Produced by Al Haines
The Life of Duty
A YEAR'S PLAIN SERMONS
ON THE
GOSPELS OR EPISTLES.
VOL. II.
TRINITY TO ADVENT.
BY
H. J. WILMOT-BUXTON, M.A.,
VICAR OF S. GILES-IN-THE-WOOD, N. DEVON.
AUTHOR OF
"SUNDAY SERMONETTES FOR A YEAR."
"MISSION SERMONS."
"THE LIFE WORTH LIVING AND OTHER PLAIN SERMONS."
"THE CHILDREN'S BREAD A SERIES OF SHORT SERMONS FOR CHILDREN."
"THE LORD'S SONG SERMONS ON HYMNS," ETC.
Sixth Edition.
London:
SKEFFINGTON & SON, PICCADILLY, W.,
PUBLISHERS TO H.M. THE QUEEN AND TO H.R.H. THE PRINCE OF WALES.
1898.
TO
MY DEAR MOTHER,
MY EARLIEST
AND
BEST TEACHER AND GUIDE,
THESE SERMONS
ARE
DEDICATED.
Contents.
THE OPEN DOOR (_Trinity Sunday_)
REV. iv. 1.
"A door was opened in Heaven."
THE CONTRAST (_First Sunday after Trinity_)
S. LUKE xvi. 19, 20.
"There was a certain rich man, . . . and there was a certain
beggar named Lazarus."
THE WAY OF LIFE (_Second Sunday after Trinity_)
1 JOHN iii. 14.
"We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we
love the brethren."
MAN'S LIFE HIS MONUMENT (_Third Sunday after Trinity_)
1 S. PETER v. 10.
"The God of all grace . . . make you perfect, stablish,
strengthen, settle you."
THE BLESSING OF MERCY (_Fourth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. LUKE vi. 36.
"Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful."
THE WORDS OF OUR LIPS (_Fifth Sunday after Trinity_)
1 S. PETER iii. 10.
"For he that will love life, and see good days,
let him refrain his tongue from evil, and his lips
that they speak no guile."
ALIVE UNTO GOD (_Sixth Sunday after Trinity_)
ROMANS vi. 11.
"Likewise reckon ye also yourselves to be dead
indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus
Christ our Lord."
SERVANTS OF SIN (_Seventh Sunday after Trinity_)
ROMANS vi. 20.
"The servants of sin."
KNOWN BY THEIR FRUITS (_Eighth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. MATT. vii. 16.
"Ye shall know them by their fruits."
RENDERING OUR ACCOUNT (_Ninth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. LUKE xvi. 2.
"Give an account of thy stewardship."
THE TEARS OF CHRIST (_Tenth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. LUKE xix. 41.
"He beheld the city, and wept over it."
THE GRACE OF GOD (_Eleventh Sunday after Trinity_)
1 Cor. xv. 10.
"By the Grace of God I am what I am."
DEAF EARS AND STAMMERING TONGUES (_Twelfth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. MARK vii. 37.
"He hath done all things well. He maketh both the deaf
to hear, and the dumb to speak."
THE GOOD SAMARITAN (_Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. LUKE x. 30.
"A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell
among thieves."
WALKING WITH GOD (_Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
GALATIANS v. 16.
"Walk in the Spirit."
THE PREACHING OF NATURE (_Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. MATT. vi. 28.
"Consider the lilies of the field."
PAST KNOWLEDGE (_Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
EPHESIANS iii. 19.
"To know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge."
THE PRISON-HOUSE (_Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity_)
EPHESIANS iv. 1.
"The prisoner of the Lord."
FIRM TO THE END (_Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
1 COR. i. 8.
"Who also shall confirm you unto the end."
SCHOLARS OF CHRIST (_Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity_)
EPHESIANS iv. 20.
"Ye have not so learned Christ."
WARY WALKING (_Twentieth Sunday after Trinity_)
EPHESIANS v. 15.
"See then that ye walk circumspectly."
STRONG CHRISTIANS (_Twenty-first Sunday after Trinity_)
EPHESIANS vi. 10.
"My brethren, be strong in the Lord."
THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS (_Twenty-second Sunday after Trinity_)
S. MATTHEW xviii. 28.
"Pay me that thou owest."
THE FREEDOM OF THE CITY (_Twenty-third Sunday after Trinity_)
PHIL. iii. 20.
"Our conversation is in Heaven."
THANKFUL SERVICE (_Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity_)
COL. i. 12.
"Giving thanks."
GATHERING THE FRAGMENTS (_Twenty-fifth Sunday after Trinity_)
S. JOHN vi. 12.
"Gather up the fragments that remain."
WHAT THE FLOWERS SAY (_Children's Flower Service_)
PSALM ciii. 15.
"As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth."
DAILY BREAD (_Harvest Thanksgiving_)
PSALM lxv. 9.
"Thou preparest them corn."
GOD'S JEWELS (_Schools_)
MALACHI iii. 17.
"They shall be Mine, saith the Lord of Hosts,
in that day when I make up My jewels."
MUTUAL HELP (_Female Friendly Society)_
S. MARK iii. 35.
"Whosoever shall do the Will of God, the same
is My brother, and My sister, and My Mother."
SERMON XXXV.
THE OPEN DOOR.
(Trinity Sunday.)
REV. iv. 1.
