in the Spirit;" he does not say, stand still. It is not enough for us
to have been born again of Water and the Holy Ghost, and to have
received the Gifts of the Spirit from time to time through the
different means of grace. We are bidden "to stir up the gift that is
in us;" we are told to "_grow_ in grace." God has set us upon our feet
in the right road. He has taken us by the hand, that is, the Holy
Spirit is our leader and guide; but we have something to do--we must
_walk_. There are some who tell us that everything has been done for
us in the past, and that everything will be done for us in the future;
and those who believe that doctrine never do a day's work for Jesus.
They never go into His vineyard; they never make any use of their five
talents, or even of one; they never put on the whole armour of God.
They tell us they have nothing to do, all is done for them. I should
be sorry to hold so selfish, idle, and unmanly a doctrine as that. I
know very well that God _has_ done, and is doing, for me what I could
not do for myself. I know how weak I am, and how much need I have of
God's guiding, strengthening Hand: but I know also that He expects
something from me. He bids me fight and struggle against temptation;
He tells me to press forward towards the mark--to go up higher, to seek
those things which are above, to forget those things which are behind.
He would have me labour and strive to enter in at the strait gate, and
to work out my own salvation. He commands me to take up my cross and
follow, and all this means work, struggle, _progress_. "Walk in the
Spirit." When Jesus had opened the eyes of the blind man, he did not
continue to sit by the wayside begging, he arose and followed Christ.
It is only blind folks, whose eyes Jesus has not yet opened, who are
content to sit by the roadside of life and do nothing. God says to
each one of us--"This is My way, walk ye in it." Let us see what this
walking means. First, I think it means _going forward_. There is no
standstill in God's natural world, nor is there in God's spiritual
world. If a child is healthy, he is growing: _getting on_, as the
phrase is. So a true child of God is getting on, making progress,
going forward every day. He goes on growing in grace till he comes of
age, then God takes him to His Home, and gives him his inheritance. If
you look at the tombs in a churchyard, you will see that those lying
there died at all kinds of ages. Here is the tiny grave of an infant,
snatched from its parents' arms almost as soon as the cross was written
on its brow. But in God's sight that little one had come of age, and
so was taken Home. Here is the grave of a child who had begun to do
some work for God, and was as sunshine in its home, and the joy of its
friends. When death took the child, people mourned because he died so
young; but God had said of him, and his work, "He has come of age--it
is finished." Here is the grave of an old man, a village patriarch.
It required nearly a hundred years before he came of age, and he had to
walk for many a weary day, and carry his cross, before God saw that the
time of harvest had come, and sent "the reaper, whose name is death."
And now comes the solemn question--are we making progress, going
forward; are we striving to do the work which God has given us to do?
Next, walking in the Spirit means _discipline, self-denial_. "I keep
under my body," is the motto for every Christian man. We must turn our
eyes from the sight which tempts us to leave the right path; we must
close our ears to the whisper of those who would lead us aside. We
must keep our mouth, as it were, with a bridle; we must lay aside every
weight. Each of us has his special temptation, which becomes a weight,
a hindrance. One man is so weighted with the cares of business and
money-getting, that he cannot walk in the right path. The gold and the
silver weigh him down, and make him stumble. Another has piled up such
a load of troubles and worries upon his shoulders that he cannot
advance. One woman is so cumbered with her domestic concerns that she
makes no progress towards Heaven. Another is overwhelmed with
pleasures and amusements which cling about her, and hinder her from
going forward.
My brethren, do not let the world over-weight you, or drag you back
from the right way. There is one weight, however, which we must all
carry--our cross. I have heard of a picture which represents two
pilgrims along the road of life. One bears his cross on his shoulders,
and steps forward manfully, looking up to Heaven; the other is dragging
his cross after him along the rough road, with painful and unwilling
labour. We must _take up_ our cross and bear it if we would walk in
the Spirit. If we suffer it to drag behind us, it will only hinder
instead of helping us. Each sorrow, each loss, or bereavement, is as a
nail to fasten us closer to our cross. Let us stretch out our hands
willingly to receive the nail, sharp though it be. Remember we must be
_crucified_ with Jesus if we are to be glorified with Him. Again,
walking in the Spirit means _patient perseverance_. A religion of fits
and starts is worth nothing. There are many who come running to Jesus,
like the young ruler, but when they know what being a Christian means,
they go away. There are many who, at the time of a Confirmation or a
Mission, declare that they will follow Christ whithersoever He goeth.
