introducing us to another distinction, in which Christ's passion
exceeds that of any innocent sufferers, such as I have supposed. When
Joseph was sent by his father to his brethren on a message of love,
they, when they saw him, said, "Behold, this dreamer cometh; come now,
therefore, and let us slay him[5]." They did not kill him, however,
but they put him in a pit in spite of the anguish of his soul, and sold
him as a slave to the Ishmaelites, and he was taken down into a foreign
country, where he had no friends. Now this was most cruel and most
cowardly in the sons of Jacob; and what is so especially shocking in it
is, that Joseph was not only innocent and defenceless, their younger
brother whom they ought to have protected, but besides that, he was so
confiding and loving, that he need not have come to them, that he would
not at all have been in their power, _except_ for his desire to do them
service. Now, whom does this history remind us of but of Him
concerning whom the Master of the vineyard said, on sending Him to the
husbandmen, "They will reverence My Son[6]?" "But when the husbandmen
saw the Son, they said among themselves, This is the Heir, come, let us
kill Him, and let us seize on His inheritance. And they caught Him,
and cast Him out of the vineyard, and slew Him." Here, then, is an
additional circumstance of cruelty to affect us in Christ's history,
such as is suggested in Joseph's, but which no instance of a brute
animal's or of a child's sufferings can have; our Lord was not only
guiltless and defenceless, but He had come among His persecutors in
love.
3. And now, instead of taking the case of the young, innocent, and
confiding, let us take another instance which will present to us our
Lord's passion under another aspect. Let us suppose that some aged and
venerable person whom we have known as long as we could recollect any
thing, and loved and reverenced, suppose such a one, who had often done
us kindnesses, who had taught us, who had given us good advice, who had
encouraged us, smiled on us, comforted us in trouble, whom we knew to
be very good and religious, very holy, full of wisdom, full of heaven,
with grey hairs and awful countenance, waiting for Almighty God's
summons to leave this world for a better place; suppose, I say, such a
one whom we have ourselves known, and whose memory is dear to us,
rudely seized by fierce men, stripped naked in public, insulted, driven
about here and there, made a laughing-stock, struck, spit on, dressed
up in other clothes in ridicule, then severely scourged on the back,
then laden with some heavy load till he could carry it no longer,
pulled and dragged about, and at last exposed with all his wounds to
the gaze of a rude multitude who came and jeered him, what would be our
feelings? Let us in our mind think of this person or that, and
consider how we should be overwhelmed and pierced through and through
by such a hideous occurrence.
But what is all this to the suffering of the holy Jesus, which we bear
to read of as a matter of course! Only think of Him, when in His
wounded state, and without garment on. He had to creep up the ladder,
as He could, which led Him up the cross high enough for His murderers
to nail Him to it, and consider _who_ it was that was in that misery.
Or again, view Him dying, hour after hour bleeding to death; and how?
in peace? no; with His arms stretched out, and His face exposed to
view, and any one who pleased coming and staring at Him, mocking Him,
and watching the gradual ebbing of His strength, and the approach of
death. These are some of the appalling details which the Gospels
contain, and surely they were not recorded for nothing, but that we
might dwell on them.
Do you think that those who saw these things had much heart for eating
or drinking or enjoying themselves? On the contrary, we are told that
even "the people who came together to that sight, smote their breasts
and returned[7]." If these were the feelings of the people, what were
St. John's feelings, or St. Mary Magdalene's, or St. Mary's, our Lord's
blessed mother? Do we desire to be of this company? do we desire,
according to His own promise, to be rather blessed than the womb that
bare Him, and the paps that He sucked? do we desire to be as His
brother, and sister, and mother[8]? Then, surely, ought we to have
some portion of that mother's sorrow! When He was on the cross and she
stood by, then, according to Simeon's prophecy, "a sword pierced
through her soul[9]." What is the use of our keeping the memory of His
cross and passion, unless we lament and are in sorrow with her? I can
understand people who do not keep Good Friday at all; they are indeed
very ungrateful, but I know what they mean; I understand them. But I
do not understand at all, I do not at all see what men mean who do
profess to keep it, yet do not sorrow, or at least try to sorrow. Such
a spirit of grief and lamentation is expressly mentioned in Scripture
as a characteristic of those who turn to Christ. If then _we_ do not
sorrow, have _we_ turned to Him? "I will pour upon the house of
David," says the merciful Saviour Himself, before He came on earth,
speaking of what was to come, "upon the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the
spirit of grace and of supplications; and they shall look upon Me whom
they have pierced, and they shall _mourn_, for Him, as one mourneth for
his only son, and shall be in bitterness for Him, as one that is in
bitterness for his first-born[10]."
