discipline totally different from that of the sternest school or the
strictest house of business. The surrender has been made voluntarily,
and it has placed the whole life in each detail under the claim of an
absolute obedience.
The disposal of every moment of time belongs to the authorities. The
private in high social position must obey the orders of a young
lance-corporal just as exactly as he expected his own commands to be
carried out in his business or his household.
Who can estimate the immense development of moral fibre that surely must
take place in succeeding generations from the fact that so vast a
number, in all ranks of society, are now under obedience? Not because
they were driven to it, but because they embraced it by an initial act
of obedience.
--Thus they answered,--hoping, fearing,
Some in faith, and doubting some,
Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming,
Said, "My chosen people, come!"
Then the drum,
Lo! was dumb,
For the great heart of the nation throbbing,
Answered, "Lord we come."[2]
[Footnote 2: _The Reveille_, Bret Harte.]
Let us apply this thought to the command in our text, "Do this in
remembrance of Me." The facts are undisputed. Our Lord Jesus Christ, in
the tenderness of His compassion, instituted an ordinance by which we
might remember Him and feed upon Him.
Further than this we cannot go on the ground of universal consent.
Strangely enough, that rite which is the same in its central act,
whether celebrated by the nonconformist in his ordinary dress, or the
priest clad in costly vestments, whether in the humble room or the
stately cathedral, which is, on the one hand, the well-nigh universal
mark of all who profess and call themselves Christians, is yet the
battle-ground of fierce dispute and bitter disagreement.
The present crisis is undoubtedly deepening in our minds the exceeding
value of this blessed gift of Christ to His Church.
It is deeply suggestive of the spirit of our young officers that a group
of old public-school boys, just about to leave for the front, should
have begged their late schoolmaster--now a Bishop--to give them a
Celebration of Holy Communion in his own private Chapel on their last
Sunday in England. What a beautiful send-off!
Then, turning to the scene of operations itself, we find a touching
witness in the simple record sent by Admiral Sir John Jellicoe to his
brother at Southampton. "We spent our Christmas Day waiting for the
Germans, who did not appear. But we managed to find time for church and
for three celebrations of Holy Communion, although the whole time we
were cleared for action and the men were at their guns."
Who can contemplate unmoved that spectacle of the men, not gathered in
the peaceful security of the House of God, but out upon the ocean,
expecting attack, realising the possible nearness of the end, leaving
their guns but for the moment, then back again, strengthened for life or
death by the sacred Body and Blood.
Or take the witness of Rev. E.R. Day, one of our Senior Army Chaplains
serving with the Expeditionary Force. While home on a few days' leave he
preached at Lichfield Cathedral, and, touching upon the efficacy of
prayer, testified how enormously it was valued by our soldiers now
serving at the front. The Holy Communion was especially appreciated. On
Christmas Day there were no fewer than seven hundred communicants from
one regiment and four hundred from another, and the service was held in
a ploughed field with a packing-case for an altar. He had conducted
these services sometimes in the back-parlour of a public-house, in a
stable, in a loft, in a lean-to shed, and in the open; anywhere, in
fact, where room could be found. Out on the battlefield there was hardly
any need for a compulsory parade service; the men had only to hear that
a service was to be held and they would crowd to it.
Most of the reasons given by those who stop away from Communion centre
in self.
"I am not worthy." Of course not, nor is the priest who celebrates, nor
is any member of the congregation. We sadly misread that caution of S.
Paul about receiving "unworthily."
Let us take a homely illustration. Our good Queen Victoria was very fond
of visiting cottagers in the Highlands and reading the Scriptures to
them. You can imagine how one of them might say, "I am not worthy of
such an honour; this little place is so poor and mean." Quite true, yet
she could tidy up the home, mend her frock, make everything neat and
clean, so as to receive the Queen "worthily." Until you realise the
fact--
"I am not worthy, gracious Lord,"
you will never receive Him worthily. No one who examines himself,
confesses his sins, and firmly purposes to amend, ever yet came to
Communion unworthily.
