Produced by Irma Spehar and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
THE DISCIPLINE OF WAR
_Nine Addresses on the Lessons of the War in Connection with Lent_
FROM ASH WEDNESDAY to EASTER SUNDAY
WITH AN APPENDIX CONTAINING
SUGGESTED SUBJECT FOR MEDITATION, AND SUITABLE PASSAGE OF SCRIPTURE,
FOR EACH DAY IN LENT
BY THE REV.
J. HASLOCH POTTER, M.A.
_Hon. Canon of Southwark and Vicar of St. Mark's, Surbiton, Surrey_
London
SKEFFINGTON & SON
34, Southampton Street, Strand, W.C.
_Publishers to His Majesty the King_
1915
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
The war has introduced into countless lives new conditions, and has
strangely modified, or emphasised, those already existing. These
Addresses, prepared under much stress of other work, are intended to
supply, in very simple fashion, hints for conduct and points for thought
along the lines of our fresh or deepened responsibilities. An Appendix
gives a suggested subject and a passage of Scripture for each day during
Lent. May God the Holy Ghost, without Whom man's best labours are in
vain, bless this little book to its purpose. Please say a prayer for the
writer, who, as much as any, needs grace that he may try to practise
what he preaches.
J. HASLOCH POTTER.
Surbiton.
The Conversion of St. Paul. 1915.
FOREWORD
Kingston House,
Clapham Common.
_January 19th, 1915._
My dear Canon,--
You have invited me to say a few words introductory to the little book
you are putting forth, and of which you have sent me the advance proofs.
From the great excellence of that which I have read, I am convinced
that your Lenten meditations on the Discipline of War, will be of
pre-eminently spiritual value in a time when publications on the
subject are multiplied. That the war is to leave us on a higher
plane of self-discipline, and with higher ideals of citizen life and
responsibility, every Christian must acknowledge. Your little Lenten
scheme is just that which is needed to give reality and action to what
might otherwise be left in the realm of theory. May the Holy Spirit make
use of your work to the benefit of us all and for the Glory of God.
Your sincere friend,
CECIL HOOK,
_Bishop._
CONTENTS
I
PAGE
The Discipline of the Will 1
II
The Discipline of the Body 9
III
The Discipline of the Soul 18
IV
The Discipline of the Spirit 27
V
Discipline through Obedience 35
VI
The Discipline of Sorrow 44
VII
Discipline through bereavement 52
VIII
Discipline through Self-sacrifice 62
IX
Discipline through Victory 70
* * * * *
Appendix 81
THE DISCIPLINE OF WAR
I
=The Discipline of the Will=
ASH WEDNESDAY
Isaiah lviii. 6
"Is not this the fast that I have chosen?"
Discipline is the central idea of the observance of Lent. An
opportunity, rich in its splendid possibilities, comes before us this
year. Much of the discipline of this Lent is settled for us by those
tragic circumstances in which we find ourselves placed.
God seems to be saying to us, in no uncertain tones, "Is not this the
fast that I have chosen?"
Our amusements are already to a large extent curtailed, maybe by our own
individual sorrows or anxieties; maybe by the feeling of the incongruity
of enjoying ourselves while anguish and hardship reign supreme around
us.
Our self-denials are already in operation, under the stress of
straitened means, or the vital necessity of helping others less favoured
than ourselves.
Our devotions have already been increased in frequency and in
earnestness, for the call upon our prayers has come with an insistence
and an imperiousness that brook no denial.
To this extent, and further in many directions, our Lent has been taken
out of our own hands; ordered and pre-arranged by that inscrutable, yet
loving, Providence which has permitted the War to come about.
Thus, at the very outset, we are brought into harmony with the central
idea of discipline--not my will, but God's will.
Broadly, discipline is defined as "Mental and moral training, under
one's own guidance or under that of another": the two necessarily
overlap, and therefore we shall speak of God's discipline, acting upon
us from outside, and of our own co-operation with divine purposes, which
is our discipline of self from within.
In the forefront of the subject, and including every aspect of it upon
which we shall touch, stands that tremendous word--_will_.
Have you ever attempted to gauge the mystery, to sound the depth of
meaning implied in the simple sentence "I will"?
First of all what is the significance of "I"? You are the only one who
can say it of yourself. Any other must speak of you as "he" or "she";
but "I" is your own inalienable possession.
This is the mystery of personality. That accumulation of experience,
that consciousness of identity which you possess as absolutely, uniquely
your own; which none other can share with you in the remotest degree. "A
thing we consider to be unconscious, an animal to be conscious, a person
to be self-conscious."
This leads on to a further mystery, alike concerned with so apparently
simple a matter that its real complexity escapes us.
"I _will_": I, the self-conscious person, have made up my mind what
I am going to do, and, physical obstacles excepted, I will do it.
The freedom of man's will has been the subject of endless dispute from
every point of view, theistic, atheistic, Christian and non-Christian.
Merely as a philosophic controversy it has but little bearing upon daily
life. The staunchest necessitarian, who argues _theoretically_ that
even when he says "I will" he is under the compulsion of external force,
yet acts _practically_ in exactly the same fashion as the rest of
mankind.
