made in the cause of patriotism. The nations engaged, at least the chief
of them, are fixed irrevocably in their determination that peace, when
it comes, shall be no temporary patching up of hostilities and arranging
of indemnities, but a solid, lasting settlement, which shall, as far as
possible, place another vast European war out of the range of practical
politics.
To tens of thousands there has come the ceaseless yearning for
The touch of a vanished hand,
The sound of a voice that is still.
Now notice how S. Paul deals with the matter. "That ye sorrow not as
others which have no hope." There is no injunction here not to sorrow
at all; that would be contrary to human nature, and would bespeak
callousness rather than resignation. Our Blessed Lord wept at the grave
of Lazarus, and in so doing sanctified human grief. The keenest faith,
to which the other world is an absolute reality; the fullest hope of the
sure and certain resurrection for the dear one; the most disciplined and
submissive will which accepts unquestioningly the dispensations of the
Father; all these are not proof against the natural grief at the removal
of a loved one from this sphere of tender intimacies, into another,
where we can only commune with him in thought and prayer.
How often this is illustrated at the death of a chronic invalid who has
suffered much. With tears streaming down the cheeks, the mourner will
say, "I am so thankful he is at rest." No selfish, rebellious side of
grief is exhibited by those tears; only human sorrow, blending in loving
harmony with perfect resignation.
Now notice carefully the ground on which S. Paul bases the Christian's
hope for the departed; first, faith in the death and resurrection of
Christ; "if we believe that Jesus died and rose again." It is a mere
platitude to say that the whole of S. Paul's teaching is founded on the
actuality of the resurrection. "If Christ hath not been raised, your
faith is vain; ye are yet in your sins. Then they also which are fallen
asleep in Christ have perished. If in this life only we have hoped in
Christ, we are of all men most miserable" (1 Cor. xv. 17). Then out of
this fact of the resurrection flows a consequence: the dead, as we call
them, "sleep in Jesus," and will be His immediate companions at the last
day. We cannot enter into a discussion as to the exact conditions of
what is called "Hades" or the "intermediate state"; suffice it to say
that one great feature of it is nearness to Jesus, "having a desire to
depart and be with Christ" (Phil. i. 23); "absent from the body, present
with the Lord" (2 Cor. v. 8). Herein consists the blessed hope set
before us in regard to the faithful departed; the crucified, risen,
ascended Jesus has them in His keeping; we and they alike are parts of
the one great Church, knit into the "Communion of Saints" by the mystic
bond of the sacred bread, linked each to the other by mutual prayer;
they for us and we for them.
Very beautifully and tenderly does the Archbishop of Canterbury deal
with this thought in one of his late sermons:--
"As with bowed head and quivering lip we commend their souls into
the hands of a faithful Creator and most merciful Saviour we feel
how the very passing of those brave and buoyant lives into the
world beyond pierces the flimsy barrier between the things which
are seen and temporal and the things which are unseen and eternal,
and again we can and do give thanks. God is not the God of the dead,
but of the living:--
"Nor dare to sorrow with increase of grief
When they who go before
Go furnished, or because their span was brief.
For doubt not but that in the worlds above
There must be other offices of love,
That other tasks and ministries there are,
Since it is promised that His servants there
Shall serve him still. Therefore be strong, be strong,
Ye that remain, nor fruitlessly revolve,
Darkling, the riddles which ye cannot solve,
But do the works that unto you belong."
Here is the magnificent prospect of hope for those who mourn: that
the Incarnation of our Lord is still working itself out in all its
beneficent purposes. By the power of the Holy Ghost, in the Church
expectant as in the Church militant, the answer to the constant prayer,
"Thy Kingdom come," is being ceaselessly given; and the fulness thereof
will be realised in the Church triumphant. The saints on earth and those
in Paradise are equally in the hands of the Lord, though the latter have
clearer vision and nearer sense of the fact than the former. By some
this is used as an argument against the practice of prayer for the
departed, but surely this thought of the unity of the whole body leads
in exactly the opposite direction. No argument can be adduced against
this most ancient and primitive custom, observed by the Jews long before
the coming of Christ, but what equally applies to any petition for an
absent friend still on earth. In each case they are in the keeping of
Him Who knows best and will do right, yet for those still here we pray,
believing that in His own way God will take account of our prayers and
knit them up into His own dealings, so that they become part of His
eternal purposes. When commending the departed to Him, naturally our
words will be chastened and restrained because we know somewhat less of
the conditions of the "intermediate state" than we do of those of our
own dispensation. Somewhat less; for how little do we really understand
of the circumstances around us now in all their bearings as they lie
open beneath the eye of God. Therefore it is that whenever we pray we
must ask in full submission to our own limitations and in the spirit of
the Master, "Nevertheless not my will, but Thine be done."