But, after a little while, the enthusiasm dies out, they grow weary in
well-doing, unstable as water, they follow no more after Him. If we
would reach our journey's end, we must _keep on walking_, steadily,
patiently, perseveringly. "He that endureth to the end shall be
saved." Again, walking in the Spirit means _looking forward_ along the
road. Too much of our religion is _short-sighted_. We see the
pleasure or the sorrow at our feet, but we see nothing of the glorious
future, the rest that remaineth for the people of God. We are like
those who see the clod of earth against which their foot strikes, but
never lift their eyes aloft to look on the towering mountain. Men of
science tell us that shortness of sight is greatly on the increase
amongst us, especially with those who live in great cities. The reason
for this is that the city dwellers wear out their eye-sight by looking
constantly on objects close to them, without having any wider or more
distant prospect. So it is with our spiritual sight. We wear it out
by fixing our eyes on some worldly object close to us. One man has
grown near-sighted by gazing day after day at his money bags, till he
can see nothing else; and another has studied his ledger and cash book
till he has no eyes left for God's fair Heaven above him; another has
looked at his own picture till he sees his own cleverness or greatness
reflected everywhere.
My brothers, look forward, look up: see God's love and mercy on all
sides of you. Come out into God's sunshine; ask Him to open your eyes
that they may see the wondrous things of His law. I think, too, that
walking in the Spirit means having _perfect trust in God--walking with
our hand in His_. If you see a man fearful about to-morrow, dreading
the future, always expecting and anticipating evil, meeting misfortune
half-way, be sure he is not walking in the Spirit. Hold fast to God's
Hand--trust Him. Do you remember the story of the little Russian boy
who trusted in God? He and a younger sister were left utterly
destitute on the death of their father. Left alone in the house,
without money and food, the little boy knew not how to comfort his baby
sister. At last, urged by the tears of the little one, the boy wrote
on a piece of paper, "O God, please to send me three copecks (a penny)
to buy my little sister some bread," and then hurried away with this
strange letter to the alms box of a neighbouring church, believing in
his simplicity that in this way his letter would reach Heaven. A
Priest saw the little boy trying to force the paper into the alms box.
He took the letter from him and, having read it, gave the child food
and assistance. Next day the Priest preached in the church on behalf
of the orphans, and when he had related the story of the child's letter
to God, a liberal offertory was given.
Lastly, I think that walking in the Spirit means _walking in hope_. If
we trust God and do our best, we cannot despair. We shall find the
road hard and stony at times, but let us hope and go steadily forward.
We shall fall sometimes, we shall make mistakes, we shall suffer
defeats, we shall be cast down, and weary. Still let us hope, and go
steadily forward.
"Hope on, hope ever, tho' dead leaves be lying
In mournful clusters 'neath your journeying feet,
Tho' wintry winds through naked boughs are sighing,
The flowers are dead, yet is their memory sweet
Of summer winds and countless roses glowing
'Neath the warm kisses of the generous sun.
Hope on, hope ever, why should tears be flowing?
In every season is some victory won."
SERMON L.
THE PREACHING OF NATURE.
(Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity.)
S. MATT. vi. 28.
"Consider the lilies of the field."
