LIBRARY OF THE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY PRINCETON, N. J. From the library of Dr. Jaiaes McOosh BS 2555.4 .A374 IseT Alexander, Joseph A. 1809- 1860. The gospel of Jesus Christ 'in- GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST, Jmhj^ DISCOURSES By JOSEPH ADDIS OX ALEXANDER, D.D., Professor of Theology, Princeton. LONDON: /. .\ /: / -N ' \ '.\/' Sii\S. I'A 1 1:R .\ (KS ri-k K Edinlmrgh; and Neiv York. 1861. (HonitntB. I. The Gospel of Jesus Christ, II. Where is He that is born King of the Jews? III. What I do thou Knowest not now, IV. Behold the Lamb of God, V. Nature-Worship, TI. He that Believeth on the Son hath Everlasting Life, VII. Almost Saved, ... YIII. Future Life, IX. Evil Spirits, X. The DoxoLOGiES OF Scripture, XI. Offered Mercy, XII. The Healing OF the Nations, XIII. Mercy AND Judgment, XIV. Be not Deceived, XV. The Churches Warned, ... XVI. Kf.pt BY THE Power OF God, XVII. Grace and its Lessons, ... XVIII. Conversion, XIX. Let the Dead Bury their Dead, XX. Watchfulness, ... XXI. The End is not Yet XXII. AwAKK, Thou THAT Sleepest XXIII. The Night Scene in Gethsemane XXIV. The Kingdom taken nr Force ... ... — Page 7 21 34 4S 61 75 88 102 118 133 147 15!) 174 184 195 210 221 233 247 2t)2 275 289 305 319 VI XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXX. XXXI. XXXII. XXXIII. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. XXXVII. XXXVIII, XXXIX. XL. XLI. XLII. XLIII. CONTENTS. Page IIo, Every One that Thirsteth W HEREFORE DO YE SpEND MoNEY FOR THAT WHICH IS NOT BrEAD 1 345 Seek ye the Lord ... Press toward the Mark Pray without Ceasing True and False Fear The Fountain op Strength ... Prayer, an Index of the Heart Take Heed to Thyself Despised and Rejected of Men The Hope of Abraham Intercessory Prayer Patient Waiting upon God ... The Word of God not Bound How Excellent is Thy Name in all the Earth ! The Way op Life A Broken and a Contrite Heart The Christian's Duty in Times ok Trial Woe unto Them that call Evil Good and Good E\il 357 370 381 395 410 421 431 446 458 473 487 498 513 529 539 555 568 THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. " The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God." — Mark i. 1. AMONG the incidental disadvantages attending the inestimable privilege of early and life-long familiarity with the word of God, is the habit of confounding things really distinct, and espe- cially of overlooking the characteristic peculiarities of the sacred writers, which were not at all destroyed by inspiration, and a due regard to which is often necessary to their just interpretation. In no part of the Bible is this error more common or injiuious than in the Gospels, which the gi'eat majority even of devout and believ- ing readers are too much in the habit of regarding as precisely alike in plan and purpose, whereas no other books on the same sub- ject could be more distinctly marked by individual peculiarities, some of which are of the most minute and unimportant nature in themselves, but for that very reason less likely to have been invented or contrived for any purposes of deception. Many who have read the Gospels all their lives, would be sur- prised to hear that Matthew uses the word "then" more frequently than aU the others put together— that Mark is almost equally exclusive in his use of "immediately" — that John alone has the double Amen, Amen — and a multitude of other minute differences equally unimportant in themselves, but equally demonstrative of 8 THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. individuality and independence in the several writers. The same thing is true as to other differences more important in themselves, and relating not to mere forms of expression, but to plan and method. Thus Matthew cites the prophecies, and points out their fulfilment so much more frequently than Mark and Luke, that his Gospel is by some regarded, not so much as a history, as a histori- cal argument, intended to show that Jesus was the Messiah of the prophets. Mark is distinguished by his use of Latin words and explanation of Jewish customs, sho"wing that he wrote immediately for Gentile readers ; on the other hand, he frequently records the Aramaic or vernacular expressions used by Christ, with a Greek translation ; such as Talitha-cumi, Ephphatha, Corban, Abba, Father. Another peculiarity of this evangelist is, that to him we are in- debted for almost all our knowledge of our Saviour's looks and gestures ; as we are to Luke for many interesting glimpses of his devotional habits, — such as his spending whole nights in prayer, his praying at his baptism, and before the choice of his apostles, and in other cases. John, besides the general differences, arising from the commonly admitted fact that he wrote to complete or supplement the others, dwells chiefly on our Lord's discourses, and relates his actions chiefly as connected with them. On the other hand, it is to him we owe our knowledge of the chronology or dates of our Lord's ministry ; it is he that enumerates the pass- overs and several other feasts included in that period, and thus shows us that his ministry or public life on earth continued for above three years. These points of difterence between the Gospels are selected out of many that might just as easily be given, in illustration of the general statement, that while all were equally inspired and all are jierfectly harmonious, each writer has his own peculiarities, not only of expression, but of plan and method. This is a matter not of learned criticism, but within the reach of every careful and attentive reader, and if properly noticed, would greatly tend, not only to elucidate the Gospels, but to make them interesting — in other words, to aid both the understanding and the memory. A due regard to these peculiarities would lead to the correction of another error far too prevalent in reference to this delightful part of the Scriptures, that of regarding the four Gospels not as com- THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. 9 plcte histories, but as mere collections of materials, out of which we are to frame the history for ourselves ; a mistake which has occasioned not only a vast waste of time and labour in attempts to reduce the four accounts to one continued narrative, but has also contributed directly to the disregard of those peculiarities which have been already mentioned as belonging to the several books, but which, of course, are overlooked and confounded in the pro- cess of condensing four books into one. The simple truth appears to be, that God, for wise and holy purposes, which are only in part visible to us, or discovered by us, was pleased to put the life of Christ on record for the edification of his people and the glory of his own name ; not in one, but in four distinct accounts, each complete in itself, with reference to its own specific purpose, and the definite impression it was meant to make upon the readers' mind, yet all completing one another in relation to the general aggregate or sum total of the impression meant to be conveyed. In this respect they have been likened to four portraits or four landscapes, exhibiting one and the same object, but in different lights and from different points of view, yet all of course harmonious and consistent. As it would be absurd to cut up and amalgamate the paintings, so is it no less absurd to destroy the individuality of the Gospels by reducing them to one. They are, indeed, to be harmonized in order to elu- cidate their meaning and exhibit their consistency, but not in such a way as to destroy their separate existence or confound their individual peculiarities. No harmony can or ought to take the place of the original Gospels, which were meant to be read sepa- rately to the end of time, and with a careful observation of their several characteristics, even of such as in themselves may seem to be wholly unimportant. Among these is the way in which they open, and the pomt from which they set out, in recording the biography of Jesus Christ. Matthew begins vdth his genealogy, and shows by a formal and authentic pedigree, perhaps extracted from official records, his descent from Abraham and David. This is not so much a part of his narrative as a documentary introduction to it, after which he sets out from the conception and nativity of the Saviour. Luke goes back to the previous conception and nativity of John the 10 THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. Baptist, Ms forerunner. John goes still further back, to teach the doctrine of his pre-existence ; while Mark omits all this, plung- ing at once into the midst of his subject, and beginning with the official life or public ministry of Jesus ; " the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ." These words admit of several constructions, each of which has something to recommend it, and none of which are utterly exclu- sive of each other _: so that all of them may be allowed to suggest something to the mind of the reader. The sunplest construction, and the one most probably intended by the writer, is that which makes this a description of the whole book, or a statement of its subject. This is the beginning of the life of Christ, or here beginneth his recorded history. It is equally gi-ammatical, however, to connect the words with what follows, as a part of the same context ; " The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ was as it is written in the prophets ; " or, " The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ was John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness." These are not only positive constructions, but sug- gest important facts in the life of Christ, as will be afterwards par- ticularly mentioned. In the meantime, I invite your attention to two topics, sug- gested by the words themselves, however they may be connected with what follows ; one of which is really included in the other, or is a mere specification of it. The first and most general of these topics is, the gospel; and the second and more specific is, the beginning of the gospel. Either of these would be sufficient by itself to furnish ample food for meditation and instruction, even if we merged the mere beginning in the whole of which it is the part, or considered the whole only with respect to its begin- ning. I prefer, however, to present the two precisely as they lie together in the text, only giving the precedence to the general subject, and the second place to its specification ; or, in other words, first considering the gospel as a whole, and then the begin- ning of it in particular. In carrying out this suggestion, it may be convenient to resolve each of these topics into two inquiries, under the general subject of the gospel : Considering first, What it is ?— then. Whose it is ? Under the more specific head, Of the beginning of the gospel, THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. ] 1 asking first, Where it began of old 1 And secondly, Where it be- gins now 1 By this division and arrangement, I may hope to assist both your understandings and your memories in the brief examination which I now propose to make of this interesting- passage, not as a matter of mere curious speculation, but as a source of instruction and improvement. I. Our first theme, then, is the gospel ; and our first inquiry, What it is 1 This may seem to some too elementary a question, and to others too extensive ; but I merely ask you to consider for a moment, and in quick succession, the elements really included in this most familiar term, which, like others of the same sort, often conveys very vague ideas even to the minds of those who most familiarly employ it. There are few kinds of knowledge, and religious knowledge is certainly not one of them, in which it is not often both agreeable and useful to go back to elementary ideas and first principles, and even to the simple definition of the most familiar terms. I do not scruple, then, to put the question both to you and to myself. What is the gospel ? and to answer, in the first place : (1.) That the word, both in Greek and English, originally means good news, glad tidings — a delightful phrase, expressing a delight- ful thing, awakening a thousand sweet and tender recollections. Who has never heard good news ? Who cannot call to mind the thrill of joy which such intelligence once darted through him 1 To some the experience may be fresh, to others faded ; perhaps dimmed and neutralized by many an intervening alternation or vicissitude of bad news and of mournful tidings. Yet even in tliis case it is often possible to look back through these intervening changes, and to reproduce in some degree the exquisite delight occasioned at some distant period, by the reception of good news from some beloved object, perhaps far removed. This is an expe- rience which never can grow obsolete. Increasing facilities of communication only multiply its causes and occasions. Even now, how many are rejoicing in glad tidings by the last arrival from some distant shore ; how many anxiously, yet hopefully, expecting to receive them by the next ! I appeal to these asso- 12 THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. ciations, not for any rhetorical or sentimental purpose, but simply to awaken the appropriate feeling "which belongs to the very defini- tion of the gospel — good news — good news— not in some abstruse or transcendental sense, but in the plain, homely, every-day sense of the same words, as employed in the dialect of common life. Why is it that the very terms and phrases which inflame or agitate us in our ordinary parlance fall so lifeless on the ear and heart when uttered in connection with rehgion ? Partly because our whole state of feeling on religious subjects is too cold and dead ; partly because we wilfully divorce religious terms from their natural association, and treat them as belonging to another. Gospel, I tell you, is good news in exactly the same sense that it was good news when you heard of the recovery or escape of a parent or a chUd, a husband or a wife, a brother or a sister, from some fearful peril. Eecall that feeling, and then use it to explain the phrase, good news, as a definition of the gospel. If you leave this out, your whole conception is a false one. Whatever else may yet be added, and it is much, this is the original, essential, fundamental notion. There can be no gospel without good news, though there may, in a restricted sense, be good news where there is, alas ! no gospel. 2.) Having settled this as the primary, elementary idea of the gospel, as glad tidings — just as the same words are used to sig- nify good news from man to man— from house to house — from one place to another, such as burdens our mails and thrills along our telegraphic wires, — let us now take another step, and add to this simple definition of the gospel, as a term of Scripture and religion, that it is good news from God to man — from heaven tu earth — from the infinitely blessed and the infinitely holy, to the lowest depths of human wretchedness and sin. It is not good news from America to Europe, or from the old word to the new j it is a voice from heaven, breaking through the silence or the dis- cord of our natural condition. Oh, if we were half as sensible of this condition as we are of temporal anxieties, and fears, and wants — instead of listening coldly to this news from heaven, we should wait and watch for it, as eagerly as any mother now lies sleepless listening for the signal of a new arrival to reheve her fears and till her cup to overflowing by glad tidings from her dis- THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. 13 tant child ! Oh, could the tumult of this life cease to fill our ears even for a moment, we might hear another sound, to which we are now deaf — good news, good news from heaven — from heaven to earth — from God to man — to us — to you — to me — glad tidings ! This is gospel, but is it the meaning of that word to you, my hearer 1 (3.) Now let us make our definition more precise, by adding still another term. Good news, glad tidings, from the upper world, woiild be delightful if they related only to our natural necessities. If the voice of God were heard proclaiming peace instead of war, "abundance in the place of want, and health for sickness — how might we rejoice, nay, how do we really rejoice in the sure though silent pledge of fruitful seasons and abundant harvests. But these, however free and entitled to our warmest thanks, can never meet our chief necessities — can never satisfy the soul. Its cravings are for sj)iritual good ; its worst pains are the consciousness of guilt, remorse of conscience, and a fearful looking for of judgment. These may be smothered for a time, but not for ever. Worldly prosperity may hide them from the view, and drive them from the thoughts, just as the excitement of business or of pleasure may distract the mind of the diseased and dying ; but only to rush back again with tenfold anguish, when the momentary interruption shall have ceased. My hearers, no good news is good news in the highest sense, unless it reaches tliese necessities — supplies these wants, and remedies these evils. Without this, good news, even though sent from heaven, even though uttered by the voice of God, would be but like the good news of some half-forgotten social or political success, at which your heart has long since ceased to beat, your eye to sparkle, and your blood to boil. With such experiences — and who is utterly without them 1 — no good news is good news to your sober judgment and your immortal soul — but good news in relation to your sins and your salvation, your future, your eternity. Oh, if the mask could now be taken from every heart, it would be seen that many who appear ■engrossed with temporal and secular intelligence are really longing for good news of a very difierent kind — for the glad tidings of for- giveness, reconciliation, safety — for the joyful news that God is 14 THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. not their enemy, that hell is not their portion, that they may be, that they are entitled to a share in that perpetual inheritance — • that indefeasible possession which lies far beyond the changes, and panics, and convulsions of this present life. You must hear such news sooner or later, or be wretched ; and such, such news you may hear now, in "the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God." 2. This leads me to the second question under the general topic of the gospel : We have seen what it is — good news, good news from God to man — good news of spiritual good, forgiveness and salvation ; but even this view cannot be complete without consi- dering whose-, as well as what it is. It is not an impersonal or abstract gospel ; it is not the gospel of man, nor yet of an abso- lute and distant God ; it is the gospel both of God and man ; it is described expressly in the text as the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I know of nothing in the Scrij)tures more habitiially slighted and imperfectly apprehended than the names or titles of the Saviour. I could scarcely have repeated half a dozen words conveying less to multitudes of minds than those just uttered ; which some of you perhaps regard precisely as you would the names and surnames of a friend or enemy ; or even if you do admit the dignity of him who is thus described, it is only in the general, and without any definite percejition of the import- ance of the terms e7nployed. So inveterate and hurtful is this liabit, that it may be well, occasionally, to remember what wc all know, if we would consider and apply it : that all names are ori- ginally significant — that divine names are especially and always so ; that the names of the Redeemer were designed to be descrip- tive and expressive, not conventional and formal ; and that when they are accumulated and combined, it is not without meaning, but every name is really suggestive of some great truth or im- portant feature in the person or offices of Christ, and in the method of redemption. This, which is true in general, is em- phatically true of the solemn nomenclature with which Mark begin his gospel. (1.) It is "the gospel of Jesus," that is, the good news of a Saviour : " Thou shalt call his name Jesus," said the angel avIio announced his birth to Joseph, " for he shall save his people from TIIE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. 15 their sins." Evon Joshua, whose name is identical in Hebrew, was so called prophetically, as the saviour or deliverer of Israel from ene- mies and dangers ; and in this he was a type of Him who was to come, not as a military conqueror and earthly prince, though men so expected him — not as the deliverer of the Jews from Roman vassalage, and the restorer of their ancient independence — but as a Saviour from a far worse bondage, and a more terrific ruin — from perdition, from damnation, not of angels, not of devils, not of men without exception or discrimination ; but of those predes- tinated to belief in him ; his people, the Saviour of his people ; not from temporal or physical distresses, but from sin ; not frona the sins of others, but their own ; not from its efiects, but from itself ; not merely in the life, but in the heart ; not merely in the stream, but in the spring, the source, the principle, the essence. Yes, the gospel is not only good news of a Saviour, but of Him wlio came, of liim who was called Jesus, because he was to save bis people from their sins. (2.) But the gospel is also the gospel of Christ ; to many ears a mere tautology, an irksome repetition, an unmeaning pleonasm or superfluity, or at the most, a simple combination of inseparable names, like Julius Csesar or George Washington. But I rejoice to know, my hearers, that " ye have not so learned Christ," not even the name of Christ. The very children in the Sunday school know better, for they know that Christ in Greek, and Messias in Hebrew, mean anointed, and that anointing was the Scripture symbol luider the Old Testament for spiritual effusions, especially for those which qualified men for the great representative office of Prophet, Priest, and King, and that these offices themselves re- present corresponding parts of the Eedeemer's work ; in other words, that he was in the highest sense to be the Prophet, Priest, and King of his people. Their Prophet, to reveal the wiU of God respecting them ; theii" Priest, to expiate their guilt and intercede for them ; their King, to govern and protect them ; that in him these offices, before divided among many individuals and genera- tions, were to meet, and for the first time to be fully realized j all which is really expressed by calling him the Christ or the Messias. These are not scholastic subtleties or technical distinctions, as some would fain persuade you ; they are real, real— essential to a 16 THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. clear and full view of the office and person of the great Deliverer, the source and subject of the gospel, who was called Jesus as the Saviour of his people, and Christ as the Prophet, Priest, and King for ever. (3.) But who is sufficient for these things, or who is equal to the great work shadowed forth by these signs, and more than royal titles 1 If the highest earthly wisdom is evinced in separat- ing legal and judicial functions, in dividing among many what would too severely task the powers and try the integrity of one, what human subject can combine in his own person all that is expressed by these names 1 It is clearly impossible. Their very application excludes the thought of mere humanity. The neces- sity of a divine person to assume this trust would be apparent* from the nature of the trust itself, even if it were not expressly added, that this gospel is the gospel of the Son of God, not in the attenuated sense which heresy would put upon it, but in that which the unbelieving Jews themselves attached to the expres- sions when they charged our Lord with blasphemy, for calling God his Father, and thus making himself equal with God. The Son of God, not merely as a creation, or an"object of affection, or a subject of adoption ; but as a partaker of his nature, one with him in essence, the same in substance, equal in power and glory. This is the last particular included in the description of the gos- pel. It is good news, from God to man, of deliverance from suf- fering and sin ; the good news of a Saviour, of a Prophet, of a Pi'iest, and of a King, not human, but divine, the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. II. Having thus seen what the gospel is, and whose it is, it remains to consider, still more briefly, its beginning, under the two distinct questions : — 1. Where did it begin of old 1 2. Where does it begin now 1 In answer to the first of these inquiries, I remark : — (1.) That the gospel, as a message of salvation, may be said to have begun in the eternal counsel of the divine will ; in the eter- nal purpose of the God who sent it. There is no more injurious mistake than that of lookirkw on the gospel as a sort of after- THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. 