One thing I will add:--if there be persons here present who are
conscious to themselves that they do not feel the grief which this
season should cause them, who feel now as they do at other times, let
them consider with themselves whether perhaps this defect does not
arise from their having neglected to come to church, whether during
this season or at other times, as often as they might. Our feelings
are not in our own power; God alone can rule our feelings; God alone
can make us sorrow, when we would but cannot sorrow; but _will_ He, if
we have not diligently sought Him according to our opportunities in
this house of grace? I speak of those who might come to prayers more
frequently, and do not. I know well that many cannot come. I speak of
those who can, if they will. Even if they come as often as they are
able, I know well they will not be _satisfied_ with their own feelings;
they will be conscious even then that they ought to grieve more than
they do; of course none of us feels the great event of this day as he
ought, and therefore we all _ought_ to be dissatisfied with ourselves.
However, if this is not our own fault, we need not be out of heart, for
God will mercifully lead us forward in His own time; but if it arises
from our not coming to prayers here as often as we might, then our
coldness and deadness _are_ our own fault, and I beg you all to
consider that that fault is not a slight one. It is said in the Book
of Revelation, "Behold He cometh with clouds; and every eye shall see
Him, and they also which pierced Him: and all kindreds of the earth
shall wail because of Him[11]." We, my brethren, every one of us,
shall one day rise from our graves, and see Jesus Christ; we shall see
Him who hung on the cross, we shall see His wounds, we shall see the
marks in His hands, and in His feet, and in His side. Do we wish to be
of those, then, who wail and lament, or of those who rejoice? If we
would not lament at the sight of Him then, we must lament at the
thought of Him now. Let us prepare to meet our God; let us come into
His Presence whenever we can; let us try to fancy as if we saw the
Cross and Him upon it; let us draw near to it; let us beg Him to look
on us as He did on the penitent thief, and let us say to Him, "Lord
remember me when Thou comest in Thy kingdom[12]."
Let this be added to the prayer, my brethren, with which you are about
to leave this church. After I have given the blessing, you will say to
yourselves a short prayer. Well; fancy you see Jesus Christ on the
cross, and say to Him with the penitent thief, "Lord, remember me when
Thou comest in Thy kingdom;" that is, "Remember me, Lord, in mercy,
remember not my sins, but Thine own cross; remember Thine own
sufferings, remember that Thou sufferedst for me, a sinner; remember in
the last day that I, during my lifetime, felt Thy sufferings, that I
suffered on my cross by Thy side. Remember me then, and make me
remember Thee now."
[1] 1 Pet. i. 8; ii. 3.
[2] Passion-tide.
[3] 1 Pet. ii. 22, 23.
[4] Ps. xxii. 6.
[5] Gen. xxxvii. 19, 20.
[6] Matt. xxi. 37-39.
[7] Luke xxiii. 48.
[8] Matt. xii. 46, &c.
[9] Luke ii. 85.
[10] Zech. xii. 10.
[11] Rev. i. 7.
[12] Luke xxiii. 42.
SERMON XI.
Attendance on Holy Communion.
"_Ye will not come to Me, that ye might have life._"--John v. 40.
St. John tells us in to-day's Epistle[1] that "God hath given unto us
eternal life, and this life is in His Son. He that hath the Son hath
life, and he that hath not the Son hath not life." Yet in the text the
Son Himself, our Saviour, sorrowfully and solemnly expostulates with
His own brethren, "Ye will not come to Me, that ye might have life."
"He came unto His own, and His own received Him not." We know from
history, as a matter of fact, that they did not receive Him, that they
did not come to Him when He came to them; but He says in the text that
they would not come, that they did not wish to come, implying that
they, and none else but they, were the cause of their not coming.
Does it not seem a plain natural instinct that every one should seek
his own good? What then is meant by this unwillingness to come for the
greatest of goods, life, an unwillingness, which, guided by the light
of Scripture and by experience, we can confidently affirm to prevail at
this day as widely and as fully as in the age in which Christ said it?