"A door was opened in Heaven."
When Dante had written his immortal poems on Hell and Purgatory, the
people of Italy used to shrink back from him with awe, and whisper,
"see the man who has looked upon Hell." To-day we can in fancy look on
the face of the beloved Apostle, who saw Heaven opened, and the things
which shall be hereafter. We have summed up the great story of the
Gospel, and have trodden the path of salvation from Bethlehem to
Calvary. We have seen Jesus, the only Son of God, dying for our sins,
and rising again for our justification, and ascending into Heaven to
plead for us as our eternal great High Priest. We have heard of the
coming of God the Holy Ghost, the gift of the Father, sent in the name
of the Son. To-day, the Festival of the Blessed Trinity, Three
Persons, yet one God, we are permitted to gaze for a moment through the
open door, on the Home of God, yes, and the Home of God's people, who
are redeemed with the Precious Blood of Christ.
Now, there are many people who never think of Heaven at all, and many
who think of it in a wrong way. When we were baptised, the door was
opened for us in Heaven, and Jesus said to us, "Behold, I set before
you an open door." From that day we were permitted to look with the
eye of faith upon those good things which pass man's understanding.
But some of us would not look up. We were like travellers going along
a muddy road on a starlight night, and who look down on the foul, dirty
path, and never upwards to the bright sky above. My brother, turn your
eyes from this world's dirty ways, look away from your selfish work,
and your selfish pleasure, look up from the things which are seen and
are temporal, from the fashion of this world which passeth away, and
gaze through the open door of Revelation at the things which shall be
hereafter. I said that many people never think of Heaven at all.
These are they who love this world too well to think of the world to
come, they are of the earth, earthy. "As is the earthy, such are they
that are earthy, and as is the Heavenly, such also are they that are
Heavenly."
I said, too, that many think of Heaven in a wrong way, as did the lady
of fashion, who fancied Heaven would be like the London season, only
better, as there would be no disagreeable people. Now, if we are to
think rightly of Heaven, we must do as S. John did. He heard a voice
saying, "Come up hither, and I will show the things which shall be
hereafter. And immediately he was in the Spirit." We must ask for the
Holy Spirit to lift our hearts and minds to Heaven; we must try to go
up higher in our thoughts, words, and works; we must try to get above
the world, above ourselves, so shall we be able to look, though with
bowed head and shaded eyes, through the open door. Let us reverently
do so now, and see what we can learn of the things which shall be
hereafter. First, I think we learn that Heaven and earth are not, as
some people fancy, two very different places, very far apart. The
Church of Christ is one family, bound together by _one_ faith, _one_
Baptism, _one_ hope, acknowledging one God and Father of us all. This
family has one Home; here in earth it dwells in a lower chamber, after
death it passes into a higher room of God's great House. The Apostle,
speaking of the Church, says, "Ye _are_ come, (not ye _will_ come,)
unto Mount Sion, and unto the city of the living God, the Heavenly
Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of angels, to the general
assembly and Church of the firstborn which are written in Heaven, and
to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect,
and to Jesus the Mediator of the New Covenant, and to the blood of
sprinkling, that speaketh better things than that of Abel."
In a word, our Heavenly life should commence when we are baptised, day
by day ought we to grow in grace, and when we have grown sufficiently,
God takes us to the upper Room above. It is this mistake of separating
Heaven and earth which makes people careless of their lives. If you
want to dwell with God through all eternity, you must walk humbly with
God all the days of your earthly life. Look again through the open
door, and learn that in Heaven God is the central figure. So, if we
are living here as Christ's people, God will be the central figure in
_our_ life, the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end of all our
work, our wish, our plan. My brothers, if you feel that with you
_self_ is the chief object in your existence, be sure that you are not
living the Heavenly life. You have put yourself in the place of God.
Again, as we look through the open door, we see the intense _beauty_ of
the Heavenly life. We see gates of pearl, and a throne on which sits
one like a jasper and a sardine stone, and the rainbow round about the
throne is in sight like unto an emerald. In all ages precious stones
have been objects of the greatest value. We are told that Julius
Caesar paid a hundred and twenty-five thousand crowns for one pearl,
and monarchs have boasted of possessing a diamond of priceless value.
You remember that God says of His redeemed ones, "they shall be Mine in
that day that I make up My jewels." Well, I think we hear so much of
precious stones in the description of Heaven, that we may learn that
its great glory and beauty consists in the holiness of those who dwell
there. _They_ are the pure and precious pearls which build up the
foundation, and they get their brightness from God, who sits enthroned
among them, and who is to look upon as a jasper and a sardine stone.
And these precious stones are of different colours, as they reflect the
light from a different point. So is it with the people of God, they
reflect the light from the face of God in various ways, and so have
various virtues. One shines with fiery zeal, like the red ruby.
Another glitters with the soft beauty of a humble spirit, like the
pearl, whilst yet another sparkles with many graces, like the
parti-coloured flashes of the diamond. Some lives which here are
obscure and neglected, like the precious gem at the bottom of the
ocean, shall one day glitter in Heaven, and be among the jewels of the
Master.