"I don't feel inclined to come." Because you have not realised in its
full meaning two facts: yourself as a great sinner, Christ as a great
Saviour. Feelings have nothing to do with duty. If they had, our army
would be about half the size it is. Do you suppose that all those who
are joining the Services like leaving home, wife, friends, comforts?
Feelings have been sacrificed to facts.
"I'm too great a sinner." Then you are not fit to die. Repent, turn to
the Saviour, and then in His holy ordinance you will find the very
strength you need to keep you from falling back.
"I have such terrible temptations." So we all have, priest and people
alike. Temptations are not sins; they are the enemies on the
battlefield, and if you never meet them, you--the Christian soldier
enlisted at your Baptism--will never have the chance of winning a
victory. The one who stays away from Communion because of temptations or
sins, which he is really trying to resist, is like the sick man who
looks at the bottle of medicine and says, "I will take it when I get
well."
"So many communicants are hypocrites." That shows that you know enough
about the Christian life to be able to judge your fellow creatures. Are
you making things any better by neglecting your duty?
"I have got an enemy." Have you honestly tried to be reconciled; are you
willing to forgive and bury the past? "Yes, but he is not." All the more
need then for you to come to the Communion and pray for his heart to be
changed.
It was said of one great saint that some people might never have had the
blessing of his prayers for them but that they were his enemies.
All these excuses centre in self. They could not do otherwise, for no
one has ever yet found in Christ any reason why they should stay away
from Him.
Obedience forms so large a part of discipline--nay, is almost identical
with discipline--because it takes us out of self.
Our Lord Who has bidden us "do this" knows exactly what is best for us.
In putting aside feelings, fancies, unworthy scruples, and casting
ourselves unreservedly upon His boundless mercy, we shall taste of the
treasures of His grace and be satisfied.
One important part of the discipline of this obedience is making a
special and very careful preparation before, and thanksgiving after,
each Communion.
Preparation which consists first of all of real self-examination and
repentance, using fearlessly the "ministry of reconciliation" when
necessary, and then of special prayers which help to put us into the
attitude of hopeful, grateful anticipation.
Thanksgiving; definite prayers and praises, continued for a day or two,
unless we are very frequent communicants, so that we may lose none of
the preciousness of the blessing by our own forgetfulness or
ingratitude.
In this, as we said last week, books can _help_, but that is all;
they cannot make the preparation or the thanksgiving for us.
Early Communion, quite apart from the doctrinal question of fasting
reception, is a useful feature of the discipline of obedience. It is a
custom which comes from primitive times, and is universal in the greater
part of the Catholic Church.
To give the early hours of the day to our Blessed Lord is surely more in
accordance with what His great love requires than to choose our own time
and come when it suits us best: that is when it requires less effort and
self-denial, and when our minds have been distracted by the cares of the
advancing day.
The coming on of old age or sickness may necessarily debar us from the
privilege and joy of early Communion, but, while we can, let us make the
most of the blessed morning hours, when in all the freshness of our
newly awakened life we draw near to Him Who ceaselessly watches over us.
The question is often asked: "How often ought I to receive the Holy
Communion?" The answer depends upon so large a number of considerations
that no general rules can possibly be given. Spiritual capacities vary
infinitely.
One broad principle we can lay down: Do not receive so often that you
begin to neglect preparation and thanksgiving. Better by far six
Communions a year, which have meant real, living intercourse between
yourself and your Saviour, than a weekly one which has degenerated into
a perfunctory form.
It is to be remembered that there is nothing to prevent your attending
the service whenever you wish, joining in the praises and prayers, even
though for some good reason you are not going to receive.
But, whatever your custom may be, have a rule about your times of
receiving, and keep to it strictly.
Aim at regularity for your own sake. One of the greatest causes of
many of the obscure modern complaints is the irregularity of meals,
consequent upon the exacting conditions of life. Precisely so, much
sickness of spirit springs from the careless way in which the chief
spiritual food is treated. People go to the Holy Communion when they
feel inclined, instead of according to a fixed rule, modifying the rule,
just as they would in the case of their meals, by circumstances which
may arise; spiritual sickness might dictate abstention from Communion
for a while, just as bodily disease might require a period of fasting.
