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[Illustration: Cover]

[Illustration: titlepage]




_The World's Great Sermons_

VOLUME IV

L. BEECHER TO BUSHNELL




  THE
  WORLD'S
  GREAT
  SERMONS

  COMPILED BY
  GRENVILLE KLEISER
  Formerly of Yale Divinity School Faculty;
  Author of "How to Speak
  in Public," Etc.

  With Assistance from Many of the Foremost
  Living Preachers and Other Theologians

  INTRODUCTION BY
  LEWIS O. BRASTOW, D.D.
  Professor Emeritus of Practical Theology
  in Yale University

  IN TEN VOLUMES

  VOLUME IV L. BEECHER TO BUSHNELL

  FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
  NEW YORK and LONDON




  COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY
  FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY
  _Printed in the United States of America_




CONTENTS


  VOLUME IV

  LYMAN BEECHER (1775-1863).             _Page_
    The Government of God Desirable           1

  CHANNING (1780-1842).
    The Character of Christ                  27

  CHALMERS (1780-1847).
    The Expulsive Power of a New Affection   53

  ALEXANDER CAMPBELL (1788-1866).
    The Missionary Cause                     79

  IRVING (1792-1834).
    Preparation for Consulting the Oracles
    of God                                  101

  ARNOLD (1795-1842).
    Alive in God                            131

  WAYLAND (1796-1865).
    A Day in the Life of Jesus of Nazareth  145

  VINET (1797-1847).
    The Mysteries of Christianity           171

  SUMMERFIELD (1798-1825).
    The Heavenly Inheritance                189

  NEWMAN (1801-1890).
    God's Will the End of Life              207

  BUSHNELL (1802-1876).
    Unconscious Influence                   233




LYMAN BEECHER

THE GOVERNMENT OF GOD DESIRABLE




BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


LYMAN BEECHER was born in New Haven, Conn., in 1775. He graduated
from Yale in 1797, and in 1798 took charge of the Presbyterian
Church at Easthampton, Long Island. He first attracted attention
by his sermon on the death of Alexander Hamilton, and in 1810
became pastor of the Congregational Church at Litchfield, Conn. In
the course of a pastorate of 16 years, he preached a remarkable
series of sermons on temperance and became recognized as one of
the foremost pulpit orators of the country. In 1826 he went to
Boston as pastor of the Hanover Street Congregational Church. Six
years later he became president of the Lane Theological Seminary in
Ohio, an office he retained for twenty years. In 1852 he returned
to Boston and subsequently retired to the house of his son, Henry
Ward Beecher, where he died in 1863. His public utterances, whether
platform or pulpit, were carefully elaborated. They were delivered
extemporaneously and sparkled with wit, were convincing by their
logic, and conciliating by their shrewd common sense.




LYMAN BEECHER

1775-1863

THE GOVERNMENT OF GOD DESIRABLE

_Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven_.--Matthew vi., 10.


In this passage we are instructed to pray that the world may be
governed, and not abandoned to the miseries of unrestrained sin;
that God Himself would govern, and not another; and that God would
administer the government of the world, in all respects, according
to His own pleasure. The passage is a formal surrender to God of
power and dominion over the earth, as entire as His dominion is in
His heaven. The petition, therefore, "Thy will be done," contains
the doctrine:

That it is greatly to be desired that God should govern the world,
and dispose of men, in all respects, entirely according to His own
pleasure.

The truth of this doctrine is so manifest, that it would seem to
rank itself in the number of self-evident propositions, incapable of
proof clearer than its own light, had not experience taught that, of
all truths, it is the most universally and bitterly controverted.
Plain as it is, it has occasioned more argument than any other
doctrine, and, by argument merely, has gained fewer proselytes; for
it is one of those controversies in which the heart decides wholly,
and argument, strong or feeble, is alike ineffectual.

This consideration would present, on the threshold, a hopeless
impediment to further progress, did we not know, also, that
arguments a thousand times repeated, and as often resisted, may
at length become mighty through God, to the casting down of
imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against
the knowledge of God. I shall, therefore, suggest several
considerations, to confirm this most obvious truth, that it is
desirable that God should govern the world entirely according to His
own good pleasure.

1. It is desirable that God should govern the world, and dispose of
all events, according to His pleasure, because He knows perfectly in
what manner it is best that the world should be governed.

The best way of disposing of men and their concerns is that which
will effectually illustrate the glory of God. The glory of God is
His benevolence, and His natural attributes for the manifestation
of it, and sun of the moral universe, the light and life of His
kingdom. All the blessedness of the intelligent creation arises,
and ever will arise, from the manifestation and apprehension of the
glory of God. It was to manifest this glory that the worlds were
created. It was that there might be creatures to behold and enjoy
God, that His dominions were peopled with intelligent beings. And
it is that His holy subjects may see and enjoy Him, that He upholds
and governs the universe. The entire importance of our world,
therefore, and of men and their concerns, is relative, and is great
or small only as we are made to illustrate the glory of God. How
this important end shall be most effectually accomplished none but
Himself is able to determine. He, only, knows how so to order things
as that the existence of every being, and every event, shall answer
the purpose of its creation, and from the rolling of a world to the
fall of a sparrow shall conspire to increase the exhibitions of the
divine character, and expand the joy of the holy universe.

An inferior intelligence at the helm of government might conceive
very desirable purposes of benevolence, and still be at a loss
as to the means most fit and effectual to accomplish them. But,
with God, there is no such deficiency. In Him, the knowledge which
discovered the end discovers also, with unerring wisdom, the most
appropriate means to bring it to pass. He is wise in heart; He hath
established the world by His wisdom and stretched out the heavens by
His discretion. And is He not wise enough to be intrusted with the
government of the world? Who, then, shall be His counsellor? Who
shall supply the deficiencies of His skill? Oh, the presumption of
vain man! and, oh! the depths both of the wisdom and knowledge of
God!

2. It is desirable that God should govern the world according to His
own pleasure, because He is entirely able to execute His purposes.

A wise politician perceives, often, both the end and the means; and
is still unable to bring to pass his counsels, because the means,
though wise, are beyond his control. But God is as able to execute
as He is to plan. Having chosen the end, and selected the means, his
counsels stand. He is the Lord God omnipotent. The whole universe
is a storehouse of means; and when He speaks every intelligence
and every atom flies to execute His pleasure. The omnipotence of
God, in giving efficacy to His government, inspires and perpetuates
the ecstasy of heaven. "And a voice came out from the throne,
saying, Praise our God. And I heard as it were the voice of a great
multitude, and as the voice of many waters, and as the voice of many
thunderings, saying Alleluia, the Lord God omnipotent reigneth."
What will that man do in heaven, who is afraid and reluctant to
commit to God the government of the earth? And what will become
of those who, unable to frustrate His counsels, murmur and rebel
against His providence?

3. It is desirable that God should govern the world according to His
pleasure, because the pleasure of God is always good.

The angels who kept not their first estate, and many wicked men,
have great knowledge, and skill, and power: and yet, on these
accounts, are only the more terrible; because they employ these
mighty faculties to do evil. And the government of God, were He a
being of malevolence, armed as He is with skill and power, would
justly fill the universe with dismay. But, as it is, brethren, "let
not your hearts be troubled." With God there is no perversion of
attributes. He is as good as He is wise and powerful. God is love!
Love is that glory of God which He has undertaken to express to His
intelligent creation in His works. The sole object of the government
of God, from beginning to end, is, to express His benevolence.
His eternal decrees, of which so many are afraid, are nothing
but the plan which God has devised to express His benevolence,
and to make His kingdom as vast and as blest as His own infinite
goodness desires. It was to show His glory--to express, in action,
His benevolence--that He created all the worlds that roll, and
rejoice, and speak His name, through the regions of space. It is to
accomplish the same blest design, that He upholds, and places under
law, every intelligent being, and directs every event, causing every
movement, in every world, to fall in, in its appointed time and
place, and to unite in promoting the grand result--the glory of God,
and the highest good of His kingdom. And is there a mortal, who,
from this great system of blest government, would wish this earth to
be an exception? What sort of beings must those be who are afraid of
a government administered by infinite benevolence, to express, so
far as it can be expressed, the infinite goodness of God? I repeat
the question,--What kind of characters must those be who feel as if
they had good reason to fear a government the sole object of which
is to express the immeasurable goodness of God?

4. It is greatly to be desired that God should govern the world
according to His pleasure, because it is His pleasure to rule as a
moral governor.

A moral government is a government exercised over free agents,
accountable beings; a government of laws, administered by motives.

The importance of such a government below is manifest from the
consideration, that it is in His moral government, chiefly, that the
glory of God is displayed.

The superintendence of an empty world, or a world of mere animals,
would not exhibit, at all, the moral character of God. The glory
of God, shining in His law, could never be made manifest, and the
brighter glory of God, as displayed in the gospel, must remain
forever hid; and all that happiness of which we are capable, as
moral beings, the joys of religion below, and the boundless joys of
heaven above, would be extinguished, in a moment, by the suspension
of the divine moral government.

Will any pretend that the Almighty cannot maintain a moral
government on earth, if He governs according to His own pleasure?
Can He wield the elements, and control, at His pleasure, every work
of His hands, but just the mind of man? Is the most noble work of
God--that which is the most worthy of attention, and in reference to
which all beside is upheld and governed--itself wholly unmanageable?
Has Omnipotence formed minds, which, the moment they are made,
escape from His hands, and defy the control of their Maker? Has the
Almighty erected a moral kingdom which He cannot govern without
destroying its moral nature? Can He only watch, and mend, and
rectify, the lawless wanderings of mind? Has He filled the earth
with untamed and untamable spirits, whose wickedness and rebellion
He can merely mitigate, but cannot control? Does He superintend a
world of madmen, full of darkness and disorder, cheered and blest by
no internal pervading government of His own? Are we bound to submit
to all events, as parts of the holy providence of God; and yet, is
there actually no hand of God controlling the movements of the moral
world? But if the Almighty can, and if he does, govern the earth as
a part of His moral kingdom, is there any method of government more
safe and wise than that which pleases God? Can there be a better
government? We may safely pray, then, "Thy will be done in earth as
it is in heaven," without fearing at all the loss of moral agency;
for all the glory of God, in His Law and Gospel, and all the eternal
manifestations of glory to principalities and powers in heavenly
places, depend wholly upon the fact, that men, though living under
the government of God, and controlled according to His pleasure, are
still entirely free, and accountable for all the deeds done in the
body. There could be no justice in punishment and no condescension,
no wisdom, no mercy, in the glorious gospel, did not the government
of God, though administered according to His pleasure, include and
insure the accountable agency of man.

Seeing, therefore, that all the glory of God, which He ever proposes
to manifest to the intelligent creation, is to be made known by
the Church, and is to shine in the face of Jesus Christ, and is to
depend upon the perfect consistency of the moral government of God
with human freedom, we have boundless assurance that, among His
absolute, immutable, eternal purposes, one, and a leading one, is,
so to govern the world according to His counsels, that, if men sin,
there shall be complete desert of punishment, and boundless mercy
in their redemption.

5. It is greatly to be desired that God should rule in the earth
according to His pleasure, because it is His pleasure to govern the
world in mercy, by Jesus Christ.

The government is in the hand of a Mediator, by whom God is
reconciling the world to Himself, not imputing their trespasses
to them that believe. Mercy is the bestowment of pardon upon the
sinful and undeserving. Now, mankind are so eminently sinful, that
no government but one administered in infinite mercy, could afford
the least consolation. Had any being but the God of mercy sat upon
the throne, or any will but His will prevailed, there would have
been no plan of redemption, and no purposes of election, to perplex
and alarm the wicked. There would have been but one decree, and
that would have been, destruction to the whole race of man. Are
any reluctant to be entirely in the hands of God? Are they afraid
to trust Him to dispose of soul and body, for time and eternity?
Let them surrender their mercies, then, and go out naked from that
government which feeds, protects and comforts them. Let them give
up their Bibles, and relinquish the means of grace, and the hopes
of glory, and descend and make their bed in hell, where they have
long since deserved to be, and where they long since would have
been, if God had not governed the world according to His own good
pleasure. If they would escape the evils which they fear from the
hand of God, let them abandon the blessings they receive from it,
and they will soon discover whether the absolute dominion of God,
and their dependence upon Him, be, in reality, a ground of murmuring
and alarm. Our only hope of heaven arises from being entirely in
the hands of God. Our destruction could not be made more certain
than it would be were we to be given up to our own disposal, or
to the disposal of any being but God. Would sinful mortals change
their own hearts? Could the combined universe, without God, change
the depraved affections of men? Surely, then, we have cause for
unceasing joy, that we are in the hands of God; seeing He is a
God of mercy, and has decreed to rule in mercy, and actually is
administering the government of the world in mercy, by Jesus Christ.

We have nothing to fear, from the entire dominion of God, which we
should not have cause equally to fear, as outcasts from the divine
government; but we have everything to hope, while He rules the earth
according to His most merciful pleasure. The Lord reigneth; let the
earth rejoice, let the multitude of the isles be glad. It is of the
Lord's mercies that we are not consumed, because His compassions
fail not.

6. It is greatly to be desired that God should dispose of mankind
according to His pleasure, because, if He does so, it is certain
that there will be no injustice done to anyone.

He will do no injustice to His holy kingdom by any whom He saves.
He will bring none to heaven who are not holy, and prepared for
heaven. He will bring none there in any way not consistent with His
perfections, and the best good of His kingdom; none in any way but
that prescribed in the gospel, the way of faith in Jesus Christ, of
repentance for sin, and of good works as the constituted fruit and
evidence of faith.

Earthly monarchs have their favorites, whom, if guilty of a
violation of the laws, they will often interpose to save, although
the welfare of the kingdom requires their punishment. But God has
no such favorites--He is no respecter of persons: He spared not the
angels: and upon the earth distinctions of intellect, or wealth, or
honor, will have no effect; he only that believeth shall be saved.
The great and the learned shall not be obtruded upon heaven without
holiness because they are great or learned; and the humble and
contrite shall not be excluded because they are poor, or ignorant,
or obscure. God has provided a way for all men to return to Him.
He has opened the door of their prison, and set open before them a
door of admission into the kingdom of His dear Son; and commanded
and entreated them to abandon their dreary abode, and come into
the glorious liberty of the sons of God. But all, with one consent,
refuse to comply. Each prefers his own loathsome dwelling to the
building of God, and chooses, stedfastly, the darkness of his own
dungeon, to the light of God's kingdom. But, as God has determined
that the redemption of His Son shall not be unavailing through human
obstinacy, so He hath chosen, in Christ, multitudes which no man
can number, that they should be holy and without blame before Him
in love. And in bringing these sons and daughters to glory, through
sanctification of the Spirit, and belief of the truth, He will
introduce not one whom all the inhabitants of heaven will not hail
joyfully, as the companion of their glory. And if God does in the
earth just as He pleases, He will make willing, and obedient, and
bring to heaven, just those persons who it was most desirable should
come. And He will bring just as many obstinate rebels to abandon
their prison, and enter cheerfully His kingdom, as infinite wisdom,
goodness, and mercy, see fit and desire. He will not mar His glory,
or the happiness of His kingdom, by bringing in too many, nor by
omitting to bring in enough. His redeemed kingdom, as to the number
and the persons who compose it, and the happiness included in it,
will be such as shall be wholly satisfactory to God, and to every
subject of His kingdom.

And if God governs according to His pleasure, He will do no
injustice to His impenitent enemies. He will send to misery no
harmless animals without souls--no mere machines--none who have
done, or even attempted to do, as well as they could. He will leave
to walk in their own way none who do not deserve to be left; and
punish none for walking in it who did not walk therein knowingly,
deliberately and with wilful obstinacy. He will give up to death
none who did not choose death, and choose it with as entire freedom
as Himself chooses holiness; and who did not deserve eternal
punishment as truly as Himself deserves eternal praise. He will
send to hell none who are not opposed to Him, and to holiness,
and to heaven; none who are not, by voluntary sin and rebellion,
unfitted for heaven, and fitted for destruction, as eminently as
saints are prepared for glory. He will consign to perdition no poor,
feeble, inoffensive beings, sacrificing one innocent creature to
increase the happiness of another. He will cause the punishment of
the wicked to illustrate His glory, and thus indirectly to promote
the happiness of heaven. But God will not illumine heaven with His
glory, and fill it with praise, by sacrificing helpless, unoffending
creatures to eternal torment; nor will He doom to hell one whom
He will not convince also, that he deserves to go thither. The
justice of God, in the condemnation of the impenitent, will be as
unquestionable, as His infinite mercy will be in the salvation of
the redeemed.

If the will of God is done on earth, among men, there will be no
more injustice done to the inhabitants of the earth than there is
done to the blessed in heaven. Was it ever known--did any ever
complain--was it ever conceived--that God was a tyrant, in heaven?
Why, then, should we question the justice of His government on
earth? Is He not the same God below as above? Are not all His
attributes equally employed? Does He not govern for the same end,
and will not His government below conspire to promote the same
joyful end as His government above?

7. It is greatly to be desired that God should govern the world
according to His pleasure, because His own infinite blessedness, as
well as the happiness of His kingdom, depends upon His working all
things according to the counsel of His own will.

Could the Almighty be prevented from expressing the benevolence
of His nature, according to His purposes, His present boundless
blessedness would become the pain of ungratified desire. God is
love, and His happiness consists in the exercise and expression
of it, according to His own eternal purpose, which He purposed in
Christ Jesus before the world began. It is therefore declared,
"The Lord hath made all things for himself;" that is, to express
and gratify His infinite benevolence. The moral excellence of God
does not consist in quiescent love, but in love active, bursting
forth, and abounding. Nor does the divine happiness arise from
the contemplation of idle perfections, but from perfections which
comprehend boundless capacity, and activity in doing good.

From what has been said, we may be led to contemplate with
satisfaction the infinite blessedness of God.

God is love! This is a disposition which, beyond all others, is
happy in its own nature. He is perfect in love; there is, therefore,
in His happiness no alloy. His love is infinite; and, of course,
His blessedness is unbounded. If the little holiness existing in
good men, though balanced by remaining sin, occasions, at times,
unutterable joy, how blessed must God be, who is perfectly and
infinitely holy! It is to be remembered, also, that the benevolence
of God is at all times perfectly gratified. The universe which God
has created and upholds, including what He has done, and what He
will yet do, will be brought into a condition which will satisfy His
infinite benevolence. The great plan of government which God has
chosen, and which His power and wisdom will execute, will embrace as
much good as in the nature of things is possible. He is not, like
erring man, straitened and perplexed, through lack of knowledge or
power. There is in His plan no defect, and in His execution no
failure. God, therefore, is infinitely happy in His holiness, and in
the expression of it which it pleases Him to make.

The revolt of angels, the fall of man, and the miseries of sin,
do not, for a moment, interrupt the blessedness of God. They
were not, to Him, unexpected events, starting up suddenly while
the watchman of Israel slumbered. They were foreseen by God as
clearly as any other events of His government, and have occasioned
neither perplexity nor dismay. With infinite complacency He beholds
still His unshaken counsels, and with almighty hand rolls on His
undisturbed decrees. Surrounded by unnumbered millions, created
by His hand, and upheld by His power, He shines forth, God over
all, blest for ever. What an object of joyful contemplation, then,
is the blessedness of God! It is infinite; His boundless capacity
is full. It is eternal; He is God blest forever. The happiness of
the created universe is but a drop--a drop to the mighty ocean of
divine enjoyment. How delightful the thought, that in God there is
such an immensity of joy, beyond the reach of vicissitude! When we
look around below, a melancholy sensation pervades the mind. What
miserable creatures! What a wretched world! But when, from this
scene of darkness and misery, we look up to the throne of God, and
behold Him, high above the darkness and miseries of sin, dwelling
in light inaccessible and full of glory, the prospect brightens. If
a few rebels, who refuse to love and participate in His munificence,
are groping in darkness on His footstool, God is light, and in Him
there is no darkness at all.

Those who are opposed to the decrees of God, and to His sovereignty,
as displayed in the salvation of sinners, are enemies of God.

They are unwilling that His will should be done in earth as it is
in heaven; for the decrees of God are nothing but His choice as
to the manner in which He will govern His own kingdom. He did not
enter upon His government to learn wisdom by experience. Before
they were yet formed, His vast dominion lay open to His view; and
before He took the reins of created empire, He saw in what manner it
became Him to govern. His ways are everlasting. Known unto God are
all His works from the beginning. To be opposed to the decrees of
God, therefore, is to be unwilling that God should have any choice
concerning the government of the world. And can those be willing
that God should govern the world entirely according to His pleasure
who object to His having any pleasure upon the subject? To object
to the choice of God, with respect to the management of the world,
because it is eternal, is to object to the existence of God. A God
of eternal knowledge, without an eternal will or choice, would be a
God without moral character.

To suppose that God did not know what events would exist in
His kingdom, is to divest Him of omniscience. To suppose that
He did know, and did not care,--had no choice, no purpose,--is
to blot out His benevolence, to nullify His wisdom and convert
His power into infinite indolence. To suppose that He did know,
and choose, and decree, and that events do not accord with His
purposes, is to suppose that God has made a world which He can
not govern; has undertaken a work too vast; has begun to build,
but is not able to finish. But to suppose that God did, from the
beginning, behold all things open and naked before Him, and that
He did choose, with unerring wisdom and infinite goodness, how to
govern His empire,--and yet at the same time, to employ heart,
and head, and tongue, in continual opposition to this great and
blessed truth,--is, most clearly, to cherish enmity to God and His
government.

To object to the choice of God because it is immutable, is to cavil
against that which constitutes its consummating excellence. Caprice
is a most alarming feature in a bad government; but in a government
absolutely perfect, none, surely, can object to its immutability,
but those, who, if able, would alter it for the worse.

To say that, if God always knew how to govern so as to display His
glory, and bless His kingdom, and always chooses thus to govern,
there can be, therefore, no accountable agency in the conduct of
His creatures, is to deny the possibility of a moral government,
to contradict the express testimony of God; and this, too, at the
expense of common sense, and the actual experience of every subject
of His moral government on earth.

From the character of God, and the nature of His government, as
explained in this discourse, may be inferred, the nature and
necessity of unconditional submission to God.

Unconditional submission is an entire surrender of the soul to
God, to be disposed of according to His pleasure,--occasioned by
confidence in His character as God.

There are many who would trust the Almighty to regulate the rolling
of worlds, and to rule in the armies of heaven, just as He pleases;
and devils they would consign to His disposal, without the least
hesitation; and their own nation, if they were sure that God would
dispose of it according to their pleasure; even their own temporal
concerns they would risk in the hands of God, could they know that
all things would work together for their good; their souls, also,
they would cheerfully trust to His disposal, for the world to come,
if God would stipulate, at all events, to make them happy.

And to what does all this amount? Truly, that they care much about
their own happiness, and their own will, but nothing at all about
the will of God, and the welfare of His kingdom. He may decree,
and execute His decrees, in heaven, and may turn its inhabitants
into machines, or uphold their freedom, as He pleases; and apostate
spirits are relinquished to their doom, whether just or unjust. It
is only when the government of God descends to particulars, and
draws near and enters their own selfish enclosures, and claims a
right to dispose of them, and extends its influence to the unseen
world, that selfishness and fear take the alarm. Has God determined
how to dispose of my soul? Ah! that alters the case. If He can,
consistently with freedom, govern angels, and devils, and nations,
how can He govern individuals? How can He dispose of me according to
His eternal purpose and I be free? Here reason, all-penetrating, and
all-comprehensive, becomes weak; the clouds begin to collect, and
the understanding, veiled by the darkness of the heart, can "find no
end, in wandering mazes lost."

But if God has purposes of mercy in reserve for the sinner, he is
convinced, at length, of his sin, and finds himself in an evil case.
He reforms, prays, weeps, resolves, and re-resolves, regardless
of the righteousness of Christ, and intent only to establish a
righteousness of his own. But, through all his windings, sin cleaves
to him, and the law, with its fearful curse, pursues him. Whither
shall he flee? What shall he do? A rebel heart, that will not bow,
fills him with despair. An angry God, who will not clear the guilty,
fills him with terror. His strength is gone, his resources fail,
his mouth is stopped. With restless anxiety, or wild amazement,
he surveys the gloomy prospect. At length, amidst the wanderings
of despair, the character of God meets his eye. It is new, it is
amiable, and full of glory. Forgetful of danger, he turns aside
to behold this great sight; and while he gazes, new affections
awake in his soul, inspiring new confidence in God, and in His
holy government. Now God appears qualified to govern, and now he
is willing that He should govern, and willing himself to be in the
hands of God, to be disposed of according to His pleasure. What is
the occasion of this change? Has the divine character changed? There
is no variableness with God. Did he, then, misapprehend the divine
character? Was all this glory visible before? Or has a revelation
of new truth been granted? There has been no new revelation. The
character now admitted is the same which just before appeared so
gloomy and terrible. What, then, has produced this alteration? Has
a vision of angels appeared, to announce that God is reconciled?
Has some sudden light burst upon him, in token of forgiveness? Has
Christ been seen upon the cross, beckoning the sinner to come
to Him? Has heaven been thrown open to his admiring eyes? Have
enrapturing sounds of music stolen upon the ear, to entrance the
soul? Has some text of Scripture been sent to whisper that his
sins are forgiven, tho no repentance, nor faith, nor love, has
dawned in his soul? And does he now submit, because God has given
him assurance of personal safety? None of these. Considerations of
personal safety are, at the time, out of the question. It is the
uncreated, essential excellence of God, shining in upon the heart,
which claims the attention, fixes the adoring eye, and fills the
soul with love, and peace, and joy; and the act of submission is
past, before the subject begins to reflect upon his altered views,
with dawning hope of personal redemption.

The change produced, then, is the effect of benevolence, raising
the affections of the soul from the world, and resting them upon
God. Holiness is now most ardently loved. This is seen to dwell in
God and His kingdom, and to be upheld and perfected by His moral
government. It is the treasure of the soul, and all the attributes
of God stand pledged to protect it. The solicitude, therefore, is
not merely, What will become of me? but, What, O Lord, will become
of Thy glory, and the glory of Thy kingdom? And in the character
of God, these inquiries are satisfactorily answered. If God be
glorified, and His kingdom upheld and made happy, the soul is
satisfied. There is nothing else to be anxious about; for individual
happiness is included in the general good, as the drop is included
in the ocean.




CHANNING

THE CHARACTER OF CHRIST




BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING, the famous Unitarian divine, was born
at Newport, R. I., in 1780. He took his degree at Harvard in
1798, studied theology and was ordained pastor of the Federal
Street Church in Boston, 1803. He has been called the Apostle of
Unitarianism, because he was first among the orthodox divines of
New England to give Unitarianism a clear, dogmatic expression, as
he did in a sermon preached at the ordination of Jared Sparks, in
opposition to the current Calvinism of the day. But he hated the
controversy in which the publication of his views involved him and
professed in 1841, "I am little of a Unitarian and stand aloof
from all but those who strive and pray for clearer light." He had
made the acquaintance of Wordsworth and Coleridge on his visit to
England, and the latter justly described him as one who had "the
love of wisdom and the wisdom of love." He was a voluminous writer
on theological and literary subjects and what he wrote was vigorous,
of fastidious taste and fired with moral earnestness. He died in
1842.




CHANNING

1780-1842

THE CHARACTER OF CHRIST

_This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased_.--Matthew xvii.,
5.


The character of Christ may be studied for various purposes. It
is singularly fitted to call forth the heart, to awaken love,
admiration, and moral delight. As an example it has no rival. As
an evidence of His religion perhaps it yields to no other proof;
perhaps no other has so often conquered unbelief. It is chiefly to
this last view of it that I now ask your attention. The character
of Christ is a strong confirmation of the truth of His religion.
As such I would now place it before you. I shall not, however,
think only of confirming your faith; the very illustrations which I
shall adduce for this purpose will show the claims of Jesus to our
reverence, obedience, imitation, and fervent love.

The more we contemplate Christ's character as exhibited in the
gospel, the more we shall be impressed with its genuineness and
reality. It was plainly drawn from the life. The narratives of
the evangelists bear the marks of truth perhaps beyond all other
histories. They set before us the most extraordinary being who ever
appeared on earth, and yet they are as artless as the stories of
childhood. The authors do not think of themselves. They have plainly
but one aim, to show us their Master; and they manifest the deep
veneration which He inspired by leaving Him to reveal Himself, by
giving us His actions and sayings without comment, explanation, or
eulogy.

You see in these narratives no varnishing, no high coloring, no
attempts to make His actions striking or to bring out the beauties
of His character. We are never pointed to any circumstance as
illustrative of His greatness. The evangelists write with a calm
trust in His character, with a feeling that it needed no aid from
their hands, and with a deep veneration, as if comment or praise of
their own were not worthy to mingle with the recital of such a life.

It is the effect of our familiarity with the history of Jesus that
we are not struck by it as we ought to be. We read it before we are
capable of understanding its excellence. His stupendous works become
as familiar to us as the events of ordinary life, and His high
offices seem as much matters of course as the common relations which
men bear to each other.

On this account it is fit for the ministers of religion to do what
the evangelists did not attempt, to offer comments on Christ's
character, to bring out its features, to point men to its higher
beauties, to awaken their awe by unfolding its wonderful majesty.
Indeed, one of our most important functions as teachers is to
give freshness and vividness to truths which have become worn, I
had almost said tarnished, by long and familiar handling. We have
to fight with the power of habit. Through habit men look on this
glorious creation with insensibility, and are less moved by the
all-enlightening sun than by a show of fireworks. It is the duty of
a moral and religious teacher almost to create a new sense in men,
that they may learn in what a world of beauty and magnificence they
live. And so in regard to Christ's character; men become used to it
until they imagine that there is something more admirable in a great
man of their own day, a statesman or a conqueror, than in Him the
latchet of whose shoes statesmen and conquerors are not worthy to
unloose.

In this discourse I wish to show that the character of Christ, taken
as a whole, is one which could not have entered the thoughts of man,
could not have been imagined or feigned; that it bears every mark of
genuineness and truth; that it ought therefore to be acknowledged as
real and of divine origin.

It is all-important, my friends, if we would feel the force of this
argument, to transport ourselves to the times when Jesus lived. We
are very apt to think that He was moving about in such a city as
this, or among a people agreeing with ourselves in modes of thinking
and habits of life. But the truth is, he lived in a state of society
singularly remote from our own.

Of all the nations the Jewish was the most strongly marked. The Jew
hardly felt himself to belong to the human family. He was accustomed
to speak of himself as chosen by God, holy, clean; whilst the
Gentiles were sinners, dogs, polluted, unclean. His common dress,
the phylactery on his brow or arm, the hem of his garment, his food,
the ordinary circumstances of his life, as well as his temple, his
sacrifices, his ablutions, all held him up to himself as a peculiar
favorite of God, and all separated him from the rest of the world.
With other nations he could not eat or marry. They were unworthy
of his communion. Still, with all these notions of superiority he
saw himself conquered by those whom he despised. He was obliged to
wear the shackles of Rome, to see Roman legions in his territory, a
Roman guard near his temple, and a Roman tax-gatherer extorting, for
the support of an idolatrous government and an idolatrous worship,
what he regarded as due only to God. The hatred which burned in the
breast of the Jew toward his foreign oppressor perhaps never glowed
with equal intenseness in any other conquered state.

He had, however, his secret consolation. The time was near, the
prophetic age was at hand, when Judea was to break her chains and
rise from the dust. Her long-promised king and deliverer was near,
and was coming to wear the crown of universal empire. From Jerusalem
was to go forth His law, and all nations were to serve the chosen
people of God. To this conqueror the Jews indeed ascribed the office
of promoting religion; but the religion of Moses, corrupted into
an outward service, was to them the perfection of human nature.
They clung to its forms with the whole energy of their souls. To
the Mosaic institution they ascribed their distinction from all
other nations. It lay at the foundation of their hopes of dominion.
I believe no strength of prejudice ever equalled the intense
attachment of the Jew to his peculiar national religion. You may
judge of its power by the fact of its having been transmitted
through so many ages, amidst persecution and sufferings which would
have subdued any spirit but that of a Jew. You must bring these
things to your mind. You must place yourselves in the midst of this
singular people.

