as evil spirits loose among us, as messages from the father of lies, who
deceives the hearts of evil men, that they may spread abroad the poison
of his false and foul messages, putting good for evil, and evil for good,
sweet for bitter, and bitter for sweet, saying to all men, ‘I, too, have
a tree of knowledge, and you may eat of the fruit thereof, and not die.’
But believe him not. When you see a wicked book, when you find in a book
any thing which contradicts God’s book, cast it away, trample it under
foot, believe that it is the devil tempting you by his cunning, alluring
words, as he tempted Eve, your mother. Would to God all here would make
that rule,—never to look into an evil book, a filthy ballad, a
nonsensical, frivolous story! Can a man take a snake into his bosom and
not be bitten?—can we play with fire and not be burnt?—can we open our
ears and eyes to the devil’s message, whether of covetousness, or filth,
or folly, and not be haunted afterwards by its wicked words, rising up in
our thoughts like evil spirits, between us and our pure and noble
duty—our baptism-vows?
I might say much more about these things, and, by God’s help, in another
sermon I will go on, and speak to you of the awful importance of spoken
words, of the sermons and the conversation to which you listen, the awful
importance of every word which comes out of your own mouth. But I have
spoken only of books this morning, for this is the age of books, the
time, one would think, of which Daniel prophesied that many should run to
and fro, and knowledge should be increased. A flood of books,
newspapers, writings of all sorts, good and bad, is spreading over the
whole land, and young and old will read them. We cannot stop that—we
ought not: it is God’s ordinance. It is more: it is God’s grace and
mercy, that we have a free press in England—liberty for every man, that
if he have any of God’s truth to tell he may tell it out boldly, in books
or otherwise. A blessing from God! one which we should reverence, for
God knows it was dearly bought. Before our forefathers could buy it for
us, many an honoured man left house and home to die in the battle-field
or on the scaffold, fighting and witnessing for the right of every man to
whom God’s Word comes, to speak God’s Word openly to his countrymen. A
blessing, and an awful one! for the same gate which lets in good lets in
evil. The law dare not silence bad books. It dare not root up the tares
lest it root up the wheat also. The men who died to buy us liberty knew
that it was better to let in a thousand bad books than shut out one good
one; for a grain of God’s truth will ever outweigh a ton of the devil’s
lies. We cannot then silence evil books, but we can turn away our eyes
from them—we can take care that what we read, and what we let others
read, shall be good and wholesome. Now, if ever, are we bound to
remember that books are words, and that words come either from Christ or
the devil,—now, if ever, we are bound to try all books by the Word of
God,—now, if ever, are we bound to put holy and wise books, both
religious and worldly, into the hands of all around us, that if, poor
souls! they must need eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge, they may
also eat of the tree of life,—and now, if ever, are we bound to pray to
Christ the Word of God, that He will raise up among us wise and holy
writers, and give them words and utterance, to speak to the hearts of all
Englishmen the message of God’s covenant, and that he may confound the
devil and his lies, and all that swarm of vile writers who are filling
England with trash, filth, blasphemy, and covetousness, with books which
teach men that our wise forefathers, who built our churches and founded
our constitution, and made England the queen of nations, were but
ignorant knaves and fanatics, and that selfish money-making and godless
licentiousness are the only true wisdom; and so turn the divine power of
words, and the inestimable blessing of a free press, into the devil’s
engine, and not Christ’s the Word of God. But their words shall be
brought to nought.
May God preserve us and all our friends from that defilement, and may He
give you all grace, in these strange times, to take care what you read
and how you read, and to hold fast by the Book of all books, and Christ
the Word of God. Try by them all books and men; for if they speak not
according to God’s law and testimony, it is because there is no truth in
them.
SERMON XXV.
THE COURAGE OF THE SAVIOUR.
JOHN, xi. 7, 8.
“Then after that saith He to His disciples, Let us go into Judea
again. His disciples say to Him, Master, the Jews of late sought to
stone thee, and goest thou thither again?”
WE all admire a brave man. And we are right. To be brave is God’s gift.
