,
praising God that God was in Christ, reconciling the world
to Himself, and then that He had appointed the office which
proclaimed among men the message of reconciliation. But
what kind of apostles for such a message, what kind of
instruments for such a purpose, if they had continued such
as they then were! How would it have been possible that
everything which, although mixed with innumerable defects,
has been developed during succeeding ages in the Christian
Church,—all the strength of faith, the purity of discernment,
the confidence amidst dangers, the steadfastness before
temptations, the power of love, the gladness of hope,—that
all this should have emanated from such teachers! And yet,
from the time when the Saviour Himself was withdrawn from
this earthly life, there was no other means of influencing
men than through those disciples, who, however, could call
forth nothing in others but what they had in themselves.
But hear what those men became,—hear it from the mouth
of one of those very apostles. We suffer persecution, but we
are not forsaken; we are troubled, but not distressed; we
are cast down, but not destroyed; we bear about always in our body the dying of Christ, that the life of the Lord may
be manifested in us. Therefore, what can separate us from
the love of God? Shall tribulation, or anguish, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? In all
these we are more than conquerors, for we know that no
power, either earthly or more than earthly, no separation
between life and death, can ever separate us from the love of
God, which is in Christ Jesus. But what more does he say
here? We are more than conquerors, because of Him who
loved us. And what does he set in the forefront of all this?
That the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of
us. It came from Christ, who was of God; and it was the
life of Christ that was in this way made manifest. And this
the Lord must have known when He came to bring a sword,
and to yield His own earthly life as the first sacrifice to it.
He must have known that when once, through His appearing
on earth, the Divine power that dwelt in Him had begun to
act on men, it would, of necessity, continue to act, and would
do ever greater works. He must have known that He would
abide constantly in His people; that their understanding
of Him would become ever clearer, their love to Him ever
purer; and that so, without His bodily presence, though still
only by reason of His presence in Spirit, they would become
fit to carry His message. Through all temporary denial, all
unstable turning back, He must have seen that He was able
to kindle in all believing hearts a love and loyalty like those
of that first martyr whom we hold in sacred memory to-day;
who, in the face of death, bore his testimony that in Jesus of
Nazareth all the promises given to the fathers were fulfilled,
and that in Him alone salvation was to be found. He saw
not the rage of the excited crowd, not the stones already
lifted to crush that radiant and heaven-lighted head, nothing
of all the wrathful tumult: he saw only heaven (in which
even here he had lived his life) opened, and the Son of Man
standing on the right hand of God; and thus made plain to outward view the firm inward conviction to which he had
just given utterance; and for the sake of which he now
counted his life so little dear to him that he laid it down as
a fruitful corn of wheat, which, when it dies, does not remain
alone, but is preserved to eternal life and brings forth much
fruit.
Yes, my friends, the Lord must have had in His heart
this confidence; that He would, in this way, and ever, more
gloriously, live on in His people; and this confidence reaches
even to us, as certainly as that He still goes on working,
and that He works only through us, the whole body of living
Christians in all times. Thus the first of our principal
festivals is connected with the last. How could we even
rejoice truly in the appearing of the Saviour, unless we
could also rejoice that this same strength of love and loyalty,
and all that the apostle designates as the fruit of the Spirit,
was poured out on us also by the same Spirit? Do we hail
Christ in these days of solemn festival as our Lord? we can
do so only through the Holy Spirit, who is the fountain of
all these gifts. Do we hail Him as the Saviour who frees
us from all other bonds? then that can only be, and continue
to be, truth, if at the same time He holds us firmly united
in one life with Himself by the indissoluble bonds of love,
according to His promise, that when He should be lifted
up from the earth, He would draw all men unto Him. Now
if we are objects of this confidence of Christ, that all human
life is to become one with His; then as surely as this confidence belongs to the divinity of His nature, we must share
in it and work in the strength of it. - Therefore if we,
though living neither in the earliest times of the Christian
Church, nor on its frontiers, yet experience in many ways
that we must bring a sword;—only let us see that, like Him,
we only bring it, but by no means ourselves take it and
draw it. lest we perish by it; but if bring it we must—then
let us be of good courage, ever keeping fast hold, like Him, of the love that makes free, which is always able to regard
even those who oppose His truth as persons who know not
what they do. Let us so much the more, constrained by
love, gladly unite all our powers in the beneficent service
of making Him known to those who, through ignorance, are
in any way against the Lord; in such a way, certainly, as
that on our side we follow after peace with all men; but
also in such a way as not to be false to the Word of God
which is committed to us; lest in this way the office of
preaching reconciliation, which is the common duty of us
all, should, through us, be accused of cowardice, and fall into
contempt. And if, in doing this, we cannot avoid contention, whether with those who fight against the kingdom of
God through want of understanding, or with those who, while
acknowledging the doctrines of salvation, yet, out of the
obstinacy of a foolish heart, refuse to be disciplined by them
to godliness; well, let us reflect that at the festival of the
Lord’s birth, and therefore, from the beginning of His life,
we greet Him as the Prince of Peace, and that this always
continued to be His character in the midst of all the strife
that He Himself brought, so that in this sense also His life
is carried on in us. And thus, both in the midst of the
internal dissension, which, alas! not unfrequently exists
among the professors of His name; and in the outward conflict with the world; we also preserve the cheerful calmness,
which with Him was never disturbed; and go on in the way
of peace; so that, notwithstanding the sword, peace still
rules on earth, for it has fixed its seat in the inmost heart
of believers. And notwithstanding all apparent vicissitudes, a hearty good-will is found among all men to whom
the grace of God in Christ has appeared; and who have had
a glimpse into the depth of the riches of the wisdom and
knowledge of God; for they know that, often as it threatens
to grow dark again around us, the kingdom of Light is
firmly established, and that all things must work for the best in the fellowship of those whom God loves in His Son.
And so, through Him whose birth we are celebrating, peace
and good-will have in truth, in spite of the sword, turned
in to dwell with us, for which glory be to God in the highest
now and evermore. Amen.
XVIII.
THE SAVIOUR’S PEACE.
(Second Sunday after Trinity, 1831.)
TEXT: JOHN xiv. 27. “Peace I leave with you; My peace I give
unto you.”
THE word which the Saviour here makes use of in speaking to His disciples has with us a twofold meaning.
It suggests to our minds a condition of human society which,
when it has been interrupted, we all long to recall; a state
in which alone we look for universal contentment, and all
things going on prosperously. But it has also another meaning; for we all know by our own experience the inward
strife that goes on in the heart of man, and as its opposite,—a peace often interrupted, it is true, and seldom perfect—but still, the peace of the Lord. The Saviour could not
promise peace of the first kind to His disciples. Referring
to that, He said, I came not to send peace on earth, but a
sword. He had told them before, and could tell them
nothing different, that they would be hated and persecuted
as He was, that like Him they would have to fight with
spiritual weapons in the cause of His kingdom. But now
that His work in the souls of His disciples was so far accomplished, He could promise them that which He had lovingly
announced from the beginning, the rest that He invited troubled souls to come and find in Him; He could assure
them of that inward peace even now, when He was just
about to leave them. This word of the Saviour directs our
thoughts, then, to the inmost depths of each individual soul,
and shows us what is and ought to be wrought there by the
Saviour, who claims this as His own work in our souls.
Let us, therefore, in connection with these words, take this
thought as the subject of our consideration—how each individual soul who is a partaker in Christ’s redemption discerns, in the peace which He leaves to His people, in
His
peace, a fulness of divine wisdom such as no imagination
can surpass. Let us first inquire what the Saviour’s peace
really is; and then reflect, and ask whether there does not
lie in that, and in that alone, the whole fulness of the divine
wisdom that can be revealed to a human being.
I. First, then, what is the Saviour’s peace, which He left
to His people? Is it the peace which He Himself had, or
is it a feeble image, a dim shadow of it, a slight approach
to it? What was the peace of the Saviour? His peace was
grounded on this—that He was eternally, and in all respects,
one with His Father; that whatever His eye rested on
around Him, His spirit considered as a work of God; that
He suffered His will to be determined by no emotion of His
own mind, without having first recognised the will of God
in what was required of Him; and that thus the one effect
constantly kept pace with the other. He studied the works
of His Father, and the Father showed Him greater and yet
greater works; He did the will of the Father, and was ever
more vehemently impelled to the fulfilling of that will, until
He could say that all was finished. And as the divine will
is nothing but almighty love, this oneness of will with God,
by which the Father’s will, and no other, was always His,
could be in Him also nothing but an eternal fulness of love
welling up from His heart. It was a love that was ever
offering to men, sunk in the misery of sin, the greatest gift it could bestow, the gift of fellowship with His own life, so
that they should be able to draw from His fulness, peace and
truth and oneness with God; but it was also an indulgent
and compassionate love, which did not refuse to men even
the meaner things they craved, but with tender hand provided help for their bodily need. And this love, with the
greatest gift always in store, but ready, at the same time,
to bestow the lesser blessings—this love, making itself
felt on all sides—this was the peace the Saviour had. And
nothing whatever could disturb this peace, just because He
had no plans, and took no step in His life that could have
been out of harmony with the will of His and our Father,—just because He knew nothing whatever of an inward strife,
but all within Him was, and remained, agreed in harmony,
as it had been from the beginning. But certainly He would
not have been able to carry in His heart this fulness of a
love so moving, ever reaching forth to others, and offering
itself to them; indeed, He would not even have seen the
works of God which His Father showed Him, and no purpose of God would have ripened in His soul into a definite
act; unless, sinless as He was, He had had the keenest and
most thorough sympathy with the misery of sin. He saw
men who were capable of being like Himself, for that was
what they were meant to become—men whom, for that very
reason, He did not scorn to call His brethren—sunk in that
state of bondage from which the law had not been able to
save them, for the law only brought them the knowledge of
sin; and in this sympathy with sinful men the sinless One
passed His life on earth; yet this had never power to disturb His peace, but rather was a living and essential element
of it. How strongly floes this compassion for the misery of
sin come out in all His discourses, in which he sought to
awaken a true conviction of sin in men who carried it in
their hearts, and yet had so little sense of it! How deeply
did this very sympathy enable Him to see into the human heart, even with regard to that which could have no place
in His own pure heart! And the further He proceeded in
His great work, the war of the divine Word against the sin
of the world, so much the greater became this compassionate
sympathy. If He could have thought it a possible thing
that the power of sin, and His power to overcome sin, could
exist together without sin being utterly vanquished by Him,
He might have used, as the utterance of His own feeling,
the words which could only be the expression of this sympathy with the sin of the world, “My God, why hast Thou
forsaken Me?” But even then there was in His soul the
same peace in which, a few moments later, He commended
His spirit into the hands of His Father.
This, my friends, this is the peace that the Saviour had.
Now when He says, “My peace give I unto you,” is it this
same peace, or is it something else? It is the same; and it
becomes the same just in proportion as we can say with His
true disciples and apostles, “The life that I live in the flesh . . . I live, yet
not I, but Christ liveth in me”: in this
same sense and manner His peace becomes our peace. The
Saviour could not say those words until He had given His
disciples the promise that goes immediately before,—the promise of the Spirit, the Comforter, whom the Father would
send in His stead, and who would bring all things to their
remembrance that He had said to them. And He has left
the remembrance of those things not only to them but to
us; and it is the very beginning, the deepest and holiest
foundation of our peace. That peace rests, not on the letter
of Scripture, which relates to us certain incidents of His
life and preserves for us some of His discourses; but on the
power of the Spirit, without which the letter would be
dead; and which could always, even apart from the written
letter, have called forth the word that has carried the
image of the Saviour down through all the ages. It is in
this remembrance that peace is given to us; the more His image fills our souls, the nearer do we come to His peace;
the more our life is pervaded by His, we feel ourselves
drawn the more into agreement with God, and into such
repose of spirit as He had, about what the Lord has ordained
for us, and what He brings to pass among us.
But our position, it must be admitted, is different from
that of the Saviour in this respect, that we know sin, not
merely by sympathy with the condition of our brethren,
but as what we are abidingly conscious of in ourselves.
His soul was ever tranquil and unruffled: in ours there
are continually storms to be subdued. If the Christ in our
heart is asleep, the storms rage the more fiercely, the waves
of passion swell the more mightily, until in the agitation
and conflict we might often despair; but when we call on
Him to awake, He hushes the storm, and rebukes us as
fainthearted to be able to think we could perish, when He
was in the ship with us. And in the subduing of this
storm we feel the more strongly the power of the Divine
life which He imparts to us. That might indeed be so,
perhaps some one may say, if the storm only arose to be
stilled by the awakened Saviour, if we had only to fight
to be always sure of victory! But who can undertake to
say this of himself? Which of us is not often worsted in
the conflict of the flesh against the Spirit? And yet, my
friends, let us hold fast the persuasion, that if only we
never come to think that we were obliged to sin, or that, at
least, it was allowable for us to do so, in order that the
power of grace might be the more manifest; if we never
cease to condemn sin; then out of every conflict, even if
we have been defeated, we shall draw new gain in the way
of self-knowledge and watchfulness; and with the consciousness of this, if the soul comes back to the Saviour,
we may at once feel again His peace in our hearts. We
struggle amid the waves, but He stretches out His hand
and keeps us from perishing; he who rises from a fall is held up by Him with the same love that leads Him to leave
the ninety-and-nine sheep in the wilderness, and go after
the one that has gone astray until He find it. And be
cause He thus goes after the lost, we too feel the drawing
of His love in our hearts when we have fallen, and thus
His peace comes back to us. And as eternally springing
love establishes its throne in our hearts; as He, being one
with His Father, comes to make His abode with the Father
in our hearts; as we become more able in all we do to say,
The love of Christ constraineth us; we gradually attain to a
position in which our feeling toward sin, against which we
fight with the whole armour of the Spirit, is only compassion
in regard to something that has become alien to us. For
as His soldiers we feel ourselves set in opposition to all
sin, even to that which is in ourselves; and if it is the
power of His love that influences us, it must be also His
life which we live—a life in which we find ourselves utterly
opposed to sin, as those who desire to have no part in it.
And in thus regarding the Saviour, and in ever seeking to
have Him live anew in our hearts, how can we help contemplating the picture of His peace, and receiving it into
our hearts? If we thus go on growing richer in the
experience which He has promised us, obeying His teachings
and seeking to act in His strength, we become conscious
that the power is from God, and that by it we are drawn
more and more closely into fellowship with Him.
This, then, is the peace that the Saviour gives to us; a
peace which belongs entirely and undividedly to Him, for
He alone is its source,—a peace which, as Christ came to
overcome the world, will certainly more and more overcome
everything in us that still belongs to the world,—a peace
which, because all things work together for good to them
that love God, enables us to see in the whole chain of the
divine procedure what the Saviour Himself saw in it—nothing but the almighty love of the Father in heaven.
II. Now, my friends, the more nearly this peace which
the Saviour imparts to us approaches the perfection of that
which He Himself experienced; the more free we become,
through our life in Him, from the power of anything to
disturb or perplex us; the more, we may be sure, shall we
feel our hearts lifted up to give spontaneous utterance to
the feeling that truly there is no higher good for the human
soul, no more satisfying position that man can imagine, than
that which is his when he can say that the Lord gives and
leaves to him His peace. But it belongs to the nature of
our present existence, and our having constantly to deal
with the contrast between the great and the little in all
the concerns of our lives, that if we wish to convince our
selves that the gift of peace is, in fact, the complete bestowal
of the inexhaustible riches of God, we must compare the
condition which it produces with something different. But
with what shall we compare it? Not with the wavering
condition of a soul which has, it is true, entered into some
relation with Christ, but fails to maintain it. And just as
little with the conditions which we regard, in the Christian
world in which we live, as not depending on Christ. Neither
of these comparisons would meet the case. If we wish to
institute a comparison to convince ourselves that the peace
which the individual soul obtains in Christ is the most perfect thing that can be imagined, we must compare what
Christ has effected with what might be if there were no
Christ. It is always, indeed, a dubious proceeding to try
to look at what does not exist; but this view of the subject is so closely connected with the true, full, and cordial
recognition of the divine counsels of salvation in Christ,
that we cannot avoid it.
If we wish thoroughly to examine this subject, we must,
in the first place, keep this clearly in view, that we have
all along to deal only with man, and that we cannot
imagine man without at least the capability of sin, even if possibly free from actual transgression. In this connection,
our thoughts naturally turn to the picture presented to us
in various lights, yet difficult or impossible to fill up, of the
first parents of our race,—a period in whose lives is laid
before us, in which, while sin was certainly possible to
them, it had not come to actual life. And when we think of
that happy state of human life, in which as yet no want or
sense of need had awakened any .sinful desire in man’s heart,
and in which an easy life called forth only a slight exertion
of his faculties, we are ready to ask whether it would
not have been better to continue in that condition. But
let us consider the subject as a whole. Imagine the whole
human race in a condition like that, and the whole habitable
earth as just such a scene of innocent existence as we are
accustomed to picture that garden of God at the beginning
of our race; compare that with the form which our earthly
life has assumed since x sin appeared; see how everything,
from the memorials that remain of all past ages down to
the present day, bears witness to the alliance or the strife
of human powers; how everywhere are to be seen the traces
of art and science; and we must see clearly that all this
could not have been without the incitement of pleasure,
or the struggle caused by man’s sin. If we compare these
two conditions; will they not appear to us, the one like the
pure, guileless countenance of an innocent child, on which
there lies as yet, it is true, no shade of dark memories, but
on which also no definite characters are written; and the
other as the face of a man, deeply furrowed with the lines of
many cares;—the face of one who has had experience of the
world, and has battled with it both in his own heart and
without? Which is the higher position? Which is the
richer? in which is the higher manifestation of power,
and therefore the greater glory to God? There can be no
doubt as to your verdict. But I do not intend at present to
go back on the great features of man’s history; rather let us confine our inquiry to one point in regard to these two
phases of his life, and say to which of the two we would
really give the preference. And certainly we do not wish to
picture man before sin began, as leading an idle life. No, he
might be anxious to acquire knowledge, and disposed to
work; he might obey the call to have dominion over the
earth; but life would be for him. without allurement, and
without conflict; for wherever there is conflict, there has
already been sin. Hence he would know nothing of the
strength that comes only from conflict sustained; and the
consciousness of his powers, which is only acquired in
struggling to the utmost against temptation, would also be
lacking to him. For if sin has once found a place in our
nature, it becomes so closely connected with everything
else, that our consciousness can only be complete when the
sin has become actually manifest.
And the second condition? Well, let us suppose sin to
have actually appeared, and that man has found himself engaged in the continuous warfare of spirit against flesh, but
that he is to carry on this warfare by his own powers, and
that no such Saviour as ours has been made known to him.
If we compare even this position with our own, we must
admit that, judging of men only according to outward appearance, so to speak, there will be no great difference. Our
whole present life is maintained, as it were, out of the stores
and at the expense of nations before us who knew nothing
of the Saviour, because He had not yet come, and who therefore certainly sustained this warfare of spirit against flesh
in their own strength. The Apostle Paul bears this testimony to them, that so little had the revelation of God,
originally written on their hearts, been capable of being
effaced, that having no law given to them as to the Jews,
they had become a law to themselves. This law was in
every heart, and every one recognised the demand and the
power of conscience in regard to that which, as right and good, it set in opposition to evil. And how should we still
so frequently linger over the works of those long extinct
peoples in their dead languages, if it were not that we find
in them shining examples of all human virtues? There is
no sacrifice, no manly energy, no self-devotion of the individual for the common weal, of which instances could not
be found among them; the names of the virtues—the names
by which we still designate everything good and noble in
human conduct—come down to us from those times. But shall
we therefore give the preference to their position? There
were two things lacking to them, and which would always
have been lacking to every man so long as we had been left
to ourselves in this warfare. The first is just that eternally
outflowing love of the Saviour, which embraces the whole
human race; that going out of His heart to all His brethren
on earth; the supreme satisfaction that came to Him from
the assurance that although by the will and counsel of God
His work on earth was confined to a very narrow space, yet
He should, after His departure, move all mankind. At
first no eye had seen this love, no ear had heard of it, nor
had the thought of it entered into the heart of any man;
neither would it have done so if the Word had not become
flesh. A darkness rested on the earth that kept the nations
apart, so that each saw and loved only its own people. It
was necessary that a light should shine from above to illumine them for each other; they needed to behold the glory of
the only-begotten Son of the Father, and in Him to see God
as a Father, in order to recognise and love one another. Only
through Him could we be brought to look for a kingdom of
God that should embrace all men; and what would every
thing else be in comparison to this? But still more! Let
us suppose that the constantly extending commerce of men,
the increasing intercourse of the nations, the ever-advancing
maturity of mind in the whole human race, should have in
course of time subdued the enmity among men? and checked the selfishness that stood in the way of universal love; and
that just by these means a love at least similar to that which
we have spoken of could have been produced towards all
men; yet how entirely different a form would this have
taken! and it could always only have been in this way, that
wo had become a law to ourselves, though possibly a better
law than all former ones.
And in the second place, the pure image of the man who
walked the earth without sin, the idea of a soul constantly
one with God,—whence should that have come to us? The
crowning point of our knowledge would have been lacking
had He not been! What has more elevating power than
this, that the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us; that He who was thus one
with God gave us the right to call ourselves His brethren, to become children of
God. No, without this fulness of vital power and joy which we receive through
the Saviour, I do not care to live!
There is a fable that has long been current among men, and
which is often heard even in these days. Unbelief invented
it, and little-faith accepts it. It speaks of a time that is to
come, or that may perhaps be already come, in which the
case of this Jesus of Nazareth will be fairly concluded.
Every human influence, it is said, is effective only for a certain time: the human race may have much to thank Him
for; God may have done great things through Him; but He
was only, after all, one of ourselves, and His time to be for
gotten must come. If He was in earnest in wishing to make
the world entirely free, it must also have been His wish to
make it free from Himself, that God might be all in all.
Then men would not only perceive that they had power
enough in themselves to fulfil the divine will; but in the
right perception of this they would be able even to go be
yond the measure He laid down, if they only chose to do so.
In short, it is not to be until the name of Christian is for
gotten, that a universal kingdom of love and peace will be
established, in which there shall be no longer any seed of enmity, such as has
been sown from the beginning between those who believe in this Jesus, and the
rest of the children of men. But never will this fable become fact. Since the
days of His flesh the Saviour’s image is indelibly impressed on the human race;
and even if the written word should perish, which is only sacred because it
preserves that image for us, the image itself will remain for ever; it is too
deeply engraven ever to be effaced; and the words of the disciple will always be
true, “Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life!”
XIX.
WHY THE DIVINE INVITATION IS
REFUSED.
(Twentieth Sunday after Trinity, 1831.)
TEXT: LUKE xiv. 18-20. “And they all with one consent began to
make excuse; . . . I pray thee have me excused.”
WE need no more than these few words to recall to us
the whole parable from which they are taken. From
the different accounts of this parable in the gospels we must
conclude that the Saviour often repeated it. Its substance
is that an invitation was issued to a great supper, and the
guests at first promised to appear; but when the appointed hour was come, and
they were required to present themselves, one made a pretext of this, and
another of that piece of business, and said, “I pray thee have me excused.”
The first thing to be noticed about this parable is the
frequent occasion which the Saviour had to repeat it. He
lived, as we know, entirely among His own people, saying
that He had come only to the lost sheep of the house of
Israel. Them He did not cease to call to Himself, and proclaimed to them that the kingdom of God had come nigh to
them, that they might enter it, and to that end might gather
around Him; He told them He would take care of them,
protect them against all danger, and conduct them safely
into that blessed kingdom of God. And there were many who gave ear to His first invitation. Where His voice was
heard, men gathered around Him by hundreds and thousands,
and their eagerness to hear the words of wisdom from His
lips seemed more and more to increase, as if they could
never have enough. But when they were required to take a
decisive step, to show that they wished really to take their
place in this kingdom of God, such as He represented it to
them; when He, for that purpose, gave them clearer indications of the nature of that supper to which they were
invited,—then they drew back and turned away.
That which led me to take these words as the subject of
our meditation to-day was my having occasion to remember
our recent harvest-thanksgiving. For this was my thought.
It is bad, no doubt very bad, if a man invites himself to the
enjoyment only of earthly comforts and possessions, forget
ting the word, “Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be
required of thee;” but far worse if a man in this short and
fleeting earthly life misses hearing the divine invitation, and
so little heeds this significant warning voice, that when the
message comes to him, Come, for all things are ready, he
brings forward this or that as an excuse. The higher the
position of him who invites us into his society, even for
fleeting moments, which are therefore all the more memorable; the less would we venture to offer an excuse, even when we ought to do so
on account of some duty that hindered us. But when those who bring to us the
invitation to the great feast receive so often the answer, “I pray thee have me
excused”; when we are still constantly hearing this
around us, and note the consequences; what a crowd of
sorrowful reflections must stir the hearts of those who have
themselves accepted this divine invitation, and who know
the glory and beauty of the feast! To what class, then, do
we belong? I can only ask in order to give an answer
which all take for granted. We who meet here to remember Him who has called us into the kingdom of God, to nourish and strengthen ourselves with His words, certainly
present ourselves as those who have not only heard but
accepted His invitation; otherwise we should not be here at
all. Whether there may not be here and there among us
individuals who are in the position of saying, “I pray thee
have me excused,” is another question which may remain for
the present undecided. But if we have indeed given ear to
the invitation of the Lord, then we are all without exception what He called His disciples from the beginning, His
servants; sent by Him, as He was sent by the Father, to
invite men in the Father’s name and in His. And this duty
of inviting men into the kingdom of God is a work which
may be done well and skilfully, or quite otherwise. Many a
one who is called to this great work is urgent with souls, and
constrains even those to heed and accept his invitation who,
perhaps, if they had been addressed and called on in a
different way, would only have said, “I pray thee have me
excused.” And if it is an experience too frequent to be disregarded, that still excuses are constantly being made, not
only by those to whom the gospel is brought as something
new from afar; but not less, and in various ways, by those
who live among us and are familiar with the name of the
Lord and His Word: we may depend on it that there has
been something amiss in the manner of the invitation. Let
us therefore consider these two points as they stand connected here: how it is that so many refuse the divine
invitation, and then some of the mistakes into which we
may fall in conveying that invitation to them.
