He had appealed unto Caesar, and he was a captive at Rome. But he does
not style himself Caesar's prisoner, but the prisoner of the Lord,
whose he was, and whom he served. Let us think first of the place and
manner of St. Paul's imprisonment. The place was Rome, the capital of
the world. A city full of glorious memories of the past, and famous in
the present for art, and eloquence, and learning. Its soldiers could
boast that they had conquered the world, and could point out the tombs
of Pompey and of many another hero along the Appian Way. Its streets
had been trodden by some of the greatest of poets, and its Senate-House
had echoed with the burning words of the first orators of the world.
Rome was full of contrasts, wealth and beggary, beauty and squalor, the
palace of Caesar, and the haunt of vice and shame, were close together.
The city was ruled over by a cruel tyrant, at once a hypocrite and a
monster of iniquity.
It was in such a place, so glorious and so shameful, that S. Paul was a
prisoner. He was not, however, confined in a dungeon. By the favour
of the Praefect of the Praetorian Guard, whose duty it was to take
charge of all prisoners awaiting trial before the Emperor, the Apostle
was allowed to live in a hired house of his own, to have free access to
such friends as he had, and to preach the Gospel freely to those who
would hear him. But still S. Paul was a prisoner. After the Roman
fashion, he was chained to a soldier, and at night probably two
soldiers were linked to him. Perhaps no such wonderful sermons have
ever since been preached as those spoken by S. Paul, "the prisoner of
the Lord." We can fancy the old man, grey-haired, and bent with
suffering, and want, and hardship, bearing on his wrinkled face and
scarred body those marks of the Lord Jesus, of which he tells us, and
yet brave, unflinching as ever. We can picture him preaching the
Gospel of Jesus with the same boldness in his bonds as when at freedom,
glorying in the cross of his Master, and rejoicing that he is permitted
to enter into the fellowship of His sufferings. We can fancy even the
stern Roman soldier watching with admiration, as the old man exhorts
his hearers to show themselves good soldiers of Jesus Christ, to fight
the good fight, to take unto them the whole armour of God. Whilst many
a Christian's heart must have swelled with emotion as the fettered
hands were lifted in earnest exhortation, and the blessing was given
amid the clanking of the Apostle's chains. And thus all the hearers of
S. Paul must have been struck with the wonderful faith and patience of
the man; just as we are struck when we read his words to-day. Although
he was an exile, a prisoner, waiting for a trial where he would have
little chance of justice, knowing that the sword hung above his head
ready to fall at any moment, S. Paul utters no complaint, no murmur of
discontent. On the contrary, he bids his hearers rejoice in the Lord
alway; he himself thanked God, and took courage; he tells his disciples
that he has learnt in whatsoever state he is, to be content. He is
poor, yet making many rich. He has nothing, yet possesses all things.
He has that peace of God which passeth all understanding, that good
part which shall not be taken away. The heathen tyrant can make him a
prisoner, but his chains cannot keep him from the glorious freedom of
the sons of God. Persecution may drive him from his home, but nothing
can rob him of his home eternal in the Heavens. The sword of the Roman
may slay him, but to him to die is gain, and he is ready to be offered.
He has suffered want, and sorrow, and loss; he has endured perils by
land and by sea, by robbers, by shipwreck, by the heathen, and by his
own countrymen, but for this S. Paul cares not, he has kept the faith,
he has run the race set before him, looking unto Jesus, and he knows
that the crown of glory is laid up for him. A great preacher of our
day tells us how they brought the news to Athens that the battle of
Marathon was won. The swiftest runner had come panting and exhausted
with the glad tidings of victory, and worn out with exertion, he
dropped, and died on the threshold of the first house he reached,
sobbing out with dying breath the words--"Farewell, and rejoice ye, we,
too, rejoice." So the Apostle, the prisoner of the Lord, dying daily,
and expecting each hour to be his last, tells the glad tidings of
Christ's victory over sin and death, and whispers with his dying
breath, "rejoice." It is no wonder that such a preacher should have
produced marvellous results, and should have begotten many spiritual
children, as he tells us, in his bonds. Luke, his fellow traveller
through so many varied scenes, was there to comfort Paul the aged in
his bonds. Tychicus, who had formerly accompanied him from Corinth to
Ephesus, was ready to carry the Apostle's letters to the Churches; and
Mark, who had once failed in his ministry, was once more restored to
the side of his great teacher. Others, too, were with him, but none
perhaps was dearer to S. Paul than a certain slave, Onesimus, who had
fled from his master, Philemon, in Colossae. This runaway slave had
found his way to Rome, and here probably some one, who had seen him in
the house of his Christian master, took pity on the fugitive, and
brought him to S. Paul. How tenderly the prisoner of the Lord dealt
with the erring slave we can well imagine, as we read the loving words
which the Apostle wrote in his Epistle to Philemon. Then, too, we can
fancy the prisoner of the Lord talking to his jailor, the stern Roman
soldier, who was chained to him night and day. Often in the long night
watches, when the care of all the Churches kept S. Paul from sleep, he
must have conversed with the warrior so closely linked to him. I think
we may believe that a yet closer link than that of the iron chain at
last united the prisoner and the guard. I think that the earnest
prayers, and burning words, of that brave soldier of Jesus Christ, must
have led the soldier of Caesar to take up his cross, and follow Jesus.