To be brave is to be like Jesus Christ. Cowardice is only the devil’s
likeness. But we must take care what we mean by being brave. Now, there
are two sorts of bravery—courage and fortitude. And they are very
different: courage is of the flesh,—fortitude is of the spirit. Courage
is good, but dumb animals have it just as much as we. A dog, a tiger,
and a horse, have courage, but they have no fortitude,—because fortitude
is a spiritual thing, and beasts have no spirits like ours.
What is fortitude? It is the courage which will make us not only fight
in a good cause, but suffer in a good cause. Courage will help us only
to give others pain; fortitude will help us to bear pain ourselves. And
more, fortitude will make a fearful person brave, and very often the more
brave the more fearful they are. And thus it is that women are so often
braver than men. We, men, are made of coarser stuff; we do not feel pain
as keenly as women; and if we do feel, we are rightly ashamed to shew it.
But a tender woman, who feels pain and sorrow infinitely more than we do,
who need not be ashamed of being frightened, who perhaps is terrified at
every mouse and spider,—to see her bearing patiently pain, and sorrow,
and shame, in spite of all her fearfulness, because she knows it is her
duty—that is Christ’s likeness—that is true fortitude—that is a sight
nobler than all the “bull-dog courage” in the world. For what is the
courage of the bull-dog after all, or of the strong quarrelsome man? He
is confident in his own strength, he is rough and hard, and does not care
for pain; and when he thrusts his head into a fight, like a surly dog, he
does it not because it is his duty, but because he likes it, because he
is angry, and then every blow and every wound makes him more angry, and
he fights on, forgetting his pain from blind rage.
That is not altogether bad; men ought to be courageous. But, oh! my
friends, is there not a more excellent way to be brave? and which is
nobler, to suffer bravely for God’s sake, or to beat men made in God’s
image bravely for one’s own sake? Think of any fight you ever saw, and
then compare with that the stories of those old martyrs who died rather
than speak a word against their Saviour. If you want to see true
fortitude, think of what has happened thousands of times when the heathen
used to persecute the Christians.—How delicate women, who would not
venture to set the sole of their foot to the ground for tenderness, would
submit, rather than give up their religion and deny the Lord who died for
them, to be torn from husband and family, and endure nakedness, and
insult, and tortures which make one’s blood run cold to read of, till
they were torn slowly piecemeal, or roasted in burning flames, without a
murmur or an angry word,—knowing that Christ, who had borne all things
for them, would give them strength to bear all things for Him, trusting
that if they were faithful unto death, He would give them a crown of
life. There was true fortitude—there was true faith—there was God’s
strength made perfect in woman’s weakness! Do you not see, my friends,
that such a death was truly brave? How does bull-dog courage shew beside
that courage—the courage which conquers grief and pain for duty’s-sake,
instead of merely forgetting them in rage and obstinacy?
And do you not see how this bears on my text? How it bears on our Lord’s
whole life? Was he not indeed the perfectly brave man—the man who
endured more than all living men put together, at the very time that he
had the most intense fear of what he was going to suffer? And stranger
still, endured it all of His own will, while He had it in His power to
shake it all off any instant, and free Himself utterly from pain and
suffering.
Now, this speech of our Lord’s in the text is just a case of true
fortitude. He was beyond Jordan. He had been forced to escape thither
to save His life from the mad, blinded Jews. He had no foolhardiness; He
knew that He had no more right than we have to put His life in danger
when there was no good to be done by it. But now there _was_ good to be
done by it. Lazarus was dead, and He wanted to raise him to life.