I. In hearing of the invitation of the Lord to this great
feast, which is meant to figure to us the kingdom of God, we
think first, and quite rightly, of the universal call that comes
in the name of the Saviour to all men without distinction, to
turn their backs on the transitory things with which, unhappily, most people are taken up, and to enter on a higher
life by turning to eternal things. This is the great, all-embracing invitation which had certainly been issued before
in, as it were, a preliminary way, and often repeated; but
that all things were ready for the enjoyment of this life in
God could not be announced to the race of men till the fulness
of the time had come, and the Son of God had appeared on
earth. And even now among ourselves we distinguish
between that preparatory news of all being invited, as we
make it known from their youth up to those who grow up
among us, and that decisive and urgent invitation, which
we delay until, having made them acquainted with the
Saviour, we count them capable of distinguishing for themselves what is mean and what is noble, what is perishable
and what is divine in human nature. What is it then that
hinders so many, even if they do not flatly and openly refuse
this invitation, from accepting it as it is meant? If we
adapt the call which we address to them to the sympathy
with the spiritual life which Christ imparts to us, there
would not easily be found among us any one who would
utterly and once for all excuse himself, entirely renouncing
his portion in the blessed life to which we are invited from
above; and if he did, we should take no notice of it, but
again and again renew the invitation. But many excuse
themselves for the present, and would like to put off to an
indefinite time. And why is this? Why do they think that
they could not be ready yet, and could not resolve to comply
with the divine invitation? With many it is certainly
nothing but the indolence and inertia so natural to men.
They prefer to go on in the way that they have hitherto
followed; and if any kind of change is to be effected with
them or in them, they do not care to calculate on what is
unknown and uncertain, and would rather have everything
happen to them without their needing to take any resolution
or exert their own will in the matter. With others again
the predominant feeling is a love for their present manner
of life and for the things they possess and enjoy, in proportion to the satisfaction they find in them; and what keeps
them back from obeying the call into the kingdom of God is
the idea that in doing so they must give up everything in
which they have found pleasure; that the kind of work
which has easily and comfortably sufficed them must be set
in the background, or be entirely abandoned; and for what?
Only, in the first place, to enter on a hard and painful
struggle. But if we ask what kind of enjoyment it is which
a man must renounce in order to comply with God’s invitation, is it anything but what the apostle meant when, speaking to the Christians in Rome of their former life, he said,
“What fruit had ye then in the things whereof ye are now
ashamed? for the end of these things is death.” It is only
the pleasure that is steeped in sin, only the work that
ministers to selfish passions that must be given up; for these
cannot but deaden the capacity for true life; and then shall
the fruit be unto holiness, and the end everlasting life. For
let it be remembered that we cannot say of any kind of work
in which it is worth while for a human being to occupy his
time in this world, that it will be repudiated or held in
contempt in the kingdom of God. That kingdom is wide
enough to give scope for every right exercise of the human
faculties.
Now, this being the case, when the difference is so undeniably great and obvious between the unsatisfying pleasures
and vain toil which men are to give up, and the blessedness
of the divine life which is offered to them; have we not
cause to suspect, when so many, instead of accepting the
Lord’s invitation to His great and blessed feast, still draw
back and put it off, that the fault must lie, in great measure,
with our manner of giving the invitation? There are,
indeed, manifold errors which we may commit in this work;
but the one which is most hurtful, and which is very
common among us is this: that instead of showing men the
happiness of the life to which they are called, we first set before them a death through which they must pass; we tell
them of an anguish of soul over their past condition, which
they cannot be allowed to escape; we demand of them a
sense of utter loss and ruin, as that from which alone the
new life can begin. But in so doing we go beyond our
commission, and thus we must miss our aim with many.
For such is the nature of man (a nature that we cannot
change), that if we hold up to him the greatest and most
glorious objects only very far off, and as nearer facts nothing
but struggle and toil, sorrow and tears, self-sacrifice and
abnegation, he holds back; he does not wish to make his
way through all these to the higher things, great and
excellent as they may appear in themselves. And therefore
the Saviour Himself did not act on this plan. It was not at
all His way to proclaim to men that they must, as the first
thing, endure agonies of repentance, or to lead them to
despair as to their own position. When He calls Himself
the Physician who has come for the good of the sick, can
you say that He presents Himself to them with the red-hot
iron in His hand to cauterize their wounds? or are the
medicaments which He employs internally of such a kind
as to produce, though only as their first effects, pain and
terror? And when He makes Himself known as He who
has come to seek that which was lost, does He speak of using
measures of terror and intimidation towards the lost sheep,
that they may be driven back to His arms? Does He not
tell only of going after them in faithful love into the wilderness, alluring and drawing them back to Him, and then
rejoicing over them? But it by no means follows from this,
that we are to make light of the difference between the
higher life to which man can attain only by the Holy Spirit
being given to him, and the earthly life as it appears in any
well-ordered community. The effect of that might be that
men would not be invited at all to the great and glorious
feast to which we are to call them. But as regards the vanity of their life beforehand, oh, they will feel
that of
themselves all the more keenly, the more clearly we show
them, as we are bound to do, the glory of that state to which
we invite them; the warfare which they must maintain
against all the memories and habits that would hold them
still in captivity under the law of sin in their members will
not fail to begin, if we have only first awakened in them a
love for the blessed communion of .the Spirit. Hence we
shall most fully execute our commission as His messengers
if we enter into the closest possible social intercourse with
those to whom we are sent, and so be able to show them in
ourselves the happiness to which they are invited. In this
way we shall both attract those who have been kept back
by indolence from complying with the Lord’s invitation, and
win over those who are absorbed in other pleasures or
pursuits. Even in other connections we see men drawn to a
new forth-putting of their faculties by coming into association with more highly cultivated powers with which they
can ally themselves. Therefore, if we are to invite others
successfully to share with us the abundance of the new life,
we must ourselves be cheerful—not full of fretting anxiety,
as if we might easily lose our share of this treasure. And
we shall do this still more by gladsome deeds than by joyful
expressions of faith—deeds that furnish them with ample
proofs of the power of our own spiritual life, and awaken in
them the desire for such a life. Then, when they are deeply
impressed with the peace and happiness of the children of
God, some will be helped to overcome their slothfulness,
others their evil desires; and when once they have their eye
fixed on the aim which we have pointed out to them by
word and example, then will power be given them from
above to carry on the conflict which, it is indeed true, none
can escape.
II. But we must not confine our attention to this very
general view of the subject. It is not only the call in a general way to the heavenly life in God, which is addressed
to men under this figure of an invitation to a great and
solemn feast; let us also consider this feast in its full
abundance, in its great, inexhaustible variety. Once when
the disciples of the Lord had left Him alone while they
went to buy food during a journey, and He had meanwhile
had an opportunity of preaching the kingdom of God to a
lost soul, He said to them, when they returned and invited
Him to eat, “I have meat to eat that ye know not of . . .
to do the will of My Father in heaven that sent Me, and to
finish His work.” That was His meat, that is ours, to accomplish the will of our Father in heaven, and in this view, to
what a rich and varied feast, to what an abundant table are
we set down! Who can overlook the great mutual relations of human affairs in which we are all called to do the
will of God? Who can overlook the great, divine work
which is to be accomplished by the Saviour and those who
are his faithful servants and fellow-workers? And what
ever part we take in this important work—whether it
seem great or small, it is a part of the great whole; it is one
of the meats at this divine feast to which we are invited.
And as in such feasts the wealth and affluence of him who
gives them are made known; so, in the inexhaustible abundance and variety of the spiritual viands, all rich with the
savour of the blessed fellowship into which we are brought
with God, we recognise the unutterable riches of the
blessedness of God, who has invited us to this spiritual
feast. If, then, everything to which any of us feels called
for the furthering of the Saviour’s work is at the same time
that which forms our enjoyment in this royal feast, let us
be ever inviting others to every work of God as to the
highest kind of pleasure. The opposition between work or
duty and enjoyment, which makes so much difficulty for us
in our earthly affairs, is not found in the kingdom of God:
for every work that we accomplish is to the consecrated soul at once nourishment and pleasure. And to such a soul
there is no pleasure that cannot be turned to practical
effect; all the refreshment found in quiet meditation on the
grace of God either leads to active work for others, or it
becomes operative in the inner life, rooting us more firmly
in the common soil of the divine kingdom, so that we may
produce new flowers and fruits. In what rich abundance,
in what inexhaustible variety, does this union of spiritual
work and pleasure in the strength and blessed fellowship
of the love of God lie before us! And in truth, when we
see how, from one age to another, the kingdom of God has
extended without losing its divine power, in the midst of all
conflicts with the world—of all the conflicts that each man
must carry on with himself, which indeed are just his conflict with the world, which has still some part in him—we
are constrained to say that this is all the effect of successful
invitation. And therefore we must believe that our invitation will still succeed in accomplishing a work of God, if we
only make sure that it bears about it the spiritual savour
and offers the spiritual nourishment that are found at this
divine feast. How much friendly readiness do we find even
in the great Christian communities to unite their efforts,
when the Divine Spirit has awakened in hearts here and
there a new resolution to take out of the way what is
dangerous, to bring together all that is profitable, and here
and there to produce some new thing that is still wanting
to the beauty of the whole! And if every single purpose
suggested by the Spirit of God finds friends and supporters,
how sure we may be of not inviting in vain where a new
ideal of life is demanding help against difficulties, and fresh
exercise of newly-awakened powers that new work may be
accomplished! But it must be admitted this is not always
the case. When we address calls of this kind to men in the
name of the Lord, and claim their help for some work of
God, we sometimes find that, like those in our text, they say, “I pray thee have me excused.” What can it be, then,
that keeps back our brethren from responding to the call
to a work of God? The chief mistake seems to me to be
that there is still a distinction made between earthly and
spiritual, between our duty in social and business aspects
and our duty in the kingdom of God. But these ought never
to be separated. For if a man is moderately busy in his
worldly calling, and thinks his energies should all be expended on what it requires of him; if he is entirely taken
up with his business, and considers, seeing that earthly
business has its distinct claims, that he will be able to
render a good account of the use he has made of his powers,
although he has been able to give no help in anything, how
ever beautiful or excellent, for the fathering of the kingdom
of God—how are we to answer such an excuse? As long
as our invitation takes for granted this opposition between
the duties that are binding on us as members of society and
those to which we are called by the voice of the Holy Spirit,
in the name of the kingdom of God; just so long shall we
have no certainty that our invitation is right, and it will
always depend on a peradventure if it is to be complied
with. For it is not easy to find a rule of universal application by which to accommodate to each other things of different
kinds not already connected: every one has his own plan of
how much he will give to the one or limit the other, and
no one can assert that another has laid down an unfair rule,
where each has his own. Therefore if there is to be a ready
compliance with our invitations to an active interest in the
works that concern the furtherance of the kingdom of God,
we must set aside this distinction by regarding everything
incumbent on each of us in our social position, as a part of
our duty in the kingdom of God. We must, in fact, regard
that position, as the place appointed for each at this great
feast, and therefore expect from each in the first place that
he fulfil all those duties as for that kingdom. There is certainly no earthly condition that more entirely claims all
men’s powers for the earthly life than did that of servants
at the time when Christianity began. Yet what does the
apostle say to those who, as slaves, were utterly subject to
the sole will of their masters, and spent all their strength
in ministering only to their earthly comfort? He bids them
remain in the calling in which the Divine Spirit had found
them; but to do what they did in that calling not as unto
men, but unto God. And just so it may be and ought to be
with each of us in our earthly calling. What we do in it,
let us do as the work of the Lord; for everything that calls
forth and strengthens the mental faculties, all that gives
man mastery over human things and the forms of nature,
may be of service in the kingdom of God, and is therefore
connected with the Lord’s work, which we are all to for
ward; and in the same way, whatever we may fairly expect
others to do, must be what can be accomplished in this
connection. And hence what a difference it makes whether
we do a thing merely with a view to the outward life, or
for some one person, or do it as to the Lord! I do not only
mean that in the latter case the thing is better and more
thoroughly done; but that what is done in a mere earthly
way depresses our spirit, while in the other way it is lifted
up and elevated; the consciousness of having done our work
for the Lord will cheer and support us against all depression
and amid all suffering. And will not he who has once
gained this consciousness, be always finding that he has
a surplus of strength to take part, beyond the narrow circle
of his own business, in all kinds of work for the kingdom of
God, and to do something more than his regular work when
it is a question of helping to build the temple of the Lord!
This employment of surplus strength and helpfulness will be
seen wherever there is not a lack of hearty love of work;
and where it is so, we may be sure that the difference will
come out very clearly between those who, while doing everything to the Lord, are also obeying this invitation of His by
always finding some new work to do for Him and strength
in themselves to help in it; and those who, besides their
ordinary business, aim only at perishing pleasures, and find
their life in works of vanity, and therefore are always
falling back into anxiety about trifling and transitory
things.
Let us see, then, that we always take this right way of
inviting—confirming our words by our actions; and we may
be sure of always finding a friendly and favourable hearing,
and that there will always be many to join with us in a
thoroughly efficient way in all kinds of Christian work.
And thus the circle will be ever widening of those who
share in the glorious enjoyment of the spiritual feast to
which the Lord invites us all.
III. Let us now notice shortly a third particular. We
have seen that in this universal call we are invited to take
part in all kinds of Christian work, by means of which life
as a whole is to assume an aspect worthy of the Christian
name, and to expand into fairer bloom; in which spiritual
fellowship will thrive and increase, while the one thing
needful will more and more hold its due place. But does
this include all that is conveyed in the Lord’s invitation to
His divine feast? If I was right in saying at the beginning that we who assemble here implied by so doing that
we had not only heard but accepted His invitation, then a
call to assemble ourselves thus for the pure worship of God
must be included in that invitation. It is true, we know
that though the Christian says, “A day in Thy courts is
better than a thousand,” he does not refer exclusively to the
Lord’s day and to seasons of public means of grace; for
wherever we are doing anything to the Lord, we are in His
courts and in His temple. Nevertheless, these our Christian
assemblies are a special point in the invitation; for remember how the apostles charged the Christians not to forsake them, but diligently to gather together. But in
saying this, you are well aware that I do not here speak of
an invitation to the presence of those who are appointed to
dispense the word of God to souls. You know well it is not
my view of the purpose of our meeting that I come to
instruct you, and you come to be instructed by me; but that
I only desire to be edified together with you by the divine
word of our Lord and Master, as we meditate on it together.
And let us not conceal from ourselves, but recognise the
fact, that this is indeed a beautiful and glorious portion of
that great spiritual feast to which we are all called. This
passing from active life to quiet, united meditation on the
word of God on an appointed day, is an arrangement so
fraught with blessing, that we cannot dispense with it if we
are in earnest fully to appropriate and rightly to enjoy the
abundance of the Lord’s spiritual benefits which are here
offered to us. And I must say it is the case among our
selves that Christian people are diligent in assembling
together, so that our gatherings are not thin and poor. But
if we go no further than our near neighbourhood, there are
many among the inhabitants of this great city to whom the
pleasure of uniting with others for the animating of their
hearts from the word of God is a more unusual thing than
it ought to be; indeed, it is an ordinary remark among us that whole sections of
the community are indifferent and deaf to this invitation. What is the cause of
this?
There is one cause, certainly, which ought not to be
found standing in the way of this invitation; that is, the
pressing cares for the outward life, which so fret the soul
that it has no power left for spiritual enjoyment; longing
only for physical rest, when one more week of the toilsome
life is past. And it is one great part of the problem which,
looking from the standpoint of doing all to the Lord, we
must ever be striving with united strength to solve; how
the too great discrepancies in outward position, between those who are called to sit at the same feast may be more
equalized, so that none may be obliged to be unduly engrossed in worldly business; that every one may have
some time and capacity left for spiritual occupations and
enjoyments, by which in turn, fresh vigour will be gained
for every right kind of common work.
Another obstacle to the acceptance of this invitation is,
no doubt, in many persons, their overweening self-sufficiency.
What we hear at public worship, they say, we can say better
for ourselves; there we are bound to a fixed time, but we
can choose for our own meditation the time that suits us
best; whatever we may do for our edification, whether from
our own thoughts or in connection with the divine Word,
will be more useful to us than what is not intended alone
or even chiefly for us. But such ideas reveal a serious
misconception; and if we are really concerned to gain a
hearing for this part of the invitation, and to be always
helping more of our brethren to this spiritual enjoyment,
we must, if possible, correct those false ideas. How can
this be done, do you ask? I think in this way; When we
separate here, and each of us returns among his own circle,
let the conversation be less about him who has been called
on that day to explain the Word of God, than on the subjects
themselves on which he has spoken; let the preacher disappear and the divine Word become the point of interest;
let there be more said about the effect of such blessed
Christian fellowship,—how each has been strengthened by
the consciousness of a common interest in prayer, and by
the fresh stimulus we have received together on our way
to the goal set before us, and what joy we have had in
seeing so many with their faces directed thither. In this
way others will see how much value we attach to Christian
fellowship, and that this is the chief thing in our assemblies;
and in this way they will lose their mistaken ideas. For
no one can believe that he is, or can accomplish for himself alone, all that offers itself to him in the full united power
and kindly contact of a spiritual community. That a man
should think he is able to do himself as much good as the
voice of one other man can do, is natural enough in these
days; but how great would be the vanity that should feel able to dispense with
the Communion of Saints!
And now, would that it were not necessary to mention
another hindrance! And yet I am constrained, and cannot
but do so! The great difference in the ideas of Christians,
when they come to express the great gospel call more
minutely, one laying down its essential conditions in this
way, another in that;—ah! this interferes only too effectually with the agreement and harmony of mind in our
assemblies. You invite one or another, and he says, I do
not hear there that which alone I count to be true Christianity; there the mystery of faith is not spoken of so as to
edify me; there the words that most help me to communion
with the Saviour are wanting; there certain expressions
are used that disturb me in my devotion; the whole effect
produced has a suspicion of scepticism, says one; it savours
of superstition, says another. It is this unhappy narrowness that makes such divisions among us, and deprives us
of so many spiritual blessings. And how are we to meet
this difficulty? How weighty a question! This at least
is certain, that if our invitation bears traces of this party
spirit, it will have very little influence. Even natural
things hold up an example to us here. The same forces in
the soil produce a thousand different plants; but look at
the proudest ornament of the garden, and the meanest
flower of the field; the bee plunges humming into the one
and into the other, gathering the same precious honey from
all. Oh! that we showed ourselves as such bees, knowing
how to draw honey from everything that contains any of
the true spiritual sustenance! If we show in this way that
we are bound by no such narrow views, but are able to draw strength for the spiritual life wherever only Christ
is preached, in whatever manner; then in our invitations
to our brethren we shall more and more get the better of
this miserable party spirit.
Let us, then, not be weary of inviting others in every
way to the Lord’s great spiritual feast; for we are sent
forth to do this. Our Saviour, though He devoted His
whole public life to this mission, had but little outward
and visible result to rejoice in; but He had in His heart
the certainty that He was doing His Father’s work, and
was able to say when He left this world that He had
finished that work. And therefore, in the midst of all the
opposition that He met with from men, He held fast the
same courage, the same serenity of spirit, the same unquenchable love to those whom He was to invite. And this
is the pattern which we must follow. Then will our message
be blessed at least in secret, even if we see but little outward
result. The present is a time, specially favourable for this
work—a time in which each of us cannot but hear a voice,
which says that any night his soul may be required of him.
How clearly at such a time does the difference show itself
between those who, because they have as yet given no heed
to the divine invitation, have fled from the sound of that
alarming voice into the tumult of life, so that it dies in
effective on their ear, instead of drawing them away from
the emptiness of earth to higher things; and those who
hear that voice with tranquil hearts, because they have
obeyed the call of the Lord and already, through faith, have
won their way to eternal life, and conquered death. We
have a fine example of how to invite under such circum
stances in Ephesians v. 16, 19, 20. The apostle is telling the
Christians how to suit their conduct to the evil days in
which they were living; and what does He say to them?
He bids them give thanks, and amidst the trouble of those evil
days to sing and make melody in their hearts to the Lord.
Oh, friends, if our brethren see that we are able to do
this in the present, and every evil day, that will be to them
the most powerful invitation. If they see in us, in all circumstances, the same calmness and assurance, they cannot
doubt that it is God’s power that works in us, a power to
which all have only to yield themselves, in order to enter
the blessed kingdom of God; and thus will the number be
ever increasing of those who join us in praising Him who
has brought us from death to life. Amen.
XX.
LOVED IN THE BELOVED.
(Third Sunday in Advent, 1831.)
TEXT: JOHN xvi. 27. “For the Father Himself loveth you, be
cause ye have loved Me, and have believed that I came forth from the Father.”
THAT was a great word of the Saviour about Himself
on which we lately spoke together, in which He represented Himself as from of old the one object of desire and
longing to all the best part of mankind, to those who were
nearest to God and had received most teaching from Him:
but this is a still greater saying, in which He sets Himself
before us as the real cause of the love of God towards us,—as He for whose sake alone, by virtue of our relation to
Him, that is to say, on account of our faith in Him and love
to Him, we became objects of the love of God, His and our
Father. But it is He who can say of Himself what one
would have been disposed to dispute in the mouth of any
other, “If I bear witness of myself, yet my witness is true;
for it was eternally clear to His own consciousness what He
was to be to the human race to whom He had come. In all
others this knowledge could only be gradually unfolded by
experience; that is, by their obeying His word and actually
fulfilling the will of God which He declared to them, that
they should “believe on Him whom the Father had sent.”
Therefore, as we count ourselves among those who have learned to love Him, and have attained to the faith that He
came forth from God, let us examine His word by the light
of our own experience and make it clear to ourselves, if.
talking over it, how the Saviour is He for whose sake, if we
love Him and believe in Him, we also are loved by God.
I. In the first place, every one will no doubt say to him
self in contradiction of this, that if God is love, His love
must reach as far as His omnipotence, and there must be a
universal love of God. And certainly we shall feel bound
to admit that this special love of which the Saviour speaks
in our text is only an outcome of that universal love. As
surely as the highest knowledge which we have reached
through the Son of God is this, that God is love, so surely
must we believe that every work of God’s hands is also an
object of His love. Only, of course, dead things could not be
objects of His love; nor could that which, though certainly
alive, yet was incapable of any perception of Him, be such
an object; but the spiritual eye of those who know Him
soon becomes so clear as to all outward things, that they
perceive that anything which we can only regard as inanimate and dead is really in itself nothing at all. That which
we could imagine as having no kind of connection with that
life which alone among created things is the image of God,
would have no proper existence. But there is nothing that
is not in some way allied to it. Everything endowed with
mind, everything that can, even in a very imperfect and
distant way, become conscious of God, everything that according to its nature can be reached by the beams of His
love,—all these are certainly in themselves objects of that
love. And so the ancient accounts in the Old Testament of
the creation of the world are closed with the words, “And
God: saw everything that He had made, and behold it was
very good.” That was the breathing of love, the look of
divine delight over all His works; and it reached as far as
His almighty power had done in calling into being that which was not; but still all was good only as connected with that
part of this created, finite being which could be the reflection of His own being; which was capable of knowing Him
and of feeling after Him in His works. And yet when we
reflect that the principal subject of that old story is this
earth alone, the scene of our life and work,—that it notices
only in so far as they affect this world, all the rest of God’s
works, which our present knowledge shows us as being so
much greater and of so much wider range; when we reflect
further, that in this world man is the only intelligent being;
with reference to whom everything is arranged, for whom
everything is made that belongs to this world, or that has
any bearing on it in other worlds;—with these things before
our minds, oh, how can we understand the statement that
God the Lord pronounced it all very good, when He saw not
only man as the noblest work of His hands, appointed to
have dominion over the earth; but just as clearly the fall of
man, and all the loss to his spiritual life and work which sin
would bring to this man and to the whole human race? We
may surely say that if at that time God the Lord said of man
and of the earth which was to be his possession, that all was
good, it must have been because He had in view not only sin
and the fall; but further,—and that not merely as included in
His satisfaction, but as being the essential ground of it,—Him who was appointed to restore all things. Indeed it was
only in reference to Him,—only because human nature was
capable of receiving into union with it the Word who was
to become flesh, therefore only because through Him man
was to be brought back to God, into a closer and more
intimate relation than had been possible before,—it was only
in view of all this that God the Lord pronounced all good.