17 tlioiiglit, or series of experiments intended to make good the failure of another method of salvation, and continually modified to meet emergencies as they arose. Known unto God are all his works from the beginning of the world, and though it may not be expedient to expatiate too freely in the bewildering mazes of this great truth, and especially to speculate upon it as a mere abstrac- tion, apart from its connection with human duty, character, and destiny, Ave neither may nor can displace it as the deep and ada- mantine basis upon Avhich alone our hopes are founded. The gospel of Christ could never terminate in our salvation, if it had not first begun in God's decree ; let this, then, lie at the founda- tion, and from this let us ascend to explore the superstructure, and inquire what was the beginning of the gospel as a part of human history, and a phase of man's experience. (2.) I remark, then, in the next place, that the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ was not in the New Testament, but in the Old ; it began in the simple first promise to our fallen parents ; in then- sacrificial offerings ; in the bleeding lambs of Abel's altar ; in the simple faith and worship of the patriarchs. It began afresh in the Mosaic legislation, in the ceremonial law, witli its passover and pentecost, and great day of atonement ; with its sabbaths and its jubilees, its priests and Levites, its animal and vegetable offerings, its smoking altar and its shed blood. All these were worse than useless, worthless to man and in- sulting to God, except so far as they were typifying and sym- bolizing the " beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God." Once more, it may be said to have begun in the predictions of the prophets, who declared in words, as the legal service did in acts, the coming Saviour, and not only foretold, biit exhibited to all believers, " the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Sou of God." (3.) Passing over the long interval between the Old and New Testaments, and coming nearer to the actual appearance of the promised Saviour, his gospel may be said to have had a new beginning in the preparatory ministry of John the Baptist. If not expressed, it is at least implied and necessarily indicated in M;; -k's introductory expression, that John the Baptist's preaching 2 18 THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. in the wilderness the baptism of repentance, with a view to tlie remission of sins, was the beginning of the gospel, — its immediate precursor, the appointed preparation for its full disclosure, so that John's instructions and his baptisms derived all their worth and meaning from the fact, that in the verse explained they were the actual beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God. We find, accordingly, that when John's ministry was closed, and that of Christ himself succeeded, it was at first a mere continua- tion of John's preaching; that the burden of both cries was, " Repent, fur the kingdom of heaven is at hand ! " From this beginning, and from those already mentioned lying further back in all tlie prophecies, the ceremonies of the law, the religion of the patriarchs, and the decrees of God, from these beginnings, the go.spel in the hands and in the mouth of Him who was at once its author, and its subject, and its finisher, was developed by degrees — in his divine instructions, in his miracles of mercy, in his per- fect example, but above all, in his faultless obedience and atoning passion, in his crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension, in his session at the right hand of God, in the effusion of his Spirit, the erection of his Chiirch, the diffusion of his doctrines, and the con- quest of the world ; that system whose beginnings we have traced, became the glorious gospel of the grace of God, even the gospel of your salvation. 2. This reference to the bearing of the gospel upon human destiny, bring.s us to the last remainhig question suggested by the text, to which the answer must be still more brief than to the one before it; serving rather as a practical improvement tli an a further explanation of the subject. Where does this gospel begin now / There is a sense in which this question would be senseless and irrelevant. The foundation is already laid, and neither need nor can be laid again. The sacrifice for sin has been already offered for all, and if that be rejected, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sin, but a fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation, which shall destroy ^he adversary. It were worse than vain, my hearers, to seek any other gospel than that which has begun already in the divine decrees, in the law, in the prophets, in the preaching of John, and in the saving work of Christ himself. There are other gospels, THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHEdST. 19 Init of such, and of sucli as preach them, tliough it were an angel from heaven, Paul has said, Let him be anathema. But although the gospel can, in this view, have no more begin- nings, yet in the subjective sense of something which may be embraced in the personal experience, and must be so embraced to secure salvation, we may ask in conclusion, as we asked before, Where does the gospel begin notv ? Without repeating what has been already said as to its ultimate source and indispensable foun- dation, I may say, — (1.) That it begins for the most part in religious education, — in til at simple teaching at paternal knees and on maternal bosoms, ■ohich, in our happy, highly -favoured times, supplies the place of those remote and long-protracted means by which the world was prepared of old for the appearance of a Saviour. How many children of the Church forget, how many pious parents insuffi- ciently consider, that these lispings of religious truth to infant ears, which may eveii seem to be to themselves superfluous, may be intended by divine grace, and realized by those, who scarcely can be said to hear them, as the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Clirist the Son of God. (2.) I say intended by divine grace, for I need not add that even these distilling dew-drops of infantile training- can avail nothing without superhuman influence, without the moving of the Spirit and the waters ; sometimes in immediate succession to the early training without any interval of vice or unbelief ; sometimes after peaceful interruptions, during which the seed sown seems to have long perished; but no, sometimes when least expected, anew life is infused into the dead mass of apparently xmprofitable knowledge, the seed long buried shows itself, the tears of the departed glisten still about the leaves of the plant, and under heavenly culture and di\'ine direction, it springs up, first the blade, then the ear, and then the full corn in the ear. To that man the gospel has a new beginning, as in one sense the original instructions of his child- hood, so in another the first movement of divine power on his heart and conscience is to him the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God. (3.) Lastly, in addition to these doctrines and gracious begin- nings, there are what may be called providential recommencements 20 THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST. of the gospel, both to communities and to individuals. I need not specify under the latter head, seasons of affliction, or under the former, seasons of revival. These I must leave with a bare sug- gestion to your private meditations. I will only hint in closing the subject, that to a whole Church, even trivial incidents or epochs in their history may mark such a revival of the gospel in its power as I have suggested. A change of local situation, or of pastors, the return of one after a temporary absence,— nay, the very re-assembling of the people after periodical dispersion, though entirely insufficient of themselves, may, under the divine directimi, be the signal for new zeal upon the part of true believers, and for new attention in the unconverted, and to both, in an important sense of the expression, a beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God. That I may not close without a word of appli- cation to the individual as well as the collective audience, let me say to you, my friend, who may be here to-day apparently by accident, or if a stated worshipper in this place, yet a stranger to the covenants of promise, that you have only to accept of that which is so freely offered ; you have only to repent and to believe, and to throw yourself into the outstretched arms of mercy ; you have only to consent to be made holy and happy in the way uf your own choosing, «and this favoured hour, this otherwise imper- fect service, shall be remembered by you to eternal ages, as having been to your soul, through divine grace, the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God. \T.l IT. *' Mljcre is be that is born Jlinig of % |el\)s ?" "Where is lie that is born King of the Jews?" — Matt. ii. 2. WHEN these -words were originally uttered, tlie Jews, though still a nation in the popular sense, that is, not only a people, but a state, not only a distinct race, but a body politic — had for centuries had no king of their own royal lineage. The throne of David was still empty and awaiting his successor. He who did reign over them was regarded by them as an alien in blood and an apostate in re- ligion. And even he was the tributary vassal of a foreign state, the last of the great powers to which the Jews had been succes- sively subjected. The first days of their monarchy were in all re- spects its best days. It had scarcely surmounted the horizon when it reached its zenith. The best and greatest of the theocratic kings was David. Even under Solomon the symptoms of decline began to show themselves. He was scarcely dead before the great schism took away a large part of his kingdom. The apostate monarchy of Israel waxed wt)rse and worse, and fell at last before the power of Assyria. Its people were carried into exile, and their place sup- plied by heathen settlers. The captives themselves vanish all at once from history, and are still sought after by the name of the Lost Tribes. The kingdom of Judah lasted longer, but the progress of decay was constant. Now and then a king arose, who seemed to raise them for a time, but it was only to sink deeper by reaction and collapse. The Babylonian empire had supplanted the Assyrian and become the mistress of western Asia. Before the host of Nebuchadnezzar Judah fell as Ephraim had fallen long before. The holy city was dismantled, and the temple burned with fire. The king and the best part of the people went into captivity. From this they were delivered by tlie fall of Babylon and the rise 22 " WHERE TS HE THAT IS BORN of the Persian power on its ruins. Cyrus the Great favoured and restored the Jewish exiles. The temple was rebuilt in troublous times. But the renovated commonwealth was weak and insignifi- cant, compared with the old kingdom, even in its latter days ; much more when compared with its pristine glory under Solomon and David. The colony could only exist by the protection of foreign powers. It passed under the successive domination of the empires which so rapidly supplanted one another in the interval between tlie Old and ISTew Testaments. First, the Persians, then the Ma- cedonians, then the Greek kings of Egypt and Syria. The oppres- sions of the latter roused the old Jewish spirit and led to the erec- tion of a native monarchy. The Maccabees, or Ilasmonean Princes, luiited in themselves the kingly and the priestly office. For several generations they maintained the independence of the Jewish state, even against formidable foes. But they were not the legitimate suc- cessors of David ; they were not even children of Judah, but of Levi. At length a family dispute was referred to foreign arbitration. The Roman Empire in the meantime had become the ruling power of the world. Syria and Egypt were already under its do- minion. Its agents eagerly embraced the opportunity of gaining foothold in the land of Israel. Under the pretext of pacification, Pompey the Great took possession of Jerusalem, and about half a century before the language of the text was uttered, the Roman eagles were conspicuously planted upon Zion and Moriah. With their usual wise policy, the conquerors left with the conquered the appearance of self-government. Their religious institutions re- mained undisturbed. An Idumean family, personaUy favoured by Augustus, was exalted by the Senate to tlie royal dignity. The first that took the title was " Herod the king, in whose days wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, sajdng. Where is he that is born King of the Jews 1 " At this question, we are told the king was troubled, and all Jerusalem agitated with him. But it was not the agitation of mere wonder. The very effect produced shows that a corresponding expectation was already in existence. The Jews still held fast to their ancient Scriptures, though with many traditions. These taught them to expect the restoration of the throne of David. From them, or from an old collateral tradi- tion, other nations were now looking to Judea as the scene of great KING OF THE JEWS?" 23 events. The world was agitated by a vague foreboding. War for a time liad ceased tliroughout tlic Roman Empire. Men had leisure to attend to predictions and prognostics. The Jews believed that the Star foretold by Balaam was about to come out of Jacob. Their heathen neighbours shared in the belief of and expectation of strange heavenly phenomena announcing the approach of great catastrophes and the rise of some extraordinary personage. At this critical jimcture in the histoiy of the world, when Roman power and Greek civilization had attained their height in the Angusti«i« age, when heathen religion and philosophy had both reached the period of decrepitude, and men began to feel the need of better consolation, when the schools and the oracles alike were dumb, when the heathen were looking for they knew not what, and the Jews expecting a son of David to restore their ancient monarchy — at this very crisis wise men from the east, the cradle of science and the home of occult superstition — came to Jerusalem, saying, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews ?" They did not ask for the actual sovereign of the Jews. It was to him that tliey addressed the question. But they ask for the hereditary I'ightful king, not one to be born, but as born already. No" wonder that the Edomite who held possession of the throne by the grace of a heathen sovereign, was alarmed. No wonder that his people were excited, when they heard these strangers asking, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews 1 for we have seen his star in the east, and have come to worship him." The question was not one of local or temporary interest. It was to give complexion to the history of all after ages. It has received or been susceptible of various answers, as the state of things has gradually changed. To some of these I now ask your attention, as a proof that the demand is still a stirring one, "Where is he that is born King of the Jews ?" When the question was originally asked,, the answer might have l)een. In Bethlehem of Judah, in a stable, in a manger. Yes, the hereditary king of Israel, He who was to sit upon the throne both l)y divine and human right, was born in poverty, and to the eyes of men in shame. This was surprising in itself, but it was more — it was the first in a long series of surprises, of enigmas, of apparent contradictions. He that was born King of the Jews not only passed through all the pains of infoncy and childhood, in an 24 " WlfEHE IS HE THAT IS BOn.V humble station, but in mature age bad not where to lay his head, — dependent on the charity of friends, despised and rejected by his enemies. These privations and these sufferings become darker and more complex as we trace his history, until ^t last, betrayed by one disciple, denied by another, and forsaken by the rest, we seem to lo^se sight of him amidst a cloud through which the spears of Roman soldiers and the Urim and Thummim on the high priest's breast are seen flashing in unwonted combination. From this scene of condemnation and disgrace we turn away, say- ing, " Where, then, is he that is born king of the Jews 1 " When the cloud has once more been dispelled, this question may receive another answer. For on yonder hill, without the walls of Jerusalem, three crosses are erected. On these crosses three living sufferers are even now suspended. Two of them are ordinary convicts, malefactors. But over the head of him sus- pended in the midst there is a superscription. The characters are legible enough, and that all who pass by may comprehend them, they are written in the three sacred languages of earth — in Greek, in Hebrew, and in Latin. Draw near and decipher them. Is it a record of some common-place iniquity, on which society has wreaked its vengeance ] No; the words are strange and seemingly misplaced — as if some wanton hand had torn them from the walls of a palace, or the canopy of a throne, and in mockery transferred them to this scene of execution, this Calvary, this Golgotha, this place of a skull — " Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews ! " Yes, the very words ! In vain did the Jews plead for a change of form — Rome, the mistress of the world, through the hand of her procurator, has become witness to the truth, and the testimony cannot be recalled. " What I have written I have written !" Read, then, above the head of that expiring sufferer the answer to the question, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews 1 " There, there, upon that cross. In this case, too, the answer does but touch one hnk in a long chain of paradoxical events, disappointing, blasting the long- cherished hopes of Israel. Instead of a conqueror presenting them a sufferer, accused, condemned, and put to death in due course of law. Even his followers and friends could say, in deep despondency : "We trusted that it had been he which should have redeemed Israel." Even they are slow of heart to learn, believe, and understand that KJXG OF THE JEWS?" 25 this redemption must be purchased by the sacrifice of life — that Messiah must sufl'er these things before he could enter into his glory. Yes, the whole doctrine of atonement and salvation by the death of the incarnate Son of God is summed up and concentrated in the answer given at this awful moment on the top of Calvary, to the question, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews?" But Calvary is not tlie only height about Jerusalem. There is another on the east called Olivet — the Mount of Olives. On the acclivity of that hill what do you discern ] Eleven men gazing at the sky. A moment ago and there was another with them, and they might have been heard anxiously inquiring of him, " Wilt thou at this time restore again the kingdom to Israeli' He has scarcely spoken in reply, when he is taken up ; a cloud receives him out of their sight. At first, perhaps, they doubt the testi- mony of their senses, then indulge the hope that he has only vanished for a moment: but they are soon undeceived; and if the question were now put to them, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews 1 " they would with one accord point upwards, and reply, •' He is in heaven ! " Yes, he who once lay in the manger at Bethlehem, and lately hung upon the cross on Calvary, is now in lieaven, beyond the reach of persecution and privation; and the same is still true. Even the youngest children who are taught the name of Christ, know well that he is not here now, as lie was here of old; they know, too, that he is in heaven. They know not, and the wisest of us know not, where, or what heaven is; but we know that wherever it is, he is there, and that where he is, there is heaven. And thither our thoughts naturally turn at the question, " Where is he that is born king of the Jews'?'' This might seem to shut the door upon all further inquiry, but it does not. Men may think, as the eleven thought at first, that he is now beyond our reach, and we beyond his ; but, like them, we may be mistaken. No; before he left them he commanded them to wait for the promise of the Father, and the baptism of the Spirit, and when that had been received, to go as witnesses of him, not only through Judea and Samaria, but to the uttermost part of the earth; and they were not to go alone, for he was to go with them, and remain with them : " Lo I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world." In some sense, then, he is ou 26 " WHERE IS HE TIIA T IS BORX earth — lie is here — if we are indeed gathered in his name. " For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I present in the midst of them." Here, then, is still another answer to the question, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews ?" He is in heaven, but he is also upon earth; not visibly, yet really — and one day lie will re-appear, and then another answer still — or the same, but in a new sense, or at least with a new emphasis — must be returned. For look again vc^on the Mount of Olives, and behold the eleven gazing steadfastly toward heaven. Who are those that stand be- side them, clothed in white apparel 1 and in what terms do they accost them 1 " Men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up to heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken from you, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven." And is this not stUl truel Did his coming at the downfall of Jerusalem ex- haust this precious promise 1 Is it not one of the great doctrines that the Church, through all vicissitudes, has held fast as a part of her unalienable heritage that Christ shall come again, not in spirit, but in person, to the eye of sense as well as that of faith. However we may differ as to the time of this epiphany, we all believe that it will certainly take place, and that when we are asked, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews 1 " we shall no longer be obliged to point to a far distant heaven, or to look fear- fully around us as if seeing one who is invisible — but with open lace beholding the bright cloud as it descends, and him who sits enthroned upon it, we .'Hhall see amidst the halo that surrounds his head, in living characters of light, the same inscription that the hand of Pilate once appended to the cross, " Je^s of Nazareth, King of the Jews." For when he comes he shall come in glory — the cloudy throne will be only a figure of that throne which he already occupies, — his seat at the right hand of his Father. All power in heaven and earth is already committed to him. We are assured, not only that he is in safety, but that he is in possession and in the active exercise of power, of all power, of infinite, almio-hty power. He who was humbled is now exalted. He who lay in the manger, and hung upon the cross, and ascended from Olivet, and is come to judge the world at the last day, is even now a,t the helm, guiding the complicated movements of God's providential government. Ves, he is even now upon the throne of KING OF THE JEWS?" 27 the universe, and to that throne we may look up and to it direct the eye of others when they ask, whether as friends or foes, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews'?" This question, tlicrefore, is of interest, not merely in relation to tlie place of Christ's abode at any period of his history, but also in relation to his dignity and office. The question. Where is he 1 really means. What is he 1 " Where is he that is born King of the Jews'?" What part does he now fill'? In what character, under what aspect, is he now revealed to US'? In this, as well as in the local sense, we may ask, Where is he 1 We have seen already, in reply to this interrogation, that he is upon the throne of universal ecumenical dominion. But this throne, though real and exalted, is invisible. Hereafter we shall see it, but as yet we see it not. Yet even now, and even upon earth, his throne is standing. By a strange transmutation, he who was born King of the Jews is now King of the Christians. He came to his own, and his owoi received Iiimnot. The Jews as a race rejected him. They still reject him. After eighteen hundred years, the language of their hearts, and lips, and lives, is still the same that Christ, in one of his parables, puts into the mouths of their fathers, " We will not have this man to reign over us." Even at the time, and to his face, they rejected his pretensions, crying, " We have no king but Caesar." Even that they soon lost. The C93sar whom they chose to be their king was their destroyer. The successor of Csesar levelled Jerusalem with the earth, threw down its walls, and tried to obliterate its very name, while no Jew was permitted even to tread the soil. In course of time the throne of the Csesars crumbled. The Eternal City lost its secular supremacy. But the Jews continued, and do still continue aliens to the land of promise. They have sought tlie favour of Mohammedans, of Christians,, and of heathen, and in turn have enjoyed each. But all have turned to be their enemies. Even now, when a better spirit has arisen with respect to t]iem, they are without a country, without a government, with- out political or national existence. In them the prophecy has in- deed been verified. They have continued " many days without a king, and without a home, and without a sacrifice." Where then is he that was born King of the Jews ] Has he been thrust out of his inheritance'? Has the ]H'omise to David of perpetual sue- 28 " WHERE IS HE THA T IS nORX cession been completely nullified'? By no means? He wlio was to come has come and been enthroned, and is at this moment reign- ing. He reigns not only in heaven, but on earth. He reigns over an organized and constituted kingdom. He reigns over the Israel of God. The Christian Church is heir to the prerogatives of ancient Israel. The two bodies are morally identical. It was the remnant according to the election of grace that formed the germ of the new organization. The new edifice was reared upon the old foundation. It was only the carnal Israel, the nation as a nation, that rejected Christ. Over them as Jews he is not reigning. But he is not a Jew that is one outwardly. AU are not Israel that are of Israel. They may still claim to be the chosen people. But this is " the blasphemy of them which say that they are Jews and are not, but the synagogue of Satan." " We are the circumcision, which worship God in the Spirit, and rejoice in Christ Jesus, and have no confidence in the flesh." Over such Christ does reign, and in reigning over such he is really and truly, in the highest sense, and in the true sense of the prophecies and promises respect- ing him, " King of the Jews." He reigns in the heart of every individual believer. He reigns in the Church as a collective body. He is theoretically acknowledged as the head, even by many who in words deny him. By every jDure Church, and by every sincere Chris- tian, he is really enthroned and crowned, acknowledged and obeyed. He who was born King of the Jews has become the King of the Christians, without any change of character or oflfice, without any failure in the plan or the prediction. We have only to point to the throne of the Church and to the crown of Christendom, when any ask, in doubt or scorn, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews V This kingdom, it is true, is not yet coextensive with the earth, but it shall be. It is growing, and is yet to grow. The kingdoms of the earth are to become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ. The mountain of the Lord's house is to be established above every other, and all nations are to flow lanto it. The stone cut without hands from the mountain is to fill the earth. The watchword of its progress is, " Overturn, overturn, overturn, unfc'l he shall come, whose right it is to reign." However the great men and the wise men of the world may be afi"ected by this revolu- tion, it shall come to pass. They may despise the day of small KING OF THE JEWS?" 29 bcfrfnnings ; but the time is coming and perhaps at hand, when the providence, if not the voice of God, shall say to them, " Be- hold, ye despisers, and wonder, and perish;" they may imagine that by constitutions and by legislative acts, or by the reorganiza- tion of society, they have secured themselves from all intrusion upon Christ's part. But before they are aware, his hand may be upon them, and