Thank God this matter is not one of argument; no, it lies in another
plane: the innate feeling of one who really knows what prayer means and
who has grasped in some degree the doctrine of the "Communion of
Saints."
A pious evangelical, well fortified with arguments against prayer for
the departed, had been nursing her sick sister and taking care of the
little daughter of the house. The sister died, and the same evening
the motherless girl knelt down at her aunt's side to say her prayers.
"Auntie, may I say God bless dear mother?" The whole drift of the aunt's
training and theology would have led her to say "No" point blank. There
was no time for argument or explanation, for facing the inevitable "If
not, why not?" The instincts of natural religion prevailed; the aunt
replied, "Yes, dear"; and from that day onward never failed herself to
say, when remembering her dear ones, "God bless my sister."
Whatever the effect of such prayers in the other world, there is no
shade of doubt that to the bereaved they bring an infinite sense of
nearness to their beloved, and of the reality of the life of the world
to come.
Thus far we have been speaking of those who may fairly be called the
faithful departed, the cases in which hope may be reasonable and assured
almost to certainty.
Now let us go a step further. The mind staggers as it contemplates the
tens of thousands being hurried into eternity who, either according to
the teaching of the Catholic Church or the notions of popular theology,
would be deemed unprepared.
We trust, in a dim sort of way, that the all-embracing mercy of God
will accept their sacrifice of themselves for their country, and in
some fashion place it to the credit side of their account. No doubt
He will. But can we not get a more evangelical, and at the same time
more catholic, view of the matter? We find it in an extension of our
conception of the possibilities of the intermediate state, the condition
of souls between death and judgment. Evangelical to the backbone,
because it is the work of Christ which we conceive of as being there
carried on. Catholic, because the Church from very early times has
recognised the idea of the discipline of souls as being a process
continued after death. The authority of S. Paul has been appealed to on
account of his words to the Philippians (i. 6), "being confident of this
very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until
the day of Jesus Christ"; and to the Corinthians in that mysterious
passage concerning "the fire which shall try every man's work" (1 Cor.
iii. 13). The doctrine was developed and materialised till it resulted
in those corruptions which were so largely responsible for the
Reformation. In their zeal to root out error, the Reformers fell into
the opposite extreme and abolished the idea of the intermediate state
altogether. Hence arose the popular notion, unknown to the Catholic
Church till then, of Heaven or Hell as the immediate issue of death.
Of course, the Church's teaching had regard to the condition of its own
members after death, and we cannot press it into an argument as to those
not dying, technically, in a state of grace; but at least this much we
may say: Surely no intelligent person can contemplate the thought of
these vast hosts being hurried off into eternal perdition, and at the
same time retain his reason or his faith in a God of love. Whatever the
possibilities of the world to come, they are but the extension of the
boundless love of God in Christ, and hold out no promise for us if we
wilfully neglect our day of grace.
But now to pass on to one further source of consolation which comes
in its measure to all the bereaved alike; the chastened joy from the
thought of the splendid sacrifice the dear one has been privileged
to make.
Take an illustration--a letter from Major-General Allenby to Lady de
Crespigny on the death of her son:--
"Dear Lady de Crespigny,--I and the whole of the Cavalry
Division sympathise with you, and we feel deeply for Norman's loss.
But I must tell you that he died a hero's death. The brigade was hotly
engaged, and on the Bays fell the brunt of the fighting on September
1st. Norman, with a few men, was holding an important tactical point,
and he held it till every man was killed or wounded. No man could have
done more, few would have done so much.