And therefore already in this Word He made Himself known
as the God who would have compassion on sinners, and who
would overlook the times of ignorance, if only in those times
He in whom God was already well pleased, should find in men the adherence, the faith, the love without which He
could neither impart His thoughts to them nor bring them
into perfect union with God. And thus this universal love
of God is everywhere shown to man as to the creature made
in His own image, in all his various conditions; this is the
way in which the Scriptures throughout explain and make
intelligible that love and compassion of God; that He has
included all under sin and unbelief, that the promise might
come through faith in Him in whom alone it would be made
plain to all for what a glorious destiny God had created man.
Therefore all that we are told of the special love of God and
His delight in individuals concerns those who, according to
His unsearchable plan, were appointed to stand in a closer
earthly connection with Him who was to come. And so
the nation from which the Saviour was to arise was His
chosen nation; for this reason it was preserved and kept
separate and again and again delivered from the distress into
which it had brought itself by sin, in order that the revelation of God should be kept safe, and that from this nation
should come the only-begotten Son of the Highest. And
thus we must say that all mankind was from the beginning
the object of the divine good-pleasure and love: nothing that
was created in His likeness, nothing connected in any way
with this created image of Himself, was excluded from His
fatherly care; but no one was an object of God’s love and
solicitude in himself and for his own sake.
II. This brings us, then, to the second point to be considered; namely, what is the distinctive nature of that
special love of God to us on account of our faith in Christ
and love to Him? But this special and that universal love
are so joined that even what the Saviour here spoke of
specially to His disciples signifies nothing different from
that universal love. It was not His disciples in themselves,
as they had been and as they would have continued to be
without Him, who were the objects of the divine love He speaks of; but only, He says, for this reason does the Father
love you, because you have learned to love Me, because you
have attained to the faith that I came forth from God. For
as the Saviour of the world was, even from the beginning,
as the only-begotten Son of God the one immediate object of
divine satisfaction in this whole world of men; God chose
and drew to Himself in a special manner, (as we lately saw
in the case of Abraham,) only those who were connected with
Christ’s future; although they received, in the greatest
moments of their lives, only a far-off prevision of that future,
which, faint as it was, became their greatest possession and
the most precious treasure of their lives. And just in the
same way He chose the disciples of His Son, only because of
their closer connection with Him; as indeed it was natural
that their love to the Beloved of God should attract the love
of God to them. How like man the Most High seems to
speak in these words! And yet how directly obvious must
their divine truth be to us as well as their human character!
This is just what we all feel; he who loves those whom we
love, becomes thereby the object of our love. And if he
was already such in some degree, he becomes now the object
of a different, a new and more fervent affection. It cannot
be otherwise. If the Saviour was the direct object of the
divine delight, how should not God have taken delight in
those who recognised in that Saviour the glory of the only-begotten Son of the Father? If He was the object of the
Father’s delight because through Him the whole human race
was to be brought to God and to glory; how should not
those also have become objects of God’s delight, and have
been, as it were, flooded with a reflection of His glory, who
not only recognised that in Him all the divine promises were
actually fulfilled, and knew Him as the source from which
alone flowed the words of life, but who, moreover, could not
but serve Him with their whole being in the accomplishment
of all the divine purposes for the salvation of the world. And how does the Saviour Himself represent to us this love
of God, of which we become the objects for His sake? He
said to His disciples, I will not say that when you have need
of anything, when you wish to ask anything from the
Father, I will pray for you to the Father; for the Father
Himself loveth you, because ye love Me and believe that I
have come forth from God. Now is not this the highest relation in which man can stand towards God—that he should
make requests and God grant them, that he should ask and
God should answer? For each question is really a petition,
and every answer is a gift. Nowhere among the human
family, indeed, has this relation been regarded or expressed
otherwise than just in this way. If in any place there
was a sanctuary specially consecrated to higher beings or to
the Highest, it was in order that prayer might thus be presented before God, and that thence might flow forth the
blessings granted; that doubting spirits might there propound their questions, and receive an answer out of some
mysterious depth of the divine nature. And this is the
peculiarity of our relationship to Him, the Father—that He
is only called on to give us such things as the heart purified
by the word of His Son desires, only to answer such questions as are connected with our love and faith, because just
by reason of our love to the Saviour and our faith that He
came forth from God, no other questions arise in our hearts.
Oh, what grander imagination can we have of our relation
to God than this? Is the highest Being the source of all
happiness and of all good? Well, then, all must be good that
comes from Him. And if His gifts are granted in answer to
our requests, that is a sign that we ask what it was in His
mind to grant us, that our souls are in harmony with the
principles on which He rules and arranges the world of
intelligent beings whom He has created in His likeness—a
sign that we are only desiring that which He has Himself
appointed as best for us. For if we asked anything else than this, He would not grant what we asked. And the Saviour
therefore regards this as the fruit of our love to Him; for
how can those who love Him and believe that He came forth
from God ask for anything but what belongs to the work for
which He came from God and came into the world, and after
it was accomplished left the world and returned to the
Father? What can they ask but what belongs to the work
of saving the world through Him? And if our prayers have
no other object than what is suggested by our love and faith
towards the Saviour,—well, He says, I need not even say
that I will pray the Father for you, for the Father Himself
loveth you; that is, the thing you ask will come directly
from Himself. But in fact these two ideas are essentially
connected, and are the real ground of the relation which the
Saviour means to establish between God and us; the fact
that we have really learned to love Him as He was, in view
of what He came for, what He lived for, what He laid down
His life for; and further, that we have arrived at the conviction that He came forth from God, given by God to men
for their salvation, to fulfil His purposes of blessing towards
them. And so the Saviour says also to His disciples a little
earlier, “Hitherto have ye asked nothing in My name.” For
that alone is a prayer in His name, which is prompted by
this faith in Him and love to Him; and it is only what is
asked in His name that He promises His disciples will be
granted. And therefore, He says, when I am no longer
among you, you will ask in My name; for not till then will
your souls be quite purified from the misconceptions which
before were still mixed with your love and faith; and then
you will only wish to obtain by your prayers that which
from the beginning has been the real object of your doings
and efforts; that is to say, only what belongs to the great
work which the Father has appointed Me to accomplish. So
far, then, as we no longer ask anything but what can be
asked for in Christ’s name, the Father loves us, so that He grants us what we ask; and such love to the Saviour is inseparably connected with the faith that He came forth from God. How otherwise
could we so utterly bind ourselves to the work and will of a single man?
Yet, my friends, let us still linger a moment to look
particularly at these words. How long they have given
occasion to ever-renewed keen dispute and painful dissension among Christians! How have believers longed and
striven to penetrate more and more deeply the mystery of
this doctrine of the Saviour’s proceeding from God! and
how often has some particular way or another of thinking
about it been the cause of utterly dividing Christians, and
of rending apart their loving fellowship! If such mysterious doctrines, if any such exact definitions of the
manner in which the Saviour proceeded from God were a
part of the faith on which God’s special love to us depends,
oh, how was it possible that He who was the very brightness
of that love should have been so careless of His own as not
to have given them the plainest and most definite explanation of this in the most impressive way! How could He
have left it, as it were, to chance, whether they should
attain to this knowledge or not, if yet their share in this
special love of the Father depended on it? How easily has
now one, now another, been always falling on some new
interpretation of the doctrine, how difficult Christians have
always found it to agree on one and the same view, while yet
each supported his own from Scripture! But how ruinous
is this apparently so unavoidable difference of opinion, if it
is not enough to believe that the Saviour came forth from
God;—if the love of God does not rest on him who holds that
it is to be understood in this particular way and not in that
other way. But, my friends, just because the Saviour
brings our love to Him and our faith into so immediate
connection, we may be sure that what only affects our belief
that He came forth from God, in such a way that it has no influence on our love to Him, can just as little affect God’s
love to us; and we may tranquilly allow all such differences
to take their course, so that this subject may always be
coming up anew for Christian investigation. But that
which cannot contribute to the growth of our love to the
Saviour, for that very reason, does not determine God’s love
to us; and oh, still less let it mar our love to each other,
still less let it break the bond of unity in which we show
our love to the Saviour by helping forward His work. So
we may let all that rest; if we are only sure of this, that to
the question John sent to ask the Lord, “Art thou He that
should come, or look we for another,” there can be no answer
but this: yes, truly, in Him all the promises of God are yea
and amen; there is no other to be looked for after Him; in
Him the whole fulness of divine love and grace is revealed
to us, and the true life communicated to us through Him;
yea, all saving truth is set before us in Him. And if we
know this, that is believing that He came forth from God.
For the fulfilment of the divine decrees can only proceed
from God, and He must have come forth from God, who was
to solve the mystery of man’s so chequered and intricate and
often so dark destiny;—so to solve it that the issue of all
shall be that very peace that comes from above, and that
very eternal life to which all who believe in Him have made
their way through death.
III. But let us propose and answer yet a third inquiry.
We have seen that because we love the Saviour and believe
that He came forth from God, therefore the Father loves
us, and that we thus stand in a certain direct relation of
love to God. Now, from the moment in which we take
possession of this relationship to the Father,—when it
actually becomes our property, does not our separate relation
to the Saviour become something superfluous? is it not from
that time cancelled? And so would it not be most correct
to say that the first and original love is still that universal love of God to everything that lives and is capable of taking
knowledge of Him in His works? but because men kept
back the truth in unrighteousness, because they refused to
see and praise Him in His works, and so must have gone on
sinking ever deeper into ruin, therefore God had resolved
from eternity to send His Son, on whom their love and faith
might in the first instance take hold. In this way they
would be made capable of perceiving God’s plan, and under
standing His will; they would not only become conscious of
His omnipotence, but would infer His fatherly love. But
when the ruling consciousness of this relation between God
and man is re-established, and they are thus brought back
to the position of children of God; then the knowledge of
His love calls forth answering love, and there is no longer
need of any special medium through which to use and enjoy
this relationship. Does the Father love us? then we no
longer need any intercession, not even that of Him whom
the Father sent for our salvation, as indeed this is just
what Christ says! Why then should we not be able to
continue in this direct relation to God, and the mediation
of Christ be just as well forgotten in time, as it was out of
sight before? Now here, you see, is the difference between
Christians. There are those who wish only to learn from
Christ, who believe that He was sent to open men’s
spiritual eyes anew to necessary and saving truth; but that
if a man has again found his way to the truth, and is
enlightened by it, that light is kindled in himself and goes
on burning; and that his mind would not be at one with
itself unless the power increased in him to follow the truth
he knew. And thus each of us must count on his own
efforts to help himself on after the truth has been given us
by Christ: He must ever be held in blessed and grateful
remembrance among men, and His teaching must be always
the first step on which they take their stand: but now men’s
relation of childlike obedience to God, as well as their confidence in the blessings of His fatherly love, is a direct
relation, based on their own knowledge. Very different
from this is the language of those who not only wish to
learn from the Saviour, and who do not merely believe that
it was necessary for Him to come into the world in order,
as the Light, to pierce through the darkness; but who
regard Him as the Life of the world, in whom alone we
have life. Such persons never believe it possible to do
without the Saviour, even if they have come to the Father;
even if they feel it to be true that the Father loves them
because of their love and their faith, ah, they cannot depend on being able to maintain this relation, if they forsake
the Saviour. Towards which of these views do the Lord’s
own words in general point, and more especially those which
have been the subject of our present meditation? If the
Father loves us for this reason, that we love the Son, would
not the Father’s love necessarily cease if we could ever
cease to love the Son, for whose very sake He loves us, as
the effect always ceases with the cessation of the cause?
If the Father loves us because we believe and are confident
that Christ came forth from Him, would not the Father’s
love necessarily cease if this faith and confidence became of
less value to ourselves? But the words of the Saviour say
even too plainly that this is impossible! Just as Ho was
aware of the weakness of His disciples, and knew before
hand that when they should be tempted, after the Shepherd
was smitten, to scatter every man to his own, yet His
prayer must be fulfilled, that they should continue in His
truth; so by the very act of expressing this assurance, He
declared that their love to Him could not cease. What
kind of a love would it be that could ever lot go the beloved
object? Such a love could only be a fleeting emotion, that
had no spring in the calm depths of one’s being. If we have
really learned to love the Saviour, we cannot forsake Him;
nor can we entertain the question whether, if we forsook Him, we should continue in the Father’s love. We feel the
truth of what He says, Because you love Me, without Me
you can do nothing; our very existence is involved in the
question of whether we persevere in love to Him or forsake
Him. If we have once acquired the confidence that He
came forth from God, must we not then feel unsafe in every
step that we should take on our way to salvation, if we
consciously had less desire to follow Him than to seek out
some path for ourselves? No, the thing is impossible; wo
love Him, and therefore we cannot cease to love Him: we
believe that He came forth from God, and therefore we
cannot wish to live apart from Him. And therefore we continue sure of the love of God to us, because love to the Son
is never extinguished in us. And it will always remain
true, that there is no way for us to see the Father but in
the Son; He will ever be to us the nearest and most complete revelation of the Highest; we shall always, in our
union with Him, be conscious of the fatherly love of God,
and continue in it. He who abides in love, abides in God,
and God in him; but this is the love that came from
God, that wo love the Son whom He has sent, that we
cleave in firm confidence to Him, out of whom no salvation
is to be found for the human race.
And so, my friends, let us anew welcome the Saviour,
through whom we are brought into fellowship of God ii
fatherly love; let us acknowledge it as the greatest benefit
that God could pour forth on us, that He sent Him to bring
us into such a union of love with Himself; but let us noi
proudly trust in ourselves, as if we could go forward in the
way of life without Him. Rather let us keep faithful to
that word of the disciples which has always been the watch
word of all who loved and believed in Him: Lord, to whom
shall we go if we leave Thee? Thou hast the words of
eternal life! Amen.
XXI.
THANKSGIVING AFTER CHASTISEMENT.
(Preached on the Cessation of Cholera, Feb. 1832).
TEXT: HEB. xii. 11, 12.
MY devout friends, the terrific form of the devastating
-L-l- disease which has so long been raging in this great
city has now left us, though we cannot feel entire confidence that it will not return; for it would not be the
first instance if it appeared a second time, in a place so
densely populated, to repeat its devastations. But are we
right in availing ourselves of the apparent cessation which
has been granted to us through God’s kind providence, merely
for the purpose of offering Him our thanks that the chastisement is past? Not so! that would not exhaust the meaning
of the sacred words which we have just heard. Although
this disease has been a chastisement which has brought
forth the peaceable fruits of righteousness only in so far
as we have allowed ourselves to be exercised by it; yet it
assuredly befits us to give thanks not only that it is past,
but also that it has been here. In a preceding verse, the
writer speaks thus of the divine chastenings, saying, if we
were left entirely without chastening, of which all the
children of God are partakers, we should have no right to
consider ourselves sons, but only bastards. Therefore it is
most fitting on an occasion like this that we should consider God’s providential dealings, which are the cause of our
meeting, in their whole connection.
I do not, of course, wish to be here understood to mean
that we must be able to discern and comprehend why
exactly this or any other chastisement of the same or of a
different kind has been needful. But as soon as the chastisement is so far past that we are able to breathe more
freely, and to raise our thoughts to calm meditation, our
minds should be disposed to give thanks to God by such
considerations as these. We feel that we must not remain
without chastisement; and even a small amount of self-knowledge suffices, in general, to convince us that the
manifold forms of chastisement that we meet with in the
course of our life are arranged for us all by the Father of
spirits in His fatherly love, in order to exercise us now in
this, now in that lesson of Christian piety.
Regarded in this way, my dear friends, the words of our text form, as it were, an explanation and application of those
words of the Apostle Paul which we so often weave into our
united prayer, to which also reference is not unfrequently
made in our meditations, that to those who love God—and
they are assuredly only those who not only regard all that
comes from Him as sent for their exercising and training,
but who use it to that end—that to them all things must
work together for good. And our text has a similar relation
to those other words of the same apostle, in which he calls
on Christians in all things to give thanks to God, whether
they seem at the time to be joyful or sorrowful things.
And it is to be thanksgiving with prayer and supplication,
proceeding from the consciousness that we shall always need
new chastisements as means of training, as well as new
tokens of favour. In order, then, that we may present our
present thanksgiving to God, as it becomes His children,
let us see what the words of our text represent to us as the
good which our chastisement is to effect for us. It mentions two things: in the first place it is said there grows out of
it a peaceable fruit of righteousness; and then, secondly, we
are encouraged—and who would not count this just as great
a blessing—after having endured chastisement, to lift up
again the hands that hang down and the feeble knees; that
is, to rise again to undiminished courage and to cheerful
activity.
I. As to the first point, then—the statement of the writer
of our epistle that chastisement when it is present seems
not to be joyous, but grievous; but that afterwards it brings
forth the peaceable fruit of righteousness—let us, first, for
a moment turn our attention to this point, which of course
he believes and by no means denies, that chastisement seems
to us grievous. If now and then strong-minded people claim
that a man should always stand unshaken, not bowed down
by the heaviest trouble; that the sharpest and bitterest
trial is to leave no trace on his features; the Scriptures
make no such demand on us. If a severe, unwonted calamity
interrupts the peaceful course of human life; if we make
unexpected and disastrous experiences of the powerlessness
of all art and science when opposed to the inscrutable forces
of Nature; if it seems to us that, as it were, every sinew of
the noble power over the earth, to which God has appointed
us, were cut, and as if our mind could only slowly recover
from a great defeat which it has suffered in its struggle with
Nature;—Scripture does not require us to think that joyful;
it must rather, according to human nature, be grievous to us.
Only we must not understand the words of our text in so
limited a sense as to suppose that the peaceable fruit of
righteousness may not appear until the affliction is entirely
past. That could only apply in the case of sufferings that
pass quickly over, such as do no doubt often fall on individuals, but not as to those which press for a length of time
on the same community, though, it may be, passing from
one to another, and thus daily renewing the affliction. And so it has been with us in the past months. When we read
in the public papers the daily number of the sick and the
dead; and the list of those who had recovered, beginning
from a very small number and only very slowly increasing,
the great disproportion was grievous to us; if a faint hope
had begun to dawn upon us that the force of the disease
was broken, and it spread afresh with increased virulence,
that bowed us down in deeper affliction; but the peaceable
fruit of righteousness was already springing up between
these alternations of sorrow, and was nourished by them.
I am not speaking especially of those members of the
Christian congregations in this city who have made sad
acquaintance with this frightful disease at close quarters:
from whom members of their domestic circle have been
snatched away by death—and how often have the dead in
one house been many! Even so early as the end of the
year, when we kept our usual day of remembrance, this
terrible form stood in painful distinctness before us; even
then, we were all most profoundly sharing this sorrow with
those on whom the stroke fell, while, full of the deepest
sympathy, we looked round over the circle of its devastations. Now let us rather, so far as we can, fix our eyes on
the whole compass of our common life, which, however, is
hardly to be taken in at one view; let us look at the form
which it has gradually assumed; then shall we become
conscious what is pre-eminently the peaceable fruit of
righteousness which proceeds from such affliction; which
indeed must go on showing itself during a longer continuance of public and general suffering, and must grow and
ripen in proportion as we are compelled to struggle with
that which is pressing on us.
All great divine chastisements, my devout hearers, whether
it be a desolating disease or a destructive war; whether
it be that Nature has for once shown herself unusually
niggardly, and refuses to bring forth fruits enough for the sustenance of great masses of men crowded together
into narrow space; or whatever else it may be; all similar
calamities, which become actually oppressive, appear to us
in a natural and close connection with the state of human
society. We feel that partly they would take a milder form,
partly they would be more easily borne, if they did not
always anew, yes, and always even more strongly produce
out of the present so complicated course of our life so
great an inequality of outward circumstances. This is what
we are most deeply impressed with in such circumstances;
the great difference between those who not only have ready
everything in the way of remedy that specially depends on
man and lies in his power; but are also able to afford help
to many others, if they no more than cut off here and there
something superfluous, and are willing to make a slight retrenchment;—the difference between such persons and those
who, being obliged in the ordinary course of life to put
forth all their powers to meet the principal and most urgent
needs, cannot be able to cope with such times of unusual
distress and suffering. In such times we become aware of
this difference in a specially painful way; for it is with
good reason that we pity our brethren less on account of
not being able in ordinary times to enjoy the same high
and refined kind of life as ourselves, than because of being
unable in unusual times to protect themselves against the
pressure of distress. And the greater share we have in the
benefits of our social position, and the more conscious we become how even the spiritual helps which we have at
command are connected with those outward advantages, so
much the more painfully do we feel oppressed by this in
equality. But in that case there results to us so much the
more certainly the fruit of suffering and of chastisement,
which is righteousness.
That is to say, my beloved friends, this virtue finds a
place only in man’s social condition; if that condition did not exist, there would be no righteousness. If each of us
depended only on his own ways and doings, and had only to
care for himself and the narrowest circle of those belonging
to him, we should know next to nothing at all of such a
virtue and of the manifold discharge of obligations that
arise from it. What then is righteousness? Assuredly
nothing else than the justly guiding sense of the relation of
each individual to the community -to which he belongs. It
is the endeavour to meet the requirements of this connection
at every point; and the making, with our own free will,
a suitable appropriation to what circumstances demand, of
all the blessings for which we are indebted to this position
of united human energies; thus directing the stream of prosperity into places where things are least prosperous. It is
the coming forward with active help where there is most
manifest inadequacy; so that the benevolent eye may rest
rather with pleasure than with pain on the still remaining
inequality, and that everything in its own place may appear
worthy of the whole and express its spirit. Times of repose,
whether we regard them more from the side of work or
from that of enjoyment, rather bring with them various
temptations to unrighteousness, and, as experience teaches,
are not specially fitted to favour a correct estimate of our
relations towards others and of our duties towards the
whole. As long as all around us are at least in a tolerable
state, each of those who are in more favoured circumstances
believes only too easily that he has a perfect right to all that
he possesses and enjoys, and that he may dispose of it as
seems best to him for the carrying out of his own wishes,
without being in the least under any obligation as to others. That is the beginning of unrighteousness; and how easily,
if nothing intervenes, can it grow from this beginning to
a threatening and dangerous height. Therefore from time
to time, by unknown and ungoverned forces of Nature, or
by means of the seeds of discord that are always present in human society, or through some general blazing up of
passions, the Most High brings about sharp chastisements
that affect wide districts; and there is indeed good reason
then to say that whom He loveth He chasteneth. Then those possessions often flee
away suddenly in vapour and smoke; then the firmest edifice falls to ruins in a
moment; and then each one learns by experience that what he possesses and enjoys is not his own work, but dependent in
every way on much that is not in his own power; and above
all on the security and protection of public spirit and good
will. And in this way every one learns also to regard
himself more as an administrator of a common property;
and in this conviction gives up his false idea that he is
a proprietor sufficient to himself, and so entirely rightful a
possessor that he would have a claim to compensation if he
ever sustained any damage. And the same holds true even
of the bitterest loss which such times of chastisement may
bring to an individual. For if love has lost a beloved object,
there lies even in the sorrow which we feel, the consciousness of a power which is not broken, but only quiescent;
and even amidst and through the sorrow a longing is stirred,
and reminds us that this power of loving is a talent entrusted
to us, a common property; and we thankfully acknowledge
that if the chastisement does not offer us exactly a compensation for what we have lost, yet that it satisfies our
impulse to be working by love. Now if every one not only
considers himself as a steward of common property as to
his outward possessions, but also lives in the consciousness
of how he himself is indebted to the whole, that becomes
a new beginning, a fresh seed of righteousness among a
people.
And this, my beloved, is called in our text a peaceable
fruit. This expression of the sacred writer stands in the
closest connection with what goes immediately before; that
every chastisement, at the time when it lays hold of us, seems not joyous, but grievous. Joy and sadness the alter
nations of these opposite states of mind—are most closely
connected with our natural temperament. Where joy is so
strongly and vehemently expressed that it almost overpasses
the bounds of a certain moderation that we have in our
mind’s eye; and, in the same way, when we see men going
along oppressed and bowed down by sorrow; there we have
a foreboding that for the moment, at least, things are going
ill; indeed that the power of the spirit over the flesh is
almost endangered; then we see how easily the soul can
be shaken from its true balance, which yet is necessary to it
if the spirit is to keep a firm hold of the reins and assert its
ruling position over the flesh. But all the vicissitudes of
life, whether they may plunge us suddenly from joy into
sorrow or the reverse, are meant, just through exercise,
through the wise encountering of danger, to raise us more
and more above this vacillation; so that we may guard
against excess, and equanimity may be the prevailing habit
of our life. But we only encounter danger thus when the
consciousness of spiritual well-being, which does not depend
on the changes in our natural life, has become really our own
feeling, the true substance and strength of our life. Then
those varying emotions of the mind will more and more be
repressed, and the uniform higher life will predominate; the
oil of peace will more and more smooth and level the troubled
surface; and the summons by the divine will will make us
as secure amidst all storms as in the most sheltered haven.
But above all, is it this very righteousness to which we are
called by the divine chastisements, which produces and confirms this peace in us. For how can we still be keenly
moved by the acquisition or the loss of outward possessions,
if we regard ourselves only as stewards of those things, who
will have no further account to render for what is taken
from them? And if in suffering and in joy we equally feel
the need to keep faith and to show love to those among whom God has placed us, how can it but be that in a soul
thus exercised God’s peace should prevail even during His
fatherly chastenings.
That, my friends, is indeed the blessed experience which
we have already made in the time now past, when that bitter
chastisement assuredly lay heavily and oppressively enough
upon us. Indeed what I have just been expressing was the
view and the disposition which on the whole was prevalent;
and how did we rejoice to see this seed of righteousness not
only spring up everywhere, but make such increase that, with
the exception of a few easily forgotten moments of transient
tumult which perhaps took place here and there, we were preserved throughout our land from all kinds of violent deeds
which often enough result from great general calamities.