Ah! my brothers, are _our_ lives such that we can ever hope to adore
God's jewel-house above? Can these poor dull characters of ours ever
shine as the stars for ever and ever? Think, what makes a gem flash
and sparkle? Light. Well, then, let us walk as the children of light,
let us look up, and catch the radiance from the face of Jesus, and
reflect it in our lives; then will our light shine here before men, and
one day shine yet brighter as we draw nearer to the source of all
light. And think again that often the brightest and fairest forms come
from the least likely materials. Of the same mould are the black coal,
and the glittering diamond. The unsightly slag which is thrown away
from the iron furnace forms beautiful crystals, and the very mud under
foot can, as men of science tell us, be turned into gleaming metal, and
sparkling gem. The fair colours which dye our clothing can be formed
from defiling pitch, and some of the most exquisite perfumes are
distilled from the foulest substances. My brother, the same God who
brings beauty out of ugliness, and fair purity from corruption, can so
change our vile nature, and our vile body, that they may be made like
unto Him. The work of the Blessed Trinity, of the Creator, the
Saviour, the Sanctifier, is day by day operating on the children of
God, and making all things new in them. And remember that work is
gradual. A man can make a sham diamond in a very short time, a real
gem must lie for ages buried in the earth. So, if we are really and
truly God's people, we must grow gradually, and bear all the cutting
and polishing which God sees right, before we are fit for the royal
treasury.
The same Divine Hand which changed Mary Magdalene to a loving penitent,
and the dying thief to a trusting disciple, and lifted Augustine from
the foul grave of lust to be a pillar of the Church, can likewise
change us, and make us to shine with the light of a stone most
precious. Once again, as we gaze through the open door, we hear of
music in Heaven. Those who have wrong ideas of the life to come seem
to imagine that the Heavenly existence consists in minstrelsy and
nothing else. Surely the song of the redeemed, and the music of the
golden harps, are a type of the perfect _harmony_ of Heaven. This life
is often full of discords, the life to come is perfectly in tune. Here
on earth our lives are very like musical instruments. One plays
nothing but dirges of sorrow and discontent. Another life is made up
of frivolous dance music; another is hideous with the discord of "sweet
bells jangled, out of tune, and harsh." The life to come is one of
perfect harmony, for each servant will be in complete accord with the
Master's will and pleasure. And I think the vision of those who play
upon their harps, and sing their song before the throne, show us that
the life to come is one of _occupation_. There will be, doubtless,
growth, progress, experience, work in Heaven. But there we shall be
able to do what we so seldom do here--all to the glory of God. Here we
work so selfishly, there all work is worship. Here we struggle for the
crown that we may wear it, there they cast down their crowns before the
Throne of God. When we speak of resting from our labours after death,
and being at peace, we cannot mean, we dare not hope, that we shall be
idle. When a famous man of science died, his friends said one to
another, "how busy he will be!" We are bidden to be workers together
with God, and we may believe that He has new and higher tasks for us
all, when we shall have passed through that door in Heaven which Jesus
has opened for all believers.
SERMON XXXVI.
THE CONTRAST.
(First Sunday after Trinity.)
S. LUKE xvi. 19, 20.
"There was a certain rich man, . . . and there was a certain beggar
named Lazarus."
What was the rich man's sin? We are not told that he had committed any
crime. He is not described as an extortioner or unjust. There is no
word about his having been an adulterer, or a thief, or an unbeliever,
or a Sabbath breaker. Surely there was no sin in his being rich, or
wearing costly clothes if he could afford it. Certainly not: it is not
_money_, but the _love_ of money, which is the root of all evil. The
sin of Dives is the sin of hundreds to-day. He lived for himself
alone, and he lived only for this world. He had sunk all his capital
in his gold and silver, and purple and fine linen. He had no treasure
laid up in Heaven. So when the moth and rust had done their work, and
death had broken through like a thief and stolen all his earthly goods,
he had nothing left. This parable is full of sharp contrasts. First,
there is the contrast in the life of these two men. The one rich, the
other a beggar. The one clothed in purple and fine linen, the other
almost naked, and covered with sores. The one fared sumptuously every
day, the other lay at the gate starving, and longing for the crumbs
which fell from the rich man's table. The one had friends and
acquaintances who ate of his meat and drank of his cup, the other was
"a pauper whom nobody owns," and the dogs were his only earthly
comforters. The rich man had great possessions, yet one thing he
lacked, and that was the one thing needful. He had the good things of
this life, yet he had not chosen the good part which could not be taken
away from him. He had gold and silver, purple and fine linen, but he
was without God in the world. Lazarus, the beggar, was after all the
truly rich man, "as having nothing, and yet possessing all things."
Next, there is a contrast in the death of these two men. One expired
in a luxurious bed. No doubt there were learned physicians beside him,
and perhaps friends and relatives, though, as a rule, selfish people
have few true friends. The other died we know not where, perhaps in
the hot dusty road at the rich man's gate. There were no doctors to
minister to his wants, no kindly hands to sooth his burning brow, to
moisten his parched lips, to close his glazing eyes. But the angels of
God were about his bed, and about his path, and in their hands they
bore him up, whom no man on earth had loved or cared for. And there is
a contrast in the after time for these two men. The rich man was
buried, doubtless, with great pomp. Some of us have seen such
funerals. What extravagance and display take the place of reverent
resignation and quiet grief! Of the beggar's burial place we know
nothing. But the sharpest contrast of all is in the world beyond, from
which for a moment Jesus draws back the veil. He who had pampered his
body and neglected his soul is now in torment; he who never listened to
the whisper of his conscience, is forced to hearken to its reproaches
now; he who had great possessions is worse off than a beggar--he had
gained the whole world and lost his own soul. And worst of all, he
sees Paradise afar off, and Lazarus resting there, where he may never
come. That beggar whom he had despised and neglected, to whose wants
he had never ministered, is comforted now, and the rich man is
tormented.