When the freedom of the will is considered in relation to religion, then
it bears a totally different aspect. If the will be not free, religion,
as a personal matter, falls to the ground, for its very essence is man's
voluntary choice of God.
Here too those who deny the freedom of man's will doctrinally yet accept
it as a working fact. Calvin, whose theory of Predestination and
Irresistible Grace seems to exclude man from any co-operation in his own
salvation, yet preached a Gospel not to be distinguished from that of
John Wesley!
For us Christians the freedom of the will is absolutely settled by Him
Who says, "Whosoever will let him come."
If you are sometimes troubled by certain passages in Scripture which
seem to imply that God's predestination overrides man's will, remember,
that whenever we are considering any question which concerns both God's
nature and man's nature, difficulty must arise, from the very fact that
our finite mind can only comprehend, and that but imperfectly, man's
side of the transaction. Things which now seem incompatible, such as
prayer and law; miracle and, what we are pleased to call, nature; God's
foreknowledge and man's free-will in the light of eternity will be seen
as only complementary parts of one divine whole.
Remember too that you must take the general bearing of Scripture; not
isolated passages in which, for the necessity of the argument, one side
is strongly emphasised. The Apostle who, thinking of the boundless power
of God's grace, says, "So then it is not of him that willeth nor of him
that runneth, but of God that showeth mercy" (Rom. ix. 16) is the one
who says "He willeth that all men should be saved" (1 Tim. ii. 4).
The love by which the Father gave up His Son; the life and death of that
Son; the ministry of God the Holy Ghost; the whole dispensation of the
Catholic Church, form one great tender appeal to the free-will of man.
Your free-will, my free-will, before which is placed the tremendous
responsibility of choosing or rejecting.
And now from the broad thought of will, at its highest point, occupied
with eternal choices and spiritual decisions, we turn to will as the
governing power in our lives.
It is, to a certain extent, self in action, for before even the
slightest movement of any part of the body, there must have gone,
automatically and unconsciously, an act of will.
Before every deliberate action there takes place a discussion, which
ultimately decides the attitude of the will, that is your final purpose.
Put quite simply, the _motives_ determine the _will_, and are
themselves decided by the _principles_ at the back of them.
Let us make this plain by an illustration. It is pouring with rain, you
are sitting cosily over the fire with an interesting book. The thought
comes into your mind, I ought to go and see my sick friend. Then follows
the deliberation: the flesh says, "To-morrow will do just as well." The
spirit says, "No, it won't; you may both be dead to-morrow." The flesh
says, "Perhaps I shall catch a cold"; the spirit says, "That fear
wouldn't keep you from going to a Picture Palace." The flesh says,
"Perhaps he won't care to see me to-day"; the spirit replies, "It's a
dull, wet afternoon, and he's very likely to be alone."
Now notice that at the back of each set of motives is a vital principle.
In the one case the lower self, in the other the higher self, that is to
say "I" and "God."
The purely natural, human side of even the greatest saint would prefer
to sit over the fire; but then our nature is not left unassisted, and
even in a simple thing like this God the Holy Ghost comes to our aid
with His suggestions of the higher course, and illuminates the path of
duty. That is one of the most blessed features of the ministry of the
Spirit; He enlightens, He persuades, He never compels: if He did, your
will would not be free.
This explains what the discipline of the will really means. It is just
the laying of ourselves open to the voice of the living God, speaking
within us.
As we do this, day by day, the will itself becomes braced and
strengthened, so that the struggle against the lower nature grow less
and less fierce, the power of choosing the higher course more and more
easy.
Here is our first practical thought for this Lent.
Watch yourself and your life, especially in those particulars in which
you know that you have been getting out of hand. The prayers omitted,
curtailed, said carelessly, said or attempted in bed, instead of on your
knees: what a grievous failure, isn't it?
The carelessness about preparation before and thanksgiving after
Communion, the irregularity of your attendances; the habit of
Self-Examination, or of Confession, dropped--why? The Bible neglected.
Then the self-indulgences in the matter of sleep, food, drink, and
purely wasted hours.
All these things are sapping the manhood and dignity of the will.
Sometimes even more dangerously and insidiously than open sins, because
with regard to these conscience does speak; but when we are merely
drifting down the stream of time, the pleasant lapping of the ripples on
the side of the bark lulls conscience into fatal sleep.
Look at your life, ask yourself the question, boldly and honestly, what
is the principle upon which it is being lived, God or self? When the
answer comes you will see clearly the first steps to take in the
disciplining of the will.
Glorious examples of what can be done abound around you. Think you there
has been no struggle on the part of those tens of thousands who have
given up comforts, home, prospects, harmless pleasures, in exchange for
the ghastly miseries of the trenches, the appalling risks by land, on or
beneath the sea, in the air, all at the call of a stern, compelling
duty, which told them that the life really worth living was the one
spent, laid down if need be, for King and country?