And many undoubtedly have become aware of this to their
comfort; that it is only the sentiment of piety and of submission to the divine will, deeply impressed by the grace of
God on our people, and well sustained and fostered in their
character and spirit, although often concealed in ordinary
life and not at all making an outward appearance everywhere,—that it is this alone which, in this time of trouble
and anxiety, has kept us free from everything that would
hinder us now from looking back, with a pure feeling of
thankfulness, on the chastisement which God has removed
from us. Oh, if to all the misery that we have seen and
borne together, crime had been added! if disobedience to
the laws, whether to those which always rule our life, or to
the regulations which in that trying time were judged
necessary to check the destructive spreading of the disease,—if this disobedience had broken out into acts of violence, so
that internal peace and security had been destroyed; how
heavily should we have been bowed down by the reproach
which in that case would have lain on our commonwealth,
that we were not capable of offering prayer and supplication
in a way pleasing to God! and moreover how little should we be fit to lift up the hands that hang down and the feeble
knees! Well for us, therefore, and let us thank God specially
for this, that in the midst of the sorrow and suffering of this
painful time, the peaceable fruit of righteousness has grown
up among us; that a disposition to Christian gentleness and
benevolence was so actively manifested that even those
who are most at a disadvantage in our complicated social
condition must yet admit, with joy and gratitude, that their
fellow-citizens are not unworthy stewards of temporal blessings, and that they have faithfully come to their help in the
time of need. And thus also, through this trial, every fair
bond of harmony and confidence has been more firmly knit.
Only let us not, through being too strongly moved by any
thing that the moment brings, thoughtlessly forget the
chastisement which God brought upon us and which He has
now removed; and so we may hope that from one period to
another the tree of righteousness will bear still richer and
fairer fruit; that we shall be more and more richly adorned
with all social and Christian virtues, and that by public
spirit and regard to law, by integrity and pure goodwill, we
shall show ourselves worthy of the divine chastisement.
For the Father chastens those whom He loves, and means by
His chastening to exercise them in godliness.
II. And now let us lay to heart the second part of our
text: “Lift up,” says the sacred writer, “the hands that hang down, and the
feeble knees.”
You will feel bound to admit that it is the nature of all
chastisements like this, that in more ways than one they
impede men in their usual work. We have to rejoice over
many beneficent works of brotherly love, which this time
has brought to light among us; but let us not forget, at the
same time, how urgently these were required; and then we
shall certainly be obliged to confess, that however laudably
sympathy was expressed during this distress, that is still no
proof that our hands had not become weary and our knees feeble; only this effect is often not felt until afterwards!
Were we not all filled far more than ordinarily with the
sense of the insecurity of all human things? and it is the
universal experience that this feeling cannot but weaken in
many ways the inclination for and ardour in all the social
movements and operations working into each other, from
which, nevertheless, the common well-being must always,
as it were, proceed anew; so that only too often, during such
general troubles and after them, a great many ruin themselves in the most criminal and hazardous play with earthly
possessions. But if it is only the more thoughtless who do
this, yet we notice similar changes in almost all; and there
are only a few who distinguish themselves by continuing
quite the same. And if we go back to the cause that produces such effects, it is evident that the appeal in our text
directly points to it. As soon as this pestilence began to
devastate our part of the world, so rich in arts and sciences,
how keenly did we feel that all our acquaintance with the
forces of Nature, our skill in setting one over against another
and overcoming one by another, yet always again proved
insufficient as soon as an unknown evil broke out; so that
this shape of terror has swept over one country after another
without being unmasked or arrested! And when it came
into the midst of us, how fully we all felt, even apart from
the way in which efforts were made to arrest and suppress
the evil, that the ordinary course of life and of business
was forcibly broken up! Now if that was what met us
everywhere when we swept our eye over the great field of
most multifarious work in our social life, how natural it is
that, as the result of this, when the evil has passed away,
every one should ask himself, What then is to be the fruit of
all the toils and anxieties on which I am now about to enter
anew? This is certain, that if I make use of my faculties
in the accustomed way, I shall soon again approach the position in which in the former free and happy times it was well with me. My works will again go on in my hands, and the
reward of them will again come to me as before; industry
and faithfulness, knowledge and skill, will again, though not
alone, yet for the most part, determine the measure in which,
in my own sphere, I shall share in the good things of this
life. But how poor a thing is this whole mode of action!
how does this great fabric of human operations still lack a
stable foundation! Were there, indeed no other danger
than that of falling into the hands of men, no other troubles
than those arising from the conflict of human passions or
the complications of human circumstances, then we could
still count on probabilities, there could still be something
favourable drawn forth from what was unpropitious. But
when Nature pours out on us from her own bosom entirely
new and fearful calamities; so that in spite of all precautions
and all the skill of the physicians, human beings perish
in great masses, is it worth while in such an uncertain
state of human affairs,—an uncertainty that we thought
ourselves out of reach of long ago—to plunge anew into a
life that is nothing but labour and toil? What pleasure
could there be in carrying on even the simplest undertaking,
when death may so suddenly come between the beginning
and the end? To what end do we sow and plant and water,
when we know so little, ah! not merely if we ourselves, but
if any one distantly related to us shall escape this plague
that snatches away its victims so suddenly, and reap what
we have sown? Why not return to the simplest possible life
without so many appliances, which yet are so often in vain,
without so many exertions which yet may so easily be
brought to mockery? Such thoughts betray the paralysed
activity which is unhappily with too many the result of the
divine chastisement. Are not all the sinews of courage cut
where such words are heard? have not the hands there
truly become weary and the knees feeble?
But where the peaceable fruit of righteousness has really ripened under the heat of chastisement, there more lively
voices are heard instead of such talk. We whose aim is not
enjoyment, and who have no desire to strive after possessions in order to enjoy them—why should we stop and turn
back? Shall we do so because we have certainly been convinced in the most impressive way of the insecurity of enjoyment and the deceitfulness of possession? Possession is not
the spur of our zeal, enjoyment is not the reward of our
labour! Our reward is with our Father in heaven, who
sees in secret; and the secret thing that He sees is the
spirit in which and the faithfulness with which we share
in the whole duty of men on earth. If we are to have
dominion over the earth, and more and more cultivate it and
bring it to perfection, then let us do our best! How much
of our works shall remain, lies with Him who knows how
He means everywhere to adorn and beautify, even externally, the spiritual body
of Christ. Whatever of it is destroyed, let us begin diligently anew, so that the damage
may soon be repaired. If through chastisement we become
conscious how much we still come short of perfection in
this earthly calling, let us the more faithfully see to it that
everything salutary may turn to the greatest possible good,
that no profitable experience be lost, so that the spiritual
eye may be always becoming more keen, and the action of
the faculties accelerated, and so the fabric of the common
weal rest on ever firmer foundations. If death has snatched
away an unusual number of the friends who should have
worked with us, let us each according to our ability take up
their work and bear their burden; and above all, let us also,
on the other hand, limit the power of this death wherever
and so far as we can by temperance and moderation, and by
pious cheerfulness. And why should the chastisement that
has come upon us make the manner of life which we have
inherited and continuously cultivated, in any way distasteful to us? Have we really experienced in this time of suffering—experienced perhaps more than ever before—what
happiness it is even amidst sorrow and tears to show love
and do deeds of kindness? And does not a life like ours,
with these complicated relations, which can only be regulated by love and faithfulness,—with these manifold difficulties, which only love and faithfulness can overcome, does
not such a life afford us most opportunities for doing this,
and, in the facility with which powers can be united for
good work, the most abundant means for the purpose? Let
us then keep our common duty steadily in view; thus let
us listen to the voice of the divine chastening; and so shall we be already
beginning, even before the sound of that voice dies away, to lift up the hands
that hang down and the feeble knees, in order, as what follows our text implies,
to take sure and vigorous steps without stumbling. To this, my beloved friends,
may this time conduce for us, and for all whom the Lord has visited!
And even to those among whose relatives some have fallen
victims to this desolating disease—for even this sorrowful
page must not remain unnoticed in our solemn meditation—even to such there will open, in that case, a special source
of comfort. After all, the children of men are always
dying and being torn away from the midst of their families!
nay, the ordinary proportion of death, looking at least at
such an extent as that of our own country, will only have
been increased to a trifling amount by this pestilence. They
are really always dying, at all ages, sometimes suddenly,
sometimes slowly, after more or less suffering; and after the
first pictures of memory are somewhat faded, the one manner
of death or the other makes but a trifling difference to the
survivors as to the reality of their loss. Let us therefore
set aside this difference as of minor importance, and in its
place bring forward another. Every case of death is meant
at least to make an instructive and elevating impression on
a portion of our community, and to lead us back from the outward appearance to the inward mystery and the deeper
significance of life; and this is the last service that each one
can render to the society in which he himself has become a
partaker of the divine Word. But the separate deaths of
men in the ordinary way produce this salutary effect in a
much slighter degree, and extend it only over a smaller
circle, which, having been in general more or less prepared
for the event, receives the impression only very gradually.
And when relatives and friends accompany to the place of
rest the cast-off vesture of a beloved one departed, is it
easy for them, in the sense of their loss, to rise above the
thought of the individual? Can we suppose that one readily
thinks how many such mournful processions daily traverse
our city? Does one reflect at such times that the rule of
being severed from life is, when considered as a whole, as
settled and regular as that of coming into it? But this
great harvest of death, how universally has it awakened and
heightened the sense of the uncertainty of this earthly pilgrimage! How has it, by the unwonted form of the disease,
which truly had always the seeming of a very death, by the
inconceivable rapidity with which life gave way,—how has
it in these ways brought closer to us all the mystery of this
transition! How has it impressed this on the hearts of all,
that we can only walk worthily and cheerfully in this
presence of death by keeping our minds at all times well
regulated, and preserving the peace of God unbroken, so
that we are conscious of being prepared for any kind of
season, and for going on in peace with whatever the Lord
may have appointed, as His servants. And this last and
important service has been rendered in a very notable
manner by the victims of this disease, even by those who
have breathed their last far from their own people, tended
by public servants; and who rest apart from their fathers,
among those who shared the same lot.
And now, though doubtless this increase in wisdom, (as
well as the peaceable fruit of righteousness and the reawakening of energy and courage,) is shared only by those,
who, as our text says, have allowed themselves to be
exercised by chastisement, yet we may all be supposed to
have had a part in this exercise. For those alone have
excluded themselves from it who have either sought in the
whirl of dissipation to deaden the consciousness of what
was going on around them; or who, not without at the same
time evading their proper duty, escaped, by going to a
distance, the sight of the common distress. But every one
who, faithful to his ordinary rule of life, has gone forward
in the way of his duty, has continued busy while conscious
of the danger equally near to all, and has served the common
cause according to his ability, has also been exercised in
a way for which such a time has an advantage above all
others. Only let us by no means confine this exercise to the
chastisement now happily past, and so bring it to an end
with this day’s solemnity. No; as surely as every one of
us will remember this time, may the remembrance be as
indelibly fixed in all our hearts that in such immediate
contact with death we can only be firm and undismayed
because we have the prevailing consciousness of being
citizens of a higher world, in which what is uncertain and
transitory has no part; and because the eternal life which we
owe to Him, who brought with it true immortality to light,
far surmounts all adverse contingencies, and does not allow the
heart’s gladness in God to be lost even amidst His chastenings.
If these naturally seemed to us at the time to be sorrowful;
yet it was not the sorrow of this world; but that divine kindred feeling, which not only leads to salvation, but includes
it. With such sentiments let us hold fast the remembrance
of this time, that it may become a permanent blessing to us,
as a salutary token from our own life, that though here we
walk amid transitory things and in the presence of death,
yet even here our manner of life is in heaven, Amen.
Prayer.
Yea, gracious Father in heaven! we know Thou chastenest
whom Thou lovest! Therefore in Thy chastisement we have
discerned Thy fatherly love, according to which Thou didst
seek to make us riper in Christian godliness, to unite us
more heartily together, and to give us a new and precious
pledge that to those who love Thee, the most crushing and
painful things must work together for good. Let then Thy
dealings be honoured by us, in that Thy chastening is not
lost on any of us, and that we always rejoice in the peace
able fruit of righteousness that grows out of it. Then will
our course become ever more secure and our steps firmer;
and thus exercised in the understanding of what tends to
our peace, we shall be ever becoming worthier of the
glorious title of a royal priesthood, the people of Thy choice,
whom Thou, according to Thy gracious good-pleasure, art
leading even through earthly sufferings to unclouded peace.
Amen.
XXII.
GOD’S LOVE MAGNIFIED IN CHRIST’S
DEATH.
(Good Friday, 1832.)
TEXT: ROM. v. 7, 8.
IN the whole passage from which these words are taken
the apostle is trying to convince his readers that it is
only through Christ that we come into right relations with
God. He begins by saying, Let us have peace with God,
through our Lord Jesus Christ; and so let us rejoice in the
glory that God is to give; nay, more, let us rejoice in tribulation also. He goes on to say that the love of God is shed
abroad in our hearts by the Holy Spirit; and then he continues with the words of our text,
“for God commendeth
His love towards us, in that, while we were yet sinners
Christ died for us.” He thus represents the death of Christ
as the most glorious manifestation of the love of God to us.
Let us then take this thought as the subject of our meditation
to-day. There are two points in it, which Paul goes on to
explain in the following verses; first, that God appointed
Christ to death as the uttermost proof of obedience; and
secondly, that now, through this obedience, as he says, many
are made righteous. Taking these two ideas together, we
recognise the completeness of the divine love in the death
of the Saviour.
I. In considering together how God appointed our Lord
and Saviour to suffering and death as the most perfect proof
of obedience, it seems necessary to begin by removing a
difficulty, which will certainly occur to every one. That is,
that the death of the Saviour seems by no means so obvious
an evidence of the love of God, His and our heavenly Father,
as of the Saviour’s own love to His brethren; and that it is
only, as it were, on the ground of this love of His to us that
we have any right to see in His death the love of God to
wards us. And. yet the case stands as I have stated it. It
is indeed difficult to separate things that are in the very
closest connection; and who could wish to make a division
between the Saviour’s love to us and His obedience to His
and our heavenly Father? And yet the two are so related,
that His love to us is shown most directly in His life, and
His obedience to the Father in His sufferings and death.
His love to men is seen in His labouring to seek and to save
that which was lost, to show Himself as the ever-ready
Physician of the sick, to communicate His own life to men,
and instil it into them through His words and His works,
to offer Himself to them, that in Him they might find rest
and refreshing to their souls. On the other hand, when He
speaks of His death, representing Himself under the figure
of the good Shepherd who gives his life for the sheep, He
contrasts Himself with the hireling, who flees when he sees
the wolf coming. The hireling flees because the sheep are
not his property; therefore the reason of the good Shepherd’s
giving His life for them must be that they are His own. But
which of us is able to distinguish between love of his property and love of himself? Everything that is our property,
in the strictest sense of the word, is also a portion of our
power and our life; and love to it is connected essentially
and inseparably with love to ourselves. The Saviour says
in another place to His disciples, Greater love hath no man
than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends; ye are My friends, if ye do the things which I command you.
But it was not for them as His friends, not for them in a
special and exclusive and distinctive sense, that He laid
down His life; for He gave His life for the salvation of the
world, and the world was not His friend. And when we
remember the Saviour’s one command which He gave to His
disciples, “that ye love one another even as I have loved
you,” we rejoice indeed that, in so far as this love consisted
in striving to bring salvation to all around Him by sustaining and filling them with His divine strength, we can love
each other with a similar love; for that finds expression in
the beautiful interchange of loving service, which is the
very essence of Christian fellowship; but how could we love
each other with such a love as that of the alone holy and
pure One when He gave His life for the world of sinners?
Therefore if He Himself regarded His death as the necessary
and direct result of His love, as its highest and most essential expression, this command of His would be futile; we
should have to set aside just the best and highest part of
His example before we thought of beginning to follow it.
But He always spoke of His death as the will of the Father. “If it be possible,” He says,
“let this cup pass from Me;” which He could not have said if it had been the work of
His love—the choice of His love—to drain it; “but,” He
continues, “not My will, but Thine be done.” It is true
He speaks always of His obedience to the Father through
His whole life, and therefore we cannot separate it from His
love; His love was, in fact, the very work which the Father
gave Him to do, and which He did continually. But if we
wish to speak separately of His giving Himself up to suffering and death, we must say that in this, above all, is shown
forth His obedience to the will of the Father. And we shall
see this the more plainly if we consider what is so clearly
implied in the words I have just quoted, that His obedience
was (to speak after the manner of men) in conflict with His love. Not for Himself could He pray, “Father, if it be
possible, let this cup pass from Me,” but only for the sake of those whom the
Father had already given Him. Love would have liked to live still longer with
them and for them, love would have liked to impart still more to them out of the
fulness of His divine nature; but He left it to the decision of the Father, when
the time and the hour should be come. He first said, “If it be possible, let
this cup pass”; that was the expression of His heartfelt, unalterable
love to His people; “yet, not as I will, but as Thou wilt”;
that was the expression of His perfect obedience, and of His
utter submission to the will of His Father.
And now let us consider more closely how the death of
the Saviour was really the most perfect act of obedience to
which God could call Him. Scripture elsewhere represents
it as being so. Thus the author of the epistle to the
Hebrews says that as He suffered and practised obedience,
He was made perfect through obedience. Now if His perfection was to be shown forth in His obedience, it was
necessary that this obedience itself should be of the highest
and most perfect kind. But here again we are met by a
crowd of examples and considerations that would seem to
diminish the value of this obedience of the Saviour, in showing that there have been, and will always be, many similar
cases in the history of human life. How many are there,
even without taking into account this holy and divine work
of redemption, and those who have witnessed to this faith
with their blood—how many have there been in all ages
who have laid down their lives for their convictions!
Whether these were true or false, whether they presented
a distinct or an obscure view of divine truth, does not affect
the argument. And it is certainly true that many men have
shown, by the readiness with which they have gone to death,
that they would rather give up their life altogether than
make it into a self contradiction. To profess from conviction, and then to retract with convictions unchanged, is what no
one can do in whom there is the living love of the truth, to
whom there is anything greater than the vain and passing
things of this life; but the case of the Saviour was by no
means so simple as all those apparently similar instances.
In the narrative of His life we find frequently a variation,
difficult to explain when we look at isolated instances, and
yet most plainly discernible, between open avowal and cautious silence. At one time He teaches men that the only
will of God which they have to do is to believe on Him
whom God has sent, thus clearly pointing them to Himself;
and again, when hailed as the promised Son of David, the
object of all men’s hopes and longings, He forbids them even
to speak of it, charging even His disciples to tell no man
that He is the Christ. We must, therefore, admit that this
concealment was a part of His plan, and had its motive in
the circumstances of His life as a whole. There was then
no necessity for Him to avow Himself on all occasions—to
come forward with His testimony, and most especially with
His testimony concerning Himself, when it was only those
who were capable of receiving it for whom it could be any
thing or effect anything. But the avowal which He made
before the High Priest, Thou sayest it, I am the Son of God;
nevertheless, I say unto thee, Henceforth ye shall see the
Son of Man sitting at the right hand of power and coming
on the clouds of heaven—this avowal He regarded as on the
one hand the cause of His death and on the other the founding of His kingdom; and He made it as an act of obedience.
It was a part of His being made under the law. Ho could
not keep silence before the High Priest, unless He meant to
evade this universal lot, to which He was called by the will
of His heavenly Father. It is true this very confession of
the Saviour’s has drawn many others to similar sufferings
and death. What numberless Christian martyrdoms there
were in those earliest times in which the faith in the Son of God had to struggle against the enmity of the whole
world, of all those to whom His cross was foolishness, all to
whom it was an offence. But in what light are we to regard
this? A part of it was the work of Christ’s obedience in
the souls of those who believed in Him; it was the effect of
His life in them, and just on that account had a connection
with His death, as the Apostle Paul speaks of filling up by
his sufferings that which, so to speak, was lacking in the
sufferings of Christ. But how much also was the effect of
human fanaticism and weakness—how much intentional and
needless seeking after such a death—how many prejudices
and misconceptions were mixed with the self-sacrifice of
otherwise noble spirits! and in such cases it was not the
pure obedience of the Saviour. And now let us remember
how His obedience was in conflict with His heartfelt and
true love to His own, for whom He would gladly have lived
longer to establish them more firmly in their life in Him.
Let us remember that He died in obedience to a law of
which He plainly said that it should soon altogether lose its
authority and power—a law which He knew that men had
misunderstood from the beginning, regarding as the means
by which they could please God and make sure of a future
reward from Him, that which had only been given to include
all the world under the consciousness of sin. And thus we
shall see that it was no direct impulse of the Saviour’s own
soul, humanly speaking, but only pure acquiescence in the
will of God, that led Him to suffering and death.
And now do we ask the reason of this? The answer
brings us back to the first part of our text. Scarcely, says
Paul, will one die for a righteous, an upright man; for
every one considers that this character may belong to him
self just as well as to any other. Yet, he continues, for
a good man, peradventure, some would even dare to die.
That is, he supposes that if a man saw in another a fervent
love to all that tends to the welfare and happiness of others, with a great power of effecting good not only for himself
but for all about him; then, in order that the work of such
a one should not be cut short, that he might go on using his
splendid powers in noble deeds, he might even be willing to
lay down his own life, counting it, though not worthless, yet
of less value than the other. And yet how nature would
resist,—how many questionings would arise in such a case!
Will he for whom such a sacrifice is made continue even
to be what he has been? Can any one answer for the constancy of his will, for his faithful discharge of duty, for his
self-devotion in the cause of good? Or, if it is more a
question of the success of a single work, or of all his works
together, who will make sure how much will turn out for the
good of men? Who knows how much of it will be counter
acted by the power of evil? And therefore, says Paul, one
would hardly die even for a good man, and yet it is certainly
a possible thing. And the Saviour says, “Greater love hath
no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his
friends.” Those are always really our friends whom we
chiefly regard as the good, with whom we believe, according
to the inmost bent of our nature, that we can work most in
harmony. To sacrifice one’s individual existence for the
sake of such powers in union is a love, says the Saviour, than
which there is none greater. But God shows forth His love
to us in this, says Paul, that, according to His command and
will, Christ died for us while we were yet sinners; not for
the sake of the righteous, not for a good man nor for a circle
of friends, but for the whole world of sinners. And so we
cannot doubt that this was the most perfect act of obedience,
and that God called Christ to it for our sakes; for it was
necessary that He should endure this death, not for His own
sake, nor with any other good object but that of effecting
the salvation of sinners.
II. This brings us to consider in the second place what
was meant to be accomplished and therefore was accomplished
—for when we speak of a divine purpose, we cannot
separate design from fulfilment—by this death of the
Saviour; that we may see how it was the full glorification
of the divine love.
The greatest love is that which effects the most good to
the person who is the object of it. We should try in vain
to give another definition of it. Now the apostle says, As
by one man’s disobedience many were made sinners, so by
the obedience of the One, the many are made righteous.
This then, this is what was to result from the Saviour’s
obedience unto death on the cross. He needed to die for us,
Paul says, when we were yet sinners. Were sinners! Are
wo such no longer? Do we not always continue sinners?
No, he says; through the obedience of the One, many are
made righteous; the justification of life comes upon all who
believe on Him. But what is meant by many becoming
righteous in Him? We could not easily find a word which
is susceptible of more various shades of meaning. Righteousness is in one sense the least that we think we have a
right to require from every man; in another it implies an
idea of the highest perfection; and this is the sense in
which it is so often used in Scripture, and even in merely
human writings. And whence comes this great distinction?
The inquiry into this leads us into the innermost depths
of our being, and gives us the key to the whole history of
man and to the connection of the divine counsels. Which of
us has not, at least in the earlier part of his life, had in his
mind the picture of a paradise condition, such as, from the
few hints given us, we suppose that of the first man to have
been before sin came into the world? Do we ask ourselves,
Was there righteousness there? We shall be obliged to
answer, No! Was there a comparison that the man could
have made between that which he actually was and some
thing else which he was meant to be and to become? Again
we must answer, No! And if we ask ourselves if we can regard this as a condition which it would really be worth
striving and longing after, which we should be right in
wishing back or recalling; certainly we must say No. This
kind of peace with himself and harmony with external Nature
around him, this kind of enjoyment and possession of life
without difficulties, without struggles, with no greater development of his faculties, is not what man is made for.