Among this singular people, burning with impatient expectation,
appeared Jesus of Nazareth. His first words were, "Repent, for
the kingdom of heaven is at hand." These words we hear with little
emotion; but to the Jews, who had been watching for this kingdom for
ages, and who were looking for its immediate manifestation, they
must have been awakening as an earthquake. Accordingly we find Jesus
thronged by multitudes which no building could contain. He repairs
to a mountain, as affording him advantages for addressing the crowd.
I see them surrounding Him with eager looks, and ready to drink in
every word from His lips. And what do I hear? Not one word of Judea,
of Rome, of freedom, of conquest, of the glories of God's chosen
people, and of the thronging of all nations to the temple on Mount
Zion.

Almost every word was a death-blow to the hopes and feelings
which glowed through the whole people, and were consecrated under
the name of religion. He speaks of the long-expected kingdom of
heaven; but speaks of it as a felicity promised to, and only to be
partaken of by, the humble and pure in heart. The righteousness of
the Pharisees, that which was deemed the perfection of religion,
and which the new deliverer was expected to spread far and wide,
He pronounces worthless, and declares the kingdom of heaven, or of
the Messiah, to be shut against all who do not cultivate a new,
spiritual, and disinterested virtue.

Instead of war and victory He commands His impatient hearers to
love, to forgive, to bless their enemies; and holds forth this
spirit of benignity, mercy, peace, as the special badge of the
people of the true Messiah. Instead of national interests and
glories, he commands them to seek first a spirit of impartial
charity and love, unconfined by the bounds of tribe or nation, and
proclaims this to be the happiness and honor of the reign for which
they hoped. Instead of this world's riches, which they expected
to flow from all lands into their own, He commands them to lay up
treasures in heaven, and directs them to an incorruptible, immortal
life, as the true end of their being.

Nor is this all. He does not merely offer himself as a spiritual
deliverer, as the founder of a new empire of inward piety and
universal charity; He closes with language announcing a more
mysterious office. "Many will say unto Me in that day, Lord,
Lord, have we not prophesied in Thy name, and in Thy name done
many wonderful works? And then will I profess unto them, I never
knew you; depart from Me, ye that work iniquity." Here I meet
the annunciation of a character as august as it must have been
startling. I hear Him foretelling a dominion to be exercised in the
future world. He begins to announce, what entered largely into His
future teaching, that His power was not bounded to this earth. These
words I better understand when I hear Him subsequently declaring
that, after a painful death, He was to rise again and ascend to
heaven, and there, in a state of preeminent power and glory, was to
be the advocate and judge of the human race.

Such are some of the views given by Jesus, of His character and
reign, in the Sermon on the Mount. Immediately afterwards I hear
another lesson from Him, bringing out some of these truths still
more strongly. A Roman centurion makes application to Him for the
cure of a servant whom he particularly valued; and on expressing,
in a strong manner, his conviction of the power of Jesus to heal at
a distance, Jesus, according to the historian, "marvelled, and said
to those that followed, Verily I say unto you, I have not found so
great faith in Israel; and I say unto you, that many shall come from
the east and west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and
Jacob in the kingdom of heaven; but the children of the kingdom"
(that is, the Jews) "shall be cast out."

Here all the hopes which the Jews had cherished of an exclusive or
peculiar possession of the Messiah's kingdom were crushed; and the
reception of the despised Gentile world to all His blessings, or, in
other words, the extension of His pure religion to the ends of the
earth, began to be proclaimed.

Here I pause for the present, and I ask you whether the character
of Jesus be not the most extraordinary in history, and wholly
inexplicable on human principles. Review the ground over which we
have gone. Recollect that He was born and grew up a Jew in the midst
of Jews, a people burning with one passion, and throwing their whole
souls into the expectation of a national and earthly deliverer.
He grew up among them in poverty, seclusion, and labors fitted to
contract His thoughts, purposes, and hopes; and yet we find Him
escaping every influence of education and society. We find Him as
untouched by the feelings which prevailed universally around Him,
which religion and patriotism concurred to consecrate, which the
mother breathed into the ear of the child, and which the teacher of
the synagog strengthened in the adult, as if He had been brought up
in another world. We find Him conceiving a sublime purpose, such
as had never dawned on sage or hero, and see Him possessed with a
consciousness of sustaining a relation to God and mankind, and of
being invested with powers in this world and the world to come, such
as had never entered the human mind. Whence now, I ask, came the
conception of this character?

Will any say it had its origin in imposture; that it was a
fabrication of a deceiver? I answer, the character claimed by Christ
excludes this supposition by its very nature. It was so remote
from all the ideas and anticipations of the times, so unfit to
awaken sympathy, so unattractive to the heathen, so exasperating
to the Jew, that it was the last to enter the mind of an impostor.
A deceiver of the dullest vision must have foreseen that it would
expose him to bitter scorn, abhorrence, and persecution, and that he
would be left to carry on his work alone, just as Jesus always stood
alone and could find not an individual to enter into His spirit and
design. What allurements an unprincipled, self-seeking man could
find to such an enterprise, no common ingenuity can discover.

I affirm next that the sublimity of the character claimed by
Christ forbids us to trace it to imposture. That a selfish,
designing, depraved mind could have formed the idea and purpose
of a work unparalleled in beneficence, in vastness, and in moral
grandeur, would certainly be a strange departure from the laws of
the human mind. I add, that if an impostor could have lighted on
the conception of so sublime and wonderful a work as that claimed
by Jesus, he could not, I say, he could not have thrown into his
personation of it the air of truth and reality. The part would have
been too high for him. He would have overacted it or fallen short
of it perpetually. His true character would have rebelled against
his assumed one. We should have seen something strained, forced,
artificial, awkward, showing that he was not in his true sphere. To
act up to a character so singular and grand, and one for which no
precedent could be found, seems to me utterly impossible for a man
who had not the true spirit of it, or who was only wearing it as a
mask.

Now, how stands the case with Jesus? Bred a Jewish peasant or
carpenter, He issues from obscurity, and claims for Himself a divine
office, a superhuman dignity, such as had not been imagined; and in
no instance does He fall below the character. The peasant, and still
more the Jew, wholly disappears.

We feel that a new being, of a new order of mind, is taking a part
in human affairs. There is a native tone of grandeur and authority
in His teaching. He speaks as a being related to the whole human
race. His mind never shrinks within the ordinary limits of human
agency. A narrower sphere than the world never enters His thoughts.
He speaks in a natural, spontaneous style, of accomplishing the most
arduous and important change in human affairs. This unlabored manner
of expressing great thoughts is particularly worthy of attention.
You never hear from Jesus that swelling, pompous, ostentatious
language, which almost necessarily springs from an attempt to
sustain a character above our powers. He talks of His glories as one
to whom they were familiar, and of His intimacy and oneness with God
as simply as a child speaks of his connection with his parents.
He speaks of saving and judging the world, of drawing all men to
Himself, and of giving everlasting life, as we speak of the ordinary
powers which we exert. He makes no set harangues about the grandeur
of His office and character. His consciousness of it gives a hue to
His whole language, breaks out in indirect, undesigned expressions,
showing that it was the deepest and most familiar of His convictions.

This argument is only to be understood by reading the Gospels with
a wakeful mind and heart. It does not lie on their surface, and it
is the stronger for lying beneath it. When I read these books with
care, when I trace the unaffected majesty which runs through the
life of Jesus, and see him never falling below His sublime claims
amidst poverty, and scorn, and in His last agony, I have a feeling
of the reality of His character which I can not express. I feel that
the Jewish carpenter could no more have conceived and sustained this
character under motives of imposture than an infant's arm could
repeat the deeds of Hercules, or his unawakened intellect comprehend
and rival the matchless works of genius.

Am I told that the claims of Jesus had their origin not in
imposture, but in enthusiasm; that the imagination, kindled by
strong feeling, overpowered the judgment so far as to give Him the
notion of being destined to some strange and unparalleled work? I
know that enthusiasm, or a kindled imagination, has great power;
and we are never to lose sight of it, in judging of the claims of
religious teachers. But I say first, that, except in cases where it
amounts to insanity, enthusiasm works, in a greater or less degree,
according to a man's previous conceptions and modes of thought.

In Judea, where the minds of men were burning with feverish
expectation of a messiah, I can easily conceive of a Jew imagining
that in himself this ardent conception, this ideal of glory, was to
be realized. I can conceive of his seating himself in fancy on the
throne of David, and secretly pondering the means of his appointed
triumphs. But that a Jew should fancy himself the Messiah, and at
the same time should strip that character of all the attributes
which had fired his youthful imagination and heart--that he should
start aside from all the feelings and hopes of his age, and should
acquire a consciousness of being destined to a wholly new career,
and one as unbounded as it was now--this is exceedingly improbable;
and one thing is certain that an imagination so erratic, so
ungoverned, and able to generate the conviction of being destined to
work so immeasurably disproportioned to the power of the individual,
must have partaken of insanity.

Now, is it conceivable that an individual, mastered by so wild and
fervid an imagination, should have sustained the dignity claimed by
Christ, should have acted worthily the highest part ever assumed on
earth? Would not his enthusiasm have broken out amidst the peculiar
excitements of the life of Jesus, and have left a touch of madness
on his teaching and conduct? Is it to such a man that we should look
for the inculcation of a new and perfect form of virtue, and for the
exemplification of humanity in its fairest form?

The charge of an extravagant, self-deluding enthusiasm is the last
to be fastened on Jesus. Where can we find the traces of it in His
history? Do we detect them in the calm authority of His precepts; in
the mild, practical and beneficial spirit of His religion; in the
unlabored simplicity of the language with which He unfolds His high
powers and the sublime truths of religion; or in the good sense, the
knowledge of human nature, which He always discovers in His estimate
and treatment of the different classes of men with whom He acted?
Do we discover this enthusiasm in the singular fact that, whilst He
claimed power in the future world, and always turned men's minds to
Heaven, He never indulged His own imagination or stimulated that of
His disciples by giving vivid pictures or any minute description of
that unseen state?

The truth is, that, remarkable as was the character of Jesus, it was
distinguished by nothing more than by calmness and self-possession.
This trait pervades His other excellences. How calm was His piety!
Point me, if you can, to one vehement, passionate expression of
His religious feelings. Does the Lord's Prayer breathe a feverish
enthusiasm? The habitual style of Jesus on the subject of religion,
if introduced into many churches of His followers at the present
day, would be charged with coldness. The calm and the rational
character of His piety is particularly seen in the doctrine which He
so earnestly inculcates, that disinterested love and self-denying
service to our fellow creatures are the most acceptable worship we
can offer to our Creator.

His benevolence, too, tho singularly earnest and deep, was composed
and serene. He never lost the possession of Himself in His sympathy
with others; was never hurried into the impatient and rash
enterprises of an enthusiastic philanthropy; but did good with the
tranquility and constancy which mark the providence of God. The
depth of this calmness may best be understood by considering the
opposition made to His claims.

His labors were everywhere insidiously watched and industriously
thwarted by vindictive foes who had even conspired to compass,
through His death, the ruin of His cause. Now, a feverish
enthusiasm which fancies itself to be intrusted with a great work of
God is singularly liable to impatient indignation under furious and
malignant opposition. Obstacles increase its vehemence; it becomes
more eager and hurried in the accomplishment of its purposes, in
proportion as they are withstood.

Be it therefore remembered that the malignity of Christ's foes,
tho never surpassed, and for the time triumphant, never robbed
Him of self-possession, roused no passion, and threw no vehemence
or precipitation into His exertions. He did not disguise from
Himself or His followers the impression made on the multitude by
His adversaries. He distinctly foresaw the violent death towards
which He was fast approaching. Yet, confiding in God and in the
silent progress of His truth, He possest His soul in peace. Not
only was He calm, but His calmness rises into sublimity when we
consider the storms which raged around Him and the vastness of the
prospects in which His spirit found repose. I say then that serenity
and self-possession were peculiarly the attributes of Jesus. I
affirm that the singular and sublime character claimed by Jesus
can be traced neither to imposture nor to an ungoverned, insane
imagination. It can only be accounted for by its truth, its reality.

I began with observing how our long familiarity with Jesus blunts
our minds to His singular excellence. We probably have often
read of the character which He claimed, without a thought of its
extraordinary nature. But I know nothing so sublime. The plans and
labors of statesmen sink into the sports of children when compared
with the work which Jesus announced, and to which He devoted Himself
in life and death with a thorough consciousness of its reality.

The idea of changing the moral aspect of the whole earth, of
recovering all nations to the pure and inward worship of one God
and to a spirit of divine and fraternal love, was one of which we
meet not a trace in philosopher or legislator before Him. The human
mind had given no promise of this extent of view. The conception of
this enterprise, and the calm, unshaken expectation of success in
one who had no station and no wealth, who cast from Him the sword
with abhorrence, and who forbade His disciples to use any weapons
but those of love, discover a wonderful trust in the power of God
and the power of love; and when to this we add that Jesus looked not
only to the triumph of His pure faith in the present world, but to
a mighty and beneficent power in Heaven, we witness a vastness of
purpose, a grandeur of thought and feeling so original, so superior
to the workings of all other minds, that nothing but our familiarity
can prevent our contemplation of it with wonder and profound awe. *
* *

Here is the most striking view of Jesus. This combination of the
spirit of humanity, in its lowliest, tenderest form, with the
consciousness of unrivaled and divine glories, is the most wonderful
distinction of this wonderful character. Here we learn the chief
reason why He chose poverty and refused every peculiarity of manner
and appearance. He did this because He desired to come near to the
multitude of men, to make Himself accessible to all, to pour out
the fulness of His sympathy upon all, to know and weep over their
sorrows and sins, and to manifest His interest in their affections
and joys.

I can offer but a few instances of this sympathy of Christ with
human nature in all its varieties of character and condition. But
how beautiful are they! At the very opening of His ministry we find
Him present at a marriage to which He and His disciples had been
called. Among the Jews this was an occasion of peculiar exhilaration
and festivity; but Jesus did not therefore decline it. He knew what
affections, joys, sorrows, and moral influences are bound up in this
institution, and He went to the celebration, not as an ascetic, to
frown on its bright hopes and warm congratulations, but to sanction
it by His presence and to heighten its enjoyments.

How little does this comport with the solitary dignity which we
should have pronounced most accordant with His character, and what
a spirit of humanity does it breathe! But this event stands almost
alone in His history. His chief sympathy was not with them that
rejoice, but with the ignorant, sinful, sorrowful; and with these we
find Him cultivating an habitual intimacy. Tho so exalted in thought
and purpose, He chose uneducated men to be His chief disciples; and
He lived with them, not as a superior, giving occasional and formal
instruction, but became their companion traveled with them on foot,
slept in their dwellings, sat at their tables, partook of their
plain fare, communicated to them His truth in the simplest form; and
tho they constantly misunderstood Him and never perceived His full
meaning, He was never wearied with teaching them.

So familiar was His intercourse that we find Peter reproving Him
with an affectionate zeal for announcing His approaching death, and
we find John leaning on His bosom. Of His last discourse to these
disciples I need not speak. It stands alone among all writings for
the union of tenderness and majesty. His own sorrows are forgotten
in His solicitude to speak peace and comfort to His humble followers.

The depth of His human sympathies was beautifully manifested when
children were brought Him. His disciples, judging as all men would
judge, thought that He was sent to wear the crown of universal
empire, had too great a work before Him to give His time and
attention to children, and reproved the parents who brought them;
but Jesus, rebuking His disciples, called to Him the children.
Never, I believe, did childhood awaken such deep love as at that
moment. He took them in His arms and blest them, and not only said
that "of such was the kingdom of heaven," but added, "He that
receiveth a little child in My name, receiveth Me;" so entirely did
He identify Himself with this primitive, innocent, beautiful form of
human nature.

There was no class of human beings so low as to be beneath His
sympathy. He not merely taught the publican and sinner, but, with
all His consciousness of purity, sat down and dined with them, and,
when reproved by the malignant Pharisee for such companionship,
answered by the touching parables of the Lost Sheep and the Prodigal
Son, and said, "I am come to seek and to save that which was lost."

No personal suffering dried up this fountain of love in His breast.
On His way to the cross He heard some women of Jerusalem bewailing
Him, and at the sound, forgetting His own grief, He turned to
them and said, "Women of Jerusalem, weep not for Me, but weep for
yourselves and your children." On the cross, whilst His mind was
divided between intense suffering and the contemplation of the
infinite blessings in which His sufferings were to issue, His eye
lighted on His mother and John, and the sensibilities of a son and
a friend mingled with the sublime consciousness of the universal
Lord and Savior. Never before did natural affection find so tender
and beautiful an utterance. To His mother He said, directing her to
John, "Behold thy son; I leave My beloved disciple to take My place,
to perform My filial offices, and to enjoy a share of that affection
with which you have followed Me through life;" and to John He said,
"Behold thy mother; I bequeath to you the happiness of ministering
to My dearest earthly friend." Nor is this all. The spirit of
humanity had one higher triumph. Whilst His enemies surrounded
Him with a malignity unsoftened by His last agonies, and, to give
the keenest edge to insult, reminded Him scoffingly of the high
character and office which He had claimed, His only notice of them
was the prayer, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do."

Thus Jesus lived with men; with the consciousness of unutterable
majesty He joined a lowliness, gentleness, humanity, and sympathy,
which have no example in human history. I ask you to contemplate
this wonderful union. In proportion to the superiority of Jesus to
all around Him was the intimacy, the brotherly love, with which He
bound Himself to them. I maintain that this is a character wholly
remote from human conception. To imagine it to be the production
of imposture or enthusiasm shows a strange unsoundness of mind. I
contemplate it with a veneration second only to the profound awe
with which I look up to God. It bears no mark of human invention. It
was real. It belonged to and it manifested the beloved Son of God.

But I have not done. May I ask your attention a few moments more?
We have not yet reached the depth of Christ's character. We have
not touched the great principle on which His wonderful sympathy was
founded, and which endeared to Him His office of universal Savior.
Do you ask what this deep principle was? I answer, it was His
conviction of the greatness of the human soul. He saw in man the
impress and image of the Divinity, and therefore thirsted for his
redemption, and took the tenderest interest in him, whatever might
be the rank, character, or condition in which he was found. This
spiritual view of man pervades and distinguishes the teaching of
Christ.

Jesus looked on men with an eye which pierced beneath the material
frame. The body vanished before Him. The trappings of the rich, the
rags of the poor, were nothing to Him. He looked through them, as
tho they did not exist, to the soul; and there, amidst clouds of
ignorance and plague-spots of sin, He recognized a spiritual and
immortal nature, and the germs of power and perfection which might
be unfolded forever. In the most fallen and depraved man He saw a
being who might become an angel of light.

Still more, He felt that there was nothing in Himself to which men
might not ascend. His own lofty consciousness did not sever Him from
the multitude; for He saw in His own greatness the model of what men
might become. So deeply was He thus imprest that, again and again,
in speaking of His future glories, He announced that in these His
true followers were to share. They were to sit on His throne and
partake of His beneficent power.

Here I pause, and indeed I know not what can be added to heighten
the wonder, reverence, and love which are due to Jesus. When I
consider Him, not only as possest with the consciousness of an
unexampled and unbounded majesty, but as recognizing a kindred
nature in human beings, and living and dying to raise them to a
participation of His divine glories; and when I see Him under these
views allying Himself to men by the tenderest ties, embracing them
with a spirit of humanity which no insult, injury, or pain could
for a moment repel or overpower, I am filled with wonder as well
as reverence and love. I feel that this character is not of human
invention, that it was not assumed through fraud, or struck out
by enthusiasm; for it is infinitely above their reach. When I add
this character of Jesus to the other evidences of His religion, it
gives to what before seemed so strange a new and a vast accession of
strength; I feel as if I could not be deceived.

The Gospels must be true; they were drawn from a living original;
they were founded on reality. The character of Jesus is not a
fiction; He was what He claimed to be, and what His followers
attested. Nor is this all. Jesus not only was, He is still the Son
of God, the Savior of the world. He exists now; He has entered
that heaven to which He always looked forward on earth. There He
lives and reigns. With a clear, calm faith I see Him in that state
of glory; and I confidently expect, at no distant period, to see
Him face to face. We have indeed no absent friend whom we shall so
surely meet.

Let us then, my hearers, by imitation of His virtues and obedience
to His word, prepare ourselves to join Him in those pure mansions
where He is surrounding Himself with the good and pure of our race,
and will communicate to them forever His own spirit, power, and joy.




CHALMERS

THE EXPULSIVE POWER OF A NEW AFFECTION


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

THOMAS CHALMERS, theologian, preacher and philanthropist, was
born at Anstruther, near St. Andrews, Scotland, in 1780. In his
thirty-fifth year he experienced a profound religious change and
became a pronounced, tho independent, evangelical preacher. On being
appointed to the Tron Church in Glasgow, he set about to face what
he called "the home heathenism." During the week days he delivered
his series of "Astronomical Discourses," in which he endeavored
to bring science into harmony with Christianity. His "Commercial
Discourses" were designed to Christianize the principles of trade.
But he reduced pauperism chiefly by fighting against intemperance in
Glasgow. On being transferred to St. John's Parish, the largest, but
poorest in the city, he made Edward Irving his assistant. In 1828 he
was called to the chair of theology in Edinburgh University.

But it was as a preacher that he exerted most influence by bringing
the evangelical message into relations with the science, the
culture, the thinking of his age. In doing this he carried his
hearers away by the blazing force of his eloquence. Many times in
his preaching he was "in an agony of earnestness," and one of his
hearers speaks of "that voice, that face, those great, simple,
living thoughts, those floods of resistless eloquence, that
piercing, shattering voice!" He died in 1847.




CHALMERS

1780-1847

THE EXPULSIVE POWER OF A NEW AFFECTION

_Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world. If
any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him_.--1
John ii., 15.


There are two ways in which a practical moralist may attempt to
displace from the human heart its love of the world; either by a
demonstration of the world's vanity, so as that the heart shall
be prevailed upon simply to withdraw its regards from an object
that is not worthy of it; or, by setting forth another object,
even God, as more worthy of its attachment; so as that the heart
shall be prevailed upon, not to resign an old affection which
shall have nothing to succeed it, but to exchange an old affection
for a new one. My purpose is to show, that from the constitution
of our nature, the former method is altogether incompetent and
ineffectual--and that the latter method will alone suffice for the
rescue and recovery of the heart from the wrong affection that
domineers over it. After having accomplished this purpose, I shall
attempt a few practical observations.

Love may be regarded in two different conditions. The first is when
its object is at a distance, and when it becomes love in a state of
desire. The second is when its object is in possession, and then it
becomes love in a state of indulgence. Under the impulse of desire,
man feels himself urged onward in some path or pursuit of activity
for its gratification. The faculties of his mind are put into busy
exercise. In the steady direction of one great and engrossing
interest, his attention is recalled from the many reveries into
which it might otherwise have wandered; and the powers of his body
are forced away from an indolence in which it else might have
languished; and that time is crowded with occupation, which but for
some object of keen and devoted ambition, might have driveled along
in successive hours of weariness and distaste--and tho hope does
not always enliven, and success does not always crown the career
of exertion, yet in the midst of this very variety, and with the
alternations of occasional disappointment, is the machinery of the
whole man kept in a sort of congenial play, and upholden in that
tone and temper which are most agreeable to it; insomuch that, if
through the extirpation of that desire which forms the originating
principle of all this movement, the machinery were to stop, and to
receive no impulse from another desire substituted in its place, the
man would be left with all his propensities to action in a state of
most painful and unnatural abandonment. A sensitive being suffers,
and is in violence, if, after having thoroughly rested from his
fatigue, or been relieved from his pain, he continue in possession
of powers without any excitement to these powers; if he possess a
capacity of desire without having an object of desire; or if he have
a spare energy upon his person, without a counterpart, and without a
stimulus to call it into operation. The misery of such a condition
is often realized by him who is retired from business, or who is
retired from law, or who is even retired from the occupations of the
chase, and of the gaming-table. Such is the demand of our nature for
an object in pursuit, that no accumulation of previous success can
extinguish it--and thus it is, that the most prosperous merchant,
and the most victorious general, and the most fortunate gamester,
when the labor of their respective vocations has come to a close,
are often found to languish in the midst of all their acquisitions,
as if out of their kindred and rejoicing element. It is quite in
vain, with such a constitutional appetite for employment in man, to
attempt cutting away from him the spring or the principle of one
employment, without providing him with another. The whole heart
and habit will rise in resistance against such an undertaking. The
else unoccupied female, who spends the hours of every evening at
some play of hazard, knows as well as you, that the pecuniary gain,
or the honorable triumph of a successful contest, are altogether
paltry. It is not such a demonstration of vanity as this that will
force her away from her dear and delightful occupation. The habit
can not so be displaced as to leave nothing but a negative and
cheerless vacancy behind it--tho it may be so supplanted as to be
followed up by another habit of employment, to which the power of
some new affection has constrained her. It is willingly suspended,
for example, on any single evening, should the time that is wont to
be allotted to gaming be required to be spent on the preparations of
an approaching assembly.

The ascendant power of a second affection will do what no
exposition, however forcible, of the folly and worthlessness of the
first, ever could effectuate. And it is the same in the great world.
You never will be able to arrest any of its leading pursuits by a
naked demonstration of their vanity. It is quite in vain to think of
stopping one of these pursuits in any way else but by stimulating
to another. In attempting to bring a worthy man, intent and busied
with the prosecution of his objects, to a dead stand, you have not
merely to encounter the charm which he annexes to these objects,
but you have to encounter the pleasure which he feels in the very
prosecution of them. It is not enough, then, that you dissipate
the charm by your moral and eloquent and affecting exposure of
its illusiveness. You must address to the eye of his mind another
object, with a charm powerful enough to dispossess the first of its
influence, and to engage him in some other prosecution as full of
interest and hope and congenial activity as the former. It is this
which stamps an impotency on all moral and pathetic declamation
about the insignificance of the world. A man will no more consent
to the misery of being without an object, because that object is
a trifle, or of being without a pursuit, because that pursuit
terminates in some frivolous or fugitive acquirement, than he will
voluntarily submit himself to the torture, because that torture
is to be of short duration. If to be without desire and without
exertion altogether is a state of violence and discomfort, then the
present desire, with its correspondent train of exertion, is not to
be got rid of simply by destroying it. It must be by substituting
another desire, and another line or habit of exertion in its place,
and the most effectual way of withdrawing the mind from one object
is not by turning it away upon desolate and unpeopled vacancy, but
by presenting to its regards another object still more alluring.

These remarks apply not merely to love considered in its state of
desire for an object not yet obtained. They apply also to love
considered in its state of indulgence, or placid gratification,
with an object already in possession. It is seldom that any of
our tastes are made to disappear by a mere process of natural
extinction. At least, it is very seldom that this is done through
the instrumentality of reasoning. It may be done by excessive
pampering, but it is almost never done by the mere force of
mental determination. But what can not be thus destroyed, may be
dispossest--and one taste may be made to give way to another, and
to lose its power entirely as the reigning affection of the mind.
It is thus that the boy ceases, at length, to be the slave of his
appetite; but it is because a manlier taste has now brought it into
subordination, and that the youth ceases to idolize pleasure; but
it is because the idol of wealth has become the stronger and gotten
the ascendency, and that even the love of money ceases to have
the mastery over the heart of many a thriving citizen; but it is
because, drawn into the whirl of city politics, another affection
has been wrought into his moral system, and he is now lorded over
by the love of power. There is not one of these transformations
in which the heart is left without an object. Its desire for one
particular object may be conquered; but as to its desire for having
some one object or other, this is unconquerable. Its adhesion to
that on which it has fastened the preference of its regards, can not
willingly be overcome by the rending away of a simple separation.
It can be done only by the application of something else, to which
it may feel the adhesion of a still stronger and more powerful
preference. Such is the grasping tendency of the human heart, that
it must have a something to lay hold of--and which, if wrested away
without the substitution of another something in its place, would
leave a void and a vacancy as painful to the mind as hunger is to
the natural system. It may be dispossest of one object, or of any,
but it can not be desolated of all. Let there be a breathing and
a sensitive heart, but without a liking and without affinity to
any of the things that are around it, and in a state of cheerless
abandonment, it would be alive to nothing but the burden of its
own consciousness, and feel it to be intolerable. It would make no
difference to its owner, whether he dwelt in the midst of a gay and
a goodly world, or, placed afar beyond the outskirts of creation, he
dwelt a solitary unit in dark and unpeopled nothingness. The heart
must have something to cling to--and never, by its own voluntary
consent, will it so denude itself of all its attachments that there
shall not be one remaining object that can draw or solicit it.

The misery of a heart thus bereft of all relish for that which is
wont to minister enjoyment, is strikingly exemplified in those
who, satiated with indulgence, have been so belabored, as it were,
with the variety and the poignancy of the pleasurable sensations
that they have experienced, that they are at length fatigued out
of all capacity for sensation whatever. The disease of ennui is
more frequent in the French metropolis, where amusement is more
exclusively the occupation of higher classes, than it is in the
British metropolis, where the longings of the heart are more
diversified by the resources of business and politics. There are the
votaries of fashion, who, in this way, have at length become the
victims of fashionable excess; in whom the very multitude of their
enjoyments has at last extinguished their power of enjoyment; who,
with the gratifications of art and nature at command, now look upon
all that is around them with an eye of tastelessness; who, plied
with the delights of sense and of splendor even to weariness, and
incapable of higher delights, have come to the end of all their
perfection, and, like Solomon of old, found it to be vanity and
vexation. The man whose heart has thus been turned into a desert
can vouch for the insupportable languor which must ensue, when one
affection is thus plucked away from the bosom, without another
to replace it. It is not necessary that a man receive pain from
anything, in order to become miserable. It is barely enough that he
looks with distaste to everything, and in that asylum which is the
repository of minds out of joint, and where the organ of feeling
as well as the organ of intellect has been impaired, it is not in
the cell of loud and frantic outcries where you will meet with the
acme of mental suffering; but that is the individual who outpeers
in wretchedness all his fellows, who throughout the whole expanse
of nature and society meets not an object that has at all the power
to detain or to interest him; who neither in earth beneath, nor in
heaven above, knows of a single charm to which his heart can send
forth one desirous or responding movement; to whom the world, in
his eye a vast and empty desolation, has left him nothing but his
own consciousness to feed upon, dead to all that is without him,
and alive to nothing but to the load of his own torpid and useless
existence.

We know not a more sweeping interdict upon the affections of nature,
than that which is delivered by the apostle in the verse before
us. To bid a man into whom there is not yet entered the great
and ascendant influence of the principle of regeneration, to bid
him withdraw his love from all the things that are in the world,
is to bid him give up all the affections that are in his heart.
The world is the all of a natural man. He has not a taste, nor a
desire, that points not to a something placed within the confines
of its visible horizon. He loves nothing above it, and he cares for
nothing beyond it; and to bid him love not the world is to pass a
sentence of expulsion on all the inmates of his bosom. To estimate
the magnitude and the difficulty of such a surrender, let us only
think that it were just as arduous to prevail on him not to love
wealth, which is but one of the things in the world, as to prevail
on him to set wilful fire to his own property. This he might do
with sore and painful reluctance, if he saw that the salvation of
his life hung upon it. But this he would do willingly if he saw
that a new property of tenfold value was instantly to emerge from
the wreck of the old one. In this case there is something more than
the mere displacement of an affection. There is the overbearing of
one affection by another. But to desolate his heart of all love
for the things of the world without the substitution of any love
in its place, were to him a process of as unnatural violence as to
destroy all the things he has in the world, and give him nothing in
their room. So if to love not the world be indispensable to one's
Christianity, then the crucifixion of the old man is not too strong
a term to mark that transition in his history, when all old things
are done away, and all things are become new.