his arrows sharp in tlie hearts of the King's enemies. Resistance and revolt will be for ever unavailing. The heathen may still rage, and the nations imagine a vain thing. The kings of the earth may set themselves, and rulers take counsel together, against the Lord and his Anointed. They may still say, as in ages past they have said, Let us break their bands asunder, and cast their cords from us. He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh: the Lord shall have them in derision. Then shall he speak to them in his anger, and confound them in his hot dis- pleasure. He has already set his King upon his holy hiU of Zion. He will give him the heathen for his heritage, and the uttermost parts of the earth for his possession. If rebellious he will rule them with a rod of iron ; he will break them in pieces as a potter's vessel. Let kings, then, learn wisdom, let the judges of the earth be instructed. Let them pay allegiance and do homage to this Sovereign, lest they perish in his anger, which will soon be kindled. And as his grace is equal to his power and his justice, blessed are all they that put their trust in him. Christ's kingdom is not of tills world in its origin or character. He came, not to be a judge or a divider, a secular ruler or a military chieftain. But he nmst even here reign. His reign must and shall be universal. And the prospect of this issue is the hope of the world. There is no more cheering anticipation than that Christ is one day to be king of nations; that his realm is not to reach, like that of David, from the Bed Sea to the Mediterranean, and from the Euphrates to the desert, but from sea to sea, and from the river to the ends of the earth. To this vast empire, and to him who rules it, we, or they who sliaU come after us, may one day point in triumphant answer to the question, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews 1 " He that was born King of the Jews, and who never literally carried even that crown, shall be seen seated as it were upon the throne of aU the ancient emperors and imperial 30 " WUERE IS HE THAT IS BORN sovereignties — Sesostiis and Cyrus, Alexander and Ccesar; the lost empires shall revive in hun, and all the crov^ns of earth shall meet upon the brow of him who was " boni King of the Jews " To this general confluence of nations there shall not be even omi exception. Even one, however slight, would seem to mar the triumph. There is one especially which could not but have this effect. The people that rejected him — the seed of Abraham — to whom were committed the oracles of God — to whom once per- tained the adoption, and the glory, and the covenants, and the giving of the law, and the service of God, and the promises — whose were the fathers, and of whom, as concerning the flesh, Christ came who is over all, God blessed for ever. If these should still remain aloof, the gloiy of Immanuel's coronation might seem to be obscured or tarnished. ISTot that the promises of God would even tlien fail of their accomplishment. Not that the Israel of God would even then cease to exist, or the perpetual succession of its members be at all interrupted. But the hearts that pant for the Kedeemer's exaltation might feel something to be Avanting. As they stood around his throne, and looked beyond the brilliant circle that encompassed it, if they still beheld the lost sheep of the house of Israel refusing to return to the shepherd and bishop of their souls, they might recall the promise, " All kings shall fall down before him, all nations shall serve him;" and then say, "all nations'?" Ah, yes, all but one, and that, alas, the very one that he was born to rule. The kings of Tarshish and the isles do bring presents ; the kings of Sheba and of Seba do offer gifts ; they that dwell in the wilderness have bowed before him ; and all his other enemies have licked the dust; — but where is little Benjamin, and Ephraim, and Manassehl where is Judah, with his lion? where is Levi witli his Thummim and his Urim 1 where, oh, where are the tribes of liis inheritance? The Gentiles are here, but Israel still dwells alone. Our king is, indeed, the king of nations, the king of kings, —but " where is he that is born King of tlie Jews ? " Even in this respect the answer will eventually be auspicious. He that was born King of tlie Jews shall yet reign over them. He shall be not only their rightful, but their actual sovereign. As such he shall be acknowledged by them. As he reigns already Kiu'^' of the Jews, over the Israel of God, which is perpetuated iu KINO OF TIIK JEWS? 31 his Cliurcli, so shall he one day reign King of the Jews, over those who are such outwardly, over Israel according to the flesh. Thi.s the promise of his word entitles and requires us to expect. It is the cherished and exciting faith of sonic, that the seed of Abraham are to be literally gathered from the four winds, and from aU parts of the earth, once more to take possession of the land bestowed by covenant on their fathers. Whether this be expressly promised in the word of God or not, — a question which will probably continue to be agitated till it is resolved by some event, — there are provi- dential signs which seem to point to such an issue. The land of promise almost empty of inhabitants ; the Jews dispersed without a country of their own ; their slight connection with the countries where they dwell; the nature of their occupations tending to faci- litate a general removal ; and in many instances their social posi- tion making it desirable; — all this, together with a re-awakening of their interest in the land of their fathers, and the birth of a new interest in them upon the part of Christians, may be plausibly interpreted as providential indications of precisely such a cliange as some interpreters of prophecy suppose to be predicted. If these anticipations should be realized, and Israel should again take root downward in his own laud, and bear fruit upward, how conspicu- ously would the regal rights of the Redeemer be asserted and established by the visible subjection of the Jewish nation to his peaceful sway ! In every new accession to the swelling population of the goodly land from other nations, we should see repeated tlie acknowledgment of Jesus as the son of David by his hereditary subjects and his kinsmen according to the flesh — from every caravan and every fleet that bore them homeward, we might hear the voice of Israel coming back to his allegiance, asking, " Where is he that is born King of the Jewsl" But however joyful such a consummation might be, and on some accounts devoutly to be wished, the final exaltation of our Lord is not suspended on it, even with res2:)ect to his acknowledgment by Israel. Though Israel be not gathered, and externally reorganized u})on the soil once gladdened by the presence, and still hallowed by the tombs of patriarchs, and prophets, and apostles; though ]jcrpetual exclusion from that precious spot of earth be part of God's irrevocable judgment on the race as such considered, still, 32 " WHERE IS HE THA T IS BORN We kuow that they shall be restored to a participation in the honours and advantages which were once exclusively their own, and from which they have fallen by rejecting the Messiah, we know and are assured that the exsiccated branches of that ancient olive shall again be grafted in — and that in some emphatic sense aU Israel shall be saved ; and in the glorious fidfilment of this promise, whether accompanied or not by territorial restoration, Christ's crown and sceptre shall be honoured. Every Jew who names the name of Christ as a believer, whether at the holy city or among the Gentiles, and in the very end of the earth, will indivi- dually do him homage as the Son of David. As soon as the spirit of inquiry shall begin to be diffused among that people, and the veil to be tkken from their hearts in the reading of the Old Testa- ment; as soon as the eyes of those now blind shall see cle^irly, and the tongue of the stammerer speak plainly; even though they should continue still dispersed among the nations; there will be something like a repetition of the scene presented eighteen centuries ago, but on a vastly wider scale, for the children of Israel wiU then be seen uniting with the fulness of the Gentiles in the question, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews % " Such, my hearers, are the answers which, at different stages in the progress of Christ's kingdom, have been, or might have been, or shall be yet returned to the question originally asked by the wise men, who came from the east to Jerusalem in the days of Herod, "Where is he that is born King of the Jews 1 " Where is he ? In the manger as a helpless infant. On the cross, as a sacrifice for sinners. On the cloud, ascending into heaven. On earth invisibly partaking in the prayers of even two or three devoutly gathered for his worship. At the right hand of the father. On the throne of universal pro- vidential sovereignty. On the throne of Christendom. On the throne of the Gentiles. On the throne of Israel. From eveiy such view of his exaltation let us gather fresh assurance that the purpose and promises of God can never fail ; that whatever clouds may hide the sky, shall, sooner or later, be dispelled ; that, hoAv- ever long the rights of the Redeemer may appear to be relinquished or denied or in abeyance, they shall yet be openly asserted and universally acknowledged ; that he who was born to reign, shall reign, that his dominion shall be endless, that the very things KING OF THE JE W8 ? 33 wliich seem to threaten its extinction shall eventually further it. If even the apostasy and casting off of Israel, tlie chosen race with whom the Church of old appeared to be identified, did not prevent its continued existence and progressive growth until the present hour, what disaffection or resistance, personal or national, can now arrest its onward march to universal empire. No, let Bethlehem, and Calvary, and Olivet, and Paradise, and Christendom, and Jewry, all bear witness that what he was bom to bring about must come to pass ; the day, though distant, shall arrive when the king- doms of the world are to become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ; and when the joint halleluiah of angels and men, of the Church on earth, and of the Church in heaven, of Jews and (jrentiles, shall proclaim the final and eternal answer to the ques- tion, " Where is he that is born King of the Jews'?" Si^tr- III. WilvAi % bo fboit Iinobcst not noto. " What I do tlioii knowest not now ; but tliou slialt know hereafter." — John xiii. 7. THESE words relate to an astonisliing act of condescension in our Saviour just before lie suffered. Not contented witli the proofs he had already given of his lowliness and willingness to be abased that Ave might be exalted, at his last meeting with the twelve, he crowned all by performing the most humble act of ser- vice to his own disciples. He took water, as the slaves in those days were accustomed to do for their masters and their guests, and washed the disciples' feet. It is impossible for us even now to read of this without a keen feeling of disapprobation. For a moment, at least, it seems as if the Saviour did too much, as if he went too far ; no wonder, then, that it took the apostles by surprise, and that the boldest and most free spoken of them dared to say as much, — nay, even ventured to refuse compliance, saying, " Lord, dost thou wash my feet 1 " And even after Christ had answered this inquiry in the language of the text, he persevered in his re- fusal, saying with some violence of feeling, " Thou shalt never wash my feet." Nor was it till our Lord had solemnly declared that, unless washed he could have no part witii him, that the bold and ar- dent Peter overcame his repugnance to this humiliating honour, and said, " Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head." What I wish you to attend to now, is not the particular design and meaning of his strange proceeding, but the way in which our Saviour dealt with Peter's difficulties and reluctance. He knew that Peter did not understand what he was doing, and because he could not understand it, he was not willing to explain it to him. It might have seemed that the simi:)lest way to overcome Ms WffA T r DO THO U KNO WEST NOT NO W. 35 scruples was by telling him exactly what he Avished to know, by saying, " What I mean by this preaching is to teach you such and such a doctrine, or to produce such and such an impression on you." But he gives him no such satisfaction. He only intimates that it will be given at some future time : " What I do thou knowest not how ; but thou shalt know hereafter." This is in per- fect agreement with our Saviour's customary method of proceed- ing. He requires implicit confidence in him, and unconditional submission. What he did on this occasion is precisely what he is continually doing in his Church. He requires his people to walk by faith and not by sight ; to believe what they cannot fully comprehend ; to do what they cannot altogether approve, except on his authority. This is true of some of his most sacred institutions. What he did to his disciples upon thi-s occasion was not meant to be repeated as a public ceremony of the Church, although many have imagined that it was, and have continued to this day as a superstitious form. But there are other things wliich were designed to be perpetual, and which men are sometimes disposed to sliglit or quarrel with, because they do not fully understand their meaning or their use. This is the spirit which has led some who call themselves Chris- tians to tamper with the sacraments which Christ himself has in- stituted and required to be observed until his second coming. Sojue do not see the use of washing with water in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and therefore discontinue it, profess- ing to rely upon inward spiritual baptism, although many soon dispense with this, because having once determined to do nothing and submit to nothing which they cannot fully comprehend and explain, they are forced to give up everything in turn, because, in fact, there is nothing at all which they can fully understand and account for. In like manner, some begin in clianging the form of the Lord's Supper, and end with setting it aside altogether as a useless and unmeaning form. And some w^ho do not meddle with the administration of the ordinance, refuse to partake of it, and thereby publicly profess their faith, although they claim to be behevers and true Christians. They cannot see why such a form is necessary, or what useful purpose it can answer, either to them- selves or others, if they have the right religious views and feelings, 36 WHAT I DO THOU KNOW EST NOT NOW. not observing that obedience to Christ's positive commands is one of the most certain tests of true or false religious views and feel- ings, and that if this obedience is vdthheld there is no conclusive procif tliat inward piety exists at all. The spirit of aU such dis- affection to the ordinances of God's house is that which actuated Peter when he said, " Thou shalt never wash my feet," and to all who cherish it or act upon it, Christ himself may be heard saying, " If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me," but yet adding, with a gracious condescension to the weakness of the true be- liever, " What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter." Such is God's method of proceeding, not only in this case, but in every other. We cannot live without taking many things on trust, without believing and obeying where we do not fully under- stand. What is there that we do thus understand? The world is full of mysteries and wonders. The very things that seem most simple and with which we think ourselves most perfectly ac- quainted are really beyond our comprehension. The heavens and the earth, the water and the air, are full of strange and surprising ob- jects. We cannot explain fully how the slightest change takes place among the thousands that are going on around us. How does the grass grow 1 or the fruit ripen 1 or the seasons change 1 Be- cause we know that these things do take place, we think we com- prehend them ; but we only know that they are, not how they are. And those who have gone furthest in discovering and explaining what are called the laws of nature, only differ in degree from the most ignorant, and are often the readiest to acknowledge that they have not reached the bottom of those mysteries, tliat after all their explanations and discoveries, there is something yet to be dis- covered and explained. This is the general rule and law through- out the universe, that what God is, and what God does, is and must be beyond the comprehension of his creatures. We cannot find out the Almighty to perfection — such knowledge is too won- derful for us — we cannot attain to it — his counsels are unsearch- able and his ways are past finding out. He lets us know and understand enough, not only to provide for our own safety and enjoyment, but to make us anxious to know more, and sensible how little we know now — and at the same time to fill us with WHAT I DO THOU KNOWEST NOT NOW. 37 an awful reverence fse who knew it, and perhaps produced it, are miraculously saved. Disease invades a household, and destroys its members one by one, whilst all around escape. The young, the healthy, those upon Avliom most are dependent, fall by accident or sickness, -while the old and helpless, who have long been waiting their discharge, stiU Hnger even when deprived of those by whom they were sustained and comforted. Examples of this kind are continually occurring, and exciting, even in the minds of Christians, a secret discontent and inclination to find fault, Avhich often lurka at the bottom of their hearts even when they seem to acquiesce in the divine dispensa- tions, and indeed until their minds are so far cleared, and their excited feelings so far calmed that they can hear God saying even in the fire, and the earthquake, and the tempest, and the pesti- lence, " What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter." And if this is the case of those who mei-ely look at the calamities of others as spectators, how much more natural is such a feeling on the part of those who are themselves the objects of these providential visitations. O how hard, how hopeless, does the task seem, to suppress all risings of rebellious discontent when we are touched ourselves by what appears to us to be a cruel and imtimely stroke. How natural and reasonable does it often seem to say, as some do say to themselves or others, " I could have borne this without a murmur a little sooner or a little later, but WffA T I DO THO U KNO WEST NOT NO W. 39 at this moment it is hard indeed." Or the language of the heart may be, I should not have resisted or repined under a severer stroke, but of a different kind. If it had been my business, not my health ; or my health, but not my reputation ; or myself, but not my family ; or this fi'iend, but not that, and so on through a thousand suppositions of vs^hat might have been but is not true, I could have bowed without a murmur. In aU this there is certainly a great delusion. Had the stroke been different, the effect would still have been the same. And even where there would have been a difference, that difference may itself have been the reason of the choice, because a stroke which is not felt, or which is felt too lightly, would not answer the severe but gracious purpose of the Lord in smiting us at all. But even when this is acknowledged and believed, it may be hard to see wherein the gracious purpose lies, and theretore liard to acquiesce in the benevolence and wisdom of that providence which cai:ses us or suffers us to suffer. Such submission may be Avrought, and is continually wrought by sovereign grace, without imparting any clearer knowledge of God's immediate purpose, by inspiring strong faith in his benevolence and truth, so that the soul is satisfied with knowing that it is the will of God, and therefore must be right, best for his honour and his creatures' Avelfare. Even such, however, may derive a pleasing solace from the hope that what seems now .so unaccountable Avill one day be intelligible even to themselves. And when they look at the most doubtful and perplexing circumstances of their case, at which perhaps their faith was staggered and their hope sickened, but in Avhich God has now enabled them to acquiesce, they may find it easier to do so when tliey call to mind that, although they are bound to yield whether they ever knew the meaning of these strange dispensa- tions or not, they are permitted to believe that they shall yet know at least something more, — perhaps much more, — perhaps as much as they could Avish to knoAV, or need to know, in order to be perfectly contented with their lot, — and as this quieting per- suasion takes possession of their souls, their ears are suddenly unstopped, and made to tingle with these SAveet but solemn words, "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt knoAv hereafter." The application which I have been making of these Avords to 40 WHAT I BO THOU KNOWEST NOT NOW. God's providential dispensations, when tliey take the shape of personal or national calamities, may all seem natural enough, and be received Avithout a doubt of their correctness, not because the text itself includes all this directly, but because the principle, the rule vi^hich it lays down, is not confined to the original occasion, nor to religious rites and institutions, but extends to every case in which men can be called to acquiesce and to obey from general trust in God, or deference to his will, without fully knowing for Avhat reason or Avhat purpose in particular. ?^ow of this tliere are no examples more familiar or affecting than those furnislied by severe afflictions, whether such as affect only individuals and families, or such as more or less affect a whole community, and tlierefore there will probably be little disposition to dispute the application of the text to all such cases. But there is another application not so obvious, to which I am anxious, for that very reason, to direct your thoughts, lest the instructions and the waraings here afforded should lose a part of their effect from being too much confined in their application, so tliat those perhaps in most need of the lesson which the Spirit of God teaches, may depart without it. You admit, perhaps, that with respect to God's works, and the changes continually going on in nature, you must wait for clearer light, and you are willing so to do, perhaps arc well content to wait for ever. You also admit that, in reference to tlie meaning . and design of God's afflictive dispensations, mth respect both to the many and the few, both to others and yourselves, it is right and necessary to be satisfied with knowing in the genei'al that God is just and merci- ful, that what he does not only is, but must be right, not only right, but best — best for him and best for you — and that, there- fore, you may rationally wait for any further explanation or dis- covery. But has the thought occ^^rred to you tliat tliis is no more true of affliction than of any other state or situation 1 that the only difference arises from the fact that suffering makes men think of this and feel it, but does not make it any truer or more certain than it was before, and that this very circumstance makes it peculiarly important to remind men of the truth in question, when they are not so reminded by their outAvard circumstances. There is no time when men need less to be warned against intem- WHAT 1 DO THOU KXOWEST NOT NOW. 41 perance and imprudence than a time of general sickness and mor- tality, for this very state of things is a sufficient warning. But when health prevails, we are peculiarly in danger of forgetting our mortality, and neglecting the precautions which are necessary to preserve us from disease and death. So, too, in the case before us, when men actually suffer, either one by one or in large bodies, they have but occasion to be told that God may have some pur- pose to accomplish which they cannot understand at present, but wdiich may, perhaps, be imderstood hereafter. Now, let us ask ourselves the question, May not God have pur- poses to answer, of which we have no suspicion, when he grants us undisturbed prosperity 1 Does he cease to reign as soon as men cease to suffer "? Is his only instrument the rod 1 Is it only the afflicted that are subject to his government 1 And are the rich, the healthy, and the honoured, the cheerful, the thought- less, and the gay, exempt from his control "i Perhaps this is the secret of the coldness with which most of us contemplate God's strokes till they touch ourselves, despising the riches of his good- ness, and forbearance, and long-suflfering, not knowing that the goodness of God leadeth to repentance. And how few really re- gard this as the great end of prosperity, to lead men to repent- ance ! How many do indeed believe that health, and Avealth, and comfort are all means employed to bring men to repentance ! And if this is so, how seldom does prosperity accomplish its de- sign— I mean its purposes of mercy ; for, alas ! it has a twofold tendency. It is like some desperate and potent remedies for bodily disease. It either kills or cures. Are we sufficiently convinced of this 1 Do we feel it as we should if God were pleased to lift the veil that overhangs the hearts and inner lives of men, and show us what is passing at this moment, and to what results hereafter it is tending 1 If you, my hearers, could be made to see that your prosperity is just as much a state of dis- cipline as the affliction of your neighbour ; that your heart, if not subdued and softened by God's goodness, is continually growing harder : that the frivolous and exciting pleasures which engross you, or the violent passions which inflame and agitate you, or the sordid appetites which enslave and master you, are all combining to prepare you for changes which you do not now anticipate ; if 42 WHAT I DO THOU K NO WEST NOT NOW. I could show you God looking down upon this fearful process, and permitting it to go on, as a righteous recompense of those Avho do not like to retain him in their knowledge, but revolt from his authority and trample on his mercy, and treat the very blood of Christ himself as an unclean thing ; if I could show you that sleepless and untiring eye for ever fixed upon your individual heart, which neither wrath nor mercy, hope nor fear have yet sufficed to break, when breaking might have saved it, and which, if it ever breaks at all, is likely to break only with incurable anguish and despair ; if I could show you how completely you are at God's mercy in the height of your prosperity, and how severely he is trying you by means of it ; — you might perhaps be brought to hear him