This world is God's great Temple, and the voices of Nature are His
preachers. The Holy Spirit speaks to us through these preachers like
the wind breathing through the pipes of a great organ. To those who
have ears to hear, the roar of the ocean, or the sound of the mighty
rushing wind, are as an anthem of praise. The song of birds, the hum
of insects, every voice in the world of Nature combine to take part in
a hymn of thanksgiving, a great _Benedicite_, and to sing, "O all ye
works of the Lord bless ye the Lord, praise Him, and magnify Him for
ever." And yet, my brothers, there are many of us too blind and too
deaf to see and hear these things. To one man this world is only a
gigantic farm, to be divided, and ploughed, and tilled, that it may
bring forth more fruit. To another the world is merely a great market,
a warehouse filled with all kinds of goods, which may be bought and
sold. To some the world is like a chess-board, where each man plays a
selfish game, and tries to overreach his neighbour. To others the
world is a mere play-ground, where they pass a frivolous, useless
existence, sitting down to eat and drink, and rising up to play. To
the selfish man the world is a vast slave plantation, where unhappy
slaves are forced to toil and labour to supply the needs of cruel
taskmasters. To the faithless man the world is nothing better than a
graveyard, where lie buried dead friends, dead hopes, dead joys,
without any promise of a resurrection. But to the Christian this world
is a great and solemn Temple, where he can worship the Creator, and
where ten thousand voices teach him to "look through Nature up to
Nature's God." When he stands in the meadow grass, or under the
shadows of the pine-wood, he can feel that surely God is in this place,
and that the place wherever he stands is holy ground.
"Oh, to what uses shall we put the wildweed flower that
simply blows?
And is there any moral shut within the bosom of the rose?
But any man that walks the mead, in bud, or blade, or
bloom, may find,
According as his humours lead, a meaning suited to his mind."
Let us listen to-day to the preaching of Nature, and learn a lesson
from the grass which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven.
Let us consider the lilies, and make them our teachers. The first
lesson which these silent preachers would have us learn is the
unfailing care of God for His creatures. He never neglects to clothe
the ground with grass, or to nourish the lilies, which neither toil nor
spin. Yet we who both toil and spin, and haste to rise up early, and
so late take rest, are often distrustful and full of doubt. Brethren,
let us work our work, but not put our trust in it. It is God's right
Hand and His mighty Arm which must help us. Let us strive to do our
best, and leave the result to God. Let us dwell in the land, and be
doing good, and verily we shall be fed. And next, we learn from the
grass and the flowers how short our time is. Every meadow, every
grassy hillock in the churchyard, seems to say to us, "as for man, his
days are as grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For
the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall
know it no more. All flesh is grass, and all the goodness thereof as
the flower of the field: the grass withereth, the flower fadeth;
because the Spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it; surely the people is
grass." Yes, surely this thought should be a check to our pride, and
our schemes, and our worldliness, that we must one day lay them all
aside, like a worn-out garment, and that the pleasant grass, which our
careless foot is pressing, shall grow green upon our grave. Let us
hearken to the warning of a quaint old epitaph which I have seen in a
Yorkshire Churchyard:--
"Earth walketh on the earth,
Glittering like gold;
Earth goeth to the earth
Sooner than it would.
Earth buildeth on the earth
Palaces and towers,
Earth sayeth to the earth--
All shall be ours."
I read the other day that lately a workman, employed in some
excavations at Rome, found a funeral urn containing the ashes of one of
the Caesars. The workman knew nothing of the matter, but seeing that
the ashes were very white, he sent them to his wife to bleach linen
with. And this was all that remained of that body which had worn the
imperial purple! "To what base uses we may return!" But the grass,
and the flowers of the field, not only tell us of the shortness of
life, and the certainty of death, they speak to us also of the
resurrection. Looking at the world in the autumn and winter time we
see nothing but death and decay. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," is
the mournful text of every falling leaf, and faded flower. But God who
lays nature in her grave, will, in the spring time, roll away the stone
from the sepulchre. Who can look on Nature, touched by the warm breath
of May, and doubt the resurrection?
"Each tree she kindles by her touch bursts into leafy flames,
And, like the sacred desert bush, God's presence there proclaims.
The chestnuts spread their leafy palms in blessing on the air,
And from their minarets of bloom call all the trees to share.