The love of the world can not be expunged by a mere demonstration
of the world's worthlessness. But may it not be supplanted by
the love of that which is more worthy than itself? The heart can
not be prevailed upon to part with the world, by a simple act of
resignation. But may not the heart be prevailed upon to admit into
its preference another, who shall subordinate the world, and bring
it down from its wonted ascendency? If the throne which is placed
there must have an occupier, and the tyrant that now reigns has
occupied it wrongfully, he may not leave a bosom which would rather
detain him than be left in desolation. But may he not give way to
the lawful Sovereign, appearing with every charm that can secure
His willing admittance, and taking unto Himself His great power to
subdue the moral nature of man, and to reign over it? In a word, if
the way to disengage the heart from the positive love of one great
and ascendant object is to fasten it in positive love to another,
then it is not by exposing the worthlessness of the former, but by
addressing to the mental eye the worth and excellence of the latter,
that all old things are to be done away, and all things are to
become new.

This, we trust, will explain the operation of that charm which
accompanies the effectual preaching of the gospel. The love of
God, and the love of the world, are two affections, not merely
in a state of rivalship, but in a state of enmity, and that so
irreconcilable that they can not dwell together in the same bosom.
We have already affirmed how impossible it were for the heart,
by any innate elasticity of its own, to cast the world away from
it, and thus reduce itself to a wilderness. The heart is not so
constituted, and the only way to dispossess it of an old affection
is by the expulsive power of a new one. Nothing can exceed the
magnitude of the required change in a man's character--when bidden,
as he is in the New Testament, to love not the world; no, nor any
of the things that are in the world--for this so comprehends all
that is dear to him in existence as to be equivalent to a command
of self-annihilation. But the same revelation which dictates so
mighty an obedience places within our reach as mighty an instrument
of obedience. It brings for admittance, to the very door of our
heart, an affection which, once seated upon its throne, will either
subordinate every previous inmate, or bid it away. Beside the world
it places before the eye of the mind Him who made the world, and
with this peculiarity, which is all its own--that in the gospel do
we so behold God as that we may love God. It is there, and there
only, where God stands revealed as an object of confidence to
sinners--and where our desire after Him is not chilled into apathy
by that barrier of human guilt which intercepts every approach
that is not made to Him through the appointed Mediator. It is the
bringing in of this better hope, whereby we draw nigh unto God--and
to live without hope is to live without God, and if the heart be
without God the world will then have all the ascendency. It is God
apprehended by the believer as God in Christ who alone can dispost
it from this ascendency. It is when He stands dismantled of the
terrors which belong to Him as an offended lawgiver, and when we
are enabled by faith, which is His own gift, to see His glory in
the face of Jesus Christ, and to hear His beseeching voice, as it
protests good-will to men, and entreats the return of all who will
to a full pardon, and a gracious acceptance--it is then that a love
paramount to the love of the world, and at length expulsive of it,
first arises in the regenerating bosom. It is when released from
the spirit of bondage, with which love can not dwell, and when
admitted into the number of God's children, through the faith that
is in Christ Jesus, the spirit of adoption is poured upon us--it
is then that the heart, brought under the mastery of one great and
predominant affection, is delivered from the tyranny of its former
desires, and in the only way in which deliverance is possible. And
that faith which is revealed to us from heaven, as indispensable to
a sinner's justification in the sight of God, is also the instrument
of the greatest of all moral and spiritual achievements on a
nature dead to the influence, and beyond the reach of every other
application.

Let us not cease then to ply the only instrument of powerful and
positive operation, to do away from you the love of the world. Let
us try every legitimate method of finding access to your hearts for
the love of Him who is greater than the world. For this purpose
let us, if possible, clear away that shroud of unbelief which so
hides and darkens the face of Deity. Let us insist on His claims to
your affection; and whether in the shape of gratitude, or in the
shape of esteem, let us never cease to affirm that in the whole of
that wondrous economy, the purpose of which is to reclaim a sinful
world unto Himself, He, the God of love, so sets Himself forth in
characters of endearment that naught but faith, and naught but
understanding are wanting, on your part, to call forth the love of
your hearts back again.

And here let me advert to the incredulity of a worldly man when
he brings his own sound and secular experience to bear upon the
high doctrines of Christianity, when he looks on regeneration as
a thing impossible, when, feeling, as he does, the obstinacies
of his own heart on the side of things present, and casting an
intelligent eye, much exercised perhaps in the observation of
human life, on the equal obstinacies of all who are around him, he
pronounces this whole matter about the crucifixion of the old man,
and the resurrection of a new man in his place, to be in downright
opposition to all that is known and witnessed of the real nature of
humanity. We think that we have seen such men, who, firmly trenched
in their own vigorous and home-bred sagacity, and shrewdly regardful
of all that passes before them through the week, and upon the
scenes of ordinary business, look on that transition of the heart
by which it gradually dies unto time, and awakens in all the life
of a new-felt and ever-growing desire toward God, as a mere Sabbath
speculation; and who thus, with all their attention engrossed upon
the concerns of earthliness, continue unmoved, to the end of their
days, among the feelings, and the appetites, and the pursuits of
earthliness. If the thought of death, and another state of being
after it, comes across them at all, it is not with a change so
radical as that of being born again that they ever connect the idea
of preparation. They have some vague conception of its being quite
enough that they acquit themselves in some decent and tolerable
way of their relative obligations; and that, upon the strength of
some such social and domestic moralities as are often realized by
him in whose heart the love of God has never entered, they will be
transplanted in safety from this world, where God is the Being with
whom, it may almost be said that, they have had nothing to do, to
that world where God is the Being with whom they will have mainly
and immediately to do throughout all eternity. They will admit all
that is said of the utter vanity of time, when taken up with as
a resting-place. But they resist every application made upon the
heart of man, with the view of so shifting its tendencies that it
shall not henceforth find in the interests of time all its rest
and all its refreshment. They, in fact, regard such an attempt as
an enterprise that is altogether aerial--and with a tone of secular
wisdom, caught from the familiarities of every day of experience,
do they see a visionary character in all that is said of setting
our affections on the things that are above; and of walking by
faith; and of keeping our hearts in such a love of God as shall shut
out from them the love of the world; and of having no confidence
in the flesh; and of so renouncing earthly things as to have our
conversation in heaven.

Now, it is altogether worthy of being remarked of those men who
thus disrelish spiritual Christianity, and, in fact, deem it an
impracticable acquirement, how much of a piece their incredulity
about the demands of Christianity, and their incredulity about the
doctrines of Christianity, are with one another. No wonder that they
feel the work of the New Testament to be beyond their strength, so
long as they hold the words of the New Testament to be beneath their
attention. Neither they nor anyone else can dispossess the heart
of an old affection, but by the impulsive power of a new one--and,
if that new affection be the love of God, neither they nor anyone
else can be made to entertain it, but on such a representation of
the Deity as shall draw the heart of the sinner toward Him. Now
it is just their belief which screens from the discernment of
their minds this representation. They do not see the love of God
in sending His Son into the world. They do not see the expression
of His tenderness to men, in sparing Him not, but giving Him up
unto the death for us all. They do not see the sufficiency of the
atonement, or of the sufferings that were endured by Him who bore
the burden that sinners should have borne. They do not see the
blended holiness and compassion of the Godhead, in that He passed
by the transgressions of His creatures, yet could not pass them by
without an expiation. It is a mystery to them how a man should pass
to the state of godliness from a state of nature--but had they only
a believing view of God manifest in the flesh, this would resolve
for them the whole mystery of godliness. As it is, they can not get
quit of their old affections, because they are out of sight from
all those truths which have influence to raise a new one. They are
like the children of Israel in the land of Egypt, when required to
make bricks without straw they cannot love God, while they want the
only food which can aliment this affection in a sinner's bosom--and
however great their errors may be, both in resisting the demands of
the gospel as impracticable, and in rejecting the doctrines of the
gospel as inadmissible, yet there is not a spiritual man (and it is
the prerogative of him who is spiritual to judge all men) who will
not perceive that there is a consistency in these errors.

But if there be a consistency in the errors, in like manner, is
there a consistency in the truths which are opposite to them? The
man who believes in the peculiar doctrines will readily bow to
the peculiar demands of Christianity. When he is told to love God
supremely, this may startle another, but it will not startle him
to whom God has been revealed in peace, and in pardon, and in all
the freeness of an offered reconciliation. When told to shut out
the world from his heart, this may be impossible with him who has
nothing to replace it--but not impossible with him who has found
in God a sure and satisfying portion. When told to withdraw his
affections from the things that are beneath, this were laying
an order of self-extinction upon the man, who knows not another
quarter in the whole sphere of his contemplation to which he could
transfer them, but it were not grievous to him whose view had been
opened to the loveliness and glory of the things that are above,
and can there find, for every feeling of his soul, a most ample and
delighted occupation. When told to look not to the things that are
seen and temporal, this were blotting out the light of all that is
visible from the prospect of him in whose eye there is a wall of
partition between guilty nature and the joys of eternity--but he who
believes that Christ has broken down this wall finds a gathering
radiance upon his soul, as he looks onward in faith to the things
that are unseen and eternal. Tell a man to be holy--and how can he
compass such a performance, when his fellowship with holiness is a
fellowship of despair? It is the atonement of the cross reconciling
the holiness of the lawgiver with the safety of the offender, that
hath opened the way for a sanctifying influence into the sinner's
heart, and he can take a kindred impression from the character of
God now brought nigh, and now at peace with him. Separate the demand
from the doctrine, and you have either a system of righteousness
that is impracticable, or a barren orthodoxy. Bring the demand and
the doctrine together, and the true disciple of Christ is able to
do the one, through the other strengthening him. The motive is
adequate to the movement; and the bidden obedience to the gospel is
not beyond the measure of his strength, just because the doctrine of
the gospel is not beyond the measure of his acceptance. The shield
of faith, and the hope of salvation, and the Word of God, and the
girdle of truth, these are the armor that he has put on; and with
these the battle is won, and the eminence is reached, and the man
stands on the vantage ground of a new field and a new prospect. The
effect is great, but the cause is equal to it, and stupendous as
this moral resurrection to the precepts of Christianity undoubtedly
is, there is an element of strength enough to give it being and
continuance in the principles of Christianity.

The object of the gospel is both to pacify the sinner's conscience
and to purify his heart; and it is of importance to observe, that
what mars the one of these objects mars the other also. The best
way of casting out an impure affection is to admit a pure one; and
by the love of what is good to expel the love of what is evil. Thus
it is, that the freer gospel, the more sanctifying is the gospel;
and the more it is received as a doctrine of grace, the more will
it be felt as a doctrine according to godliness. This is one of the
secrets of the Christian life, that the more a man holds of God as
a pensioner, the greater is the payment of service that He renders
back again. On the venture of "Do this and live," a spirit of
fearfulness is sure to enter; and the jealousies of a legal bargain
chase away all confidence from the intercourse between God and man;
and the creature striving to be square and even with his creator
is, in fact, pursuing all the while his own selfishness instead
of God's glory; and with all the conformities which he labors to
accomplish, the soul of obedience is not there, the mind is not
subject to the law of God, nor indeed under such an economy ever can
be. It is only when, as in the gospel, acceptance is bestowed as a
present, without money and without price, that the security which
man feels in God is placed beyond the reach of disturbance, or that
he can repose in Him as one friend reposes in another; or that any
liberal and generous understanding can be established betwixt them,
the one party rejoicing over the other to do him good, the other
finding that the truest gladness of his heart lies in the impulse
of a gratitude by which it is awakened to the charms of a new moral
existence. Salvation by grace--salvation by free grace--salvation
not of works, but according to the mercy of God, salvation on such a
footing is not more indispensable to the deliverance of our persons
from the hand of justice than it is to the deliverance of our hearts
from the chill and the weight of ungodliness. Retain a single shred
or fragment of legality with the gospel, and you raise a topic of
distrust between man and God. You take away from the power of the
gospel to melt and to conciliate. For this purpose the freer it is
the better it is. That very peculiarity which so many dread as the
germ of Antinomianism, is, in fact, the germ of a new spirit and a
new inclination against it. Along with the lights of a free gospel
does there enter the love of the gospel, which, in proportion as you
impair the freeness, you are sure to chase away. And never does the
sinner find within himself so mighty a moral transformation as when,
under the belief that he is saved by grace, he feels constrained
thereby to offer his heart a devoted thing, and to deny ungodliness.

To do any work in the best manner, you would make use of the fittest
tools for it. And we trust that what has been said may serve in
some degree for the practical guidance of those who would like to
reach the great moral achievement of our text, but feel that the
tendencies and desires of nature are too strong for them. We know
of no other way by which to keep the love of the world out of our
heart than to keep in our hearts the love of God--and no other way
by which to keep our hearts in the love of God, than by building
ourselves on our most holy faith. That denial of the world which
is not possible to him that dissents from the gospel testimony, is
possible, even as all things are possible, to him that believeth.
To try this without faith is to work without the right tool or
the right instrument. But faith worketh by love; and the way of
expelling from the heart the love that transgresseth the law is to
admit into its receptacles the love which fulfilleth the law.

Conceive a man to be standing on the margin of this green world, and
that, when he looked toward it, he saw abundance smiling upon every
field, and all the blessings which earth can afford scattered in
profusion throughout every family, and the light of the sun sweetly
resting upon all the pleasant habitations, and the joys of human
companionship brightening many a happy circle of society; conceive
this to be the general character of the scene upon one side of his
contemplation, and that on the other, beyond the verge of the goodly
planet on which he was situated, he could descry nothing but a dark
and fathomless unknown. Think you that he would bid a voluntary
adieu to all the brightness and all the beauty that were before
him upon earth, and commit himself to the frightful solitude away
from it? Would he leave its peopled dwelling places, and become a
solitary wanderer through the fields of nonentity? If space offered
him nothing but a wilderness, would he for it abandon the home-bred
scenes of life and cheerfulness that lay so near, and exerted such
a power of urgency to detain him? Would not he cling to the regions
of sense, and of life, and of society? Shrinking away from the
desolation that was beyond it, would not he be glad to keep his firm
footing on the territory of this world, and to take shelter under
the silver canopy that was stretched over it?

But if, during the time of his contemplation, some happy island of
the blest had floated by, and there had burst upon his senses the
light of surpassing glories, and its sounds of sweeter melody, and
he clearly saw there a purer beauty rested upon every field, and a
more heartfelt joy spread itself among all the families, and he
could discern there a peace, and a piety, and a benevolence which
put a moral gladness into every bosom, and united the whole society
in one rejoicing sympathy with each other, and with the beneficent
Father of them all. Could he further see that pain and mortality
were there unknown, and above all, that signals of welcome were hung
out, and an avenue of communication was made before him--perceive
you not that what was before the wilderness, would become the land
of invitation, and that now the world would be the wilderness?
What unpeopled space could not do, can be done by space teeming
with beatific scenes, and beatific society. And let the existing
tendencies of the heart be what they may to the scene that is near
and visible around us, still if another stood revealed to the
prospect of man, either through the channel of faith or through
the channel of his senses--then, without violence done to the
constitution of his moral nature, may he die unto the present world,
and live to the lovelier world that stands in the distance away from
it.




CAMPBELL

THE MISSIONARY CAUSE


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

ALEXANDER CAMPBELL, prominent in the body known as Disciples or
Christians, was born in Ireland in 1788, and received his education
in Glasgow University. In 1809 he emigrated to the United States
and took charge of a Presbyterian congregation in Bethany, Va. He
did not long remain in this pastorate, but proceeded to institute a
society based upon the abolition of all confessions and formularies
and the acknowledgment of the text of the Holy Scriptures as the
sole creed of the Church. In 1841 he founded Bethany College
(Bethany, Va.), and remained its president until his death in 1866.
In 1823 he founded the _Christian Baptist_, changed its name in 1829
to the _Millennial Harbinger_, but abandoned it three years before
his death. He was a prolific controversial writer and published over
fifty volumes, among which were hymn books and a translation of the
New Testament.




CAMPBELL

1788-1866

THE MISSIONARY CAUSE[1]

  [1] Delivered to the American Christian Missionary Society,
  Cincinnati, October, 1860.

_He that winneth souls is wise._--Prov. xi., 30.


The missionary cause is older than the material universe. It was
celebrated by Job--the oldest poet on the pages of time.

Jehovah challenges Job to answer Him a few questions on the
institutions of the universe. "Gird up now thy loins," said He; "and
I will demand of thee a few responses. Where wast thou when I laid
the foundations of the earth? Declare, if thou hast understanding.
Who has fixt the measure thereof? Or who has stretched the line upon
it? What are the foundations thereof? Who has laid the corner-stone
thereof when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of
God shouted for joy? Who shut up the sea with doors when it burst
forth issuing from the womb of eternity--when I made a cloud its
garment, and thick darkness its swaddling band? I appointed its
limits, saying, Thus far shalt thou come, but no farther; and here
shall the pride of thy waves be stayed.

"Has the rain a father? Who has begotten the drops of the dew? Who
was the mother of the ice? And the hoar-frost of heaven, who has
begotten it? Can mortal man bind the bands of the Seven Stars, or
loose the cords of Orion? Can he bring forth and commission the
twelve signs of the Zodiac, or bind Arcturus with his seven sons?

"Knowest thou, oh man, the missionaries of the starry heavens? Canst
thou lift up thy voice to the clouds, that abundance of waters may
cover thee? Canst thou command the lightnings, so that they may say
to thee, Here we are? Who can number the clouds in wisdom? Or who
can pour out the bottles of heaven upon the thirsty fields?"

If such be a single page in the volume of God's physical
missionaries, what must be its contents could we, by the telescope
of an angel, survey one single province of the universe, of
universes, which occupy topless, bottomless, boundless space!

We have data in the Bible, and, in the phenomena of the material
universe, sufficient to authorize the assumption that the missionary
idea circumscribes and permeates the entire area of creations.

Need we inquire into the meaning of a celestial title given to the
tenantries of the heaven of heavens? But you all, my Christian
brethren, know it. You anticipate me. The sweet poet of Israel told
you long since, in his sixty-eighth ode, that the chariots of God
are about twenty thousand of angels.[2]

  [2] This is an exact literal version of _Rebotayim alphey shenan_.
  The Targum says, "The chariots of God are two myriads--and two
  thousand angels draw them." A myriad is 10,000--two myriads 20,000.
  "To know this," Adam Clarke says, "we must die."

And what is an angel but a messenger, a missionary? Hence the seven
angels of the seven churches in Asia were seven missionaries, or
messengers, sent to John in his exile; and by these John wrote
letters to the seven congregations in Asia.

Figuratively, God makes the winds and lightnings his angels, his
messengers of wrath or of mercy, as the case may be.

But we are a missionary society--a society assembled from all points
of the compass, assembled, too, we hope, in the true missionary
spirit, which is the spirit of Christianity in its primordial
conception. God Himself instituted it. Moses is the oldest
missionary whose name is inscribed on the rolls of time.

He was the first divine missionary, and, if we except John the
Baptist, he was the second in rank and character to the Lord Messiah
Himself.

Angels and missionaries are rudimentally but two names for the same
officers. But of the incarnate Word, God's only begotten Son, He
says, "Thou art my son, the beloved, in whom I delight." And He
commands the world of humanity to hearken to Him. He was, indeed,
God's own special ambassador, invested with all power in heaven
and on earth--a true, a real, an everlasting plenipotentiary,
having vested in Him all the rights of God and all the rights of
man. And were not all the angels of heaven placed under Him as His
missionaries, sent forth to minister to the heirs of salvation?

His commission, given to the twelve apostles, is a splendid and
glorious commission. Its preamble is wholly unprecedented--"All
authority in heaven and on earth is given to me." In pursuance
thereof, he gave commission to His apostles, saying, "Go, convert
all the nations, immersing them into the name of the Father, and
of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit; teaching them to observe all
things whatever I have commanded you; and, lo, I am with you always,
even to the end of the world." Angels, apostles and evangelists
were placed under this command, and by Him commissioned as His
ambassadors to the world.

The missionary institution, we repeat, is older than Adam--older
than our earth. It is coeval with the origin of angels.

Satan had been expelled from heaven before Adam was created. His
assault upon our mother Eve, by an incarnation in the most subtle
animal in Paradise, is positive proof of the intensity of his
malignity to God and to man. He, too, has his missionaries in the
whole area of humanity. Michael and his angels, or missionaries,
are, and long have been, in conflict against the devil and his
missionaries. The battle, in this our planet, is yet in progress,
and therefore missionaries are in perpetual demand. Hence the
necessity incumbent on us to carry on this warfare as loyal subjects
of the Hero of our redemption.

The Christian armory is well supplied with all the weapons essential
to the conflict. We need them all. "We wrestle not against flesh
and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the
rulers of the darkness of this world, against wicked spirits in the
regions of the air." Hence the need of having our "loins girded with
the truth"; having on the breastplate of righteousness, our feet
shod with the preparation to publish the gospel of peace, taking
the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation and the sword of the
Spirit, the Word of God, always praying and making supplication for
our fellow-missionaries and for all saints.

The missionary fields are numerous and various. They are both
domestic and foreign. The harvest is great in both. The laborers are
still few, comparatively very few, in either of them.

The supply is not a tithe of the demand. The Macedonians cry, "Come
over and help us;" "Send us an evangelist;" "Send us missionaries;"
"The fields are large, the people are desirous, anxious, to hear
the original gospel. What can you do for us?" Nothing! Nothing! My
brethren, ought this so to be?

Schools for the prophets are wanting. But there is a too general
apathy or indifference on the subject. We pray to the Lord of the
harvest to send our reapers to gather it into His garner. But what
do we besides praying for it? Do we work for it? Suppose a farmer
should pray to the Lord for an abundant harvest next year, and
should never, in seed-time, turn over one furrow or scatter one
handful of seed: what would we think of him? Would not his neighbors
regard him as a monomaniac or a simpleton? And wherein does he excel
such a one in wisdom or in prudence who prays to the Lord to send
out reapers--missionaries, or evangelists--to gather a harvest of
souls, when he himself never gives a dollar to a missionary, or the
value of it, to enable him to go into the field? Can such a person
be in earnest, or have one sincere desire in his heart to effect
such an object or purpose? We must confess that we could have no
faith either in his head or in his heart.

The heavenly missionaries require neither gold nor silver, neither
food nor raiment. Not so the earthly missionaries. They themselves,
their wives and children, demand both food and clothing, to say
nothing of houses and furniture. Their present home is not

    "The gorgeous city, garnish'd like a bride,
       Where Christ for spouse expected is to pass,
     The walls of jasper compass'd on each side,
       And streets all paved with gold, more bright than glass."

If such were the missionary's home on earth, he might, indeed,
labor gratuitously all the days of his life. In an humble
cottage--rather an unsightly cabin--we sometimes see the wife of
his youth, in garments quite as unsightly as those of her children,
impatiently waiting "their sire's return, to climb to his knees the
envied kiss to share." But, when the supper table is spread, what a
beggarly account of almost empty plates and dishes! Whose soul would
not sicken at such a sight? I have twice, if not thrice, in days
gone by, when travelling on my early missionary tours--over not the
poorest lands nor the poorest settlements, either--witnessed some
such cases, and heard of more.

I was then my own missionary, with the consent, however, of one
church. I desired to mingle with all classes of religious society,
that I might personally and truthfully know, not the theories, but
the facts and the actualities, of the Christian ministry and the
so-called Christian public. I spent a considerable portion of my
time during the years 1812, '13, '14, '15, '16, traveling throughout
western Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Ohio.

I then spent seven years in reviewing my past studies, and in
teaching the languages and the sciences--after which I extended my
evangelical labors into other States and communities, that I might
still more satisfactorily apprehend and appreciate the _status_,
or the actual condition, of the nominally and profest religious or
Christian world.

Having shortly after my baptism connected myself with the Baptist
people, and attending their associations as often as I could, I
became more and more penetrated with the conviction that theory
had usurped the place of faith, and that consequently, human
institutions had been, more or less, substituted for the apostolic
and the divine.

During this period of investigation I had the pleasure of forming an
intimate acquaintance with sundry Baptist ministers, East and West,
as well as with the ministry of other denominations. Flattering
prospects of usefulness on all sides began to expand before me
and to inspire me with the hope of achieving a long-cherished
object--doing some good in the advocacy of the primitive and
apostolic gospel--having in the year 1820 a discussion on the
subject of the first positive institution enacted by the Lord
Messiah, and in A. D. 1823 another on the same subject--the former
more especially on the subject and action of Christian baptism,
the latter more emphatically on the design of that institution tho
including the former two.

These discussions, more or less, embraced the rudimental elements
of the Christian institution, and gave to the public a bold relief
outline of the whole genius, spirit, letter and doctrine of the
gospel.

Its missionary spirit, tho not formally propounded, was yet
indicated, in these discussions; because this institution was the
terminus of the missionary work. It was a component element of
the gospel, as clearly seen in the commission of the enthroned
Messiah. Its preamble is the superlative fact of the whole Bible.
We regret, indeed, that this most sublime preamble has been so much
lost sight of even by the present living generation. If we ask when
the Church of Jesus Christ began or when the reign of the Heavens
commenced, the answer, in what is usually called Christendom, will
make it either to be contemporaneous with the ministry of John the
Harbinger, or with the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ. We will
find one of these two opinions almost universally entertained.
The Baptists are generally much attached to John the Baptist; the
Pedobaptists, to the commencement of Christ's public ministry.
John the Baptist was the first Christian missionary with a very
considerable class of living Baptists; the birth of Christ is the
most popular and orthodox theory at the respective meridians of
Lutheranism, Calvinism, and Arminianism.

But, by the more intelligent, the resurrection, or the ascension
of the Lord Jesus Christ, is generally regarded as the definite
commencement of the Christian age or institution.

Give us Paul's or Peter's testimony, against that of all
theologians, living or dead. Let us look at the facts.

Did not the Savior teach His personal pupils, or disciples, to
pray, "Thy kingdom"--more truthfully, "Thy reign--come"? Does any
king's reign or kingdom commence with his birth? Still less with his
death? Did not our Savior Himself, in person, decline the honors of
a worldly or temporal prince? Did He not declare that His kingdom
"is not of this world"? Did He not say that He was going hence, or
leaving this world, to receive or obtain a kingdom? And were not the
keys of the kingdom first given to Peter to open, to announce it?
And did he not, when in Jerusalem, on the first Pentecost, after the
ascension of the Lord Jesus, make a public proclamation, saying,
"Let all the house of Israel know assuredly that God has made (or
constituted) the identical Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Mary, both
the Lord and the Christ, or the anointed Lord"?

Do kings reign before they are crowned? Before they are anointed?
There was not a Christian Church on earth, or any man called a
Christian, until after the consecration and coronation of Jesus of
Nazareth as the Christ of God.

The era of a son's birth was never, since the world began, the era
of his reign or of the commencement of it. It is a strange fact,
to me a wonderful fact, and, considering the age in which we live,
an overwhelming fact, that we, as a community, are the only people
on the checkered map of all Christendom, Greek, Roman, Anglican or
American, that preach and teach that the commonly called Christian
era is not the era or the commencement of the Christian Church or
kingdom of the Lord Jesus the Christ.

The kingdom of the Christ could not antedate His coronation.
Hence Peter, in announcing His coronation, after His ascension,
proclaimed, saying, "Let all the house of Israel know assuredly
that God has made--_touton ton Ieesoun_--the same, the identical
Jesus whom you have crucified, both Lord and Christ"; or, in other
words, has crowned Him the legitimate Lord of all. Then indeed His
reign began. Then was verified the oracle uttered by the royal
bard of Israel, "Jehovah said to my Jehovah"--or, "the Lord said
to my Lord,"--"Sit thou on my right hand till I make thy foes thy
footstool."

Hence He could say, and did say, to His apostles, "All authority in
the heavens and on the earth is given to me." In pursuance thereof,
"Go you into all the world, proclaim the gospel to the whole
creation; assuring them that everyone who believes this proclamation
and is immersed into the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of
the Holy Spirit, shall be saved."

Here, then, the missionary field is declared to be the whole
world--the broad earth. They were, as we are afterwards informed,
to begin at the first capital in the land of Judea, then to proceed
to Samaria, the capital of the ten tribes, and thence to the last
domicile of man on earth.

There was, and there is still, in all this arrangement, a gracious
and a glorious propriety.

The Jews had murdered the Messiah under the false charge of an
impostor. Was it not, then, divinely grand and supremely glorious to
make this awfully bloodstained capital the beginning, the fountain,
of the gospel age and mission? Hence it was decreed that all the
earth should be the parish, and all the nations and languages
of earth the objects, and millions of them the subjects, of the
redeeming grace and tender mercies of our Savior and our God.

What an extended and still extending area is the missionary field!
There are the four mighty realms of Pagandom, of Papaldom, of
Mohammedandom and of ecclesiastic Sectariandom. These are, one and
all, essentially and constitutionally, more or less, not of the
apostolic Christendom.

The divinely inspired constitution of the Church contains only
seven articles. These are the seven hills, not of Rome, but of the
true Zion of Israel's God. Paul's summary of them is found in the
following words: "One body, one spirit, one hope, one Lord, one
faith, one baptism, and one God and Father of all."

The clear perception, the grateful reception, the cordial
entertainment of these seven divinely constructed and instituted
pillars, are the alone sufficient, and the all-sufficient,
foundation--the indestructible basis--of Christ's kingdom on this
earth, and of man's spiritual and eternal salvation in the full
enjoyment of himself, his Creator, his Redeemer, and the whole
universe of spiritual intelligence through all the circles and
the cycles of an infinite, an everlasting future of being and of
blessedness.

The missionary spirit is, indeed, an emanation of the whole Godhead.
God the Father sent His Son, His only begotten Son, into our world.
The Son sent the Holy Spirit to bear witness through His twelve
missionaries, the consecrated and Heaven-inspired apostles. They
proclaimed the glad tidings of great joy to all people--to the
Jews, to the Samaritans, to the Gentiles, of all nations, kindreds
and tongues. They gave in solemn charge to others to sound out and
proclaim the glad tidings of great joy to all people. And need we
ask, is not the Christian Church itself, in its own institution and
constitution, virtually and essentially a missionary institution?
Does not Paul formally state to the Thessalonians in his first
epistle that from them sounded out the Word of the Lord not only in
Macedonia and in Achaia, but in every place?

No man can really or truthfully enjoy the spiritual, the
soul-stirring, the heart-reviving honors and felicities of the
Christian institution and kingdom, who does not intelligently,
cordially and efficiently espouse the missionary cause.

In other words, he must feel, he must have compassion for his
fellow man; and, still further, he must practically sympathize
with him in communicating to his spiritual necessities as well
as to his physical wants and infirmities. The true ideal of all
perfection--our blest and blissful Redeemer--went about continually
doing good--to both the souls and the bodies of his fellow men;
healing all that were, in body, soul or spirit, opprest by Satan,
the enemy of God and of man.

To follow his example is the grand climax of humanity. It is not
necessary to this end that he should occupy the pulpit. There are,
as we conceive, myriads of Christian men in the private walks
of life, who never aspired to the "sacred desk," that will far
outshine, in eternal glory and blessedness, hosts of the reverend,
the boasted and the boastful right reverend occupants of the sacred
desks of this our day and generation.

But Solomon has furnished our motto:--"He that winneth" or taketh
"souls is wise" (Prov. xi. 30). Was he not the wisest of men, the
most potent and the richest of kings, that ever lived? He had,
therefore, all the means and facilities of acquiring what we call
knowledge--the knowledge of men and things; and, consequently, the
value of men and things was legitimately within the area of his
understanding; or, in this case, we might prefer to say, with all
propriety, within the area of his comprehension.

Need I say that comprehension incomparably transcends apprehension?
Simpletons may apprehend, but only wise men can comprehend
anything. Solomon's rare gift was, that both his apprehension and
his comprehension transcended those of all other men, and gave him
a perspicacity and promptitude of decision never before or since
possest by any man. His oracles, indeed, were the oracles of God.
But God especially gave to him a power and opportunity of making
one grand experiment and development for the benefit of his living
contemporaries, and of all posterity, to whom God presents his
biography, his Proverbs and his Ecclesiastes.