Think too of the heroism of the wives, the mothers, the sweethearts, on
whose lips there must have trembled over and again, "I will not, I
cannot let you go." Yet the will was disciplined, the words remained
unspoken, the tears were shed in secret, and these brave hearts, even in
breaking, shall find their reward.
It was at Waterloo one afternoon, a young officer was being seen off for
the front by father, brother, and _fiancée_. The two former bravely
and cheerily said their good-bye, and withdrew a little to leave the
young couple for their farewell; a kiss, a close embrace, outward
smiles, but tears very near the eyes; and then as the officer got into
the carriage just this one remark: "It's precious hard upon the women."
What a world of meaning there was in that.
Above all, as your pattern and your power, look to Him Who said, "I came
down from Heaven not to do mine own will but the will of Him that sent
Me."
_For suggested meditations during the week, see Appendix._
II
=The Discipline of the Body=
FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT
1 Cor. ix. 27
"I buffet my body, and bring it into bondage."
On Ash Wednesday we were considering some purely subjective realities,
such as principles, motives, will--things we could not see. To-day we
think about a very objective substance, ever present to our senses--our
body. A man may deny point blank the existence of his soul--using the
word in its ordinary acceptation--he cannot say, "I have not got a
body." Even if he should conceive of that body as a mere bundle of
ideas, an accumulation of sensations, yet there it is, making itself
felt in countless ways.
So intimately bound up is it with every part of our life, apparently so
infinitely the most real part of us, that we often think of it as being
our true self. Yet every cell and fibre of it changes in the course of
seven years. Therefore in itself it cannot maintain our identity. Have
you ever pinched your nail, right down at its base, and watched the dark
mass of congealed blood making its way to the tip of the finger, and
then dispersing? This gives you some idea of the pace at which the body
is being burned up and renewed.
All the while the personal "I" remains, deep-seated in the
self-conscious intellect, memory, will.
Of course the body plays an immensely important part in the complex
story of our existence. It is the machine by which the personal self
acts, speaks, loves, hates, chooses, refuses; therefore we can neither
ignore it nor despise it.
The popular notion concerning religion is that it is meant only for the
salvation of the soul. If this were so, then the coming of the Holy
Ghost would have sufficed for all needs.
One manifest purpose of the Incarnation was to give to the body the
possibility of holiness here, resurrection hereafter.
Very marvellous is the dignity conferred upon the body by the fact the
"Word was made flesh." From that flows forth the high position of the
Christian, whose body is a "temple of the Holy Ghost."
It is through the body that we receive the Sacraments, which are means
of grace to the soul.
Did time permit, it would be deeply interesting to trace out the use of
the word body in this connection--the natural body of our Lord, His
spiritual body after the Resurrection, His mystical body, the Church, in
which sense He Himself is called "the Saviour of the body" (Eph. v. 23),
His Sacramental Body, of which He says, "This is my body."
The discipline of the body.
The thought is prominently before us at the present moment, and first
let us look at it from its purely material side. Thousands of youths who
a few months ago were slouching, narrow-chested, feeble specimens of
underbred humanity, have now-expanded into well set up, hardened men.
The body has been disciplined by drill, exercises, route-marching, and
the like. Those who return from the war uninjured will, we may hope, be
in such improved condition as may somewhat compensate for the terrible
loss of vigorous life which is taking place.
Had there been universal military training of the youth of our land for
the past few generations, either the present war would never have taken
place; or the results of the first three weeks of it would have been
vastly different from what they were.
Now take another significant fact: letter after letter from the front
says, "We are all very fit." The average "fitness" in the trenches is,
broadly speaking, higher than that of training camps at home, especially
of those where little or no supervision is exercised as to strong drink.
How plainly this shows that hardness, even of an extreme character,
braces up the body; softness and self-indulgence enfeeble it.
S. Paul affords a wonderful illustration of this; obviously a man of
very delicate health, frequently ill (probably this was the thorn in the
flesh), yet accomplishing vast labours, and, in addition, buffeting his
own flesh lest it should get the upper hand.
Here, then, we reach the first great principle in the discipline of the
body. It must not have its own way, or it will infallibly assert its
sway over the man's real self.
That is what happens in the case of the habitual drunkard or the slave
of lust. That which at first is a temptation, perfectly capable of being
resisted, becomes at last what the doctors call a "physical" craving
that, humanly speaking, cannot be overcome. By constant yielding the
will has been weakened to such an extent that the personal "I" no longer
reigns; the usurping body has taken its place and rules supreme.
Let us take the main thought of self-control, which is the true
rendering of the word temperance, the state in which, as S. James says,
the man is "able to bridle the whole body" (S. James iii. 2), and test
ourselves by it this Lent. Am I retaining my dominion over my body, or
is it gradually pushing itself into my place?
Self-examination, honestly performed, will reveal this at once, for
conscience, unless blunted by neglect, will speak infallibly.
For instance, when you find some indulgence of the flesh concerning
which you say "I can't help it," there your body has vanquished you. It
is absorbing your personality, robbing you of your divine birthright, in
which you say, "I will," "I will not."