"With deepest sympathy, yours sincerely,
"E.H.H. Allenby."
How the bereaved hearts in the midst of crushing grief must have lit up
with gladness at such a record as that!
But to close. The discipline of bereavement consists essentially in the
trial of faith, yet at the same time brings with it the power of faith.
In bereavement, above all other forms of sorrow, comes the felt need of
God; it has been so with countless souls. The answer to the need is the
revelation that God makes of Himself in Christ; then comes the peace of
God, which passeth all understanding, which dries the tears and heals
the broken heart.
_Note_.--The question of prayer in connection with God's foreknowledge
is so admirably treated in "Some Elements of Religion" (Liddon) that we
append an extract:--
"What if prayers and actions, to us at the moment perfectly spontaneous,
are eternally foreseen and included within the all-embracing
Predestination of God, as factors and causes, working out that final
result which, beyond all dispute, is the product of His Good Pleasure?
"Whether I open my mouth or lift my hand is, before my doing it,
strictly within the jurisdiction and power of my personal will: but
however I may decide, my decision, so absolutely free to me, will have
been already incorporated by the All-seeing, All-controlling Being as an
integral part, however insignificant, of His one all-embracing purpose,
leading on to effects and causes beyond itself. Prayer, too, is only a
foreseen action of man which, together with its results, is embraced in
the eternal Predestination of God. To us this or that blessing may be
strictly contingent on our praying for it; but our prayer is
nevertheless so far from necessarily introducing change into the purpose
of the Unchangeable, that it has been all along taken, so to speak, into
account by Him. If, then, with 'the Father of Lights' there is in this
sense 'no variableness, neither shadow of turning,' it is not therefore
irrational to pray for specific blessings, as we do in the Litany,
because God works out His plans not merely in us but by us; and we may
dare to say that that which is to us a free self-determination, may be
not other than a foreseen element of His work."
_For suggested Meditations during the week see Appendix._
VIII
=Discipline through Self-sacrifice=
GOOD FRIDAY
1 Tim. ii. 6
"Christ Jesus, Who gave Himself a ransom for all."
To-day we reach the solemn climax which embraces in itself the whole
idea of discipline under each of those aspects upon which we have
touched. Will, body, soul, spirit, obedience, suffering, death, all
summed up in the tremendous self-sacrifice declared by the Cross of
Christ.
The principle of sacrifice is one of those deep mysteries which seem,
as it were, to be rooted in the very nature of our being. It begins
in the initial fact by which man's existence is maintained upon
earth--motherhood, a vast vicarious sacrifice. Yet borne with gratitude,
readiness, ay, even with joy because of the dignity, the love, the
delights it brings with it. One of the surest signs of the decadence
of a nation is when its women, through desire of merely living for
themselves, begin to rebel against the high privilege of motherhood, or
to neglect the duties it should entail. This attitude of mind poisons
life at its fountain-head.
Time would fail us, nor indeed would it be profitable, to enter upon a
discussion as to the exact theological bearing of the death of Christ
upon the forgiveness of sins. This is a matter which may rightly occupy
the attention of theologians and scholars who endeavour, so far as
infinite verities can be expressed in finite language, to give a reason
for the hope that is in them. Such books as Liddon's Bampton Lectures,
Dale on the Atonement, or Illingworth on Personality, will be found most
valuable by those who have the time and the capacity for studying them.
It is a good thing, especially in these days, that the intellect of the
Christian should be well-equipped, so that he may silence the taunts of
those who say Christianity is purely a matter of emotion.
The personal acceptance of Christ as a personal Saviour rests, not so
much on arguments, as on a sense of need; when this is accompanied by
strong intellectual grip of truth then the influence of the Christian
upon others becomes a great missionary factor. The beauty of the Gospel
story lies in its wonderful adaptability. It is the same in its power to
a Pascal, a Butler, a Liddon, as it is to the unlettered peasant, who
can neither read nor write.