"The winning of souls" is, therefore, the richest and best
business, trade or calling, according to Solomon, ever undertaken
or prosecuted by mortal man. Paul was fully aware of this, and
therefore had always in his eye a "triple crown"--"a crown of
righteousness," a "crown of life," a "crown of glory." And even in
this life he had "a crown of rejoicing," in prospect of an exceeding
and eternal weight of glory, imperishable in the heavens.

There is, too, a present reward, a present pleasure, a present joy
and peace which the wisdom, and the riches, and the dignity, and
the glory, and the honors of this world never did, never can, and
consequently never will, confer on its most devoted and persevering
votaries.

There is, indeed, a lawful and an honorable covetousness, which any
and every Christian, man and woman, may cultivate and cherish.

Paul himself justifies the poetic license, when he says, "Covet
earnestly the best gifts."

The best gifts in his horizon, however, were those which, when
duly cultivated and employed, confer the greatest amount of profit
and felicity upon others. We should, indeed, desire, even covet,
the means and the opportunities of beatifying and aggrandizing one
another with the true riches, the honors and the dignities that
appertain to the spiritual, the heavenly and the eternal inheritance.

But we need not propound to your consideration or inquiry the
claims--the paramount, the transcendent claims--which our
enjoyment of the gospel and its soul-cheering, soul-animating,
soul-enrapturing influences present to us as arguments and motives
to extend and to animate its proclamation by every instrumentality
and means which we can legitimately employ, to present it in all its
attractions and claims upon the understanding, the conscience and
the affections of our contemporaries, in our own country and in all
others, as far as our most gracious and bountiful Benefactor affords
the means and the opportunities of co-operating with Him, in the
rescue and recovery of our fellow men, who, without such means and
efforts, must forever perish, as aliens and enemies, in heart and
in life, to God and to His divinely-commissioned ambassador, the
glorious Messiah.

We plead for the original apostolic gospel and its positive
institutions. If the great apostles Peter and Paul--the former to
the Jews and the latter to the Gentiles--announced the true gospel
of the grace of God, shall we hesitate a moment on the propriety
and the necessity, divinely imposed upon us, of preaching the same
gospel which they preached, and in advocating the same institutions
which they established, under the plenary inspiration and direction
of the Holy Spirit? Can we improve upon their institutions and
enactments? What means that singular imperative enunciated by the
evangelical prophet Isaiah (Isa. viii.), "Bind up the testimony,
seal the law among my disciples?" What were its antecedents?
Hearken! The prophet had just foretold. He, the subject of this
oracle, viz: "The desire of all nations," was coming to be a
sanctuary; but not a sanctuary alone, but for a stone of stumbling
and a rock of offense (as at this day) to both the houses of
Israel--for a gin and for a snare to the inhabitants of Jerusalem.

The Church, therefore, of right is, and ought to be, a great
missionary society. Her parish is the whole earth, from sea to sea,
and from the Euphrates to the last domicile of man.

But the crowning and consummating argument of the missionary
cause has not been fully presented. There is but one word, in the
languages of earth, that fully indicates it. And that word indicates
neither less nor more than what is represented--literally, exactly,
perspicuously represented--by the word philanthropy. But this being
a Greek word needs, perhaps in some cases, an exact definition.
And to make it memorable we will preface it with the statement of
the fact that this word is found but twice in the Greek original
New Testament (Acts xxviii., 2, and Titus iii., 4.). In the first
passage this word is, in the common version, translated "kindness,"
and in the second, "love toward man." Literally and exactly, it
signifies the love of man, objectively; but, more fully exprest, the
love of one to another.

The love of God to man is one form of philanthropy; the love of
angels to one man is another form of philanthropy; and the love of
man to man, as such, is the true philanthropy of the law. It is
not the love of one man to another man, because of favors received
from him; this is only gratitude. It is not the love of one man to
another man, because of a common country: this is mere patriotism.
It is not the love of man to man, because of a common ancestry:
this is mere natural affection. But it is the love of man to man,
merely because he is a man. This is pure philanthropy. Such was the
love of God to man as exhibited in the gift of His dearly beloved
Son as a sin-offering for him. This is the name which the inspired
writers of the New Testament give it. So Paul uses it, Titus iii.
and iv. It should have been translated, "After that the kindness and
philanthropy of God our Savior appeared." Again, Acts xxviii., 2,
"The barbarous people of the Island of Melita showed us no little
philanthropy.[3] They kindled a fire for us on their island,
because of the impending rain and the cold."

  [3] So we have always translated this term, in this passage.

There are, indeed, many forms and demonstrations of philanthropy.
For one good man another good man might presume to die. But the
philanthropy of God to man incomparably transcends all other forms
of philanthropy known on earth or reported from heaven.

While we were sinners, in positive and actual rebellion against our
Father and our God, He freely gave up His only begotten and dearly
beloved Son, as a sin-offering for us, and laid upon Him, or placed
in His account, the sin, the aggregate sin, of the world. He became
in the hand of His Father and our Father a sin-offering for us. He
took upon Himself, and His Father "laid upon him, the iniquity of us
all." Was ever love like this? Angels of all ranks, spirits of all
capacities, still contemplate it with increasing wonder and delight.

This gospel message is to be announced to all the world, to men of
every nation under heaven. And this, too, with the promise of the
forgiveness of sins and of a life everlasting in the heavens, to
everyone who will cordially accept and obey it.




IRVING

PREPARATION FOR CONSULTING THE ORACLES OF GOD


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

EDWARD IRVING was born at Annan, Dumfriesshire, Scotland, in 1792.
He was an early friend and lover of Jane Welsh, who afterwards
married Thomas Carlyle. He showed ability at school, but had also a
taste for the preaching of extreme Presbyterian seceders from the
Church of Scotland. After graduating at the University of Edinburgh,
in 1809, he began life by teaching school, but obtained a license
to preach in 1815. He became assistant to Chalmers at Glasgow in
1819, where, great preacher as he was, he felt himself eclipsed by
Chalmers, and in 1822 accepted the pulpit at a chapel in Hatton
Garden, London. Here he leapt into fame. His melodious and resonant
voice, his noble presence and the beauty of his features, enhanced
the eloquence of his language. Eventually he became unbalanced
by the adulation of the aristocratic and intellectual crowd that
listened to him. They, however, grew tired of his prophecies and
denunciations, and his eccentricities of judgment finally led
to disruption, and "after a few years of futile but splendid
evangelization, he died a broken-hearted man, tender and true to the
last, altho the victim of unsubstantial religious vagaries." Carlyle
wrote a touching memoir of his life. He died in 1834.




IRVING

1792-1834

PREPARATION FOR CONSULTING THE ORACLES OF GOD

_Search the scriptures._--John v., 39.


There was a time when each revelation of the word of God had an
introduction into this earth, which neither permitted men to doubt
whence it came, nor wherefore it was sent. If at the giving of each
several truth a star was not lighted up in heaven, as at the birth
of the Prince of Truth, there was done upon the earth a wonder, to
make her children listen to the message of their Maker. The Almighty
made bare His arm; and, through mighty acts shown by His holy
servants, gave demonstration of His truth, and found for it a sure
place among the other matters of human knowledge and belief.

But now the miracles of God have ceased, and nature, secure and
unmolested, is no longer called on for testimonies to her Creator's
voice. No burning bush draws the footsteps to His presence chamber;
no invisible voice holds the ear awake; no hand cometh forth from
the obscurity to write His purposes in letters of flame. The vision
is shut up, and the testimony is sealed, and the Word of the Lord is
ended, and this solitary volume, with its chapters and verses, is
the sum total of all for which the chariot of heaven made so many
visits to the earth, and the Son of God Himself tabernacled and
dwelt among us.

The truth which it contains once dwelt undivulged in the bosom of
God; and, on coming forth to take its place among things revealed,
the heavens and the earth, and nature, through all her chambers,
gave reverent welcome. Beyond what it contains, the mysteries of the
future are unknown. To gain it acceptation and currency, the noble
company of martyrs testified unto the death. The general assembly of
the first-born in heaven made it the day-star of their hopes, and
the pavilion of their peace. Its every sentence is charmed with the
power of God, and powerful to the everlasting salvation of souls.

Having our minds filled with these thoughts of the primeval divinity
of revealed wisdom when she dwelt in the bosom of God, and was of
His eternal Self a part, long before He prepared the heavens, or
set a compass upon the face of the deep; revolving also how, by
the space of four thousand years, every faculty of mute nature did
solemn obeisance to this daughter of the Divine mind, whenever He
pleased to commission her forth to the help of mortals; and further
meditating upon the delights which she had of old with the sons of
men, the height of heavenly temper to which she raised them, and the
offspring of magnanimous deeds which these two--the wisdom of God,
and the soul of man--did engender between themselves--meditating, I
say, upon these mighty topics, our soul is smitten with grief and
shame to remark how in this latter day she hath fallen from her high
estate; and fallen along with her the great and noble character of
men. Or, if there be still a few names, as of the missionary martyr,
to emulate the saints of old--how to the commonalty of Christians
her oracles have fallen into a household commonness, and her visits
into a cheap familiarity; while by the multitude she is mistaken
for a minister of terror sent to oppress poor mortals with moping
melancholy, and inflict a wound upon the happiness of human kind.

For there is now no express stirring up the faculties to meditate
her high and heavenly strains--there is no formal sequestration
of the mind from all other concerns, on purpose for her special
entertainment--there is no house of solemn seeking and solemn
waiting for a spiritual frame, before entering and listening to
the voice of the Almighty's wisdom. Who feels the sublime dignity
there is in a saying, fresh descended from the porch of heaven? Who
feels the awful weight there is in the least iota that hath dropped
from the lips of God? Who feels the thrilling fear or trembling
hope there is in words whereon the destinies of himself do hang?
Who feels the swelling tide of gratitude within his breast, for
redemption and salvation, instead of flat despair and everlasting
retribution? Yea, that which is the guide and spur of all duty,
the necessary aliment of Christian life, the first and the last
of Christian knowledge and Christian feeling, hath, to speak the
best, degenerated in these days to stand, rank and file, among
those duties whereof it is parent, preserver, and commander. And,
to speak not the best, but the fair and common truth, this book,
the offspring of the Divine mind, and the perfection of heavenly
wisdom, is permitted to lie from day to day, perhaps from week to
week, unheeded and unperused, never welcome to our happy, healthy,
and energetic moods; admitted, if admitted at all, in seasons of
sickness, feeble-mindedness, and disabling sorrow. Yes, that which
was sent to be a spirit of ceaseless joy and hope within the heart
of man, is treated as the enemy of happiness, and the murderer of
enjoyment; and eyed askance, as the remembrancer of death, and the
very messenger of hell.

Oh! if books had but tongues to speak their wrongs, then might this
book well exclaim: Hear, O heavens! and give ear, O earth! I came
from the love and embrace of God, and mute nature, to whom I brought
no boon, did me rightful homage. To men I come, and my words were
to the children of men. I disclosed to you the mysteries hereafter,
and the secrets of the throne of God. I set open to you the gates
of salvation, and the way of eternal life, hitherto unknown.
Nothing in heaven did I withhold from your hope and ambition; and
upon your earthly lot I poured the full horn of Divine providence
and consolation. But ye requited me with no welcome, ye held no
festivity on my arrival; ye sequester me from happiness and heroism,
closeting me with sickness and infirmity: ye make not of me, nor use
me for, your guide to wisdom and prudence, but put me into a place
in your last of duties, and withdraw me to a mere corner of your
time; and most of ye set me at naught and utterly disregard me. I
come, the fulness of the knowledge of God; angels delighted in my
company, and desired to dive into my secrets. But ye, mortals, place
masters over me, subjecting me to the discipline and dogmatism of
men, and tutoring me in your schools of learning. I came, not to be
silent in your dwellings, but to speak welfare to you and to your
children. I came to rule, and my throne to set up in the hearts of
men. Mine ancient residence was the bosom of God; no residence will
I have but the soul of an immortal; and if you had entertained me,
I should have possest you of the peace which I had with God, "when
I was with Him and was daily His delight, rejoicing always before
Him. Because I have called you and ye have refused, I have stretched
out my hand and no man regarded; but ye have set at naught all my
counsel and would none of my reproof; I also will laugh at your
calamity, and mock when your fear cometh as desolation, and your
destruction cometh as a whirlwind, when distress and anguish cometh
upon you. Then shall they cry upon me, but I will not answer; they
shall seek me early, but they shall not find me."

From this cheap estimation and wanton neglect of God's counsel,
and from the terror of the curse consequent thereon, we have
resolved, in the strength of God, to do our endeavor to deliver this
congregation of His intelligent and worshiping people--an endeavor
which we make with a full perception of the difficulties to be
overcome on every side, within no less than without the sacred pale;
and upon which we enter with the utmost diffidence of our powers,
yet with the full purpose of straining them to the utmost, according
to the measure with which it hath pleased God to endow our mind. And
do Thou, O Lord, from whom cometh the perception of truth, vouchsafe
to Thy servant an unction from Thine own Spirit, who searcheth all
things, yes, the deep things of God; and vouchsafe to Thy people
"the hearing ear and the understanding heart, that they may hear
and understand, and their souls may live!"

Before the Almighty made His appearance upon Sinai, there were
awful precursors sent to prepare His way; while He abode in sight,
there were solemn ceremonies and a strict ritual of attendance;
when He departed, the whole camp set itself to conform unto His
revealed will. Likewise, before the Savior appeared, with His
better law, there was a noble procession of seers and prophets, who
decried and warned the world of His coming; when He came there were
solemn announcements in the heavens and on the earth; He did not
depart without due honors; and then followed, on His departure, a
succession of changes and alterations which are still in progress,
and shall continue in progress till the world's end. This may serve
to teach us, that a revelation of the Almighty's will makes demand
for these three things, on the part of those to whom it is revealed:
A due preparation for receiving it; a diligent attention to it while
it is disclosing; a strict observance of it when it is delivered.

In the whole book of the Lord's revelations you shall search in
vain for one which is devoid of these necessary parts. Witness the
awestruck Isaiah, while the Lord displayed before him the sublime
pomp of His presence; and, not content with overpowering the frail
sense of the prophet, dispatched a seraph to do the ceremonial of
touching his lip with hallowed fire, all before He uttered one word
into his astonished ear. Witness the majestic apparition to Saint
John, in the Apocalypse, of all the emblematical glory of the Son of
Man, allowed to take silent effect upon the apostle's spirit, and
prepare it for the revelation of things to come. These heard with
all their absorbed faculties, and with all their powers addrest them
to the bidding of the Lord. But, if this was in aught flinched from,
witness, in the persecution of the prophet Jonah, the fearful issues
which ensued. From the presence of the Lord he could not flee. Fain
would he have escaped to the uttermost parts of the earth; but in
the mighty waters the terrors of the Lord fell upon him; and when
engulfed in the deep, and entombed in the monster of the deep, still
the Lord's word was upon the obdurate prophet, who had no rest,
not the rest of the grave, till he had fulfilled it to the very
uttermost.

Now, judging that every time we open the pages of this holy book, we
are to be favored with no less than a communication from on high,
in substance the same as those whereof we have detailed the three
distinct and several parts, we conceive it due to the majesty of Him
who speaks, that we, in like manner, discipline our spirits with a
due preparation, and have them in proper frame, before we listen
to the voice; that, while it is disclosing to us the important
message, we be wrapt in full attention; and that, when it hath
disburdened itself into our opened and enlarged spirits, we proceed
forthwith to the business of its fulfilment, whithersoever and to
whatsoever it summon us forth. Upon each of these three duties,
incumbent upon one who would not forego the benefit of a heavenly
message, we will discourse apart, addressing ourselves in this
discourse to the first-mentioned of the three.

The preparation for the announcement.--"When God uttereth His
voice," says the Psalmist, "coals of fire are kindled; the hills
melt down like wax; the earth quakes; and deep proclaims itself
unto hollow deep." These sensible images of the Creator have now
vanished, and we are left alone, in the deep recesses of the
meditative mind, to discern His coming forth. No trump of heaven
now speaketh in the world's ear. No angelic conveyance of Heaven's
will taketh shape from the vacant air; and having done his errand,
retireth into his airy habitation. No human messenger putteth forth
his miraculous hand to heal nature's unmedicable wounds, winning
for his words a silent and astonished audience. Majesty and might
no longer precede the oracles of Heaven. They lie silent and
unobtrusive, wrapt up in their little compass, one volume among
many, innocently handed to and fro, having no distinction but that
in which our mustered thoughts are enabled to invest them. The want
of solemn preparation and circumstantial pomp, the imagination
of the mind hath now to supply. The presence of the Deity, and
the authority of His voice, our thoughtful spirits must discern.
Conscience must supply the terrors that were wont to go before Him;
and the brightness of His coming, which the sense can no longer
behold, the heart, ravished with His word, must feel.

For the solemn vocation of all her powers, to do her Maker honor and
give Him welcome, it is, at the very least, necessary that the soul
stand absolved from every call. Every foreign influence or authority
arising out of the world, or the things of the world, should be
burst when about to stand before the fountain of all authority;
every argument, every invention, every opinion of man forgot, when
about to approach to the Father and oracle of all intelligence.
And as subjects, when their honors, with invitations, are held
disengaged, tho preoccupied with a thousand appointments, so, upon
an audience, fixt and about to be holden with the King of Kings, it
will become the honored mortal to break loose from all thraldom of
men and things, and be arrayed in liberty of thought and action to
drink in the rivers of His pleasure, and to perform the mission of
His lips.

Now far otherwise it hath appeared to us, that Christians as well
as worldly men come to this most august occupation of listening
to the word of God; preoccupied and prepossest, inclining to it a
partial ear, and straitened understanding, and a disaffected will.

The Christian public are prone to preoccupy themselves with the
admiration of those opinions by which they stand distinguished as
a Church or sect from other Christians, and instead of being quite
unfettered to receive the whole counsel of the Divinity, they are
prepared to welcome it no further than it bears upon, and stands
with opinions which they already favor. To this pre-judgment
the early use of catechisms mainly contributes, which, however
serviceable in their place, have the disadvantage of presenting
the truth in a form altogether different from what it occupies
in the world itself. In the one it is presented to the intellect
chiefly (and in our catechisms to an intellect of a very subtle
order), in the other it is presented more frequently to the heart,
to the affections, to the emotions, to the fancy, and to all the
faculties of the soul. In early youth, which is so applied to
those compilations, an association takes place between religion
and intellect, and a divorcement of religion from the other powers
of the inner man. This derangement, judging from observation
and experience, it is exceedingly difficult to put to rights in
afterlife; and so it comes to pass, that in listening to the
oracles of religion, the intellect is chiefly awake, and the
better parts of the message--those which address the heart and its
affections, those which dilate and enlarge our admiration of the
Godhead, and those which speak to the various sympathies of our
nature--we are, by the injudicious use of these narrow epitomes,
disqualified to receive.

In the train of these comes controversy with its rough voice and
unmeek aspect, to disqualify the soul for a full and fair audience
of its Maker's word. The points of the faith we have been called
on to defend, or which are reputable with our party, assume, in
our esteem, an importance disproportionate to their importance
in the Word, which we come to relish chiefly when it goes to
sustain them, and the Bible is hunted for arguments and texts
of controversy, which are treasured up for future service. The
solemn stillness which the soul should hold before his Maker, so
favorable to meditation and rapt communion with the throne of God,
is destroyed at every turn by suggestions of what is orthodox and
evangelical--where all is orthodox and evangelical; the spirit of
such readers becomes lean, being fed with abstract truths and formal
propositions; their temper uncongenial, being ever disturbed with
controversial suggestions; their prayers undevout recitals of their
opinions; their discourse technical announcements of their faith.
Intellect, old intellect, hath the sway over heavenward devotion
and holy fervor. Man, contentious man, hath the attention which the
unsearchable God should undivided have; and the fine, full harmony
of heaven's melodious voice, which, heard apart, were sufficient
to lap the soul in ecstasies unspeakable, is jarred and interfered
with, and the heavenly spell is broken by the recurring conceits,
sophisms, and passions of men. Now truly an utter degradation it is
of the Godhead to have His word in league with that of man, or any
council of men. What matter to me whether the Pope, or any work of
any mind, be exalted to the quality of God? If any helps are to be
imposed for the understanding, or safeguarding, or sustaining of
the word, why not the help of statues and pictures of my devotions?
Therefore, while the warm fancies of the Southerns have given their
idolatry to the ideal forms of noble art, let us Northerns beware we
give not our idolatry to the cold and coarse abstractions of human
intellect.

For the preoccupations of worldly minds, they are not to be reckoned
up, being manifold as their favorite passions and pursuits. One
thing only can be said, that before coming to the oracles of God
they are not preoccupied with the expectation and fear of Him. No
chord in their heart is in unison with things unseen; no moments are
set apart for religious thought and meditation; no anticipations
of the honored interview; no prayer of preparation like that of
Daniel before Gabriel was sent to teach him; no devoutness like
that of Cornelius before the celestial visitation; no fastings like
that of Peter before the revelation of the glory of the Gentiles!
Now to minds which are not attuned to holiness, the words of God
find no entrance, striking heavy on the ear, seldom making way
to the understanding, almost never to the heart. To spirits hot
with conversation, perhaps heady with argument, uncomposed by
solemn thought, but ruffled and in uproar from the concourse of
worldly interests, the sacred page may be spread out, but its
accents are drowned in the noise which hath not yet subsided in
the breast. All the awe, and pathos, and awakened consciousness
of a Divine approach, imprest upon the ancients by the procession
of solemnities, is to worldly men without a substitute. They have
not yet solicited themselves to be in readiness. In a usual mood
and vulgar frame they come to God's word as to other compositions,
reading it without any active imaginations about Him who speaks;
feeling no awe of a sovereign Lord, nor care of a tender Father,
nor devotion to a merciful Savior. Nowise deprest themselves out
of their wonted dependence, nor humiliated before the King of
Kings--no prostrations of the soul, nor falling at His feet as
dead--no exclamation, as of Isaiah, "Wo is me, for I am of unclean
lips!"--no request "Send me"--nor fervent ejaculation of welcome, as
of Samuel, "Lord, speak, for Thy servant heareth!" Truly they feel
toward His word much as to the word of an equal. No wonder it shall
fail of happy influence upon the spirits which have, as it were, on
purpose, disqualified themselves for its benefits by removing from
the regions of thought and feeling which it accords with, into other
regions, which it is of too severe dignity to affect, otherwise
than with stern menace and direful foreboding! If they would have
it bless them and do them good, they must change their manner of
approaching it, and endeavor to bring themselves into that prepared,
and collected, and reverential frame which becomes an interview with
the High and Holy One who inhabiteth the praises of eternity.

Having thus spoken without equivocation, and we hope without
offense, to the contradictoriness and preoccupation with which
Christians and worldly men are apt to come to the perusal of the
Word of God, we shall now set forth the two master-feelings under
which we shall address ourselves to the sacred occupation.

It is a good custom, inherited from the hallowed days of Scottish
piety, and in our cottages still preserved, tho in our cities
generally given up, to preface the morning and evening worship of
the family with a short invocation of blessing from the Lord. This
is in unison with the practise and recommendation of pious men,
never to open the Divine Word without a silent invocation of the
Divine Spirit. But no address to heaven is of any virtue, save as
it is the expression of certain pious sentiments with which the
mind is full and overflowing. Of those sentiments which befit the
mind that comes into conference with its Maker, the first and most
prominent should be gratitude for His ever having condescended to
hold commerce with such wretched and fallen creatures. Gratitude
not only expressing itself in proper terms, but possessing the mind
with one abiding and over-mastering mood, under which it shall sit
imprest the whole duration of the interview. Such an emotion as
can not utter itself in language--tho by language it indicates its
presence--but keeps us in a devout and adoring frame, while the Lord
is uttering His voice.

Go visit a desolate widow with consolation, and help, and fatherhood
of her orphan children--do it again and again--and your presence,
the sound of your approaching footstep, the soft utterance of
your voice, the very mention of your name, shall come to dilate
her heart with a fulness which defies her tongue to utter, but
speaking by the tokens of a swimming eye, and clasped hands, and
fervent ejaculations to heaven upon your head! No less copious
acknowledgment of God, the author of our well-being, and the Father
of our better hopes, ought we to feel when His Word discloseth to
us the excess of His love. Tho a veil be now cast over the Majesty
which speaks, it is the voice of the Eternal which we hear, coming
in soft cadences to win our favor, yet omnipotent as the voice of
the thunder, and overpowering as the rushing of many waters. And tho
the evil of the future intervene between our hand and the promised
goods, still are they from His lips who speaks, and it is done,
who commands, and all things stand fast. With no less emotion,
therefore, should this book be opened, than if, like him in the
Apocalypse, you saw the voice which spake; or, like him in the
trance, you were into the third heaven translated, companying and
communing with the realities of glory which the eye hath not seen,
nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived.

Far and foreign from such an opened and awakened bosom is that cold
and formal hand which is generally laid upon the sacred volume;
that unfeeling and unimpressive tone with which its accents are
pronounced; and that listless and incurious ear into which its
blessed sounds are received. How can you, thus unimpassioned,
hold communion with themes in which everything awful, vital, and
endearing meet together? Why is not curiosity, curiosity ever
hungry, on edge to know the doings and intentions of Jehovah, King
of Kings? Why is not interest, interest ever awake, on tip-toe
to hear the future destiny of itself? Why is not the heart, that
panteth over the world after love and friendship, overpowered with
the full tide of the divine acts and expressions of love? Where is
nature gone when she is not moved with the tender mercy of Christ?
Methinks the affections of men are fallen into the yellow leaf. Of
the poets which charm the world's ear, who is he that inditeth a
song unto his God? Some will tune their harps to sensual pleasure,
and by the enchantment of their genius well-nigh commend their
unholy themes to the imagination of saints. Others, to the high
and noble sentiments of the heart, will sing of domestic joys and
happy unions, casting around sorrow the radiancy of virtue, and
bodying forth, in undying forms, the short-lived visions of joy!
Others have enrolled themselves the high-priests of mute nature's
charms, enchanting her echoes with their minstrelsy, and peopling
her solitudes with the bright creatures of their fancy. But when,
since the days of the blind master of English song, hath any poured
forth a lay worthy of the Christian theme? Nor in philosophy, "the
palace of the soul," have men been more mindful of their Maker.
The flowers of the garden and the herbs of the field have their
unwearied devotees, crossing the ocean, wayfaring in the desert, and
making devout pilgrimages to every region of nature for offerings
to their patron muse. The rocks, from their residences among the
clouds to their deep rests in the dark bowels of the earth, have
a bold and most venturous priesthood, who see in their rough and
flinty faces a more delectable image to adore than in the revealed
countenance of God. And the political warfare of the world is a very
Moloch, who can at any time command his hecatomb of human victims.
But the revealed suspense of God, to which the harp of David, and
the prophetic lyre of Isaiah were strung, the prudence of God, which
the wisest of men coveted after, preferring it to every gift which
heaven could confer, and the eternal intelligence Himself in human
form, and the unction of the Holy One which abideth--these the
common heart of man hath forsaken, and refused to be charmed withal.

I testify, that there ascendeth not from earth a hosanna of her
children to bear witness in the ear of the upper regions to the
wonderful manifestations of her God! From a few scattered hamlets
in a small portion of her territory a small voice ascendeth, like
the voice of one crying in the wilderness. But to the service of our
general Preserver there is no concourse, from Dan unto Beersheba,
of our people, the greater part of whom, after two thousand years
of apostolic commission, have not the testimonials of our God; and
the multitude of those who disrespect or despise them!

But, to return from this lamentation, which may God hear, who
doth not disregard the cries of His afflicted people! With the
full sense of obligation to the giver, combine a humble sense of
your own incapacity to value and to use the gift of His oracles.
Having no taste whatever for the mean estimates which are made,
and the coarse invectives that are vented, against human nature,
which, tho true in the main, are often in the manner so unfeeling
and triumphant, as to reveal hot zeal rather than tender and deep
sorrow, we will not give in to this popular strain. And yet it is a
truth by experience, revealed, that tho there be in man most noble
faculties, and a nature restless after the knowledge and truth of
things, there are toward God and His revealed will an indisposition
and a regardlessness, which the most tender and enlightened
consciences are the most ready to acknowledge. Of our emancipated
youth, who, bound after the knowledge of the visible works of God,
and the gratification of the various instincts of nature, how few
betake themselves at all, how few absorb themselves with the study
and obedience of the Word of God! And when, by God's visitation, we
address ourselves to the task, how slow is our progress and how
imperfect our performance! It is most true that nature is unwilling
to the subject of the Scriptures. The soul is previously possest
with adverse interests; the world hath laid an embargo on her
faculties, and monopolized them to herself; old habit hath perhaps
added to his almost incurable callousness; and the enemy of God and
man is skilful to defend what he hath already won. So circumstanced,
and every man is so circumstanced, we come to the audience of
the Word of God, and listen in the worse tune than a wanton to a
sermon, or a hardened knave to a judicial address. Our understanding
is prepossest with a thousand idols of the world--religious or
irreligious--which corrupt the reading of the Word into a straining
of the text to their service, and when it will not strain, cause it
to be skimmed, and perhaps despised or hated. Such a thing as a free
and unlimited reception of all parts of the Scripture into the mind,
is a thing most rare to be met with, and when met with will be found
the result of many a sore submission of nature's opinions as well as
of nature's likings.

But the Word, as hath been said, is not for the intellect alone,
but for the heart, and for the will. Now if any one be so wedded
to his own candor as to think he doth accept the divine truth
unabated, surely no one will flatter himself into the belief that
his heart is attuned and enlarged for all divine commandments.
The man who thus misdeems of himself must, if his opinions were
just, be like a sheet of fair paper, unblotted and unwritten on;
whereas all men are already occupied, to the very fulness, with
other opinions and attachments and desires than the Word reveals.
We do not grow Christians by the same culture by which we grow men,
otherwise what need of divine revelation, and divine assistance?
But being unacquainted from the womb with God, and attached to what
is seen and felt, through early and close acquaintance, we are
ignorant and detached from what is unseen and unfelt. The Word is
a novelty to our nature, its truths fresh truths, its affections
fresh affections, its obedience gathered from the apprehension
of nature and the commerce of the worldly life. Therefore there
needeth, in one that would be served from this storehouse opened
by heaven, a disrelish of his old acquisitions, and a preference
of the new, a simple, child-like teachableness, an allowance of
ignorance and error, with whatever else beseems an anxious learner.
Coming to the Word of God, we are like children brought into the
conversations of experienced men; and we should humbly listen and
reverently inquire; or we are like raw rustics introduced into high
and polished life, and we should unlearn our coarseness, and copy
the habits of the station; nay we are like offenders caught, and
for the moment committed to the bosom of honorable society, with
the power of regaining our lost condition and inheriting honor and
trust--therefore we should walk softly and tenderly, covering our
former reproach with modesty and humbleness, hasting to redeem our
reputation by distinguished performances, against offense doubly
guarded, doubly watchful for dangerous and extreme positions to
demonstrate our recovered goodness.

These two sentiments--devout veneration of God for His unspeakable
gift, and deep distrust of our capacity to estimate and use it
aright--will generate in the mind a constant aspiration after the
guidance and instruction of a higher power; the first sentiment of
goodness remembered, emboldening us to draw near to Him who first
drew near to us, and who with Christ will not refuse us any gift;
the second sentiment, of weakness remembered, teaching us our need,
and prompting us by every interest of religion and every feeling of
helplessness to seek of Him who hath said, "If any one lack wisdom
let him ask God, who giveth liberally and upbraideth not." The soul
which under these two master-feelings cometh to read, shall not
read without profit. Every new revelation, feeding his gratitude
and nourishing his former ignorance, will confirm the emotions he
is under, and carry them onward to an unlimited dimension. Such
a one will prosper in the way; enlargement of the inner man will
be his portion and the establishment in the truth his exceeding
great reward. "In the strength of the Lord shall his right hand get
victory--even in the name of the Lord of Hosts. His soul shall also
flourish with the fruits of righteousness from the seed of the word,
which liveth and abideth forever."