With bridal blossoms, pure and sweet, the blushing orchards glow,
And on the hawthorn hedges lie soft wreathes of scented snow.
God reigneth, and the earth is glad! His large, self-conscious heart
A glowing tide of life and joy pours through each quickened part.
The very stones Hosannas cry; the forests clap their hands,
And in the benison of Heaven each lifted face expands."
Can we doubt, my brothers, that the same Jesus who rose from the dead,
and also makes all Nature rise from the dead each spring time, will in
like manner raise us up, and give us a body like unto His glorious
Body, in that fair Kingdom where He maketh all things new? If we have
seen our dear ones cut down like the grass, and withered like the
flowers of the field, let us remember that the grass will spring again,
and the flowers will once more appear on the earth; and that our loved
ones will also come again, clothed in resurrection beauty by Him who
clotheth the lilies of the field.
"Oh, rainy days! Oh, days of sun!
What are ye all when the year is done?
Who shall remember snow or rain?
Oh, years of loss! Oh, joyful years!
What are ye all when Heaven appears?
Who shall look back for joy or pain?"
And again, the flowers teach us a lesson of usefulness. They are sent
to make God's earth beautiful and sweet, and to gladden the heart of
man. Surely we are sent for the same purpose. Most of us are destined
to occupy a lowly place in life. Our position is like that of the
humble violet, not of the towering forest tree. But, my brothers, the
sweetest spot is where the violet blooms, and it is better to be sweet
than to be grand. Never suppose that you can do nothing because God
has placed you in a quiet corner of the world. God put you there as He
puts a violet in a lonely nook, that you might make your corner
_sweet_. If we could only remember this we should not have so many
prickly tempers, and black looks, and cruel words spoiling our home
life, and making the world a desert. Life would be what God would have
it to be, if each of us would try by gentleness, by good temper, by
unselfish love to make his corner sweet. Make up your minds now; say
to yourselves--I cannot do any great work for God or my fellow man, but
I will try by purity, by cheerfulness, by thought for others, to make
my home sweet. And once more, the flowers teach us to be a comfort to
our neighbours. When the earth is wrapped in snow, and the skies are
grey and cold, and no leaf hangs on the tree, the snowdrop puts forth
its fair, pure blossom to cheer and comfort us. The sight of that
living flower when all the world seems dead, is like a message from the
other world, whispering of coming spring and the resurrection. Well,
there are times when it is winter weather in our heart. When sorrow
and loss have made life desolate as a December day, and blessed, thrice
blessed, are they who come to comfort us, and to whisper of brighter
days in store.
In the highest part of the Peak of Teneriffe, far above the clouds, and
in a dry and burning waste, there grows a plant which, in the spring
time, fills the air with delicious fragrance. There are some of us who
may be condemned to live in a barren and dry land of hard work, and
lonely trouble. But loving natures, and gentle words, can make that
desert blossom as the rose. The beauty of holiness, the sweetness of
sympathy, will make the poorest home lovely and fragrant. May Jesus,
the Rose of Sharon, teach us to learn the lesson of the lilies, and to
make our lives sweet with purity and love.
SERMON LI.
PAST KNOWLEDGE.
(Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity.)
EPHESIANS iii. 19.
"To know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge."
There are some things which no earthly school can teach us, no earthly
science explain. Science can do very much, it has done marvellous
things, and will do still more. Men can work now with ease such wonders
as would have sent them to the fire as wizards three hundred years ago.
Science can calculate the exact time of an eclipse ages before the time,
science can connect two worlds with the electric wire, science can make
the powers of earth, and air, and fire, and water its slaves; but science
cannot teach us the love of Christ which passeth knowledge, or show us
how to find the peace of God which passeth all understanding. No, we
must go to the school of Jesus Christ to learn these things; and in that
school the learned, and the ignorant, the powerful, and the lowly, are
just on a level. The man of science may be there, like Sir Isaac Newton,
of whom some one said that he had the _whitest soul_ of any man he had
ever known. But it was not the power of the telescope which had brought
the love of Jesus to his sight. The poor, ignorant cottager, who cannot
even read, may be there. He is no scholar, but he has learnt what some
scholars are ignorant of, to trust God and love his neighbour as himself.