Oh! awful contrast! Dives in his misery of despair looks up, and for a
moment sees--
"The Heavenly City,
Built of bright and burnished gold,
Lying in transcendent beauty,
Stored with treasures all untold.
There he saw the meadows dewy
Spread with lilies wondrous fair--
Thousand thousand were the colours
Of the waving flowers there.
There were forests ever blooming,
Like our orchards here in May;
There were gardens never fading,
Which eternally are gay."
Saddest of all fates indeed must it be to gaze on Heaven and to live in
Hell. Then Dives remembers his brethren in the world, who are living
the old life which he lived in the flesh, spending his money perhaps;
and, still selfish after death as before, he asks that the beggar may
be sent from his rest and peace to warn them. The answer comes that
they, like Dives himself, have Moses and the Prophets to teach them, if
they neglect them nothing can avail them. And so the curtain drops
over this dreadful scene. Let us, brethren, hearken to some of the
lessons which come to us with a solemn sound from the world beyond the
grave. In the first place, let us learn that being respectable is not
a passport to Heaven. No doubt the rich man of the parable was very
respectable. If he had lived in these days, and there are many of his
family with us now, he would have worn glossy broadcloth instead of
purple, and have held a responsible position in his town and parish.
He would have gone to church sometimes, and have been very severe with
the outcasts of the gutter and the back slums. And yet we find that
all this outward respectability, these salutations in the market place,
were no passport to Heaven. The man lived for himself--he was a lover
of himself. He had no love for his brother whom he had seen, ay, every
day, lying at his gate; and so he could have no love for God whom he
had not seen. The sin of Dives, remember, was not that he was rich, it
was that he was utterly selfish and worldly. A poor man may be just as
sinful. The man who makes a god of his body and its pleasures, the man
who makes a god of his work or his science, or of anything save the
Lord God Almighty, the man who lives for himself and does nothing for
the good of others, be he rich or poor, is in the same class with Dives
in the parable. Next, there comes a thought of comfort from the story
of the beggar Lazarus. There was no virtue in his being poor--but he
loved his God, and he bore his sorrows patiently, and verily he had his
reward. Jesus tells us that blessed are they that mourn, for they
shall be comforted; that all who have borne hunger and thirst, and
persecution, or loss of friends for His sake, shall hereafter have a
great reward. You, my brethren, who are any ways afflicted or
distressed, who have to bear sickness or poverty, who have few friends
and few prospects in this world, and yet are patient, and trustful, and
believing, look beyond the veil, and be sure that there, if not here,
you shall have your good things--such good things as pass man's
understanding.
Again, we learn that death does not deprive us of memory. One of old
said wisely that they who cross the sea change their sky, but not their
mind, and that no exile ever yet fled from himself; and even after we
have exchanged this world for the unseen world to come, we do not
escape ourselves, our thoughts and memories are with us. The rich man
was bidden to remember his past life. It must have been a terrible
picture as seen in the clear understanding of the spirit world. Once
his life had appeared pleasant enough, harmless enough; now Dives saw
it in its true colour, and understood the selfishness, the worldliness,
the godlessness which had ruined his soul. He saw all the mistakes
which he had made, and felt the terrible conviction that it was too
late to repair them. "Four things," says the Eastern sage, "come not
back again: the spoken word, the sped arrow, the past life, and the
neglected opportunity."
My brothers, what fate can be more awful than that of having to look
back upon a wasted life through all eternity? God has committed to you
a precious trust in the life you have. Your position, your wealth, or
poverty are nothing, whatever your life is it must be consecrated to
God. You must live for Him, and by Him, and walk in the way of His
commandments, if you are to be with Him through eternity. You can make
your own choice: God or mammon, this world, or the world to come are
before you, but both you cannot have. If you make your Heaven out of
the world's materials, you cannot expect to find it again beyond the
grave. Lastly, let us learn that the means of grace which we have are
sufficient for our salvation. The brothers of the rich man had Moses
and the Prophets, and further help was denied them. We have in God's
Church, and Sacraments, in God's Word, and in Prayer, the means of
drawing near to our Saviour, and saving our soul alive. We must not
ask for some new revelation, some fresh Gospel, some sign or miracle.
If we use not the means given us, neither shall we be persuaded though
one rose from the dead. It is sometimes the fashion in these days to
sneer at the preacher, or to listen with a polite contempt. God grant
that those "who come to scoff, may remain to pray."
SERMON XXXVII.
THE WAY OF LIFE.
(Second Sunday after Trinity.)
1 JOHN iii. 14.
"We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the
brethren."