Thus delivered from prepossessions of all other masters, and arrayed
in the raiment of humility and love, the soul should advance to the
meeting of her God; and she should call a muster of her faculties
and have all her poor grace in attendance, and anything she knows
of His excellent works and exalted ways she should summon up to
her remembrance; her understanding she should quicken, her memory
refresh, her imagination stimulate, her affections cherish, and her
conscience arouse. All that is within her should be stirred up, her
whole glory should awake and her whole beauty display itself for the
meeting of her King. As His hand-maiden she should meet Him; His own
handiwork, tho sore defaced, yet seeking restoration; His humble,
because offending, servant--yet nothing slavish, tho humble--nothing
superstitious, tho devout--nothing tame, tho modest in her demeanor;
but quick and ready, all addrest and wound up for her Maker's will.

How different the ordinary proceeding of Christians, who, with
timorous, mistrustful spirits, with an abeyance of intellect, and a
dwarfish reduction of their natural powers, enter to the conference
of the Word of God! The natural powers of man are to be mistrusted,
doubtless, as the willing instruments of the evil one; but they
must be honored also as the necessary instruments of the Spirit of
God, whose operation is a dream, if it be not through knowledge,
intellect, conscience, and action. Now Christians, heedless of the
grand resurrection of the mighty instruments of thought and action,
at the same time coveting hard after holy attainment, do often
resign the mastery of themselves, and are taken into the counsel
of the religious world--whirling around the eddy of some popular
leader--and so drifted, I will not say from godliness, but drifted
certainly from that noble, manly and independent course, which,
under steerage of the Word of God, they might safely have pursued
for the precious interests of their immortal souls. Meanwhile these
popular leaders, finding no necessity for strenuous endeavors
and high science in the ways of God, but having a gathering host
to follow them, deviate from the ways of deep and penetrating
thought--refuse the contest with the literary and accomplished
enemies of the faith--bring a contempt upon the cause in which
mighty men did formerly gird themselves to the combat--and so cast
the stumbling-block of a mistaken paltryness between enlightened
men and the cross of Christ! So far from this simple-mindedness (but
its proper name is feeble-mindedness), Christians should be--as
aforetime in this island they were wont to be--the princes of human
intellect, the lights of the world, the salt of the political and
social state. Till they come forth from the swaddling-bands, in
which foreign schools have girt them, and walk boldly upon the
high places of human understanding, they shall never obtain that
influence in the upper regions of knowledge and power, of which,
unfortunately, they have not the apostolic unction to be in quest.
They will never be the master and commanding spirit of the time,
until they cast off the wrinkled and withered skin of an obsolete
old age, and clothe themselves with intelligence as with a garment,
and bring forth the fruits of power and love and of a sound mind.

Mistake us not, for we steer in a narrow, very narrow channel, with
rocks of popular prejudice on every side. While we thus invocate
to the reading of the Word, the highest strains of the human soul,
mistake us not as derogating from the office of the Spirit of God.
Far be it from any Christian, much further from any Christian
pastor, to withdraw from God the honor which is everywhere His due;
but there most of all His due where the human mind labored alone
for thousands of years, and labored with no success--viz., the
regeneration of itself, and its restoration to the last semblance
of the divinity! Oh! let him be reverently inquired after,
devoutly meditated on, and most thankfully acknowledged in every
step of progress from the soul's fresh awakening out of her dark,
oblivious sleep--even to her ultimate attainment upon earth and
full accomplishment for heaven. And there may be a fuller choir
of awakened men to advance His honor and glory here on earth, and
hereafter in heaven above; let the saints bestir themselves like
angels and the ministers of religion like archangels strong! And
now at length let us have a demonstration made of all that is
noble in thought, and generous in action, and devoted in piety,
for bestirring this lethargy, and breaking the bonds of hell, and
redeeming the whole world to the service of its God and King!




ARNOLD

ALIVE IN GOD




BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


Thomas Arnold, schoolmaster and preacher, was born at West Cowes,
Isle of Wight, in 1795. He was educated at Oxford, and after his
graduation taught as fellow of Oriel College, until in 1820 he
removed to Laleham near Haines and took pupils to prepare for the
universities. In 1827 he was elected to the head mastership of
Rugby, and took priest's orders before entering upon his duties.
At Rugby he remained till his death in 1842. His great work as an
educator consisted in teaching boys the duty of self-government,
self-control and freedom of intellectual judgement. His sermons in
the school chapel were distinguished by simplicity and profound
moral and religious earnestness.




ARNOLD

1795-1842

ALIVE IN GOD

_God is not the God of the dead, but of the living._--Matt. xxii.,
32.


We hear these words as a part of our Lord's answer to the Sadducees;
and as their question was put in evident profaneness, and the answer
to it is one which to our minds is quite obvious and natural, so we
are apt to think that in this particular story there is less than
usual that particularly concerns us. But it so happens that our Lord
in answering the Sadducees has brought in one of the most universal
and most solemn of all truths,--which is indeed implied in many
parts of the Old Testament, but which the Gospel has revealed to us
in all its fulness,--the truth contained in the words of the text,
that "God is not the God of the dead, but of the living."

I would wish to unfold a little what is contained in these words
which we often hear, even, perhaps, without quite understanding
them, and many times oftener without fully entering into them. And
we may take them, without fully entering into them. And we may take
them, first, in their first part, where they say that "God is not
the God of the dead."

The word "dead," we know, is constantly used in Scripture in a
double sense, as meaning those who are dead spiritually as well as
those who are dead naturally. And in either sense the words are
alike applicable: "God is not the God of the dead."

God's not being the God of the dead signifies two things: that they
who are without Him are dead, as well as that they who are dead are
also without Him. So far as our knowledge goes respecting inferior
animals they appear to be examples of this truth. They appear to
us to have no knowledge of God; and we are not told that they have
any other life than the short one of which our senses inform us.
I am well aware that our ignorance of their condition is so great
that we may not dare to say anything of them positively; there may
be a hundred things true respecting them which we neither know nor
imagine. I would only say that according to that most imperfect
light in which we see them the two points of which I have been
speaking appear to meet in them: we believe that they have no
consciousness of God, and we believe that they will die. And so far,
therefore, they afford an example of the agreement, if I may so
speak, between these two points; and were intended, perhaps, to be
to our view a continual image of it. But we had far better speak of
ourselves. And here, too, it is the case that "God is not the God of
the dead." If we are without Him we are dead, and if we are dead we
are without Him; in other words, the two ideas of death and absence
from God are in fact synonymous.

Thus, in the account given of the fall of man, the sentence of death
and of being cast out of Eden go together; and if any one compares
the description of the second Eden in the Revelation, and recollects
how especially it is there said that God dwells in the midst of it,
and is its light by day and night, he will see that the banishment
from the first Eden means a banishment from the presence of God.
And thus, in the day that Adam sinned he died; for he was cast out
of Eden immediately, however long he may have moved about afterward
upon the earth where God was not. And how very strong to the same
point are the words of Hezekiah's prayer, "The grave cannot praise
Thee, Death cannot celebrate Thee; they that go down into the pit
cannot hope for Thy truth"; words which express completely the
feeling that God is not the God of the dead. This, too, appears to
be the sense generally of the expression used in various parts of
the Old Testament, "Thou shalt surely die."

It is, no doubt, left purposely obscure; nor are we ever told in
so many words all that is meant by death; but, surely, it always
implies a separation from God, and the being--whatever the notion
may extend to--the being dead to Him.

Thus, when David had committed his great sin and had expressed his
repentance for it, Nathan tells him, "The Lord also hath put away
thy sin; thou shalt not die"; which means most expressively, thou
shalt not die to God.

In one sense David died, as all men die; nor was he by any means
freed from the punishment of his sin; he was not, in that sense,
forgiven, but he was allowed still to regard God as his God; and
therefore his punishments were but fatherly chastisements from God's
hand, designed for his profit that he might be partaker of God's
holiness.

And thus altho Saul was sentenced to lose his kingdom, and altho he
was killed with his sons on Mount Gilboa, yet I do not think that
we find the sentence passed upon him, "Thou shalt surely die"; and
therefore we have no right to say that God had ceased to be his God
altho He visited him with severe chastisements and would not allow
him to hand down to his sons the crown of Israel. Observe also the
language of the eighteenth chapter of Ezekiel, where the expressions
occur so often, "He shall surely live," and "He shall surely die."

We have no right to refer these to a mere extension on the one
hand, or a cutting short on the other, of the term of earthly
existence. The promise of living long in the land or, as in
Hezekiah's case, of adding to his days fifteen years, is very
different from the full and unreserved blessing, "Thou shalt surely
live." And we know, undoubtedly, that both the good and the bad to
whom Ezekiel spoke died alike the natural death of the body. But
the peculiar force of the promise and of the threat was, in the
one case, Thou shalt belong to God; in the other, Thou shalt cease
to belong to Him; although the veil was not yet drawn up which
concealed the full import of those terms, "belonging to God," and
"ceasing to belong to Him": nay, can we venture to affirm that it is
fully drawn aside even now?

I have dwelt on this at some length, because it really seems to
place the common state of the minds of too many amongst us in a
light which is exceedingly awful; for if it be true, as I think
the Scripture implies, that to be dead and to be without God are
precisely the same thing, then can it be denied that the symptoms of
death are strongly marked upon many of us? Are there not many who
never think of God or care about His service? Are there not many
who live, to all appearance, as unconscious of His existence, as we
fancy the inferior animals to be?

And is it not quite clear that to such persons God cannot be said
to be their God? He may be the God of heaven and earth, the God of
the universe, the God of Christ's Church; but He is not their God,
for they feel to have nothing at all to do with Him; and therefore,
as He is not their God, they are, and must be according to the
Scripture, reckoned among the dead.

But God is the God "of the living." That is, as before, all who are
alive live unto Him; all who live unto Him are alive. "God said, I
am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob";
and therefore, says our Lord, "Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob are not
and cannot be dead." They cannot be dead, because God owns them: He
is not ashamed to be called their God; therefore they are not cast
out from Him; therefore, by necessity, they live.

Wonderful, indeed, is the truth here implied, in exact agreement, as
we have seen, with the general language of Scripture; that, as she
who but touched the hem of Christ's garment was in a moment relieved
from her infirmity, so great was the virtue which went out from Him;
so they who are not cast out from God, but have anything whatever to
do with Him, feel the virtue of His gracious presence penetrating
their whole nature; because He lives, they must live also.

Behold, then, life and death set before us; not remote (if a few
years be, indeed, to be called remote), but even now present before
us; even now suffered or enjoyed. Even now, we are alive unto God,
or dead unto God; and, as we are either the one or the other, so we
are, in the highest possible sense of the terms, alive or dead. In
the highest possible sense of the terms; but who can tell what that
highest possible sense of the terms is? So much has, indeed, been
revealed to us, that we know now that death means a conscious and
perpetual death, as life means a conscious and perpetual life.

But greatly, indeed, do we deceive ourselves, if we fancy that,
by having thus much told us, we have also risen to the infinite
heights, or descended to the infinite depths, contained in those
little words, life and death. They are far higher, and far deeper,
than ever thought or fancy of man has reached to. But, even on the
first edge of either, at the visible beginnings of that infinite
ascent or descent, there is surely something which may give us a
foretaste of what is beyond. Even to us in this mortal state, even
to you, advanced but so short a way on your very earthly journey,
life and death have a meaning: to be dead unto God, or to be alive
to Him, are things perceptibly different.

For, let me ask of those who think least of God, who are most
separate from Him, and most without Him, whether there is not now
actually, perceptibly, in their state, something of the coldness,
the loneliness, the fearfulness of death? I do not ask them whether
they are made unhappy by the fear of God's anger; of course they are
not: for they who fear God are not dead to Him, nor He to them.

The thought of Him gives them no disquiet at all; this is the very
point we start from. But I would ask them whether they know what
it is to feel God's blessing. For instance: we all of us have our
troubles of some sort or other, our disappointments, if not our
sorrows. In these troubles, in these disappointments,--I care not
how small they may be,--have they known what it is to feel that
God's hand is over them; that these little annoyances are but
His fatherly correction; that He is all the time loving us, and
supporting us? In seasons of joy, such as they taste very often,
have they known what it is to feel that they are tasting the
kindness of their heavenly Father, that their good things come from
His hand and are but an infinitely slight foretaste of His love?
Sickness, danger; I know that they come to many of us but rarely;
but if we have known them, or at least sickness, even in its lighter
form, if not in its graver,--have we felt what it is to know that we
are in our Father's hands, that He is with us, and will be with us
to the end; that nothing can hurt those whom He loves?

Surely, then, if we have never tasted anything of this: if in
trouble, or in joy, or in sickness, we are left wholly to ourselves
to bear as we can and enjoy as we can; if there is no voice that
ever speaks out of the heights and the depths around us to give any
answer to our own; if we are thus left to ourselves in this vast
world,--there is in this a coldness and a loneliness; and whenever
we come to be, of necessity, driven to be with our own hearts alone,
the coldness and the loneliness must be felt. But consider that the
things which we see around us cannot remain with us nor we with
them. The coldness and loneliness of the world, without God, must
be felt more and more as life wears on; in every change of our own
state, in every separation from or loss of a friend, in every more
sensible weakness of our own bodies, in every additional experience
of the uncertainty of our own counsels,--the deathlike feeling will
come upon us more and more strongly: we shall gain more of that
fearful knowledge which tells us that "God is not the God of the
dead."

And so, also, the blessed knowledge that He is the God "of the
living" grows upon those who are truly alive. Surely He "is not far
from every one of us." No occasion of life fails to remind those who
live unto Him that He is their God and that they are His children.
On light occasions or on grave ones, in sorrow and in joy, still the
warmth of His love is spread, as it were, all through the atmosphere
of their lives; they forever feel His blessing. And if it fills
them with joy unspeakable even now, when they so often feel how
little they deserve it; if they delight still in being with God, and
in living to Him, let them be sure that they have in themselves the
unerring witness of life eternal: God is the God of the living, and
all who are with Him must live.

Hard it is, I well know, to bring this home in any degree to the
minds of those who are dead; for it is of the very nature of the
dead that they can hear no words of life. But it has happened that,
even whilst writing what I have just been uttering to you, the news
reached me that one who two months ago was one of your number, who
this very half-year has shared in all the business and amusements of
this place, is passed already into that state where the meanings of
the terms life and death are become fully revealed. He knows what it
is to live unto God and what it is to die to Him. Those things which
are to us unfathomable mysteries are to him all plain: and yet but
two months ago he might have thought himself as far from attaining
this knowledge as any of us can do. Wherefore it is clear that these
things, life and death, may hurry their lesson upon us sooner than
we deem of, sooner than we are prepared to receive it. And that
were indeed awful, if, being dead to God, and yet little feeling it
because of the enjoyments of our worldly life, those enjoyments
were on a sudden to be struck away from us, and we should find then
that to be dead to God was death indeed, a death from which there is
no waking, and in which there is no sleeping forever.




WAYLAND

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF JESUS OF NAZARETH




BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


Francis Wayland, preacher and philosopher, was born in New York,
in 1796. He graduated at Union College in 1813 and in 1816 entered
Hudson Theological Seminary. His first charge was the First
Baptist Church in Boston. Here he established his reputation as an
able and vigorous pulpit orator. Five years later he accepted a
chair in Union College, but in 1827 entered upon an incumbency of
twenty-eight years as President of Brown University, Providence.
This institution he built up on a broad and liberal basis, quite
emancipating it from narrow sectarianism. In 1855 he became pastor
of the First Baptist Church in Providence and died in 1865.




WAYLAND

1796-1865

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF JESUS OF NAZARETH

_And the apostles, when they were returned, told him all that they
had done. And he took them, and went aside privately into a desert
place, belonging to the city called Bethsaida. And the people
when they knew it, followed him: and he received them, and spake
unto them of the kingdom of God, and healed them that had need of
healing. And when the day began to wear away, then came the twelve,
and said unto him, Send the multitude away, that they may go into
the towns and country round about, and lodge and get victuals: for
we are here in a desert place. But he said unto them, Give ye them
to eat. And they said, We have no more but five loaves and two
fishes; except we should go and buy meat for all this people. For
they were about five thousand men. And he said to his disciples,
Make them sit down by fifties in a company. And they did so, and
made them all sit down. Then he took the five loaves and the two
fishes and looking up to heaven, he blessed them and brake, and gave
to the disciples to set before the multitude. And they did eat, and
were all filled: and there was taken up of fragments that remained
to them twelve baskets._--Luke ix., 10-17.


It was the sagacious opinion of, I think, the late Professor
Porson, that he would rather see a single copy of a daily newspaper
of ancient Athens, than read all the commentaries upon the
Grecian tragedies that have ever been written. The reason for
this preference is obvious. A single sheet, similar to our daily
newspapers, published in the time of Pericles, would admit us at
once to a knowledge of the habits, manners, modes of opinion,
political relations, social condition, and moral attainments of
the people, such as we never could gain from the study of all the
writers that have ever attempted to illustrate the nature of Grecian
civilization.

The same remark is true in respect to our knowledge of the character
of individuals who have lived in a former age. What would we not,
at the present day, give for a few pages of the private diary of
Julius Cesar, or Cicero, or Brutus, or Augustus; or for the minute
reminiscences of any one who had spent a few days in the company of
either of these distinguished men? What a flood of life would the
discovery of such a manuscript throw upon Roman life, but especially
upon the private opinions, the motives, the aspirations, the moral
estimates of the men whose names have become household words
throughout the world! A few such pages might, perchance, dissipate
the authority of many a bulky folio on which we now rely with
implicit confidence. Not only would the characters of these heroes
of antiquity stand out in bolder relief than they have ever done
before, but the individuals themselves would be brought within the
range of our personal sympathy; and we should seem to commune with
them as we do with an intimate acquaintance.

It is worthy of remark, that we are favored with a larger portion
of this kind of information, respecting Jesus of Nazareth, than
almost any other distinguished person that has ever lived. He left
no writings Himself; hence all that we know of Him has been written
by others. The narrators, however, were the personal attendants, and
not the mere auditors or pupils of their master. The apostles were
members of the family of Jesus; they traveled with Him, on foot,
throughout the length and breadth of Palestine; they partook with
Him of his frugal meals, and bore with Him the trial of hunger,
weariness, and want of shelter; they followed Him through the lonely
wilderness and the crowded street; they saw His miracles in every
variety of form, and listened to His discourses in public as well
as to His explanations in private. Hence their whole narrative is
instinct with life; a vivid picture of Jewish manners and customs,
rendered more definite and characteristic by the moral light which
then, for the first time, shone upon it. Hence it is that these few
pages are replete with moral lessons that never weary us in the
perusal, and which have been the source of unfailing illumination to
all succeeding ages.

The verses which I have read, as the text of this discourse, may
well be taken as an illustration of all that I have here said. They
may, without impropriety, be styled a day in the life of Jesus of
Nazareth. By observing the manner in which our blessed Lord spent a
single day, we may form some conception of the kind of life which
He ordinarily led; and we may, perchance, treasure up some lessons
which it were well if we should exemplify in our daily practice.

The place at which these events occurred was near the head of the
Sea of Galilee, where it receives the waters of the upper Jordan.
This was one of the Savior's favorite places of resort. Capernaum,
Chorazin, and Bethsaida, all in this immediate vicinity, are always
spoken of in the gospels as towns which enjoyed the largest share of
His ministerial labors, and were distinguished most frequently with
the honor of His personal presence. The scenery of the neighborhood
is wild and romantic. To the north and west, the eye rests on the
lofty summits of Lebanon and Hermon. To the south, there opens upon
the view the blue expanse of the lake, enclosed by frowning rocks,
which here and there jut over far into the waters, and then again
retire towards the land, leaving a level beach to invite the labors
of the fishermen. The people, removed at a considerable distance
from the metropolis of Judea, cultivated those rural habits with
which the simple tastes of the Savior would most readily harmonize.
Near this spot was also one of the most frequented fords of the
Jordan, on the road from Damascus to Jerusalem; and thus, while
residing here, He enjoyed unusual facilities for disseminating
throughout this whole region a knowledge of those truths which He
came on earth to promulgate.

Some weeks previous to the time in which the events spoken of in
the text occurred, our Lord had sent His disciples to announce the
approach of the kingdom of heaven, in all the cities and villages
which He Himself proposed to visit. He conferred on them the power
to work miracles, in attestation of their authority, and of the
divine character of Him by whom they were sent. He imposed upon them
strict rules of conduct, and directed them to make known to every
one who would hear them the good news of the coming dispensation.
As soon as He sent them forth, He Himself went immediately abroad
to teach and to preach in their cities. As their Master and Lord,
He might reasonably have claimed exemption from the personal
toil and the rigid self-denials to which they were by necessity
subjected. But He had laid no claim to such exemption. He commenced
without delay the performance of the very same duties which He
had imposed upon them. He felt himself under obligation to set an
example of obedience to His own rules. "The Son of Man," said He,
"came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give His
life a ransom for many." "Which," said He, "is greater, he that
sitteth at meat, or he that serveth? but I am among you as He that
serveth." Would it not be well, if, in this respect, we copied more
minutely the example of our Lord, and held ourselves responsible
for the performance of the very same duties which we so willingly
impose upon our brethren? We best prove that we believe an act
obligatory, when we commence the performance of it ourselves. Many
zealous Christians employ themselves in no other labor than that
of urging their brethren to effort. Our Savior acted otherwise.
In this respect, His example is specially to be imitated by His
ministers. When they urge upon others a moral duty, they must be
the first to perform it. When they inculcate an act of self-denial,
they themselves must make the noblest sacrifice. Can we conceive
of anything which could so much increase the moral power of the
ministry, and rouse to a flame the dormant energy of the churches,
as obedience to this teaching of Christ by the preachers of His
gospel?

It seems that the Savior had selected a well-known spot, at the
head of the lake, for the place of meeting for his apostles, after
this their first missionary tour had been completed. "The apostles
gathered themselves unto Jesus, and told Him all things, both
what they had done, and what they had taught." There is something
delightful in this filial confidence which these simple-hearted
men reposed in their almighty Redeemer. They told Him of their
success and their failure, of their wisdom and their folly, of
their reliance and their unbelief. We can almost imagine ourselves
spectators of this meeting between Christ and them, after this
their first separation from each other. The place appointed was
most probably some well-known locality on the shore of the lake,
under the shadow of its overhanging rocks, where the cool air from
the bosom of the water refreshed each returning laborer, as he came
back beaten out with the fatigues of travel, under the burning sun
of Syria. You can imagine the joy with which each drew near to the
Master, after this temporary absence; and the honest greetings with
which every newcomer was welcomed by those who had chanced to arrive
before him. We can seem to perceive the Savior of men listening with
affectionate earnestness to the recital of their various adventures;
and interposing, from time to time, a word either of encouragement
or of caution, as the character and circumstances of each narrator
required it. The bosom of each was unveiled before the Searcher of
Hearts, and the consolation which each one needed was bestowed upon
him abundantly. The toilsomeness of their journey was no longer
remembered, as each one received from the Son of God the smile
of His approbation. That was truly a joyful meeting. Of all that
company there is not one who has forgotten that day; nor will he
forget it ever. With unreserved frankness they told Jesus of all
that they had done, and what they had taught; of all their acts,
and all their conversations. Would it not be better for us, if we
cultivated more assiduously this habit of intimate intercourse with
the Savior? Were we every day to tell Jesus of all that we have
done and said; did we spread before Him our joys and our sorrows,
our faults and our infirmities, our successes and our failures, we
should be saved from many an error and many a sin. Setting the Lord
always before us, He would be on our right hand, and we should not
be moved. "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High
shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty."

The Savior perceived that the apostles needed much instruction which
could not be communicated in a place where both He and they were so
well known. They had committed many errors, which He preferred to
correct in private. By doing His will, they had learned to repose
greater confidence in His wisdom, and were prepared to receive from
Him more important instruction. But these lessons could not be
delivered in the hearing of a promiscuous audience. Nor was this
all. He perceived that the apostles were worn out with their labors,
and needed repose. Surrounded as they were by the multitude, which
had already begun to collect about them, rest and retirement were
equally impossible. "There were many coming and going, and they had
no leisure, even so much as to eat." He therefore said to them,
"Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while."
For this purpose, He "took ship, and crossed over with his disciples
alone, and went into a desert place belonging to Bethsaida."

The religion of Christ imposes upon us duties of retirement, as
well as duties of publicity. The apostles had been for some time
past before the eyes of all men, preaching and working miracles.
Their souls needed retirement. "Solitude," said Cecil, "is my great
ordinance." They would be greatly improved by private communion both
with Him and with each other. It was for the purpose of affording
them such a season of moral recreation, that our Lord withdrew them
from the public gaze into a desert place. Nor was this all. Their
labor for some weeks past had been severe. They had traveled on foot
under a tropical sun, reasoning with unbelievers, instructing the
ignorant, and comforting the cast-down. Called upon, at all hours,
both of the day and night, to work cures on those that were opprest
with diseases, their bodies, no less than their spirits, needed
rest. Our Lord saw this, and He made provision for it. He withdrew
them from labor, that they might find, tho it were but for a day,
the repose which their exhausted natures demanded. The religion of
Christ is ever merciful, and ever consistent in its benevolence.
It is thoughtful of the benefactor as well as the recipient. It
requires of us all labor and self-sacrifice, but to these it affixes
a limit. It never commands us to ruin our health and enfeeble our
minds by unnatural exhaustion. It teaches us to obey the laws of
our physical organization, and to prepare ourselves for the labors
of to-morrow by the judiciously conducted labors of to-day. It was
on this principle that our Lord conducted His intercourse with His
disciples. "He knew their frame, and remembered that they were dust."

May we not from this incident derive a lesson of practical
instruction? I well know that there are persons who are always
sparing themselves, who, while it is difficult to tell what they do,
are always complaining of the crushing weight of their labors, and
who are rather exhausted with the dread of what they shall do, than
with the experience of what they have actually done. It is not of
those that we speak. Those who do not labor have no need of rest. It
is to the honest, the painstaking, the laborious, that we address
the example in the text. We sometimes meet with the industrious,
self-denying servant of Christ, in feeble health, and with an
exhausted nature, bemoaning his condition, and condemning himself
because he can accomplish no more, while so much yet remains to be
done. To such a one we may safely present the example of the blessed
Savior. When His apostles had done to the utmost of their strength,
altho the harvest was great, and the laborers few, He did not urge
upon them additional labor, nor tell them that because there was so
much to be done they must never cease from doing. No; He tells them
to turn aside and rest for a while. It is as tho He had said, "Your
strength is exhausted; you cannot be qualified for subsequent duty
until you be refreshed. Economize, then, your power, that you may
accomplish the more." The Savior addresses the same language to us
now. When we are worn down in His service, as in any other, He would
have us rest, not for the sake of self-indulgence, but that we may
be the better prepared for future effort. We do nothing at variance
with His will, when we, with a good conscience, use the liberty
which he has thus conceded to us.

Jesus, with His disciples, crossed the water, and entered the
desert; that is, the sparsely inhabited country of Bethsaida.
Desert, or wilderness, in the New Testament, does not mean an arid
waste, but pasture land, forest, or any district to which one could
retire for seclusion. Here, in the cool and tranquil neighborhood
of the lake, he began to instruct His disciples, and, without
interruption, make known to them the mysteries of the kingdom. It
was one of those seasons that the Savior Himself rarely enjoyed.
Everything tended to repose: the rustling leaves, the rippling
waves, the song of the birds, heard more distinctly in this rural
solitude, all served to calm the spirit ruffled by the agitations of
the world, and prepared it to listen to the truths which unveil to
us eternity. Here our Lord could unbosom Himself, without reserve,
to His chosen few, and hold with them that communion which He was
rarely permitted to enjoy during His ministry on earth.

Soon, however, the whole scene is changed. The multitude, whom he
had so recently left, having observed the direction in which He had
gone, have discovered the place of His retreat. An immense crowd
approaches, and the little company is surrounded by a dense mass of
human beings pressing upon them on every side. These are, however,
only the pioneers. At last, five thousand men, besides women and
children, are beheld thronging around them.

Some of these suitors present most importunate claims. They are in
search of cure for diseases which have baffled the skill of the
medical profession, and, as a last resort, they have come to the
Messiah for aid. Here was a parent bringing a consumptive child.
There were children bearing on a couch a paralytic parent. Here
was a sister leading a brother blind from his birth, while her
supplications were drowned by the shout of a frenzied lunatic who
was standing by her side. Every one, believing his own claim to be
the most urgent, prest forward with selfish importunity. Each one,
caring for no other than himself, was striving to attain the front
rank, while those behind, disappointed, and fearing to lose this
important opportunity, were eager to occupy the places of those more
fortunate than themselves. The necessary tumult and disorder of such
a scene you can better imagine than I can describe.

This was, doubtless, by no means a welcome interruption. The
apostles needed the time for rest; for they were worn out in
the public service. They wanted it for instruction; for such
opportunities of intercourse with Christ were rare. But what did
they do? Did our Lord inform the multitude that this day was set
apart for their own refreshment and improvement, and that they could
not be interrupted? As He beheld them approaching, did He quietly
take to His boat, and leave them to go home disappointed? Did He
plead His own convenience, or His need of repose, as any reason for
not attending to the pressing necessities of His fellow men?

No, my brethren, very far from it. That providence of God had
brought these multitudes before Him, and that same providence
forbade Him to send them away unblest. He at once broke up the
conference with His disciples and addrest Himself to the work
before Him. His instructions were of inestimable importance; but
I doubt if even they were as important as the example of deep
humility, exhaustless kindness, and affecting compassion which He
here exhibited. When the Master places work before us which can be
done at no other time, our convenience must yield to other men's
necessities. "The Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but
to minister." You can imagine to yourself the Savior rising from
His seat, in the midst of His disciples, and presenting Himself
to the approaching multitudes. His calm dignity awes into silence
this tumultuous gathering of the people. Those who came out to
witness the tricks of an empiric, or listen to the ravings of a
fanatic, find themselves, unexpectedly, in a presence that repels
every emotion but that of profound veneration. The light-hearted
and frivolous are awestruck by the unearthly majesty that seems
to clothe the Messiah as with a garment. And yet it was a majesty
that shone forth conspicuous, most of all, by the manifestation of
unparalleled goodness. Every eye that met the eye of the Savior
quailed before Him; for it looked into a soul that had never
sinned; and the spirit of the sinner felt, for the first time, the
full power of immaculate virtue.

Thus the Savior passed among the crowd, and "healed all that had
need of healing." The lame walked, the lepers were cleansed,
the blind received their sight, the paralytic were restored to
soundness, and the bloom of health revisited the cheeks of those
that but just now were sick unto death.

The work to be done for the bodies of men was accomplished, and
there yet remained some hours of the summer's day unconsumed. The
power and goodness displayed in this miraculous healing would
naturally predispose the people to listen to the instructions of
the Savior. This was too valuable an opportunity to be lost. Our
Lord therefore proceeded to speak to them of the things concerning
the kingdom of God. We can seem to perceive the Savior seeking
an eminence from whence He could the more conveniently address
this vast assembly. You hear Him unfold the laws of God's moral
government. He unmasks the hypocrisy of the Pharisees; He rebukes
the infidelity of the Sadducees; He exposes the folly of the
frivolous, as well as of the selfish worldling; He speaks peaceably
to the humble penitent; He encourages the meek, and comforts those
that be cast down. The intellect and the conscience of this vast
assembly are swayed at His will. The soul of man bows down in
reverence in the presence of its Creator. "He stilleth the noise of
the seas, the noise of their waves, and the tumult of the people."
As He closes His address, every eye is moistened with compunction
for sin. Every soul cherishes the hope of amendment. Every one is
conscious that a new moral light has dawned upon his soul, and that
a new moral universe has been unveiled to his spiritual vision. As
the closing words of the Savior fell upon their ears, the whole
multitude stood for a while unmoved, as tho transfixt to the earth
by some mighty spell; until, at last, the murmur is heard from
thousands of voices, "Never man spake like this man."