Therefore He said to His disciples, “Let us go into Judea again.” They
knew the danger; they said, “Master, the Jews of late sought to stone
Thee, and goest Thou thither again?” But He would go; He had a work to
do, and He dared bear anything to do His work. Ay, here is the secret,
this is the feeling which gives a man true courage—the feeling that he
has a work to do at all costs, the sense of duty. Oh! my friends, let
men, women, or children, once feel that they have a duty to perform, let
them once say to themselves, ‘I am bound to do this thing—it is right for
me to do this thing; I owe it as a duty to my family, I owe it as a duty
to my country, I owe it as a duty to God, who called me into this station
of life; I owe it as a duty to Jesus Christ, who bought me with His
blood, that I might do His will and not my own pleasure.’—When a man has
once said that _honestly_ to himself, when that glorious heavenly
thought, ‘_It is my duty_,’ has risen upon his soul, like the sun upon
the earth, warming his heart and enlightening it and making it bring
forth all good and noble fruits, then that man will feel a strength come
to him, and a courage from God above, which will conquer all his fears
and his selfish love of ease and pleasure, and enable him to bear
insults, and pain, and poverty, and death itself, provided he can but do
what is right, and be found by God, whatever happens to him, working
God’s will where God has put him. This is fortitude—this is true
courage—this is Christ’s likeness—this is the courage which weak women on
sick beds may have as well as strong men on the battle-field. Even when
they shrink most from suffering, God’s Spirit will whisper to them, ‘It
is _thy_ duty, it is thy Father’s will,’ and then they will find His
strength made perfect in their weakness, and when their human weakness
fails most God will give them heavenly fortitude, and they will be able,
like St. Paul, to say, “When I am weak, then I am strong, for I can do
all things through Christ, who strengtheneth me.”
And now, remember that there was no pride, no want of feeling to keep up
our Lord’s courage. He has tasted sorrow for every man, woman, and
child, and therefore He has tasted fear also; tempted in all things, like
as we are, that in all things He might be touched with the feeling of our
infirmities,—that there might be no poor soul terrified at the thought of
pain or sorrow, but could comfort themselves with the thought, Well, the
Son of God knows what fear is. He who said that His soul was troubled—He
who at the thought of death was in such agony of terror, that His sweat
ran down to the ground like great drops of blood,—He who cried in His
agony, “Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me,”—He
understands my pain,—He tells me not to be ashamed of crying in my pain
like Him, “Father, if it be possible let this cup pass from me”—for He
will give me the strength to finish that prayer of His, and in the midst
of my trouble say, “Nevertheless, Father, not as I will, but as Thou
wilt.” Remember, again, that our Lord was not like the martyrs of old,
forced to undergo His sufferings whether He liked them or not. We are
too apt to forget that, and therefore we misunderstand our Lord’s
example; and therefore we misunderstand what true fortitude is. Jesus
Christ was the Son of God; He had made the very men who were tormenting
Him; He had made the very wood of the cross on which He hung, the iron
which pierced His blessed hands; and, for aught we know, one wish of His,
and they would all have crumbled into dust, and He have been safe in a
moment. But He would not; He _endured_ the cross. He was the only man
who ever really endured anything at all, because He alone of all men had
perfect power to save Himself, even when He was nailed to the tree,
fainting, bleeding, dying. It was never too late for Him to stop. As He
said to Peter when he wanted to fight for Christ, “Thinkest thou that I
cannot pray to my Father, and He will send me instantly more than twelve
legions of angels?” But _He would not_. He had to save the world, and
He was determined to do it, whatever agony or fear it cost Him. St.
Peter was a _brave_ man. He drew his sword in the garden, and attacked,
single-handed, that great body of armed soldiers; cutting down a servant
of the high-priest’s. But he was only brave, our Lord was more. The
blessed Jesus had true fortitude; He could _bear_ patiently, while Peter
could only rage and fight uselessly. And see how Christ’s fortitude
lasted Him, while Peter’s mere courage failed him. While our Lord was
witnessing that glorious confession of His before Pilate, bearing on
through, without shrinking, even to the cross itself, where was Peter?
He had denied his Master, and ran shamefully away. He had a long lesson
to learn before he was perfect, had Peter. He had to learn not how to
fight, but how to suffer—and he learnt it; and in his old age that
strong, fierce St. Peter had true fortitude to give himself up to be
crucified, like his Lord, without a murmur, and preach Christ’s gospel as
he hung for three whole days upon the torturing cross. There was
fortitude; that violence of his in the garden was only courage as of a
brute animal,—courage of the flesh, not the true courage of the spirit.