Be regular for others' sake. The consistent example of the communicant
who lets neither weather nor inclination interfere with duty exercises
an influence far wider than he could imagine possible.
Be regular for Christ's sake, in grateful recognition of that tender
love which has given us the highest privilege of the Christian life.
Surely never is our Lord more satisfied in seeing of the travail of His
soul than when His faithful ones are gathered before His Holy Table,
worshipping Him in the tremendous reality of His spiritual presence,
feeding upon Him in the mystery of His Body and His Blood.
Thus out of our obedience to the great "Do this" comes discipline of the
highest kind. That discipline which is ever putting self in the
background, ever exalting the person and the work of Christ.
Then follows the reward, never attained by those who in self-interest
seek it, only poured forth upon such as are content to lose their life
in finding it, "He that eateth Me, even he shall live by Me."
_For suggested Meditations during the week see Appendix._
VI
=The Discipline of Sorrow=
FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT
Revelations vii. 14
"These are they who came out of great tribulation, and have washed
their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."
Two considerations only can throw any light on the dark mystery of
suffering, the problem which has baffled the intellect, the perplexity
which has torn the heart of mankind from the dawn of conscious life--"I
believe that Jesus Christ was incarnate by the Holy Ghost of the Virgin
Mary, and was made man"; "I believe in the life of the world to come."
The two thoughts blend in our text with a harmony of illumination which,
though it does not solve the problem, renders it less dark.
Only in the light of another world, where the seed sown here shall bear
wondrous fruit, can we even begin to reconcile the existence of
suffering with the goodness of Almighty God. If there be no hereafter,
then indeed suffering must be the work of a vengeful tyrant rejoicing in
cruelty, or of a fatalistic machine grinding out its foreordained
consequences.
What we require is some comprehensive plan which will knit together
past, present, future in one great purpose of progress towards ultimate
perfection, which will guarantee not only _an_ existence hereafter,
but will render that existence personal, conscious, capable of the
highest development.
We find this in the Incarnation, the eternal purpose of God the Father,
formed in the eternity of _the past_, that His Son should take our
human flesh.
This plan is working itself out in _the present_ by the power of
God the Holy Ghost, through the life of the great Church of Christ,
militant and expectant.
It stretches forth into the future, with regard to which we have
parables, promises, visions, warnings, all pointing to a continuously
progressive growth till the perfect manifestation of the Kingdom of
Christ be reached.
Thus the Incarnation supplies the unifying principle, and in its light
we catch some ray of hope on the dark problem of suffering.
In consequence of sin our Lord was a sufferer, even in some mysterious
sense was "made perfect through suffering" (Heb. ii. 10).
The climax came in the "full, perfect, and complete sacrifice, oblation,
and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world" made upon the Cross.
It is suggestive that these words should occur in the Consecration
Prayer of the Holy Communion Service, as if to remind us that our true
spiritual and commemorative sacrifice draws all its validity, power, and
preciousness from the one offering of Christ made by Himself in His
death.
Thus we see that most essential act for our salvation was not one of
victory, triumph, or glory, as the world reckons these things. Oh, no!
It was one of absolute self-surrender, involving untold anguish of soul
and body. The results of the sufferings of our Lord have justified their
tremendous cost.
Its efficacy consisted not in the physical pains, but in the entire
yielding up of the will. Thus it represents for us that victory over
self which is the only path to eternal life.
But this victory, even now in these emphatically feather-bed days, is
always more or less painful. In the early times it meant persecution,
poverty, isolation, death, for the sake of Jesus Christ.
It is always so; the greatest deeds the world has ever known,
nationally, or individually, have been wrought out by suffering; because
suffering, more than any other agent, deepens character.
Look around among your friends and acquaintances. Who are the morally
strongest? To whom do you turn in your times of difficulty, doubt,
trouble? Not to those whose lives have been easy, to whom the lines have
fallen in pleasant places, to whom success has come without effort! No!