Scripture declares quite plainly that the death of Christ was "for us";
how far this may be pressed to mean "instead of us" is a very grave
question. The words will bear that interpretation, no doubt, but we must
remember that they do not necessarily involve any more than "in our
behalf," that is, for our benefit.
It has been the forcing of the words into an unnatural and immoral
theory of substitution, the notion of an angry God claiming a victim,
that has done such terrible harm to the cause of Christianity, and has
led many thoughtful minds to give it up in disgust or despair. Probably
in a wise commingling of the two lines of thought we shall arrive most
nearly at the truth. We all agree that our Blessed Lord's death was "in
behalf of us"; that is for our everlasting welfare; in a very real sense
this was "instead of us," since His sufferings were endured so that we
might not lose the blessing of salvation.
Very beautifully is the matter summed up by a modern writer: "In the
death of the Lord Jesus Christ as a Sacrifice and Propitiation for the
sins of the world, the moral perfections of God find their highest
expression, and the deepest necessities of man's moral and spiritual
life their only complete satisfaction."[3]
[Footnote 3: Dale on the Atonement.]
The death of Christ was not only typically but, in a certain sense,
actually the offering up of our bodies on the Cross. Notice very
carefully the words of St. Paul, "I have been crucified with Christ"
(Gal. ii., 20 R.V.). Not simply, as in the old Authorised Version,
"I am crucified with Christ," but something much more definite and exact.
When Christ ascended the Cross He took up with Him our human nature
collectively, as bound up in Himself by virtue of His Incarnation. Hence
it follows that you, the individual, have been crucified with Him; just
as you, the individual, have been buried with Him, and raised with Him
in your Baptism (Rom. vi., 4). How completely this takes the sting out
of the reproach brought against Christianity, on the ground of the
immorality of the Crucifixion! It is no longer the Innocent one
suffering instead of the guilty, but it is the sinless One taking upon
Himself human nature, with all its guilt and consequent punishment, and
"in His own body on the tree," offering that human nature up to God. He
in us, we in Him, that the redemption of human nature may be complete.
Canon Liddon thus puts it in one of his University sermons, "The
substitution of the suffering Christ arose directly out of the terms of
the Incarnation. The human nature which our Lord assumed was none other
than the very nature of the sinner, only without its sin. Therefore He
becomes the Redeemer of our several persons, because He is already the
Redeemer of this our common nature, which He has made for ever His own."
We have already noticed that it was not the sufferings of Christ which
were acceptable to God the Father. To think this would be to fall back
into the very crudest and most repulsive idea of substitution. No, it
was the offering up of the will of Christ that formed the essence of the
sacrifice. If we may presume to attempt a mere earthly illustration of
so tremendous a matter, let us take the case of a General whose son
meets with a terrible death while leading a forlorn hope. The father's
heart is torn with anguish both for the death and the circumstances of
it; but at the same time the father's heart swells with pride, ay, even
with joy, that his son should have been true to the highest thing in the
world--duty.
He Who said, "I come not to do mine own will but the will of Him that
sent Me," also said, "I lay My life down of Myself, no man taketh it
from Me." Herein is the discipline of sacrifice complete by the using
of one's own will to surrender it absolutely to the will of another.
We have spoken so fully of the surrenders of will being made on all
sides that we need say no more now on that point, but for further
illustration let us turn our thoughts in a somewhat fresh direction.
The example of Belgium is a living witness of the power of
self-sacrifice.
G.K. Chesterton has put forth a striking pamphlet entitled "The
Martyrdom of Belgium"; in it he says:
"There are certain quite unique and arresting features about the case
of Belgium. To begin with, it cannot be too much considered what a
daring stroke of statesmanship--far-sighted, perhaps, but of frightful
courage--the King of the Belgians ventured in resisting at all. Of
that statesmanship we had the whole advantage, and Belgium the whole
disadvantage: she saved France, she saved England--herself she could
not save."
Had Belgium yielded instead of standing out, then, humanly speaking,
nothing could have averted the immediate success of the German dash
for Paris.
Now think for one moment of the solemn obligation this lays upon us in
regard to that gallant, struggling, yet temporarily dismembered little
nation. We must look after the refugees. There are those who say, "The
Government have brought the Belgians over here, let the Government make
their support a State matter."