Yes, brethren, if we would learn to know the love of Christ, we must go
to His school, we must kneel at His Feet, we must hold close communion
with Him, we must daily endeavour ourselves to follow the steps of His
most holy life. Grey-haired old man, tender little child, anxious
mother, busy worker, Jesus calls you to learn the lesson of His love,
saying, "Come, and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart." But
S. Paul says that the love of Christ passeth knowledge. And indeed we
poor, sinful, selfish creatures can never hope, at least here, to
understand all the wideness, the depth, the power, of that love. When
the astronomer looks up at the starry sky above him, he does not think so
much of what he knows about that shining world as about what he does
_not_ know. He thinks of the mysteries which those calm skies hold, and
of the countless stars which no telescope has ever yet brought within the
range of human eye. So the more we learn of the love of Christ the more
marvellous it appears. There are some among us who know absolutely
nothing of the love of Christ. They are as ignorant of it as a blind man
is of the beauties of Nature. To them Jesus is a character in history
who did certain things, who suffered for them and for others, and with
that they are quite content. But they know nothing of the love of
Christ, and care nothing about it because they do not love Him
themselves. Such people either neglect the duties of religion
altogether, or perform them as an idle schoolboy does his task,
unwillingly, grudgingly. There is no love in their service, and
therefore it is worthless. There are many, I trust, who hear me now who
have learned something of the love of Christ; others who would willingly
learn. To them I say, come into Christ's school to-day. A willing
scholar can always learn, if you _want_ to love Jesus you have begun
already to do so.
First, let us think of some things in the love of Christ which make it
wonderful, past knowledge. The love of Christ is wonderful because it is
_impartial_. "He maketh His sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and
sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust." Look at the sunshine
pouring down over a great city, and think on what different characters
the light falls. The same sun shines on the Church and its faithful
worshippers, and on the house of shame and infamy. The same light gilds
the dying bed of the Christian, and the couch of the infidel and
blasphemer. The same beam glitters on the blessed Altar of the faithful,
and on the cell of the impenitent murderer. Look at the sunshine and the
shower in the country. The fields of the earnest, prayerful man, and
those of the unbelieving, prayerless scoffer lie golden under the same
sunlight, are watered by the same showers. And why is this so? Surely
it is a type of the love of Christ which passeth knowledge. Surely it
teaches us the wondrous height, and depth, and breadth of divine love.
It warns us not to be kind and loving only to the good and gentle, but to
love our enemies, to do good to those who persecute us and speak evil of
us, to try to give all a chance to amend, even as God, in His
long-suffering mercy, makes His sun to rise on the evil and on the good.
We shall get to know more of the love of Christ if we learn to be more
_impartial_ in our love for our fellow men. I know a little island where
the society, small enough already, is divided into certain classes, and
it is considered a want of breeding for one class to unite with another.
You can imagine the angry feelings, and petty jealousies, which such a
system excites. But even in the greater world we are too much inclined
to surround ourselves with a circle of friends and acquaintances, and to
leave the rest of the world unknown and uncared for. The love of Christ
teaches us to see in every man a brother, a neighbour, whom we must help
if we can. The love of Christ would have us look on ourselves and others
as one great family, joined together by one common Faith, one Holy
Baptism; or as one consecrated building, where high and low, rich and
poor, are all built into their appointed place, "Jesus Christ being the
head corner-stone." My brothers, try to be more wide, more liberal, more
impartial in your love for others, if you would learn the love of Christ
which is wider than the ocean, impartial as the sunshine--passing
knowledge.
