if it were of no account. The body is to be subject to the spirit, no
doubt. It is a servant, and is to be kept to a servant's place, even
by severe discipline if need be, but it is to be kept in health and
strength, that it may serve well its master. It is the tool of the
spirit, and must be kept in good working order. He would be a foolish
master who should so treat his tools or his servants as to disable them
from work.
Our bodies are to be treated with respect because they are God's
temples, in which it pleases Him to dwell. "Know ye not that your body
is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you?" says the Apostle (1
Cor. vi. 19); and again, "Know ye not that ye are the Temple of God,
and that the spirit of God dwelleth in you?" and he adds, "If any man
defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy." (1 Cor. iii. 16.)
From these considerations, it may be easily seen that those persons are
guilty of sin who are willfully careless of the body; who for the sake
of dress or amusement, or indulgence of any sort, injure their health
and lessen their powers of usefulness.
Once more: The body is to be treated with respect because it has a
share in our redemption. True, it is subject to decay and death. True,
for a time it must molder in the dust, but it shall be raised again,
and united to its kindred spirit, freed from all taint of sin and
corruption. True, it is sown in dishonor and weakness, but it shall be
raised in glory and power, to inherit immortality.
Job xiv. 1 Cor. iii.
_SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT._
_HELPLESSNESS AND HELP._
THE collect for this day is especially a prayer for help; help for body
and soul. The suppliant's plea is his helplessness. We have no power of
ourselves to help ourselves, and so we turn to Him who is both able and
willing to help us.
It is to be wished that Christians in general realized more fully their
dependence upon God. We all go to Him for help in great matters—in
deep afflictions, in strong temptations; but in the little things of
everyday life, we forget or neglect to call upon Him; and it is in
these very little things that we are defeated and overthrown by our
ever-watchful enemy. "He that despiseth little things shall fall by
little and little," said a wise man; and no truer word was ever spoken.
It is the small temptation which makes way for the great one. It is the
misstep which prepares for the fall.
Take an example: Theodore wakes in the morning feeling rather unwell
and out of sorts. He has perhaps overslept when he wished to wake
early, and is hurried in consequence. Proceeding to dress, he finds
a button off, or a stud misplaced; a real vexation, though a small
one; but Theodore never thinks of asking for help in such a matter as
that. He would perhaps regard such a prayer as almost a mockery. The
bell rings before he is ready, and he has, or thinks he has, no time
for morning devotions. By the time he reaches his office, he is in a
thoroughly bad humor, and ready to vent his annoyance on the first
person who comes across him.
When Theodore reviews the events of the day, he is obliged to confess
that he has made a sad failure. He sees, with shame, that he has been
unjust and unkind; that he has, perhaps, offended one of God's little
ones, or put a stone of stumbling in the way of someone whom he is
trying to influence for good. He confesses his sin with penitence
and shame, but it does not occur to him to trace the trouble to its
source—the failing to seek for help against the first temptation.
Oh that all of us, who profess and call ourselves Christians, could
come to realize in our inmost souls, that in us, that is, in our flesh,
dwells no good thing; that in very deed we have no power of ourselves
to help ourselves in great things or small! It is a thought humbling
to human pride, no doubt, but it is true. Every good thing, every good
gift, is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights (James
i. 17), and thrives in the soil of this lower world only by careful
cultivation. Spiritual strength, and the power to resist temptation,
are no exception to this rule. They must come from above, in the first
place, and they must be continually watered from above if they are to
live. You might better set a willow-tree in the midst of the great
American Desert, and expect it to grow there without irrigation, as
to expect any Christian grace or virtue to live in your heart without
constant watering from the Divine Fountain, which gave it life in the
first place.
This fact of our utter helplessness to do the least good thing of
ourselves would be very discouraging; would, indeed, lead us to utter
despair if it stood alone. But God is all-knowing, and He sees that we
have no power of ourselves to help ourselves. He is almighty. Nothing
is too hard for Him. All things are in His hand, from the whole visible
universe to the least grain which helps to make it; from the highest
archangel to the tiny baby which was christened yesterday, and whose
christening robe was also its burial dress. Nothing is too great for
His power, nothing too small for his care and love. He is our Father.