What is meant, then, by being righteous—on what does it
depend? On this, that something is set before us which we
are to attain to, after which we are to strive, and which
therefore we as yet are not and have not. Only under such
conditions is there any righteousness; and under these it is
in one aspect the smallest and most trivial thing, and in
another the highest and greatest,—a condition to which,
strictly and literally speaking, we can never attain. It is
the most trivial if the object to be attained is the keeping of
an external law which is given to regulate the relations of
men. Not only must every one measure himself by this rule,
but every one also is bound to fulfil it. If he does not do so,
he becomes a hindrance to social life, and instead of forming
a constitutional part of society is rather something which
must be removed from it that it may safely subsist. This is
the righteousness which we have spoken of as being the least
that we can require of every man. And now if we ask what
kind of righteousness was man capable of attaining to before
the Son of God appeared on earth—ah, how paltry seem
the aims and efforts of even the noblest, the most cultivated,
the most gifted nation among men! For what was the aim
they had in view? Merely the welfare of a small number of
people; and to secure this they were ready at any moment
to take up a position of hostility towards all others. What
was the standard with which they compared themselves? It
was one particular aspect of human life, such as they found
it in their own community, and as it had been transmitted
from one generation to another. Well for us that we have a High Priest “without father, without mother, without
descent,” and in Him a standard not limited to one time or
place; but the express image of the divine nature in human
form, the brightness of the divine glory, embodying in Himself the whole human race, and yet standing above it as the
ideal which all must strive to reach. And it was necessary
that He should be thus made perfect by obedience unto
death, in order that no doubt should ever be possible as to
whether He would have resisted this or that temptation,
whether He would have maintained His character in this or
that position, whether something might not have occurred
that would have been too much even for Him, and in which
He would have shown something of human weakness. It
was necessary that we should see in Him this perfect
obedience, even to the death of the cross; and through this
obedience we become righteous, if we receive Him into our
inmost hearts as the standard on which we are to form our
selves. Therefore He himself says, “He that believeth on
the Son is not judged,” because he is at every moment
judging himself, having found the true rule by which to do
so.
But was I not directly contradicting the apostle, in saying
that righteousness, in another view, is something that we
can never attain to, seeing that he says, Through the
obedience of One many are made righteous? We become
righteous, only it is not because and so far as we have set
Him before our eyes as our ideal, for thus we shall never
reach it, but really because and in so far as we have
received Him into our hearts as the fountain of life. We
become righteous if we no longer live in the flesh, but
Christ the Son of God lives in us,—if we are fully identified
with that common life of which He is the centre. For then
each of us can say of himself, Who is there that can condemn? It is Christ that justifies! We are in Him, He is
in us, inseparably united with those who believe on the Son of God; and in this fellowship with Him we are truly
righteous. But if we come back to ourselves and consider
our individual life just in itself, then we are glad to forget
what is behind and to reach forth towards that which is
before. Then we know well that we must ever anew take
refuge in Him, ever be looking to Him and to His obedience
on the cross, ever be filled with the power of His life and
His presence; and thus we shall attain to that growth in
righteousness and holiness and wisdom, in which truly consists our redemption through Him, through His life and His
love, His obedience and His death.
Well then, my dear friends, how shall we most suitably
commemorate this death? Certainly in no better way than
by accepting Him in every form in which He offers Himself
to us—and in His feast of remembrance He does this in the
most cordial though mystical manner; accepting Him in
accepting the words of life which we receive from Him and
which abide imperishably among men; in never ceasing to
keep His image before us; in loving each other with the
love with which He has loved us. If we do this, He will be
in the midst of us in all the manifold circumstances of our
lives, in the quiet of solitary meditation, and where two or
three are gathered together in His name, and in the great
assemblies of His people. He will be with us in the busy
stir of the world, ever in all our doing and suffering, Christ
in us, Christ among us, Christ the strength of our life, His
death the power of our obedience to the divine will, while,
like Him, we desire no other meat than to do the will of our
Father in heaven. Let us together pledge ourselves anew to
this beneath His cross! let this be the allegiance that we
swear to Him, who was faithful to us even in death; thus let
us follow His example of that obedience unto death through
which He was made perfect, through which we also shall be
made perfect and brought nearer to His life. Then shall we
understand these words, It became Him who would bring many children to salvation, to make the Captain of their salvation perfect through the suffering of death. Amen.
Prayer.
Yes, holy and merciful God and Father, praised be Thy
name for Thy holy and wise guidance of the family of man.
No blessedness could there be for us but in seeking Thy
kingdom and its righteousness. To reveal this to us, it was
needful for Thee to send Thy Son into the world, who raised
again towards heaven the downcast glance of our spirits,
lifted up our hearts and purified them to love Thee truly;
who showed us how thine image can live in man, and what
that holiness is which we are to aim at. Oh, give to Him,
then, an ever-increasing multitude as His spoil! let the story
of the cross of Christ be blessed now, and to all future
generations! Spread abroad the joyful sound more and
more among all nations on earth, till there remains not one
where Thy name is not praised—where we shall not see more
and more the glorious effects of this divine proclamation of
Thy love and Thy grace, in those who are now sitting in the
deepest darkness and the shadow of death. Let us all know
by our own experience that our only wisdom is in becoming
ever more closely united with Him,—our only blessedness
that which comes from our consciousness of our life being
one with His, our only peace in coming before Thee as
those whom Thy Son has reconciled through the suffering
of death; love to Thee being shed abroad in our hearts
again through this, that Thou gavest Thy Son to die for us
when we were yet sinners. And then it will be Thy work,
the work of Thy Spirit, that we cease to be sinners, even
though we are still sinful men; that the habit and practice
of sin gives place to the habit of obedience to Thy holy will;
that we more and more hate everything that is contrary to
His example and unlike Him; that so, all being united in
following this rule, all more and more filled with this power, the image of Christ may be fully formed in us, and His
spiritual body may be presented to Thee as the witness of
His sufferings and death, while ever becoming more free
from all imperfection, that so He Himself may be the first
born, the first-fruits among many brethren. Amen.
XXIII.
THE PRAYER OF STEPHEN.
(Fifth Sunday after Trinity, 1832.)
TEXT: ACTS vii. 60. “And Stephen kneeled down and cried with,
a loud voice, Lord, lay not this sin to their charge. And when he had said this,
he fell asleep.”
FREE and unrestricted as we are in our church as to our
choice of subjects for meditation from the treasuries of
the divine Word, many of you may still perhaps wonder
why I have selected this passage. For you are aware that I
have often lately taken occasion to express the opinion that
the state of things brought before us in this narrative no
longer exists in our times: that when people boast of having
had to bear sufferings for Christ’s sake, it has usually been
only a self-deception on their part; for when the thing has
been more closely looked into, either it has been found to be
no suffering at all, judged by the ordinary measure of human
life; or, if it was real suffering, then it was not for Christ’s
sake, but for the sake of some man’s system or opinion.
But all Scripture given by God is profitable for doctrine and
instruction in righteousness; and there is no part of it,
however slight its direct bearing on our circumstances may
be, about which that statement does not always hold good;
and that, without our having to wander into applications of
the words widely different from the direct meaning of the
writers. Therefore, with this belief, we will take to-day, as
the subject of our devout meditations, this prayer of Stephen
in its various aspects.
I. I shall call your attention first to the thought that most
deeply touches and stirs our feelings, that we may then be
able to take a calmer view of other points,—the thought,
namely, that these words are the prayer of a dying man.
And it is the utterance, not of one who was merely experiencing the common lot of men, but of one who was dying
for the Saviour’s sake, and for the confession of His name,—the prayer of him who was, after the Saviour Himself, the
first martyr in the Christian Church.
What a joyful thing it is to think of these words in their
original connection! how immediately and vividly they
recall to us those words which they so closely resemble, the
words of the Saviour on the cross; Father, forgive them, for
they know not what they do! And yet we do not even
know if he who uttered them had ever heard of those words
of the Saviour; for it was not until later that the plan so
rich in blessing to believers was systematically set about, of
collecting and handing down the sayings of the Lord, so that
every one might easily acquire a knowledge of the most
important of them. But if Stephen had not heard them, it
only proves the more certainly that the same Spirit who had
spoken in the Master was speaking in the disciple. And
because this Spirit has never since that time been withdrawn
from the Christian Church, because it is He who is the
source of all good gifts, of all words and deeds that tend to
the advancement of the kingdom of God, we may all claim
this utterance as our own. For remember the words of the
apostle, that “all things are ours,”—each individual with his
gifts and his works,—so that in the Church of God every
deed pleasing to Him is not only a common benefit, but
something that all, as members of one body, may appropriate
as their own. And how often may similar prayers have
gone up inaudibly from the hearts of those who followed the
first preachers of the gospel on this thorny path! For how
much precious “blood was poured out in later times through this same animosity of men against the greatest proof of
goodwill that God had ever shown them! And how could it but be that in those who
were impelled by the same feeling to brave such dangers and sufferings, the same
Spirit should stir their hearts and speak through their lips in a similar way?
But now that the Christian faith is enthroned in so many
nations; now that, ready as the heart of man would still be
to rise against the name of the Lord and to fight against it
with the sword of earthly power, none are tempted to do so,
because there would be no chance of success; now that
through the increase of intellectual gifts and the manifold
outward blessings produced by the beneficent spirit of
Christianity wherever it has reached, the Christian nations
maintain so clear a supremacy over all others;—whence now
should come any such sufferings for the Saviour’s sake?
The more remote from us those times become, the more rare
become such instances of persecution. Christians themselves
have indeed sometimes been found in fierce antagonism
against each other, each party sure that truth and pure love
to the Saviour are on his own side; while their party feeling
makes all real knowledge and perception of His teaching
impossible. But seeing that this has only occurred on
passing occasions and in times of unusual excitement, we
gladly throw over it a veil of loving oblivion. And yet we
cannot but say that though the trial may not perhaps come
in exactly the same form, yet times of a similar nature may
be before us. Tor just because the spread of the Christian
faith brings in its train so rich an enlargement of all human
faculties, of all mental endowments, of all the comforts of
common life; because, at the same time, on its doing so
depends the possibility of making known the word of the
Lord ever more widely among men, till it gradually fills the
whole earth,—for these very reasons everything that concerns
the true prosperity of men in all their affairs stands in close
connection with the kingdom of God. And if differing opinions arise as to what does advance the well-being of
men; if men engage in hot controversy,—each seeing in him
who differs from him an enemy of all good, whether as
hindering human development, or as an enemy to repose and
peace and to the secure enjoyment of what God has given
us; if from feelings they go on to action, each believing that
he has a right, or that, in fact, it is his duty to crush the
other by all lawful means; and so cripples him in his work,
and prejudices others against him and alienates them from
him so far as he can; then indeed there is suffering for the
sake of convictions and for the sake of what is good. And
the more really such disputants are Christians according to
the Spirit, and not merely desiring to be called so; and the
more they therefore connect all the good that they might
wish or effect for men with the Fountain of all good, desiring
that it should conduce to the advancement of God’s kingdom;
just so much the more sure are they to see, in everything
that opposes them in their efforts, sin that is specially sinful
as rising in hostility against the Lord.
Only there is one thing that we must not forget. Even
in such cases, if we regard what befalls us only in its bearing
on ourselves; if he who suffers in this way—granting that
he has been the means of doing good in the way of his
calling and duty—is thinking only of himself, then there
cannot arise from his heart a prayer such as this that we
hear from the heart of Stephen. For in that case it is not
sin, specially as sin, that he desires the Lord may not lay to
men’s charge, it is only that he is willing to forgive the
wrong done to himself. But if one is strong enough to look
away from himself at all in his last moments—and we
imagine such a one, after having been, perhaps for the best
part of his life and up to its close, the object of enmity and
persecution one who has experienced all that can be poured
from that fountain of bitterness into a human life;—if we
think of him looking back as one whoso only thought about himself concerns the well-being of his soul, how must the
past appear to him? If the sufferings which the Lord has
appointed to him have not served to purify his nature and
to eradicate from his heart the last root of bitterness against
his brethren; if they have not cleansed his heart and ripened
his spirit by compelling him unceasingly to labour that he
might, amidst those distracting troubles, keep steadily in
view the aim set before him: if they have not worked to
these ends, then, oh, far from thinking of others and having
wishes for them, what can be his nearest concern but to
repent and seek mercy for himself, because he has not used
according to God’s will those things which, bitter though
they were, were gifts from Him? But if his trials have
produced such fruits,—if he has been ripened in the school
of suffering and persecution, and so grown in the true
wisdom of God’s children,—if the image of the Saviour’s
gentleness has been so formed in him that the malice of his
enemies could never call forth answering hatred in him, but
that he ever met with love those who opposed him; oh, then
he has indeed cause to praise God for what He has done for
him. And what kind of a prayer will he offer for those
whom God has used as His instruments? What but that
God will bless them for the salvation that has come to him
through them, for the good they have been the means of
doing for him? And far from thinking of the wrong which
he has suffered, bitter as it has been, he will, in his last
moments, bless his enemies as the channels of God’s grace
and love.
II. Let us therefore mark, as our second thought, that
this prayer, “Lord, lay not this sin to their charge,” in any
circumstances similar to those in which that servant of the
Lord was placed, can be the prayer only of one who entirely
loses sight of himself. By this I mean that we, as Christians,
should not at all be taken up with the weighing and considering of our own position, as to what, according to the customary and prevalent notions of men, it may contain of
happiness and prosperity. He who cannot rise above this,
but is always taking an estimate of his life, comparing
himself, in this respect, with others, and asking, on every
favourable or unfavourable turn of his affairs, who has been
the cause of it; he who thus never loses sight of himself
cannot but regard those whose influence has proved so adverse
as in the case before us, as his enemies and adversaries.
And if any one, while full of such feelings, could yet rise
to such a prayer as this, and say, Lord, lay not this sin to
their charge, nothing could be less like the prayer of Stephen.
It would rather be a vain and false generosity; it would be
what men so often, though erroneously, call noble, and take
much credit to themselves for, as something great and difficult of attainment; counting it, though I must call them
mistaken, as the highest point of Christian virtue, to be able
sincerely to forgive our enemies. I, at least, am so far from
holding this to be the height of Christian love, that I do not
believe it would enter the mind of a real Christian at all!
For he who loses sight of himself in the way I have spoken
of, so that his only thoughts about himself are as to what
he is bound to do, what is committed to him, what he has
to render account of; who, whatever befalls him, whether
joyous or grievous according to the world’s view, only seeks
to turn it to account, and asks what use he is to make of it;
he who feels and acts in this way,—for him there are never
enemies,—never any over whom he vaingloriously exalts
himself, and then magnanimously asks forgiveness for them,
as it were, for his sake. If, then, we detect in ourselves any
such feelings, let us at once search our hearts for the hidden
selfishness which is there, that we may rise out of it to the
self-forgetfulness in which we shall simply regard ourselves
as instruments in God’s hand for the work of His kingdom.
No, let us never turn back to striving for earthly possessions
and advantages, even for good ends. Let us never measure by so mean a rule an existence which, if it has really become
one with the Saviour, can have no other aim than, like Him,
to do the will of God. If we have taken up such a position
towards men that for us there exist no circumstances in
which we could call any man our enemy; then, in whatever
way they may act towards us, they are always and only our
brethren, whom we are to care for, to warn and instruct,
when we are in a position to do so, to draw away from
danger, so far as they are willing to grasp our offered hand,
and in whom, even should they reject all our advances, we
can never see enemies or antagonists. And the more justly
we can claim to have dedicated our life to the Saviour, and
as His servants, to whom His word is addressed, to have
recognised in it the will of our heavenly Father; just the
more certainly is it some remnant of that dangerous spiritual
pride through which we are so ready to exalt ourselves above
others, which leads us, in any case, to take such a view of
our relations towards others as to suppose we need to ask
forgiveness for them for sins committed against us. We are
anxious that they should honour us as persons whose lives
are devoted to the kingdom of God; we think that on this
account they should give way to the violent outbursts of
their passions much less against us than against others.
Thus we set ourselves up over them, and then we are willing
to ask pardon for them from above. But that cannot really
be called prayer, to ask that the Lord will not lay to their
charge the sins which, in fact, they cannot have committed
against us. For nothing can properly be called sin but that
which is sin against God. And beside such sins, be they
laid to men’s charge or not, any wrong which we may have
suffered from them must utterly disappear. Men may, no
doubt, do us wrong, and we ourselves may forgive them for
it, and we do well in so doing; but sin they commit only
against God; that is, against His holy laws, against His will,
made known to us through His Son. Hence he only who has one sole aim in view, who is concerned about nothing
and wishes for nothing in this life but to see the kingdom
of God ever more firmly established, more widely extended,
more gloriously built up; he alone, when men, by their sin, oppose this purpose
of God, can say, in deed and in truth, without the slightest reference to
himself, “Lord, lay not this sin to their charge.”
III. Let this then be our last lesson from this subject,
that these words can express the thoughts and feelings only
of a man who seeks after nothing but the kingdom of God
and His righteousness. Such a man, without doubt, was he
whose last words are here reported to us. For, consider,
he was one of those whom the assembly of believers had
selected from among others, in the confidence that they would
manage the temporal affairs of the Church with perfect
integrity and most impartial and careful fidelity, and would
themselves do works of love in distributing the gifts of love
among those who needed them. This office, to which he and
the others were ordained by the apostles of the Lord, opened
to him a wide field of work, and yet he did not feel that this
was enough. He felt that this special work must not hinder
him from fulfilling that great duty which was then binding
on all Christians—the confessing everywhere of their faith
in Jesus of Nazareth as the Christ. Therefore Stephen did
not forsake the place where he had been accustomed to meet
with others on appointed days for prayer, and to hear and
meditate on the Scriptures together; but after his appointment, as before, he went to this gathering of devout men
who still adhered to the old covenant. But now he did so
especially for the purpose of giving an account of the faith
that gladdened his heart, if perhaps he might win some into
the blessed fellowship of the Son of God; and it was this
course of conduct that brought him into the position in
which we see him in our text. And what ardent zeal for
the progress of God’s kingdom appears in his whole discourse! He was a stranger in the land of the covenant
people, one of the descendants of Abraham who belonged to
the Dispersion. The most devout among these always aimed,
above everything else, at returning to live in Jerusalem,
where they would be near their holy temple, and be able
there to join in the worship they loved, and to celebrate the
glorious feasts of their people. Stephen had succeeded in
doing this; and therefore in his speech he rapidly reviews
the past history of the nation, in order to show that though
for long he had been, as to his place of abode, a stranger,
yet, while far away, he had been no stranger to the progress
of events among his own people. He shows himself well
acquainted, not only with their external, but with their inner
history; he reminds them, for their warning, how persecution had always fallen on the prophets who had sought to
press the claims of God’s will on the people; and he shows
his hearers that all the prophets had spoken of that Just
One whose name he now declared. And so utterly was his
whole mind bent on the one object, that though he might
easily have foreseen what he was bringing upon himself (for
already the people had gnashed at him with their teeth),
yet he so lost sight of himself that in the fervour of his
speech and exhortation, looking up to heaven, he felt constrained to say that he saw the Lord standing on the right
hand of God: so fully assured was he that the way which
he proclaimed was the one way by which alone man could
gain access to God, and that, in clue time, all should bow
to Him whom now in the Spirit he saw at the right hand
of the Majesty on high. Such was the character of Stephen;
and therefore he had no thought to give to the injustice done
to himself,—none to the wild storms of passion that raged
against his life. He heeded only his people’s resistance to
all the testimonies from history and from the word of God,
their persistence in the sin against which he had warned
them from the example of their fathers, their stubborn opposition to the counsel of God; and, with the thought of
these things weighing on his heart, he prayed, “Lord, lay not this sin to their
charge.”
It is not improbable that we may find occasion to use
this prayer, not merely at the close of our life, but throughout
its whole course in this world, where it has not ceased to be
true that the flesh lusts against the Spirit. Let us therefore
use every such occasion as a means of maturing in ourselves
a state of mind like Stephen s. Let us especially use in this
way every occasion on which we can show that while we
estimate the actions of men only as to what may be their
bearing on the beneficent will of God, we also see in all
wrong-doing only opposition to the good that God has in
tended towards men; and that when we say, “Lord, lay not
this sin to their charge,” we use the prayer in the sense in
which Stephen used it, and with no thought of ourselves.
For what, my friends, does it mean, this laying of sin to a
man’s charge? It is laid to his charge if he holds fast to it;
it is laid to his charge if he is successful in it; it is laid to
his charge in the surest and saddest way of all when he
reaches, even for a passing moment, the goal at which he
aims; it is laid to his charge when he persistently disregards
all exhortations to enter the kingdom of God, and turns a
deaf ear to the solemn voice that invites all to come. When
Stephen uttered these words, was not this what he meant—that God would be pleased not utterly to exclude them, on
account of their sin, from that kingdom of His into which
Stephen as a faithful servant had sought to draw them, and
invited them even with his last breath—that He would not
lay sin to their charge by closing that kingdom too early
against them, so that even yet, during their life on earth,
they might begin to share in its blessings,—that He would
bend to the keeping of His commands those powers which
were now arrayed in hostility against the kingdom of His
Son? That was what Stephen had in his mind when he said, “Lord, lay not this sin to their charge,” and that alone
is the meaning it should always have for us. When opposition to the progress of God’s kingdom abates; when minds
that have been at variance draw ever closer together in
seeking salvation at the same living fountain; when the
spiritual eye becomes clearer to distinguish truth from error
and turns towards the heavenly light; then sins are forgotten
and forgiven; then indeed they have vanished, for their
power has ceased. When, on the contrary, men harden
themselves in opposition to God’s way of salvation; when they stop their ears
more and more closely against the call, “Arise from the dead and Christ shall
give thee light”;
then, too truly, their sins are laid to their charge. And how
nobly Stephen’s prayer was fulfilled at least in one case!
But how notable a case that one was! For the convert was
Saul, at whose feet were laid the garments of those who
assembled in wild fury to stone Stephen. He was thus not
merely a witness of the deed, but took part in it, and ap
proved of it. And though we know nothing of others who
joined in it, what a blessed result of this prayer is seen in
the life-work of the great apostle! And who can tell what
influence the remembrance of this memorable scene may have
had, when the Saviour called to him in this way, “Saul, Saul,
it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.” And for
those who are able in the same pure way to plead with God
that He may not lay the sin? of their brethren to their
charge, there will always be such blessings to rejoice over.
But the more we have occasion to use this prayer, the less
must we let it remain only a petition. If we use it in the spirit
in which it was used by Stephen, then, as long as life and
strength continue, our. desire must not rest satisfied with
rising to heaven; it will return, as it were, with blessing to
our own hearts, and become a fountain of deeds well-pleasing
to God, of love that cannot be wearied, of zeal that never
grows cold in leading men to Him in whom alone they can find salvation. We must not tire of trying to draw men to
Him, and we must continue steadfast in the duty of being
always ready to give a reason of the hope that is in us, and
to direct every one into the right way; till at last, when
the Master calls us from the scene of our active service, and
our life on earth is closing, to the prayer that the Lord will
advance His kingdom and dwell in His grace wherever
faithful souls already fear and love Him, we shall join, as an
inseparable part of our last benediction, this other petition,
that the sins of those who still strive against the kingdom
of the Saviour may not be laid to their charge. And this
longing for blessing to others which characterized the prayer
of Stephen as it had characterized that of the Saviour, which
alone has always set the stamp of consecration on those who
were martyrs for the faith—for those who were not capable
of such a petition were no true martyrs—this spirit is still
in operation, and its effects may be clearly traced. Therefore
however much disunion we see in the Christian community
and in regard to all spiritual matters; however often evil
passions may mingle with those things, and wrath and hatred
be stirred up; let us only, as long as we live, oppose to all this
the power of love, striving after this one thing, to overcome
evil with good. Then shall we be sure of having, even in
our last moments, none but loving feelings towards those who
have been most hostile to us; and on prayers breathed in
this spirit there will always rest the blessing of Him whose
prayer, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they
do,” we are to use as our pattern,—of Him who could regard
even the sin of resisting Him, the Son of God, as ignorance—as darkness to move compassion, and that only lacked the
light. Let us resolve to rise by the help of the divine Word
to the spirit of this prayer, and more steadfastly to consecrate
our whole lives to the work of bringing hearts into union,
that there may be less and less sin, and therefore less cause
to pray that it may not be laid to men’s charge.
XXIV.
PROVOKING EACH OTHER TO LOVE
AND GOOD WORKS.
(New Year’s Sermon.)
TEXT: HEB. x. 24. “Let us consider one another, to provoke
unto love and to good works.”
THIS day is usually regarded more as a secular and social than
a religious holiday, and given up to the enjoyment of family and external
relationships. But when we assemble here on this day, we surely do so in the
belief that everything pleasant and joyful in our working and social life during
the past year, for which we have had to thank God, had its source in nothing but
the spiritual good wrought by the grace of God in the hearts of men, through the
word and teaching of Christ and the gifts of His Spirit. And not less do we
believe that all the progress and improvement in the future, for which we pray,
as well as the remedying of all the shortcomings and faults that rise before us
in the retrospect of the past year, amount just to this, that all the good that
ought to be found in the disciples of the Lord should be ever assuming larger
proportions in us all. And in reference to this we find in the words we have
read a rule which, though always binding, we do well to lay to heart specially
at the beginning of a new year. We are called to notice in these words, first,
what is our true need for the year now opening; and second, the way in which
this need can be met.
I. First, then, let us be sure of this, that on whatever side
we consider our life, whether its busy, working side, or that
of social enjoyment, we can have no other universal need in
any future than just this—that love and good works may
be ever more abundant among us. Perhaps some of you
think that though there is certainly a great deal in this, it
does not yet include everything; it does not contain all that
we might think desirable in our domestic and social concerns; it does not depend entirely on this how much
prosperity or trial each of us may meet with: and yet if we
reflect on everything in a really Christian light, it will soon
become evident that everything does ultimately depend on
this.
Yesterday we all surely looked back once more over the
year that is gone,—for I hope that the innocent gaiety with
which many are accustomed to close the year would form no
hindrance to this serious work,—and I cannot but believe that all of us, in
looking at our whole circumstances, found much cause for thankfulness to God.