say, as he does say with solemn emphasis, " What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know here- after." The dangers thus attending a state of high prosperity liave led many, who were destitute of true fiith, to repeat the prayer, " Give me neither poverty nor riches." And some who hear me now may be ready to congratulate themselyes that the extremes of joy and grief are equally unknown to their experience. They are glad, perhaps, that though they do not suffer, they are not the slaves of passion. They do not seek their happiness in violent excitement. They enjoy tranquillity, and thank God for it. They are comfortable and content with their situation. Perhaps too contented. Yes, unless possessed of a good hope through grace, they are certainly too well contented. They have no more reason to be satisfied than the sufferer with his suff"erings, or the man of pleasure with his sinful joys. Especially is this the case if they imagine that, while God directs the lot of others, he is letting them alone, that is, allowing them to be at ease without those dangers to wliich others are exposed. There is a sense in which he may indeed be letting them alone, giving them up to themselves, allowing them to stagnate and to putrefy, if not in vice, in selfish indolence, spiritual sloth, and carnal security. Because they are exempt from sore distress on one hand, and from gross sins on the other, they imagine them- selves safe and even happy. They forget that although they may be idle, Satan is at work, employing every art to shield them from WHAT I DO THOU KNOWEST NOT NOW. 43 the light and make them sleep more soundly ; that the world around them is at work to render them Inore drowsy by the hum and murmur of its business and its pleasures, so that when they open their eyes for a moment, they immediately fciU back again and dream on as they have dreamed before. Nor is this all. WhUe evil spirits and a wicked world are thus at work upon the stupid soul, it may be said without irreverence that God himself is not inactive. He is not an indifferent specta- tor, but a sovereign and a judge. " Let no man say when he is tempted, I am tempted of God ; for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any man. But every man is tempted when he is drawn aAvay of liis o-nm lusts and enticed. Then when aust hath conceived it bringeth forth sin, and sin, when it is fin- ished, bringeth forth death." " The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law." And the law is the law of God, and neither men nor devils can offend against it unless he suffer them. And when he suffers them he may comply with their governing desire. But at the same time will he take vengeance on them. To a .sinner no divine stroke can in this life be so fearful as the stroke of letting him alone. As God is not and cannot be the author of sin, the worst he can in this life do is to let men do as they please. Beyond this nothing is required to ruin them. Tlieir native tendency is downwards. There is no need of creating it. It is sufficient not to stop or change it. Nothing can possibly do either but divine grace. And in multitudes of cases it does both. And in the case of aU Avho hear the gospel it is offered. And in the case of some, that offer is long continued and frequently re- peated. But its being offered even to a single soul, or for a single moment, is a miracle of mercy. If no one has a right to it at first, much less has any one a right to it for ever. For then the longer men refused God's mercy, the more would he be bound to offer it, which is too absurd to be believed. And if this offer, even for a moment, is an act of God's free grace, and might have been with- hold without the slightest imputation on his justice or his mercy, who will charge him with violating either if, when a man has long despised the Son and quenched the Spirit, he should be permitted by the Father to go on as he desires and is resolved, to do pre- cisely Avhat he wishes, to be just Avhat he intends to be. Is this 44 WHAT I DO THOU KNO WEST NOT NO W. unmerciful, unjust, or cruel 1 What, unjust to let him have what he claims as his right ? cruel to leave him undisturbed 1 when he has over and over refused to accept God's invitation and impor- tunately prayed to be let alone. Can he complain that God should take him at his word, and now withhold what he might have with- held from the beginning 1 Such an abandonment is dojibly just. It gives the man precisely what he claims, and at the same time asserts God's sovereignty and vindicates his justice by allowing it to take its course. It seems, then, that of all conditions in the present life, there is none more terrible than that of being let alone. And when this is the secret of men's calmness or contentment, they have just as little reason to congratulate themselves that they are thus left un- disturbed, as the drowning man has to congratulate himself that he is left to sink without the trouble and vexation of seizing on the saving hand held out for his deliverance, or the poisoned man that he is not required to take an unpalatable antidote, or the con- vict on his way to execution, that he is not interrupted by a par- don or reprieve, but suffered to continue his journey in tranquil indifference. My hearers, if I could convince you that the ease which you enjoy is such as I have described, I am sure that you would instantly hear Him Avho would have saved you, but who now perhaps consents to leave you to yourself as you desire, saying, " What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter."' In all these views Ave have been looking forward, trying to anti- cipate that which is still future. But the time is coming when we shall look back at the same objects from a very different point of observation — and look at them no longer as mere possibihties, but actual realities. It is a fearful supposition, but it cannot make vour danger any greater than it is, to suppose, my hearer, that your soul is to be lost, and that when it is lost you will still be able to retrace the steps by which you travelled to perdition. When you thus look back, among the various feelings which will struggle with each other for predominance in your soul, one of the strongest must be, wonder at your own infatuation in not seeing to what end your purpose and conduct here were tending — in not knowing that the world and the devil and your own corruption were at work to make affliction and prosperity, WHAT I DO THOU KNOWEST NOT NOW. 45 and even tranquillity, all contribute to your ruin — and that God himself, by every gift and every judgment, and even by his silence and forbearance, was still warning you that, though the end of your course was not yet visible, it certainly would have one, and that everything you did, enjoyed, or suffered, was contributing to give that end a character, to make it for ever either good or evil. This, I say, will be an astonishment to any lost soul — that he did not see all this beforehand — if not as certain, yet as possible — and did not act accordingly. And in addition to this wonder at the general course pursued in tliis life, there will no doubt be particular conjunctures, with, respect to which it will appear in- credible and almost inconceivable that any rational and moral being should have still continued so insensible and blinded when the gifts of God were so peculiarly abundant, or his judgments so peculiarly severe — or the comfort and tranquillity enjoyed so per- fect, that to one reviewing it from that distant point of observa- tion, it might seem that even sin itself could not have plunged the soul in such insensibility, or roused it to such madness, as to hide from it the fatal course which it was taking, or to stop its ears against the warning voice which was continually sounding from the death-bed and the grave, and the devouring jaws of hell, as well as from the cross and the throne, the mercy seat and judgment seat of Christ. Ah, my hearers, may it not be that among these recol- lections will be that of the very opportunity which you are now enjoying, and that, although now in looking forward you may see no sufficient reason for alarm or even for solicitude as to the end, a sovereign God is now afflicting you or sparing you — yet when you come to look back at the same things from the world of woe, you will regard it as a prodigy of spiritual blindness that you did not see what you will then see so distinctly, and of spiritual deaf- ness that you did not hear what will then sound in your ears, in every echo from the vaults of your eternal prison, " What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter." Having gone so far as to transport you into the eternal world and to anticipate its solemn recollections, let me not conclude without presenting the reverse of that distressing supposition upon which I have been speaking. Thanks be to God, the power of re- collection is not to be monopolized hereafter by the lost. While 46 WHAT I DO THOU KNOW EST NOT NOW. it will, no doubt, add to the intensity of future torment, it will magnify and multiply the joys of heaven. Yes, in both worlds memory will survive. There will be memory in hell. There will be memory in heaven. And on what "will the blissful recollections of that holy, happy place be more intently fastened, than those mysterious, but effectual means, by which a miserable sinful soul was stopped short and turned round in its career of ruin ; and while others still refused to be arrested, or were arrested only long enough to give them a new impulse in their downward course, you — yes, my friend, it may be you — were taken off from all corrupt attachments and from all false grounds of hope, that you might be saved through Him who loved you. If permitted thus to look Ijack at the way by which you have been lead, what occasion for rejoicing and thanksgiving will be furnished by the thought that your Saviour did not suffer you to wait till you could fully understand his requisitions, before trust- ing and obeying him. The difference between you and the lost will not be that the lost could not see the end from the beginning, and that you could; but that the lost insisted upon seeing, and tliat you through grace were satisfied with believing; that the lost would only walk by sight, and that you were enabled and dis- posed to walk by faith ; that the lost could trust the care of their salvation only to themselves, and sunk beneath the load, while you had wisdom, and humility, and grace enough imparted to you to think God stronger than yourself, and a Saviour's merit greater than your own, the Holy Ghost a better comforter than the world, the flesh, or the devil. When Jesus with divine condescension proposed to wash their feet, they replied, with Peter, in his want of faith and of understanding, "Thou shalt never wash my feet;" but you replied with Peter, in the strength of his renewed love, " Not my feet only, but my hands and my head." This is all the difference, but it is enough, for it determines your eternal destiny. Happy the soul that is now upon the right side of a question which to men may seem so unimportant. Happy, for ever happy, he who shall look back and see with wonder how his own plans were defeated, his most cherished wishes crossed, his favourite opinions contradicted, his highest hopes completely disappointed, and himself entirely set at nought, if thereby he has saved his WHAT I DO THOU KNOW EST XOT NOW. 47 soul ; for v;hat is a man profited if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul, or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul 1 The loss of all these things is to gain a new heart, to gain a heaven, to gain a God. It is the loss of God, as a consuming fire, to gain him as he is in Christ, a fountain of life. When possession is secured, my hearer, it will be a sweet or bitter re- collection to our soul, that in this place and at tliis hour, although some around you still refuse to look beyond the immediate fruits of their misconduct, or to be persuaded that its eff"ects would ex- tend into eternity, the scales, through mercy, fell from your eyes, and the veil was gathered up from off your heart, and the noise of this world of a sudden ceased to fill your ears, and in the place of it a still small voice, a voice both of kindness and of authority, stole in upon your spirited senses, saying, "What I do thou know- est not now, but thou shalt know hereafter." IV. |.cbolb%famljjof(gob. •'Beliold the Lamb of God which taketh away tlie sin of the world." — John i. 29. HOW long our first parents remained innocent is not revealed, and cannot be conjectured. The space allotted to that por- tion of their history in God's word is extremely small. But this is no proof that the time itself was short. It is Bacon's maxim that the best times to live in are the worst to read about, that is, the worst for entertainment as affording least variety of incident. Certain it is, however, that we scarcely enter on the history of man before his ruin is recorded. But then, upon the other hand, we scarcely read of his fall, before we read also of his restoration. The gates of Paradise are scarcely closed, before the altar of atone- ment is erected at the entrance. The flame of the cherubic sword is blended with the flame of the consuming sacrifice. Cain was a tiller of the ground. His gentler brother was a slaughterer of animals. The promise of salvation to lost man was sealed and symbolized by blood — not the blood of bears and lions, but the blood of sheep and oxen — not of Aiiltures, but of turtle doves. Was this accidental or a mere caprice 1 Is there anything even in man's fallen nature which disposes him to seek the death of brutes for its own sake, without any view to food or even to amusement 1 And is this propensity so doubly perverse as to choose the harmless and the unresisting as its victims, rather than the fierce and ravenous? If not, the ancient sacrifices must have had a meaning; and they had, for they were meant to teach by sicfns and emblems the essential doctrine, that without shedding of blood there is no remission — Blood being put for life, and its eff"asion for the loss of life by metaphors so natural as scarcely to BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD. 49 be metcaphors. The lesson taught by this perpetual spectacle of death, was that notliing short of death could save the life which man had forfeited by sin. And this implied that sin incurred a penalty, because it was the breaking of a law, and that the penalty of this law could not be evaded by the breaker, cr by him who gave it. It implied tliat tlic distinction between moral good and evil was a distinction running back beyond all arbitrary positive enactments; that the righteousness of God made it irajjossible that sin should go unpunished; and that as the sinner's life was forfeit on account of sin, that forfeit must be paid by the sacrifice of life. But all this might have been revealed and understood if no remedial system had been introduced at all, if no Saviour had been promised. There was more than this implied in the ancient rites of sacrifice. They taught, not onlj^ that man was a sinner, and that sin must be punished, but (that man) what seemed to be at variance with these truths, that sin might be forgiven, and the sinner saved. The very forms of oblation taught this. Of these forms we have no exact account in the beginning or throughout the patriarchal age. But they were no doubt in essential jDoints the same with those which Avere prescribed and practised in the law of Moses. And among these there was one too clear to be mistaken if regarded as significant at all, and if it Avas not, the whole system became merely a confused array of vain for- malities. Imagine that you see the host of Israel gathered in that vast enclosure, Avith the altar smoking in the midst, and by it the anointed priests in their official vestments. To some — perhaps to most — in the surrounding multitude, the sight is a mere spectacle, a raree-shoAV ; but there were never wanting some Avho Avalked by faith, and not by sight ; and even noAV, though man may knoAV it not, there beats among that breathless croAvd some heart which feels the burden of its sin too sensibly to be content Avith outAvard sliow, however splendid. It sees, it wonders, it admires, but is not satisfied. Its language is, Oh, what is this to me ; hoAv much of that oppressive Aveight Avhich crushes me can this imposing spectacle remove or lighten 1 But the croAvd divides. The ofierer approaches with his victim. Mild and dumb it stands ; speechless 50 BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD. it awaits its doom. But see ! before the stroke can be inflicted, there is yet a solemn rite to be performed. Tlie offerer must first lay his hands upon the head of the poor victim, and confess his sins — a simple rite, but full of solemn import to the mind of the spectator burdened with a sense of guilt, and taught by God to understand the sight Avhich he beholds. For he sees that in that simple act of imposition the believing offerer transfers his guilt, and in that transfer he beholds the only possible alleviation of his own distress. If the whole system be not merely a theatrical dis- play, its rites must be significant; and if that solemn imposition has a meaning, it must signify a transfer of the curse and penalty from one head to another ; and if such a transfer be conceivable in one case, Avhy not possible in all 1 and if in all, then in mine, and if in mine, then I am free. For all I ask is the removal of this burden from my conscience — I care not whither it is carried, only let it pass from me. But here the question would suggest itself. How can the guilt of my sin be transferred to a dumb animal % Can sheep or oxen bear the weight of my iniquities, or their blood cleanse the stains which sin has left upon my soul 1 It cannot be. The voice of nature and of reason cries aloud, It is not possible. "It is not possible that the blood of bulls or of goats should take away sins" (Heb. x. 4). And yet the voice of the whole system cries in tones of equal strength, that " without the shedding of blood there is no remission." How shall these discordant sounds be tempered into unison 1 How shall these testimonies, seemingly so opposite, be made to stand together ? How shall the burdened soul, which has discovered that its only hope is in the transfer of its guilt, be enabled to go further, and to see how that transfer may be really effected 1 Only by looking far beyond the innocent but worthy sacrifice before him to another which it represents. Only by seeing in its blood the symbol of a blood more precious than silver and gold, a blood speaking better things than the blood of Abel ; not invoking vengeance, but proclaiming pardon, as it streams from every altar. It is indeed impossible that the blood of bulls and of goats should take away sin ; wherefore when He cometh into the world he saith, " Sacrifice and offering thou ATOuldest not. but a body hast thou prepared me. In burnt offer- BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD. 51 ings and sacrifices for sin tlioii liast had no pleasure. Then said I, Lo I come, in the vohnne of tlie book it is wiitten of me, to do tliy will, O God." Here is the doctrine of sacrifice expounded by the Sacrifice himself, by him who is at once the great atonement for our sins, and the great High Priest of our profession. He represented the death of animals as utterly without intrinsic efficacy as a means of expiation, and as utterly abominable in the sight of God, except as a symbolical display of that great sacrifice which Christ oflfered up once for all upon the cross. And this is the doctrine of the whole of the Old Testament. It furnishes the only key to those apparent discrepancies which have been observed between the law and the prophets, where the latter use the lan- guage of indiflference, and even of disapprobation, with respect to duties which the former had prescribed and rendered binding by the most tremendous penalties. In Christ these seeming contra- dictions are all reconciled. That which was pleasing in the sight of God for his sake, was abhorrent when considered without refer- ence to him. The blood of bulls and goats which, as a sign of his blood, speaketh peace to the perturbed soul, that .same blood, in itself considered, speaketh vengeance; for it speaks of cruelty, and murder, and unexpiated guilt. The faith of old believers was the same as ours, only darkened and impeded by the use of sym- bols from which we have been delivered by the advent of the antitype. It naturally follows from this diflference, however, that their ideas of salvation were associated with a class of images c[uite difl:erent from those which in our minds are connected with that great and glorious doctrine. Where we speak of the cross, the ancients spoke of the altar; and where we speak directly of the great atoning sacrifice by which our life is purchased, they \^'ould, of course, use expressions borrowed fi"om the rites by which he was to them prefigured, and especially from those appointed animals by whose death his was represented. And among these the one most commonly employed for this end was the lamb; partly because it was more used in sacrifice than any other, partly because of its intrinsic qualities, which made it, more than any other animal, an apt, tliough most imperfect emblem of the great Eedcemer, as an innocent, uncomiilaining, unresisting victim. 52 BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD. Nor are these two reasons to be looked upon as wholly distinct from one another. The selection of the lamb for the perpetual burnt-offering, besides its frequent use in other sacrifices, is to be explained from its peculiar fitness as an emblem of the Saviour. It was because he was a lamb without blemish, and because he was to suffer as a lamb led to the slaughter ; it was therefore that this victim was so prominent an object in the sacrificial system. And because it was so prominent, not only in the ordinary rites, but in the solemn yearly service of the passover, it naturally followed that the lamb became the favourite and most fomiliar sym- bol of atonement, and of Him by whom it was to be effected. The image which spontaneously arose before the mind of the devout Jew in connection with his dearest hopes (and) of pardon and salvation, was the image of a lamb, a bleeding lamb, a lamb witliOLit blemish and without spot, a lamb slain from the founda- tion of the world. We have no means of determining how far the doctrine of atonement was maintained without corruption in the age immediately preceding the appearance of our Lord. But we have strong ground for believing that the great mass of the people had lost sight of it, and, as a necessary consequence, had ceased to look upon the rites of the Mosaic law as meaning what they did mean. It is not to be supposed, however, that this loss of the true doctrine had become universal. The sense of guilt and of necessity could not be universally destroyed, and, wliile it lasted, it could not fail to lead some whose hearts were burdened with it to a promised Saviour. Some, at least, who felt their lost and wretched state, still looked Avith a prospective faith to the coming and the dying of the Lamb of God. S(mie, at least, amidst the sorrows which they witnessed or endured, were waiting for the consolation of Israel. Some, at least, beneath the chains and yoke of that hard bondage under which they groaned, still looked for redemption in Jerusalem. The hopes of such were naturally stimulated by the appearance of John the Baptist. But he did not satisfy their expectations. He was a preacher of righteousness, but not a sacrifice for sin. He was a prophet and a priest, but not a sacrifice. He taught his disciples, it is true, to look with stronger confidence than ever for the coming of the great Deliverer ; and, when their desires had been excited to the utmost, he revealed BEHOLD TEE LAMB OF OOD. 53 their object ; when theu* sense of guilt and of the need of expiation had been strengthened to the utmost by his preaching of the law, and they were thoroughly convinced that no act of their own could take away their sins, he led them at last to the altar and tlie sacrifice, and said, " Behold the Lamb of God, which taketli away the yin of the world." It is worthy of remark that the two to whom these Avords were specially addressed no sooner heard them than they followed Jesus and continued with him, — a sufficient proof that they were waiting for him and prepared for his reception. But in what did their preparation consist 1 Not in personal merit ; they were miserable sinners. Not in superior wisdom ; they Avere fishermen. In one point, it is true, they were pecuUarly enlightened, and in that con- sists their peculiar preparation to receive the Saviour. They knew that they were lost, and that he alone could save them ; so that when their former master said, " Behold the Lamb of God," they followed him at once. And so it has been ever since. The rich and powerful, the wise and learned, although not excluded from the face of God, are often last in coming to the Saviour, because accidental circumstances blind them to their true condition ; while the i^oor and ignorant, because they feel that they have nothing to be proud of in their personal character or outward situation, are more easily convinced that they are in a state of spiritual destitu- tion, and more easily persuaded to employ the only means by which their wants can be supphed. But when this conviction and persuasion is effected, in whatever class or condition of society, its causes and effects are still essentially the same ; its cause the grace of God, and its effect a believing application to the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. In all such cases the same kind of preparation for the Saviour must exist as in the case of John's disciples, — a conviction of the sinner's need and of the Saviour's being able to supply it ; and where tliis does exist no conceivable amount of guilt, or ignorance, or weakness can disable or disqualify. My hearers, are not you possessed of this essential requisite % I know that you are sinners, but I know not that you feel it. I know that Christ is a sufficient Saviour, but I do not know that you have seen him to be such. If you have, or if, amidst this large 54 BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD. assembly, there are any upon whom the load of conscious guilt is pressing at this moment with a weiglit which seems incapable of being longer borne, and whose most urgent want is that of some- thing which will take away their sin, to them I would address myself, and pointing, as the Baptist did, to Christ, say to you, as he said to his two disciples, " Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world." But why should I restrict the declaration ? It admits of universal application. There is no one, from the highest to the lowest in the scale of morals, whom I may not summon to behold the Lamb of God. Have you repented and believed 1 If you have, I need not tell you that you are a sinner. The more you are delivered from corruption the more deeply will you feel the power which it still exerts upon you. Do you never sin 1 And have the sins of Christians no peculiar aggravation 1 Is your conscience never stained and never wounded by transgres- sion '? And to whom do you resort for reassurance when it is so ] To your own religious duties 1 To your sighs and tears 1 To the beggarly element of legal righteousness from which you were de- livered 1 " Have ye suffered so many things in vain, if it be yet in vain ? Are ye so foolish *? having begun in the Spirit, are ye now made perfect by the flesh 1 This only would I learn of you, received ye the Spirit by the works of the law, or by the hearing of faith "? 