He loves each one of His children as much as if that child were the
only one, and He has laid up for each one such good things as pass
man's understanding.
And this all-powerful, all-loving God knows all our needs and all our
weakness. "He knoweth whereof we are made; He remembereth that we are
but dust." (Ps. ciii. 14.) He sees that we have no power of ourselves
to help ourselves, and His help is always ready. Yea, the whole power
of Almighty God is enlisted on the side of the weakest child who is
trying to please Him. But He will not force His help on any one.
His hand is always held out, but we are free to lay hold on it or not,
as we will. We may neglect or slight His offers if we choose, but we
must take the consequences. We may, if we please, kindle a fire for
ourselves, and try to walk in the light of it; but this shall we have
of His hand: we shall lie down in sorrow. (Isa. l. 11.)
Isa. li. S. John x. 19.
_SECOND MONDAY IN LENT._
_EVIL THOUGHTS AND THEIR REMEDY._
EVERY Christian knows what it is to be troubled with evil thoughts.
Bunyan, than whom no uninspired man was ever better acquainted with the
human heart, makes it one of his Pilgrim's trials that he bore away
with him from the City of Destruction some of those things that he was
conversant withal, especially his inward and carnal cogitations; and
he adds, sorrowfully, "If I had my way, I would never think of those
things more, but when I would do good, evil is present with me."
How often is his experience ours! How many times we find ourselves
haunted with what we would fain forget! Some one offers us an affront.
We have no desire to cherish a grudge, and perhaps we make an act of
forgiveness on the spot; but all day long the scornful word or the
unkind act haunts our memory, and Satan conspires with the traitor
in our own hearts to magnify the offense, and to suggest thoughts of
malice and revenge. We are denied some pleasure or indulgence that
others enjoy, and to which we think, perhaps, that we have a better
right than they, and we dwell upon the matter, magnifying the forbidden
pleasure or advantage till it becomes a dark fog, blotting out every
pleasant prospect and shutting us up in measureless discontent.
I believe that invalids are particularly subject to this kind of
temptation. The horizon of the sick person is narrow at the best, and
a small cloud suffices to obscure it. Moreover, there are certain
disorders which seem of themselves particularly favorable to evil
thoughts. The patient is, or fancies himself, neglected or forgotten.
He is tempted to envy those better off than himself. He thinks of all
the good work he has done, and of all he might do, and he is tempted
to think hardly of the Master, who seems to have rejected his service.
These and still darker thoughts beset the daily couch and nightly
pillow of the invalid, till he feels as if Satan in bodily presence
were standing at his bedside.
Now what is the remedy for this unhappy state of things? The first
thing to be done is to recognize these thoughts as sins. We are too
apt to excuse them to ourselves as mere infirmities, consequent on our
state of health. They may be so to some extent. All our sins are the
consequence of some temptation. So long as we constantly make excuses
for our faults, so long they will stay by us, and consider themselves
as welcome guests. Let us call them by their right names to begin
with, and, like the malicious dwarf in the fairy tale, they are half
conquered already.
The next thing to be done with our evil thoughts is to crowd them out.
It has been said that Nature abhors a vacuum, but Satan loves one
because it gives him a place wherein to bestow his wares. Let us try to
so occupy our mind with good things that there shall be no room for the
bad ones. Let us fill our memories with good and pleasant things, that
we may from time to time take out our treasures, and refresh ourselves
with the sight of them. Christian found his inward enemies were
vanquished when he looked upon his broidered coat—that robe of Christ's
righteousness given him instead of his own rags; when he read in his
roll—that evidence of his salvation given to every humble believer in
God's word; and above all, when his thoughts waxed warm about the place
to which he was going. Try his method.
Then, too, we must use the weapon put into our hands for this very
purpose—the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God; and to
the end that we may have the full benefit thereof, we must accustom
ourselves to its use. We must store our memory with its promises, its
counsels and instructions.
I once asked a venerable minister what book I should read in Lent.
His answer was, "The Bible"; and he added, "I could wish that
Christians would put aside all other books during Lent, and read the
Bible alone."