You turn to the one who has fought his way through the doubt, the
difficulty, the trouble, and you find a tower of strength. There is the
secret of Charles Kingsley's power as a counsellor; once he did not
believe that there was a God; he went through the agonies of doubt.
There is the secret of the wondrous force of Archbishop Temple. Rough,
rugged, almost discourteous at times; hating shams and penetrating
them with an unerring instinct, but tenderness itself to the really
distressed. He knew what it was as a lad to do field labour in poor
clothes and with insufficient food. In later years, when up at College,
he was wont to study by the light in the passage, because he could not
afford oil for his own lamp.
Yet another illustration, showing the directly spiritual influence
of suffering--those countless cases of bed-ridden invalids, often in
intense pain, who develop an intense, fervent, yet restful piety, seldom
attained even by the most devout in active life.
Those who have had experience in missions or dealing with individual
souls know how constantly suffering--especially in middle life--lays the
foundations of conversion. Ay, and lays them strong and deep. The soul
in trouble feels its need of God, turns to Him, and then gets to know
the fulness of His mercy, even in and through the affliction.
And now, how stands it in regard to the War? We need not repeat in
detail those various points on which we have already dwelt. Spite of
all the ghastly sufferings the War is bringing in its train, nay, in a
sense, because of them, it has linked together the Empire in the closest
bonds, allayed political and polemical strife, evoked a wealth of
heroism, self-sacrifice, prayer, and benevolence, and braced up the
moral fibre of countless lives.
Yet all this does not explain the existence of suffering, the why and
the wherefore still lie hidden in that region of the infinite which we,
finite beings, cannot penetrate. We can see, from its results, that
suffering is no more incompatible with the eternal love of God, than the
surgeon's knife is inconsistent with the tenderness of his heart. "Whom
the Lord loveth He chasteneth," "God dealeth with you as with sons"
(Heb. xii., 6, etc.). Our great mistake is to look upon trouble as
punishment, inflicted by an angry God, and to rebel under the chastening
hand. When God sees that His child, whether the nation or the
individual, needs discipline He sends it, and there is no more lack of
love than there is on the part of the wise earthly parent, when he
corrects his child and makes him suffer pain. Nay, it is the very love
that prompts the discipline.
Once more, let us look at suffering in its power of producing sympathy.
The Incarnation was the greatest act of sympathy the world has ever
known. The Word made flesh, our Saviour born as a babe, that He might
enter into all the experiences of our human nature; that He might not
simply feel _for_ us, but feel _with_ us.
Here is the essence of the word; take it in Latin, compassion; take it
in Greek, sympathy--alike it means feeling with. And in the wondrous
mystery of the Church, the spiritual body of Christ, the same great
principle is still working itself out.
Very strange, very mysterious, yet real with the essence of reality, is
the connection between the suffering Christ and the suffering Church,
"inasmuch as ye have ministered to one of the least of these My
brethren, ye have done it unto Me." And yet it is the Christ Who helps
and sustains us from on high. The same Christ Who was here upon earth,
suffering in His martyr Stephen was yet standing at the Father's right
hand to succour him.
The same Christ Who flashed the wondrous vision of Himself on the eyes
of S. Paul, was yet so intimately present in and with His infant Church
that he "thundered" forth the question, "Saul, Saul, why persecutest
thou Me?"
It is just this thought of Christ still present in the person of His
suffering children, that gives the glow of enthusiasm to philanthropic
work of a definitely Christian character. But may we not go a step
further and try to see Christ, in a measure, in all suffering, even that
of the animals? He came to redeem the world, and we in our little view
are apt to narrow down the purposes, and limit the possibilities within
very contracted lines.
The War is opening up to us opportunities boundless in their character
and scope. Probably to-day tens of thousands who have hitherto spent
aimless lives; whose time, means, gifts have gone in the shallow channel
of self, now know something at least of the joy of launching out on to
the broad stream of living, loving sympathy. This has been because,
though in some instances unconsciously to themselves, Christ, in the
power of His Holy Spirit, has touched their lives.