0 foolish souls, who hath bewitched you, that ye should not obey the truth, before whose eyes Jesus Christ hath been evidently set forth, crucified among you V Your first hope and your last hope must be still the same. To you, as well as to the sinner who has never been converted, the same voice is crying, " Behold the Lamb of God, Avhich taketh away the sin of the world ;" of the world, — not merely of the Jewish nation, not merely of this class or that, but of the world. There is peculiar pregnancy and depth in this expression, which means both to take up and to take av/ay. There can be no doubt that, according to the Scriptures, Christ did really assume and bear the sins of those for whom he died. " Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows." " He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our inicpiities, the chastisement of our peace was upon him, and with his stripes we are healed. The Lord laid on liim the iniquity of us all." " He shall justify BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD. 55 many, for he shall bear their iniquity.'' " He was niinibered with the transgressors, and he bare the sin of many." These strong ■expressions, all contained in one short chapter, do but sum up the Bible doctrine that our Saviour took the sinner's place, paid his debt, bore his burden, and endured his punishment. But it is equally clear that the idea of removing or of taking away, as well as taking up, is really included in the import of the term here used. Indeed, the two things go together. It is by bearing sin that Christ removes it. It is by taking it up that he takes it away. It is the Lamb of God which taketli away the sin of the world. While we really recognise the truth that Christ atones for siu by suffering its penalty, we ought not to forget the other mean- ing of the word used, as implying that he frees the world from sin and from its consequences. This is the end at which philanthro- pists are aiming. So far as they are really enlightened, they are well aware that all the evils which they try to remedy are caused by sin. And hence their great end is, or ought to be, to take away the sin of the world. But, in using .secondary means for the accomplishment of this great purpose, they are too apt to for- get that which is primary, and from which all the rest derive their efficacy. Even wise and good men, in their zealous efforts to extirpate sin and misery for ever from the world, may forget that this can never be effected without some means of atonement, — that there never can be reformation where there is no expiation, or, in other words, that it is Christ's prerogative to do both parts of this great work,— that he is the Lamb of God, who in both senses takes away the sin of the world. But while this view of the matter shows us why some plans for the improvement of mankind have been without success, it ought, at the same time, to encourage us to hope for the success of others, and especially for that of the great means of reformation, which has been ordained of God, and without which every other must be ultimately vain — namely, the preaching of the gospel. Are we painfully affected by the sight of a surrounding world lying in wickedness ! And does this view excite us, not to lamentation merely, l)ut to active effort for the universal renovation of society] All this is well ; but our desires may so far transcend our own capacity and that of other instruments which we employ, that we 56 BEHOLD THE LAMB OF nOD. may sink into despondency. But here we have the antidote to such despair. " Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world." The same use may be made of this great doctrine in relation to the evils which exist in a particular community. The human heart is everywhere the same, and if abandoned to itself without restraint, would yield in every place, and always, the harvest of corruption and of misery. But even the w^orst men are under strong restraints imposed by Pi-ovidence. Ar """^ these restrah.uS are so diversified and interwoven that they can, be successfully controlled by man. His wisdom and his power are alike inade- quate to such a task. Legal restraints and obligations are indeed within the reach of human governments, and constitute their most important office. But these checks are only one part, and a small part, of that vast and complicated system of control, which holds the malignity of human nature under a pressure strong enough to save society from utter dissolution. The external checks of law, moreover, useful as they are, not only constitute a small part of the system of coercion under which we live, but are themselves dependent for their whole effect upon the moral bonds and liga- ments of which no laAvs take cognizance, and which are utterly beyond the reach of all municipal provision. They are in the hands of God, and he relaxes or contracts them at his sovereign pleasure. And it certainly is not to be regarded as a matter of surprise that in this, as in all other parts of his omnipotent and wise adminstration, his counsels are inscrutable, and even the principles on which they are conducted such as often to elude our most sagacious observation. Now and then, the reins by which he holds the hearts and hands of men in check appear to be relaxed, in order to exhibit human nature as it would be i" a.bandoned to itself. This efi'ect is sometimes answered by indi' vidual cases of depravity; by the commission of appalling crimes for which it seems impossible to find a motive. Such cases now and. then occur in the heart of the most peaceable commun' s, where much religious knowledge is enjoyed, and where the pi - dential checks upon depravity appear to be most uniform id powerful. In such states of society, extraordinary instances of . crime have sometimes fallen suddenly upon the public ear, like BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD. 67 tlmnder in a cloudle-a sky. All eyes are riveted, all thouglits absorbed, and for a time the heart of the community appears to beat like that of one man, so coincident and uniform are its pulsa- tions. Out of such cA^ents the providence and grace of God may bring the most beneficent effects ; but such effects can never be secured by man's sagacity or goodness. Such is the wayward inconsistency of human nature, that the very action which electrifies with horror may incite to imitation, or at least to the C( .nmission of "alogous offences. Ay, and even among those who are secure 1 any such extreme effect, there is a dangerous illusion which may easily exist. Among the multitudes who stand aghast at insulated instances of awful crime, there may be many who are not at all aware that they are daily treating with contempt the very motives and restraints which, in the case before them, God has wisely but mysteriously suffered to be powerless. He who despises in his ordinary practice the distinction between moral good and evil, has comparatively little right to wonder even at those acts of hellish malice which might almost seem to indicate an incarnation of the principle of evil hi the being who commits them. But another error which may easily arise in such a case, is the error of supposing that these fearful relaxations of the usual restraint upon men's actions take place only in the case of indi- viduals. Alas, my hearers, it is frequently exemplified in Avhole communities, not by the prevalence of such extreme depravity as that referred to, which would be wholly incompatible with any form of social order, but by a general sinking of the tone of public sentiment, a growing insensibility to moral and religious motives, a gradual or sudden dereliction of established rules of order and (jlecorum, a progressive diminution of the popular respect for age and elevated character, a sensible decay of that ingenuous shame vliich is at once the safeguard and the charm of youth; in creating boldness on the part of crime, and a proportionate in^^'-ease of timid caution on the part of those whose work is to « .-ess it ; increase of influence in those whose influence is all foi evil, and an ominous precocity of vice in youth, portending thi .', without the fear of God preventing it, the next generation Avill be worse than this. Is this a fancy picture? Have you 58 BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD. never seen its counterpart in real life 1 Have you never even heard of such changes taking place amidst the most unusual advantages, and with an impetus so fearful that the general com- plexion of society was quickly changed, the seat of order and morality becoming in a few years the abode of wickedness which cannot blush, and, I had almost said, the house of prayer transformed into a den of thieves 'I Such changes have been, and, for aught I know, they may be passing now. The question is not whether they are possible, but whether they can be prevented. In a community which shows some symptoms of this fatal pro- cess, what shall the friends of human happiness attempt in oppo- sition to its progress 1 Shall they aim their blows at certain special evils, independent of each other, except so far as all sins are committed, and attempt their extii-pation '? In all such cases there are some specific reformations which must be effected. There are social nuisances which ought to be abated. There are fountains of corruption, some of which are capable of being cleansed by the infusion of divine salt ; others set purgation at defiance, and can only be exhausted, choked, or rendered inac- cessible. But while these specific remedies may be imperatively needed, they can never be sufficient of themselves. It matters not how many fountains of external vice are dried and stopped, unless a fountain be opened for sin and uncleanness. It matters not how many voices cry aloud in warning to the drunkard and the libertine, the gambler and the thief, exhorting them to put away their sins by righteousness, imless among them some voice cry to all without exception and without cessation, " Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world." But between these methods there is no contrariety or disagreement. Both are but parts of one harmonious whole. It is only by attempt- ing to divorce them that the tme becomes ineffectual, if not perni- cious ; let them be combined, and let the same voice which exhorts men to beware of those sins which most easily beset them — let the same voice continually, earnestly invite them to behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. I know that by many he will be despised ; but if this were any reason for withholding the offers of the gospel, its glad sound would long since have been hushed. One of the marks by which he was BEHOLD THE LAMB OF QOlK 59 identified in prophecy is tliis : " Despised and rejected of men ;" and you will bear nie witness that in this point the olFeuce of the cross has not ceased. And let us bear in mind that man's natural condition is a state of illusion, extending to the most important objects, and, indeed, beconung more profound with the importance of the object ; that one of the most natural effects of this illusion is to vitiate his estimate of things and persons, so that he highly esteems that which is abominable in the sight of God, and on the contrary, despises precisely what he ought to love and reverence. Under the influence of this illusion he can despise his own best interest for time and for eternity. He can despise the correct public sentiment by which he is condemned ; he can despise the hopes and fears and affectionate solicitude of friends and kindred ; he can despise a father's counsels and a mother's tears ; he can despise the very fundamental principles of morals both in theory and practice ; he can despise the law of God ; he can despise the means of grace ; he can despise the gospel. So profound is the illusion which produces this contempt, that he can even despise things while he thinks he honours them. The man who pastimes Christ and his religion, who allows the Church a place among his sources of amusement, and permits the Bible to alternate some- times with his play-books and romances — who admits in words that religion is a good thing, and intimates his willingness to show it countenance — the man who does this may imagine that he really respects religion ; but if ever he is brought to see himself as a contemptible worm of the dust, a lost and ruined sinner, whose only hope is in the very gospel which he thus condescends to take under his protection, he will also see that while he thought he did it reverence he really despised it. And to crown the whole, he can despise the cross. He can despise the Saviour. He can despise the groans of Gethsemane and Golgotha. And shall he who thus despises the most glorious and precious of all objects in the universe, be still pursued with invitations to behold the Lamb of God whom he despises % Yes, it must be so. Our Lord him- self upt)n the cross not only prayed for the forgiveness of his mur- derers, but by his outstretched limbs and streaming wounds said to all who passed by, in tones more audible than language, " Be- hold the Lamb of God." 60 BEHOLD THE LAMB OF GOD. His servants dare not be less patient than himself. They must pursue the most inveterate despiser of the gospel with the same importunate and agonizing cry, Behold, behold the Lamb of God. Let that call follow him wherever he may hide himself Let that call reach him at his table and his fireside, in his closet and his chamber, in his place of business and his haunts of dissipation. Let it mingle with his music and his jovial laughter. Let the rattUng of his dice-box and the chink of his dislionest gains be still drowned by the echo of that distant cry, Behold ! behold ! And though he still continue to despise it while he Lives, let it ring in his ears upon his dying bed, and let the last look of liis fading eye be invited to the cross by that same word. Behold ! behold ! And though he die despising it, he shall not cease to hear it, for that word shall still ring in his ears Avhen his illusions are dispelled for ever ; when his soul, before it takes its final jilunge, shall see the objects which it once despised arrayed in all their excellence and glory, and in spite of its endeavours to avert its gaze, shall be compelled to see them as it would not see them here ; then, then shall that despised call be the last soiind that strikes upon his failing sense. Behold the Lamb of God, that TAKETH AWAY THE SIN OF THE WORLD. Iliiturc-MiDrsbip. " They worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator." — Rm. i. 25. n^HERE is no fact in the history of the ancient Jews more cer- -L tain or familiar than their constant propensity to lapse into idolatry. The particular form of the transgression was dependent upon variable circumstances — time, place, foreign associations, special opportunities; but still it was idolatry, the worship of false gods, to which they were continually tempted, and into which they were continually falling, their grand national offence, by which the dark side of their history is uniformly characterized. Their periods of corruption were all periods of idolatry — their worst men were idolaters ; this was the standing form in which their national and individual depravity continually showed itself. Their unlawful alliances with foreign powers were almost invariably complicated with participation in their idol-worship. The occult arts which they are charged with practising were mere appendages of that same worship. In a Avord, so far as they are said to be corrupt at all, it is in this way more conspicuously and constantly than any other. The sin of ancient Israel was idolatry. The sinners of ancient Israel were idolaters. At every recorded deviation from the service of Jehovah, we come at the first turn to an altar or an image, whether of Baal, Ashtoreth, or Moloch. This fact, however, would be less surprising when taken in con- nection with the universal prevalence of idolatry around them, were it not for another equally certain and familiar which their histoiy presents as the counterpart of this one. I refer to the fiict, that after a certain crisis in their history this stigma is obliterated. Since the return from Babylon, the Jews, as a community, have 62 .^^.1 T URE- WO RSHTP. never been reproached with any tendency to idol uorship. Amidst all the corruption which existed in the later periods of their his- tory as a people in their own land — amidst all their persecutions and dispersions since, they have held fast their integrity in this re- spect. While a large part of the Christian world has resumed the form, if not the substance of idolatrous worship, the despised and scattered Jews have still borne witness against their defection. In this the reformed Churches now unite them — so, hkewise, do the Mohammedans. Among the modern Jews and Moslems, and in Protestant Christendom, the least appearance of idolatry is reckoned a sure symptom of corruption. This extraordinary contrast very naturally prompts the question, How and why is it so ? What has become of the idolatrous pro- pensity which once appeared inseparable from the corruptions of the human heart 1 How is it that whenever ancient Israel went astray from God, they Avent astray in this direction, and that now even the most impious never seem to take it either by accident or choice 1 If it be said that the continued existence of the same propensity appears in the idolatrous corruptions of the Romish and the Oriental Churches, this affords no adequate solution of the difficulty; first, because the abuses in question admit of a different explanation, or niay, at least, be traced to a very different origin ; but secondly and chiefly, because it either takes for granted that the whole amount of human corruption is now shut up in these Churches, or else leaves us still without an explanation of the fact, that the corruption which exists among ourselves never takes this form. Leaving entirely out of view the worship of the Virgin Mary, and of saints and images in other parts of Christendom, how is it that among ourselves the same propensity is now extinct, although the general corru^jtion of the heart and of society is still so great? Among our many crying sins Avhy is there no idolatry '? Among our flagrant sinners, no idolaters'? There might be less cause to propound this question if a corresponding change had taken place among the heathen; if their false religions had been gradually passing into new forms, we might then regard the change among ourselves as part of a great alterative process, to which the whole race had alike been subjected. But it is not so. The hun- dreds of millions of the heatlien world are as idolatrous as ever. .V,4 T URE- 1 VORSIIIP. 63 The stupendous revolutions which have shaken the whole stnic- ture of their civil constitutions, or resolved society into its elements and wrought them into new combinations, have still left their images and altars standing where they stood before ! How is it, then, the question still returns, that in our catalogue of sins we now find no idolatry? Is it because we are too civilized '( But if by this we mean a higher degree of intellectual refinement and ex- treme cultivation of the taste, we have only to remember Greece, to look at Athens, with all the learning and refinement of the world concentrated in her schools and works of art, yet blended, even there, with the insignia of idolatry, her sages teaching wisdom in the portico of idol temples, her artists vieing with each other in the decoration of her images and altars. Or is it civU and politi- cal Avisdom, military force, and practical sagacity, that furnishes the key to this remarkable phenomenon '? Then look at Rome, and see how far her arms and laws produced the same effect. Ascend the Capitoline HUl, as you before climbed the Acropolis, or enter the Pantheon as you visited the Parthenon. Survey the ruined temples which enclose the area of the ancient Forum, and then separate, if you can, even in imagination, the Roman idolatry from the Roman greatness. Again, if the difference be ascribed to the moral elevation of our social state above that of the Greeks and Romans even in their palmiest days, the reason is fallacious, as it mistakes the cause fur the effect. In cultivation of mere taste and intellect, we certainly have no advantage over those ancients whom we still acknowledge as our models and our oracles ; so the moral superitirity Avhich con- stitutes the difference in our favour is itself the fruit of Chris- tianity, and cannot therefore be the reason why Christianity, at least within the chosen sphere of our inquiry, is so free from idolatrous admixtures ; why the unrenewed, who bear the Chris- tian name, though unacquainted with the power of divine truth, do not fall into idolatry"? Since none of the solutions which have been suggested seem sufficient to account for this remarkable difference of the forms in wliich depravity and oj)position to the truth have shown them- selves at different times — since it seems so hard to explain why idolatry is now so rare or utterly unknown among ourselves, it may 64 NATURE-WORSHIP. not be without its use to look for a moment at the question in another form, and to inquire, whether after all our religion or our irreligion is so free from the idolatrous element as we have hitherto supposed; and if not, what are the appearances which bear tlie most resemblance to the false religions of the ancient world. In order to do this without confusion or with any satisfectory result, it will be necessary to consider and determine what we mean by idolatry. We must, of course, reject the definition founded on the etymology of the word itself, which would restrict it to the wor- ship of material images. Then they who adored the sun and moon, and all the host of heaven, were no idolaters. They who invoked the winds, and bowed down at the fountain-head of streams, and whispered their devotions to the air, and called upon the overhanging mountains to protect them, are excluded from the catalogue. How large a part of the classical mythology would thus be shut out 1 — nay, how large a part of the idolatry which even now exists among nations less refined and civilized'? The idolatry of which we are in search, then, is not simply the exter- nal worship of material images, of stocks and stones, though this may be considered its most palpable and grossest exhibition. On the other hand, idolatry is not to be resolved into a purely spiritual act, the preference of some other supreme object of afiection to our Maker. This, though the soul of all idolatry, is not the whole of it. This subtle essence of the sin exists now just as much as in ancient times; just as much in one kind of irreligion as another. Covet- ousness is idolatry, but idolatry is not covetousness. It is not the mere rejection or neglect of God as the object of our worship, but the religious preference of something else. Of what '? What was there common to the false religions of the old world giving tliem a common character ? Not image worship, in the strict sense which, as we have seen, was far from being universal. Much less the form, or name, or legendary history of the idol, or the attri- butes ascribed to it; for these weie indefinitely various. What, then? What was it that imparted to the ancient Paganism its distinctive character, not merely as an aberration or apostasy from God, but as an outward realization and embodiment of that apos- tasy— not merely as a sin, but as a religion 1 This is a question NA T URE- WORSHIP. 