But I might just as confidently assert, on the other hand, that if we could
recall all our different states of mind during the year, we should find that
there has been much complaining and dissatisfaction among us. Now if this is to
be remedied, so that in each new year there shall be less to vex and make us
dissatisfied, how can we better attain this object than just by increasing in
love and good works? And again, in looking forward to-day into the future, and
picturing to ourselves what may with more or less probability be marked out in
the life-path of any one of us in the year we are entering on, we shall
certainly find there various disturbing and saddening things, for those are
never wanting in any year of a human life. And if we ask ourselves what is the
very best that each of us can do to soften and mitigate those things, what
should we wish for ourselves in order to bear them the more easily; no doubt it
would be, first of all, to have a heart still more filled with love. For this is most certain,
that nothing more gladdens a man, nothing makes him at
once so happy in himself and so able to bear difficulties
from without, as having his heart overflowing with love.
To be thoroughly convinced of this, we need only call to
mind the Apostle Paul’s splendid eulogy on love. “Love
suffers long and is kind; love envieth not, boasteth not
herself, is not puffed up; beareth all things, believeth all
things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.” The apostle
teaches us here how a man feels who has given love full play
in his soul; and we must admit that there can be no richer
fountain of joy and blessedness; for such a man is inde
pendent of all external advantages, and whatever he may
meet with from without, he will find no cause of complaint.
For, whence come most of the ills of life to a man? In so
far as, in our various relations, they are caused by the faults
of others and their wrong ways of acting, which cross our
legitimate efforts and spoil our well-begun work, the natural
result is that in such a case love feels less trouble at its own
loss than compassion for the faults of another; so that
vexation is kept down by sympathy, and there is hardly
need of special meekness to keep all harshness in check. In
this way, indeed, a heart full of love is less susceptible to all
troubles that are caused by the defects and faults of others,
or even, if there can be such a thing among Christians, by
their intentional ill-treatment. And in all such cases are
not those who cause evil to others by their faults just the
very people who most need help? And what, then, is the
help that he needs who, because he follows ungodly pleasure
and tries to seize on the fleeting things of this world, works
harm to his brother? or he who spoils his neighbour’s work
because he is too much taken up with himself to inquire how
he may be affecting another’s concerns? All that either of
them needs is that he be “provoked to love.” For why does
a man shut himself up within himself and love no one but himself, when we are called to a common inheritance?
Why does he cling to earthly joy which is followed only too
soon by earthly sorrow, when he should take everything at
its spiritual and heavenly value, seeing that even here our
citizenship is to be in heaven? Earthly joy is a fleeting
thing which we can never keep fast hold of; he who knows
no higher joy has a mere passing gleam of pleasure; and
selfishness sets such narrow bounds to our enjoyment that no
one will remain within them to whom a wider circle is open.
But love opens such a circle; where love is, everything
selfish appears so empty and poor that the heart will no
longer be bound by it; it is love that changes things transitory in themselves into something eternal and heavenly,
and stamps them with her own divine impress. Therefore
for all such erring people the only real help is that we seek
to incite them to love; to kindle that divine spark in their
souls, so that they may emerge from the fogs of earth, and
their efforts take a higher flight.
But we may have adverse experiences with which the
conduct of others has nothing to do, which we may regard
as coming to us through the hidden purpose of God and
directly from His hand. Must we not admit, then, even as
regards these, that the more pure and tranquil a man’s heart
is by the power of love, the more it is filled with grace and
peace, just the more easily will he bear all that thus comes
to him from without, and to surmount it; because the sufferings of this present time cannot be compared with the
blessedness that is in a loving heart? And if we find that any one lacks the
real strength to overcome what he has already encountered, or calmly to meet
what may still threaten him, no doubt the first thing that we desire and
recommend for him is trust in God. But how can we have living trust in God if He
is not near and present in our soul; that is, if we do not in the depth of our
hearts see His divine nature as that of the strong and beneficent God? But God is love, and therefore we can only be near Him in the living
strength of love. And so it will only be the loving man who
truly trusts in God; and if, in whatever circumstances our
consciousness of God has another stamp than that of child
like confidence, the cause of that can only be that the heart
is still closed against love, and its hard crust has not yet
been softened by that penetrating power that can fill every
part of it with its divine fire, and draw forth and cherish
everything fair and good.
But now, passing from the thought of individuals and
what concerns their welfare, let us turn our attention to that
which is more important—our life as a community in its
various aspects; a subject which on such a day as this is of
deepest interest to every right-thinking man. Here also we
must as truly acknowledge that we should not have had so
much to complain of as undeniably there has been in the
past year, if there had been found among us that of which
our text speaks—a greater abundance of good works. This
is surely made plain to us by the fact that in this connection we do not easily hear a complaint without attaching
blame somewhere. And though the blame may often be
unjust and groundless, yet there is implied in this the
general admission that in the nature of things there is some
blame connected with every such complaint; because in
these matters everything depends as much on integrity and
goodwill as on sense and judgment. Therefore if each one,
as he could and ought, sought not his own, but the things
of others; that is, whatever might conduce to the common
good; if each kept clearly in view what it depends on, in all
his relations, that justice be done and good promoted among
men, and all imperfections and inequalities more and more
smoothed away, so that we are always making life easier to
each other; then there would be no cause to complain. And
what tends most to this is just such good works as the
apostle describes, “If there be any virtue, and if there be any praise . . . whatsoever things are lovely and of
good report, strive after these things.” And this applies by
no means only to so very imperfect a state as our own justly
appears to us; for even if we were much further advanced
than at present, and in consequence had much less among
us to be regretted, yet if there were any real cause of complaint, we should still be obliged to say that there had been
a lack of good works. For had these not been wanting at
the proper time and place, nothing evil would have happened
of which we should have cause to complain. How could
there be a better rule and a greater blessing for the social
life of men than that evil be overcome with good? But
overcoming presupposes action and effort; therefore if evil
is to be overcome with good it can only be done by earnest
diligence in good works. And thus we can truly say that
this is all we need for our life in common.
If these two things, love and good works, dwell richly
among us, not only should we all be cheerful and content,
because each one would exert a beneficent and cheering influence in all his relationships, but everything praiseworthy
and of good report before God and man would blossom out
among us in richest abundance. And therefore if in passing
over into a new year we still see something gloomy and for
bidding, we cannot deny to ourselves that there has been a
lack of the true power of love and of true diligence in good
works. Love is the balm with which we are to refresh
every wounded spirit,—the wine which we are to hand to
every sorrowful one. And diligence in good works is the
perpetual offering, indeed the only one, which we have to
make to the commonweal in order to clear ourselves from
the reproach that we make such slow progress towards the
aim which we all set before us. Let us only unite those two,
and soon all that we have to complain of will be removed,
and all attained to that we wish and hope for. Not only is
each of these by itself a real need, but the two together are in fact the only means by which everything is put to rights;
and they are so closely connected that each promotes the
increase of the other. How could the abundance of love fail
to increase everywhere the wealth of good works? and if we were everywhere
surrounded by good works flowing from a pure heart, how could love fail to have
ever freer course in every breast, and so everything unite in making us rejoice
more and more in the Lord?
II. We are taught secondly, in the words of our text, how
we are to satisfy this need, which is common to us all. We
are each of us ever more strongly and urgently to call on
ourselves and others for good works, and this incitement is
to proceed from our considering one another; that is to
say, this expression that we are to consider one another
certainly aims ultimately at this, that we are to care for each
other in regard to those specified points; but it also declares
very distinctly that our care is to begin with each of us well
considering others in order that we may concern ourselves
about them, and gain an intuitive knowledge how things are
with them, taking note of their condition, and rightly recognising their needs.
See here how the writer of our epistle in this beautiful exhortation presents us
to each other, if I may so express it, at the new year, as a possession
entrusted to us, of which we have to take care. We are to consider one another;
that is the work of the Christian community; we are to care for each other in the true Christian
sense; that is, in reference to the kingdom of God and its
advancement; and that is to be the light in which we always
regard each other. Now if we ask in the first place how we
are to set about stirring up others to love, most people will
certainly consider the thing demanded impracticable, if it
is made so universal. But in these days we make far too
great a distinction between the more distant and the nearer
relationships in which we stand to others,—much greater
than the Christian ought to make it. For this does not admit of a doubt, that the more our Christian feeling increases,
the less does this distinction become; the more distant
draw nearer to us, and the distance seems to us not nearly
so great as is taken for granted in the usages of our ordinary
life. Because to the true disciple of the Lord there is absolutely no man who is nothing to him; on the contrary, every
man who at any time crosses our path is either one who
already enjoys with us the benefits of redemption, and confesses and praises the same Lord, or he is one whom we
should feel called on to seek to make a partaker in those
benefits. Therefore we should regard no one as a stranger;
but all and always, though in different ways and degrees,
as our brethren. And so we must say, on the other hand,
that no one belongs exclusively to one or to another among
us; but that we are all the common property of each other.
Inasmuch as we are all called to a great partnership, each
one has rights of love over each, and demands to make on
each, in so far as the life of one touches the other, or any
thing can be transmitted from the spirit of the one to the
other. And yet there does always remain this difference,
that we have many opportunities of fulfilling this duty to
wards some, few of doing so towards others; that with some
it is made easy for us to consider them, with others not so.
We need go into no further detail to explain how it is that
in the closer relations of life we consider each other, and how
the true Christian life in each should so find expression, that
each point of contact with another should be to that other
a stimulus to love. But is it not possible also with more
remote connections, if we only carry everywhere the tender
solicitude of a loving spirit? Can we not, if only our will is
earnestly bent to it, consider in the same way those who are
not immediately around us, so as to note what each is in
want of? And shall any one, whose need we have discerned, go from us without having received a spiritual gift
according to the measure of our powers? Oh, how we limit our noblest influence to a small section of our life, and
therefore how empty is all the rest, if we neglect this duty!
And now there only remains to us the question, If we are
to stir up others to love, how is it to be done? Only in one
way. Does it seem to you that if love is to begin for the
first time in a human breast, if there is no living spring of
love there, then, in order that this spring may break forth,
he must first receive love from without, and be, as it were,
inoculated with it? But this can only be effected by the
presence of another love, to which the new love may spring
up as a response. How can we but admit this from the
depths of our hearts, when this principle is the foundation of
our common faith? Tor what was the need of the human
race but fellowship with God, that is, love to Him? The
natural disposition to this was fast asleep in men; and what
other way could God have taken to awaken it than by manifesting His love in his Son? Then sprang up in man’s heart
a love responsive to that which had appeared in the Son,—to
that original love which kindles the true spiritual life in
man,—an answering love, flowing heavenwards from man’s
heart. And just so it is with the first awakening of love in
each individual life. And even where love does not altogether need to spring up for the first time, but exists already,
as it must in every Christian heart, it may yet not be sufficiently operative, and may need to be strengthened. In this
case also a love is to be produced that is not yet there; and
this must be effected just in the same way as that first
awakening. Do you ask again, then, how can we stir up one
another to love? In no other way than this, that we our
selves show love to him in whom we wish to excite it. If it
is hearty, brotherly love with which we consider another, and
try to understand him without giving way to any unfavourable prejudice, so that we cast no look upon any brother but
one of love that seeks to serve him; it cannot fail that he
will become aware of that love and its considerate efforts to do something for him suitable to his circumstances; and
when he does so, our love will not return to us empty but
will produce some fruit in his heart. When the Lord sent
out His disciples for the first time to declare His Word and
to preach the Kingdom of God, He prepared them for the
case in which their word might not take root in men’s minds,
and told them that their blessing would return to themselves. But in all the workings of love, simply as love, we
have not that to fear; it is not possible that it should ever
be quite unfruitful. The heart of man may be hardened
against the divine Word and against the voice of truth; but
that it should ever be able to harden itself against pure love
is not to be imagined. If love is only there, alive and active
in the soul, and expressing itself in word and deed, it must
find entrance, it must take hold and move, it must work a
change in some way. And as the effect of love can be no
thing but good, seeing that love is gentle and patient even
when it punishes and afflicts, it cannot but move the human
heart to love in return. And if only we do not relax in the
expression of our love, we shall have to rejoice in its taking
captive our brother’s heart, and our provoking him to love
will not be in vain. But otherwise than thus it cannot be
done. Perhaps we can only say for ourselves as to the past,
that we have rather sought to move men to stronger manifestations of love by severe words and harsh judgments, or
by representing the advantage they would derive from doing
so, or the harm they would avoid. Let this be past with
other mistakes. It may be that those counsels, if they were
well intended, brought back at least a blessing to ourselves;
but in the future we are going to do better. For nothing
creates love but love itself. If we wish to stir others to
love, let us ourselves be filled with love, so that every word
and act may show it. Then there will assuredly be abundant fruit, and the incitements to love which proceed from love
will not be in vain.
But further, according to the direction of our text, we are
to consider one another to provoke to good works. Indeed,
ii faith works by love j if this active faith means that the
Spirit of God has, through the preaching of the Word, taken a
settled place in the heart; then all virtues and all that is
lovely and of good report, and therefore also all good works,
are nothing but the fruit of the Spirit; and thus it appears
as if love and good works were inseparable. Only we may
say that love is more the inward side of a right state of mind,
and good works its outward and active side. And if we
question experience, we are constrained to confess that they
do not always keep pace together. Why is this, and whence
also the need, in addition to provoking to love, of special incitements to good works? From this reason; that love, in
order to produce its proper abundance of good works, must
first, if I may so speak, come to years of discretion. For if
we see that there is really love somewhere, but miss the good
works, what can be the reason, but that the right perception
is wanting, partly of what is, for each occasion, good and
well-pleasing to God, and partly of how to accomplish it.
How otherwise should it be that often, with the best will
and the most entire honesty, there are so many blunders and
wrong-doings? And how then are we to stir each other up
to good works? Just by seeking, according to our ability, to
bring our brother to a clear understanding of what is right,
and to throw light for him on the just and true connection of
things. And this can be done without any self-sufficiency.
For we are bound to assume that there is love in the heart
of every Christian, until the want of it is forced on our
notice; and therefore if we find one lacking. in good works,
we must not ascribe this beforehand to anything contrary to
love; for this judgment would itself be at variance with
love. Rather let us remember how the Lord Himself spoke
of that which was pre-eminently a work of darkness, when
His enemies vented their malice on Him and delivered Him up, guiltless, to death,—how, with full and true knowledge of all, He said to His heavenly Father, “They know
not what they do.” And in like manner we are to account
for all deficiency of good works and all wrongdoing that
may still appear in the Christian community, by the sup
position that in some way those concerned know not what
they do. And then, if we understand better than they the
matters in which they fail, we are bound to communicate
our knowledge to thorn; and if otherwise, we can at least
try to make them aware of their lack of knowledge, and
then help them to seek it where it is to be found. There is
no other real stirring up to good works, than that each one
strives to increase the amount of true knowledge and correct
judgment, wherever and however he can. For if there is the
will to do good, then the knowledge which directs this inward
desire, and presents the good aimed at in its full worth and
beauty, is the most powerful incitement, which no one can
withstand. And if this effect does not appear, then undoubtedly something else is wanting, and that can be nothing but
love, which we must therefore seek to stir up in order that it
may produce good works. But again, if we find that there is
a disproportion between the love which we know actually
exists in the heart of our neighbour, and his good works the
latter lagging behind the former we may be sure the only
reason for this is the want of correct knowledge, which he
will gladly receive from any one who has it to communicate.
And now, my dear friends, let us be thoroughly honest
with ourselves in this matter and ask ourselves how faithful
we have really been as to these things in the past year. I
fear we have been greatly wanting in this way; that even
when we have made advances to others with inducements to
love, we have yet not considered them to provoke them to
good works. For I think, if this were not the case, we
should be able to show among us a much greater abundance
of deeds well-pleasing to God. Only do not suppose that I mean at the new year to blame you for that commendable
modesty which is not in a hurry to judge of a neighbour, and
still less is inclined to take for granted beforehand that
another does not know how to help himself in what is his
duty; for this is only a pretext that vanity takes for displaying its own wisdom. No; we honour this commendable
modesty; but, if we will really be honest, we must confess
that behind this modesty is very often hidden an unbrotherly
mistrust that the other might not admit that we had the
right, even so far as every Christian must joyfully allow it
to another, to look so nearly at the more intimate concerns
of his life as to be able to consider him with a view to his
good works. There is concealed under it a lazy indifference,
as if we were not called on to kindle for others the light of
truth, and, by communicating to them correct knowledge, to
show them what beautiful and good work they could do for
God;—an indifference which is so much the more culpable, if
we are afterwards only too ready to blame where wo were
not willing beforehand to enlighten. Yes, I fear that we
cannot carry over from the past year into the new one a clear
conscience in this matter. It is difficult, there is no doubt,
to lay down an exact rule here; and yet, if our own knowledge is clear and active, and we feel honestly sure on some
point; if we remember how our brother’s work and duty are
connected with our own, of which we must render an
account; then we may be very certain that if we neglect to
compare our views with his, to bring light into his dark
places, and to try whether he may not also have something to
communicate to us, so that we may, if possible, attain to
agreement in opinion and to working in concert; then real
modesty was not the cause of our holding back; and by
doing so we defraud our brother and ourselves of a common
good, and also directly or indirectly endanger our own sphere
of work. Genuine modesty sets to work humbly, giving no
cause for supposing that we only wish to show off our own wisdom and to set ourselves up over others; and we shall
certainly fulfil in the best way this duty of stirring up to
good works, and be most happily successful in it, when this
modesty is united with the natural ardour and enthusiasm
for all that each of us has discerned to be true and right.
And then the love for truth which we have in our hearts,
and our evident zeal for good cannot fail to be a stimulus to
good works; while active co-operation, with frank inter
change of benefits and mutual support, must produce such
works in ever-increasing abundance.
And if we thus more and more consider one another to
provoke to love and to good works, oh, what a beautiful year
shall we then spend! how much will then more quickly and
easily assume a better appearance, how much will then
disappear, over which we have now to lament! And in a
fulness of contentment and joy how much fairer and more
blameless will the Church of the Lord appear! how much steadfastness and
security shall we have gained, each in his own calling, and with how much
greater gladness of heart shall we then look back on the year now opening, when
it, too, has passed away!
Let us then lay to heart these words of Scripture, and
may we all be agreed in resolving that, as the Lord has cast
our lot together, we will all of us consider each other to
provoke unto love and to good works. Then shall we be
ever more worthy followers of Him who, throughout His life
supplied the first and strongest stimulus to love and good
works; awakening in us, by the fulness of His divine love,
the purest responsive love, that of gratitude; while by His
knowledge, the living knowledge of the Father, with whom
He is one, He becomes to us the Truth, teaching us the
works which we are to do, and towards which we are to
encourage each other. And thus it must always be by His
power that we stir up each other. It is only the grace of
God in Him that we must always go on understanding better and making known more diligently among men, that through
it the man of God may be made capable of good works, and
rich in them to prepare for Him the dominion which is His
due. And so will our whole life be a truly Christian life;
that is a life that is blessed of God and really heavenly.
XXV.
THE SAVIOUR’S LAST HOURS.
(Preached on Good Friday.)
“Praise and thanks be to Him who lifted up the Saviour on the
cross as the bringer of salvation, that thereby He might glorify Him
with heavenly glory! Praise and honour be to Him who by His obedience even unto
death has become the Author of our faith, that so He may be able, as a faithful
high-priest, to represent before God those whom He is not ashamed to call His
brethren. Amen.”
TEXT: LUKE xxiii. 44-49.
THE habit of expecting to find great events accompanied
by strange portents is so old and so universal, that,
though it might not shake our faith, we should miss a
certain feeling of satisfaction, and should also be inclined to
wonder, if all that took place in connection with the great
event that we commemorate to-day had not been full of
significance regarding the work of Christ, and the great end
which the heavenly Father purposed to bring about by His
death. But we find that it really was so. Looking at the
sad and mournful spectacle of the death of Christ, sur
rounded as He was by unfeeling enemies to the last moment,
the watchful eye sees greatness and sublimity shining
through all, and the believing heart is calmed and refreshed
by clear tokens from above. Let us then in this light
meditate together on the circumstances that accompanied
the Saviour’s last hours; that our comfort and hope through His death may receive new strength, and that we may take
a broader and more confident view of its blessed results.
We will consider first the outward signs that accompanied
the Saviour’s death, and then the effects which, according to
the gospel narrative, those signs produced on the feelings of
men.
I. When we look at the outward signs that accompanied
our Lord’s death, we cannot resist a feeling that there must
be some great and mysterious connection between the
kingdom of nature and the kingdom of the Spirit and of
grace. We take note of such a connection in all the great
events that take place in the world. The endeavour to trace
relations of this kind is indeed a somewhat dangerous practice for those who are only slightly acquainted with natural
processes, and who, on every unusual natural occurrence, set
themselves anxiously to wonder what it may indicate in the
spiritual world. But right as it is to warn people against
this, it is very different with those who are awake to all that
pertains to the spiritual life, and who look at things from
the other direction. In that case the finest feelings are
called into play when we search into the natural signs that
may accompany and correspond with the value of spiritual
events. The discovery of this connection in the great course
of the world’s government is the utmost, highest aim of the
profoundest human wisdom and knowledge. But even in
single instances, when anything great, either good or evil,
occurs in the domain of the spirit, it is only the tenderest
conscience that can teach us how to seek out significant
signs in nature. Was it not just the consciousness of the
divine in Christ that, as it were, compelled so many to
discern, in the wonderful works that He accomplished, an
evidence of His high dignity and mission? This connection
appears at the time of His death full of significance, first in
the darkening of the sun, and then in the rending of the
temple veil.
It was about the sixth hour, says the evangelist, and there
was a darkness over all the earth until the ninth hour, and
the sun was darkened. This darkness was not one of those
eclipses which result, according to ascertained law, from the
natural course of our earth and her attendant planet; it was
a phenomenon out of the regular order of Nature, which
covered the whole land with darkness, while the sun concealed or lost his light until the ninth hour, when the
Saviour gave up His spirit. And then also,—and this is
just the most significant point,—then the darkness ceased,
and the extinguished sun beamed forth again in his brightness and spread abroad his beneficent light. Oh, my dear
friends, that which made it necessary for the Saviour to
appear on earth was the universal, mournful darkness of the
human spirit through error, delusion, and sin; but still it
was a special darkening of men’s spirits, not so easily to be
explained by the laws of human nature, or appearing in a
general way,—an abnormal darkening,—that could make
them put to death, and that under pretext of God’s law, the
man mighty in word and deed, whose teaching was in the
Spirit and with power, who went about freeing those whose
spirits were bound, and miraculously healing their sick; and
it was to such a darkness that nature called attention when
the sun was darkened in an unusual way. But inasmuch as
it shone out at the moment of the Saviour’s death, oh, let
that be truly a token to us, a more glorious token than the
bow of peace that Noah saw on the cloud after the waters
of the flood had subsided! As then the Lord said, “Let
this be a sign between me and thee, that I will not again
destroy the race of man,” so here, by the shining forth
again of the darkened sun after the death of the Saviour,
the Eternal says to us, Let this be a sign between Me and
you that the darkening of the human soul is withdrawn and
past. The light had come from heaven and shone into the
darkness; and though the darkness had not yet welcomed it, though the cross was surrounded by a crowd of the very
most darkened spirits, yet the light was now to hold a
permanent place in human nature; its kingdom was founded,
and in the gracious counsel of God it was decreed that this
heavenly light, proceeding from a point which at that time
appeared so insignificant, should go on spreading ever more
widely, and the power of the faith kindled and cherished by
this light should triumph over the world and all its darkness.
It is true that in the history of the gospel and of the
kingdom of God there have often been times of darkness;
it is true that the followers of the light that appeared in
Christ Jesus have often, like Him, been put to death by the
children of darkness; but the servant cannot expect to fare
better than his Lord, and the darkness which made such
treatment possible towards the servants of the Most High,—weak and sinful, though truly chosen men,—must be regarded as less deep than that in which men could so act
towards the anointed of the Lord Himself. Therefore the
assertion still holds good, that the cessation of that darkness
was the great turning point in the history of men, and in the
development of their spiritual nature. From Adam down
wards the Spirit was working with growing power through
the revelation of God written on the hearts of men; but the
darkness could not thus be entirely dispelled. For from the
beginning the flesh lusted against the Spirit, and took
pleasure in the darkness, and kept back truth in unrighteousness. In this continually renewed struggle divine
voices were ever coming to aid the hearts of men; but the
victory of the light over the darkness became decisive only
in the death of the Lord, when the kingdom of light was
established, and the Lord’s work accomplished. Those who
are buried with Him in His death rise with Him to a new
life; those who renounce the darkness of sin which the
Prince of Life vanquished on the cross shall have His life
manifested in them from glory to glory.
“And the veil of the temple was rent in the midst.” This
veil concealed the mysteries of the old covenant from the
eyes of all, one man excepted, who was allowed to enter the
holy of holies only once a year, to sprinkle there the blood of
the covenant. As the outer curtain separated the priests of
the Lord from the congregation of the people, so this inner veil
separated the high priest from all his brethren in the priest
hood. The rending of this veil signified in the first place
that now all the mysteries of God were revealed, all hidden
things to be disclosed, and that special purposes of God and
declarations of His will were no longer to be announced to
men in some mysterious way from one hidden spot, but that
one purpose of salvation was to be openly proclaimed everywhere. And it signified further that there were no longer to
be separations and distinctions among those who worshipped
God in and through His Son, but that the time was come in
which all should have free access to God in Christ, when all
believers should be priests of the Most High, all taught of
God, and each mutually serving the others in the Lord.