The writings of S. John the Evangelist breathe forth love as a flower
garden does sweetness. Here lies the secret of S. John's title, "the
disciple whom Jesus loved." Love begets love, and the disciple was so
near to the heart of his Master because he loved much. When the text
was written he was a very old man, and Bishop of Ephesus. It was in
that fair and famous city that men worshipped the goddess Diana, of the
Ephesians, in a temple which was ranked among the seven wonders of the
world. In the olden days there had been another temple to the goddess,
which was burnt on the night when Alexander the Great was born. Two
hundred and twenty years was the new temple in building, and each of
its columns was the gift of a prince. All that the art of Greece could
give was lavished upon the building. The hand of Praxiteles carved the
altar, the magic pencil of Apelles adorned its walls with a picture of
Alexander. Ephesus was also famous for its magic arts; and when the
people had been turned to Christ by the preaching of S. Paul, they
brought their books of conjuring and curious arts and burned them
before him. Now the grass grows rank among the broken columns and few
stones which mark the ruins of what was Ephesus.
It was in such a city, then in its full pride and beauty, that S. John,
the aged, spent the last days of his long life. S. Jerome tells us how
the old Bishop was almost too feeble to be carried into the church,
where now was worshipped the true God; and how his trembling lips could
only fashion the same words over and over again: "My little children,
love one another." His hearers growing weary of this one text, asked
S. John why he was ever repeating it, and the old man answered,
"Because it is the teaching of the Lord; and if this alone be observed,
it is sufficient." To be as little children, and to love one another,
such is the whole duty of man. S. John had lived a long life, and had
seen men and cities, and the one lesson which he had learnt above all
others is that which he teaches above all others--love. I think,
brothers, we can picture the old white-haired Bishop of Ephesus, borne
day after day upon a litter into his church, and ever saying the same
tender words, "little children, love one another." What a retrospect
there was for S. John to look back along that stretch of years! What
memories must have filled the old man's heart of those days when he was
a sunny-haired stripling, working with his brothers in the fishing
boat, and casting net, and pulling oar over the bright waters of
Gennesareth. What memories must have come of that Gracious Presence
which one day appeared among the fisher folks, and opened a new world
and a new life to S. John and his companions. How every word and act
of Him, who spake as never man spake, and went about doing good, must
have been engraved on the memory of the beloved disciple! He had
doubtless heard words spoken which no other ear had heard; he who was
nearest to the heart of Jesus, must have listened to mysteries which
the rest could not hear. Day by day as the old Bishop lies in the dim
religious light of the minster, he looks back and sees, as in a vision,
the story of the vanished years. What sees he? He looks in memory
upon a marriage feast, far away in Cana of Galilee. He sees the giver
of the feast anxious and troubled. The wine is exhausted. He hears
the Master give the answer to the Virgin Mother's request, and His
command to the servants. He recalls the astonishment of all present
when "the conscious water saw its God, and blushed;" and he learns from
that first miracle of the Master a lesson of love. Many another loving
act of mercy comes back to his memory. He seems to see once more the
impotent man, lying sadly at the pool of Bethesda. Again he looks on
the multitude thronging the mountain by the Lake of Galilee; and in the
broken bread which feeds the crowd, S. John sees a lesson of love.
Once more he looks upon the trembling, sinful, sorrowful woman, whom
the Jewish rulers drag to condemnation. Once more he sees the Master's
hand-writing upon the ground, and hears this gentle sentence, "Go, and
sin no more." Once more he hears the wondrous lessons of the Light of
the World, and the True Vine, and the Good Shepherd, which his own hand
had written from the Master's mouth. Once more he seems to stand
beside the grave of dead Lazarus, and as he sees the dead alive again,
he learns another lesson of love, and whispers, "We know that we have
passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren." After all
that lapse of ages, the old man seems to see the sparkle of Mary's
tears, and to smell the perfume of her precious gift.
Then, too, there comes the memory of Palm Sunday, with its glad
procession, its waving branches, its joyful shouts, in which S. John,
then young and vigorous, had delighted to take part. Then the
beginning of sorrow, the days of wonder, and of terror, and of gloom,
begin to darken round the old man's sight. The night comes back to him
when the dear Hands of Jesus washed his feet, and when, at that sad and
solemn parting feast, he had lain close to the loving Heart of the
Master. Once more he sees Judas go forth on his dark errand; once more
he sees the gloomy shadows of Gethsemane, and hears the clash of arms
as the soldiers enter, Then all the confusion and horror of that
dreadful night come back to him. He hears S. Peter's denial, and marks
his bitter tears. Presently he seems to stand again beneath the Cross,
amid the awful gloom of Calvary, and anon he is leading the Virgin
Mother tenderly to his own home. She has been buried long since in
that very city of Ephesus, but the old days come back to him. He is
running once more, young, and lithe, and active, to the garden
sepulchre, and outrunning the older S. Peter. And in all these visions
of the past, S. John sees one lesson--love, the love of Jesus teaching
men to love each other. Still the beloved Apostle looks back along the
ages, and thinks of that scene on the Mount, when Jesus ascended up,
and appeared for the last time to nearly all eyes but his. He was to
see the Master again, though in a very different place, and under
widely different circumstances. Now his thoughts fly to the lonely,
rock-bound isle of Patmos, whither the Roman tyrant had banished him.
How often he had watched the sun rise and set in the purple sea; how
often in his cavern cell he had pondered over the Master's teaching,
and the lesson of love. And one day he saw a light brighter than the
sun, and a door was opened in Heaven. S. John seemed to be no longer
in lonely Patmos, but amid a great multitude which no man can number,
with whom he was treading the shining streets of the Heavenly city.