Without going so far as this, I would earnestly warn every one not to
let the Bible be crowded out by any book, however edifying. Do not be
content with merely reading, but study it. Learn by heart such passages
as are likely to be most useful, and so familiarize yourself with the
book as to be able to turn at once to anything you want. A sick-bed or
chamber is not the best place to begin this practice, but it is better
begun there than never.
Above all, let us, like Christian in the shadow of death, betake
ourselves to the weapon called "all prayer." Let us make haste to
escape to Him who is our strong tower and house of defense. Let the
language of our hearts be that of the Psalmist: "Into thine hands I
commit my spirit, for Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth." (Ps.
xxxi. 5.) So shall He defend us under His wings and we shall be safe
under His feathers; His faithfulness and truth shall be our shield and
buckler. (Ps. xci. 4.)
Ps. xxxv. St. John xiv.
_SECOND TUESDAY IN LENT._
_MEDITATION._
THE best remedies for evil thoughts are good thoughts.
It is, I fear, a sorrowful truth that in these days of activity
and bustle, in the Church and out of it, the duty and privilege of
Christian meditation is in danger of being pushed into the background,
or forgotten altogether. We read a few verses in the Bible, morning and
evening. Perhaps we keep some religious book on our table, and read a
little every day. All this is very well as far as it goes. But how many
Christians ever sit down to think out anything for themselves? We may
"hear and read" the Bible, but unless we "mark, learn, and inwardly
digest" as well, our souls may be half-starved in presence of a royal
banquet.
Meditation, that is to say, serious and connected thought on a given
subject, is not an easy task. But, as an excellent writer aptly asks,
"Who ever said any Christian duty was easy?" Meditation is always hard
at first. It is often difficult to those who have practiced it for
years: there is so much to be done, and so little time; there are so
many trials of temper and feeling in our daily life, whether that life
be passed out of doors or in the confinement of a sick-room.
This is all true. And every one of these statements is a plea for the
practice I am advocating. There are so many distractions, that we all
need the quiet of that "little sanctuary" which God has promised to be
to His people in all lands. (Ezek. xi. 16.) There are so many trials of
temper and feeling, that we all need to claim the promise, "Thou shalt
hide them privily by Thy presence from the provoking of all men." (Ps.
xxxi. 20.) There is so much to be done, and so little time to do it in,
that we cannot afford to miss any help which our Master has put in our
way. As well might the tree planted by the river (Jer. xvii. 8) spend
all its strength in putting forth branches and leaves, and forget to
stretch out its roots to the pure cold waters which run at its foot.
Unless it does so stretch out its roots, it might as well grow like the
heath in the desert.
"But I do not know where to begin," says someone; "I do not know what
to think about." This is surely a needless difficulty. Is not the deep,
unfailing well at hand, yea, under your hand? Have you no Bible? Let
us look for a moment at that priceless model of meditation, the cxix.
Psalm. What is the key-note of that psalm but the consideration of
God's Word? "I will meditate in Thy statutes." "Open mine eyes, that I
may behold wondrous things out of Thy law." "Teach me, O Lord, the way
of Thy statutes." And so on from beginning to end. It is the Word of
God which must be the text of our meditations.
"But how shall I set about it?"
You are perhaps a Sunday-school teacher or pupil. (You should, if
possible, be one or the other.) If so, you have the subject of your
meditation cut out for you in your next Sunday's lesson. I advise you
to begin by memorizing it. In that way you can carry it about with you
wherever you go. Then turn it over in your mind, verse by verse, yea,
word by word. Sift it as if you were hunting for diamonds.
Say to yourself, "Do I understand the exact meaning of this word, or
that allusion? How shall I explain that point? How shall I frame a
question which shall make the pupil bring out the meaning for himself?"
And finally, "What does the lesson teach me?" For, be assured,
unless it does say something to you, you will never make it speak to
any one else. If there were more of this kind of preparation, the
superintendent would not so often be grieved by the sorrowful spectacle
of a teacher sitting idly before an idle class, because he or she "has
finished the lesson, and does not know what to say."