These two truths, that all separate priesthood has ceased, and
that now the whole will of God has been declared to us,
cannot be separated; and only when these are taken together
can we take the full comfort that there is in the power of the
gospel of redemption. Before Christ fell into the hands of
His enemies He testified of Himself that He had made
known to His disciples all the words which He had received
from the Father. What clearer testimony could there be to
His having, as the Son in whom the Father was well-pleased,
received the whole fulness of divine communication, securing
to the human spirit a blessed fellowship with God, than just
the rending of this veil; indicating that God would no
longer dwell among men in one secret place, that faith need
no longer, as it had hitherto done, seek His presence exclusively over the ark of the covenant which was concealed
from all eyes. It meant that as Christ, when He had finished His work by the pouring out of His blood on the cross, entered
into the true holy of holies; His kingdom is now the unlimited spiritual house of God, in which He is Himself the
true mercy-seat, the place in which God most fully manifests His presence among men. And although during His
life on earth it seemed a strange saying to the disciples that
they should see the Father in the Son, yet after He was
perfected and glorified by His obedience to death on the
cross we recognise in Him the true image of the divine
nature and the brightness of eternal love. What need, then,
of any further human mediation or intercession? Here there
is nothing which one alone is permitted to behold; to this
mercy-seat all are free to approach. And as Christ became
our Brother by coming down to us and taking on Him our
flesh and blood, so we now become His brethren by His
lifting us up into spiritual union with the Father, so that
through Him we are all members of the household of God,
all equally through Christ the children of Him to whom He
has reconciled us, all members of His spiritual body, through
His Spirit whom He sends into the hearts of believers. Thus
then every veil is rent, and all may fix their eyes in confident
faith on the Saviour on the cross, while from the exalted
Saviour we receive directly the spiritual gifts and blessings
which the priests under the old covenant might certainly
desire for the people, but could not bestow.
These, then, are the comforting signs which our faith sees
accompanying our Lord’s death. But that which these
tokens of grace and peace signified could only be realized
through the saving power of the gospel in the hearts of men.
And when we review the history of the Christian Church
down to the present day, we see with joy and comfort how
that power has gone on extending since that eternally significant hour. The extension of this blessed kingdom still
proceeds too slowly for our devout wishes; we still see on
the earth too much darkness, into which the light has not yet penetrated. But even in regard to this slow progress we
see something to comfort and gladden us when we consider
what took place in the minds of men at the Saviour’s death,
to which let us now direct our attention.
II. “And the centurion who kept watch beside the cross,
when he saw what was done, cried out, Certainly this was a
righteous man!” What was it then that took place before
his eyes and called forth this exclamation? He saw how
the darkness fell and the light of the sun was quenched; he
saw with what unexpected suddenness He died, who seemed
still to have long agonies before Him; he saw and heard
how He, charged with such crime as would make peace and
calmness impossible to most men, yet could with perfect
tranquility commit His spirit into the hands of the heavenly
Father;—then he spoke, and said, “Certainly this was a
righteous man!” How little had the rough soldier up to this time concerned
himself about the excitement caused by the appearing of the Lord among this
strange and despised people of the Jews!
We see here, then, an effect of the death of the Saviour,
even if it were but a passing impression, in the stirring of
this man’s mind out of utter indifference to a recognition of
Christ’s dignity. Another of the evangelists reports the
man as saying, “Truly this was the Son of God!” that is,
that what He had been accused before the Roman governor
as claiming, He had proved Himself to be. As the centurion
had now become fully assured of this, we may well suppose,
taking the two sayings together, that since, in the fulfilment
of his office, he had led Christ forth to death, his mind had
been fluctuating between the impression made by the high
position of the accusers and that produced by the person of
the Saviour. And in proportion as this latter impression
became the stronger, he must also have debated in himself
the question whether He had been a righteous man given up,
guiltless, to death by His enemies, or whether, seeing that He
quitted this earthly life amidst such portentous signs and in so kingly a
manner, He were not in truth the Son of God. Oh, blessed question, that arose in
an utterly darkened soul! Oh, sudden awakening of the spirit out of the deepest
darkness, to drink in the heavenly light that comes with the faith that the Word
has been made flesh, and that the Son of the Highest has appeared in human form!
And just so, thanks be to God. does the preaching of the death of our Lord still
go on producing effects peculiarly its own. When thoroughly blinded souls are to
be initiated into the mysteries of the kingdom of God, when the kingdom of
heaven is to be opened to those who are still walking in the shadow of death,
then nothing will avail but making known the dying Saviour to men. The story of
His death has ever been the mightiest word of life; arid when the scene is
described by one whose own spirit is inspired by faith, even careless souls are
often awakened. And if at first they say no more than, Certainly this was a
righteous man; let them but hear afterwards His own words about the glory which
He has always had with the Father; let them hear the history of His life and the
results of His resurrection; then they will join in saying, “Surely this was the
Son of God!”
And “All the people that stood by, when they saw what
was done, smote on their breasts and returned.” These were
the same people who had cried, “Crucify Him, crucify Him!” who had laid a curse on themselves with the words,
“His
blood be on us and on our children! “And now, when they
saw what had taken place, they smote on their breasts and
turned away. Was it only because the spectacle of the
Lord’s death, with which they had come to amuse themselves, was finished? No; for the evangelist says they smote
on their breasts; so he must have seen, by this and similar
signs, that something more was going on in their minds; that
the death of the one righteous man had staggered them in
their contempt and hatred that they had begun to be doubtful if it was for their own good that they had slain the
Prince of life. And even if it cannot be denied that with
the greater number this was only a transient emotion, yet
many of these same people were afterwards present on the
day of Pentecost, and heard Peter bear public testimony to
the Prince of life; and then many among them smote on
their breasts a second time, and with very different feelings,
and cried, “Men and brethren, what shall we do?” My
dear friends, may this day on which we commemorate the
death of Christ be every year blessed with like blessings
in every Christian community, in every land where the
Christian name holds a place! And we know that it is so
indeed. For the kind of people have not yet died out from
among Christians, who stumble at the offence of the cross,
who are even bold enough to scorn the Crucified One, though
they do not disdain outwardly to bear His name. Indeed, it
may be said that many turn their minds so entirely against
Him, that with all their power they resist being taken hold
of either by the impressive signs that accompanied His life
and His death, or by the Spirit and the power that work in
His words, or by the effects that have followed the preaching of His name in the world. But even such people, when
they see believers bending in the devotion of grateful hearts
before the cross of the Redeemer—when they hear us renewing together our engagement to make known the blessings
of His death till He comes—oh, then, many who have
hardened themselves in opposition against the Saviour begin
to feel troubled, and smite on their breasts. And if there
comes another and yet another stirring of the Spirit; if the
word of the Lord again and again sounds in their ears and
knocks at their hearty, oh, then at last they turn thoroughly
from the way of ruin and become His and ours.
“And His acquaintance, and the women who had followed
Him from Galilee, stood afar off, beholding these things.”
Close to His cross stood only His mother and the disciple whom He loved. The rest had been scattered as He had fore
told to them, and did not until later join those who were the
immediate witnesses of His death. And these, His acquaintance, His faithful handmaids and friends, stood afar off, be
holding it all. Just as it was in His own mother’s heart
that the influence of the Saviour was first felt on earth—when,
after His presentation in the temple, she pondered, in quiet
meditation, all the words that were spoken of Him there—so
now His faithful handmaids stood silently watching from a
distance the ebbing life of their beloved Master, comforting
themselves in the thought of His passing to the Father, and
laying up in the depths of their hearts all that they saw.
But why did they stand afar off? Oh, may we not still put
the same question to many Christians? Those who cling
closely to the Saviour’s cross, those who are there led by Him,
like Mary and John, into the tenderest and closest union of
heart, are always comparatively a small number. But let us
not hold lightly those who stand farther off; let us rather
look on those disciples of the Lord who also stood afar off as
saying something in their favour. For many who do not
seek after an assured personal union with Christ have yet
salutary impressions made in their inmost hearts by His self-sacrificing death and the quiet greatness of His life—impressions of which they become more or less conscious, and which
sooner or later come to bear fruit. We know also of those
who do not gather so closely as others round the cross of the
Redeemer,—we know it from manifold experience that the
contemplation of His death has not been without a blessing
to their hearts. And yet we will call to them, as we might
have done to those disciples of the Lord, “Why stand ye so far
off?” Draw nearer, that you may see still more clearly how
the glory of the only-begotten Son is revealed in the Crucified. For the more closely you listen to His last words, the
nearer you come, to catch, as it were, the parting glance of
His eye, the more believingly you witness His death, just so much the more surely will you become joyful witnesses to
His resurrection; and His whole nature will more promptly,
effectively, and deeply take hold on you and bear you onward
to eternal life. Yes, there is still always room there. All
who have been already stirred up to faith, all who have been
taken captive by the glory of this day, by this vanishing of
the darkness before the shining forth of the light that shall
be quenched no more, by the rending of the veil, throwing
open for ever all the blessings of the spiritual sanctuary; all
may now gather ever more closely around the cross of Him
who came to this world for the salvation of men, and who
died on this day that He might return to heaven. His cross
is the sign under which alone we can all conquer. As He,
the Captain of our salvation, overcame by His obedience unto
death, so we can overcome only by taking up His cross and
following Him; by not shrinking from going through tribulation into the kingdom of God, which He has prepared for us;
or even from being made perfect, as He was, through suffering and the cross. Let us all vow anew such allegiance as
this to Him, and never will He cease to bless us as from His
cross. Amen.
XXVI.
THE PARTING PROMISES OF THE SAVIOUR.
(On Ascension Day.)
TEXT: ACTS i. 6-11.
THE great event that we commemorate to-day was no
doubt something very different to the disciples at that
time from what it is to us. They had hardly recovered
from the stunned condition into which His death had thrown
them; they had hardly come to realize calmly their pain at
His separation from them; at least, they had certainly not
yet learned to look at it in the right way, for they regarded
it as the ruin of His whole work on earth—when His joyful
resurrection took them by surprise, comforting them and
setting them right. But now when He was withdrawn from
their eyes while they gazed up to heaven, it was more tranquilly and wisely, and certainly with a greatly lightened
sorrow, as one looks at the close of a full and completed life,
that they regarded the end of the relations in which they
had hitherto stood with their beloved Lord and Master.
For us, on the contrary, this event stands as the beginning
of that relation of Christ to His people which has continued
ever since then—the only relation which we know by direct
experience. Hence, while we can, it is true, sympathise
with the sorrow of the disciples, we cannot feel it directly
as our own; and it would be unnatural in us to try to work
ourselves up into such a state of feeling, as if we missed
something by the personal, visible presence of the Saviour
being denied to us. But we may profitably inquire to-day whether we thoroughly appreciate all the good and beauty
of the relation that has subsisted between the Saviour and
His people since He ascended from the earth, and enjoy it,
as He intended, in all its fulness. The Saviour certainly
brought that good very thoroughly into view in the comforting promises that He gave to His disciples as often as He
already in spirit saw Himself exalted to the right hand of
the Father. If, in a general way, there is little or nothing,
even of what Christ said to His disciples in their most intimate intercourse, that might not also be applied to us; if we
share with them almost all the privileges that He bestowed
on them, as well as all the duties He imposed on them; how
much more may we apply to ourselves what He said for the
purpose of preparing them for the position which we have
in common with them. If we take all the utterances, ever
becoming more clear and intelligible, concerning the spirit
and manner of His kingdom; the tender outpourings of His
glorious love in the presaging sense of His departure; the
earnest warnings and exhortations addressed to their hearts
not yet fortified against danger;—if we regard all this as
said to us also, whom He embraces in the same love, and
for whom He prayed, even as for those through whose word
we believe; how much more may we claim a share in the
elevating promises by which He sought to comfort the
disciples for their loss, and to make them fit for their new
position.
These promises of the Saviour to His disciples in reference
to His complete departure from them are scattered through
His discourses, and it would be necessary to collect them
from many passages if we wished to study them fully and in
detail. But as custom requires us to take one connected
portion of Scripture as the leading thread of our public
expositions; the account of the ascension, which we have
just read, will serve our purpose, in so far as it reminds us
distinctly of those promises to which I wish chiefly to draw your attention, and which we may most directly take to
ourselves. For certainly when the Saviour tells the apostles
they are to wait till they are endued with power from on
high, and then to be His witnesses; we cannot appropriate
to ourselves what belonged specially and peculiarly to the
gift at Pentecost, to which Christ here unquestionably
alludes. And indeed that power from on high was not,
after all, the Spirit of God, whom Jesus had already breathed
into the apostles in the first days after His resurrection,—whom He had even earlier spoken of them as possessing,
when, on their acknowledging Him as the Christ, He said
that flesh and blood had not revealed it to them, but the
Father in heaven; for when the Father reveals anything,
He does it by the Holy Spirit, as it is said in another place,
No man can say that Jesus is Lord but by the Holy Spirit.
Now if we further reflect how, since then, many have become
His witnesses who had no share in the extraordinary gift
of Pentecost, as we ourselves are, each in his own way; how
can this call to be His witnesses but remind us of that
glorious promise, without which no one would be capable
of fulfilling this commission—the promise which the Saviour
linked with this very commission, saying, Go, and teach
all nations, and then adding, And I am with you all the
days, even to the end of the world. And the words of
those who came to the apostles after the Lord was taken
away,—to what could they refer but to the promise which,
during the recent days, the Lord had often expressed in
various forms, that the Son of man would return in all the
glory of the Father, a Lord and King, a Judge of all living.
If, then, we desire to reflect together on the promises of the
departing Saviour, it is just those two on which we should
fix our attention: first, that He will be with us even to the
end of the days; and second, that He will come again to
judgment. But, my friends, let us deal in the same way
with these two promises; with the one as with the other! If no time is too late for the one, so let us also believe that
no time is too early for the other. If we enjoy the one as
an immediate and precious possession, let us not regard the
other only as a hardly discernible form, approaching with
little show out of the dim distance; but let us appropriate
both, not as something strange and far off, but as something
present, forming the essence of His living relation to His
Church, of His kingdom already set up,—something of which,
just for this reason, He could say, It is not for you to know
times and seasons, because it is not at all a matter of times
and seasons, but has always existed, from that time onwards,
and must from one period to another come ever nearer to
completion. In this manner, then, let us talk together of
these two promises.
I. In the first place let us think of the Saviour’s promise,
I am with you all the days, even to the end of the world.
Yes, my friends, our own consciousness, our Christian experience must tell us this,—that He is ever with us, and in
many different ways: He is with us in the Scriptures, He
is with us in the holiest and most elevating emotions of our
minds; finally, He is with us in the persons of those who
bear His image, and justly and honourably bear His Name.
He is with us in the Scriptures. What He says Himself,
even of the books of the Old Testament, “Ye search the
Scriptures, because ye think that in them ye have eternal
life, and it is they that testify of Me,”—how much more
gloriously, and in how much larger a sense, has this been
true since we have had the Scriptures of the New Testament;
since the narratives of His deeds and sufferings were recorded by His disciples, since the teachings and precepts
collected in intercourse with Him, and presented and applied
to the Christian Church by the apostles, have come down as
a legacy to us! Whenever we search into those books, if
we do it with a pure heart, everywhere He comes to meet
us; everywhere He is pictured to us, everywhere we find a sacred bequest that He has left to us. And just as there are
paintings in which all the light by which the rest of the
objects become visible proceeds from Christ, so the Scriptures are such a painting, in which His image lights up
everything else, that would otherwise be dark, with a
heavenly radiance. For how much do we find in Scripture
which, if regarded from the ordinary human point of view
as general moral maxims or instructions, is unintelligible,
doubtful in its consequences, or exaggerated and unnatural,
but becomes quite clear when placed in connection with Him,
with His work and His reign, as the reign of confidence in God,
of the banishment of all care, of the power of prayer, of calm
endurance. And much that, without Him, would be too
high for us—of reconciliation to God, of the riches of His
mercy and grace, of the intimate fellowship of men with
God and God’s dwelling among us;—how close all this comes
to us! how powerfully that which in every point corresponds
with the features of His likeness takes hold of us, so that
His action makes it plain to us, and it, as it were, streams
from His lips into our minds! And there may still be much
in these books for thoughtful students of Scripture to investigate; but whatever they may discover, it can only tend
to make the image of Christ clearer; never will it be obscured
or altered. The need of having Christ near and present in
this way began to be felt, it may be said, from the day on
which He was taken away. Now that they could no longer
see and hear Himself, the believers became eager to learn,
from the accounts of others, what they had not themselves
seen and heard; and every one wished to fix in his memory
and to communicate what He possessed, and thus written
memoirs began to be made, which grew into the histories of
the life of Jesus as we have them in our sacred books. Who
does not feel how important this holy possession is for our
living relation to Him; how indispensable it was for all
successive generations to have this compensation for His absence? Who does not feel what a held faith and love
gain by this many-sided revelation of the Lord? And therefore this treasure will remain with us, according to His
promise; He is with us in the Scriptures, even to the end
of the world. And much as the spirit that is hostile to Christianity has sought to deface and depreciate these books, they
will in the future, as they have done hitherto, surmount all
opposition.
“The word shall still unshaken stand,
In spite of all the scoffing band.”
Again, the Saviour is with us in the holiest and most
elevating emotions of our minds. Many, indeed, say doubt
fully that it is only a fancy when one speaks of a special
nearness and presence of the Saviour in this sense, and that
His presence in the Scriptures would be perfectly sufficient
for us. It is very possible that with some it is a mere
fancy; and yet we could wish that even those dubious spirits
might not lack the reality that we mean by this expression;
and let us not forget that without such moments, even the
Scriptures themselves, and therefore our way of having Jesus
near in the Scriptures, would not exist. For we know how
human feeling fluctuates, and how, even apart from any
direct influence of external circumstances, one hour is not
like another; in some, life is more dull and uninteresting,
while others are filled with richer blessing from God. And
assuredly it was not in their lowest and most listless moods
that the Lord’s disciples ventured to write anything about
His life and work; but when they had a specially vivid view
of Him in any connection, and the divine form stood out
before their minds more and more glorious in light and
splendour, then they sought to preserve, through the power
of the Word, the substance of such richly blessed moments.
It is just for this reason that the Scripture is such a
treasure, because the blessing of the most highly favoured
hours of believers is compressed into it. And can we suppose there are not still similar differences with us, perhaps
only because having never seen the Saviour with our bodily
eyes, a bodily image of Him could not present itself to our
inner perception? We see in the first days of the Church
how naturally and, as it were, imperceptibly, the physical
passed over into the spiritual, and that therefore the two
conceptions must be in their nature one and the same. Thus,
long after His ascension, Christ appeared to Paul, when He
meant to send him forth to enlighten the Gentiles; and Paul,
who had perhaps never seen Him during His life on earth,
or, at most, only in a passing and distant way, records this
very appearance as the last on the list of the appearances of
Jesus in the days of His resurrection. And thus Stephen,
and assuredly many others afterwards, saw Him seated on
the right hand of God, uncertain, amid the rapt and exalted
feelings of martyrdom, whether it was with the bodily or
the spiritual eye that they beheld Him. And thus also He
often appears to us in unusual nearness and living presence,
only, of course, in the spiritual splendour of His peace-bringing person; whether longed and prayed for in times of
special heart need, or, as it were, spontaneously and unexpectedly, when our life has insensibly been raised and
ripened anew to a higher enjoyment. And as, in the case of
those we have spoken of, this assurance of Christ’s presence
was connected with the most important moments of their
lives; as it changed Paul from being a persecutor of Christ
and His people (though with the best intentions) into the
most zealous preacher of His name; who could afterwards
say justly of himself that he had laboured more than all the
others; as Stephen’s enraptured gaze rested on the Lord in
His glory just when the crown of martyrdom was bestowed
on him; even so with us, this immediate nearness of the
Saviour will sometimes lead to the most momentous crises,
and sometimes accompany them, lighting them with glory. If we have been long in doubt while honestly trying to find out what, in this case or that, is right and true; then in such
an hour our doubt will be resolved, and Christ will be
specially near to give us the assurance that it is in and
through Him that our heart has become confirmed, that what
we have found out or decided on is according to His mind
and Spirit. When in the strength of faith and prayer we
have successfully withstood any temptation, then Christ will
be specially manifest to us, and will cry to us, Go in peace,
thy faith hath helped thee; or while we are still in the
midst of a hard struggle, His image suddenly rising before
us will remind us that He died to deliver us from sin, and
this will decide the issue for the good Spirit in us, When
we feel in ourselves a calm that stills all earthly pain; when
we feel drawn to all, or to individuals, with a higher power
of love,—this also is from the special nearness of Christ, who
is the bond of all love, and who is thus raising us above
everything earthly, and drawing us to Himself. Or even
when we have to groan over the feeling of being entangled
in earthly things, it will be a longing look at Him that first
lifts us up again to that purer, holy frame of mind. How
otherwise could we say that a living relationship exists
between Him and us? How could we say that we have a
share in the blessing which yet He specially prayed for on
our behalf, that we should live in Him and He in us? Those
blessed moments are what give zest to life; it is those seasons
that develop faith and love, and by which the rest of life is
maintained and strengthened; they are indeed the force that
holds together the whole Christian community, for it is only
through them that any one is able to strengthen and animate
others.
And hence, and just in this way, Christ is also near us
in those who wear His likeness, and who honourably and
worthily bear His name. That is to say, the more of such
higher seasons as we have been describing each of us enjoys,
the more will he recall Christ to the minds of those who live with him. For it is through such moments that the spiritual
life makes progress; every pure disposition is strengthened
by them, every virtue reanimated; and the more truly
Christian we are, the more everything good in us has proceeded in this way from fellowship with Christ, it will bear
the more clearly Christ’s image and superscription; weak
indeed, and in clouded brightness in comparison with Himself; and yet it helps to fix in our minds the true, unfalsified
features of His likeness. Each individual, it is true, shows
only certain separate features of the original, in whom all
perfection is reflected; for our growth into His likeness only
develops freely in certain directions, while in others it is
checked or hindered by the power of our natural sinfulness,
or by our blindness and indolence. But this is just how it
comes that, as Christ Himself promised, He is most perfectly
among us where two or three or several are gathered together
in His name; where, impelled by our ardent desire to give
Him the glory, and thankful for all that we have through
Him, we mutually give frank expression to our feelings;
where brotherly love gladly forgets everything else, and
looks only at that in which Christ is glorified. Oh, assuredly,
these manifestations of Christ in those who are most like
Him are a very essential part of our relation to Him. In
this way it is evidently given to us that He continuously
lives and works among His people; and thus—whatever the
world may say, whatever it may with scornful exultation
cast in our teeth as to the decay of Christianity and the
gradual dying out of its power—yet thus we are confirmed
in the comforting conviction that His Church stands immovable, and that His covenant remains the same, however much
may perhaps be changed in its outward forms. And this is
the faith that overcomes the world, and that keeps us free
from all anxiety, though in a bodily sense we are entirely
separated from our protecting Lord and Master.
Thus, my friends, ever since His departure from the earth, and without bodily appearance, Christ is near to His
people. Every Christian feels this, and thus it will still be
experienced, even to the end of the days.
II. In coming now to consider, secondly, the promise that
the Saviour would come back to judgment, I have, it is true,
already intimated that you should set this promise on a level
with the former, and regard it just in the same way as a
present thing, already in course of being fulfilled; but it
will be only the smallest number of you who will be readily
inclined to do so. It always seems to us as if the Lord had
not yet set up His judgment-seat; and although we distinctly know that the kingdom of God comes not with
outward show, yet as respects the judgment of God we are
accustomed to expect that it will so come. But what right
have we in reality to make this difference? As the kingdom of God is not yet completed, but there is always some
thing more glorious to come, and it doth not yet appear
what we shall be; even so, no doubt, the judgment of God is
not yet completed. But are we therefore at liberty to
regard it as very far off, and something that belongs only to
the future? Scripture constantly connects the two things,
God’s kingdom and His judgment; what is true of the one
is true of the other. The Saviour Himself represents it to
us as present when He says, “He that believeth on Me hath
eternal life, and cometh not into judgment; but he that
believeth not is already judged. For I have not come to
judge the world, but to save the world.” Therefore, why do
we think of waiting for the future? He who is liable to
judgment is already judged. From that time this word
holds good; He is present for judgment, although He Himself does not judge; and from that time the generations of
men are being judged. This judgment consists in these
particulars—first, that the good are distinguished from the
wicked; second, that they each receive their due reward;
finally, that they go away each to his own place.
The Lord then comes already for judgment, inasmuch as it
consists in distinguishing between the good and the wicked.
There is a great deal said, indeed, about the skill with which
the wicked are able to cloak themselves, to throw a fine
appearance over all that they do, and in their talk to represent themselves as ardently and heartily honouring all that
is good, and as haters of evil. But I believe I am not
venturing too far when I assert that this art can only deceive
those who have not goodness firmly established and active
in themselves. For that which is true and good recognises
itself everywhere, and so it also distinguishes its opposite.