And now what lesson can we learn from the prison-house at Rome? We can
learn this, that this world in which we live is in one sense a
prison-house to all. It is a prison-house of hard work. In our great
cities the roar of traffic, the rattle of machinery, the shriek of the
steam-whistle, the eager crowds flocking to office and bank and
exchange all mean one thing--_work_. Every man's talk is of business;
he is in the prison-house, and he is chained to his work. Next, this
world is a prison-house of _sorrow and trial_. Every one who has lived
any time in the world can show you the marks of his chain. Every one
whom we meet is wearing a crown of thorns. It is hidden under the
scanty white locks of the old, and the sunny tresses of youth. It is
covered by the soldier's helmet, or the peer's coronet, or the widow's
cap; but the crown of thorns is there. Specially is this world a
prison-house to those who strive to do their duty, and help their
fellow men. For them in all ages there have been prison bars, and
chains of persecution. Joseph resists temptation, and he is cast into
prison. But the iron of his chain made his soul as iron, and changed
the spoiled darling of his father into the wise ruler of Egypt. He was
the prisoner of the Lord, and this suffering was the way to glory.
Truly says a great poet (Milton), "who best can suffer, best can do."
If we would look on some of the greatest teachers, philosophers, and
benefactors of mankind, we must look for them in a prison-house.
Socrates, when seventy-two years old, was a prisoner, and condemned to
drink poison, because he taught higher lessons than the mob could
understand. He died discussing the immorality of the soul, and his
farewell to his judges was full of quiet dignity. "It is now time," he
said, "that we depart--I to die, you to live; but which has the better
destiny is unknown to all, except to God." Bruno was burnt at Rome,
because he exposed the false philosophy of the day. When Galileo, an
old man of seventy, taught the truth about the earth's motion, they
cast him into the dungeons of the Inquisition, and after death the Pope
refused a tomb for his body. And so for many others who dared to do
their duty and to speak the truth,--reformers in religion, in science,
in politics,--there was a prison-house, there was a chain. But the
stone walls could not confine the mind; the iron chain could not bind
the truth. Some of the most glorious works in literature were composed
in prison. The prison-house at Rome has given us some of those
Epistles of S. Paul which have gone far to convert the world; and the
finest allegory in the English language was written in Bedford gaol.
"If we suffer for righteousness' sake, happy are we." If we are the
prisoners of the Lord, let us welcome the chain of trial, of sorrow, of
self-denial, of persecution. There are prisoners who are not the
Lord's. There are some fast bound in the misery and iron of bad
habits, and habitual sin. These are lying in the condemned cell, bound
hand and foot with the devil's chain. The drunkard, the impure man,
the unbeliever, these are prisoners, but not the Lord's. I do not
speak now of them. I speak to you, my brothers, who are trying to live
a godly and a Christian life, the life of duty. And I tell you that
you will often find this life a prison-house, where you must give up
your own will, deny yourselves, learn to endure hardness, and to bear
the chain which suffering, or neglect, or ignorance put upon you. If
you are indeed the prisoners of the _Lord_, the iron of your chain will
make you brave to suffer and be strong. The same hope which sustained
Paul the aged long ago will sustain you now; the glorious certainty
that after a while the Lord looseth men out of prison, and receives
them into the glorious liberty of the sons of God.
SERMON LIII.
FIRM TO THE END.
(Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity.)
1 COR. i. 8.
"Who also shall confirm you unto the end."
