law of rewards and punishments, appealing directly to their hopes, and
to their fears. The gospel offered itself to them, as a declaration of
God's love to them; so wonderful, that it seemed as though it could not
but excite them to love him in return. It also raised their whole
nature; their understandings, no less than their affections; and thus
led them to do God's will, from another and higher feeling than they had
felt heretofore; to do it, not because they must, but because they loved
it. And to such as answered to this heavenly call, God laid aside, if I
may venture so to speak, all his terrors; he showed himself to them only
as a loving father, between whom and his children there was nothing but
mutual affection; who would be loved by them, and love them forever. But
to those who answered not to it, and far more, who dared to abuse it;
who thought that God's love was weakness; that the liberty to which they
were called, was the liberty of devils, the liberty of doing evil as
they would; to all such, God was still a consuming fire, and their most
merciful Saviour himself was a judge to try their very hearts and reins;
in short, the gospel was to them, not salvation, but condemnation; it
awakened not the better, but the baser parts of their nature; it did not
do away, but doubled their guilt, and therefore brought upon them, and
will bring through all eternity, a double measure of punishment.
Now all this applies exactly to that earlier and, as it were,
preparatory life, which ends not in death, but in manhood. The state of
boyhood begins under a law. It is a great mistake to address always the
reason of a child, when you ought rather to require his obedience. Do
this, do not do that; if you do this, I shall love you; if you do not, I
shall punish you;--such is the state, most clearly a state of law, under
which we are, and must be, placed at the beginning of education. But we
should desire and endeavour to see this state of law succeeded by
something better; we should desire so to unfold the love of Christ as to
draw the affections towards him; we should desire so to raise the
understanding as that it may fasten itself, by its own native tendrils,
round the pillar of truth, without requiring to be bound to it by
external bands. We should avoid all unnecessary harshness; we should
speak and act with all possible kindness; because love, rather than
fear, love both of God and man, is the motive which we particularly wish
to awaken. Thus, keeping punishment in the background and, as it were,
out of sight, and putting forward encouragement and kindness, we should
attract, as it were, the good and noble feelings of those with, whom we
are dealing, and invite them to open, and to answer to, a system of
confidence and kindness, rather than risk the chilling and hardening
them by a system of mistrust and severity.
And for those who do answer to this call, how really true is it that
they do soon become dead, in great measure, to the law of the place
where they are living! How little do they generally feel its restraints,
or its tasks, burdensome! How very little have they to do with its
punishments! Led on by degrees continually higher and higher, their
relations with us become more and more relations of entire confidence
and kindness; and when at last their trial is over, and they pass from
this first life, as I have ventured to call it, into their second life
of manhood, how beautifully are they ripened for that state! how
naturally do all the restraints of this first life fall away, like the
mortal body of the perfected Christian; and they enter upon the full
liberty of manhood, fitted at once to enjoy and to improve it!
But observe, that St. Paul does not suppose even the best Christian to
be without the law altogether: there will ever be some points in which
he will need to remember it. And so it is unkindness, rather than
kindness, and a very mischievous mistake, to forget that here, in this
our preparatory life, the law cannot cease altogether with any one; that
it is not possible to find a perfect sense and feeling of right existing
in every action; nay, that it is even unreasonable to seem to expect it.
Little faults, little irregularities, there always will be, with which
the law is best fitted to deal; which should be met, I mean, by a system
of rules and of punishments, not severe, certainly, nor one at all
inconsistent with general respect, kindness, and confidence; but which
check the particular faults alluded to better, I think, than could be
done by seeming to expect of the individual that he should, in all such
cases, be a law to himself. There is a possibility of our over-straining
the highest principles, by continually appealing to them on very
trifling occasions. It is far better, here, to apply the system of the
law; to require obedience to rules, as a matter of discipline; to visit
the breach of them by moderate punishment, not given in anger, not at
all inconsistent with general confidence and regard, but gently
reminding us of that truth which we may never dare wholly to
forget,--that punishment will exist eternally so long as there is evil,
and that the only way of remaining for ever entirely strangers to it, is
by adhering for ever and entirely to good.