His eyes looked on the gates of pearl, and the sea of glass, he
listened to the song of the elders and the angels, and he beheld the
things which shall be hereafter. Once more he looked upon the Master's
Face, and beheld the King in His beauty. And remembering these things,
the old man murmurs to the crowd, "Little children, love one another.
We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the
brethren." From death unto life! It is a strange expression! We all
know of the passage from life unto death. We have all seen the
loosening of the silver cord, and the breaking of the golden bowl. We
have all marked the fading cheek, the shrinking limbs, the glazing eye,
which mark the passage from life unto death. But that other change
from death unto life cannot be seen, it is the invisible work of the
Holy Spirit. Yet S. John says, we know that we have passed from death
unto life. How? By our fruits. If the love of God is in our hearts,
if we have passed from the death of sin unto the life of righteousness,
if we are risen with Christ, if, in a word, we are truly Christian
people, we shall show it by our love for our brethren. If we are
selfish in our religion, trying to get all good things for ourselves,
and caring nothing for others; if we pray only for ourselves, if we
work only for ourselves, if we live only for ourselves, if we see
others in want, yet shut up our compassion, how dwelleth the love of
God in us? Away with such self-deception, my brothers, if any one of
us seems to be religious, and yet stretches out no helping hand to his
brother, that man's religion is vain. When we see a fellow man fallen
among thieves, and lying by the wayside of life, what do we do? Do we
pass by on the other side, without a thought or care, like the Priest?
Or do we look on our fallen brother with curiosity, and leave him to
his fate, like the Levite? Or do we give him a helping hand, pouring
in the wine and oil of kind words, and gentle ministry, binding up the
hurts which a cruel world has given him?
My brethren, how many Good Samaritans are there among us? Our brothers
lie wounded along life's highway in crowds. There are feeble folk who
were never strong enough for the hard life battle; there are brave men
who have fought, and failed; there are some crushed down by hard times,
others who have "fallen on evil days and evil tongues;" some who were
wounded by the stoning of harsh judgment and cruel sneers. Some have
lost their health, others their money; some their faith, and others
their friends. Sirs, we be brethren, shall we run from our neighbour
because he is in trouble, as rats run from a falling house? Shall we
turn away from a brother because the world speaks hardly of him? Shall
we be ashamed of a man because he is unfortunate? Oh! if you would
ever rest where S. John rested, on the bosom of Jesus, learn his
lessons of love. Look around you and see if there is no Lazarus laid
at your gate whom you may feed; no struggling toiler in the back street
whom you may help to work; no sick sufferer whose couch you may make
more easy; no broken heart which you may comfort. "Dwell in the land,
and be doing good."
"If time be heavy on your hands,
Are there no beggars at your gate,
Nor any poor about your lands?
Oh! teach the orphan boy to read
Or teach the orphan girl to sew."
And you who are busy and cumbered with much serving, may find a
thousand ways, in the midst of your active work, of showing your love
to your brethren. Be unselfish, be gentle, be courteous, be pitiful.
Never say a word which may wound another; never turn away when you can
help a neighbour; never ask with the sneer of Cain, "Am I my brother's
keeper?" "We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we
love the brethren."
SERMON XXXVIII.
MAN'S LIFE HIS MONUMENT.
(Third Sunday after Trinity.)
1 S. PETER v. 10.
"The God of all grace . . . make you perfect, stablish, strengthen,
settle you."
Among the many monuments and epitaphs in S. Paul's Cathedral, there is
a simple tablet to the memory of him who built it, and on the stone are
engraved the words in Latin, "if you seek his monument, look around
you!" And as you gaze upon the grandeur and beauty of the vast
Cathedral, you feel that indeed the work of the architect is his best
monument. He needs no sculptured tomb, no gorgeous trappings, no
fulsome epitaph, to keep his memory green. The cunning hand has
mouldered away this many a year, and the busy brain is still, as far as
this world is concerned, but the work remains, and the builder cannot
be forgotten. Now, this world is full of monuments raised by good and
bad, some monuments of glory, others of shame. There have been
monuments of human pride, like the tower of Babel, and the great city
of Nebuchadnezzar, and God who resisteth the proud, has laid them even
with the dust. There have been monuments of human wickedness, like
Sodom, and like Pompeii, and God, who hateth sin, has buried them
beneath the fiery tempest of His wrath. There have been monuments of
human obstinacy and impenitence, like the deserted Temple of the Jews,
where once God delighted to put His Name, and to receive worship. And
again, the world is full of the monuments of the great, the gifted, and
the good. We need not go farther than our own chief city, and its
Churches. There we see carved in stone and marble the glories of Poet
and Painter, King and Priest, Statesman and Warrior. But after all, my
brothers, these are not the true monuments of these men. The stately
Abbey may one day fall to ruin, the hand of violence may break and
scatter those costly tombs, but the _memory_ of those who sleep there
cannot die, their lives are their true monuments. Shakespeare's tomb
may perish, but _Hamlet_ will live for ever. And men will honour
Nelson by the memory of Trafalgar, and Wellington by the thought of
Waterloo, though they may not recall one stone upon their sepulchres.
My brothers, when we die no one will raise a grand memorial over us;
they will not carve our story upon marble tombs. And yet, I tell you,
we shall have our monument, we have it now, and we are building it
ourselves each day we live.