Steadfastness is one of the most important characteristics of a
Christian. Perhaps you will tell me that love, and self-denial, and
patience, and faith are the chief marks of Christ's followers. And I
answer that these things are useless without steadfastness. It will
not avail us to be very loving, and self-sacrificing, and patient, and
trustful for a little while, and then to fall away, and be selfish, and
impatient, and faithless. It is not the best regiment of soldiers
which makes the most headlong charge, but which can _stand firm_
against the enemy. The Spartans of old were forbidden by their laws
ever to flee from a foe. In the Pass of Thermopylae stands a monument
to Leonidas and his followers, bearing this inscription--"Go, stranger,
and tell at Lacedaemon that we died here in obedience to our laws." My
brethren, what we want, as soldiers of Jesus Christ, is not so much
zeal, or enthusiasm, or outward profession, as _firmness_ to the end,
steadfastness to die, if need be, for the laws of our God.
We find plenty of people ready to make professions, to be very zealous
in the service of God, but after a time the fire of their zeal dies out
into dead ashes; they have no _staying power_; like the seed on the
rocky ground they wither away, because they have no root. Such
unstable religion as this is useless. We must be firmly _rooted_ and
_established_ in the faith. We must endure to the end, if we would be
saved. We must, for our part, hold fast to the truth as it is in
Christ Jesus, and He, for His part, will confirm or strengthen us unto
the end. Every period of the Church's history has had its special
dangers and temptations. The Corinthians had theirs long ago. We have
ours to-day. Let us see what some of the special dangers of the Church
are now, and how Jesus provides means to confirm us to the end.
First among these dangers we may place the _restless spirit_ of the
age. This is the result of various causes. The spread of education is
one cause. Men are taught to cultivate their heads at the price of
their hearts. Children are sent to schools where God is almost shut
out. Many people get that "little learning" which "is a dangerous
thing," and which makes them doubtful and uncertain in the faith. The
growth of cheap literature is another cause. The printing press which
gives us a cheap Bible and Prayer Book, and a vast amount of pure,
useful reading, also sends out much that is dangerous, and positively
wicked. The most holy mysteries of the Christian faith are held up to
mockery and ridicule, and treated as old wives' tales; and the restless
spirit of the age leads people to read these things, and to have their
faith shaken and their ideas confused. Thus we find nowadays people
arguing and doubting about doctrines which at one time were taken for
granted. One says, _perhaps_ we shall rise again after death; another
_wonders_ if there be such a place as Hell. One _thinks_ that God
answers prayer, another is doubtful about it. Now we do not find S.
Paul and the other Apostles talking in this way. We do not find the
early Church talking in this way. They could say, "I know in whom I
have believed. I believe, therefore will I speak." The fact is, some
of us in these days are getting too clever. We have got a few drops of
learning, and we fancy that we can pour the whole great ocean of
knowledge into our poor little bottle. Education is a great and
glorious blessing, but, like every other blessing, it may be put to a
wrong use. And when we find shallow young men and women, who have just
mastered enough subjects to be able to pass an examination, sneering at
the Bible, and calling religion superstition and folly, we can only
wish that they had drunk deeper, or not tasted, of the water of
knowledge. True education makes us humble, because it shows us our
ignorance. My brothers, what are the doubters and the unbelievers
going to give you in exchange for what they rob you of? They can
perhaps rob you of your faith in Jesus Christ as a Saviour. But what
then, they cannot make you forget that you are a sinner. You know
better, your own heart tells you the truth. They can take away the
Saviour, and only leave you your sins. The doubter may scoff you out
of believing in the resurrection. But can he laugh you out of
believing in death? When your little child dies, and you look at the
loving eyes closing for the last time, what comfort has your doubting
friend to give you? Not a word. He leaves you alone with your dead,
and he has robbed you of the only hope which makes death bearable--the
resurrection unto eternal life. You come to your own dying bed; is
there one of these doubting, scoffing faith-destroying friends who can
bring peace or calm to your last hours? Will it be any comfort to you
to hear them say that "there is nothing new, nothing true, and that it
does not signify?" They tell you one fact, which you know already,
that you are dying. But beyond that they know nothing, hope nothing,
believe nothing.
My brothers, do not let these people, with their shallow talk and
shallow books, rob you of your peace, cheat you out of your birthright.
Look at the lives of these doubters, and then look at the lives of
Jesus and His saints. See which example is the purer, the more noble.
Which is better, to imitate the life of self-sacrifice which Jesus led,
to copy the dauntless faith of S. Paul, the loving gentleness of S.
John, the humble penitence of Augustine, the fearless courage of
Savonarola, or to sit at the feet of those who spend a selfish life in
trying to describe a world in which there is no God?