One almost blushes to have to deal with such a sentiment. Could
1_s._ in the £ income-tax take the place, morally, spiritually, or
ethically, of the rich profusion of voluntary aid now being poured
forth? The loss to the nation, of that which is purest and noblest in
its life, would be simply unspeakable. It is suffering that provides
opportunity for the exercise of the highest duty known to man, "Bear ye
one another's burdens and so fulfil the law of Christ." Try to picture
to yourself, quietly yet resolutely, what it would mean to you to-morrow
morning, to find suddenly that you had to leave your house, not in a
motor-car for a railway train; no! but to turn out at once, without time
to put together any belongings; to tramp, perhaps in pouring rain, along
miles of road, foodless, cold, exhausted; seeing those around you
dropping out to faint or die by the wayside; not knowing where or how
the journey should end. This is what has happened to tens of thousands
of Belgians; many, cultured and refined, coming forth penniless from
homes of comfort and plenty!
In ministering to the needs of the Belgians you find a glorious
privilege, a priceless opportunity. Again, to quote G.K. Chesterton:
"In a sense Belgium could still have saved her face; but she preferred
to save Europe. This, it seems to me, gives her a claim on something
beyond pity or even gratitude--a claim on our intellectual honour beyond
anything that even suffering could extort."
Our Lent is nearly over. With all its opportunities, its calls,
its privileges, it is now behind us. Some perhaps began it with high
resolves and brave hopes, and are disappointed at the apparently small
results. None, we trust, are wholly satisfied with themselves, for that
would point to a condition far worse than despair. There is such a thing
as divine discontent, and every true Christian should know something of
it. For all the conscious failures ask pardon, but do not give up
striving.
Standing under the Cross of Christ, as we do to-day, we have a standard
for the measuring of ourselves which makes our little efforts at
discipline look very poor indeed. Yet He remembers our frame, He knows
whereof we are made; He can and will accept the feeblest struggles of
our will towards His. Perhaps some progress in the life of grace may
have been made, then thank Him and take courage.
Let us just cast our minds back. The discipline of the will means,
laying ourselves open to listen to the voice of the living God. The
discipline of the body means, never letting it get the upper hand of the
real self. The discipline of the soul means the taking a very serious
view of the responsibility of life. The discipline of the spirit means,
a close approach to God by every channel of worship. The discipline of
obedience means, that we put self in the background, so that we may
exalt the person of Christ. The discipline of sorrow means, that Christ
is still present in His suffering ones, and there is our opportunity.
The discipline of bereavement means, the trial of our faith that it may
enter into the realities of the spiritual kingdom.
Then comes the crown and climax, the discipline of self-sacrifice.
Place steadily before you the thought of Christ crucified, see there the
culmination of all possibility of the offering up of self for others.
No element of completeness was wanting. The sacrifice was voluntary,
was made for enemies, brought no return to self.
Strong in His strength go forth ready to spend and be spent, if only by
the discipline of self-sacrifice you can lighten the load borne by any
one of your fellow-creatures.
What hast Thou done for me, O
Mighty Friend,
Who lovest to the end?
Reveal Thyself that I may now behold
Thy love unknown, untold,
Bearing the curse and made a curse for me
That blessed and made a blessing I might be.
Wounded for my transgressions, stricken sore,
That I might sin no more,
Weak, that I might be always strong in Thee:
Bound, that I might be free;
Acquaint with grief that I might only know
Fulness of joy, in everlasting flow.
* * * * *
_For suggested Meditations during the week see Appendix._
IX
=Discipline through Victory=
EASTER DAY
Romans vi. 9
"Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more."
To couple the word discipline with victory may seem incongruous almost
to the point of impossibility. Yet, if we look below the surface, we
shall see that never is the connection more strong and the need for
realising it more urgent.
Lent is over, its special discipline has passed, and now the danger
begins. The danger is lest any progress made, any victory won, should
lead to that self-confidence which can only end in disaster. Success is
often a discipline far more fatal in its results than failure.