Here is no question of a comparison of good with good. We cannot
account for this unconcern about Christ's gift, by alleging that we
have a sufficient treasure in our hands already, and therefore are not
interested by the news of a greater. Far from it; for is not the world
continually taking away its own gifts, whatever they are? and does it
not thereby bring home to us, does it not importunately press upon us,
and weary us with the lesson of its own nothingness? Do we not confess
that eternal life is the best of all conceivable gifts, before which
none other deserve to be mentioned? yet we live to the world.
Nay, and sin also warns us not to trust to its allurements; like the
old prophet of Bethel, sin is forced to bear witness against itself,
and in the name of the Lord to denounce the Lord's judgments upon us.
While it seduces us, it stings us with remorse; and even when the sense
of guilt is overcome, still the misery of sinning is inflicted on us in
the inward disappointments and the temporal punishments which commonly
follow upon transgression. Yet we will not come unto Christ that we
may have life.
Further, it is not that God treats us as servants or slaves; He does
not put a burden on us above our strength: He does not repel us from
His Presence till we have prepared some offering to bring before Him,
or have made some good progress in the way of life. No, He has begun
His dealings with us with special, spontaneous acts of mercy. He has,
by an inconceivable goodness, sent His Son to be our life. Far from
asking any gift at our hands in the first instance, He has from our
infancy taken us in charge, and freely given us "all things that
pertain unto life and godliness." He has been urgent with us in the
very morning of our days, and by the fulness of His grace has
anticipated the first stirrings of pride and lust, while as yet sin
slept within us. Is it not so? What more could have been done for us?
Yet, in spite of all this, men will not come unto Him that they may
have life.
So strange is this, that thoughtful persons are sometimes tempted to
suppose that the mass of mankind do not sufficiently know what their
duty is; that they need teaching, else they would be obedient. And
others fancy that if the doctrines of the Gospel were set before them
in a forcible or persuasive manner, this would serve as a means of
rousing them to an habitual sense of their true state. But ignorance
is not the true cause why men will not come to Christ.
Who are these willing outcasts from Christ's favour, of whom I speak?
Do not think I say a strong thing, my brethren, when I tell you that I
am speaking of some of those who now hear me. Not that I dare draw the
line any where, or imagine that I can give any rule for knowing for
certain, just who come to Him in heart and spirit, and who do not; but
I am quite sure that many, who would shrink from giving up their
interest in the Gospel, and who profess to cast their lot with Christ,
and to trust in His death for their salvation, nevertheless do not
really seek Him that they may have life, in spite of their fair
speeches. This I say I am too well enabled to know, because in fact so
it is, that He has shown us _how_ to come to Him, and I see that men do
_not_ come to Him in that way which He has pointed out. He has shown
us, that to come to Him for life is a literal bodily action; not a mere
figure, not a mere movement of the heart towards Him, but an action of
the visible limbs; not a mere secret faith, but a coming to church, a
passing on along the aisle to His holy table, a kneeling down there
before Him, and a receiving of the gift of eternal life in the form of
bread and wine. There can be no mistaking His own appointment. He
said indeed, "He that cometh to Me shall never hunger;" but then He
explained what this coming was, by adding, "He that eateth Me, even he
shall live by Me." If then a man does not seek Him where He is, there
is no profit in seeking Him where He is not. What is the good of
sitting at home seeking Him, when His Presence is in the holy
Eucharist? Such perverseness is like the sin of the Israelites who
went to seek for the manna at a time when it was not given. May not He
who gives the gift, prescribe the place and mode of giving it?
Observe how plain and cogent is the proof of what I have been saying.
Our Lord declares, "Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of Man, and
drink His blood, ye have no life in you:" no life, life being the gift
He offers in the text; also He says of the bread which He had broken,
"_This_ is My Body;" and of the cup, "_This_ is My Blood," is it not
very plain, then, that if we refuse to eat that Bread, and drink that
Cup, we are refusing to come unto Him that we may have life?