But the shades of evening are gathering around them. The multitude
have nothing to eat. To send them away fasting would be inhuman,
for divers of them came from far, and many were women and children,
who could not perform their journey homeward without previous
refreshment. To purchase food in the surrounding towns and villages
would be difficult; but even were this possible, whence could
the necessary funds be provided? A famishing multitude was thus
unexpectedly cast upon the bounty of our Lord. He had not tempted
God by leading them into the wilderness. They came to Him of
themselves, to hear His words and to be healed of their infirmities.
He could not "send them away fasting, lest they should faint by the
way." In this dilemma, what was to be done? He puts this question to
His disciples, and they can suggest no means of relief. The little
stock of provisions which they had brought with them was barely
sufficient for themselves. They can perceive no means whatever by
which the multitude can be fed, and they at once confess it.

The Savior, however, commands the twelve to give them to eat. They
produce their slender store of provisions, amounting to five loaves
and two small fishes. He commands the multitude to sit down by
companies on the grass. As soon as silence is obtained, He lifts
up His eyes to heaven, and supplicates the blessing of God upon
their scanty meal. He begins to break the loaves and fishes, and
distribute them to His disciples, and His disciples distribute them
to the multitude. He continues to break and distribute. Basket after
basket is filled and emptied, yet the supply is undiminished. Food
is carried in abundance to the famishing thousands. Company after
company is supplied with food, but the five loaves and two fishes
remain unexhausted. At last, the baskets are returned full, and
it is announced that the wants of the multitude are supplied. The
miracle then ceases, and the multiplication of food is at an end.

But even here the provident care of the Savior is manifested. Altho
this food has been so easily provided, it is not right that it be
lightly suffered to perish. Christ wrought no miracles for the
sake of teaching men wastefulness. That food, by what means soever
provided, was a creature of God, and it were sin to allow it to
decay without accomplishing the purposes for which it was created.
"Gather up the fragments," said the Master of the feast, "that
nothing be lost." "And they gathered up the fragments that remained,
twelve baskets full."

Dissimilar as are our circumstances to those of our Lord, we may
learn from this latter incident a lesson of instruction.

In the first place, as I have remarked, the Savior did not lead
the multitude into the wilderness without making provision for
their sustenance. This would have been presumption. They followed
Him without His command, and He found Himself with them in this
necessity. He had provided for His own wants, but they had not
provided for theirs. The providence of God had, however, placed
Him in His present circumstances, and He might therefore properly
look to providence for deliverance. This event, then, furnishes
the rule by which we are to be governed. When we plunge ourselves
into difficulty, by a neglect of the means or by a misuse of the
faculties which God has bestowed upon us, it is to be expected
that He will leave us to our own devices. But when, in the honest
discharge of our duties, we find ourselves in circumstances beyond
the reach of human aid, we may then confidently look up to God for
deliverance. He will always take care of us while we are in the
spot where He has placed us. When He appoints for us trials, He
also appoints for us the means of escape. The path of duty, tho it
may seem arduous, is ever the path of safety. We can more easily
maintain ourselves in the most difficult position, God being our
helper, than in apparent security relying on our own strength.

The Savior, in full reliance upon God, with only five loaves and
two fishes, commenced the distribution of food amongst the vast
multitude. Tho His whole store was barely sufficient to supply
the wants of His immediate family, He began to share it with the
thousands who surrounded Him. Small as was His provision at the
commencement, it remained unconsumed until the deed of mercy was
done, and the wants of the famished host supplied. Nor were the
disciples losers by this act of charity. After the multitude had
eaten and were satisfied, twelve baskets full of fragments remained,
a reward for their deed of benevolence.

From this portion of the narrative, we may, I think, learn that
if we act in faith, and in the spirit of Christian love, we may
frequently be justified in commencing the most important good
work, even when in possession of apparently inadequate means. If
the work be of God, He will furnish us with helpers as fast as they
are needed. In all ages, God has rewarded abundantly simple trust
in Him, and has bestowed upon it in the highest honor. We must,
however, remember the conditions upon which alone we may expect His
aid, lest we be led into fanaticism. The service which we undertake
must be such as God has commanded, and His providence must either
designate us for the work, or, at least, open the door by which we
shall enter upon it. It must be God's work, and not our own; for the
good of others, and not for the gratification of our own passions;
and, in the doing of it, we must, first of all, make sacrifice of
ourselves, and not of others. Under such circumstances, there is
hardly a good design which we may not undertake with cheerful hopes
of success, for God has promised us His assistance. "If God be for
us, who can be against us?" The calculations of the men of this
world are of small account in such a matter. It would have provoked
the smile of an infidel to behold the Savior commencing the work
of feeding five thousand men with a handful of provisions. But the
supply increased as fast as it was needed, and it ceased not until
all that He had prayed for was accomplished.

Perhaps, also, we may learn from this incident another lesson. If
I mistake not, it suggests to us that in works of benevolence we
are accustomed to rely too much on human, and too little on divine,
aid. When we attempt to do good, we commence by forming large
associations, and suppose that our success depends upon the number
of men whom we can unite in the promotion of our undertaking. Every
one is apt thus to forget his own personal duty, and rely upon the
labor of others, and it is well if he does not put his organization
in the place of God Himself. Would it not be better if we made
benevolence much more a matter between God and our own souls, each
one doing with his own hands, in firm reliance on divine aid, the
work which Providence has placed directly before him? Our Lord did
not send to the villages round to organize a general effort to
relieve the famishing. In reliance upon God, He set about to work
Himself, with just such means as God had afforded Him. All the
miracles of benevolence have, if I mistake not, been wrought in the
same manner. The little band of disciples in Jerusalem accomplished
more for the conversion of the world than all the Christians of the
present day united. And why? Because every individual Christian felt
that the conversion of the world was a work for which he himself,
and not an abstraction that he called the Church, was responsible.
Instead of relying on man for aid, every one looked up directly to
God, and went forth to the work. God was thus exalted, the power
was confest to be His own, and, in a few years, the standard of the
Cross was carried to the remotest extremities of the then known
world.

Such has, I think, been the case ever since. Every great moral
reformation has proceeded upon principles analogous of these. It
was Luther, standing up alone in simple reliance upon God, that
smote the Papal hierarchy; and the effects of that blow are now
agitating the nations of Europe. Roger Williams, amid persecution
and banishment, held forth that doctrine of soul-liberty which,
in its onward march, is disenthralling a world. Howard, alone,
undertook the work of showing mercy to the prisoner, and his example
is now enlisting the choicest minds in Christendom in this labor of
benevolence. Clarkson, unaided, a young man, and without influences,
consecrated himself to the work of abolishing the slave trade; and,
before he rested from his labor, his country had repented of and
forsaken this atrocious sin. Raikes saw the children of Gloucester
profaning the Sabbath day; he set on foot a Sabbath school on his
own account, and now millions of children are reaping the benefit of
his labors, and his example has turned the attention of the whole
world to the religious instruction of the young. With such facts
before us, we surely should be encouraged to attempt individually
the accomplishment of some good design, relying in humility and
faith upon Him who is able to grant prosperity to the feeblest
effort put forth in earnest reliance on His almightiness.

Such were the occupations that filled up a day in the life of Jesus
of Nazareth. There was not an act done for Himself; all was done
for others. Every hour was employed in the labor which that hour
set before Him. Private kindness, the relief of distress, public
teaching, and ministration to the wants of the famishing, filled
up the entire day. Let His disciples learn to follow His example.
Let us, like Him, forget ourselves, our own wants, and our own
weariness, that we may, as he did, scatter blessings on every side,
as we move onward in the pathway of our daily life. If such were the
occupations of the Son of God, can we do more wisely than to imitate
His example? Every disciple would then be as a city set upon a hill,
and men, seeing our good works, would glorify our Father who is in
heaven. "Then would our righteousness go forth as brightness, and
our salvation as a lamp that burneth."




VINET

THE MYSTERIES OF CHRISTIANITY




BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


ALEXANDER VINET, the eminent Swiss divine and author, was born at
Ouchy, Canton, in 1797. He was professor of theology at Lausanne
(1837-45), where he gained reputation as a preacher, a philosopher,
and a writer. He was tolerant tho critical, and many of his
utterances are marked by rare brilliancy. His supreme and intense
faith led him to say: "The gospel is believed when it has ceased
to be to us an external and has become an internal truth, when it
has become a fact in our consciousness. Christianity is conscience
raised to its highest exercise." He died in 1847.




VINET

1797-1847

THE MYSTERIES OF CHRISTIANITY

_Things which have not entered into the heart of man._--1 Cor. ii.,
9.


"I do not comprehend, therefore I do not believe." "The gospel is
full of mysteries, therefore I do not receive the gospel:"--such is
one of the favorite arguments of infidelity. To see how much is made
of this, and what confidence it inspires, we might believe it solid,
or, at least, specious; but it is neither the one nor the other;
it will not bear the slightest attention, the most superficial
examination of reason; and if it still enjoys some favor in the
world, this is but a proof of the lightness of our judgments upon
things worthy of our most serious attention.

Upon what, in fact, does this argument rest? Upon the claim of
comprehending every thing in the religion which God has offered or
could offer us--a claim equally unjust, unreasonable, useless. This
we proceed to develop.

1. In the first place, it is an unjust claim. It is to demand of God
what He does not owe us. To prove this, let us suppose that God has
given a religion to man, and let us further suppose that religion to
be the gospel: for this absolutely changes nothing to the argument.
We may believe that God was free, at least, with reference to us,
to give us or not to give us a religion; but it must be admitted
that in granting it He contracts engagements to us, and that the
first favor lays Him under a necessity of conferring other favors.
For this is merely to say that God must be consistent, and that He
finishes what He has begun. Since it is by a written revelation
He manifests His designs respecting us, it is necessary He should
fortify that revelation by all the authority which would at least
determine us to receive it; it is necessary He should give us the
means of judging whether the men who speak to us in His name are
really sent by Him; in a word, it is necessary we should be assured
that the Bible is truly the Word of God.

It would not indeed be necessary that the conviction of each of
us should be gained by the same kind of evidence. Some shall be
led to Christianity by the historical or external arguments; they
shall prove to themselves the truth of the Bible as the truth of
all history is proved; they shall satisfy themselves that the
books of which it is composed are certainly those of the times and
of the authors to which they are ascribed. This settled, they
shall compare the prophecies contained in these ancient documents
with the events that have happened in subsequent ages; they shall
assure themselves of the reality of the miraculous facts related in
these books, and shall thence infer the necessary intervention of
divine power, which alone disposes the forces of nature, and can
alone interrupt or modify their action. Others, less fitted for
such investigations, shall be struck with the internal evidence
of the Holy Scriptures. Finding there the state of their souls
perfectly described, their wants fully exprest, and the true
remedies for their maladies completely indicated; struck with a
character of truth and candor which nothing can imitate; in fine,
feeling themselves in their inner nature moved, changed, renovated,
by the mysterious influence of these holy writings, they shall
acquire, by such means, a conviction of which they can not always
give an account to others, but which is not the less legitimate,
irresistible, and immovable. Such is the double road by which an
entrance is gained into the asylum of faith. But it was due from the
wisdom of God, from His justice, and, we venture to say it, from
the honor of His government, that He should open to man this double
road; for, if He desired man to be saved by knowledge, on the same
principle He engaged Himself to furnish him the means of knowledge.

Behold, whence come the obligations of the Deity with reference
to us, which obligations He has fulfilled. Enter on this double
method of proof. Interrogate history, time and places, respecting
the authenticity of the Scriptures; grasp all the difficulties,
sound all the objections; do not permit yourselves to be too easily
convinced; be the more severe upon that book, as it professes to
contain the sovereign rule of your life, and the disposal of your
destiny; you are permitted to do this, nay, you are encouraged
to do it, provided you proceed to the investigation with the
requisite capacities and with pure intentions. Or, if you prefer
another method, examine, with an honest heart, the contents of the
Scriptures; inquire, while you run over the words of Jesus, if ever
man spake like this Man; inquire if the wants of your soul, long
deceived, and the anxieties of your spirit, long cherished in vain,
do not, in the teaching and work of Christ, find that satisfaction
and repose which no wisdom was ever able to procure you; breathe,
if I may thus express myself, that perfume of truth, of candor and
purity, which exhales from every page of the gospel; see, if, in all
these respects, it does not bear the undeniable seal of inspiration
and divinity. Finally, test it, and if the gospel produces upon you
a contrary effect, return to the books and the wisdom of men, and
ask of them what Christ has not been able to give you.

But if, neglecting these two ways, made accessible to you,
and trodden by the feet of ages, you desire, before all, that
the Christian religion should, in every point, render itself
comprehensible to your mind, and complacently strip itself of all
mysteries; if you wish to penetrate beyond the veil, to find there,
not the aliment which gives life to the soul, but that which would
gratify your restless curiosity, I maintain that you raise against
God a claim the most indiscreet, the most rash and unjust; for He
has never engaged, either tacitly or expressly, to discover to you
the secret which your eye craves; and such audacious importunity is
fit to excite His indignation. He has given you what He owed you,
more indeed than He owed you; the rest is with Himself.

If a claim so unjust could be admitted, where, I ask you, would be
the limit of your demands? Already you require more from God than He
has accorded to angels; for these eternal mysteries which trouble
you, the harmony of the divine prescience with human freedom, the
origin of evil and its ineffable remedy, the incarnation of the
eternal Word--the relations of the God-man with His Father--the
atoning virtue of His sacrifice, the regenerating efficacy of the
Spirit-comforter, all these things are secrets, the knowledge of
which is hidden from angels themselves, who, according to the word
of the Apostle, stoop to explore their depths, and can not.

If you reproach the Eternal for having kept the knowledge of
these divine mysteries to Himself, why do you not reproach Him
for the thousand other limits He has prescribed for you? Why not
reproach Him for not having given you wings like a bird, to visit
the regions, which, till now, have been scanned only by your eyes?
Why not reproach Him for not giving you, besides the five senses
with which you are provided, ten other senses which He has perhaps
granted to other creatures, and which procure for them perceptions
of which you have no idea? Why not, in fine, reproach Him for having
caused the darkness of night to succeed the brightness of day
invariably on the earth? Ah! you do not reproach Him for that. You
love that night which brings rest to so many fatigued bodies and
weary spirits; which suspends in so many wretches, the feeling of
grief; that night, during which orphans, slaves, and criminals cease
to be, because over all their misfortunes and sufferings it spreads,
with the opiate of sleep, the thick veil of oblivion; you love that
night which, peopling the deserts of the heavens with ten thousand
stars, not known to the day, reveals the infinite to our ravished
imagination.

Well, then, why do you not, for a similar reason, love the night
of divine mysteries, night, gracious and salutary, in which reason
humbles itself, and finds refreshment and repose; where the darkness
even is a revelation; where one of the principal attributes of God,
immensity, discovers itself much more fully to our mind; where, in
fine, the tender relations He has permitted us to form with Himself,
are guarded from all admixture of familiarity by the thought that
the Being who has humbled Himself to us, is, at the same time,
the inconceivable God who reigns before all time, who includes in
Himself all existences and all conditions of existence, the center
of all thought, the law of all law, the supreme and final reason
of every thing! So that, if you are just, instead of reproaching
Him for the secrets of religion, you will bless Him that He has
enveloped you in mysteries.

2. But this claim is not only unjust toward God; it is also in
itself exceedingly unreasonable.

What is religion? It is God putting Himself in communication with
man; the Creator with the creature, the infinite with the finite.
There already, without going further, is a mystery; a mystery
common to all religions, impenetrable in all religions. If, then,
every thing which is a mystery offends you, you are arrested on the
threshold, I will not say of Christianity, but of every religion;
I say, even of that religion which is called natural, because it
rejects revelation and miracles; for it necessarily implies, at
the very least, a connection, a communication of some sort between
God and man--the contrary being equivalent to atheism. Your claim
prevents you from having any belief; and because you have not been
willing to be Christians, it will not allow you to be deists.

"It is of no consequence," you say, "we pass over that difficulty;
we suppose between God and us connections we can not conceive; we
admit them because they are necessary to us. But this is the only
step we are willing to take: we have already yielded too much to
yield more." Say more, say you have granted too much not to grant
much more, not to grant all! You have consented to admit, without
comprehending it, that there may be communications from God to you,
and from you to God. But consider well what is implied in such a
supposition. It implies that you are dependent, and yet free: this
you do not comprehend; it implies that the Spirit of God can make
itself understood by your spirit: this you do not comprehend; it
implies that your prayers may exert an influence on the will of
God: this you do not comprehend. It is necessary you should receive
all these mysteries, in order to establish with God connections the
most vague and superficial, and by the very side of which atheism
is placed. And when, by a powerful effort with yourselves you have
done so much as to admit these mysteries, you recoil from those
of Christianity! You have accepted the foundation, and refuse the
superstructure! You have accepted the principle and refuse the
details! You are right, no doubt, so soon as it is proved to you,
that the religion which contains these mysteries does not come from
God; or rather, that these mysteries contain contradictory ideas.
But you are not justified in denying them, for the sole reason that
you do not understand them; and the reception you have given to the
first kind of mysteries compels you, by the same rule, to receive
the others.

This is not all. Not only are mysteries an inseparable part, nay,
the very substance of all religion, but it is absolutely impossible
that a true religion should not present a great number of mysteries.
If it is true, it ought to teach more truths respecting God and
divine things than any other, than all others together; but each
of these truths has a relation to the infinite, and by consequence
borders on a mystery. How should it be otherwise in religion, when
it is thus in nature itself? Behold God in nature! The more He
gives us to contemplate, the more He gives to astonish us. To each
creature is attached some mystery. A grain of sand is an abyss!
Now, if the manifestations which God has made of Himself in nature
suggest to the observer a thousand questions which can not be
answered, how will it be, when to that first revelation, another
is added; when God the Creator and Preserver reveals Himself under
new aspects as God the Reconciler and Savior? Shall not mysteries
multiply with discoveries? With each new day shall we not see
associated a new night? And shall we not purchase each increase of
knowledge with an increase of ignorance? Has not the doctrine of
grace, so necessary, so consoling, alone opened a profound abyss,
into which, for eighteen centuries, rash and restless spirits have
been constantly plunging?

It is, then, clearly necessary that Christianity should, more
than any other religion, be mysterious, simply because it is
true. Like mountains, which, the higher they are, cast the larger
shadows, the gospel is the more obscure and mysterious on account
of its sublimity. After this, will you be indignant that you do
not comprehend every thing in the gospel? It would, forsooth, be
a truly surprising thing if the ocean could not be held in the
hollow of your hand, or uncreated wisdom within the limits of your
intelligence! It would be truly unfortunate if a finite being could
not embrace the infinite, and that, in the vast assemblage of things
there should be some idea beyond its grasp! In other words, it would
be truly unfortunate if God Himself should know something which man
does not know!

Let us acknowledge, then, how insensate is such a claim when it is
made with reference to religion.

But let us also recollect how much, in making such a claim, we
shall be in opposition to ourselves; for the submission we dislike
in religion, we cherish in a thousand other things. It happens to us
every day to admit things we do not understand, and to do so without
the least repugnance. The things, the knowledge of which is refused
us, are much more numerous than we perhaps think. Few diamonds are
perfectly pure; still fewer truths are perfectly clear. The union
of our soul with our body is a mystery--our most familiar emotions
and affections are a mystery--the action of thought and of will is
a mystery--our very existence is a mystery. Why do we admit these
various facts? Is it because we understand them? No, certainly, but
because they are self-evident, and because they are truths by which
we live. In religion we have no other course to take. We ought to
know whether it is true and necessary; and once convinced of these
two points, we ought, like the angels, to submit to the necessity of
being ignorant of some things. And why do we not submit cheerfully
to a privation which, after all, is not one?

3. To desire the knowledge of mysteries is to desire what is utterly
useless; it is to raise, as I have said before, a claim the most
vain and idle. What in reference to us is the object of the gospel?
Evidently to regenerate and save us. But it attains this end wholly
by the things it reveals. Of what use would it be to know those it
conceals from us? We possess the knowledge which can enlighten our
consciences, rectify our inclinations, renew our hearts; what should
we gain if we possest other knowledge? It infinitely concerns us to
know that the Bible is the Word of God; does it equally concern us
to know in what way the holy men that wrote it were moved by the
Holy Ghost? It is of infinite moment to us to know that Jesus Christ
is the Son of God; need we know precisely in what way the divine and
human natures are united in His adorable person? It is of infinite
importance for us to know that unless we are born again we can not
enter the kingdom of God, and that the Holy Spirit is the author of
the new birth; shall we be further advanced if we know the divine
process by which that wonder is performed? Is it not enough for us
to know the truths that save? Of what use, then, would it be to know
those which have not the slightest bearing on our salvation? "Tho
I know all mysteries," says St. Paul, "and have not charity, I am
nothing." St. Paul was content not to know, provided he had charity;
shall not we, following his example, be content also without
knowledge, provided that, like him, we have charity, that is to say,
life?

But some one will say "If the knowledge of mysteries is really
without influence on our salvation, why have they been indicated to
us at all?" What if it should be to teach us not to be too prodigal
of our "wherefores!" if it should be to serve as an exercise of our
faith, a test of our submission! But we will not stop with such a
reply.

Observe, I pray you, in what manner the mysteries of which you
complain have taken their part in religion. You readily perceive
they are not by themselves, but associated with truths which have
a direct bearing on your salvation. They contain them, they serve
to develop them; but they are not themselves the truths that save.
It is with these mysteries as it is with the vessel that contains
a medicinal draft--it is not the vessel that cures, but the draft;
yet the draft could not be presented without the vessel. Thus each
truth that saves is contained in a mystery, which, in itself, has
no power to save. So the great work of expiation is necessarily
attached to the incarnation of the Son of God, which is a mystery;
so the sanctifying graces of the new covenant are necessarily
connected with the effluence of the Holy Spirit, which is a mystery;
so, too, the divinity of religion finds a seal and an attestation
in the miracles, which are mysteries. Everywhere the light is born
from darkness, and darkness accompanies the light. These two orders
of truths are so united, so interlinked, that you can not remove
the one without the other, and each of the mysteries you attempt to
tear from religion would carry with it one of the truths which bear
directly on your regeneration and salvation. Accept the mysteries,
then, not as truths that can save you, but as the necessary
conditions of the merciful work of the Lord in your behalf.

The true point at issue in reference to religion is this:--Does
the religion which is proposed to us change the heart, unite to
God, prepare for heaven? If Christianity produces these effects,
we will leave the enemies of the cross free to revolt against its
mysteries, and tax them with absurdity. The gospel, we will say to
them, is then an absurdity; you have discovered it. But behold what
a new species of absurdity that certainly is which attaches man to
all his duties, regulates human life better than all the doctrines
of sages, plants in his bosom harmony, order, and peace, causes
him joyfully to fulfil all the offices of civil life, renders him
better fitted to live, better fitted to die, and which, were it
generally received, would be the support and safeguard of society!
Cite to us, among all human absurdities, a single one which produces
such effects. If that "foolishness" we preach produces effects like
these, is it not natural to conclude that it is truth itself? And if
these things have not entered the heart of man, it is not because
they are absurd, but because they are divine.

Make but a single reflection. You are obliged to confess that none
of the religions which man may invent can satisfy his wants, or
save his soul. Thereupon you have a choice to make. You will either
reject them all as insufficient and false, and seek for nothing
better, since man can not invent better, and then you will abandon
to chance, to caprice of temperament or of opinion, your moral life
and future destiny; or you will adopt that other religion which some
treat as folly, and it will render you holy and pure, blameless in
the midst of a perverse generation, united to God by love, and to
your brethren by charity, indefatigable in doing good, happy in
life, happy in death. Suppose, after all this, you shall be told
that this religion is false; but meanwhile, it has restored in you
the image of God, reestablished your primitive connections with
that great Being, and put you in a condition to enjoy life and the
happiness of heaven. By means of it you have become such that at the
last day, it is impossible that God should not receive you as His
children and make you partakers of His glory. You are made fit for
paradise, nay, paradise has commenced for you even here, because you
love. This religion has done for you what all religions propose, and
what no other has realized. Nevertheless, by the supposition, it is
false! And what more could it do, were it true? Rather do you not
see that this is a splendid proof of its truth? Do you not see that
it is impossible that a religion which leads to God should not come
from God, and that the absurdity is precisely that of supposing that
you can be regenerated by a falsehood?

Suppose that afterward, as at the first, you do not comprehend. It
seems necessary, then, you should be saved by the things you do not
comprehend. Is that a misfortune? Are you the less saved? Does it
become you to demand from God an explanation of an obscurity which
does not injure you, when, with reference to every thing essential,
He has been prodigal of light? The first disciples of Jesus, men
without culture and learning, received truths which they did not
comprehend, and spread them through the world. A crowd of sages and
men of genius have received, from the hands of these poor people,
truths which they comprehended no more than they. The ignorance of
the one, and the science of the other, have been equally docile.
Do, then, as the ignorant and the wise have done. Embrace with
affection those truths which have never entered into your heart,
and which will save you. Do not lose, in vain discussions, the time
which is gliding away, and which is bearing you into the cheering
or appalling light of eternity. Hasten to be saved. Love now; one
day you will know. May the Lord Jesus prepare you for that period of
light, of repose, and of happiness!




SUMMERFIELD

THE HEAVENLY INHERITANCE




BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


JOHN SUMMERFIELD was born in England in 1798, and came to New York
in 1821, where he soon became one of the most popular and eloquent
preachers of that day. He belonged to the Methodist Communion
and his name is still perpetuated in the names of many Methodist
churches. He was unusually simple and modest in his tastes and
habits, but when he spoke from the pulpit he produced a great
impression by the force and daring of his style. He gave promise
of equaling Whitefield as a pulpit orator, but he was subject to
delicate health and prematurely died in 1825, twenty-seven years of
age.




SUMMERFIELD

1798-1825

THE HEAVENLY INHERITANCE

_For so an entrance shall be ministered unto you abundantly into the
everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ._--2 Peter
i., 11.


Of all the causes which may be adduced to account for the
indifference which is so generally manifested toward those great
concerns of eternity, in which men are so awfully interested, none
appears to me so likely to resolve the mystery, as that unbelief
which lies at the core of every heart, hindering repentance, and
so making faith impossible. Men hear that there is a hell to shun,
a heaven to win; and, though they give their assent to both these
truths, they never impress them on their mind. It is plain that,
whatever their lips may confess, they never believed with the
heart, otherwise some effect would have been produced in the life.
The germ of unbelief lies within, and discovers itself in all that
indifference which is displayed, in the majority of that class of
beings whose existence is to be perpetuated throughout eternity.
If these thoughts do sometimes obtrude themselves on their serious
attention, they are immediately banished from their minds; and the
dying exclamation of Moses may be taken up with tears by every lover
of perishing sinners: "O! that they were wise, that they understood
this, that they would consider their latter end!" When God, by His
prophet Isaiah, called the Israelites to a sense of their awful
departure from Him, His language was, "My people do not know: My
people do not consider." How few are there like Mary, who "ponder
those things in their heart," who are willing to look at themselves,
to pry into eternity, to put the question home,

    "Shall I be with the damn'd cast out,
     Or numbered with the bless'd?"

This question must sooner or later have a place in your minds, or
awful will be your state indeed; let it reach your hearts to-day;
and if you pray to the Father of light, you will soon be enabled in
His light to discern so much of yourselves as will cause you to cry,
"What shall I do to be saved?" While we shall this morning attempt
to point out some of the privileges of the sons of God, oh! may your
hearts catch the strong desire to be conformed to the living Head,
that so an abundant entrance may be administered unto you also, into
the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

The privilege to which our text leads us, is exclusively applicable
to those to whom that question has been solved by the Spirit of
God; those who have believed to the saving of their souls; who have
experienced redemption through His blood, and the forgiveness of
sins; and who are walking in the fear of the Lord and in the comfort
of the Holy Ghost.

I. The state to which we look forward: the "everlasting kingdom of
our Lord and Savior."

1. It is a kingdom. By this figurative expression our Lord has
described the state of grace here and of glory hereafter; our
happiness in time and our happiness in eternity. They were wisely so
called: Jesus has said, as well as done, all things well; for these
two states differ not in kind, but in degree; the one is merely a
preparative for the other, and he who has been a subject of the
former kingdom will be a subject of the latter. Grace is but the
seed of glory, glory is the maturity of grace; grace is but the bud
of glory, glory is grace full blown; grace is but the blossom of
glory, glory is the ripe fruit of grace; grace is but the infant of
glory, glory is the perfection of grace. Hence our hymn beautifully
says, "The men of grace have found glory begun below," agreeing with
our Lord's own words, "He that believeth hath everlasting life"; he
feels even here its glories beginning--a foretaste of its bliss.

Now the propriety with which these two states are called kingdoms
is manifest from the analogy which might be traced between them and
the model of a human sovereignty. Two or three of the outlines of
this model will be sufficient.

In the idea of a kingdom it is implied that in some part of its
extent there is the residence of a sovereign; for this is essential
to constitute it. Now in the kingdom of grace the heart of the
believer is made the residence of the King invisible! "Know ye not
that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you?"
Such know what that promise means, "I will dwell in them, and they
shall be my people." St. Paul exultingly cries, "Christ liveth in
me."

Again, it is essential that the inhabitants of a kingdom be under
the government of its laws. An empire without laws is no sovereignty
at all; it ceases to be such, for every inhabitant has an equal
right to do that which seems good in his own eyes. Now the subjects
of Christ's kingdom of grace are "not without law, but are under a
law to Christ"; they do His righteous will!

Lastly, it is essential that the subjects of a kingdom be under the
protection of the presiding monarch, and that they repose their
confidence in him. To the subjects of the kingdom of grace, Christ
imparts His kingly protection; this is their heritage: "No weapon
formed against them shall prosper"; nay, He imparts to them of His
royal bounty, and they enjoy all the blessings of an inward heaven.

But how great the perfection of the kingdom of glory mentioned in
our text! Does He make these vile bodies His residence here? How
much more glorious is His temple above! how splendid the court of
heaven! There, indeed, he fixes His throne, and they see Him as He
is. Does He exercise His authority here and rule His happy subjects
by the law, the perfect law of love? How much more in heaven! He
reigns there forever over them; His government is there wholly by
Himself; He knows nothing of a rival there; His rule is sole and
perfect: there they serve Him day and night. Are His subjects here
partakers of His kingly bounty? Much more in heaven! He calls them
to a participation of all the joys, the spiritual joys which are at
His right hand, and the pleasures which are there forevermore. Yet,
after all our descriptions of that glory, it is not yet revealed,
and, therefore, inconceivable. But who would not hail such a Son of
David? who would not desire to be swayed by such a Prince of Peace?
Whose heart would not ascend with the affections of our poet, "O!
that with yonder sacred throng, we at His feet may fall"?

2. But it is an everlasting kingdom! Here it rises in the scale of
comparison. Weigh the kingdoms of this world in this balance, and
they are found wanting; for on many we read their fatal history,
and ere long we shall see them all branded with the writing of the
invisible Agent, "The kingdom is taken from thee, and given to a
nation bringing forth the fruits thereof"; "For the kingdoms of
this world have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ";
they will be absorbed and swallowed up in the fulness of eternity,
and leave not a wrack behind! Every thing here is perishable! The
towering diadem of Caesar has fallen from his head and crumbled
into dust; and that kingdom whose scepter once swayed the world,
betwixt whose colossal stride all nations were glad to creep to
find themselves dishonored graves, is now forgotten, or, if its
recollection be preserved, its history is emphatically called "The
Decline and Fall."

