That solemn 'as' lifts itself up before us, shines far ahead of us,
ought to draw us to itself in hope, and not to repel us from itself in
despair. 'As I have loved'—what a tremendous thing for a man to stand
up before his fellows, and say, 'Take Me as the perfect example of
perfect love; and let My example—un-dimmed by the mists of gathering
centuries, and un-weakened by the change of condition, and
circumstance, fresh as ever after ages have passed, and closely-fitting
as ever all varieties of human character and condition—stand before
you; the ideal that I have realised, and you will be blessed in the
proportion in which you seek, though you fail, to realise it!' There
is, I venture to believe, only one aspect of Jesus Christ in which such
a setting forth of Himself as the perfect Incarnation of perfect love
is warrantable; and that is found in the old belief that His very birth
was the result of His love, and that His death was the climax of that
love. And if so, we have to turn to Bethlehem, and the whole life, and
the Cross at its end, as being the Christ-given example and model for
our love to our brethren.
What do we see there? I have said that there is too much of mere sickly
sentimentality about the ordinary treatment of this great commandment,
and that I desired to lift it out of that region into a far nobler,
more strenuous, and difficult one. This is what we see in that life and
in that death:—First of all—the activity of love—'Let _us_ not love in
words, but in deed and in truth'; then we see the self-forgetfulness of
love—'Even Christ pleased not Himself'; then we see the self-sacrifice
of love—'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his
life for his friends.' And in these three points, on which I would fain
enlarge if I might, active love, self-oblivious love, self-sacrificing
love, you have the pattern set for us all. Christian love is no mere
sickly maiden, full of sentimental emotions and honeyed words. She is a
strenuous virgin, girt for service, a heroine ready for dangers, and
prepared to be a martyr if it be needful. Love's language is sacrifice.
'I give thee myself,' is its motto. And that is the pattern that is set
before us all—'as I have loved you.'
I have tried to show you how the commandment was new in many
particulars, and it is for ever new in this particular, that it is for
ever before us, unattained, and drawing faithful hearts to itself, and
ever opening out into new heroisms and, therefore, blessedness, of
self-sacrifice, and ever leading us to confess the differences, deep,
tragic, sinful, between us and Him who—we sometimes think too
presumptuously—we venture to say is our Lord and Master.
Did you ever see in some great picture gallery a copyist sitting in
front of a Raffaelle, and comparing his poor feeble daub, all out of
drawing, and with little of the divine beauty that the master had
breathed over his canvas, even if it preserved the mere mechanical
outline? That is what you and I should do with our lives: take them and
put them down side by side with the original. We shall have to do it
some day. Had we better not do it now, and try to bring the copy a
little nearer to the masterpiece; and let that 'as I have loved you'
shine before us and draw us on to unattainable heights?