65 which has occupied the thouglits and tasked the powers of some of tlie most learned and prof()und historical explorers of the present day, and which has led them to a laborious comparison of all that still remains to illustrate or exemplify the false religions of the ancient world ; and, whether right or wrong, they ai'e strangely unanimous in the conclusion tliat tlie unity of these religions lies in this, that they are all in origin, or tendency, or both, avowedly or covertly, the worship of nature. However they might differ in their symbols or their rites, ^n their theology or ethics, they are all reilucible to this at last. However far they may have deviated from the first intuition — however far the crowd of worshippers iiijiy frequently have been from comprehending the full import of the services in which they were engaged, it is supposed that by a natural historical deduction, this pervading character may still bo traced in all of them — the worship of nature. This view of the matter does not, of course, exclude a vast variety of forms and of gradations in the theory as well as in the practice of idolatry. The lowest stage, above that of mere stupid acquiescence in an arbitrary and unmeaning rite, may be described as the religious worship of particular natural objects or their arti- ficial representatives. Within this limit a diversity might still exist, determined by the nature of the objects worshipped, and their rank in the scale of existence, from the shapeless stone or mass of earth, to plants, to trees — from the meanest brutes to the most noble — from moles and bats to the lion and to the eagle — • from the clod to the mountain — from tlie spring to the ocean — ■ from earth to heaven. A still more intellectual variety of such worship would be that which, instead of individual sensible objects, paid its adorations to the elements or to the mysterious powers of nature, such as heat, cold, moisture, light and darkness, life and death. .V>y a still higher act of philosophical abstraction, some who were considered most enlightened and exempt fi'om vulgar prejudices, worshipped Natui'e itself, the material universe, to Trai', including all the power and elements and individual objects which have been already men- tioned. This was tiie highest reach of the idolatrous theology, the worship of nature in its last degree of sublimation ; but from this down through all the inferior gradations, it was still essentially the 5 66 NATURE-WORSHIP. same reKgion — it was still the worship of nature — the highest knowledge was the knowledge of nature — the most sacred mys- teries were the secrets of nature — sin was a violation of nature — holiness was conformity to nature — atonement was reconciliation with nature, or restoration to a state of nature. This was the god, or rather the divinity, whom they adored. "When regarded as one without personality — when viewed as personal no longer one — a hideous choice between a god without life, and an army of gods with it, between Polytheism with its practical follies, and Pan- theism with its abstract horrors. But amidst all these capricious alternations, and under all tliese varying disguises, the same unaltered countenance still glares upon us from behind its thousand masks ; the same inflamed yet life- less eye still follows us wherever we may turn among the altars, and the idols, and the shrines of heathenism. The endless con- fusion of the voices which ascend in prayer and praise from these polluted sanctuaries, ever and anon are heard in unison, at least in concord. Their gods are many, but their god is one — their wor- ship, after all, is but the worship of nature. Whatever we may think as to the truth or plausibility of these views with respect to the essential character of ancient heathenism, they derive at least some countenance from the solution which they seem to afford of the phenomenon already mentioned — the disappearance of idolatry as one of the most frequent forms in which the corruption of man- kind once acted out its opposition to the doctrines and the pre- cepts of the true religion. On this hypothesis, if on no other, it may certainly be said that, though the impious among ourselves no longer pray to stocks and stones, or beasts and birds, or moon and stars, there is still a strong taint of idolatry perceptible in our religion, science, literature, business, — nay, our very language. Yes, I say our very language ; for to what strange accident can it be owing that in common parlance and in current literature there should be so constant, so instinctive an aversion to the name of God as a personal distinctive appellation. That the names of Christ and of the Holy Spuit should be shunned is less surprising, these being so peculiar to the dialect of revelation, not to say of the New Testament. But the same considerations do not serve to explain the almost super.'^titious care with which our irreligious NATURE-WORSHIP. 67 writers manage to dispense with what would seem to be the most indispensable of all words — the incommunicable name of God. Can it be reverence, religious awe, that prompts this suppression l a feeling near akin to that which led the Jews in early time and ever since to hush up, as it were, the tetragrammaton, the dread name of Jehovah, as too sacred even to be whispered in the sanc- tuary by his own anointed priest, or breathed by the heart-broken sujipliant at the altar? Is it this makes our novelists and jour- nalists as much afraid to speak of God as if they thought he would appear before them at the call ] Alas ! this exjjlanation is pre- cluded by the levity with which the same men often make that venerable name the theme of ribald jests and the burden of blas- phemous imprecation. No; the name seems to be shunned because it means too much, suggests too much, concedes too much. !Not that they would deny the being of a God, or that they have a settled creed at all about the matter, but they feel, perhaps they know not why, that other modes of speech are more congenial, and the choice of these may throw some light upon the secret motive of the change. Not only is tne grand and simple name of God exchanged for a descriptive title, such as Supreme Being— or an abstract term, the Deity^ — but still more readily and frequently is God sup- planted by a goddess, and her name is Nature. It is nature that endows men with her gifts and graces ; it is nature that piles mountains upon mountains in her sportive freaks ; it is nature that regulates the seasons and controls the elements. There can be no doubt that this language has a very different sense in differ- ent cases, and that it may even be employed by the devoutest Christian without any intentional departure from the truth. There can be no doubt that, in some mouths, this definition of nature is only a rhetorical trope or a poetical embellishment — in others a euphemistic substitute for God — in others a collective abstract term, denoting the whole aggregate of second causes and of in- strumental agencies, without excluding the immediate presence and efficient action of the First Cause and Prime Mover. But whether these exceptions are enough to cover all the cases, whether these solutions are sufficient to account for the increasing disposition in our popular and fashionable writers, to let nature 68 ^A T URE- WORSHIP. and lier works, and her gifts, and her graces usurp the place of God and his works, and his gifts, and his graces, is another ques- tion. But even if we give it an affirmative and favourable an- swer, it is still an odd coincidence that this darling figure of speech or philosophical formula should so exactly tally with the spirit and language of idolatry or paganism considered as the worship of nature. But this coincidence, though strange, would not be so surpris- ing as it is, if it wei'e limited to literary composition. All but the highest class of writers have their mannerism and their affec- tations, which, although offensive to a pure taste, must be borne with and forgiven as inevitable. These are sometimes derived from unsuccessful imitation, even of the best models. And the modes of speech in question may, in some, be the effect of classical studies, just as youthful poets often introduce the classical mytho- logy for ornament, without the slightest faith in its reality as matter of belief. It may be said then, that so long as these ima- ginary traces of the old idolatry are only found in Avord and phrase they are innocent enough, and that they need excite no serious alarm until they show themselves in deed as well as word, and in the practical realities of life as well as in the fanciful crea- tions of romance or poetry. They who give this challenge might perhaps be surprised to find it readily accepted, and still more to be told that these analogies are traceable in real life and its least romantic and imaginative walks, in the labours of the field and of the shop no less than in those of the study and the library. The compulsory dependence upon seasons, weather, rain, and sunshine, which accompanies the culture of the earth, is a divine appoint- ment, and is therefore perfectly compatible with faith and a devo- tional spirit. But when divorced from these, it takes the form of an extreme anxiety, a breathless watching of tlie elements, a superstitious faith in something quite distinct from God, although perhaps below him, and a constant disposition to invest this something with an individual existence and with personal attri- butes ; although it may prove nothing with respect to any formal opinion or belief, it certainly presents another strange approxima- tion to the spirit and the practice of the old idolaters. The be- sotted fisherman who on our own coast feels himself to be the XA T URE- WORSHIP. C9 slave of the winds and tides, witliout a thought of God as their creator and his own, is not so very far removed as we may ima- gine from the state of the old Greek or Phenician, who sacrificed to Ocean ere he launched his bark. The mariner who spends whole nights in whistling for the wind, may do it from habit or may do it in jest ; but he may also do it with a secret faith and a feeling of dependence near akin to worship, and by no means wholly different in khid from the emotions of the ancient pagan, as he poured out his libations to Eolus, or his prayers to the par- ticular wind of which he stood in need. The social and domestic superstitions Avhich have lingered in all Christian countries, as to signs of good and evil luck, and the methods of procuring or averting it, are not always mere errors in philosophy or morals, but religious aberrations, the relics and memorials of a heathenism which we sometimes look upon with too much confidence as finally exploded. We often hear, and are compelled to acknowledge, that there is heathenism among us ; but it is not merely negative — the ignorance or unbelief of what is true, it has always more or less a positive reality, the actual belief of what is false ; and if we should be supposed to relapse as a nation into barbarism and idolatry — perhaps the first steps of the retrocession would be found to have been already taken in the cherishing of petty super- stitions, and the practice of devices, which have either been trans- mitted by tradition from a heathen origin, or sprung directly from the same pi'olific jDrinciple — the natural propensity of fallen man to the worship of nature. But here, again, an unfair advantage may appear to be taken of the }>opular credulity and ignorance, and the same objection may be made to sweeping influences from the errors of the vulgar, as Ijefore from the affectations of the literary world. The very fact that the disputed proofs have been derived from quarters so re- mote and so dissimilar, might seem to give them new and inde- pendent weight. But even admitting that the objection is again a valid one — that men in general cannot be philosophers, and that the uninstiiicted multitude must always embrace errors, some of which may accidentally resemble those of heathenism : let us ascend again into the region of intellectual cultivation, and con- tinue our inquiries there, not as before in reference to modes of 70 -^"A T URE- WORSHIP. speech and styles of composition, but in reference to scientific observation. Here, again, we find the furthest reach of specula- tion and discovery compatible, and actually blended with the simplest faith and the lowliest devotion. But it is not always so. The philosophical explorer does not always " look through nature up to nature's God." He often stops short of that glorious ob- ject. He often looks upon God's place as empty, or as filled by another— by another, yet the same — for this usurper of the throne and of the worshipper's affections is still that nature, the appeals to which, by other classes, have already been explained away as forms of speech or ignorant misapprehensions. ISTo one supposes that astronomers in Christian countries ever formally adore the stars, or that geologists are worshippers of mother earth, or che- mists of the elements, or botanists of trees and flowers. But let the evidence that some of all these classes recognise a Nature, quite distinct from God, by whose mysterious virtues these eff"ects are all produced, and whose authoritative laws are independent of his will, I say, let the detailed indications of this strange belief be gathered from the language, from the actions, and, as far as may be, from the feelings of these votaries of science, and then weighed against the corresponding proofs of their belief in one Supreme, Infinite, and Personal God, distinct from all his works, and sove- reign over them, to whose inspection all things are open, and without whose knowledge and permission not a hair falls or a sparrow dies ; but those two testimonies be confronted and com- pared, and then it will appear whether some who have deservedly been ranked among the prophets and the high priests of material wisdom were in heart and practice worshippers of God, or, like the blinded heathen, worshippers of nature. The analogies which have been suggested may be fanciful, or, even if well founded, they may be restricted to the cases specified, and leave untouched a multitude in Christian and in Protestant communities who in neither of the ways described are worshippers of nature. But of these a large proportion may be comprehended in another category — as romantic and poetical idolaters of nature, who adore her, not for her material gifts, nor yet as the object of severe and scientific scrutiny, but as the source of sensible and imaginative pleasure. These are the worshippers of beauty in its ^V.l T URE- 1 VOliUHIP. 71 widest sense, to -whom the beautiful is the chief good, or its highest manifestation. Tlie keenest sensibility of this kind has been found in combination Avith the strongest faith and most devout affections ; nor is there anything in either to forbid their frequent, their habitual union. But reason and experience alike bear witness that the combination is not necessary, that although the elements may coexist, they may exist apart ; they have done, they do still exist apart. The voice that whispers in the trees or roars in the tornado may, to some ears, be tlie voice of God, and every note of that grand music may be set to words on record here; but they may also utter other inspirations, and bring responses from another oracle. Instead of calling us to God, they may but call iis to themselves, or to the place where nature sits enthroned as God. This form of nature worship far surpasses all the others in the strength of its appeals to human sensibility. The eye, the ear, the memory, the imagination, the affections, may be all en-slaved. The spell requires for its effect no scientific lore, no mercenary interest, but only constitutional susceptibility of strong impressions from the grand or beautiful It requires the aid neither of superstitious fears nor philosophical abstractions. It only asks men to be pleased, excited, awed, subdued. The more delicious the sensations, the more irresistible the spell. It may be, and it is sometimes the case, that this extraordinary power is all used to make God present to the soul; but how much oftener to steep it in oblivion of him, and to bound its views by that stupendous framework which was reared to bring men nearer to their Maker, but, when thus employed, for ever hinders their approach, and even hides him from their view"? This form of idolatry has aU the aid that art can yield to nature. The idolater of nature cannot but be an idolater of art. And here the coincidence with heathenism is not one of principle only, but of outward form. The high art of the ancients was a part of their religion. It was not an idle tickling of the sense or fancy. In the perfection of their imitation and the beauty of their original creations they did honour to the god of their idolatry, not indirectly, as the author of their skill, but most directly, as its only object. It was nature that they represented, beautified and worshipped. The gradual return in modern times 72 NATURE-WORSHIP. to this view of tlie arts, and the impassioned zeal with which it is pursued, if not among ourselves, in other lands, is one of the most startling analogies to heathenism that can be produced, and pro- mises or threatens, more than any other, to result in an exterior resemblance corresponding to the essential one described already. It may no doubt be said that this romantic and poetical apo- theosis, both of art and nature, has resulted by reaction from the barbarous neglect and the unscriptural contempt, especially of God's material works, as suited to excite the powers and refine the taste, not only without prejudice to faith and piety, but so as to promote them. This is in some sense true ; nor is this the only case in which the errors of the Church have served to aggra- vate the errors and abuses of the world. Had Christians always exercised a wise discretion in relation to the love and admiration both of nature and of art, this poetical idolatry might possibly have spared some of its most extravagant displays. But the idolatry itself springs from a deeper and remoter source. As long as man retains the sensibilities which God has given him, and yet remains unwilling to retain God in his thoughts, the voice of nature will be louder than the voice of God. If God is not in the Avind, the fire, or the earthquake, these will nevertheless sweep the multitude before them, and the still, small voice of revelation be heard only by a chosen few. When certain causes now at work have had their full effect, the worshipper of God will again be like Elijah on Mount Horeb, while the vast mixed multitude are wor- shippers of nature. If the agreements which have now been traced between the spirit and practice of the irreligious world and those of the heathen as worshippers of nature really exist, and are what they have been represented, it may reasonably be expected that the principle of this idolatiy will not only show itself in art, and spread itself as spiritual leaven, but avow itself in doctrine. It has done so already in the jjantheistical philosophy of Germany, and in the form which it has given, there and elsewhere, to theology, to science, to romantic fiction, to rhetorical criticism, to the theory and practice of the arts. The taint of this infection may be traced by critical autopsis in places where its name would not be foreseen. It may be found adhering to schemes of doctrine yA T URE- WORSHIP. 73 highly evangelical in general form as Avell as in profession. At the same time, it may be detected poisoning the full fi(.)w of poetic inspiration, and insinixating its corruption into the enjoyment afforded by the imitative arts in their least offensive and appar- ently most useful applications. Guided in almost any direction by this phanton), he who sets out as a worshipper of God may find himself, before he is aware, a gross idolater of nature. It would seem, then, that if we once assume as an established fact that heathenism is, in origin and principle, the worship of nature, we are not so wholly free from all idolatrous propensities as we might otherwise imagine; and that although Jupiter and Baal have no images or shrines among us, the same spirit which once prompted and controlled their worship may at least be faintly traced, not only in our forms of speech, but in the various walks of life and classes of society — in the mercenary, practical, industrial, utili- tarian idolatry of worldly, money-making men — in the learned, philosophical idolatry of undevout astronomers and men of science — in the poetical, romantic, and sesthetical idolatry of those who worship art and beauty — and in the formal propositions .or the indirect insinuations of pantheistical philosophers and theologians. With respect to the last cases, it is highly important to observe that they are strongly distinguished from the rest by the religious air which they assume, and their appropriation of established forms of speech to new and very different objects. This tone and dialect of piety have aided not a little in the progress of these innovations. Like the child who thought that any book was good in which the name of God occurred, some children of a larger growth appear to be persuaded that the formulas of Christian devotion must be equally significant and equally demonstrative of truth and good- ness, whether applied to God and Christ, or to the woods and the Avaves, the lightning and the flowers. But this tone of deep religious feeling, when divorced from the legitimate objects of such feeling, only shows that this devotion to the works of God or man is truly a religion; that it is not admiration, but worship; that it is not good taste, but rank idolatry. When one of the great founders of this new rehgion, or rather of this resuscitated paganism, names, as the object of his love and trust, God in his most inti- mate union with nature, it is easy to perceive that the union he 74 NATURE-WORSHIP. contemplates is a union of identity, that God is still retained as a convenient and familar name, but that tlie true divinity, enshrined and chanted with such exquisite appliances of painting, sculpture, poetry, and music, is not the God of revelation, but the goddess of Nature. From all tliis it becomes us to take warning, that whatever we do we do with our eyes open, to see to it that we incur not the reproach, " Ye know not what ye worship," and to see to it that we are not led into idolatry by any specious figments or delusions, lest we be constrained to take up the lament of those confessors in the times of heathen persecution, who, though proof against all menace and persuasion, were at last miserably cheated into acts of worship at the altar of an idol, when they thought themselves kneel- ing at the altar of their God. But against this fearful issue mere precaution avails nothing. To the votaries and victims of these "strong delusions" something definite and positive must be pre- sented, as an object of faith and of afiection. To the active mind, excited and half frenzied by the vague but captivating dreams of a disguised idolatry, it is not enough to say, " Be rational." The surges of that troubled sea, the heart of man, when roused by these impetuous winds of doctrine, can be lulled by no voice but the voice of Him, who, from the storm-tossed bark upon the waters of Gennesaret, cried of old, in tones of irresistible authority, •' Peace, be still." And even then the assuaging influence seems to come forth, not so much from the command as from the per- sonality of him who utters it. To some who are already drifting into the exterior circles of this soul-destroying whirlpool, there comes not only a sound, but a sight — an unexpected sight. Where all seemed dark and black with tempest, there appears a living form, holding forth to your acceptance something real, something certain, sometliing living, something lasting, something that may be seen, and felt, and known, and loved, and trusted ; a Father, a Saviour, a 'ledeemer, and a Comforter. This, this is life eternal, to know, &c., falling down at the feet of this revealed, this manifested God, and .pening to him your mind, your conscience, and your heart for t er. You may turn to the idolaters of every name, and say with pr-oud humility, " Ye worship, and we know." VI 1)^ tbat kJbbxtlj 011 the ^0it Ijat^ ^bcrlnsting j^tfe. " He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life : and he that beJieveth not the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him." — John iii. 36. THIS is one of the most evangelical verses in tlie Bible, that is to say, one of the most strongly marked with the peculiarities of the gospel, not only in sentiment and spirit, but even in phrase- ology. In order to understand this peculiar quality, we must in imagination change our own position. To us who are familiar with the Bible from our infancy, its parts, in this respect, seem all alike. With all allowance for the many advantages arising from this long familiarity witli Scripture, it cannot be denied that there are also disadvantages connected with it. WhUe the general system of divine truth is impressed upon our understandings with more fulness and distinctness, particular parts of it make less impression on our hearts than if the Avhole v/ere new. To those who have been trained up in a knowledge of the Scriptures, the method of redemption seems no more surj^rising than those attri- butes of God which may be gathered from his works. How different the case of a new convert from idolatry ! With him these splendid revelations are as new as they are glorious, and if he believes, he believes with his heart. If he believes, his heaven and earth are new; he inhabits a new world; he is himself a new creature, and he feels it. Our disadvantage, as com ared with such a convert, is not wholly irremediable, for althoug.