Permit me to give a short example to illustrate my meaning. Take the
first verse of the second chapter of St. Matthew—a simple passage, and
very familiar. "Jesus was born in Bethlehem." Where is Bethlehem? What
do I know about its situation, its distance from Jerusalem, its history
and present condition? Was it the home of Jesus' parents? How did He
happen to be born there? Then come the momentous questions: Who was
this babe of Bethlehem? Why was He born? What is He to me? And so you
see, this simple historical verse lifts for you the veil of the Holy of
Holies, where you can but wonder and adore.
The prayer-book, also, will furnish abundant subjects for thought.
Take the collect for the day; say, for example, the ninth Sunday after
Trinity, which has a direct bearing on this subject. Why is it so
important to have right thoughts? What is the relation between thinking
and doing? What passages of Scripture bearing on this point can I
remember? And so on through the whole collect. There is, perhaps, not a
prayer in the Church service which will not afford matter for a week's
meditation; and no one knows the wealth concealed in the prayer-book
who has not treated it in this way. Try it, and see if at the end of
the Lenten season the Church service does not say more to you than ever
it did before.
Ps. cxix. 1-24. 2 Peter 1.
NOTE.—The substance of this and the next chapter was printed in "Church
Work," some time ago.
_THIRD WEDNESDAY IN LENT._
_MEDITATION—Continued._
"MEDITATION is all very well for people of leisure," says some one,
"but I am busy from morning till night. I have no time."
To this I answer: "Are you quite sure you have no time? Let me ask you
to look back upon your day, and tell yourself honestly how much time
has been spent in melancholy musing, in useless regret, or worse than
useless foreboding; perhaps, in brooding over some real or fancied
injury or affront. Surely these hours would have been more pleasantly
and profitably spent in the way I have suggested. Just because you have
so much to do, you need the refreshment of the hidden spring—of the
pure water which flows from the Fountain of Life."
"I am engaged in a great deal of Church and charitable work," says
another; "has it not been said that labor is prayer? And may it not
take the place of meditation as well?"
Just as well, and no better. You might as well say that labor is
eating. It is a pretty and plausible saying, but it is not true.
Labor is not prayer, any more than it is food or sleep. No one needs
more the refreshment of the hidden spring than the person who is
engaged in mission or charitable work. There is so much to discourage
and dishearten, there are so many failures and disappointments and
mistakes, that the worker needs all the aid and comfort procurable not
to grow morbid and discouraged.
"Yes, it is all very well for healthy people," says another, "but I am
an invalid."
Just because you are an invalid do you need to learn the art of
governing your thoughts. No one is tempted more than an invalid to
the indulgence of those useless and harmful musings of which I have
spoken. Sharp and severe illness is an occupation in itself. But to
the chronic patient; able to be about a little, perhaps to do a little
light work, how long are the hours of the day! How much longer those of
the night! How fancy pictures to us the pleasures of the world which we
cannot enjoy! How often do Satan and our own corrupt hearts conspire
to suggest hard and unkind thoughts of friends and attendants, yea,
even of God Himself. How are our uneasy pillows haunted with the ghosts
of dead joys and hopes and plans, and still more dread phantoms of
sins and failures and fears for the future! I have been a bad sleeper
all my life, and in many an hour of wakefulness have I blessed the
old-fashioned Sunday-school method of "seven verses and a hymn," which
stored my mind with whole chapters of the Bible, and with the best
devotional poetry. I wish this old fashion could become a new fashion
again. I have never seen a better.
"But there is such an abundance of good books!"
True, but all the books in the world are worth very little to the
person who is content with merely reading them. We can think, moreover,
when we cannot read, and half an hour's earnest and prayerful
consideration of a chapter or verse of God's word will be of more value
than a dozen commentaries without such consideration.
It is good always to begin and end our meditations with prayer. It is
good, too, at times, to turn our meditation into contemplation; in
simply making real to ourselves His presence who has said, "Lo, I am
with you alway." (St. Matt. xxviii. 20.) "If any man ... open the door,
I will come in ... and ... sup with him, and he with Me." (Rev. iii.
20.)