And now to go a step further--the disciplining of the body, care in
regard to eating, drinking, amusements, and the like; strictness as to
luxuries and things which, though lawful, may not be expedient, not only
tend to bodily strength and mere physical well-being, but brace up the
will power, because they entail the constant exercise of it.
Here is where the practical wisdom of the Church comes in as regards
fasting. One day in every week is set apart, beside other days and
seasons, as a reminder of the fact that fasting is a duty of the
Christian life, just as much as almsgiving and prayer--a duty sanctified
by the example enjoined by the precept of our Lord Himself.
True, no hard and fast rules are laid down, but a little sanctified
common sense will dictate to us how to make fast-days a reality, by some
simple acts of self-denial.
Our last thought is one of intense practical importance--our attitude at
the present moment towards strong drink.
Lord Kitchener and the Archbishop of Canterbury have both on several
occasions called the attention of the nation to the terrible evils
arising from the unhappy custom of treating soldiers to strong drink.
_Punch_, always on the side of morality and rightness, has dealt
with it in the following trenchant fashion:--
TO A FALSE PATRIOT
He came obedient to the Call;
He might have shirked, like half his mates
Who, while their comrades fight and fall,
Still go to swell the football gates.
And you, a patriot in your prime,
You waved a flag above his head,
And hoped he'd have a high old time,
And slapped him on the back, and said:
"You'll show 'em what we British are!
Give us your hand, old pal, to shake";
And took him round from bar to bar
And made him drunk--for England's sake.
That's how you helped him. Yesterday
Clear-eyed and earnest, keen and hard,
He held himself the soldier's way--
And now they've got him under guard.
That doesn't hurt you; you're all right;
Your easy conscience takes no blame;
But he, poor boy, with morning's light,
He eats his heart out, sick with shame.
What's that to you? You understand
Nothing of all his bitter pain;
You have no regiment to brand;
You have no uniform to stain;
No vow of service to abuse;
No pledge to King and country due;
But he has something dear to lose,
And he has lost it--thanks to you.[1]
[Footnote 1: O.S. in _Punch_, November 4th, 1914. By kind
permission of the Proprietors.]
A man who had so distinguished himself at the front as to be mentioned
in a despatch came home slightly wounded. In less than twenty-four hours
he was in a cell at a police station, and the next day fined forty
shillings. Oh! the pathetic pity of it. That man got into trouble
through the exhibition of one of the purest and best features of our
human nature, the desire to show kindness. In their well-intentioned
ignorance this man's friends--yes, they were real friends--knew of only
one way of displaying friendliness--they gave him liquor.
I am not going to blame them, nor him entirely; I am going to lay some
of the fault upon ourselves.
Since the beginning of the last century the habits of the upper classes,
to use a generic though unpleasant term, have improved immeasurably.
Then excess was more or less the rule among men of good position, was to
a certain extent expected and provided for; witness _The School for
Scandal_, or the leading novels of the period. Now, the man who
disgraces himself at a dinner-table is never invited again.
And even as we go down in the social scale much improvement is apparent.
Those who remember Bank Holidays on their first introduction will
recollect that the excess of the working classes was quite open and
shameless; but to-day some effort is generally made by the victims, or
their friends, to hide the disgrace, because Public Opinion is
improving. That is where we come in.
Many causes of intemperance in strong drink are matters for legislative
or municipal action; for example, overcrowding, insanitary dwellings or
surroundings, sweating, excessive hours of labour, adulteration of
liquors. But there are two factors upon which we can exercise direct
influence, because they are connected with that great corporate entity
called Public Opinion.
First let us take the one upon which we have already touched--the notion
that friendliness and good fellowship are essentially connected with
strong drink. This is at the bottom of those terrible scenes when troops
are leaving our great London railway stations. Scenes so inexpressibly
sad to all thinking people.
Everyone who abstains entirely, or who takes the khaki button--a pledge
not to treat nor be treated to strong drink during the continuance of
the war--is helping to knock a nail into the coffin of one of the
silliest and most fatal delusions that has ever wrought havoc to body,
soul, and spirit.
And then there is that other weird notion that you cannot be really
strong and healthy without stimulant. For you the glass of beer or wine
may be a mere harmless luxury, in the way in which you take it. I
purposely exclude spirits, which I am fanatic enough to think should
only be used medicinally. But every individual total abstainer helps to
swell the testimony not only to the non-necessity of alcohol, but to the
fact that, according to the view of a large part of the medical
profession, the human frame is better without it.
You may say, "What good will my abstinence do to people with whom I
never come in contact?" Tell me what influence really is; how it
spreads, by what unseen modes it ramifies and extends.
Tell me the real significance, the true spiritual value, of the fact
that "if one member suffer, all the members suffer with it: if one
member rejoice, all the members rejoice with it."
Then perhaps you can explain in some way, how your abstinence shall
spread to desolated homes, to stricken lives, in crowded slums or quiet
villages, in fire-raked trenches or storm-tossed ships.