^ the evil is in some degree inseparable from our situation, and to ; lat degree compensated by immense advantages of another kind, it is un- questionably aggravated by our own remissness and stagnation in the study of the Scriptures, 76 JIE THAT BELIE VETH ON THE SOX Who does not feel that in certain states of mind he sees a freshness and vitality in truth, which at other times are wanting 1 And that these states of mind are those precisely which he ouglit to cultivate ? Are we not bound, then, to acquire the habit of thus viewing truth, or rather, are w^e not bound to seek the aid of that quickening and illuminating Spirit whose prerogative it is to give these glimpses of the truth even to sinful mortals 1 And may we not hope, with his assistance, to approximate, if not to reach, the freshness and the richness of impression made upon the heathen convert by the grand discoveries of tlie gospel 1 How such discoveries affect such minds, may best be imagined by selecting some one passage, and surveying it as if from the position of a heathen for the first time brought to see it. For such a purpose there is not a sentence in the Bible better suited than the text which has been read ; for, as already mentioned, it is full to overflowing with the gospel. Let us suppose an ancient Greek, entirely unacquainted with the gospel, or the Jewish system which prepared the way for it, but addicted to reflection and inquiring for the truth, to have been jiresent among John's disciples when these words were uttered. They would have been to him a mere enigma. Interpreted according to his own habitual views and feelings, they would have conveyed ideas ; but how strange, how foreign, how fantastic ! He that believeth on the Son. Who is the Son 1 Why used thus absolutely as a title 1 Who is this Son that must be trusted or believed 1 and why should he be trusted 1 or for what 1 For everlasting life. All heathen nations are believers in a future state, and this expression, therefore, would be less surprising. But how inadequate, how false the meaning which the stranger must attach to it ! How different an endless life in his elysium from the gospel mystery of everlasting life ! The wrath of God would also be a significant expression; but here, if possible, the contrast would be greater still between the Christian and the Gentile sense. The God of the Bible, and the gods of Olympus ! The wrath of Jehovah, and the wrath of Jove ! The calm eternal purpose of a holy God to punish sin, compared with the base malice of an almighty sinner. It is needless to observe how difficult it would be to prepare the mind of such a person for the light of tnith. And even if^ instead HA TH E VERLA ST TNG L TFE. 77 of being a blind polytlieist, lie were one of those who sought and worshipped the unknown God, how foreign would the doctrines and the terms of this grand sentence be, from his vain specula- tions. It is plain that it could not be made clear to him without ail exposition of the gospel as to all its leading principles. This is apparent from the nature of the truths which it expresses or involves. In order to evince this, the doctrinal and practical substance of the text may be reduced to four proj^ositions or remarks. The first is, that the highest good to which we can aspire is eternal life. No heathen needs to be informed that life is some- tliing more than existence. There is a sympathetic feeling with Avhat lives, which cannot be excited by a lifeless thing. We cannot feel for a stone or a clod, as we do for a tree or flower which possesses life in its lowest form. Nor have we that com- munity of feeling with a plant which we have with brute existence. I We feel that they are nearer to ourselves, and we respect them or the life Avithin them. But what is our sympathy for beasts com- pared with our regard for human nature 'I Individual men we may despise or hate even in comparison with lower animals, but no man puts humanity below the brutes. Because he feels that rational life is better than irrational. Even this, however, is not the highest sort of life. For we can conceive of reason without the capacity of moral distinctions, without the perception of moral good or evil. This, it is true, we possess, and it adds so much to the rank of our nature in the scale of existence. But, alas ! even heathen know that this moral life, if it may so be called, is quite compatible with spiritual death. We are alive to the perception of moral good, but dead to the enjoyment of it. Is it not plain that a resurrection from this death exalts us to a sort of life still higher '? This is spiritual life, that is, not merely the life of our spirits, for in a lower sense they were alive before, but a life pro- duced by the Spirit of God. As this life consists in our being alive to God, to the performance of his will and the enjoyment of his favour, it might seem to be the highest life of which a finite being is capable. In kind it is, but not in degree. Its imperfec- tion results from the remaining power of sin. Lazarus has come forth, but tlie grave-clothes of spiritual death are still about him. 78 SE THAT BELIEVE TH OX THE SOX The smell of tlie sepulchre still stupifies and sickens him. He sees, but with bandaged eyes, the glories that await him. He doubts the reality of his resurrection. There is a conflict between life and death, as if the grave were loth to give him up. Such is the spiritual life of man on earth. From its own nature it is end- less and progressive; but from the circumstances of the case, im- perfect. Look back now through the scale which we have been ascending, and observe how each new degree or sort of Ufe towers above that below it. Each might be thought the highest possible, but for that which visibly surpasses it. And now, having scaled the heights of spiritual life, what can we desire or expect beyond it, except that the evils which now mar it and obscure it should be done away, and that its duration, which appears to us precarious, should be rendered sure ? This is eternal life, but is this all 1 There is one stroke necessary to complete the picture. We are too apt, in thinking of eternal life, to think of it as an eternal abstraction, or at least as consisting too exclusively in mental acts and exercises. Hence, perhaps, that want of joyful expectation which is too characteristic of our religious exercises. Even to true Christians, the transition to eternity appears very often like a passage from a wakeful state to sleep. And some whose love for Christ makes them long for any change which will bring them nearer to him, are apt to torment themselves because of the enjoy- ment they derive from earthly and corporeal things, however pure and innocent. But what if these same sources of enjoyment are to be opened in tlie other world, and rendered inexhaustible, sub- ordinate to spiritual joys, but not opposed to them. What if all those exquisite delights which we derive from sights and sounds shall be eternal, in a thousandfold degree, and pure from all con- tamination ? Is there anything unreasonable in the supposition? Are we not still to be complex beings, soul and body, through eternity 1 Is not the inferior creation adapted to corporeal natures 1 Is it not subject to vanity and groaning until our re- demption 1 Instead, then, of striving against God's appointment, and obscuring our own prospect of eternal life, let us make our innocent enjoyments all contribute to our hope of immortality; and when we think of the life to come, tliink of it as including HA TH E VERLASTINO LIFE. 79 all that now gives real happiness, refined and sublimated and im- mortalized. Let us look upon ourselves as sick men in a darkened room, just beginning to be conscious of returning health, and in- stead of turning away from every sunbeam that steals into our chamber, and turning a deaf ear to every bird tliat sings without, let us rather feast upon them as ingredients of that exquisite delight which shall attend our final and eternal convalescence. But as the sick man knows by sad experience that sights, and sounds, and sensible delights are nothing, nay, are torments with- out health to taste them, so let us remember that these minor sources of enjoyment are dependent upon health of soul, and that they can do notliing more than pour their tributary streauis for ever into the ocean of eternal life. Here, again, we may look down upon the path we have trodden, and like those who climb the Alps, see diuiinished in the distance Avhat appeared stupendous when we saw it near at hand. At every former staire there was something; to be added or desired. But now, what wait we for? Do we desire life in its highest and its purest form 1 We have it. Do we ask security from loss '] We have it. Do we seek variety and richness of enjoyment ? It is here beyond conception; and to crown all it is endless, and not only endless, but eternally progressive. The spiritual life Avhich now beats faintly in the heart of the believer, shall beat on with ever-growing vigour of pulsation, till the pulse of eternity itself stands still. Let us suppose a serious heathen to have formed this conception of eternal life, and to be filled with admiration of its glories. He could not long continue so absorbed in it as to lose sight of its relation to himself. He would soon learn to compare his own experience with this splendid picture, and if at all enlightened by the grace of God, to feel that between himself and this eternal life, there Avas a great gidf fixed, and that its happiness could only make him miserable ; just as we may suppose the sight of Noah's ark affected those who caught a passing glimpse of it before they sunk for ever. No man can form any adequate con- ception of eternal life without some conception of that God in whose favour it consists. No contemplation of the attributes of Jupiter, or Venus, or Apollo, could result in a just idea of eternal 80 HE THAT BELIEVETH OX THE SOX life. Tliat life presupposes the idea of a holy God; holy, not only in himself, but in his requisitions; the author of a holy law, requiring perfect and perpetual obedience, not in outward action only, but in thought and desire. The moment the pure light of this conception flashes on the mind of the inquirer, it conjures up an image of himself standing opposite to God, and odious in proportion to God's excellence. Knowing, as he now does, that eternal life is the eternal death of sin, he feels the dagger at his heart, he feels his spiritual death, and he despairs. But he awakes, and arises in the fond hope of escape. As sin has been his death, he now resolves that sin shall die. He will sin no more. Here a new revelation throws its light upon his path. He cannot cease from sin ; he is its slave ; it dwells within him ; his evil thoughts and acts are from his heart, and his heart is dead in sin. Can he give it life ] Can his own actions make their own cause pure 1 Hei"e is a new despair, and it is deepened by perceiving that even if he could cease from sinning, the law already broken would not cease from its demands. His intended reformation is both useless and impossible. Left to himself, he can conceive but one other method of escape. It is the hope that God will set aside the law, forgive him by a sovereign act, and make him a new creature. As he looks towards the light inaccessible, where God resides, in search of something to confirm this expectation, he is blinded and dazzled, but com- pletely undeceived. He sees no dark spot in that blaze of living light, no shadow of connivance or indifference to sin. He sees, too, that this spotless brightness constitutes the glory of the God- head, and that the fulfilment of his hopes and wishes would have impaired his reverence for God. He withdraws his dazzled eyes and closes them, as he supposes, in eternal darkness. But on this darkness a new light begins to steal,— a ray from the luminous abode of God. He starts up in amazement; he considers for the first time that all his former hopes were centred in himself. His eye now follows the divine light to a point exterior to liimself ; he conceives the possibility uf esca[)e through another ; he forms the conception of an intermediate object between God's inexorable justice and himself; and, after many alternations of despair and hope, it flashes on his mind that both the ends which he con- • ITA TH E VERLASTIXG LIFE. 81 siderecl incompatible may thus be brought about — sin may be punished, and the sinner saved. But a cloud passes over this celestial light. Are not all men alike? And if no man can make satisfaction for himself, how shall any man make satisfaction for another 1 The resolution of this doubt is the most astonishing development of all. Though man may not make satisfaction for another, may not God ? The thought seems impious that God should pay the penalty of liis own law, until the last veil is withdrawn, and the astonished soul beholds the great mystery of godliness — God manifest in the flesh. The Mediator is both God and man — the Son of God and the Son of man, and in both senses called the Son, a name no longer enigmatical— a perfect man without sins to be expiated. Here one difficulty falls away. At the same time he is God, and his divinity gives infinite value to his sufferings and obedience. They are, therefore, available for others also. This resolves the other doubt, the darkness rolls away, and the Sun of righteousness, without a spot or cloud, — " Mames in the forcliead of the niornuig sky." The work demanded of the sinner himself is only hard because it is so easy. It is hard to do little when we think we must do much — hard to do nothing Avhen we think we must do all — hard to believe that we have only to believe, when we expected to achieve our own redemption. When once the soul is brought, however, to believe that this is truly Gcd's plan of redemption ; that the Son of God is able and wfiling to save, and that this salvation is sufficient and secure ; and, besides this general belief, accepts of this salvation for himself; the work is done, the man is justified and safe for ever. By some such process as that just described, we may suppose a heathen to arrive at the second proposition Avliich the text involves, namely, That eternal life may be attained by simply believing in the Son of God. From this he would readil}' infer that the converse must be ;rue, and that the want of faith involves the loss of all that per- fect and enduring blessedness called eternal life. But here he would be liable to error. As he himself was destitute of pure 6 82 HE THAT BELIEVETH ON THE SON and elevated liap^^iuess, he niiglit imagine that continued unbelief would leave men in possession of this world's felicity or its equiva- lent, and merely rob them of that more exceeding and eternal weight of glory which is won by faith. But this is not the doctrine of the gospel. The loss of heaven, grievous as it is, would not affect the hearts of those who know it not. Their very reason for refusing heaven is, that they love the pleasures of sin. To deprive them, therefore, of that whicli they despise, and give them that wliich they delight in, would be rather to reward them than to punish them. The doctrine of the gospel is, that from him who hath not shall be taken even that which he hath. He that believes has the promise both of this life and of that which is to come. He that loses heaven loses this world also. In the text it is declared, not merely that the unbeliever shall not have eternal life, but also that the wrath of God abideth on him. This obviously means that the effect of unbelief will not be a mere negation, but a positive infliction. The wrath of God is a mysterious phrase full of horror. It is the array of all his attri- butes against a single soul for ever. Vain as it is to attempt description of things indescribable, there are one or two considerations which may render our con- ception more determinate. What makes a life of sin tolerable here 1 Three things : 1. A participation in the outward advantages of the believer. 2. Positive enjoyment in sin. 3, Ignorance of anything better which could make the soul dis- satisfied with sinful pleasure. Now, these three causes are to be abolished. The Avrath of God will sej^arate the lost soul from the saved for ever, and from all the advantages of order, comfort, mutual restraint, which liow arise from the connection. The pleasures of sin, too, are only for a season ; they shall cease, and its native tendency to misery remain unchecked for ever. Finally, conscience shall awake, and have sufficient light to plant its daggers with unerring accuracy; and to complete the sum of misery, the sinner shall in some degree know what he has lost. tSurely these considerations are enough to give us definite, though painful ideas, of the wrath of God, whatever may be our ideas of the material fires of hell. It only remains to add, that, as in our estimate of future happi- IIATH EVERLASTING LIFE. 83 ness we are too apt to preclude those sources of enjoyment which we now know by experience, it is also true and in a much higher degree, that when we think of future misery we think of it as something generically different from what we suffer here. But if we w^ould bring home the matter practically to ourselves, we must suppose the sufferings of this life to be indefinitely aggravated and made eternally progressive. The wretch who commits suicide to shun the shame of piiblic execution or exposure, if he believes in a futurity at all, little imagines that the very pang which he endeavoured to escape by this act of daring cowardice, shall wring his soul with everlasting and increasing anguish. Let no un- believer, in his restless discontent, imagine that his disappoint- ments, losses, or disgraces will be terminated by the end of Life ; but let him rather look forward to an endless propagation and recurrence of the self same agonies from which he hopes, by dying, to escape. The dying sinner only exchanges a temporal for an eternal hell — the short-lived wrath of man for the eternal wrath of God, not merely smiting, but abiding on him. These, then, are the three propositions which must be included in the exposition of the text to one not acquainted with the gospel : — 1. The highest good to which we can aspire or attain is eternal life. 2. It cannot be merited or purchased by ourselves, but must be secured by simple faith in Christ. 3. Unbelief incurs not merely a privation of the positive enjoy- ments of eternal life, but the positive infliction of the wrath of God. 4. To these I add a fourth, which is, that these foregoing truths are of universal apphcation. What they would be to a heathen they are really to us. If to him they involve the w]n)le way of salvation, they involve no less to us. What more, indeed, could we desire ] We have here the great end of existence set before us — the glory of God and the enjoyment of his favour, included and summed iip in eternal life. Its opposite, eternal death, is also set before us. Here, too, is the vmy of life, by faith and nothing but faith. Not he that worketh, but he that believeth, hath eternal life. Finally, here Ave have the object of tliis faitli presented as the Son, the Son of God, the Son of man, God maui- 84 HE THAT BELIEVETH OX THE SOJV fest in the flesh, a sacrifice for sin, the Captain of our salvation, the Author and Finisher of our faith — the end, the way, the guide. What more can we ask ] This is all our salvation and all our desire. By this let each man try himself. What are you seeking 1 Immediate gratification or eternal life 1 And if the latter, do you know what it consists in 1 Do you know that it includes all forms of happiness not stained with sin, and that the loss of it involves all misery, including such as you experience already 1 And now, are you seeking everlasting life 1 By what law 1 The law of works, or by the law of faith 1 And last, not least, what is the object of your faith 1 Is it God's uncovenanted mercy 1 — his mercy as opposed to his justice? Alas ! there is no such mercy. It is not he that believeth in a lie shall be saved, but he that believeth in the Son of God. Other foundations can no man lay save that which is laid ; for there is no other name given under heaven among men whereby we must be saved. If you have not this faith, with this exclusive object, your prospect is eternal death, and that not merely loss of life, but endless exposure to the wrath of God. And here may be brought more distinctly into view a remark- able form of expression in the text. The threatening is not that upon the unbeliever wrath shall abide, but it abides already. Here let the procrastinating soul be undeceived. Distance of time and place works strange transformations. Tell one who violates the law of man that he will be condemned for it, and he may laugh the law and you to scorn. But how few laugh when told that they are condemned already. Look at the convict at the bar, and see how diff"erent his aspect and demeanour from his aspect and demeanour when at large. Such is your case. You are, per- haps, not yet arrested, the day of formal trial is far distant ; but, strange as it may seem, when compared with human process, you are already under sentence. You were born a convict, and your past life has only served to aggravate your condemnation. When you are warned, therefore, to escape the coming wrath, it is not that you can escape conviction as a violater of the law of God. You are condemned already, and reprieve of pardon is your only JIA TIT E VERLA S TING LIFE. 85 hope. What if the murderer at the gibbet's foot should prate of his expecting to avoid conviction, and talk of testimony, verdicts, and new trials on his way to execution. Remember, remember, that God's wrath abideth on you. Here, too, may many an enigma in the life of man receive a full solution. You are rich, perhaps, and prosperous in this world's goods, and seem to the eye of others destitute of nothing. But you yourself know better. In the midst of your abundance there is emptiness ; starvation in your feasts, and in your cups undying thirst. You cannot understand how, with all the materials of enjoyment, you are joj^less. Hear the reason. It is the wrath of God abiding on you, and distilhng wormwood into every drop you swallow. Or are you poor, but with an unblessed poverty, striving with vain efforts to be rich, or brooding in idleness with spiteful dis- content over your neighbour's wealth. Without the advantages of wealth, you have its cares; its load without its strength. You can neither attain the supposed felicity of being rich, nor the more enviable peace of contentment. Do you know the reason 1 It is the wrath of God abiding on you, from which you must escape before you know tranquillity. The case is the same if you are sick, without the sanctifying grace of sickness ; or in health, without the grace which makes that health a blessing. You have, perhaps, a feeling of perpetual insecurity. You tremble when you hear of death, and turn pale at the slightest pain in any of your members. And, alas ! you do not know that there is reason for your fears. Look back, the avenger of blood is just behind you, and the wrath of God abides already on you. There is yet another case, which, though less common in reality than in appearance, must be mentioned. It is that of the man who feels no changes and no fears, and who, by means of a peculiar constitution, or inveterate induration, draws from the materials of worldly happiness their full supply, without admix- ture. Some of you know, perhaps, how often the appearance of this calmness is an artificial mask, put on to hide the fearful writhings of the countenance. You know what is meant by a life- time of hypocrisy, not hypocrisy in religion, but hypocrisy in sin. 86 JIR THAT BE LIE VET IT OX THE SOX We Lave mucli of false professions in tlie Church, but we knov?- much, of false professions in the world. The profession of indif- 'ference, and peace, and courage when ever and anon a gust of passion, or a nausea of the spirit, gives the lie to the profession. But let the man be what he says he is. Let him neither feel nor believe the pressure of that deadly burden whiqh he bears upon his back. Let him imagine, while he bends beneath it, that he walks erect, and in proportion as it breaks his strength, let him rise in his estimate of human nature, and even when he finally sinks under it, let him sink, believing that he soars, and die in the belief that he can never lose his life. Is this the sinner's consola- tion ? Oh, is this the hope for which he sold the promise of eternal life ? Is this your way of salvation 1 Oh, deceived soul, to escape the present consciousness of wrath only by laying it up in store for your eternity, by treasuring up wrath against the day of wrath, and still not know that the amount of it is growing. Oh, what a settling of accounts will that be when tlie vast accumu- lations of a life-time are brought out from God's omniscient magazine, and attached to their possessor as a mill-stone to preci- pitate his everlasting fall. This, and this only, is the hope and consolation of the man who feels no danger, and has no Saviour. You gain nothing, then, when you gain a transient respite from the sense of present misery. Nay, those who have it are of all men most miserable, as their insensibility will aggravate their future woe; and even now, in spite of it, the wrath of God abideth on them. Execution is delayed, but they are condemned already. Instead, then, of aiming at this fatal stupor, strive to feel your burden. Feel that the wrath of God is now abiding on you, and will there abide for ever, unless the Saviour soon remove it. No sense of this oppressive burden, how intense soever, can increase your danger. Nay, it will prepare you the better for deliverance. To the careless and insensible the gospel has no promises. " They that are whole need not a physician." But to the burdened and oppressed our Saviour uttered one of his most tender invitations, " Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Here is the rest you should seek. The rest, not of stupidity, but penitence. While you continue as you are, the HATH EVERLASTING LIFE. ^7 wrath of God abidetli on you. But the moment you believe, it is transferred to the great object of your faith, absorbed in the vortex of his meritorious passion, drowned in the many vraters of his dying hwe, and hist for ever. Death is then swallowed up in victory, the victory of faith and life. Everlasting life becomes triumphant. " Behold, I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing." Choose life, therefore, that your souls may live. VII. Slmcrst Sabctr, " Remember Lot's wife." — Luke xvii. 32. THERE seems to be a natural and universal disposition to com- memorate remarkable cliaracters in history. Not only are monuments erected and books written to perjjetuate their names, but days are set apart for the special purpose of remembrance and of celebration. Where tlie anniversary of the birth or of the death can be determined, this is commonly selected as the period of observance. But even when these are no longer ascertainable, the disposition to remember and commemorate must still be gratified, and in the same way by the arbitrary designation of certain times as sacred to the memory of certain persons. This propensity is not confined to civil history, but extends to that of the Church and of religion. Or, rather, it is here that it espe- cially displays itself, as in its favourite and chosen field. The civic calendai* of patriots and heroes is a meagre catalogue com- pared with the ecclesiastical calendar of saints and martyrs. Some have usurped a place there whose pretensions it would not be easy to demonstrate ; but I do not know that Lot's wife has ever found a place in any calendar. And yet, this is the only case in which a solemn and express divine command can be appealed to. Of patriarchs and prophets, of apostles and martyrs, there is not one, — no, not even Abraham or Moses, not even Paul or Stephen, of whom Christ is recorded to have said what Luke describes him in the text as saying of a nameless sinner in a half-forgotten age, "Remember Lot's wife !" The singular prominence thus given to an otherwise obscure and unimportant character in sacred history, may serve at least to ^ ALMOST SA VED. 89 justify a brief inquiry hoiv and tvhy the exhortation is to be com- plied with. In other words, what is there in tlie case of Lot's wife to be thus remembered? and, of what use can the recollec- tion be to us 1 These are the two points which I now propose to make the subject of discourse : — I. What is there to remember in the case of Lot's wife ? II. Of what use can the recollection be to us 1 I. In considering the first point, we naturally turn to other cases of historical commemoration, and recall the circumstances upon which the attention is usually fastened as the things to be remembered. These are essentially the same in every case, that is to say, there is a limited number of particulars, within which the biography of all men may be circumscribed. But these are indefinitely varied in their combinations and proportions. The entire interest of some lives is concentred in the birth and heredi- tary honours of the subject. This is notoriously true as to the vulgar herd of kings and queens and nobles, whose name and titles are their whole biography. In other cases of a higher order this element of greatness is entirely wanting. The name is anew name, and the birth obscure. Whatever interest attaches to the person is the fruit of his own doings, whether martial, intellectual, or civil. There are others where the eminence arises neither from position nor achievement, but from character. This is the charm of those biographies, in which a historical, and even a poetical — I might perhaps say romantic — interest is thrown around charac- ters who never rose above a private station ; who, beyond a little circle of acquaintances, were scarcely known to live until they died, but who now live in the memory and hearts of thousands, and, when every meteor of profane celebrity is quenched in oblivion, shall still shine in the firmament of history " as stars for ever and ever." These are the customary topics of remembrance and commemora- tion, illustrious birth, splendid achievement, and surpassing excel- lence, not necessarily exclusive of each other, but, alas ! too seldom found in combination, that among the "bright particular stars" of human history, there are few constellations, and but one "HI on ^^ 90 ALMOST SA VED. stupendous galaxy. Let us now apply this measure to the solitary case "which our Saviour has consigned to everlasting remembrance, and what is the result 1 In which, or in how many of these several respects was Lot's wife entitled to be snatched from oblivion ? Was it birth or name, good works or evil deeds, extraordinary piety or unexampled wickedness that gives her this pre-eminence ? JSTame, did I say 1 Her very name has been for- gotten in the record that bears witness to the fact of her exist- ence. Of her birth we know nothing, and can learn notliing, absolutely nothing, from a history distinguished from all others by the fulness and minuteness of its genealogical details. We know who Abraham's wife and Nahor's wife were, not their names only, but their parentage ; but Lot's wife, so far as the inspired record goes, is without father and Avithout mother, her birth a secret, and her name a blank ! There are cases, however, in the sacred history where no small interest attaches to the character and deeds of those whose names are not recorded. Without going beyond the field of female biography, we may cite as examples the widows of Sarepta and of Shunem, the woman of Samaria, and several others, for whom or upon whom our Lord wrought miracles of healing. But in this case the anonymous and unknown subject of commemoration is revealed to us by no description, no characteiistic actions, no glimpses of her private and domestic life. She is not even men- tioned in the liistory of Lot's migrations or of his residence in Sodom. She is not included in the question of the angels who were sent to save him : " Hast thou any here besides '] son-in-law, or sons, or daughters, or whatsoever thou hast in the city ;" unless tliis last expression be intended to apply to her. She appears for the first and almost for the last time in the brief but vivid picture of that hurried and compulsory escape, when Lot still lingered, and " the men laid hold upon his hand, and upon the hand of his wife, and upon the hand of his two daughters, the Lord being merciful unto him : and they brought him forth, and set him with- out the city, and said. Escape for thy life ; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the plain : escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed." This is one-half of the history of Lot's wife, and the whole of it contains no hint of her origin or education^ ALMOST SAVED. 