But bring the matter nearer home; apply it not to multitudes of
subjects, but to your individual experience, and has not that good
teacher instructed you in this sad lesson? We tremble to look at
our earthly possessions and employments, lest we should see them
in motion, spreading their wings to fly away! How many are there
already who, in talking of their comforts, are obliged to go back
in their reckoning! Would not this be the language of some of you:
"I had--I had a husband, the sharer of my joys, the soother of my
sorrows; but he is not! I had a wife, a helpmeet for me; but where
is she? I had children to whom I looked up as my support and
staff in the decline of life, while passing down the hill; but I
am bereaved of my children! I had health, and I highly prized its
wealth; but now my emaciated frame, my shriveled system, and the
pains of nature bespeak that comfort fled! I had, or fondly thought
I had, happiness in possession! Then I said with Job, 'I shall die
in my nest!' but ah! an unexpected blast passed over me, and now my
joys are blighted! 'They have fled as a shadow, and continued not.'"
Yes! time promised you much! perhaps it performed a little; but it
can not do any thing for you on which it can grave "eternal." Its
name is mortal, its nature is decay; it was born with man, and when
the generations of men shall cease to exist, it will cease also:
"Time shall be no longer!" We know concerning these that, "All flesh
is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The
grass withereth, and the flower fadeth, but the word of the Lord
endureth forever." Yes! His kingdom is an everlasting kingdom; glory
can not corrupt! the crown of glory can not fade! Why? Death will
be destroyed; Christ will put this last enemy under His feet, and
all will then be eternal life! Oh, happy, happy kingdom; nay, thrice
happy he who shall be privileged to be its subject!

3. It is the everlasting kingdom of our own Lord and Savior Jesus
Christ. It is His by claim: "Him hath God the Father highly
exalted"; yea, Him hath He appointed to be "the judge of quick and
dead"; for tho by the sufferings of death He was made a little
lower than the angels, yet immediately after His resurrection He
declares that now "All power is given unto him in heaven and in
earth"! The Father hath committed all judgment unto the Son, and He
has now the disposal of the offices and privileges of the empire
among His faithful followers. This is the idea that the penitent
dying thief had on the subject: "Lord, remember me when thou comest
into thy kingdom"; and St. Paul expresses the same when he says to
Timothy in the confidence of faith, "The Lord shall deliver me and
preserve me unto his heavenly kingdom." Oh! how pleasing the thought
to the child of God, that his ruler to all eternity will be his
elder Brother; for He who sanctifieth and they who are sanctified
are all of one; and though He is heir of all things, yet we, as
younger branches of the same heavenly family, shall be joint heirs,
fellow-heirs of the same glorious inheritance. How great will be
our joy to behold Him who humbled Himself for us to death, even the
death of the cross, now exalted God over all, blest for evermore;
and while contemplating Him under the character of our Lord and
Savior Jesus Christ, how great the relish which will be given to
that feeling of the redeemed which will constrain them to cry,
"Thou alone art worthy to receive glory, and honor, and power."

II. But the apostle reminds us of the entrance into this kingdom!

1. The entrance into this kingdom is death: "By one man sin entered
into the world, and death by sin:"

    "Death, like a narrow sea, divides
     That heavenly land from ours!"

"A messenger is sent to bring us to God, but it is the King of
Terrors. We enter the land flowing with milk and honey, but it is
through the valley of the shadow of death." Yet fear not, O thou
child of God! there is no need that thou, through the fear of death,
shouldst be all thy lifetime subject to bondage.

2. No; hear the apostle: the entrance is ministered unto thee!
Death is but His minister; he can not lock his ice-cold hand in
thine till He permit. Our Jesus has the keys of hell and death; and
till He liberates the vassal to bring thee home, not a hair of thy
head can fall to the ground! Fear not, thou worm! He who minds the
sparrows appoints the time for thy removal: fear not; only be thou
always ready, that, whenever the messenger comes to take down the
tabernacle in which thy spirit has long made her abode, thou mayest
be able to exclaim, "Amen! even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly."
Death need have no terrors for thee; he is the vassal of thy Lord,
and, however unwilling to do Him reverence, yet to Him that sits
at God's right hand shall even death pay, if not a joyful, yet a
trembling homage; nay, more:

    "To Him shall earth and hell submit,
       And every foe shall fall,
     Till death expires beneath His feet,
       And God is all in all."

Christ has already had one triumph over death; His iron pangs could
not detain the Prince who has "life in himself"; and in His strength
thou shalt triumph, for the power of Christ is promised to rest upon
thee! He has had the same entrance; His footsteps marked the way,
and His cry to thee is, "Follow thou me." "My sheep," says He, "hear
my voice, and they do follow me"; they follow Me gladly, even into
this gloomy vale; and what is the consequence? "They shall never
perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand."

3. It is ministered unto you abundantly. Perhaps the apostle means
that the death of some is distinguished by indulgences and honors
not vouchsafed to all. In the experience of some, the passage
appears difficult; in others it is comparatively easy; they gently
fall asleep in Jesus. But we not only see diversities in the mortal
agony--this would be a small thing.... Some get in with sails full
spread and carrying a rich cargo indeed, while others arrive barely
on a single plank. Some, who have long had their conversation in
heaven, are anxious to be wafted into the celestial haven; while
others, who never sought God till alarmed at the speedy approach of
death, have little confidence,

    "And linger shivering on the brink,
     And fear to launch away."

This doctrine must have been peculiarly encouraging to the early
converts to whom St. Peter wrote. From the tenor of both of his
epistles it is clear that they were in a state of severe suffering,
and in great danger of apostatizing through fear of persecution. He
reminds them that if they hold fast their professions, an abundant
entrance will be administered unto them. The death of the martyr
is far more glorious than that of the Christian who concealed his
profession through fear of man. Witness the case of Stephen: he
was not ashamed of being a witness for Jesus in the face of the
violent death which awaited him, and which crushed the tabernacle
of his devoted spirit; his Lord reserved the highest display of His
love and of His glory for that awful hour! "Behold!" says he to his
enemies, while gnashing on him with their teeth, "Behold! I see
heaven opened, and the Son of man standing on the right hand of
God"; then, in the full triumph of faith, he cries out, "Lord Jesus!
receive my spirit!"

But did these things apply merely to the believers to whom St.
Peter originally wrote? No; you are the men to whom they equally
apply; according to your walk and profession of that gospel will be
the entrance which will be ministered unto you. Some of you have
heard, in another of our houses, during the past week, the dangerous
tendency of the spirit of fear, the fear of man. I would you had
all heard that discourse: alas! many who have a name and a place
among us are becoming mere Sabbath-day worshipers in the courts of
the Lord, and lightly esteem the daily means of grace. I believe
this is one cause at least why many are weak and sickly among us in
divine things. The inner man does not make due increase; the world
is stealing a march unawares upon us. May God revive among us the
spirit of our fathers!

These things, then, I say, equally apply to you. Behold the strait,
the royal, the king's highway! Are you afraid of the reproach of
Christ?

    "Ashamed of Jesus, that dear Friend,
     On whom our hopes of heaven depend?"

How soon would the world be overcome if all who profess that faith
were faithful to it! Wo to the rebellious children who compromise
truth with the world, and in effect deny their Lord and Master! Who
hath required this at their hands? Do they not follow with the crowd
who cry, "Lord, Lord! and yet do not the things which He says"?
Will they have the adoption and the glory? Will they aim at the
honor implied in these words, "Ye are my witnesses?" Will ye indeed
be sons? Then see the path wherein His footsteps shine! The way is
open! see that ye walk therein! The false apostles, the deceitful
workers shall have their reward; the same that those of old had,
the praise and esteem of men; while the faith of those who truly
call Him Father and Lord, and who walk in the light as He is in the
light, who submit, like Him and His true followers, to be counted as
"the filth of the world, and the offscouring of all things", shall
be found unto praise, and honor, and glory!

The true Christian does not seek to hide himself in a corner; he
lets his light shine before men, whether they will receive it or
not; and thereby is his Father glorified. Having thus served, by
the will of God, the hour of his departure at length arrives. The
angels beckon him away; Jesus bids him come; and as he departs this
life he looks back with a heavenly smile on surviving friends, and
is enabled to say, "Whither I go, ye know, and the way ye know." An
entrance is ministered unto him abundantly into the everlasting
kingdom of his Lord and Savior.

III. Having considered the state to which we look, and the mode of
our admission, let us consider the condition of it. This is implied
in the word "so." "For so an entrance shall be ministered unto you."
In the preceding part of this chapter, the apostle has pointed out
the meaning of this expression, and in the text merely sums it all
up in that short mode of expression.

The first condition he shows to be, the obtaining like precious
faith with him, through the righteousness of God and our Savior
Jesus Christ. Not a faith which merely assents to the truths of the
gospel record, but a faith which applies the merits of the death
of Christ to expiate my individual guilt; which lays hold on Him
as my sacrifice, and produces, in its exercises, peace with God, a
knowledge of the divine favor, a sense of sin forgiven, and a full
certainty, arising from a divine impression on the heart, made by
the Spirit of God, that I am accepted in the Beloved and made a
child of God.

If those who profess the Gospel of Christ were but half as zealous
in seeking after this enjoyment as they are in discovering
creaturely objections to its attainment, it would be enjoyed by
thousands who at present know nothing of its happy reality. Such
persons, unfortunately for themselves, employ much more assiduity
in searching a vocabulary to find out epithets of reproach to attach
to those who maintain the doctrine than in searching that volume
which declares that "if you are sons, God has sent forth the Spirit
of his Son into your hearts, crying Abba, Father"; and that "he that
believeth hath the witness in himself." In whatever light a scorner
may view this doctrine now, the time will come when, being found
without the wedding garment, he will be cast into outer darkness.

O sinner! cry to God this day to convince thee of thy need of this
salvation, and then thou wilt be in a condition to receive it:

    "Shalt know, shalt feel thy sins forgiven,
     Bless'd with this antepast of heaven."

But, besides this, the apostle requires that we then henceforth
preserve consciences void of offense toward God and toward man.
This faith which obtains the forgiveness of sin unites to Christ,
and by this union we are made, as St. Peter declares, "partakers
of the divine nature": and as He who has called you is holy, so
you are to be holy in all manner of conversation. For yours is a
faith which not only casts out sin, but purifies the heart--the
conscience having been once purged by the sprinkling of the blood
of Christ, you are not to suffer guilt to be again contracted; for
the salvation of Christ is not only from the penalty, but from the
very stain of sin; not only from its guilt, but from its pollution;
not only from its condemnation, but from its very "in-being"; "The
blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin"; and "For this purpose
was the Son of God manifested, that he might destroy the works of
the devil." You are therefore required by St. Peter, "to escape the
corruption that is in the world through lust," and thus to perfect
holiness in the fear of the Lord!

Finally, live in progressive and practical godliness. Not only
possess, but practise, the virtues of religion; not only practise,
but increase therein, abounding in the work of the Lord! Lead up,
hand in hand, in the same delightful chorus, all the graces which
adorn the Christian character. Having the divine nature, possessing
a new and living principle, let diligent exercise reduce it to
practical holiness; and you will be easily discerned from those
formal hypocrites, whose faith and religion are but a barren and
unfruitful speculation.

To conclude: live to God--live for God--live in God; and let your
moderation be known unto all men--the Lord is at hand: "Therefore
giving all diligence, add to your faith virtue; and to virtue,
knowledge; and to knowledge, temperance; and to temperance,
patience; and to patience, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly
kindness; and to brotherly kindness, charity."




NEWMAN

GOD'S WILL THE END OF LIFE




BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


JOHN HENRY NEWMAN was born in London in 1801. He won high honors at
Oxford, and in 1828 was appointed vicar of the University Church,
St. Mary's, and with Keble and Pusey headed the Oxford Movement.
In the pulpit of St. Mary's he soon showed himself to be a power.
His sermons, exquisite, tho simple in style, chiefly deal with
various phases of personal religion which he illustrated with a
keen spiritual insight, a sympathetic glow, an exalted earnestness
and a breadth of range, unparalleled in English pulpit utterances
before his time. His extreme views on questions of catholicity,
sacerdotalism and the sacraments, as well as his craving for an
infallible authority in matters of faith, shook his confidence in
the Church of England and he went over to Rome in 1845. He was made
Cardinal in 1879 and died in 1890.




NEWMAN

1801-1890

GOD'S WILL THE END OF LIFE

_I came down from heaven not to do mine own will but the will of him
that sent me._--John vi., 38.


I am going to ask you a question, my dear brethren, so trite, and
therefore so uninteresting at first sight, that you may wonder why
I put it, and may object that it will be difficult to fix the mind
on it, and may anticipate that nothing profitable can be made of it.
It is this: "Why were you sent into the world?" Yet, after all, it
is perhaps a thought more obvious than it is common, more easy than
it is familiar; I mean it ought to come into your minds, but it does
not, and you never had more than a distant acquaintance with it,
tho that sort of acquaintance with it you have had for many years.
Nay, once or twice, perhaps you have been thrown across the thought
somewhat intimately, for a short season, but this was an accident
which did not last. There are those who recollect the first time,
as it would seem, when it came home to them. They were but little
children, and they were by themselves, and they spontaneously asked
themselves, or rather God spake in them, "Why am I here? how came
I here? who brought me here? What am I to do here?" Perhaps it was
the first act of reason, the beginning of their real responsibility,
the commencement of their trial; perhaps from that day they may date
their capacity, their awful power, of choosing between good and
evil, and of committing mortal sin. And so, as life goes on, the
thought comes vividly, from time to time, for a short season across
their conscience; whether in illness, or in some anxiety, or at some
season of solitude, or on hearing some preacher, or reading some
religious work. A vivid feeling comes over them of the vanity and
unprofitableness of the world, and then the question recurs, "Why
then am I sent into it?"

And a great contrast indeed does this vain, unprofitable, yet
overbearing world present with such a question as that. It seems
out of place to ask such a question in so magnificent, so imposing
a presence, as that of the great Babylon. The world professes to
supply all that we need, as if we were sent into it for the sake
of being sent here, and for nothing beyond the sending. It is a
great favor to have an introduction to this august world. This is
to be our exposition, forsooth, of the mystery of life. Every man
is doing his own will here, seeking his own pleasure, pursuing his
own ends; that is why he was brought into existence. Go abroad
into the streets of the populous city, contemplate the continuous
outpouring there of human energy, and the countless varieties
of human character, and be satisfied! The ways are thronged,
carriage-way and pavement; multitudes are hurrying to and fro, each
on his own errand, or are loitering about from listlessness, or from
want of work, or have come forth into the public concourse, to see
and to be seen, for amusement or for display, or on the excuse of
business. The carriages of the wealthy mingle with the slow wains
laden with provisions or merchandise, the productions of art or the
demands of luxury. The streets are lined with shops, open and gay,
inviting customers, and widen now and then into some spacious square
or place, with lofty masses of brickwork or of stone, gleaming in
the fitful sunbeam, and surrounded or fronted with what simulates
a garden's foliage. Follow them in another direction, and you
find the whole groundstead covered with large buildings, planted
thickly up and down, the homes of the mechanical arts. The air is
filled, below, with a ceaseless, importunate, monotonous din, which
penetrates even to your innermost chamber, and rings in your ears
even when you are not conscious of it; and overhead, with a canopy
of smoke, shrouding God's day from the realms of obstinate, sullen
toil. This is the end of man!

Or stay at home, and take up one of those daily prints, which
are so true a picture of the world; look down the columns of
advertisements, and you will see the catalog of pursuits, projects,
aims, anxieties, amusements, indulgences which occupy the mind of
man. He plays many parts: here he has goods to sell, there he wants
employment; there again he seeks to borrow money, here he offers you
houses, great seats or small tenements; he has food for the million,
and luxuries for the wealthy, and sovereign medicines for the
credulous, and books, new and cheap, for the inquisitive. Pass on
to the news of the day, and you will learn what great men are doing
at home and abroad: you will read of wars and rumors of wars; of
debates in the legislature; of rising men, and old statesmen going
off the scene; of political contests in this city or that country;
of the collision of rival interests. You will read of the money
market, and the provision market, and the market for metals; of the
state of trade, the call for manufactures, news of ships arrived
in port, of accidents at sea, of exports and imports, of gains and
losses, of frauds and their detection. Go forward, and you arrive at
discoveries in art and science, discoveries (so-called) in religion,
the court and royalty, the entertainments of the great, places of
amusement, strange trials, offenses, accidents, escapes, exploits,
experiments, contests, ventures. Oh, this curious restless,
clamorous, panting being, which we call life!--and is there to be
no end to all this? Is there no object in it? It never has an end,
it is forsooth its own object!

And now, once more, my brethren, put aside what you see and what
you read of the world, and try to penetrate into the hearts, and to
reach the ideas and the feelings of those who constitute it; look
into them as closely as you can; enter into their houses and private
rooms; strike at random through the streets and lanes: take as they
come, palace and hovel, office or factory, and what will you find?
Listen to their words, witness, alas! their works; you will find in
the main the same lawless thoughts, the same unrestrained desires,
the same ungoverned passions, the same earthly opinions, the same
wilful deeds, in high and low, learned and unlearned; you will find
them all to be living for the sake of living; they one and all seem
to tell you, "We are our own center, our own end." Why are they
toiling? why are they scheming? for what are they living? "We live
to please ourselves; life is worthless except we have our own way;
we are not sent here at all, but we find ourselves here, and we are
but slaves unless we can think what we will, believe what we will,
love what we will, hate what we will, do what we will. We detest
interference on the part of God or man. We do not bargain to be rich
or to be great; but we do bargain, whether rich or poor, high or
low, to live for ourselves, to live for the lust of the moment, or,
according to the doctrine of the hour, thinking of the future and
the unseen just as much or as little as we please."

Oh, my brethren, is it not a shocking thought, but who can deny its
truth? The multitude of men are living without any aim beyond this
visible scene; they may from time to time use religious words, or
they may profess a communion or a worship, as a matter of course,
or of expedience, or of duty, but, if there was sincerity in such
profession, the course of the world could not run as it does. What
a contrast is all this to the end of life, as it is set before us
in our most holy faith! If there was one among the sons of men, who
might allowably have taken his pleasure, and have done his own will
here below, surely it was He who came down on earth from the bosom
of the Father, and who was so pure and spotless in that human nature
which He put on Him, that He could have no human purpose or aim
inconsistent with the will of His Father. Yet He, the Son of God,
the Eternal Word, came, not to do His own will, but His who sent
Him, as you know very well is told us again and again in Scripture.
Thus the Prophet in the Psalter, speaking in His person, says, "Lo,
I come to do thy will, O God." And He says in the Prophet Isaiah,
"The Lord God hath opened mine ear, and I do not resist; I have
not gone back." And in the gospel, when He hath come on earth,
"My food is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his
work." Hence, too, in His agony, He cried out, "Not my will, but
thine, be done;" and St. Paul, in like manner, says, that "Christ
pleased not himself;" and elsewhere, that, "tho he was God's Son,
yet learned he obedience by the things which he suffered." Surely
so it was; as being indeed the eternal coequal Son, His will was
one and the same with the Father's will, and He had no submission
of will to make; but He chose to take on Him man's nature and the
will of that nature; he chose to take on Him affections, feelings,
and inclinations proper to man, a will innocent indeed and good,
but still a man's will, distinct from God's will; a will, which,
had it acted simply according to what was pleasing to its nature,
would, when pain and toil were to be endured, have held back from an
active cooperation with the will of God. But, tho He took on Himself
the nature of man, He took not on Him that selfishness, with which
fallen man wraps himself round, but in all things He devoted Himself
as a ready sacrifice to His Father. He came on earth, not to take
His pleasure, not to follow His taste, not for the mere exercise
of human affection, but simply to glorify His Father and to do His
will. He came charged with a mission, deputed for a work; He looked
not to the right nor to the left, He thought not of Himself, He
offered Himself up to God.

Hence it is that He was carried in the womb of a poor woman,
who, before His birth, had two journeys to make, of love and of
obedience, to the mountains and to Bethlehem. He was born in a
stable, and laid in a manger. He was hurried off to Egypt to sojourn
there; then He lived till He was thirty years of age in a poor way,
by a rough trade, in a small house, in a despised town. Then, when
He went out to preach, He had not where to lay His head; He wandered
up and down the country, as a stranger upon earth. He was driven out
into the wilderness, and dwelt among the wild beasts. He endured
heat and cold, hunger and weariness, reproach and calumny. His
food was coarse bread, and fish from the lake, or depended on the
hospitality of strangers. And as He had already left His Father's
greatness on high, and had chosen an earthly home; so again, at
that Father's bidding, He gave up the sole solace given Him in this
world, and denied Himself His mother's presence. He parted with her
who bore Him; He endured to be strange to her; He endured to call
her coldly "woman," who was His own undefiled one, all beautiful,
all gracious, the best creature of His hands, and the sweet nurse of
His infancy. He put her aside, as Levi, His type, merited the sacred
ministry, by saying to His parents and kinsmen, "I know you not."
He exemplified in His own person the severe maxim, which He gave to
His disciples, "He that loveth more than me is not worthy of me."
In all these many ways He sacrificed every wish of His own; that we
might understand, that, if He, the Creator, came into His world, not
for His own pleasure, but to do His Father's will, we too have most
surely some work to do, and have seriously to bethink ourselves what
that work is.

Yes, so it is; realize it, my brethren;--every one who breathes,
high and low, educated and ignorant, young and old, man and woman,
has a mission, has a work. We are not sent into this world for
nothing; we are not born at random; we are not here, that we may go
to bed at night, and get up in the morning, toil for our bread, eat
and drink, laugh and joke, sin when we have a mind, and reform when
we are tired of sinning, rear a family and die. God sees every one
of us; He creates every soul, He lodges it in the body, one by one,
for a purpose. He needs, He deigns to need, every one of us. He has
an end for each of us; we are all equal in His sight, and we are
placed in our different ranks and stations, not to get what we can
out of them for ourselves, but to labor in them for Him. As Christ
had His work, we too have ours; as He rejoiced to do His work, we
must rejoice in ours also.

St. Paul on one occasion speaks of the world as a scene in a
theater. Consider what is meant by this. You know, actors on a stage
are on an equality with each other really, but for the occasion they
assume a difference of character; some are high, some are low, some
are merry, and some sad. Well, would it not be simple absurdity
in any actor to pride himself on his mock diadem, or his edgeless
sword, instead of attending to his part? What, if he did but gaze at
himself and his dress? what, if he secreted, or turned to his own
use, what was valuable in it? Is it not his business, and nothing
else, to act his part well? Common sense tells us so. Now we are
all but actors in this world; we are one and all equal, we shall be
judged as equals as soon as life is over; yet, equal and similar in
ourselves, each has his special part at present, each has his work,
each has his mission,--not to indulge his passions, not to make
money, not to get a name in the world, not to save himself trouble,
not to follow his bent, not to be selfish and self-willed, but to do
what God puts on him to do.

Look at the poor profligate in the gospel, look at Dives; do you
think he understood that his wealth was to be spent, not on himself,
but for the glory of God?--yet forgetting this, he was lost for
ever and ever. I will tell you what he thought, and how he viewed
things: he was a young man, and had succeeded to a good estate,
and he determined to enjoy himself. It did not strike him that his
wealth had any other use than that of enabling him to take his
pleasure. Lazarus lay at his gate; he might have relieved Lazarus;
that was God's will; but he managed to put conscience aside, and
he persuaded himself he should be a fool, if he did not make the
most of this world, while he had the means. So he resolved to have
his fill of pleasure; and feasting was to his mind a principal part
of it. "He fared sumptuously every day"; everything belonging to
him was in the best style, as men speak; his house, his furniture,
his plate of silver and gold, his attendants, his establishments.
Everything was for enjoyment, and for show, too; to attract the
eyes of the world, and to gain the applause and admiration of his
equals, who were the companions of his sins. These companions were
doubtless such as became a person of such pretensions; they were
fashionable men; a collection of refined, high-bred, haughty men,
eating, not gluttonously, but what was rare and costly; delicate,
exact, fastidious in their taste, from their very habits of
indulgence; not eating for the mere sake of eating, or drinking for
the mere sake of drinking, but making a sort of science of their
sensuality; sensual, carnal, as flesh and blood can be, with eyes,
ears, tongue steeped in impurity, every thought, look, and sense,
witnessing or ministering to the evil one who ruled them; yet, with
exquisite correctness of idea and judgment, laying down rules for
sinning;--heartless and selfish, high, punctilious, and disdainful
in their outward deportment, and shrinking from Lazarus, who lay at
the gate, as an eye-sore, who ought for the sake of decency to be
put out of the way. Dives was one of such, and so he lived his short
span, thinking of nothing but himself, till one day he got into a
fatal quarrel with one of his godless associates, or he caught some
bad illness; and then he lay helpless on his bed of pain, cursing
fortune and his physician that he was no better, and impatient that
he was thus kept from enjoying his youth, trying to fancy himself
mending when he was getting worse, and disgusted at those who would
not throw him some word of comfort in his suspense, and turning more
resolutely from his Creator in proportion to his suffering;--and
then at last his day came, and he died, and (oh! miserable!) "was
buried in hell." And so ended he and his mission.

This was the fate of your pattern and idol, oh, ye, if any of you
be present, young men, who, tho not possest of wealth and rank, yet
affect the fashions of those who have them. You, my brethren, have
not been born splendidly, or nobly; you have not been brought up
in the seats of liberal education; you have no high connections;
you have not learned the manners nor caught the tone of good
society; you have no share of the largeness of mind, the candor, the
romantic sense of honor, the correctness of taste, the consideration
for others, and the gentleness which the world puts forth as its
highest type of excellence; you have not come near the courts of the
mansions of the great; yet you ape the sin of Dives, while you are
strangers to his refinement. You think it the sign of a gentleman
to set yourselves above religion; to criticize the religious and
professors of religion; to look at Catholic and Methodist with
impartial contempt; to gain a smattering of knowledge on a number of
subjects; to dip into a number of frivolous publications, if they
are popular; to have read the latest novel; to have heard the singer
and seen the actor of the day; to be well up with the news; to know
the names and, if so be, the persons of public men, to be able to
bow to them; to walk up and down the street with your heads on high,
and to stare at whatever meets you; and to say and do worse things,
of which these outward extravagances are but the symbol. And this
is what you conceive you have come upon the earth for! The Creator
made you, it seems, oh, my children, for this work and office, to
be a bad imitation of polished ungodliness, to be a piece of tawdry
and faded finery, or a scent which has lost its freshness, and does
not but offend the sense! O! that you could see how absurd and base
are such pretenses in the eyes of any but yourselves! No calling of
life but is honorable; no one is ridiculous who acts suitably to
his calling and estate; no one, who has good sense and humility,
but may, in any state of life, be truly well-bred and refined;
but ostentation, affectation, and ambitious efforts are, in every
station of life, high or low, nothing but vulgarities. Put them
aside, despise them yourselves. Oh, my very dear sons, whom I love,
and whom I would fain serve;--oh, that you could feel that you have
souls! oh, that you would have mercy on your souls! oh, that, before
it is too late, you would betake yourselves to Him who is the source
of all that is truly high and magnificent and beautiful, all that is
bright and pleasant and secure what you ignorantly seek, in Him whom
you so wilfully, so awfully despise!

He, alone, the Son of God, "the brightness of the Eternal Light, and
the spotless mirror of His Majesty," is the source of all good and
all happiness to rich and poor, high and low. If you were ever so
high, you would need Him; if you were ever so low, you could offend
Him. The poor can offend Him; the poor man can neglect his divinely
appointed mission as well as the rich. Do not suppose, my brethren,
that what I have said against the upper or the middle class will
not, if you happen to be poor, also lie against you. Though a man
were as poor as Lazarus, he could be as guilty as Dives. If you
were resolved to degrade yourselves to the brutes of the field,
who have no reason and no conscience, you need not wealth or rank
to enable you to do so. Brutes have no wealth; they have no pride
of life; they have no purple and fine linen, no splendid table, no
retinue of servants, and yet they are brutes. They are brutes by the
law of their nature; they are the poorest among the poor; there is
not a vagrant and outcast who is so poor as they; they differ from
him, not in their possessions, but in their want of a soul, in that
he has a mission and they have not, he can sin and they can not. Oh,
my brethren, it stands to reason, a man may intoxicate himself with
a cheap draft, as well as with a costly one; he may steal another's
money for his appetites, though he does not waste his own upon them;
he may break through the natural and social laws which encircle him,
and profane the sanctity of family duties, tho he be not a child of
nobles, but a peasant or artisan,--nay, and perhaps he does so more
frequently than they. This is not the poor's blessedness, that he
has less temptations to self-indulgence, for he has as many, but
that from his circumstances he receives the penances and corrections
of self-indulgence. Poverty is the mother of many pains and sorrows
in their season, and these are God's messengers to lead the soul
to repentance; but, alas! if the poor man indulges his passions,
thinks little of religion, puts off repentance, refuses to make an
effort, and dies without conversion, it matters nothing that he
was poor in this world, it matters nothing that he was less daring
than the rich, it matters not that he promised himself God's favor,
that he sent for the priest when death came, and received the last
sacraments; Lazarus too, in that case, shall be buried with Dives in
hell, and shall have had his consolation neither in this world nor
in the world to come.

My brethren, the simple question is, whatever a man's rank in life
may be, does he in that rank perform the work which God has given
him to do? Now then, let me turn to others, of a very different
description, and let me hear what they will say, when the question
is asked them. Why, they will parry it thus: "You give us no
alternative," they will say to me, "except that of being sinners or
saints. You put before us our Lord's pattern, and you spread before
us the guilt and ruin of the deliberate transgressor; whereas we
have no intention of going so far one way or the other; we do not
aim at being saints, but we have no desire at all to be sinners. We
neither intend to disobey God's will, nor to give up our own. Surely
there is a middle way, and a safe one, in which God's will and our
will may both be satisfied. We mean to enjoy both this world and the
next. We will guard against mortal sin; we are not obliged to guard
against venial; indeed it would be endless to attempt it. None but
saints do so; it is the work of a life; we need have nothing else
to do. We are not monks, we are in the world, we are in business,
we are parents, we have families; we must live for the day. It is a
consolation to keep from mortal sin; that we do, and it is enough
for salvation. It is a great thing to keep in God's favor; what
indeed can we desire more? We come at due time to the sacraments;
this is our comfort and our stay; did we die, we should die in
grace, and escape the doom of the wicked. But if we once attempted
to go further, where should we stop? how will you draw the line
for us? The line between mortal and venial sin is very distinct;
we understand that; but do you not see that, if we attended to our
venial sins, there would be just as much reason to attend to one as
to another? If we began to repress our anger, why not also repress
vainglory? Why not also guard against niggardliness? Why not also
keep from falsehood, from gossiping, from idling, from excess in
eating? And, after all, without venial sin we never can be, unless
indeed we have the prerogative of the Mother of God, which it would
be almost heresy to ascribe to any one but her. You are not asking
us to be converted; that we understand; we are converted, we were
converted a long time ago. You bid us aim at an indefinite vague
something, which is less than perfection, yet more than obedience,
and which, without resulting in any tangible advantage, debars us
from the pleasures and embarrasses us in the duties of this world."