This applies to every one amongst us; and is the reason why rules,
discipline, and punishments, however much they may be, and are, kept in
the background for such, as have become almost wholly dead to them, must
yet continue in existence, because none are, or can be, dead to them
altogether. But now, suppose that we have a nature to deal with, which,
cannot answer to a system of kindness, but abuses it; which, when
punishment is kept at a distance, rejoices, as thinking that it may
follow evil safely; a nature not to be touched by the love of God or
man, not to be guided by any perception of its own as to what is right
and true. Is the law dead really to such as these? or should it be so?
Is punishment a degradation to a nature which, is so self-degraded as to
be incapable of being moved by anything better? For this is the real
degradation which we should avoid; not the fear of punishment, which is
not at all degrading, but the being insensible to the love of Christ and
of goodness; and so being capable of receiving no other motive than the
fear of punishment alone. With such natures, to withhold punishment,
would be indeed to make Christ the minister of sin; to make mercy, that
is, lead to evil, and not to good. For them, the law never is dead, and
never will be. Here, of course, in this first life, as I have called it,
punishment indeed goes but a little way: it is very easy for a hardened
nature to defy all that could be laid upon it here in the way of actual
compulsion. Our only course is to cut short the time of trial, when we
find a nature in whom that trial cannot end in good. Still there may be
those in whom this life here, like their greater life which shall last
for ever, will have far more to do with punishment than with kindness;
they will be living all their time under the law. Continue this to our
second life, and the law then will be no less alive, and they will never
be dead to it, nor will it be ever dead to them. And however a hardened
nature may well despise the punishments of its first life,--punishments,
whose whole object is correction, and not retribution,--yet, where is
the nature so hard as to endure, in its relations with God, to feel more
of his punishment than of his mercy; to know him for ever as a God of
judgment, and not as a Father of love?
LECTURE XI.
* * * * *
ST. LUKE xxi. 36.
_Watch ye, therefore, and pray always, that ye may be accounted worthy
to escape all these things that shall come to pass, and to stand before
the Son of Man_.
This might be a text for a history of the Christian Church, from its
foundation to this hour, or to the latest hour of the world's existence.
We might observe how it Lad fulfilled its Lord's command; with what
steadiness it had gone forward on its course, with the constant hope of
meeting Him once again in glory. We might see how it had escaped all
these things that were to come to pass: tracing its course amidst the
manifold revolutions of the world, inward and outward. In the few words,
"all these things that shall come to pass," are contained all the events
of the last eighteen hundred years: indistinct and unknown to us, as
long as they are thus folded up together; but capable of being unrolled
before our eyes in a long order, in which should be displayed all the
outward changes of nations, the spread of discovery, the vicissitudes of
conquest; and yet more, the inward changes of men's minds, the various
schools of philosophy, the successive forms of public opinion, the
influences of various races, all the manifold elements by which the
moral character of the Christian world has been affected. We might
observe how the Church had escaped all these things, or to what degree
it had received from any of them good or evil. And then, stopping at
the point at which it has actually arrived, we might consider how far it
deserves the character of that Church, "without spot, or wrinkle, or any
such thing," which should be presented before the Son of Man at his
coming again.
This would be a great subject; and one, if worthily executed, full of
the deepest instruction to us all. But our Lord's words may also be made
the text for a history or inquiry of another sort, far less
comprehensive in time and space, far less grand, far less interesting to
the understanding; yet, on the other hand, capable of being wrought out
far more completely, and far more interesting to the spiritual and
eternal welfare of each of us. They may be made the text for an inquiry
into the course hitherto held, not by the Church as a body, but by each
of us individual members of it; an inquiry how far we, each of us, have
watched and prayed always, that we might be accounted worthy to escape
all the things which should come to pass, and to stand before the Son of
Man. And, in this view of the words, the expression "all these things
which shall come to pass" has reference no longer to great political
revolutions, nor to schools of philosophy, nor to prominent points of
national character; but to those humbler events, to those lesser
changes, outward and inward, through which we each, pass between our
cradle and our grave. How have we escaped these, or turned them to good
account? Have earthly things so ministered to our eternal welfare, that
if we were each one of us, by a stroke from heaven, cut off at that very
point in our course to which we have severally attained this day, we
should be accounted worthy to stand before the Son of Man?