Yes, our life and our works are our monument, and it lasts for
eternity. The good life stands like a fair carved memorial of white
marble. The evil life stands too, like Lot's wife turned to a pillar
of salt, a monument of sin and disobedience.
"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness."
And this is specially true of the beauty of holiness. The palace of
Caesar, the ivory house of Ahab, the gorgeous home of Pilate, have
perished, but the loving tenderness of Ruth, the sweet ministry of
Mary, and the holy affection of S. John, stand as monuments before God
which shall never perish or decay. Never mind, my brothers, what sort
of tomb they give us, never mind what epitaph they write upon it,
_they_ cannot know the truth. But let us try so to live near to Christ
that our life may be a monument of His love and pardoning grace, and of
our poor endeavour to do right. If we want to make our life a _good_
monument, we must ask God to help us in raising it. "Unless the Lord
build the house their labour is but lost that build it." Each one of
us needs the prayer of S. Peter in my text, "The God of all grace make
you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you." Yes, we must be
_stablished_ and _settled_, that is, we must have a good foundation to
build on. We must raise our monument on the foundation of a firm,
trusting, humble faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. On that basis we must
strive each day to build the _life of duty_, by just doing what God
puts before us with all our might. It matters not what our rank in
life may be, whether we are princes or farm labourers, merchants or
petty traders, artizans or cabinet ministers, officers in high command,
or soldiers of the rank and file, one thing has to be done by all--_our
duty_, in that state of life where God has placed us. Every piece of
earnest work well done adds a something to our monument. No matter
whether it be the building of a cathedral or a log hut, whether it be
the making of a poem, or the making of a pair of boots, work well done
leaves its mark, and builds our monument.
My brothers, we must not expect to find the life of duty always easy,
or the narrow way strewn with roses. But it is not for us to ask
whether a thing is pleasant, it is enough for us to know that it is
right. The Duke of Wellington once sent this message to his troops,
"Cindad Rodrigo must be taken to-night." And the answer of those
troops was not to ask of the danger, or the difficulty of the task, but
simply to say, "then we will do it." So when God puts our duty before
us, we must not stay to ask if we like the work or no, but simply make
answer, "then, by God's grace, we will do it." Come what may, let us
do our duty. When the battle of the Alma was being fought, a message
was brought to a general that the guards were falling fast before the
enemy's fire, and suggesting that they should retire under shelter.
And the general answered that it would be better that every man of the
brigade of guards should fall, rather than that they should retire from
the enemy.
Whatever hardship, sorrow, loss or trial it may please God to send us,
let nothing turn us back from the path of duty. Remember, by our
actions we are raising a monument which will last for ever, when every
memorial of brass or marble has crumbled into dust. Every act of
_brave self-sacrifice_ adds a something to our monument. Some time ago
a ship was wrecked upon the rocks within sight of shore. The captain
ordered the crew to save themselves, whilst he kept his place on the
deck. When all the men had gone, there crept forth trembling from his
hiding-place a boy, a waif and stray of the streets, who had concealed
himself on board as a stowaway. The boy begged the captain to save
him. Looking across the wild water that lay between him and the shore,
the captain muttered, "I can swim as far as that," and then unfastening
the life-belt which he wore, he fixed it on the stowaway. Both sailor
and child entered the waves, and the stowaway was kept afloat by the
life-belt, and safely carried ashore. But the brave man who had saved
him never reached land alive. Well says the writer of this true story,
"words would be wasted in saying more of the perfect humanity, and
noble self-forgetfulness of a man, who gave up his best chance of life
without hesitation, 'for one of the least of these little ones' who
stood helpless by his side, when man and boy were in the immediate
presence of death. That captain unlashing his life-belt, with two
miles of white water between himself and the shore, to tie it upon the
little boy who had stolen a passage with him, is a figure which tells
us with new and noble force, that manhood is stronger than storm, and
love mightier than death." And it is not only such sublime acts of
self-sacrifice as this which are acceptable to God. To live for others
is sometimes as hard as to die for them. The patient nurse, the gentle
sister of mercy, the humble priest, unknown outside his own parish,
these, and thank God there are many such, have a place and a monument
in God's great House of many mansions. It has been said that "the
world knows nothing of its greatest men," and some of the best, and
purest, and most unselfish souls live unknown, and die neglected, but
they have their reward. The world gave them no monument, but God looks
on the fair memorial of an unselfish life. Let this thought be ever
before us, we are building, raising our monument, for eternity. The
Turks carefully collect every scrap of paper which they find, because
the Name of God may be written upon it. We ought to use every scrap of
time to good purpose because it belongs to God, and we have to employ
it for eternity. I have said that every honest work well done leaves
its mark, and builds our monument. Never then be ashamed of your work,
my brothers, however humble, if it be done well and rightly. If your
calling be lowly, try to raise it and ennoble it by being strictly
honest and faithful in following it. Never be ashamed of the source
from which you spring, only be ashamed of doing wrong. If you were to
visit the old city of Mayence, you would notice that for its coat of
arms the city bears a white cartwheel. For many a century it has borne
these arms, and their origin is this. Long ago, an Archbishop of
Mayence was chosen for his piety and learning, but many remembered him
as the wheelwright's son, who had once worked at his father's trade.