The true reason why people will not come to this Holy Communion is
this,--they do not wish to lead religious lives; they do not like to
promise to lead religious lives; and they think that that blessed
Sacrament does bind them to do so, bind them to live very much more
strictly and thoughtfully than they do at present. Allow as much as we
will for proper distrust of themselves, reasonable awe, the burden of
past sin, imperfect knowledge, and other causes, still after all there
is in most cases a reluctance to bear, or at least to pledge themselves
to bear, Christ's yoke; a reluctance to give up the service of sin once
for all; a lingering love of their own ease, of their own will, of
indolence, of carnal habits, of the good opinion of men whom they do
not respect; a distrust of their perseverance in holy resolves,
grounded on a misgiving about their present sincerity. This is why men
will not come to Christ for life; they know that He will not impart
Himself to them, unless they consent to devote themselves to Him.
In what way does He offer Himself to them in Holy Communion? through
the commands and sanctions of the Law. First, we are warned against
secret sin, and called to self-examination; a week's preparation
follows, then, when the time of celebration is come, we hear the
Commandments read, we are solemnly exhorted to put off every thing
which may offend God; we confess our sins and our deep sorrow for them;
lastly, after being admitted to the Sacrament, we expressly bind
ourselves to the service of our Lord and Saviour. Doubtless _this_ it
is which the unrenewed heart cannot bear, the very notion of giving up
sin altogether and once for all. And thus, though a gracious voice cry
ever so distinctly from the altar, "Come unto Me, and I will refresh
you;" and though it be ever so true that this refreshment is nothing
short of life, eternal life, yet we recollect the words which follow,
"Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me," and we forthwith murmur and
complain, as if the gift were most ungracious, laden with conditions,
and hardly purchased, merely because it is offered in that way in which
alone a righteous Lord could offer it,--the way of righteousness.
Men had rather give up the promise than implicate themselves in the
threats which surround it. Bright and attractive as is the treasure
presented to us in the Gospel, still the pearl of great price lies in
its native depths, at the bottom of the ocean. We see it indeed, and
know its worth; but not many dare plunge in to bring it thence. What
reward offered to the diver shall overcome the imminent peril of a
frightful death? and those who love sin, and whose very life consists
in habits and practices short of religious, what promised prize can
reconcile them to the certain destruction of what they delight in, the
necessary annihilation of all their most favourite indulgences and
enjoyments which are contrary to the rule of the Gospel? Let us not
suppose that any exhortations will induce such men to change their
conduct; they confess the worth of the soul, their obligation to obey,
and their peril if they do not; yet, for all this, the present
sacrifice required of them is too much for them. They may be told of
their Lord's love for them, His self-denying mercy when on earth, His
free gifts, and His long-suffering since; they will not be influenced;
and why? because the fault is in their heart; they do not like God's
service. _They_ know full well what they would have, if they might
choose. Christ is said to have done all things for us; "Far from it,"
say they, "He is not a Mediator suited to our case. Give life, give
holiness, give truth, give a Saviour to deliver from sin; this is not
enough: no, _we_ want a Saviour to deliver _in_ sin. This is our need.
It is a small thing to offer us life, if it be in the way of God's
commandments; it is a mockery of our hopes to call that a free gift,
which is, in fact, a heavy yoke. We want to do nothing at all, and
then the gift will be free indeed. If our hearts _must_ be changed to
fit us for heaven, let them be changed, only let us have no trouble in
the work ourselves. Let the change be part of the work done for us;
let us literally be clay in the hands of the potter; let us sleep, and
dream, and wake in the morning new men; let us have no fear and
trembling, no working out salvation, no self-denial. Let Christ
suffer, but be it ours to rejoice only. What we wish is, to be at
ease; we wish to have every thing our own way; we wish to enjoy both
this world and the next; we wish to be happy all at once. If the
Gospel promises this, we accept it; but if not, it is but a bondage, it
has no persuasiveness, it will receive no acceptance from us." Such is
the language of men's hearts, though their tongues do not utter it;
language most unthankful, most profane, most sinful.
These reflections I recommend to the serious attention of those who
live in neglect of Holy Communion; but, alas! I must not quit the
subject without addressing some cautions to those who are in the
observance of it. I would that none of us had need of cautions; but
the best of us is in warfare, and on his trial, and none of us can be
the worse for them. I need not remind you, my brethren, that there is
a peril attached to the unworthy reception; for this is the very excuse
which many plead for not receiving; but it often happens, as in other
matters also, that men have fears when they should not fear, and do not
fear when they should fear. A slight consideration will show this; for
what is the danger in communicating? that of coming to it, as St. Paul
implies, _without_ fear. It is evident then, that, in spite of what
was just now said, when persons are in danger of receiving it
unworthily, they commonly do not really feel their danger; for their
very danger consists in their not fearing. If they did truly and
religiously fear the blessed Sacrament, so far they would not be in
danger of an unworthy reception.