Again, the love of Christ is wonderful in its effects. It makes the
brave still more heroic; it makes the timid courageous, the sad joyful,
the hardened tender. It was the love of Christ which made S. Stephen
brave in the hour of his martyrdom, and taught him to pray for his
murderers. In all the long roll of heroes there are none so great as
those who fought under the banner of Christ's love. Feeble old men,
little children, weak women, were transformed by that marvellous power;
they could do all things through Christ who strengthened them. They
suffered and died, but their death gave life to the faith of Christ. Did
you ever read, brethren, how the last fight of gladiators in the
Colosseum ended? It was when Rome had become Christian, but still the
cruel sports of the people had not been entirely given up. After a
famous victory, the Emperor, a feeble boy, and all the great men of Rome,
went to the crowded theatre to witness the amusements given in honour of
the triumph. After the harmless sports were over some gladiators entered
the arena armed with sharp swords. The people shouted with delight
because the old savage amusements of their heathen days were restored to
them. Suddenly an old man, dressed in the habit of a hermit, and unknown
to all, sprang into the arena, and declared that as Christian people they
must not suffer men to slay each other thus. An angry cry rose from the
eager crowd. The gladiators, disappointed of their gain, menaced the
hermit fiercely, crying, "back, old man, for thy life." But the stranger
stood fearless before that angry mob, he heeded not the swords of the
gladiators, nor the yells of the people, but solemnly protested against
the deed of blood. In another moment he lay dead on the red sand,
pierced by a dozen wounds. He died, but his words lived. When the
people saw the fearless courage of a weak old man, shame filled their
hearts; the sports were stopped, and never again did the gladiators fight
in the Colosseum. My brothers, if we are learning the love of Christ, we
shall be brave to do the right, come what may.
Again, the love of Christ is wonderful in its effect on our _work_. It
is a common saying that such and such a work is a labour of love; and,
believe me, that is the best done of all which is done for love. Did you
ever watch a young mother making the clothes for her first child? Never
before has she bestowed such care, such thought, such patience, on her
sewing, every stitch is prompted by love.
Long ago, there was an old Cathedral somewhere abroad, I cannot tell you
where. On one of the arches was sculptured a face of exceeding beauty.
It was long hidden, but one day a ray of sunshine lighted up the
matchless work, and from that time, on the days when the light shone on
the face, crowds came to look at its loveliness. The history of that
sculpture is a strange one. When the Cathedral was being built, an old
man, worn with years and care, came to the architect, and begged to be
allowed to work there. Fearing his age and failing sight might cause the
old man to injure the carving, the master set him to work in a dark part
of the roof. One day they found the stranger lying dead, with the tools
of his craft around him, and his still face turned up towards that other
face which he had carved. It was a work of surpassing beauty, and
without doubt was the face of one whom the artist had long since loved
and lost. When the craftsmen looked upon it, they all agreed--"this is
the grandest work of all, it is the work of love."
We, my brothers, are all set to do some work here in the temple of our
lives, and the best, the most beautiful, the most enduring, will be that
which we do because the love of Christ constraineth us.
And yet once more, the love of Christ is wonderful in its _power of
pardon_. Have you ever known what it is to have sinned grievously, and
to have repented truly? Have you felt the shame, the sorrow, the misery
of knowing your sin, and the exquisite sense of relief when you knew that
you were pardoned? Have you known the power of Christ's absolving word?
Have you felt that He has given the prodigal the kiss of pardon, that He
has carried the lost sheep home once more, that He has said to _you_--"I
will, be thou clean, depart in peace?" To know this is to know the love
of Christ. Are there no prodigals here now who have not yet arisen and
gone to their Father? Are there no weak, tempted women straying into
danger, like the lost sheep? Are there none here who are carrying about
some secret sin which poisons all their life? If there are such, I say,
come and make trial of Christ's love _to-day_. "Come, drink of the water
of life freely." Come with your sin, your sorrow, your trial, your
temptation, to the feet of Jesus, and you shall learn "the love of Christ
which passeth knowledge."
SERMON LII.
THE PRISON-HOUSE.
(Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity.)
EPHESIANS iv. 1.
"The prisoner of the Lord."