No act of self-sacrifice for His sake, Who though He was rich yet for
our sakes became poor, ever went without its rich reward.
No tiny wave of influence ever yet sped forth from a Christian heart,
but what reached its mark and wrought its work of beneficent power.
_For suggested meditations during the week, see Appendix._
III
=The Discipline of the Soul=
SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT
St. John vi. 38
"For I am come down from Heaven, not to do Mine own will, but
the will of Him that sent Me."
To-day we are going to speak of the soul not in its popular sense, as
set over against the body, but in the scriptural meaning of the word as
the broad equivalent of life.
To enter upon a philosophical discussion might prove interesting from a
merely academic point of view, but would be eminently unpractical.
Suffice it to say that when S. Paul speaks of the "body, soul and
spirit" (1 Thess. v. 23), he takes the two latter as different faculties
of the invisible part of man.
Soul ([Greek: psychê]) is the lower attribute which man has in common
with the animals; spirit ([Greek: pneuma]) the higher one which they do
not possess, and which makes man capable of religion.
In this sense, then, the soul would mean the life the man or woman is
leading, in the home, the business, the pleasures, the relaxations, as
distinct from the definite exercise of devotion or worship.
Of course it is absolutely impossible to draw a hard and fast line
between sacred and secular. All secular affairs, rightly conducted, have
their sacred side; and conversely all sacred matters have their secular
side, for they form part of the life the man is living "in the age."
It is the neglect of this truth which is responsible for much of the
moral and religious failure of the day.
Business is secular, prayer is sacred, and so they have no practical
connection each with other.
Amusement is secular (often vastly too much so, in the very lowest sense
of the word); Holy Communion is sacred; therefore there is no link
between them. Whereas the prayer and the Communion should be the
ennobling and sanctifying power alike of work and play.
Bearing this caution in mind, we shall to-day look at certain features
of the so-called secular life of the day in which discipline needs to be
strongly exercised.
No doubt about it, the soul of the nation has been growing sick, sick
"nigh unto death."
Luxury has been increasing with giant strides; the mad race for pleasure
has helped to empty our Churches, to rob our Charities, to diminish the
number of our Candidates for Holy Orders, to make countless ears deaf to
the call which the country, through that magnificent Christian soldier,
Lord Roberts, and many others, has been making to manhood of the land.
Week-ending, meals in restaurants, turning night into day, have robbed
home-life of its grace and power, and produced a generation of young
folk _blasé_ and discontented before they are out of girlhood and
boyhood.
With this has come, inevitably, the loss of sense of responsibility. So
long as I can enjoy myself and get my own way, why should I vex myself
with the outworn question, "Am I my brother's keeper?" No! That has gone
into the limbo of effete superstition.
And further, loss of the sense of proportion. There are some to whom it
causes no moral shock to wear a dress costing a hundred guineas, while a
vast number of seamstresses, shirtmakers, artificial flower makers,
boot-closers, and the like, are working seventy hours for 5s. to 8s. a
week. One mantle-presser, in Dalston, receives 1/2_d._ per mantle;
she is most respectable, has four children, and earns from 5_s._
6_d._ to 7_s._ a week!
We do not grumble at the hundred guineas being spent upon the dress, or
a thousand guineas even, if the money went in due proportion all round
to supply the _full living wage to each one engaged in its production_:
and if the wearer interested herself keenly in social problems, and used
her means wisely and well to afford relief where it was needed. This,
alas! does not happen when the sense of proportion is lacking.
Take another case--alas! a fearfully common one. Men and women will
gamble recklessly at Bridge, lose heavily, pay up, at whatever cost,
because it is _a debt of honour_. All the while a hard-pressed
tailor, a famished dressmaker and her children are kept out of their
money, because it is only _a debt of commerce_. Could there be a
more ghastly parody on the word honour?
Yet once more--the lack of seriousness. By seriousness we do not mean
gloominess, nor withdrawal from society, or anything of the kind. We
mean the flippant attitude towards life, the lack of serious, sustained
interest in literature, in music, in art, in the legitimate drama;
witness the theatres being turned into cinema shows, and the terrible
paucity of sound, strong plays. Everything must be scrappy, light, and
if a little (or more than a little) risky, so much the better.
We do not for a moment say that these evils are universal, God forbid,
but none can deny that they have eaten deep into a large part of
society, using the word in its broadest, not in its technical sense.
The soul of the nation needed discipline, and it has come suddenly,
sharply, but, who shall dare to say, not mercifully?
And even in its very coming it brought a tremendous opportunity, for we
were not compelled to make war, notice that!
We had an option. The temptation was subtle. You have no concern with
Servia, throw over Belgium, let France take care of itself.
For a time, probably a very short time, we should have avoided war and
its horrors. The bait was held out by some peddling politicians that we
should have stood in a magnificent position to obtain trade, to control
markets, to dictate prices to the rest of the world. Magnificent
prospect! We went to war, and, by a strange paradox, secured peace with
honour: peace of the national conscience. Had we forsaken Belgium we
could never again have held up our heads among civilised honourable
nations. Thus the very circumstances under which the War came about
formed an appeal to the soul of the nation as embodied in its
legislature; the Government rang true, and the nation, as one man,
endorsed its decision.