Now it is plain when it is that persons are in danger of receiving it
fearlessly and thoughtlessly; not when they receive it for the first
time, but when they have often received it, when they are in the habit
of receiving it. This is the dangerous time.
When a Christian first comes to Holy Communion, he comes with awe and
anxiety. At least, I will not suppose the case of a person so little
in earnest about his soul, and so profane, as to despise the ordinance
when he first attends it. Perhaps he has no clear doctrinal notion of
the sacred rite, but the very title of it, as the Sacrament of his
Lord's Body and Blood, suffices to make him serious. Let us believe
that he examines himself, and prays for grace to receive the gift
worthily; and he feels at the time of celebration and afterwards, that,
having bound himself more strictly to a religious life, and received
Divine influences, he has more to answer for. But after he has
repeated his attendance several times, this fear and reverence wear
away with the novelty. As he begins to be familiar with the words of
the prayers, and the order of the Service, so does he both hear and
receive with less emotion and solemnity. It is not that he is a worse
man than he was at first, but he is exposed to a greater temptation to
be profane. He had no deeper religious principle when he first
communicated than he has now (probably not so deep), but his want of
acquaintance with the Service kept him from irreverence, indifference,
and wandering thoughts: but now this accidental safeguard is removed,
and as he has not succeeded in acquiring any habitual reverence from
former seasons of communicating, and has no clear knowledge of the
nature of the Sacrament to warn and check him, he is exposed to his own
ordinary hardness of heart and unbelief, in circumstances much more
perilous than those in which they are ordinarily displayed. If it is a
sin to neglect God in the world, it is a greater sin to neglect Him in
church. Now is the time when he is in danger of not discerning the
Lord's Body, of receiving the gift of life as a thing of course,
without awe, gratitude, and self-abasement. And the more constant he
is in his attendance at the sacred rite, the greater will be his risk;
his _risk_, I say; that is, if he neglects to be jealous over himself,
to watch himself narrowly, and to condemn and hate in himself the
faintest risings of coldness and irreverence; for, of course, if he so
acts, the less will be his risk, and the greater will be his security
that his heart will not betray him. But I speak of those who are not
sufficiently aware of their danger, and these are many.
Here, too, let me mention another sin of a similar character into which
communicants are apt to fall; _viz._ a forgetfulness, after
communicating, that they have communicated. Even when we resist the
coldness which frequent communion may occasion, and strive to possess
our minds in as profound a seriousness as we felt when the rite was new
to us, even then there is often a painful difference between our
feelings before we have attended it, and after. We are diligent in
preparation, we are careless in retrospect; we dismiss from our memory
what we cherished in our expectations; we forget that we ever hoped and
feared. But consider; when we have solemn thoughts about Holy
Communion only till we have come to it, what does this imply, but that
we imagine that we have received the benefit of it once for all, as a
thing done and over, and that there is nothing more to seek? This is
but a formal way of worshipping; as if we had wiped off a writing which
was against us, and there was an end of the matter. But blessed are
those servants who are ever expecting Him, who is ever coming to them;
whether He come "at even, or at midnight, or at cock-crowing, or in the
morning;" whereas those who first come to Him for the gift of grace,
and then neglect to wait for its progressive accomplishment in their
hearts, how profanely they act! it is as if to receive the blessing in
mockery, and then to cast it away. Surely, after so great a privilege,
we ought to behave ourselves as if we had partaken some Divine food and
medicine (if great things may be compared to ordinary), which, in its
own inscrutable way, and in its own good time, will "prosper in the
thing whereunto God sends it"--the fruit of the tree of life which Adam
forfeited, which had that virtue in it, that it was put out of his
reach in haste, lest he should take and eat, and live for ever. How
earnest, then, should be our care lest this gracious treasure which we
carry within us should be lost by our own fault, by the unhealthy
excitements, or the listless indolence, to which our nature invites us!
"Quench not the Spirit," says the Apostle; surely our privilege is a
burden heavy to bear, before it turn to a principle of life and
strength, till Christ be formed in us perfectly; and we the while, what
cause have we to watch, and pray, and fulfil all righteousness, till
the day dawn, and the day-star arise in our hearts!