Here is, indeed, a very humble history for us each to study; yet what
other history can concern us so nearly? And as, in the history of the
world, experience in part supplies the place of prophecy, and the fate
of one nation is in a manner a mirror to another, so in our individual
history, the experience of the old is a lesson to the middle-aged, and
that of the middle-aged a lesson to the young. If you wish to know what
are the things which shall come to pass with respect to you, we can draw
aside the veil from your coming life, because what you will be is no
other than what we are. If we would go onwards, in like manner, and ask
what are the things which shall come to pass with respect to us, our
coming life may be seen in the past and present life of the old; for
what we shall be is no other than what they have been, or than what
they are.
Let us take, then, the actual moment with, each of us, and suppose that
our Lord speaks to each of us as he did to his first disciples: "Watch
and pray always, that ye may be accounted worthy to escape all these
things which shall come to pass, and to stand before the Son of Man." We
ask, naturally, "What are the things which shall come to pass?" and it
is to this question that I am to try to suggest the answer.
Those arrived at middle age may ask the question, "What are the things
which shall come to pass to us?" Now, setting aside extraordinary
accidents, on which we cannot reckon, and the answer would, I think, be
something of this sort: There will not come to pass, it is likely, any
great change in our condition or employment in life. In middle age our
calling, with all the duties which it involves, must generally be fixed
for each of us. Our particular kind of trial will not, it is probable,
be much altered. We must not, as in youth, fancy that, although our
actual occupation does not suit us, although its temptations are often
too strong for us, yet a change may take place to another line of duty,
and the temptations in that new line may be less formidable. In middle
age it will not do to indulge such fond hopes as these. On the contrary,
our hope must lie, not in escape, but in victory. If our temptations
press us hard, we cannot expect to have them exchanged for others less
powerful: they will remain with us, and we must overcome them, or
perish. Have we tastes not fully reconciled to our calling,--faculties
which seem not to have found their proper field? We must seek our remedy
not from without, humanly speaking, but from within: we must discipline
ourselves; we must teach our tastes to cling gracefully around that duty
to which else they must be helplessly fastened. If any faculties appear
not to have found their proper field, we must think that God has, for
certain wise reasons, judged it best for us that they should not be
exercised; and we must be content to render him the service of others.
In this respect, then, the immediate prospect for middle age is not so
much change as steadfastness. Fortune will not suit herself to our
wishes: we must learn to suit our wishes to her.
But go on a little farther, and what are the things which must come to
pass then? A new and most solemn interest arising to us in the entrance
of our children into active life. Hitherto they have lived under our
care, and our duty to them was simple; but now there comes the choice of
a profession, the watching and guiding them, as well as we can, at this
critical moment of their course. What cares await us here; and yet what
need of avoiding over care! What a trial for us, how we value our
children's worldly interests when compared with their eternal--whether
we prefer for them the path which may lead most readily to worldly
wealth and honour, or that in, which they may best and safest follow
Christ! This is a danger which will come to pass to us ere long: do we
watch and pray that we may be delivered from it?
The interest of life, which had, perhaps, something begun to fade for
ourselves, will revive with vigour at this period in behalf of our
children; but after this it will go on steadily ebbing. What life can
offer we have tasted for ourselves; we have seen it tasted, or in the
way to be tasted, by them. The harvest is gathered, and the symptoms of
the fall appear. Is it that some faculty becomes a little impaired, some
taste a little dulled; or is it that the friends and companions of our
life are beginning to drop away from us? Long since, those whom we loved
of the generation before us have been gathered to the grave; now those
of our own generation are falling fast also--brothers, sisters, friends
of our early youth, a wife, a husband. We are surrounded by a younger
generation, to whom the half of our lives, with all their recollections
and sympathies, are a thing unknown. Impatience, weariness, a clinging
to the past, a vain wish to prolong it in an earthly future,--these are
the things which shall befal us then: and they will befal us too surely,
and too irresistibly, unless, by earlier watchfulness and prayer, we may
have been enabled to avoid them. For vain will it be, with faculties at
once weakened by the decay of nature and perverted by long habits of
worldliness, to essay, for the first time, to force our way into the
kingdom of heaven. Old age is not the season for contest and victory;
nor shall we then be so able to escape unharmed from the temptations of
life as to stand before the Son of Man.