And now the discipline has commenced.
Who can be flippant and careless with our coast towns liable to
bombardment, and over a hundred lives already sacrificed in this little
island, which we have always deemed to be the one absolutely secure spot
in the whole world? Five months ago an earthquake in London would have
seemed a far more likely event than the bombardment of Hartlepool,
Scarborough, Whitby, and the dropping of shells on Yarmouth foreshore,
or of bombs at Dover and Southend.
Who can be unconcerned when our ships are liable at any moment, and
apparently in almost any place, to be sent headlong to the bottom of the
sea by torpedoes or mines; possibly sometimes by those very mines we
have been compelled to lay, and which happen to have broken loose?
This is one of the unavoidable hazards of war under modern conditions.
It does not make us ignore the magnificent work of our Fleet, nor
tremble for the ultimate issue.
Who can be giddy and careless with darkened streets, trains, trams, all
telling of the awful possibilities of the new development of aerial
warfare?
Who, even among those not directly touched by anxiety or bereavement,
can go on just as usual in luxury, self-indulgence, and ease amid the
crushing mass of suffering around them on all sides?
Thank God that, though we may have erred very grievously through
softness of living, we are not a callous people, but we needed a strong,
stern discipline of the national soul; some stirring and trumpet-tongued
appeal to the national life, and in the righteous mercy of God it has
come.
Some of the immediate effects are obvious; but what are the lasting
results to be?
The _Guardian_, of a few weeks back, thus soundly comments upon the
matter:--
"It is true that the outbreak of war put a sudden end to much that
was thoughtless, stupid, and even base in contemporary life. 'Tango
teas' and afternoon Bridge among women have receded almost as far
into ancient history as dinners at Ranelagh or suppers at Cremorne.
But human nature is easily frightened into propriety by a crisis;
it is not so easy to maintain the new way of life when the fright
is safely over. The things that are amiss in our national life, and
above all that lack of seriousness which so many observers have
lamented during the last few years, can be amended only by a clear
conviction of the inherent unsoundness of our outlook, and a firm
determination to rebuild it upon new and more stable foundations."
The soul of the nation needs discipline, and that can only come through
the effort of the individual to discipline his own life.
There is a ceaseless temptation to echo the cry of the disciples in
regard to the few loaves and fishes: "What are they among so many?"
Of what value or power is my feeble little life among the teeming
millions that go to make up the nation?
Put away the thought, for it is a direct temptation of the Devil.
It was just when, in the very depths of his human despair, Elijah cried
out, "I, I only am left," that God revealed to him the seven thousand
men who had not bowed the knee to Baal.
It was because Athanasius was content to stand _contra mundum_,
against the world, that the Catholic faith was preserved to the Church.
Let us very seriously examine ourselves as to the use we are making of
our life with regard to other people.
We have considered that life, in various details, in respect to
ourselves, and only incidentally as it affects others, but now let us
put away all thought of self.
Take the one absolute standard of life as set in the text, "I came down
from Heaven, not to do mine own will, but the will of Him that sent me."
The result was a life entirely devoted, from the first moment to the
last, to one stupendous cause: the lifting up of humanity to the very
throne of God.
You and I cannot reach even a fraction of the way towards that perfect
standard; but it is our pattern, our plummet, our measuring-line.
Very practically, then, we must ask ourselves such questions as these:
What proportion of my time is spent for others?
Have I any method of employing time or any stated hours that I give to
philanthropic or religious work; or do I just, in a casual way, let
other people have odd moments, when I happen to think of it?
Similar questions should be asked as to money. Many people, especially
those who do not keep accounts (which everyone ought to do), would be
shocked if at the end of a year they could see the enormous
disproportion between the vast amount they have frittered away on self,
and the pitiful little doles they have handed out in the cause of
charity.
One man, who kept three cars for private use, reduced an already paltry
allowance made to a dependent because the price of petrol had gone up!
It is not that people cannot give; it is often only that they do not
think. Look at the vast sums being poured into the Relief Funds. Why has
not some proportion of it gone long ago to Hospitals obliged to close
their wards, Waifs and Strays Societies compelled to refuse poor little
outcasts? The money was there; it could have been spared then as well as
now, but it needed some great shock to wake its owners up to the sense
of proportion, the realisation of responsibilities.
And so in regard to such gifts as music, painting, acting, mechanics,
stitchery; even such simple things as reading and writing. Have you ever
read a book to, or written a letter for, anyone else? We might multiply
these questions indefinitely, but enough has been said to enable us
seriously to take in hand the disciplining of the soul, remembering that
this life of ours is a precious loan entrusted to us by God the Father,
redeemed for us by God the Son, sanctified in us by God the Holy Ghost,
to be used by us, in due proportion, for our neighbours and ourselves.
_For suggested meditations during the week, see Appendix_.
IV
=The Discipline of the Spirit=
THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT
St. Luke vi. 12.