Another of the dangers of the day is a constant desire for _something
new_, and, if possible, sensational. There are some who would have
their religion as full of novelties as their newspaper, or their
amusement. The old paths which God has given us to walk in have become
too commonplace for such as these; and they run eagerly into any new
way, however fantastic. And, above all, these people want a religion
which is made easy for them. They have no objection to being saved
provided that the process is quick, easy, and costs them nothing. They
turn away from the thought of self-denial, of keeping under the body,
of fasting and prayer, of watchfulness and self-examination. They must
be made good all at once, and be admitted into the front rank of
saints, without having fought and suffered in a lower place. My
brethren, beware of this mushroom religion, which grows up suddenly,
and as suddenly vanishes away. The best fruit is not that which ripens
most quickly, and the best Christian certainly does not come to
maturity all in a moment.
There is a fable of the Persians which tells us how a gourd wound
itself round a lofty palm-tree, and in a few weeks climbed to its very
top. The quick-growing gourd asked the palm-tree its age, and the tree
answered, "an hundred years." Then the gourd answered boastingly that
it had grown as tall as the palm in fewer days than the tree could
count years. "True," answered the palm-tree, "every summer has a gourd
climbed round me, as proud as thou art, and as short-lived as thou wilt
be."
These, then, are some of the special dangers of the time--an unfixed,
unsettled faith, leading men to question, and argue, and doubt, when
they should believe; and next, a restless desire for something new and
exciting in religion. And, besides these, there are special dangers
peculiar to ourselves, arising from our position, or temperament. This
is a specially _busy_ age, when men must work if they would eat bread.
Every walk of life is crowded, and the competition in every calling and
business is most keen. Now there is great danger in all this to a
man's spiritual life, if he has not _God with him in his work_. He
will become selfish, unscrupulous, and determined to gain a place, and
make money at any cost. He will think only of himself, and God is not
in all his thoughts. There are some who would have us believe that
religion is one thing and business another, and that the two must be
kept distinctly apart. Never believe that false doctrine, my brothers.
A Christian man may not take part in any work on which the name of God
may not be written. Whatever business he may engage in, a Christian
must always remember that he must be about his Heavenly Father's
business. The great merchants of old times used to begin their ledger
and business books at the new year by writing "_Praise be to God_" on
the top of the first page. I would that all men of business could
honestly do the same now. Consecrate your work to God, so that you
need not be ashamed to pray about it, to study the Bible about it, to
write _Praise be to God_ on all your business transactions. And last
of all, a word as to the means by which Christ will confirm or
strengthen you unto the end. I can tell you nothing new about this, I
would not if I could. The old wine of the Gospel is better than all
the new inventions with which some men would poison the cup of
religion. God confirms you by the gift of the Holy Ghost, given by His
Word, and Sacraments, and means of grace. Let no one laugh you out of
believing in the Bible; let no one argue you out of trusting in that
Book which has been the guide, the teacher, the comforter of tens of
thousands. The followers of new creeds would like you to exchange your
Bible for their books. They will offer you the gospel of selfishness,
the gospel of pride, the gospel of hopelessness, the gospel of
money-making; turn away from them, and hold fast to the Gospel of the
Lord Jesus Christ. Hold fast to the Sacraments of the Church. Let the
scoffer sneer, let the proud man refuse to bend before the Altar of his
Lord; but let nothing drive you from the Blessed Sacrament of Christ's
love. Hold fast to prayer. Let no crowd of difficulties, or worries,
or troubles keep you back from Jesus. Press through the crowd like
that woman of old, and touch the hem of Christ's garment, in prayer.
Only hold fast to your Bible, to your Altar, to your prayers, and "the
Lord Jesus shall confirm you unto the end, that you may be blameless in
the day of the Lord Jesus Christ."
SERMON LIV.
SCHOLARS OF CHRIST.
(Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity.)
EPHESIANS x. 20.
"Ye have not so learned Christ."
Education is a very prominent feature in the England of to-day.
Schools are among the most conspicuous of our public buildings, and
competitive examinations are thronged by eager crowds; and, seeing all
this, it seems almost impossible that a few years ago most of our
poorer brethren could neither read or write. I am not going to speak
to you now about the blessings and the evils of the present state of
education; I want you to think of another school, and another kind of
lessons, which are far more important than all else in the world. The
time comes when the schoolboy can lay his books by, and when the young
man quits college, they have finished their education. But it is never
so in Christ's school, about which I am going to speak. As long as we
are here in the world we must go to school. And when we come to die,
our education is not finished, but we go to a higher class, as it were,
to learn such lessons as we never could master on earth.