The Lord knew what was in man; so that, though many
seemed to believe in Him, He did not commit Himself to
them; and we also, the nearer we are to Him, and the more
we have already received from Him, ought to have, and may
have, the same knowledge. Not, indeed, instantly, or of what
is at a distance from us: and he who takes upon him to pass
hasty judgments, or to judge at all about people who are not
near enough to him, or who have not influence enough on his
own life to make it needful for him to judge about them, has
himself to blame if he is mistaken, and if by spreading a
false report he even helps the wicked to extend their operations and to increase their importance. But of the people
who are near enough for us to be able to take note of their
lives, so that a false judgment of them would necessarily be
hurtful to us;—ought we not to be capable of knowing about
them whether they are good or evil, whether for the Lord
whom we follow, or against Him? Even if falsehood and
dissimulation were successfully practised in all great matters,
would not the real and inherent evil all the more surely
betray itself in a multitude of unguarded expressions, which
perhaps might seem to the persons themselves utterly tri
fling and insignificant, but which would give the surest
indication of the state of their inmost hearts? Certainly if
we walk in such darkness, we are not blameless in doing so;
every day must make us wiser in this respect, provided the
word of the Lord is always producing its effects on us, and
we are always more and more appropriating Him as our own.
Besides, what would it signify that His light shines in us
if it does not make us able to discern where there is light in
men and where darkness? What would it signify that we
hear and follow His voice if we cannot also see who does not
follow it with us? And if thus each of us is able in his own
circle to discriminate between the good and the evil; and if,
at the same time, where it is needful, we rely on the well-considered judgment and the sure perception of our brethren,
as it is right to do; then wherever the Lord has established His seat, is there
not a distinction made, even now, between the good and the wicked?
And thus it comes that the Lord even now returns to
judgment, in so far as it consists in a separation being made
between the good and the bad. It is true that, as regards
place, they are mingled together. We find ourselves sur
rounded on every side by the children of the world and of
darkness, and we seem to ourselves to be so, even oftener
than is actually the case; we feel oppressed by them; the
sight of them saddens us; their neighbourhood is not unfrequently perilous to us, and our work is hindered by their
active opposition. And on the other hand, how often do
those who really belong to us keep at such a distance from
us that it is hardly possible to extend a hand to one of them!
How often do we miss their support, and how slowly the
work of God seems to advance on earth, chiefly because they
are not able sufficiently to unite their powers! All this is
no doubt true. But then, on the other side, do we not always
feel that every one who, like ourselves, belongs to the Lord
is near us in a way in which no others are? If we have once
really known such a one and taken him into our heart, then
no change of place can ever again separate our spirits—no
time can efface the beloved image, or carry away the blessing which association with him brought into our life. The
invisible Church of Christ is, in reality, everywhere one; a
living fellowship exists among all its members, into which
nothing of an uncongenial nature can find its way. For
what more can the wicked do than to give a different direction to our outward work than it might have taken without
their intervention? Or could they really disturb our inner
life? could they spoil for us the spiritual enjoyment which is
afforded and made sure to us by Christ and the association
of His people, the peace of God, the calm trust, the heartfelt
love? Certainly no further than as there is still in us some
thing of the same kind as in them; but if we are entirely
Christ’s, then anything opposed or hostile to Him has as
little power over us as right in us; if He has conquered, He
has certainly deprived evil of this power. But that which
has no effect on me is separate from me. And how entirely
it is so with us in everything! However near to us one
may stand who is an utterly unthankful denier or enemy of
Christ (though there are but few such), is there really any
thing about which we could take common ground with him?
any undertaking whatever, unless something quite trivial
and external, in which we could join him, or about which,
if we did attempt to make common cause, we should not
immediately be of different minds? Can he make use of us,
just such as we are, in any way whatever, or we of him?
Does he understand us, our joys and sorrows, our views and
thoughts; or do we understand his? No; fellowship is not
permitted to us; there is a gulf fixed between us, which no
local separation could in reality increase; no word, in fact,
comes across it from them to us, nor goes from us to them;
we can receive no single thing from them, nor they from us,
until they actually come over to us—until they have received
from us the one great thing about which we are ever praying
them in Christ’s stead, that they will be reconciled to God.
And finally, as a part of this judgment, and, indeed, what is regarded as the principal point; that is, that the righteous
will enter the kingdom of their Father, and the wicked go
away to the place assigned to them. This also let us not
regard as a promise not to be fulfilled until that day. Rather
let each one put himself to the test, and look around him to
see that the Lord is even now judging, and how He is doing
so. Many, it is true, think this lies very near, and is very
easy to find. Virtue, they say, is its own reward; the good
man alone has his happiness in himself; he feels himself
safe under God’s protection, and even in the storms of the
world the peace of the Most High is not wanting to him;
while the wicked man, on the contrary, is not made glad by
his good fortune; the transitory nature of his enjoyment
makes him uneasy; all his memories are poisoned by the
sting of conscience; in short, at the heart of everything is
the worm that dieth not. But if we look at the matter more
closely, we often find that the children of darkness, being
wise in their own way, arc well able to take precautions
against all disaster; that by natural or acquired thoughtlessness they escape the fear of the future; that becoming hardened in the habit of disobedience, they soon hear no longer
in their inmost heart any voice that condemns them; so that
they drink with untroubled gaiety from the cup of their
worthless pleasures. And in the same way we see how,
though the godly man has indeed the peace of God, yet
this peace is often beyond human nature, and the heart
longs for a day of manifestation of the Lord, in which it also
may obtain its rights. And when we see how many tears the
godly man sheds over unsuccessful attempts to extend and
further what is good; how he is worn out by the scorn and
derision of the adversaries in his often vain opposition to
them; then we cannot deny that it has not yet appeared
what we shall be, and that the Lord has not yet set up His
throne for judgment. Therefore let us take yet another point
of view, different from this ordinary one a view to which the Saviour Himself directs us when He says, Well done, faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord; thou hast
been faithful over a few things, I will set thee over many
things; but take from the slothful servant that which he has,
and cast him out into the outer darkness, where shall be
wailing and gnashing of teeth. What is the condemnation
of the ungodly, into which he is already entering even here?
It is that he is more and more losing what was originally given
to him of the divine image in man’s nature; that the divine
light is gradually quenched in him, and he is cast out of the
kingdom of spiritual liberty, and left under the dominion of
his own nature. Could we ask a heavier condemnation for
him than this? And what, on the other hand, is the kingdom which we are
appointed to inherit, and into which the faithful servant begins even here to
be brought by his Lord? It is just that busy, active life in which we are
already engaged, in which this promise of Jesus is being fulfilled. Amidst these
tears and sighs we are yet always earning something for our Lord, and He sets us
over more. Amidst opposition and conflict our spiritual strength increases, His
image is formed more gloriously in us, and we are more and more seeing Him as He
is, and becoming like Him. Do we with whom it is no question of any praise from
without, which has nothing to do with the matter, but only of the satisfaction
of our Lord and of gladsome fellowship with Him—do we desire anything more?
Thus rules the victorious Lord, who has sat down at the
right hand of God! thus He blesses and prospers and guides—not from afar, but as near and present—all who hear His
voice and follow Him; and thus He allows the unbelieving
to pass judgment on themselves now and evermore! Let us
then lay to heart the exhortation given by those men to the
disciples, not to be looking up with impatient longing to
wards heaven; but let us turn from the contemplation of His
ascension to earnest prayer in the Spirit and in the truth, being, like them, of one mind; thus will He meet us also in
His love and power; thus will be fulfilled in us also what
He promised to the disciples. We shall taste and see how
lovingly He is present with us, and we shall sit with Him,
and, according to His mind and law, judge the generations of
mankind. Amen.
XXVII.
TRUE HARVEST JOY.
TEXT: LUKE xii. 16-21.
TO-DAY the harvest thanksgiving is celebrated through
out the land, and it is most fitting that it should be
with all of us a day of great and joyful giving of thanks.
Although there are but few among the masses of people
crowded together in this as in other great cities, who have
any direct share in this great business of agriculture, yet
we are all aware that it is the prime source of our common
prosperity; indeed, I may say, the first condition of the
development of our mental powers. So well do we know
this, that whatever may be a man’s special calling or business by which he seeks at once to advance the common good
and to benefit himself, we speak of it in every-day language,
and not inappropriately, or without good reason, as “his
field and his plough.” And so it is. All the different
occupations of men that have to do with our existence and
ordinary life in the world form a great inseparable whole;
each is supported by the rest; failure in one direction spreads
its effects far around; while every success, and, still more,
every improvement, causes universal joy and gratitude
among intelligent people, even among those who have no
direct share in it. In the words of our text we find, it is
true, a harvest joy,—the joy of a man over a year’s rich and blessed produce of his fields; but it is joy of a kind that
the Lord condemns as folly. Are we to suppose from this
that He disapproved of and condemned joy altogether, and
therefore wished also to repress the thanksgiving for any
favour or blessing from God, thanksgiving that flows only
from joy? We cannot admit such a thought. It was the
kind and manner of this joy that He blamed. And we find
the key to the whole in the closing words of our text: “So
is he that layeth up treasure for himself”—who rejoices over earthly riches—“and is not rich towards God.” We find
it also in the words that immediately precede these verses: “Take heed, and beware of covetousness.” We cannot, in
deed, say of the man in our text, that he was covetous in the
strictest sense of the word, for he not only wished to gather
up goods, but to enjoy what he had gathered. But because
he thought only of himself in connection with what God had
given him; because his joy was entirely on his own account,—utterly selfish,—this is why the Saviour charged him with
folly. And let us not omit also to notice that though the
Lord tells us nothing more of what passed in this man’s
mind, He brings clearly to light the folly of his soul, when
He tells us that he was reminded by a voice from heaven (a
voice which in these days is speaking so loudly to us)Berlin was visited by the cholera at the time when this sermon
was preached. of
the uncertainty and transitoriness of earthly life: “This
night thy soul shall be required of thee.” Let us try to see,
then, how the Saviour makes use of this the remembrance
of the transitory nature of earthly life to warn us against
selfishness in our joy and gratitude for God’s earthly blessings, and to give to that joy and gratitude a higher direction.
I. The first point, then, that we have to consider in our
text is the saying of this man to himself: “Soul, thou hast
much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, be
merry.” These words, if we take them just as they stand, suggest a very
primitive and crude state of things as compared with our present ways. The man
who had reaped so rich a harvest is described to us as if he only thought of
using and consuming in his own household what he had gained; although, of
course, that would take a long series of years; he regarded it as his own
provision, intended directly for his own use. The growth and increasing strength
of association among men has brought us far beyond such a state of things. That
which each one gains or produces, in what ever way or by whatever business, does
not remain shut up with himself—it goes out into the general circle of commerce.
But it does so because there is and must be something that we want above
everything else,—above that thing itself which we have, and it is to the
acquisition of this something that those among us who are like-minded with this
man direct all their efforts. What will this bring to me? each one asks himself;
that is, how much will it bring of that which will procure for you everything
else? And if that is plentiful and abundant, he says in the same way, “Soul,
thou hast great store of this much-praised representative of all things; now
consider how thou wilt use thy treasure; use it entirely according to the desire
of thy heart; eat, drink and be merry!”
Now here we have the two great motive powers,—human
covetousness and self-indulgence,—and we see the conflict
there is between them in each individual. To acquire and
to enjoy, to gather up and to use,—how clearly each one
reveals his character by the way in which he balances these
against each other, and how long the greater number remain
undecided as to which way they shall take! Some choose
the plan of spending the greater part of their lives in continually accumulating, continually acquiring; but this with
the hope of being able at last to rest and enjoy in comfort
what they have gained; they are content in the meantime with rejoicing in their increasing gains, that at last, when
they have enough, they may give way to and gratify every
bent and desire of their souls. Others again—and it looks
as if this word of the Lord were directed somewhat more
specially to them—who hear already, at least afar off, the
voice from heaven, “This night thy soul shall be required
of thee!”—these others set acquiring and enjoying closer
together, gathering and acquiring- as much as they can
according to the order of nature in the short space of a year,
in order at once to take the good of it; the next year, they
say, will bring new activity, and as its result, new enjoyment. But the one plan is no better than the other; for if
it were said to those last, there is no question of the course
of a year, this night thy soul shall be required of thee, their
calculation would be as mistaken as the other.
But further, if a man has once taken measures for deciding this question, and laid down a rule for himself in the
matter, then he will be deaf to all demands that interfere
with his calculations. He has gathered and toiled, he has
laboured and put forth all his powers for himself and for a
circle that he has clearly defined to himself; and is he to be
asked to turn his attention elsewhere? is he to have demands
made on him for help to those who do not belong to this
circle? is he to miss something of the enjoyment that he
has set before him as the whole aim of his work? Rather he
will try to turn away everything of this kind, that he may
go on undisturbed in the course of life that he has laid out
for himself. But if there comes to him the voice, “This
night thy soul shall be required of thee,” how little then has
his hardness of heart availed him I how delusive will every
thing then prove that he has promised himself for this life!
how vain everything that he has done for it alone! And so
the Saviour rebukes the man who is not seeking after the
kingdom of God, whose whole mind is set on the cheerful
enjoyment of this short span of earthly life. He rebukes him, while He warns him of the end. He who knows and recognises nothing beyond this alternation between gaining and
enjoying, however honourable his gains may be, however select
and refined his pleasures, is still doing all only for himself,—for himself in this his earthly life, with his tastes for the
enjoyment of earthly things, with his clinging to perishing
possessions! And yet he cannot conceal from himself that
even for him there is something better within reach; and so
every thought of the end of this life reproaches him with his
folly.
II. But we have not yet seen all that was in the mind of
the man whom the Saviour sets before us. He had said to
himself, What wilt thou do? thou hast no place where to lay
up thy fruits! Well, thought he, I will pull down my barns
and build greater, and in them will I bestow all my fruits
and my goods; and not till then was to begin his easy life
of enjoyment. But,—it would certainly have been a folly
to pull down his barns and build greater for a single
abundant harvest; therefore he must have been counting
on similar ones to come. So we may conclude that he was
one of those who thoroughly understand their business. He
had improved his property, and applied all his faculties to
his work; and now the fruit of all this painstaking began to
be seen; now he could count with some probability on the
continuance of this prosperity, and therefore wished to make
arrangements for adapting his whole manner of life to his
enlarged possessions. But as a man seldom attains to seeing
such returns from his long-continued toils before he has
reached middle age, and therefore whatever he builds then
will in the natural order of things outlast him, he thinks, in
his building, not only of himself, but of those who will after
wards live in his house and lay up in his barns; he thinks
of the generations that may descend from him, and includes
the life of his posterity in his own. Consider then how
these words remind us of the great histories of human life that have taken place in our own land. Since the days of
the remotest ancestors of whom we have any knowledge,
how far have the operations of man on his mother earth
extended, by the ever-renewed labours of successive generations! to what perfection have they reached almost before
our own eyes! But how much has intervened from time to
time which must have made manifest the folly of those who
limited the aim of their life’s work in the way we have
spoken of! In the history of our own neighbourhood,
without touching on the state of things before that dreadful
war that desolated these lands two hundred years ago, we
know how after its close all the labours of men on the soil
were almost to begin anew. Then villages and towns rose
again, but others remained lying in ruins, because there
were not enough of men to rebuild them with profit. And
after that time of terror was got over, how much was built,
just as hopefully as by the man in our text, for future
generations! how clearly do the monuments of that period
proclaim the hope that where the builder lived and gathered
treasure, his latest descendants should also live and amass
in undiminished prosperity. But by-and-by times of war
came again; for long years hostile armies swarmed over the
land, and again many of the works of the elder generations
perished in the storm. How little has history preserved to
us of those who, between those two fateful times, lived and
laboured, gathered and built! The names of those who in
that interval shared the land and enjoyed the fruits of it
are almost all unknown; and even when it is known here
and there by whom a noble and stately mansion was built,
it is very seldom the descendants of the founder who inhabit
it. But after the devastation of the seven years war, a
splendid time of cultivation began once more; then tracts of
land that had never before yielded anything to man were
subdued by the plough, and began to bear crops; then the
ancients forests were felled, that a yearly harvest might be drawn from the soil; marshes were drained, and regions
that until then had only given forth noxious vapours became
fertile and blooming; foreigners who had no room in their
own country were attracted here, and we made them
welcome, that our common prosperity might be increased by
their help.
This, then, is cultivating in order to reaping: and how
continuously has man been perfecting his dominion over his
mother earth! how much more skilfully and successfully is
this great business carried on among us! And though a far
greater number of people than before now live in the same
space, there has also been a constantly increasing development of mental powers, and life has altogether taken a fuller
and nobler form. How well for those, then and now, who,
in taking any active part in this progress, have rejoiced
more in the ennobling of mankind than in the growing
promise of wealth for their descendants; who have valued
an improved state of worldly circumstances less for its own
sake than because it leaves men more free and open to
receive the kingdom of God. But if our case is only such as
the Saviour represents in our text; if every one works only
for himself and his successors, and wishes only himself and
his family to reap the fruits of his industry, I have already
sufficiently indicated how the folly of such a course punishes
itself. How many a one in those past times, while labouring
for himself and his descendants, may have looked far into
the future and said to his soul, Take thine ease, and be merry;
the name of thy race will never perish: he may have assured
himself that what he had already made would suffice to maintain them in splendour and honour; that in the dwelling
which he had built his children and his children’s children
would dwell, and that the fame of a race sprung from such an
ancestor would be ever more widely spread; that the rights
which he had acquired over others, and which placed him in
so favourable a position for employing, not only his own powers, but far more those of others, to serve his ends, would
be equally serviceable to those who came after him; that all
would be an inviolable possession, and continue as it had
been! But man is like a falling leaf, “as a flower of the
field, so he flourisheth; the wind passeth over it, and it is gone”; and this is true, not only of individuals it is true
of races of men, it is true of all human plans. The most
famous names pass away, and the scenes of their glory are
no more. Poverty overtakes the richest families; and needy descendants, stripped
of all the distinctions and prerogatives that adorned their ancestors, and far
from their palaces, are often compelled to seek their bread of sorrow among
strangers!
III. Thus we only now come to the full meaning of the
question put to the man in the text by the heavenly voice:
Whose shall the things be which thou hast prepared? Yes,
whose shall they be? That is the question that always brings
out the vanity of mere human wisdom; for there is none
who can give the answer. If we look at the question in the
sense that first of all occurs to every one, and in immediate
connection with that stern sentence, This night thy soul shall
be required of thee, it reminds us how so many, though
perfectly aware that they have only a short and uncertain
term of earthly life, and that what a man has worked for
must go to those who come after him, yet neglect to arrange
who shall have what they leave behind them, and that even
when they have ample reason and motive for doing so. A
most foolish fear of death makes many a man banish every
thought of this kind from his mind; and if he brings himself
to the point of setting about such an arrangement, he thinks
he already hears the nails being driven into his coffin, and
death whetting the scythe that is to cut him down. Foolish
man! when there is really nothing—no agitation or satisfaction of mind, no feeling of hunger or thirst, of comfort or
refreshment,—nothing that does not remind us how fleeting is our earthly life! Therefore let every one for himself get
the mastery over this idea!
But this is not all: the question has a wider and deeper
meaning. Whose shall these things be that thou hast
gathered? These words remind us, further, of the various
relations of human order and human law which protect our
property and our possessions in the widest sense of the
word. On these finally depend the things we have been
considering to-day: they are, as it were, the hinges on
which all work and business move. Most of those who have
worked for their successors, who have wished to be able to
count on their enjoying life in comfort, and on being
honoured by them as faithful and considerate parents, have
done so in the confidence that these social relations would
remain unchanged. But how utterly mistaken they were!
How even in our own district does the fleeting nature of all
earthly things take hold of us! nay, how manifest it is here
on the largest scale! We need only look back over a short
period of history; for how short are a few hundred years,
not only in the history of mankind in general, but in that of
individual nations; and in that time what great changes
have taken place in the legal relations of almost all the
nations in this part of the world! There is no doubt of it—it is impossible that things should always remain as they
have been.
Perhaps those relations originated in some great and
undeniable inequality between one man and another; then,
of course, where that inequality no longer exists, they can
no longer serve the same purpose; and what was once
justice may, in different circumstances, be the bitterest
injustice. But if one party insists on defending such a
change, while another opposes it, then what sad variance
arises between forces that should work together! what
endless quarrels between those who yet cannot get on with
out each other! And why? For this sole reason, that each one thinks only of himself and those belonging to him.
The one knows that his predecessors have laboured for him,
and he wishes at least to lay up something for those who
come after him. But if he is to transmit gratefully what
his fathers have made; if his own toil and trouble are not
to be fruitless; his successors must have the same rights in
regard to others which he has himself enjoyed; otherwise
all his good beginnings are mistaken, and he is out in his
reckoning. The other, on the contrary, knows that the
adverse conditions under which his fathers groaned exist no
longer; he notices in the affairs of men a tendency to
change in his favour, and finds in this an inducement to
work his way up to a better position. And so the two
parties oppose each other, and strife and dissension break
out. Those on the one side wish to keep what they have
always had; those on the other struggle to win what they
have not. But if the former are only actuated by the belief
that they are called on to represent a special class in society
and to defend its property, while the latter think that their
work is to oppose this exclusiveness and to set up a new
special class; what can there be but bitter strife and foolish
disputes? What is this but that very selfishness which the
Lord condemns when He says, “So is he that layeth up treasure for himself, and
is not rich toward God”? For where there is debate and contention—a different
kind of debate from that by which we seek in the spirit of love to find out the
truth—there is also covetousness and selfishness; and there, too, is the folly of which the Lord says,
“Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee;
and the things which thou hast prepared, whose shall they
be?” For mark well, even in the course of a single night,
changes may take place in human things without your being
consulted which entirely alter your position; and each one
who, instead of concerning himself with the common good,
and regarding himself as a part of the great whole, has limited his interest to some narrow circle, perhaps opposed
to the private interest of some one else; every one has a
soul which, with all its desires and joys, its treasures and
possessions, may in a night be required of him! And the
more keenly the strife has been carried on, the less sure can
human wisdom be of any firm ground or of any certain
issue; the more foolish would it be to undertake to answer
the question, Whose shall those things be which thou hast
provided, or hast wished to provide? But where instead of
strife and wrangling, instead of self-seeking and covetousness, that rule of life and feeling guides men which makes
them rich in God; in that God who makes His sun shine on
the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on
the unjust; in that God before whom all are equal, His
fatherly love going forth to all; whose wise decrees are
indeed hidden from us, so that we can never for one short
moment lift the veil that conceals them, but whose laws and
will are clearly revealed and should be written on the hearts
of those who confess the name of His Son;—among such
people there is an end of this folly; each of them is willing
that his soul should be called away at any moment; and
such men know whose the things shall be which they have
provided.
And now, my dear friends, after all this—with all this
work and business which goes on, one day and one year
like another; with that wider view of human things that
extends from one generation to another; with the loving
wisdom which seeks to answer without covetousness, according to the mind of God, the question whose the things
shall be which we have provided; and so to preserve or
establish anew all legal relations, that mutual love may rule
over all, and that each may be able to rejoice in the common
welfare without wranglings or disputes; after all, we are
nothing more than stewards of God’s earthly gifts. What
are we as Christians? Stewards of His mysteries. But the Saviour, in the words of our text, teaches us not to separate these two things. As stewards of God’s earthly gifts we gather and are meant to gather treasure; but each of us not
for himself, nor for those who are to come after him; not for
that circle of society to which he specially belongs; but each
for all, each for the whole, each regarding himself as belonging to the great family of man, which is to become one flock
under one Shepherd. And we can only be faithful stewards
of God’s earthly gifts by being at the same time stewards
of His mysteries; who, because we have risen from death to life by a living faith, seek, even in the work and toil of temporal things, only that which is eternal. And thus a pure
joy in God’s earthly blessings, undisturbed by any fear of
death, is the portion of those alone who walk in that love
which makes all men friendly with each other, and who are
therefore each one ready to let his own interests stand aside
for the greatest good of all. And thus only shall we be in a
position to give in our account as to how we have helped for
ward the development of men’s powers in our own neighbour
hood, and how each of us has used his own powers only for
the common good. But who can feel this, except he who
looks beyond this earthly life, and keeps eternal things
steadily in view? Thus, and thus only can he begin and
continue such a life. Everything is foolishness, apart from
that simple heavenly wisdom which He has taught us who is the Way and the Truth
and the Life. He does not teach us to despise earthly things; He does not teach
us to with draw from the business of the world; for God has placed us in the
world to make Him known. Thousands of worlds are rolling around us; but we do
not know, though we may conjecture, that there is active, intelligent life
there; but man is set in this world to make God ever more gloriously known—to
glorify, by his life and his love, Him for whom and by whom he was created.
Everything that we do on this earth is meant to subserve that end; and he who
has this end in view does all not for himself—not for this one or that
one: he does it from the eternal motive of love, and for
eternity. May every new gift of God, then, which we
receive from the hand of nature remind us afresh that the
earthly exists only for the sake of the eternal, in order that
the Divine Being may manifest Himself ever more clearly in
men who are His offspring; and that the glory of His only-begotten Son and the gladsome life of His Spirit may shine
ever more brightly out of all the works of men. If we do
not use His gifts for this, we abuse them; if we are not
setting this aim before us, we are with all our worldly
wisdom only fools—fools who must be continually anxious
about whose the things they have prepared shall be; who are
ever clinging, as if it were to have no end, to that of which
the end is coming so soon. May He be pleased to lead us all
to this wisdom; and may every warning from history, every
thing that goes on before our eyes and close around us—all
danger of death, as well as every glad sense of life, ever more
powerfully impress us, that we may more and more under
stand this heavenly voice; that it may not need to reproach
us as fools, but that in respect to this also His Spirit may
bear witness with our spirits that we are His children.