These are the things which will come to pass for us and for you. But for
you there is much more to come, which to us is not future now, but past
or present. With you, for a time, it will be all a course forwards and
upwards. From the preparation for life, you will come to the reality;
from a state of less importance, you will be passing on to one of
greater. Your temptations, whatever they may be now, will not certainly
become weaker. As outward restraint is more and more taken off from you,
so your need of inward restraint will be greater. Will those who are
extravagant now on a small scale, be less extravagant on a large scale?
Will those who are selfish now, become less selfish amidst a wider field
of enjoyment? Will those who know not or care not for Christ, while yet,
as it were, standing quietly on the shore, be led to think of him more
amidst the excitement of the first setting sail, amidst the interest of
the first newly-seen country?
You know not yet, nor can know, the immense importance of that period of
life on which many of you are entering, or have just entered. You are
coming, or come, to what may be called the second beginning of life: to
which, in the common course of things, there will succeed no third.
Ignorance, absence of temptation, the presence of all good impressions,
constitute much of the innocence of mere childhood,--so beautiful while
it lasts, so sure to be soon blighted! It is blighted in the first
experience of life, most commonly when a boy first goes to school. Then
his mere innocence, which indeed he may be said to have worn rather
instinctively than by choice, becomes grievously polluted. Then come the
hardness, the coarseness, the intense selfishness; sometimes, too, the
falsehood, the cruelty, the folly of the boy: then comes that period, so
trying to the faith of parents, when all their early care seems blasted;
when the vineyard, which they had fenced so tenderly, seems all
despoiled and trodden under foot. It is indeed a discouraging season,
the exact image of the ungenial springs of our natural year. But after
this there comes, as it were, a second beginning of life, when principle
takes the place of innocence. There is a time,--many of you must have
arrived at it,--when thought and inquiry awaken; when, out of the mere
chaos of boyhood, the elements of the future character of the man begin
to appear. Blessed are they for whom the confusion and disarray of their
boyish life is quickened into a true life by the moving of the Spirit of
God! Blessed are they for whom the beginnings of thought and inquiry are
the beginnings also of faith and love; when the new character receives,
as it is forming, the Christian seed, and the man is also the Christian.
And, then, this second beginning of life, resting on faith and conscious
principle, and not on mere passive innocence, stands sure for the middle
and the end: those who so watch and pray as to escape out of this
critical period, not merely unharmed, but, as it were, set clearly on
their way to heaven, will, with God's grace, escape out of the things
which shall befal them afterwards, till they shall stand before the
Son of Man.
But the word is, "Watch and pray always, that ye may be accounted worthy
to escape." We see the time with many of you come, or immediately
coming; out of your present state _a_ character will certainly be
formed; as surely as the innocence of childhood has perished, so surely
will the carelessness of boyhood perish too. _A_ character will be
formed, whether you watch and pray, or whether you do neither; but the
great point is what this character may be. If you do not watch the
process, it will surely be the character of death eternal. Thought and
inquiry will satisfy themselves very readily with an answer as far as
regards spiritual things: their whole vigour will be devoted to the
things of this world, to science or to business, or to public matters,
all alike hardening rather than softening to the mind, if its thoughts
do not go to something higher and deeper still. And as years pass on, we
may think on these our favourite or professional subjects more and more
earnestly; our views on them may be clearer and sounder, but there comes
again nothing like the first free burst of thought in youth; the
intellect in later life, if its tone was not rightly taken earlier,
becomes narrowed in proportion to its greater vigour; one thing it sees
clearly, but it is blind to all beside. It is in youth that the after
tone of the mind is happily formed, when that natural burst of thought
is sanctified and quickened by God's Spirit, and we set up within us to
love and adore, all our days, the one image of the truth of God, our
Saviour Jesus. Then, whatever else may befal us afterwards, it rarely
happens that our faith will fail; his image, implanted in us, preserves
us amid every change; we are counted worthy to escape all the things
which may come to pass, and to stand before the Son of Man.