"He continued all night in Prayer to God."
Last week we looked at the soul as that faculty of life which, to a
certain extent, we share with animals; to-day we pass on to consider,
under the title of spirit, the higher endowment by which man is enabled
to look up and, in the fullest exercise of his whole being, to say
"my God."
A man without religion is undeveloped in regard to the highest part of
his complex nature. In attaining to self-consciousness, and the special
powers it brings, he has gone one step further than the animal, but
has utterly failed of his true purpose. The supreme object of the
self-consciousness, which reveals to him his personality, is that it
should disclose its own origin in the personality of God.
One very striking effect of the War has been to produce a vast amount of
testimony to the fact that man is, broadly speaking, religious by
nature.
The services in the places of worship all over the land have been
multiplied, intercession is becoming a felt reality, congregations have
grown.
It is asserted, by those who have the best means of knowing, that by
far the majority of the letters from the front contain references to
religion, such as acknowledgments of God's providence, prayer for His
help, or requests for the prayers of others. Sometimes, in the strange
double-sidedness of human nature, accompanied by expletives obviously
profane. Mention is often made of the bowed heads, and the prayer, in
which both sides join, at the time of a joint burial during a temporary
truce.
All these things show that the deeps of the fountains of natural
religion have been broken up in wondrous fashion.
Our question to-day is: How shall we discipline that spirit which
enables us to realise religion as a fact?
Let us try to get to the root of the matter.
There are two chief derivations of the word religion. One comes from the
verb which means "to go through, or over again, in reading, speech, or
thought." Hence religion is the regular or constant habit of revering
the gods, and would be represented by the word devotion--an aspect most
important to bear in mind.
The other derivation, and the more usual, derives religion from the idea
of binding together, and tells of communion between man and God. For us
Christians this thought finds its highest ideal and fulfilment in the
Incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ.
The great characteristic action of religion is prayer; varying in its
methods and degrees from merely mechanical performances, like the
praying wheels of the Chinese up to the heart devotion of the Christian,
poured out when commemorating, in the Holy Communion, the death and
resurrection of His Lord.
The first essential of any prayer which is to be of value in the
discipline of the spirit is regularity. No words can exaggerate the
importance of morning prayer. Yet, alas! tens of thousands of professing
Christians are content with evening prayer alone. The one who goes forth
in the morning prayerless is just as ill-equipped to do his duty, and
meet his temptations, as the foodless man is to perform physical work.
The whole story of the saintly life, alike in the Old Testament, the New
Testament, and the Church, is that of diligence in prayer. It was to
promote that spirit that the Church of Christ, following on the lines of
the Jewish Church, from very early days adopted special hours for stated
devotions, with the daily offering of the Holy Eucharist linking the
whole system together.
The lowest standard to aim at is private prayer morning and evening,
midday too if possible, and regular attendances at God's House on
Sundays and Feast Days. The guiding principle, to be kept ever in mind,
is not what my own inclinations suggest, but what the glory of God
demands. Were this always the case, what magnificent congregations there
would be.
Prayer represents a real business of the spirit into which we put the
whole endowment of our being, intellect, memory, emotion, will.
Oh! those wandering thoughts, how they do distress us; and just in
proportion as we wish to pray and are learning to pray, so we feel our
deficiencies the more keenly.
A few moments before we commence our prayers spent in saying very
quietly, "Thou God seest me," or "In the name of the Father and of the
Son and of the Holy Ghost," coupled with a simple yet earnest act of the
realisation of God's presence, will be of infinite use.
The railway train coming into a station does not draw up with a jerk,
but gradually slows down. So with us; we cannot come out of our rushing
lives all in a moment into the quiet of God's presence; we need to slow
down.
But much of the wandering in prayer is the direct result of the habit of
wandering in life. Flitting from one subject, one book, one occupation
to another; scrappy reading, talking, thinking; then, as a natural
consequence, scrappy praying. A great master of the spiritual life used
to say, "You will get far more help in your prayers by leading a more
useful life, than by making tremendous efforts after concentration when
you are actually at prayer."
The one who tries to keep alive the habitual sense of God's presence
makes his whole life a prayer, of which the stated devotions only form a
natural part. It is comparatively easy for such a one to concentrate his
thought and to keep his attention fixed when engaged in his prayers.
Just a word or two about books of devotion. They serve a most useful
purpose, especially in preparation and thanksgiving for Confession or
Communion, but should never be allowed to take the entire place of the
Christian's glorious privilege of pleading the "Abba Father," and
speaking to God in his own words, day by day.
Be careful not to use prayers which are manifestly beyond your own
standpoint or out of harmony with your own feeling. The mere repetition
of phrases that do not represent your inner attitude towards truth only
tends to formality; the effort to force a kind of artificial conformity,
because you think you ought to feel this or that, invariably ends in
unreality. Given these cautions, devotional books may be of great use,
even for regular daily prayer, and often help to call back the thoughts
which are flying off at a tangent.