As the Archbishop passed in stately procession to the Cathedral, some
jeered him, and one jester had chalked white cartwheels on all the
walls on either side of the procession. When the Archbishop was
enthroned in the Cathedral, he saw, hanging above his head, a shield
which was to bear his arms. The Archbishop was told that he might
choose what blazonry he liked, and he at once ordered a painter to
decorate the shield with a white cartwheel, that amid the great and
noble people around him, he might never forget whence he sprang. After
his death, the people of Mayence adopted his arms as those of the city,
in memory of the wise and holy rule of the wheelwright's son.
And there are other monuments which are built up in the home circle,
and by the fireside. The good wife and mother, be she high or low, who
fills the home with the sweet-smelling savour of holiness and love,
precious in the Lord's sight as Mary's ointment; who leads her children
in the right way, by the gentle ministry of a good example; who is
alike cheerful and resigned in bright days and dark, "making a sunshine
in a shady place," such an one has a monument fair and stately, on
which God's own finger writes, "She hath done what she could."
SERMON XXXIX.
THE BLESSING OF MERCY,
(Fourth Sunday after Trinity.)
S. LUKE vi. 36.
"Be ye therefore merciful, as your Father also is merciful."
"Mercy" is the one great cry of human nature. We dare not ask for
justice, we can only plead for mercy. David, after his great sins,
could utter nothing but the mournful cry, the model for all penitent
sinners, "Have mercy upon me, O God, after Thy great goodness." The
publican standing afar off, and looking at his faults, and not at his
virtues, offers the pattern prayer for all men, "Lord, be merciful to
me a sinner." The blind man by the wayside, the leper filled with
loathsome disease, speak in the same strain, "Jesus, Thou Son of David,
have mercy upon us." And so now from ten thousand altars, from
bedsides wet with tears, from stately mansion and humble cottage, there
rises one cry to Heaven, "O Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of
the world, have mercy upon us." And we know to our comfort that "to
the Lord our God belong mercies and forgivenesses, though we have
rebelled against Him."
But there is something more to think of beside our need of mercy. We,
who want so much mercy from God, must learn to show mercy to our fellow
men. We are bidden to be merciful, even as our Father is merciful. We
are all ready enough to talk of the mercies and lovingkindnesses of God
to us and to all men, but what mercy, what lovingkindness, do _we_ show
to our brethren here in the world? And yet an exceeding bitter cry is
being heard amongst us. The poor cry to the rich, the starving to the
well fed, the sorrowful to the prosperous, the weak to the strong. All
along life's highway lie those who have fallen among thieves, who are
wounded and stripped, who are friendless and fallen, and they cry not
only to God, but to man for mercy. Think, my brothers, you who have
this world's good, how often have you answered the cry? Have you ever
stayed by the fallen traveller when others passed by; have you ever
poured in the wine of help, and the soothing oil of sympathy; have you
ever tried to bind up the wounds of one injured by the cruel tongues of
this hard world? Or did you pass by with the crowd on the other side,
saying how sad a sight it was, but still no affair of yours?
O brethren, for whom Christ died, for whose sake He went about with sad
eyes, and weary feet, seeking to save the lost, how can we look to Him
for mercy if we never show mercy, how can we ask forgiveness unless we
forgive? The earthly life of Jesus is, in every respect, the model for
our life. He came to seek and to save, to search for the lost sheep,
to call home the prodigals, to bind up the broken-hearted, to visit the
fatherless and the widows in their affliction, to assist the weary and
heavy-laden to find rest. As Christ's disciples, we are bidden in a
humbler way to go and do likewise. This world is full of sorrow and
sickness, doubt and anxiety. All around us there are brethren with
broken fortunes, or breaking hearts; there are those whose house is
left unto them desolate, and over whose threshold has fallen the shadow
of death. There are prodigals who only need a kind word to bring them
home, wandering sheep who only want a loving hand to turn them back to
the fold. And God bids us do what we can to help these our brethren,
saying that inasmuch as we have done it unto the least of them, we have
done it unto Him. We are all fellow-pilgrims through this world, and
we _must_ help one another. We are all dwelling in a world of sorrow
and sin, and we _must_ strengthen each other to bear their troubles.
"We know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain
together until now." Even "the dumb, driven cattle" have their share
of suffering, and look at us with beseeching eyes, asking for mercy.
And if we refuse mercy to them, our humbler brethren, or if we refuse
it to our fellow men, how dare we look for mercy on the day of Christ's
appearing? We are distinctly told that as we do unto others, so shall
it be done unto us. "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain
mercy. Judge not, and ye shall not be judged. Condemn not, and ye
shall not be condemned. Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven. Give, and
it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken
together, and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with
the same measure that ye mete withal, it shall be measured unto you
again."
Let us think, then, of some of the ways in which we can show mercy.
First, we must shew mercy and lovingkindness _practically_, by deeds,
not words. To cry over a starving man, and to leave him to starve, is
of no use. To sigh over the sins and miseries of our fellow men,
without trying to mend them, is mere waste of time. Practical mercy
and kindness can be shown in a thousand different ways. Try to make
the lives of others happy. We are always seeking our own happiness,
let us try rather to make the lives of others brighter, helping our
neighbour, and happiness will come to us. We often see people who are
neglected and uncared for in life, and when they die men scatter
flowers upon their coffin, and write their praises on their tomb.