Let me just for a moment recall the various instances in which this
symbol reappears in Scripture. We have, in the vision of the prophet
who sustained and animated the spirits of Israel in their Restoration,
the repetition of the emblem, in the great golden candlestick which
Zechariah saw, fed by two 'olive trees,' one on either side of it; and
in the last book of Scripture we have that most significant and lovely
variation of it, the reappearance, not of the _one_ golden candlestick
or lampstand, but of _seven_. The formal unity is at an end, but the
seven constitute a better, more vital unity, because Christ is in the
midst. We may learn the lesson that the Christian conception of the
oneness of the Church towers above the Jewish conception of the oneness
of Israel by all the difference that there is between a mere
mechanical, external unity, and a vital oneness--because all are
partakers of the one Christ. I may recall, also, how our Lord, in that
great programme of the Kingdom which Matthew has gathered together in
what we call 'the Sermon on the Mount,' immediately after the
Beatitudes, goes on to speak of the office of His people under the two
metaphors of 'the salt of the earth' and 'the light of the world,' and
immediately connects with the latter of the two a reference to a lamp
lit and set upon its stand; and clinches the whole by the exhortation,
'Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works,
and glorify your Father which is in Heaven.'
A remarkable and beautiful variation of that exhortation is found in
one of the Apostolic writings when Paul, instead of saying, 'Ye are the
light of the world,' says, 'Shine as lights in the world,' and so gives
us the individual, as well as the collective and ecclesiastical, aspect
of these great functions. That is a hint that is very much needed.
Christian people are quite willing to admit that the Church, the
abstraction, the generalisation, is 'the light of the world.' But they
are wofully apt to slip their own necks out from under the yoke of the
obligation, and to forget that the collective light is only the product
of the millions of individual lights rushing together--just as in some
gas-lights you have a whole series of minute punctures, each of which
gives out its own little jet of radiance, and all run together into one
brilliant circle. So do not let us escape the personal pressure of this
office, or lay it all on the broad shoulders of that generalised
abstraction 'the Church.' But, since the collective light is but the
product of the individual small shinings, let us take the two lessons:
first, contribute our part to the general lustre; second, be content
with having our part lost in the general light.
But now let me turn for a little while to the more specific meaning of
this symbol. The life which, by the central position of the Altar of
Incense, was symbolised as being centrally, essentially in its depths
and primarily, a life of habitual devotion and communion with God, in
its manward aspect is a life that shines 'to give the light of the
knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.' That is the
solemn obligation, the ideal function, of the Christian Church and of
each individual who professes to belong to it. Now, if you recur to our
Lord's own application of this metaphor, to which I have already
referred, you will see that the first and foremost way by which
Christian communities and individuals discharge this function is by
conduct. 'Let your light so shine before men'--that they may hear your
eloquent proclamation of the Gospel? No! 'Let your light so shine
before men'--that you may convince the gainsayers by argument, or move
the hard-hearted by appeals and exhortations; that you may preach and
talk? No! 'That _they may see your good works_, and glorify your Father
which is in Heaven.' We may say of the Christian community, and of the
Christian individual, with all reverence, what the Scripture in an
infinitely deeper and more sacred sense says of Jesus Christ Himself,
'the life was the light.' It is conduct, whereby most effectually, most
universally, and with the least risk of rousing antagonism and hostile
feelings, Christian people may 'shine as lights in the world.' For we
all know how the inconsistencies of a Christian man block the path of
the Gospel far more than a hundred sermons or talks further it. We all
know how there are people, plenty of them, who, however illogically yet
most naturally, compare our lives in their daily action with oar
professed beliefs, and, saying to themselves, 'I do not see that there
is much difference between them and me,' draw the conclusion that it
matters very little whether a man is a Christian or not, seeing that
the conduct of the men who profess to be so is little more radiant,
bright with purity and knowledge and joy, than is the conduct of
others. Dear brethren, you can do far more to help or hinder the spread
of Christ's Kingdom by the way in which you do common things, side by
side with men who are not partakers of the 'like precious faith' with
yourselves, than I or my fellow-preachers can do by all our words. It
is all very well to lecture about the efficiency of a machine; let us
see it at work, and that will convince people. We preach; but you
preach far more eloquently, and far more effectively, by your lives.