To speak of discipline without touching upon Confession would be to omit
one of its most essential features. Nightly self-examination must be
performed, and that not perfunctorily, but with real intention of
repentance and strictness of living. Self-examination is nothing more
nor less than spiritual account-keeping; without it the man has no real
idea of how the business of his soul stands.
When it reveals the fact that sin is making headway and the spirit
losing ground, then the wise teaching of the Prayer Book should be
followed; "the grief"--for such it ought to be--opened in Confession to
God, before one of God's ministers, and the benefit of absolution
secured.
Much of the terrible prejudice felt against this practice arises from
the mistaken idea that the priest professes to forgive us our sins. The
words of the Absolution in the Visitation of the Sick, in our own Prayer
Book, put the matter on its true footing:--"Our Lord Jesus Christ, Who
hath left power to His Church to absolve, ... _forgive_ thee ... and
by His authority ... I _absolve_ thee." The source of all pardon and
the right to exercise it rest in God alone, but the message declaring
the fact is part of the "ministry of reconciliation," committed, in the
infinite condescension of God, to the "earthen vessels." An illustration
may be taken from the pardon of a criminal condemned to death; the Home
Secretary recommends it, but the King, on his sole authority, grants it,
and then the message, the _absolvo te_, which lets the man go free,
is delivered by the governor of the gaol.
Penitents, especially after a first confession at some crisis in mature
life, often bear witness to the fact that it seemed to bring them
straight into the presence of Jesus Christ; to make them feel the
reality of His pardoning blood in a way they never could have believed
possible. How strange that the very thing which by so many pious and
thoroughly honest souls is dreaded because it is supposed to bring a man
in between God and the soul, should yet so often be used by the Holy
Spirit to give a wondrous and precious vision of Christ the Saviour.
Thus far we have spoken only of that kind of occasional Confession which
is obviously contemplated by the Prayer Book; we have no time to dwell
on its habitual use.
Suffice it to quote some words from the first English Prayer Book:--
"Requiring such as shall be satisfied with a general confession, not
to be offended with them that do use, to their further satisfying,
the auricular and secret confession to the priest; nor those which
think needful or convenient to open their sins to the priest to be
offended with them that are satisfied with their humble confession
to God, and the general confession to the Church."
That staunch Evangelical Churchman, Bishop Thorold, who was strongly
opposed to habitual Confession in our Communion, once said, "We cannot
ignore the fact that the giants of old owed much of that saintliness,
which we of the present day can only wonder at but cannot reproduce, to
the practice of Confession."
If you should be in doubt about it for yourself, consult some
spiritually-minded person who possesses experience in the matter. Not,
on the one hand, the man who will tell you that it is the greatest curse
the Church has ever known; nor, on the other, the one who would have it
practised by everybody.
Surely for us sober Church folk there must be a loyal middle course,
which leaves absolute freedom, so long as the individual "follows and
keeps the rule of charity, and is satisfied with his own conscience."
Last, but most important of all, in the discipline of the spirit comes
the Holy Communion, about which we shall speak next week.
As our closing thought, let us go back to what we said just now. The
object of religion is God's glory, not man's enjoyment. See how this
puts feelings down into their right, and subordinate, place. They are
sometimes very delightful, sometimes very depressing, but always liable
to be misleading. A great saint of old used to say:--"If God never gave
me another moment of sensible devotion in prayer, I would go on praying,
because His glory demands it."
Religion has to do with facts: the facts of what God the Father, God the
Son, and God the Holy Ghost have done, and are doing, for us; the facts
of what we have to do, to make the finished work of Christ our own.
Here, as always, our Lord Himself gives us the highest illustration.
Neither as God, nor yet as perfect Man, was there an actual need for Him
to pray; yet His whole life was punctuated with prayer: first because
the glory of the Father required it, and next because His chosen
Apostles must be taught by example as well as precept.
Let the same mind dwell in us. It is for the glory of God that I should
have salvation; therefore by the help of God I will discipline my
spirit.
_For suggested Meditations during the week see Appendix._
V
=Discipline through Obedience=
FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT
St. Luke xxii. 19
"This do in remembrance of Me."
Our subject of to-day flows quite naturally out of what we said last
week. Religion rests on facts, and its object is God's glory, not merely
our profit. Our duty, therefore, is an absolute submission to those
facts--in other words, implicit obedience.
This is being illustrated on all sides in regard to the War.
The facts are indisputable. Lord Selborne put the matter in a nutshell
when he said: "The task in front of us is colossal. We are fighting for
nothing less than our lives, in circumstances which make it the duty of
every Englishman to put everything in the world he possesses, everything
that he values, into the scale to ensure success, and I am sure there is
not one of us, whatever his position, who would flinch in the slightest
from the duty he owes to his country and to his deepest self."
The response to the facts has been obedience, immediate and
unquestioning, on the part of a vast number. True, not all have yet been
reached who ought to come forward, and some are even now crying out for
that compulsory service which may yet prove inevitable. They forget that
the obedience of one free man is worth more than the forced submission
of many. Let us wait hopefully, energetically; losing no opportunity of
pressing the stern logic of facts wherever we may.