Let me beg of all who read this chapter and who have never done so, to
make trial of its recommendations through the Lenten season. Do not be
discouraged, though you fail many times, though again and again you
find your thoughts wandering to the ends of the earth. Drive them back
to their appointed work every time. By and by you will find them less
inclined to stray. The hard task will become a pleasure, and you will
be amply rewarded for your pains when you find Divine truth growing
more and more clear and precious, when you find yourself better and
better able to turn away from painful and unprofitable thoughts, to
take refuge in the Lord's presence from the provoking of all men, and
to rest under the shadow of the Great Rock in the weary land. Then your
heart shall not be "like the heath in the desert, and shall not see
when good cometh," but rather "as a tree planted by the waters, and
that spreadeth out her roots by the river; and shall not see when heat
cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the
year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit." (Jer. xvii.
6, 8.)
Jer. xvii. Rev. iii.
_THIRD THURSDAY IN LENT._
_PRAYER._
THE Christian is to pray without ceasing; that is, he is always to
be in the spirit of prayer. He is, by God's help, to strive to keep
himself in such a state that he can at any moment lift up his heart and
mind to his Heavenly Father, and that as much in the round of his daily
business as in his closet. He is to strive to carry about with him an
habitual sense of the presence of God, and of dependence upon Him for
all things.
"Use lessens marvel," says the old proverb, and the saying is true. The
most surprising discoveries in science, the most wonderful applications
of these discoveries to the arts, cease to astonish us in a very
short time. There is nothing in the Arabian Nights which sounds more
incredible than that the movement of a wheel turned by a waterfall
should light up a great city. Yet every child has become used to the
electric light, and thinks no more marvel of it than his grandfather
did of a candle.
So it is with prayer. Every child of a Christian mother is taught
to pray as soon as it can speak, and accepts without question the
instruction that prayer is talking to his Father in Heaven. He prays
God to bless his father, who is sailing on the sea, and his brother in
a distant city, and it seems no more wonderful to him than that the
street light should make a pretty picture on the wall of his nursery.
And yet what a wonder is prayer, when we come to consider it! All the
marvels of man's discovery and invention shrink into nothing before it.
I was once telling some little girls about the telephone and saying how
strange it seemed to talk with a friend twenty miles away. "Yes," said
one, "but we can talk to God without a wire."
The great God who upholds the Universe in His hand, and orders all
things by His omnipotent power and wisdom, has his ear always open to
the appeal of his feeblest child. Not a sigh from a sick-bed, not a
prayer lisped at the mother's knee, not a cry from the deepest dungeon,
but is heard and marked by Him. From every place on earth, the way is
open to His throne. The mother who has a son in China can send him help
by this road. The poor widow in the almshouse can lighten the trials of
her lot; yea, though she have not a penny to give to the cause, she can
help the missionary in the farthest distant field by her prayers. When
we can do no more for our friends, we can commend them to the prayers
of the Church. Alas! We too often wait till we can do no more.
I close this chapter with an extract from Professor Phelps's admirable
book, "The Still Hour."
"In the vestibule of St. Peter's at Rome is a doorway which is walled
up, and marked with a cross. It is opened but four times in a century.
On Christmas eve, once in twenty-five years, the Pope approaches it in
princely state, with a retinue of cardinals in attendance, and begins
the demolition of the door by striking it three times with a silver
hammer. When the passage is opened, the multitude pass into the nave of
the cathedral and up to the altar by an avenue which the majority of
them never entered before, and never will enter thus again.
"Imagine that the way to the Throne of Grace were like the Porta Santa,
inaccessible save once in a quarter of a century, on the twenty-fifth
of December, and then only with august solemnities, conducted by great
dignitaries in a distant city. Conceive that it were now ten years
since you or I, or any other sinner, had been 'permitted' to pray;
and that fifteen long years must drag themselves away before we could
venture to approach God; and that, at the most, we could not hope to
pray more than two or three times in a lifetime—with what solicitude
should we wait for the coming of that holy day!
"We should lay our plans of life, select our homes, build our houses,
choose our professions, with reference to a pilgrimage in that
twenty-fifth year. We should reckon time by the opening of that sacred
door as by epochs. No other one thought would engross so much of our
lives, or kindle our sensibilities so exquisitely, as the thought of
prayer. It would be of more significance to us than the thought of
death is now. Fear would grow to horror at the thought of dying before
that Jubilee.