LECTURE XII
* * * * *
PROVERBS i. 28.
_Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer; they shall seek me
early, but they shall not find me_.
Christ's gospel gives out the forgiveness of sins; and as this is its
very essence, so also in what we read connected with Christ's gospel,
the tone of encouragement, of mercy, of loving-kindness to sinners, is
ever predominant. What was needed at the beginning of the gospel is no
less needed now; we cannot spare one jot or one tittle of this gracious
language; now, as ever, the free grace, that most seems to be without
the law, does most surely establish the law. But yet there is another
language, which is to be found alike in the Old Testament and in the
New; a language not indeed so common as the language of mercy, but yet
repeated many times; a language which we also need as fully as it was
ever needed, and of whose severity we can no more spare one tittle than
we can spare anything of the comfort of the other. And yet this language
has not, I think, been enforced so often as it should have been. Men
have rather shrunk from it, and seemed afraid of it; they have connected
it sometimes with certain foolish and presumptuous questions, which we,
indeed, do well to turn from; but they have not seen, that with such it
has no natural connexion, but belongs to a certain fact in the
constitution of our nature, and is most highly moral and practical.
The language to which. I allude is expressed, amongst other passages,
by the words of the text. They speak of men's calling upon God, and of
his refusing to hear them; of men's seeking God, and not finding him.
Remember, at the same time, our Lord's words, "Ask, and ye shall
receive; seek, and ye shall find." I purposely put together these
opposite passages, because the full character of God's Revelation is
thus seen more clearly. Do we doubt that our Lord's words are true, and
do we not prize them as some of the most precious which he has left us?
We do well to do so; but shall we doubt any more the truth of the words
of the text; and shall we not consider them as a warning no less needful
than the comfort in the other case? Indeed, as true as it is, that, if
we seek God, we shall find him; so true is it that we may seek him, and
yet not find him.
Now, then, how to explain this seeming contradiction? We can see at
once, that these things are not said of the same persons, or rather of
the same characters at the same time. They are said of the same persons:
that is, there is no one here assembled who is not concerned with both,
and to whom both may not be applicable. Only they are not and cannot be
both applicable to the same person at the very same time. If God will be
found by us, at any given moment, on our seeking him, it is impossible
that, at that same moment, he should also not be found. Thus far is
plain to every one.
And now, is it true of us, at this present time, that God will be found
by us if we seek him, or that he will not be found? If we say that he
will be found, then the words of the text are not applicable to us at
present, although at some future time they may be; and then we have that
well-known difficulty to encounter, to attempt to draw the mind's
attention to a future and only contingent evil. If we say that he will
not be found, then of what avail can it be to say any word more? Why sit
we in this place, to preach, or to listen to preaching, if God, after
all, will not be found? Or, again, should we say that there are some by
whom he will not be found, then who are they that are thus horribly
marked out from among their brethren? Can we dare to conceive of any one
amongst us that he is such an one; that there are some, nay, that there
is any one amongst us, to whom it is the same thing whether he will
hear, or whether he will forbear; who may close his ears as safely as
open them, because God has turned his face from him for ever? It were
indeed horrible to suppose that any one of us were in such a state; and
happily it is a thought of horror which the truth may allow us to repel.
But what, if I were to say, that now, at this very moment, the words of
the text are both applicable to us, and not applicable? Is this a
contradiction, and therefore impossible? Or is it but a seeming
contradiction only, and not only possible, but true? Let us see how the
case appears to be.