'In all labour,' says the Book of Proverbs, 'there is profit'--which we
may divert from its original meaning to signify that in all Christian
living there is force to attract--'but the talk of the lips tendeth
only to poverty.' Oh! if the Christian men and women of England would
live their Christianity, they would do more to convert the unconverted,
and to draw in the outcasts, than all of us preachers can do. 'From
you,' said the Apostle once to a church very young, and just rescued
from the evils of heathenism--'from you sounded out,' as if blown from
a trumpet, 'the Word of the Lord, so that we need not to speak
anything.' Live the life, and thereby you diffuse the light.
Nor need we forget that this most potent of all weapons is one that can
be wielded by all Christian people. Our gifts differ. Some of us cannot
speak for Jesus; some of us who think we can had often better hold our
tongues. But we can all live like and for Him. And this most potent and
universally diffused possibility is also the weapon that can be wielded
with least risk of failure. There is a certain assumption, which it is
often difficult to swallow, in a Christian man's addressing another on
the understanding that he, the speaker, possesses something which the
other lacks. By words we may often repel, and often find that the ears
that we seek to enter with our message close themselves against us and
are unwilling to hear. But there is no chance of offending anybody, or
of repelling anybody, by living Christlike. We can all do that, and it
is the largest contribution that any of us can make to the collective
light which shines out from the Christian Church.
But, brethren, we have to remember that there are dangers attending the
life that reveals its hidden principles as being faith in Christ and
obedience to Him. Did you ever notice how, in the Sermon on the Mount,
there are two sets of precepts which seem diametrically opposite to one
another? There is a whole series of illustrations of the one
commandment, 'Take heed that ye do not your righteousness before men,
to be seen of them,' and then there Is the precept, 'Let your light so
shine before men that they may see your good works.' So that whilst, on
the one hand, there is to be the manifestation in daily conduct of the
inner principles that animate us, on the other hand, if there comes in
the least taint or trace of ostentation, everything is spoiled, and the
light is darkness. The light of the sun makes all things visible and
hides itself. We do not see the sunbeams, but we see what the sunbeams
illuminate. It is the coarser kinds of light which are themselves
separately visible, and they are so only because they have not power
enough to make everything around them as brilliant as they themselves
are. So our light is to be silent, our light is--if I might use such a
phrase--to hide itself in 'a glorious privacy,' whilst it enables men
to see, even through our imperfect ministration, the face of our Father
in Heaven.
But let me remind you that the same variation by Paul of our Lord's
words to which I have already referred as bringing out the difference
between the collective and the individual function, also brings out
another difference; for Paul says, 'Ye shine as lights in the world,
holding forth the word of life.' He slightly varies the metaphor. We
are no longer regarded as being ourselves illuminants, but simply as
being the stands on which the light is placed. And that means that
whilst the witness by life is the mightiest, the most universally
possible, and the least likely to offend, there must also be, as
occasion shall serve, without cowardice, without shamefaced reticence,
the proclamation of the great Gospel which has made us 'lights in the
world.' And that is a function which every Christian man can discharge
too, though I have just been saying that they cannot all preach and
speak; for every Christian soul has some other soul to whom its word
comes with a force that none other can have.
So the one office that is set forth here is the old familiar one, the
obligation of which is fully recognised by us all, and pitifully
ill-discharged by any of us, to shine by our daily life, and to shine
by the actual communication by speech of 'the Name that is above every
name.' That is the ideal; alas for the reality! 'Ye are the light of
the world.' What kind of light do we--the Church of Christ that gathers
here--ray out into the darkness of Manchester? Socially,
intellectually, morally, in the civic life, in the national life, are
Christian people in the van? They ought to be. There is a church clock
in our city which has a glass dial that professes to be illuminated at
night, so that the passer-by may tell the hour; but it is generally
burning so dimly that nobody can see on its grimy face what o'clock it
is. That is like a great many of our churches, and I ask you to ask
yourselves whether it is like you or not--a dark lantern, a most
imperfectly illuminated dial, which gives no guidance and no
information to anybody.