If anguish has come to our hearts let it work its discipline upon us in
and through Christ, by the opening out of ourselves to Him, that we may
take in the full measure of His priceless sympathy. Let us try to lose
ourselves in ministering to others, one of the surest anodynes for grief
and pain.
But if we have, as yet, passed unscathed, let us be all the more
diligent, tender, and loving in our care for others.
There is no need to go into details. Wherever your lot be cast you have
only just to look around and you will find there are individuals, wives
at home, soldiers at the front, whose lot you can brighten in very
simple yet very real ways; perhaps institutions, such as Red Cross
Homes, Hospitals, Belgian Hostels, to which you can render practical
service; Funds to which you can send your money; all these are means
through which you may enter into the glorious discipline of opportunity
that comes through suffering.
Have you ever thought how infinitely poorer the world would be in all
that is highest and purest in its life, were there no suffering to call
forth the tender ministry of sympathy?
And now let us summarise what we have been saying. Suffering is a
great mystery, but two facts throw light upon it--the hereafter, the
Incarnation; suffering does discipline character, therefore, judging by
results, it is not incompatible with the love of God, even though its
existence be still a problem; suffering presents us with the splendid
possibility of sympathy, to be exercised in the power of the loving
Christ.
Can we close better than with the thought of the saints in Paradise?
On earth they lived in the always realised consciousness of a personal
Christ. When the Apostles were persecuted and beaten, they departed from
the Council "rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for
His name." So it has been all down the long story of the ages. And the
saints are those "who have washed their robes and made them white in the
blood of the Lamb"; their sufferings sanctified by, and borne in, the
power of Him Who was made perfect by the things which He endured. Their
"light affliction, which was but for a moment, has worked out for them
the exceeding abundant and eternal weight of glory."
Thus the Incarnation, the eternal counsel of the past, that embraced
them while they were on earth, is still enfolding them, while they,
with us, wait and pray for its final consummation, in the coming of
the Kingdom.
Let us so use our opportunities for discipline now, that the uplifting
of character shall be permanent; not a mere spasm of passing enthusiasm,
but a real growth into the character and likeness of Him Who suffered
death upon the Cross, that all might live unto Him.
_For suggested Meditations during the week see Appendix._
VII
=Discipline through Bereavement=
SIXTH SUNDAY IN LENT
1 Thess. iv. 13
"We would not have you ignorant, brethren, concerning them that fall
asleep; that ye sorrow not, even as the rest, which have no hope."
Of all kinds of sorrow, bereavement is in some senses the sternest,
the most irrevocable, and the one in which human compassion is of
least avail.
All that we said last week on the discipline of suffering applies here,
but with enhanced force. If suffering generally cannot be rationally
contemplated outside of the doctrine of a future existence, still less
can death be tolerated unless it lead to further life. If sorrow in the
bulk needs the Incarnation to throw upon it the light of God's love,
still more does this particular grief require the assurance that the
finished work of Christ operates within, as well as without, the vail.
Broadly speaking, all over the world there are torn and bleeding hearts
mourning the nearest, the dearest; in the vast majority of instances,
from the circumstances of the case, men in the beginning or the very
prime of life.
The heroism of the women has been as magnificent as that of the
men--nay, in a sense, more so. For those who go forth there is the
novelty, the excitement, the nerving sense of duty. Their time is so
ceaselessly occupied that but little space remains for brooding or for
anxious thought, on behalf of themselves or those at home. The men who
remain behind, the fathers, brothers, friends, have the priceless boon
of daily occupation, often vastly increased in amount. There is no such
infallible anodyne of care as plenty of honest work.
But the women--theirs is the harder task, the fiercer trial, of keeping
up the brave appearance, the show of cheerfulness, whilst all the time
the load of apprehension and fear lies heavy on their hearts. None will
ever know the crushing reality of the offering the women are making to
their country, in one great stream of self-sacrifice.