This is what you will say; but your premises, my brethren, are
better than your reasoning, and your conclusions will not stand.
You have a right view why God has sent you into the world; viz., in
order that you may get to heaven; it is quite true also that you
would fare well indeed if you found yourselves there, you could
desire nothing better; nor, it is true, can you live any time
without venial sin. It is true also that you are not obliged to aim
at being saints; it is no sin not to aim at perfection. So much
is true and to the purpose; but it does not follow from it that
you, with such views and feelings as you have exprest, are using
sufficient exertions even for attaining purgatory. Has your religion
any difficulty in it, or is it in all respects easy to you? Are you
simply taking your own pleasure in your mode of living, or do you
find your pleasure in submitting yourself to God's pleasure? In a
word, is your religion a work? For if it be not, it is not religion
at all. Here at once, before going into your argument, is a proof
that it is an unsound one, because it brings you to the conclusion
that, whereas Christ came to do a work, and all saints, nay, nay,
and sinners to do a work too, you, on the contrary, have no work to
do, because, forsooth, you are neither sinners nor saints; or, if
you once had a work, at least that you have despatched it already,
and you have nothing upon your hands. You have attained your
salvation, it seems, before your time, and have nothing to occupy
you, and are detained on earth too long. The work days are over,
and your perpetual holiday is begun. Did then God send you, above
all other men, into the world to be idle in spiritual matters? Is
it your mission only to find pleasure in this world, in which you
are but as pilgrims and sojourners? Are you more than sons of Adam,
who, by the sweat of their brow, are to eat bread till they return
to the earth out of which they are taken? Unless you have some
work in hand, unless you are struggling, unless you are fighting
with yourselves, you are no followers of those who "through many
tribulations entered into the kingdom of God." A fight is the very
token of a Christian. He is a soldier of Christ; high or low, he is
this and nothing else. If you have triumphed over all mortal sin,
as you seem to think, then you must attack your venial sins; there
is no help for it; there is nothing else to do, if you would be
soldiers of Jesus Christ. But, oh, simple souls! to think you have
gained any triumph at all! No; you cannot safely be at peace with
any, even the least malignant, of the foes of God; if you are at
peace with venial sins, be certain that in their company and under
their shadow mortal sins are lurking. Mortal sins are the children
of venial, which, tho they be not deadly themselves, yet are
prolific of death. You may think that you have killed the giants who
had possession of your hearts, and that you have nothing to fear,
but may sit at rest under your vine and under your fig-tree; but the
giants will live again, they will rise from the dust, and, before
you know where you are, you will be taken captive and slaughtered by
the fierce, powerful, and eternal enemies of God.

The end of a thing is the test. It was our Lord's rejoicing in His
last solemn hour, that He had done the work for which He was sent.
"I have glorified thee on earth." He says in His prayer, "I have
finished the work which thou gavest me to do; I have manifested
thy name to the men whom thou hast given me out of the world." It
was St. Paul's consolation also, "I have fought the good fight, I
have finished the course, I have kept the faith; henceforth there
is laid up for me a crown of justice, which the Lord shall render
to me in that day, the just judge." Alas! alas! how different will
be our view of things when we come to die, or when we have passed
into eternity, from the dreams and pretenses with which we beguile
ourselves now! What will Babel do for us then? Will it rescue our
souls from the purgatory or the hell to which it sends them? If we
were created, it was that we might serve God; if we have His gifts,
it is that we may glorify Him; if we have a conscience, it is that
we may obey it; if we have the prospect of heaven, it is that we
may keep it before us; if we have light, that we may follow it, if
we have grace, that we may save ourselves by means of it. Alas!
alas! for those who die without fulfilling their mission; who were
called to be holy, and lived in sin; who were called to worship
Christ, and who plunged into this giddy and unbelieving world; who
were called to fight, and who remained idle; who were called to be
Catholics, and who did but remain in the religion of their birth!
Alas for those who have had gifts and talent, and have not used, or
have misused, or abused them; who have had wealth, and have spent
it on themselves; who have had abilities, and have advocated what
was sinful, or ridiculed what was true, or scattered doubts against
what was sacred; who have had leisure, and have wasted it on wicked
companions, or evil books, or foolish amusements! Alas! for those of
whom the best can be said is, that they are harmless and naturally
blameless, while they never have attempted to cleanse their hearts
or to live in God's sight!

The world goes on from age to age, but the Holy Angels and Blessed
Saints are always crying Alas, alas! and Wo, wo! over the loss of
vocations, and the disappointment of hopes, and the scorn of God's
love, and the ruin of souls. One generation succeeds another, and
whenever they look down upon earth from their golden thrones, they
see scarcely anything but a multitude of guardian spirits, downcast
and sad, each following his own charge, in anxiety, or in terror,
or in despair, vainly endeavoring to shield him from the enemy,
and failing because he will not be shielded. Times come and go,
and man will not believe, that that is to be which is not yet, or
that what now is only continues for a season, and is not eternity.
The end is the trial; the world passes; it is but a pageant and a
scene; the lofty palace crumbles, the busy city is mute, the ships
of Tarshish have sped away. On heart and flesh death is coming; the
veil is breaking. Departing soul, how hast thou used thy talents,
thy opportunities, the light poured around thee, the warnings given
thee, the grace inspired into thee? Oh, my Lord and Savior, support
me in that hour in the strong arms of Thy sacraments, and by the
fresh fragrance of Thy consolations. Let the absolving words be said
over me, and the holy oil sign and seal me, and Thy own body be my
food, and Thy blood my sprinkling; and let my sweet mother Mary
breathe on me, and my angel whisper peace to me, and my glorious
saints, and my own dear father, Philip, smile on me; that in them
all, and through them all, I may receive the gift of perseverance,
and die, as I desire to live, in Thy faith, in Thy Church, in Thy
service, and in Thy love.




BUSHNELL

UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE




BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


HORACE BUSHNELL was born at Litchfield, Connecticut, in 1802.
Graduated at Yale 1827. In 1833 he became pastor of the North
Congregational Church, Hartford, Conn., resigned in 1859 and died
in 1876. He wrote many theological works. Among them "Christian
Nurture" (1847), a book now looked upon as of classical authority.
Considerable discussion among Calvinists was aroused by his "Nature
and the Supernatural," and his "The Vicarious Sacrifice" (1865) as
being out of accord with the accepted creeds of the Congregational
churches. He lacked the sympathy and dramatic instinct necessary
to great oratorical achievement, but his sermons prove by their
profound suggestiveness that he was a man of keen spiritual insight,
and preached with force and impressiveness. His influence upon the
ministers of America in modifying theology and remolding the general
type of preaching is fairly comparable with that of Robertson.




BUSHNELL

1802-1876

UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE[4]

  [4] From "Sermons for the New Life," published by Charles Scribner's
  Sons.

_Then went in also that other disciple._--John xx., 8.


In this slight touch or turn of history, is opened to us, if we scan
closely, one of the most serious and fruitful chapters of Christian
doctrine. Thus it is that men are ever touching unconsciously the
springs of motion in each other; thus it is that one man, without
thought or intention, or even a consciousness of the fact, is ever
leading some other after him. Little does Peter think, as he comes
up where his doubting brother is looking into the sepulcher, and
goes straight in, after his peculiar manner, that he is drawing in
his brother apostle after him. As little does John think, when he
loses his misgivings, and goes into the sepulcher after Peter, that
he is following his brother. And just so, unaware to himself, is
every man, the whole race through, laying hold of his fellow-man, to
lead him where otherwise he would not go. We overrun the boundaries
of our personality--we flow together. A Peter leads a John, a John
goes after Peter, both of them unconscious of any influence exerted
or received. And thus our life and conduct are ever propagating
themselves, by a law of social contagion, throughout the circles and
times in which we live.

There are, then, you will perceive, two sorts of influence belonging
to man; that which is active or voluntary, and that which is
unconscious--that which we exert purposely or in the endeavor
to sway another, as by teaching, by argument, by persuasion, by
threatenings, by offers and promises, and that which flows out from
us, unaware to ourselves, the same which Peter had over John when
he led him into the sepulcher. The importance of our efforts to do
good, that is of our voluntary influence, and the sacred obligation
we are under to exert ourselves in this way, are often and seriously
insisted on. It is thus that Christianity has become, in the present
age, a principle of so much greater activity than it has been for
many centuries before; and we fervently hope that it will yet become
far more active than it now is, nor cease to multiply its industry,
till it is seen by all mankind to embody the beneficence and the
living energy of Christ Himself.

But there needs to be reproduced, at the same time, and partly for
this object, a more thorough appreciation of the relative importance
of that kind of influence or beneficence which is insensibly
exerted. The tremendous weight and efficacy of this, compared with
the other, and the sacred responsibility laid upon us in regard to
this, are felt in no such degree or proportion as they should be;
and the consequent loss we suffer in character, as well as that
which the Church suffers in beauty and strength, is incalculable.
The more stress, too, needs to be laid on this subject of insensible
influence, because it is insensible; because it is out of mind, and,
when we seek to trace it, beyond a full discovery.

If the doubt occur to any of you, in the announcement of this
subject, whether we are properly responsible for an influence which
we exert insensibly; we are not, I reply, except so far as this
influence flows directly from our character and conduct. And this
it does, even much more uniformly than our active influence. In
the latter we may fail of our end by a want of wisdom or skill, in
which case we are still as meritorious, in God's sight, as if we
succeeded. So, again, we may really succeed, and do great good by
our active endeavors, from motives altogether base and hypocritical,
in which case we are as evil, in God's sight, as if we had failed.
But the influences we exert unconsciously will almost never disagree
with our real character. They are honest influences, following our
character, as the shadow follows the sun. And, therefore, we are
much more certainly responsible for them, and their effects on the
world. They go streaming from us in all directions, tho in channels
that we do not see, poisoning or healing around the roots of
society, and among the hidden wells of character. If good ourselves,
they are good; if bad, they are bad. And, since they reflect so
exactly our character, it is impossible to doubt our responsibility
for their effects on the world. We must answer not only for what
we do with a purpose, but for the influence we exert insensibly.
To give you any just impressions of the breadth and seriousness of
such a reckoning I know to be impossible. No mind can trace it. But
it will be something gained if I am able to awaken only a suspicion
of the vast extent and power of those influences, which are ever
flowing out unbidden upon society, from your life and character.

In the prosecution of my design, let me ask of you, first of all, to
expel the common prejudice that there can be nothing of consequence
in unconscious influences, because they make no report, and fall on
the world unobserved. Histories and biographies make little account
of the power men exert insensibly over each other. They tell how
men have led armies, established empires, enacted laws, gained
causes, sung, reasoned, and taught--always occupied in setting forth
what they do with a purpose. But what they do without purpose, the
streams of influence that flow out from their persons unbidden on
the world, they can not trace or compute, and seldom even mention.
So also the public laws make men responsible only for what they
do with a positive purpose, and take no account of the mischiefs
or benefits that are communicated by their noxious or healthful
example. The same is true in the discipline of families, churches,
and schools; they make no account of the things we do, except we
will them. What we do insensibly passes for nothing, because no
human government can trace such influences with sufficient certainty
to make their authors responsible.

But you must not conclude that influences of this kind are
insignificant, because they are unnoticed and noiseless. How is it
in the natural world? Behind the mere show, the outward noise and
stir of the world, nature always conceals her hand of control, and
the laws by which she rules. Who ever saw with the eye, for example,
or heard with the ear, the exertions of that tremendous astronomic
force, which every moment holds the compact of the physical universe
together? The lightning is, in fact, but a mere firefly spark in
comparison; but, because it glares on the clouds, and thunders so
terribly in the ear, and rives the tree or the rock where it falls,
many will be ready to think that it is a vastly more potent agent
than gravity.

The Bible calls the good man's life a light, and it is the nature
of light to flow out spontaneously in all directions, and fill the
world unconsciously with its beams. So the Christian shines, it
would say, not so much because he will, as because he is a luminous
object. Not that the active influence of Christians is made of no
account in the figure, but only that this symbol of light has its
propriety in the fact that their unconscious influence is the chief
influence, and has the precedence in its power over the world. And
yet, there are many who will be ready to think that light is a very
tame and feeble instrument, because it is noiseless. An earthquake,
for example, is to them a much more vigorous and effective agency.
Hear how it comes thundering through solid foundations of nature.
It rocks a whole continent. The noblest works of man--cities,
monuments, and temples--are in a moment leveled to the ground, or
swallowed down the opening gulfs of fire. Little do they think
that the light of every morning, the soft, and genial, and silent
light, is an agent many times more powerful. But let the light of
the morning cease and return no more, let the hour of morning come,
and bring with it no dawn; the outcries of a horror-stricken world
fill the air, and make, as it were, the darkness audible. The beasts
go wild and frantic at the loss of the sun. The vegetable growths
turn pale and die. A chill creeps on, and frosty winds begin to howl
across the freezing earth. Colder, and yet colder, is the night.
The vital blood, at length, of all creatures, stops congealed.
Down goes the frost toward the earth's center. The heart of the sea
is frozen; nay, the earthquakes are themselves frozen in, under
their fiery caverns. The very globe itself, too, and all the fellow
planets that have lost their sun, are become mere balls of ice,
swinging silent in the darkness. Such is the light, which revisits
us in the silence of the morning. It makes no shock or scar. It
would not wake an infant in his cradle. And yet it perpetually new
creates the world, rescuing it each morning, as a prey, from night
and chaos. So the Christian is a light, even "the light of the
world," and we must not think that, because he shines insensibly or
silently, as a mere luminous object, he is therefore powerless. The
greatest powers are ever those which lie back of the little stirs
and commotion of nature; and I verily believe that the insensible
influences of good men are much more potent than what I have called
their voluntary, or active, as the great silent powers of nature are
of greater consequence than her little disturbances and tumults. The
law of human influences is deeper than many suspect, and they lose
sight of it altogether. The outward endeavors made by good men or
bad to sway others, they call their influence; whereas, it is, in
fact, but a fraction, and, in most cases, but a very small fraction,
of the good or evil that flows out of their lives. Nay, I will even
go further. How many persons do you meet, the insensible influence
of whose manners and character is so decided as often to thwart
their voluntary influence; so that, whatever they attempt to do,
in the way of controlling others, they are sure to carry the exact
opposite of what they intend! And it will generally be found that,
where men undertake by argument or persuasion to exert a power, in
the face of qualities that make them odious or detestable, or only
not entitled to respect, their insensible influence will be too
strong for them. The total effect of the life is then of a kind
directly opposite to the voluntary endeavor, which, of course, does
not add so much as a fraction to it.

I call your attention, next, to the twofold powers of effect
and expression by which man connects with his fellow man. If we
distinguish man as a creature of language, and thus qualified to
communicate himself to others, there are in him two sets or kinds
of language, one which is voluntary in the use, and one that
is involuntary; that of speech in the literal sense, and that
expression of the eye, the face, the look, the gait, the motion, the
tone of cadence, which is sometimes called the natural language of
the sentiments. This natural language, too, is greatly enlarged by
the conduct of life, that which, in business and society, reveals
the principles and spirit of men. Speech, or voluntary language, is
a door to the soul, that we may open or shut at will; the other is
a door that stands open evermore, and reveals to others constantly,
and often very clearly, the tempers, tastes, and motives of their
hearts. Within, as we may represent, is character, charging the
common reservoir of influence, and through these twofold gates
of the soul pouring itself out on the world. Out of one it flows
at choice, and whensoever we purpose to do good or evil to men.
Out of the other it flows each moment, as light from the sun, and
propagates itself in all beholders.

Then if we go to others, that is, to the subjects of influence, we
find every man endowed with two inlets of impression; the ear and
the understanding for the reception of speech, and the sympathetic
powers, the sensibilities or affections, for tinder to those sparks
of emotion revealed by looks, tones, manners and general conduct.
And these sympathetic powers, tho not immediately rational, are yet
inlets, open on all sides, to the understanding and character. They
have a certain wonderful capacity to receive impressions, and catch
the meaning of signs, and propagate in us whatsoever falls into
their passive molds from others. The impressions they receive do not
come through verbal propositions, and are never received into verbal
propositions, it may be, in the mind, and therefore many think
nothing of them. But precisely on this account are they the more
powerful, because it is as if one heart were thus going directly
into another, and carrying in its feelings with it. Beholding, as in
a glass, the feelings of our neighbor, we are changed into the same
image, by the assimilating power of sensibility and fellow-feeling.
Many have gone so far, and not without show, at least, of reason, as
to maintain that the look or expression, and even the very features
of children, are often changed by exclusive intercourse with nurses
and attendants. Furthermore, if we carefully consider, we shall
find it scarcely possible to doubt, that simply to look on bad and
malignant faces, or those whose expressions have become infected by
vice, to be with them and become familiarized to them, is enough
permanently to affect the character of persons of mature age. I do
not say that it must of necessity subvert their character, for the
evil looked upon may never be loved or welcomed in practise; but it
is something to have these bad images in the soul, giving out their
expressions there, and diffusing their odor among the thoughts, as
long as we live. How dangerous a thing is it, for example, for a
man to become accustomed to sights of cruelty? What man, valuing
the honor of his soul, would not shrink from yielding himself to
such an influence? No more is it a thing of indifference to become
accustomed to look on the manners, and receive the bad expression of
any kind of sin.

The door of involuntary communication, I have said, is always open.
Of course we are communicating ourselves in this way to others at
every moment of our intercourse or presence with them. But how
very seldom, in comparison, do we undertake by means of speech to
influence others! Even the best Christian, one who most improves
his opportunities to do good, attempts but seldom to sway another
by voluntary influence, whereas he is all the while shining as a
luminous object unawares, and communicating of his heart to the
world.

But there is yet another view of this double line of communication
which man has with his fellow-men, which is more general, and
displays the import of the truth yet more convincingly. It is
by one of these modes of communication that we are constituted
members of voluntary society, and by the other, parts of a general
mass, or members of involuntary society. You are all, in a certain
view, individuals, and separate as persons from each other; you
are also, in a certain other view, parts of a common body, as
truly as the parts of a stone. Thus if you ask how it is that you
and all men came without your consent to exist in society, to be
within its power, to be under its laws, the answer is, that while
you are a man, you are also a fractional element of a larger and
more comprehensive being, called society--be it the family, the
church, the state. In a certain department of your nature, it is
open; its sympathies and feelings are open. On this open side
you will adhere together, as parts of a larger nature, in which
there is a common circulation of want, impulse, and law. Being
thus made common to each other voluntarily, you become one mass,
one consolidated social body, animated by one life. And observe
how far this involuntary communication and sympathy between the
members of a state or a family is sovereign over their character. It
always results in what we call the national or family spirit; for
there is a spirit peculiar to every state and family in the world.
Sometimes, too, this national or family spirit takes a religious or
an irreligious character, and appears almost to absorb the religious
self-government of individuals. What was the national spirit of
France, for example, at a certain time, but a spirit of infidelity?
What is the religious spirit of Spain at this moment, but a spirit
of bigotry, quite as wide of Christianity and destructive of
character as the spirit of falsehood? What is the family spirit in
many a house, but the spirit of gain, or pleasure, or appetite,
in which everything that is warm, dignified, genial, and good in
religion, is visibly absent? Sometimes you will almost fancy that
you see the shapes of money in the eyes of children. So it is that
we are led on by nations, as it were, to good or bad immortality.
Far down in the secret foundations of life and society there lie
concealed great laws and channels of influence, which make the race
common to each other in all the main departments or divisions of
the social mass, laws which often escape our notice altogether, but
which are to society as gravity to the general system of God's works.

But these are general considerations, and more fit, perhaps, to
give you a rational conception of the modes of influence and their
relative power, than to verify that conception, or establish its
truth. I now proceed to add, therefore, some miscellaneous proofs of
a more particular nature.

And I mention, first of all, the instinct of imitation in children.
We begin our mortal experience, not with acts grounded in judgment
or reason, or with ideas received through language, but by simple
imitation, and, under the guidance of this, we lay our foundations.
The child looks and listens, and whatsoever tone of feeling or
manner of conduct is displayed around him, sinks into his plastic,
passive soul, and becomes a mold of his being ever after. The very
handling of the nursery is significant, and the petulance, the
passion, the gentleness, the tranquillity indicated by it, are all
reproduced in the child. His soul is a purely receptive nature,
and that for a considerable period, without choice or selection.
A little further on he begins voluntarily to copy everything he
sees. Voice, manner, gait, everything which the eye sees, the mimic
instinct delights to act over. And thus we have a whole generation
of future men, receiving from us their beginnings, and the deepest
impulses of their life and immortality. They watch us every moment,
in the family, before the hearth, and at the table; and when we are
meaning them no good or evil, when we are conscious of exerting no
influence over them, they are drawing from us impressions and molds
of habit, which, if wrong, no heavenly discipline can wholly remove;
or, if right, no bad associations utterly dissipate. Now it may be
doubted, I think, whether, in all the active influence of our lives,
we do as much to shape the destiny of our fellow-men as we do in
this single article of unconscious influence over children.

Still further on, respect for others takes the place of imitation.
We naturally desire the approbation or good opinion of others. You
see the strength of this feeling in the article of fashion. How few
persons have the nerve to resist a fashion! We have fashions, too,
in literature, and in worship, and in moral and religious doctrine,
almost equally powerful. How many will violate the best rules of
society, because it is the practise of the circle! How many reject
Christ because of friends or acquaintance, who have no suspicion of
the influence they exert, and will not have, till the last days
show them what they have done! Every good man has thus a power in
his person, more mighty than his words and arguments, and which
others feel when he little suspects it. Every bad man, too, has a
fund of poison in his character, which is tainting those around him,
when it is not in his thoughts to do them injury. He is read and
understood. His sensual tastes and habits, his unbelieving spirit,
his suppressed leer at religions, have all a power, and take hold of
the heart of others, whether he will have it so or not.

Again, how well understood is it that the most active feelings and
impulses of mankind are contagious. How quick enthusiasm of any sort
is to kindle, and how rapidly it catches from one to another, till a
nation blazes in the flame! In the case of the Crusades you have an
example where the personal enthusiasm of one man put all the states
of Europe in motion. Fanaticism is almost equally contagious. Fear
and superstition always infect the mind of the circle in which they
are manifested. The spirit of war generally becomes an epidemic of
madness, when once it has got possession of a few minds. The spirit
of party is propagated in a similar manner. How any slight operation
in the market may spread, like a fire, if successful, till trade
runs wild in a general infatuation, is well known. Now, in all these
examples, the effect is produced, not by active endeavor to carry
influence, but mostly by that insensible propagation which follows,
when a flame of any kind is once more kindled.

It is also true, you may ask, that the religious spirit propagates
itself or tends to propagate itself in the same way? I see no
reason to question that it does. Nor does anything in the doctrine
of spiritual influences, when rightly understood, forbid the
supposition. For spiritual influences are never separated from the
laws of thought in the individual, and the laws of feeling and
influence in society. If, too, every disciple is to be an "epistle
known and read of all men," what shall we expect, but that all men
will be somehow affected by the reading? Or if he is to be a light
in the world, what shall we look for, but that others, seeing his
good works, shall glorify God on his account? How often is it seen,
too, as a fact of observation, that one or a few good men kindle at
length a holy fire in the community in which they live, and become
the leaven of general reformation! Such men give a more vivid proof
in their persons of the reality of religious faith than any words or
arguments could yield. They are active; they endeavor, of course,
to exert a good voluntary influence; but still their chief power
lies in their holiness and the sense they produce in others of their
close relation to God.

It now remains to exhibit the very important fact, that where the
direct or active influence of men is supposed to be great, even
this is due, in a principal degree, to that insensible influence
by which their arguments, reproofs, and persuasions are secretly
invigorating. It is not mere words which turn men; it is the heart
mounting, uncalled, into the expression of the features; it is the
eye illuminated by reason, the look beaming with goodness; it is
the tone of the voice, that instrument of the soul, which changes
quality with such amazing facility, and gives out in the soft,
the tender, the tremulous, the firm, every shade of emotion and
character. And so much is there in this, that the moral stature and
character of the man that speaks are likely to be well represented
in his manner. If he is a stranger, his way will inspire confidence
and attract good will. His virtues will be seen, as it were,
gathering round him to minister words and forms of thought, and
their voices will be heard in the fall of his cadences. And the
same is true of bad men, or men who have nothing in their character
corresponding to what they attempt to do. If without heart or
interest you attempt to move another, the involuntary man tells what
you are doing in a hundred ways at once. A hypocrite, endeavoring to
exert a good influence, only tries to convey by words what the lying
look, and the faithless affectation, or dry exaggeration of his
manner perpetually resists. We have it for a fashion to attribute
great or even prodigious results to the voluntary efforts and labors
of men. Whatever they effect is commonly referred to nothing but
the immediate power of what they do. Let us take an example, like
that of Paul, and analyze it. Paul was a man of great fervor and
enthusiasm. He combined, withal, more of what is lofty and morally
commanding in his character, than most of the very distinguished men
of the world. Having this for his natural character, and his natural
character exalted and made luminous by Christian faith, and the
manifest indwelling of God, he had of course an almost superhuman
sway over others. Doubtless he was intelligent, strong in argument,
eloquent, active, to the utmost of his powers, but still he moved
the world more by what he was than by what he did. The grandeur and
spiritual splendor of his character were ever adding to his active
efforts an element of silent power, which was the real and chief
cause of their efficacy. He convinced, subdued, inspired, and led,
because of the half-divine authority which appeared in his conduct,
and his glowing spirit. He fought the good fight, because he kept
the faith, and filled his powerful nature with influences drawn from
higher worlds.

And here I must conduct you to a yet higher example, even that
of the Son of God, the light of the world. Men dislike to be
swayed by direct, voluntary influence. They are jealous of such
control, and are therefore best approached by conduct and feeling,
and the authority of simple worth, which seem to make no purposed
onset. If goodness appears, they welcome its celestial smile; if
heaven descends to encircle them, they yield to its sweetness; if
truth appears in the life, they honor it with a secret homage; if
personal majesty and glory appear, they bow with reverence, and
acknowledge with shame their own vileness. Now it is on this side
of human nature that Christ visits us, preparing just that kind
of influence which the spirit of truth may wield with the most
persuasive and subduing effect. It is the grandeur of His character
which constitutes the chief power of His ministry, not His miracles
or teachings apart from His character. Miracles were useful, at
the time, to arrest attention, and His doctrine is useful at all
times as the highest revelation of truth possible in speech; but
the greatest truth of the gospel, notwithstanding, is Christ
Himself--a human body becomes the organ of the divine nature, and
reveals, under the conditions of an earthly life, the glory of
God! The Scripture writers have much to say, in this connection,
of the image of God; and an image, you know, is that which simply
represents, not that which acts, or reasons, or persuades. Now it
is this image of God which makes the center, the sun itself, of the
gospel. The journeyings, teachings, miracles, and sufferings of
Christ, all had their use in bringing out this image, or what is the
same, in making conspicuous the character and feelings of God, both
toward sinners and toward sin. And here is the power of Christ--it
is that God's beauty, love, truth, and justice shines through Him.
It is the influence which flows unconsciously and spontaneously
out of Christ, as the friend of man, the light of the world, the
glory of the Father, made visible. And some have gone so far as to
conjecture that God made the human person, originally, with a view
to its becoming the organ or vehicle by which He might reveal His
communicable attributes to other worlds. Christ, they believe, came
to inhabit this organ, that He might execute a purpose so sublime.
The human person is constituted, they say, to be a mirror of God;
and God, being imaged in that mirror, as in Christ, is held up to
the view of this and other worlds. It certainly is to the view of
this; and if the Divine nature can use the organ so effectively to
express itself unto us, if it can bring itself, through the looks,
tones, motions, and conduct of a human person, more close to our
sympathies than by any other means, how can we think that an organ
so communicative, inhabited by us, is not always breathing our
spirit and transferring our image insensibly to others?

I have protracted the argument on this subject beyond what I could
have wished, but I can not dismiss it without suggesting a few
thoughts necessary to its complete practical effect.

One very obvious and serious inference from it, and the first which
I will name, is, that it is impossible to live in this world and
escape responsibility. It is not that they alone, as you have seen,
who are trying purposely to convert or corrupt others, who exert an
influence; you can not live without exerting influence. The doors
of your soul are open on others, and theirs on you. You inhabit
a house which is well-nigh transparent; and what you are within,
you are ever showing yourself to be without, by signs that have no
ambiguous expression. If you had the seeds of a pestilence in your
body, you would not have a more active contagion than you have in
your tempers, tastes, and principles. Simply to be in this world,
whatever you are, is to exert an influence--an influence, too,
compared with which mere language and persuasion are feeble. You
say that you mean well; at least, you think you mean to injure no
one. Do you injure no one? Is your example harmless? Is it ever on
the side of God and duty? You can not reasonably doubt that others
are continually receiving impressions from your character. As
little you can doubt that you must answer for these impressions. If
the influence you exert is unconsciously exerted, then it is only
the most sincere, the truest expression of your character. And for
what can you be held responsible, if not for this? Do not deceive
yourselves in the thought that you are at least doing no injury, and
are, therefore, living without responsibility; first, make it sure
that you are not every hour infusing moral death insensibly into
your children, wives, husbands, friends, and acquaintances. By a
mere look or glance, not unlikely, you are conveying the influence
that shall turn the scale of some one's immortality. Dismiss,
therefore, the thought that you are living without responsibility;
that is impossible. Better is it frankly to admit the truth; and if
you will risk the influence of a character unsanctified by duty and
religion, prepare to meet your reckoning manfully, and receive the
just recompense of reward.

The true philosophy or method of doing good is also here explained.
It is, first of all and principally, to be good--to have a character
that will of itself communicate good. There must and will be active
effort where there is goodness of principle; but the latter we
should hold to be the principal thing, the root and life of all.
Whether it is a mistake more sad or more ridiculous, to make mere
stir synonymous with doing good, we need not inquire; enough, to
be sure that one who has taken up such a notion of doing good, is
for that reason a nuisance to the Church. The Christian is called
a light, not lightning. In order to act with effect on others, he
must walk in the Spirit, and thus become the image of goodness; he
must be so akin to God, and so filled with His dispositions, that
he shall seem to surround himself with a hallowed atmosphere. It is
folly to endeavor to make ourselves shine before we are luminous.
If the sun without his beams should talk to the planets, and argue
with them till the final day, it would not make them shine; there
must be light in the sun itself; and then they will shine, of
course. And this, my brethren, is what God intends for you all.
It is the great idea of His gospel, and the work of His spirit,
to make you lights in the world. His greatest joy is to give you
character, to beautify your example, to exalt your principles, and
make you each the depository of His own almighty grace. But in order
to do this, something is necessary on your part--a full surrender
of your mind to duty and to God, and a perpetual desire of this
spiritual intimacy; having this, having a participation thus of the
goodness of God, you will as naturally communicate good as the sun
communicates his beams.

Our doctrine of unconscious and undesigning influence shows how
it is, also, that the preaching of Christ is often unfruitful,
and especially in times of spiritual coldness. It is not because
truth ceases to be truth, nor, of necessity, because it is preached
in a less vivid manner, but because there are so many influences
preaching against the preacher. He is one, the people are many;
his attempt to convince and persuade is a voluntary influence;
their lives, on the other hand, and especially the lives of those
who profess what is better, are so many unconscious influences
ever streaming forth upon the people, and back and forth between
each other. He preaches the truth, and they, with one consent, are
preaching the truth down; and how can he prevail against so many,
and by a kind of influence so unequal? When the people of God are
glowing with spiritual devotion to Him, and love to men, the case
is different; then they are all preaching with the preacher, and
making an atmosphere of warmth for his words to fall in; great is
the company of them that publish the truth, and proportionally great
its power. Shall I say more? Have you not already felt, my brethren,
the application to which I would bring you? We do not exonerate
ourselves; we do not claim to be nearer to God or holier than you;
but, ah! you know how easy it is to make a winter about us, or
how cold it feels! Our endeavor is to preach the truth of Christ
and His cross as clearly and as forcefully as we can. Sometimes
it has a visible effect, and we are filled with joy; sometimes
it has no effect, and then we struggle on, as we must, but under
great oppression. Have we none among you that preach against us
in your lives? If we show you the light of God's truth, does it
never fall on banks of ice; which if the light shows through, the
crystal masses are yet as cold as before? We do not accuse you; that
we leave to God, and to those who may rise up in the last day to
testify against you. If they shall come out of your own families;
if they are the children that wear your names, the husband or wife
of your affections; if they declare that you, by your example, kept
them away from Christ's truth and mercy, we may have accusations to
meet of our own, and we leave you to acquit yourselves as best you
may. I only warn you, here, of the guilt which our Lord Jesus Christ
will impute to them that hinder His gospel.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's note:

Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.

Page 203: "the filth of the world, and the offscouring of all
things", shall be found unto praise, and honor, and glory!--The
transcriber has supplied the missing closing quoteation mark.

Page 206: not only from its condemnation, but from its very
"in-being";--The transcriber has supplied the opening quotation mark.





End of Project Gutenberg's The World's Great Sermons, Volume 04, by Various