Oh, my friends, that we could all learn this lesson, that it is better to
suffer than to revenge, better to be killed than to kill. There are
times when a man must fight—for his country, for just laws, for his
family, but for himself it is very seldom that he must fight. He who
returns good for evil,—he who when he is cursed, blesses those who curse
him,—he, who takes joyfully the spoiling of his goods, who submits to be
cheated in little matters, and sometimes in great ones, sooner than ruin
the poor sinful wretch who has ill-used him; that man has really put on
Christ’s likeness, that man is really going on to perfection, and
fulfilling the law of love; and for everything he gives up for the sake
of peace and mercy, which is for God’s sake, God will reward him
sevenfold into his bosom. There are times when a man is bound to go to
law, bound to expose and punish evil-doers, lest they should, being
unpunished, become confident and go on from bad to worse, and hurt others
as well as him. A man sometimes is bound by his duty to his neighbours
and to society to defend himself, to go to law with those who injure
him,—sometimes; but never bound to revenge himself, never bound to say,
‘He has hurt me, and I will pay him off for it at law;’ that is abusing
law, which is God’s ordinance, for mere selfish revenge. You may say, it
is difficult to know which is which, when to defend oneself, and when
not. It is difficult; without the light of God’s Spirit, I think no man
will know. But let a man live by God’s Spirit, let him pray for
kindliness, mercifulness, manliness, and patience, for true fortitude to
bear and to forbear, and God will surely open his eyes to see when he is
called on to avenge an injury, and when he is called on to suffer
patiently. God will shew him—if a man wishes to be like Christ, and to
work like Christ, at doing good, God will teach him and guide him in all
puzzling matters like this. And do not be afraid of being called cowards
and milksops for bearing injuries patiently—those who call you so will be
likely to be the greatest cowards themselves. Patience is the truest
sign of courage. Ask old soldiers, who have seen real war, and they will
tell you that the bravest men, the men who endured best, not in mere
fighting, but in standing still for hours to be mowed down by
cannon-shot; who were most cheerful and patient in shipwreck, and
starvation and defeat,—all things ten times worse than fighting,—ask old
soldiers, I say, and they will tell you that the men who shewed best in
such miseries, were generally the stillest and meekest men in the whole
regiment: that is true fortitude; that is Christ’s image—the meekest of
men, and the bravest too. And so books say, and seem to prove it, by
many strange stories, that the lion, while he is the strongest and
bravest of beasts of prey, is also the most patient and merciful. He
knows his own strength and courage, and therefore he does not care to be
shewing it off. He can afford to endure an affront. It is only the
cowardly cur who flies out and barks at every passer-by. And so with our
blessed Lord. The Bible calls Him the Lion of Judah; but it also calls
Him the Lamb dumb before the shearers. Ah, my friends, we must come back
to Him, for all the little that is great and noble in man or woman, or
dumb beast even, is perfected in Him; He only is perfectly great,
perfectly noble, brave, meek. He who to save us sinful men, endured the
cross, despising the shame, till He sat down at the right hand of the
Majesty on high, perfectly brave He is, and perfectly gentle, and will be
so for ever; for even at His second coming, when He shall appear the
Conqueror of hell, with tens of thousands of angels, to take vengeance on
those who know not God, and destroy the wicked with the breath of His
mouth, even then in His fiercest anger, the Scripture tells us, His anger
shall be “the anger of the Lamb.” Almighty vengeance and just anger, and
yet perfect gentleness and love all the while.—Mystery of mysteries!—The
wrath of the Lamb! May God give us all to feel in that day, not the
wrath, but the love of the Lamb who was slain for us!
FOOTNOTES
{92} “And when He was come to the other side, into the country of the
Gergesenes, there met Him two possessed with devils, coming out of the
tombs, exceeding fierce, so that no man might pass by that way. And,
behold, they cried out, saying, What have we do with Thee, Jesus, Thou
Son of God? Art Thou come hither to torment us before the time? And
there was a good way off from them an herd of many swine feeding. So the
devils besought him, saying, If Thou cast us out, suffer us to go away
into the herd of swine. And He said unto them, Go. And when they were
come out, they went into the herd of swine: and, behold, the whole herd
of swine ran violently down a steep place into the sea, and perished in
the waters.”
{187} Von Stolberg.