91 course of life, or character, except so far as tliis may be leathered from her end. It seems, then, that in this case thus commended to perpetual remembrance by our Lord himself, every one of the accus- tomed grounds or reasons for remembering is absolutely wanting. Is this blank, then, to be filled up by indulging the imagination, by investing this anonymous, mysterious figure with fictitious qualities, and making her the centre of poetical associations? Certainly not. We can remember only what we know. The command is not to imagine or invent, but to remember. And in this case we can only know what is recorded. Our Saviour evidently takes for granted that his hearers knew the fact which he commands them to remember. They could know it only from the narrative in Genesis. Had anything beyond this been required, it would be expressed, as in other cases where our Saviour and his followers reveal something not contained in the Old Testament. Such additions to the history are the names of the Egyptian sorcerers, Jannes and Jambres, not recorded by Moses, but disclosed by Paul to Timothy ; and Jude's citation of the prophecy of Enoch, and of Michael's contest with the devil for the body of Moses. But in this case there is no such addi- tion', no completion of the history, but a simple reference to what was already known, because it had for ages been on record. It was to some familiar and notorious fact that Christ alluded when he said to his disciples, " Remember Lot's wife !" This familiar and notorious fact could not be the one already cited — namely, the angelic intervention and deliverance of Lot's wife, with her husband and her children, from the doomed city— because this was not peculiar or remarkable enough to be appealed to as a great historical example. Thus far her experience was coincident with that of others more entitled to remembrance. Had miraculous deliverance been all, the Avife of Noah might have seemed to have a better claim than Lot's to this distinction. We are therefore under the necessity of going a step further, and con- sidering the other half of her recorded history as furnishing the lesson which our Lord inculcates in the text. That other half is all comprised in a single verse of Genesis, the twenty-sixth of the nineteenth chapter : " His wife looked back from behind him, and became a ])illar of salt." So soon and so sudden is her dis- 92 V ALMOST SA VED. appearan i from tlie stage of liistory. She only appears long enough disappear agam. She is like a spectre, rising from the earth, n' ving slowly across our field of vision, and then vanishing away. xJence her history is all concentred in a single point, and that thi last. It has no beginning and no middle, but an end — a fearf' end. Its course is like that of the black and silent train, to which the match is at last applied, and it ends in a flash and an explosion. Our first view of Lot's wife is afforded by the light of the sulphureous flames already bursting from the battle- ments and house-tops of the reprobate city; 'ur last view, thC; moment after, by the same fires as they mount to heaven and light up the whole horizon, revealing, among many old, familiar objects, one never seen before — a pillar of salt uj^on the road to Zoar. That very pillar was the thing which the disciples called to mind when Jesus said, " Remember Lot's wdfe." But, my hearers, there are multitudes of other cases upon record, where the whole interest of a lifetime is concentred in the hour of death. Some scarcely seem to Uve until they come to die. Not only in the case of soldiers slain in battle, or of martyrs dying at the stake, but on many a lowly and neglected death-bed, a new character reveals itself, new powers of mind, new disposi- tions and aff'ections; as if a lifetime had been needed to mature the character, and death to make it visible. It is not, therefore, _ merely in this circumstance that we must seek the grand peculi- 1 arity of that event to which, our Lord directs the thoughts of his disciples. As it was not her escape from Sodom that made Lot's wife a perpetual lesson and memorial to mankind, so it is not the extraordinary concentration of her history in one point, and that point the last ; for this, as I have just said, may be seen in other cases. I proceed directly, therefcn-e, to point out the three parti culars in which her end was so peculiar as to render it i fit example for the purpose which our Saviour had in view whei told his disciples to remember her. In doing this, I shal^ course, make no appeal to your imagination, but confine m; with rigour to the brief and plain terms of the liistory. 1. The first distinctive feature in the case of Lot's wife is, !hat she was almost saved. The cases are innumerable, no doubt, in which men have been destroyed when apparently on the very ALMOST SAVED. 93 verge of deliverance ; but the cases must be few — very ft -, if any — where the alteration was so rapid and terrific, where le sixb- ject passed so quickly through the startling vicissitude, of life from the dead, and death in the midst of life. First, entiie secu- rity ; then avirful and apparently inevitable danger ; then liracu- lous deliverance; then sudden death. The point to \ lich I would direct your attention first, is the extraordinary, unexpected, and, to all appearance, certain and complete deUverance, which Lot's wife had experienced. In prospect and in expectation she vas saved already'' and in actual experience she was almost saved. The burning city was behind ; she had been thrust out from it by angelic hands, her husband and her children at her side; the chosen refuge not far ofi^, perhaps in sight; the voice of the avenger and deliverer still ringing in her ears, " Escape for thy life; look not behind thee, neither stay thou in all the jDlain : escape to the mountain, lest thou be consumed." With such facilities and such inducements to escape, with her family on one side and her saviour on the other, Sodom behind and Zoar in front — my hearers, who would not have thought, as she thought, that Lot's wife was saved'? Had she been left behind to perish in the flames, the suicidal victim of her unbelief, her end would have resembled that of thousands, and our Lord would not have told lis to remember her, as if one out of the multitude consumed in that hot furnace were entitled to be any more remembered than the rest. But when actually brought without the gates, perhaps against her will, and by such hands too, and already on her way to the appointed place of refuge, with the cry of the angel and the crackling of the flames both impelling her onwards — surely she was almost saved ! 2. But, secondly, though almost saved, she perished after all. WIk^ fc I wish you to observe is not the bare fact that she perished, lave millions, both before and since, but that she perished as '^did, and where she did. Perdition is indeed perdition, come " '•■>^t may, and there is no need of fathoming the various depths of an abyss, of what is bottomless. But to the eye of the spec- tattJr, and it may be to the memory of the lost, there is an awful aggravation even of what seems to be incapable of variation or increase in the preceding and accompanying circumstances of the 94 ALMOST SA VED. final plunge. He who sinks in tlie sea without the hope or oppor- tunity of rescue may be sooner drowned than he who for a moment enjoys both; but to the heart of an observer how much more sick- ening and appalling is the end of him who disappears with the rope or plank of safety within reach, or in his very hand, or of him who slips into the bubbling waters from the surface of the rock which, with his failing strength, he had just reached, and on which for a moment of delicious delusion he had wept to imagine him- self safe at last ! The same essentially, though less affecting, is the case of those Avho escape one danger only to be swallowed by another, like the seaman who had braved all the chances of war and the diseases of a sickly climate, only to be wrecked as he was reaching home ; or the case of the soldier who escapes .the edge of the sword on many a battle-field, and in many an " imminent deadly breach," only to die a more ignoble death, as the victim of disease or accident. Of all such cases, in their infinite variety of circumstances and degrees, the great historical type is that of Lot's wife, of her who was almost saved, yet not saved, the article and crisis of whose safety and destruction were almost identical, of her who perished in the moment of deliverance ! 3. The third distinctive feature in the case of Lot's wife is, that her destruction was so ordered as to make her a memorial and a warning to all others. You may smile at tlie credulity of those who imagine that the monumental pillar is still extant, and may yet be identified. Believe, if you will, in the pride of science, or the pride of ignorance, for they are near akin, and often coincide in their conclusions, that this is a sti'ong Oriental hyperbole, a metaphorical description either of perpetual remembrance or of a natural transient efiect. Even supposing that the pillar of salt had an ideal existence, or, that if real, it bore witness only for a few days to the eyes of all who j)assed by, God has erected it for ever in his word. The pillar of salt may have vanished from the shore of the Dead Sea, but it is standing on the field of sacred history. Tiie Old and N'ew Testaments both give it place; and as it once spoke to the eye of the affrighted Canaanite or Hebrew, who revisited that scene of desolation, so it now speaks to the memory and conscience of the countless multitudes who read or hear the law and gospel, saying to them, and to us among the ALMOST SA VED. 95 number, as our Lord said of old to his disciples, " Remember Lot's wife !" Remember the mysterious and awful end of one who seemed miraculously saved from a miraculous destruction, only to meet it in another form and in another place, the very threshold of deliverance, converting her at once into a pillar of salt, and a perpetual memento of the " goodness and severity of God." II. This brings us, by a natural transition, to the second point which I proposed for your consideration, namely, the purpose to be answered, or the end to be attained, by our remembering Lot's wife. It is no unreasonable question, if propounded in a proper spirit, free from petulant levity or sceptical presumption. What have we to do with this remote event of patriarchal history, this incident attending the destruction of a place whose very site has been expunged from the surface of the earth 1 In the first place, Ave may rest assured that the narrative was not recorded for its own sake, or to gratify a spirit of historical inquiry ; because this would render unaccountable the fewness of the facts recorded, and still more so the emphatic exhortation of our Saviour to remember this particular event. The only satis- factory solution is afforded by assuming that the case of Lot's wife was recorded as a type of God's providential dispensations ; or, in other words, tliat the event may be repeated in the experience of others, not in its outward form and circumstances, but in its essen- tial individuality. This supposition is not only reasonable in itself, a.nd recommended by the reading with which it solves the doubt proposed, but it may be directly proved by the example of our Saviour, in applying this historical example to a different case, to Avit, the siege and destruction of Jerusalem. After warning his disciples against such security and self-indulgence as prevailed before the flood and the destruction of Sodom, and commanding tliem "in that day" not to delay their flight for Avhat seemed to be the most necessary purposes, he adds, " Remember Lot's wife !" Tliis can only mean that similar effects may be expected from like causes; that the course of divine providence is governed by fixed laAvs; and that the same succession of events may therefore re- appear ; or, as our Lord himself propounds the principle of appli- cation, in the conclusion of this same discourse, Avhen the disciples 96 ALMOST SA VED. asked him, " Where, Lord ? and he said unto them. Wheresoever the body is, there will the eagles be gathered together." It thus appears that, far from being forbidden to apply the text to other cases than the one which our Saviour had immediately in view, we are directly taught, by his precept and example, to consider it as applicable to ourselves and others, and to spiritual no less than to outward dangers. For, if they who were liable to be involved in a great temporal calamity might be warned by the example of Lot's wife against security and rash delay, and taught that men may perish in what seems to be the very moment of deliverance, how much more conclusive is the same example as a warning against fatal security and procrastination with resj^ect to a danger as much more awful than the one in question as the soul is more precious than the body, or eternity than time; and, accordingly, with how much greater emphasis may they who are exposed to this tremendous risk be counselled and exhorted to " remember Lot's wife." I pnjceed, then, in the same order as before, to point out the particular respects in which the strange and fearful end of Lot's wife may be realized in our experience, which, if it can be done, will be the best and most effective application of the text, as an exhortation to remember her and profit by her terrible example. 1. The first point of resemblance is, that we, like Lot's wife, may be almost saved. This is true in a twofold sense. It is true of outward opportunities. It is also true of inward exercises. If a heathen, who has just been made acquainted with the method of salvation, and who sees himself surrounded by innumerable multitudes still strangers to it, could be suddenly transported into this community, and see what you see, hear Avhat you hear, and appreciate your multiplied facihties for knowing what salva- tion is and for securing it, he would, of course and of necessity, consider you as almost saved. Regarding heathenism as the (Sodom, from Avhich he has just escaped, and from which we have so long been delivered, he would hardly be deterred from looking upon us, not as almost, but as altogether saved. The intel- lectual and social influence of Christianity, apart from its saving power, the refinement, order, and intelligence produced by it, even in the lowest and the most degraded classes of our people, as com- ALMOST SAVED. 97 pared with heathens, Avould inevitably lead at first to false conclu- sions in the mind of such a stranger, and constrain him to cr}' out. These people, although not yet in heaven, are already saved ; and in reference even to that final consummation, they are almost saved ! We know, my hearers, how mistaken such an inference would be, and how much the fair appearances in question may resemble the smooth surface of that hollow and bituminous soil before its crust was riven and its secret fires enkindled by the Ughtning of God's wrath. You need not be reminded how far these external advantages, precious as they are in themselves and in their tem- poral effects, may fall short of securing the salvation of the thou- ! sands who enjoy them. In a word, you know, although a heathen convert might be ignorant, that men may have all this and more in actual possession, yet be neither almost nor altogetlier saved. You know how the deceitful surface may be agitated and con- vulsed by outbreaks of iniquity long cherished and concealed beneath the refinements and restraints of social discipline ; and even where the general decorum remains unimpnired, you know how many individuals may go down from the midst of it, like Korah and his company, if not into the libertine's or dnmkard's grave, at least into the death-shade of a hopeless eternity. Yet, even here, and even to ourselves, there is a sense in which many who are not safe might seem almost saved. If we could read the hearts of some who hear the gospel, and, amidst the unbelief and opposition to the truth which still prevail there, mark the strong though ineffectual desires for something better, and the nascent resolutions to repent and to believe which are perpetually surging up in the commotions of that sea which cannot rest, we should be tempted to say, Surely, these stiaiggling souls are almost I saved.. Yes, if we knew how often childish levity, and stoical indifference, and proud contempt, and even seeming spite, are but the mask of an interior strife which the subject would conceal, not only from his neighbours, T>ut himself, we should be still more disposed to say of such, that they were almost saved ; or to say to them, in the words of C!hrist himself, " Thou art not far from the kingdom of heaven." The grand mistake to which we are exposed in all such cases 7 98 ALMOST SA VED. is, the error of regarding this approach to true faith and repent- ance as peculiarly a state of safety. In itself, it is a state of the highest interest and moment ; in itself, it is incomparably better than a state of total opposition or of absolute insensibility. But in reference to the future, it is not a safe state, and the longer it continues the less safe it is. It is not safe, because it is a cri- tical juncture, a transition state, a turning-point, on which the future may be finally suspended. It is safe to enter, but not safe to rest in. The sooner we are brought to it the better, and the sooner we escape from it the better, if we only do so in the right direction. For, alas ! there are two ways in which the doubt may be resolved and the suspense determined — by advancing or re- ceding, going right or going wrong, escaping to Zoar or turning back to Sodom. 2. For the state described is, after all, like that of Lot's wife, when, against her will, she had been brought out of the city.. She seemed to be beyond the reach of all immediate danger. She. was following safe guides, and in the- right direction. Yet she looked back, and she perished ! So have thousands. So may you. This is a second point of resemblance. Those Avho are almost saved may perish — fearfully perish— finally perish — perish in reach, in sight of heaven — yes, at tlie very threshold of salvation. It is vain to quarrel with this fearful possibilitj'' and risk. It is vain to say, Are we not convinced of our danger 1 So was Lot's wife. Are we not escaping from it 1 So was she. Are we not near the place of refuge 1 So was she. But she looked back — ■ no matter with what motive ; she looked back— no matter how long or how short a time, though it were but for a moment ; she looked back — whether from curiosity or lingering desire to return, we are not told, we need not care, we only know that she looked back — she violated the divine command — abjured the only hope of safety — and you know the rest. Whatever looking back may have denoted in the type, Ave know full well what may answer to it in the antitype. Whatever may have tempted Lot's wife to look back, we know the multiplied temptations which lead sinners to do likewise. And this terrible example cries aloud to those who are assailed by hngering desires for enjoyments once aban- doned, or by sceptical misgivings, or by evil habits unsubdued, or ALMOST SA VED. 99 by disgust at tlie restraints of a religious life, or by an impious desperation such as sometimes urges us to eat and drink, for to- morrow we die ; to all such this terrible example cries aloud, Eem ember Lot's wife — her escape, and her destruction. However diiferent your outward situation, yet remember her, remember her ; for if, like her, you are the destined prey of God's avenging justice, it will find you out, for " wheresoever the body is, thither will the eagles be gathered together." 3. Lastly, they who are, like Lot's wife, almost saved, may not only, like her, be destroyed in the very moment of deliverance, but, like her, so destroyed as to afford a monumental warning to all others that the patience and long-suffering of God are not eternal. Looking back to the cities of the plain, they may not only be in- volved in their destruction, but as " pillars of salt," record it and attest it to succeeding generations. To a certain extent this is true of all who perish. God has made all things for himself, even the wicked for the day of evil. They who will not, as " vessels of mercy," glorify his wisdom and his goodness, must and will " show his wrath and make his power known," as " vessels of wrath fitted to destruction." They who will not consent to glorify him willingly must be content to glorify him by compulsion. This is true of all who perish, and who therefore may be said to become " pillars of salt," standing, like mile-stones, all along the broad road that leadeth to destruction, solemn though speecliless monitors of those who throng it, and planted even on the margin of that " great gulf " which is " fixed " for ever between heaven and hell. But in another and a more affecting sense, it may bo said that they who perish with the very foretaste of salvation on their lips, who make shipwreck in the sight of their desired haven, who are blasted by the thunderbolt of vengeance after fieeing from the city of destruction, and amidst their very journey towards the place of refuge, become " pillars of salt " to their successors. What a thought is this, my hearers, that of all the tears which some have shed in seasons of awakening, and of all their prayers and vows and resolutions, all their spiritual conflicts and apparent triumphs over self and sin, the only ultimate effect will be to leave them standing by the wayside as " pillars of salt," memorials of man's weakness and corruption, and of God's most righteous retri- 100 ALMOST SA VED. biitions. Are you willing to live, and what is more, to die, for such an end as this 1 To be remembered only as a " pillar of salt," a living, dying, yet enduring proof, that sinners may be almost saved, and yet not saved at all, that they may starve at the threshold of a feast, and die of thirst at the fountain of salvation. It is not unusual for those who have outlived their first impres- sions of religion, and successfully resisted the approaches of con- viction, to subside into a state of artificial calmness, equally removed from their original insensibility, and from the genuine composure of a true faith and repentance. As you feel this new sense of tranquillity creep over your excited senses, assuaging your exasperated conscience, you may secretly congratulate yourself upon a change of feeling so much for the better. But you may not be aware that the relief which you experience is similar to that which often follows long exposure to intense cold, when the sense of acute suffering begins to be succeeded by a grateful numbness, and the faculties, long excited by resistance, to be lulled into a drowsy languor, far from being painful to the sense, but as surely the precursor of paralysis and dissolution, as if the limbs were already stiffened and the process of corruption even visibly begun. Or the change of feeling now in question may resemble that which came upon Lot's wife as she began to lose her consciousness of pain and pleasure beneath that saline incrustation which enchained her limbs, suppressed her breath, and stopped the circulation of her life's blood. Was that an enviable feeling, think you, even supposing it to be exclusive of all suffering] Or could you con- sent to purchase such inmiunity from pain by being turned into a pillar of salt ? It is not tlie least affecting circumstance about the strange event which has afforded us a theme for meditation, that although Lot's wife was fearfully destroyed, and at the very moment when she seemed to lie bej'ond the reach of danger, we have no intimation that the lightning struck her, or that the fires which they kindled scorched her, or that the waters of the Dead Sea, as they rushed into their new bed, overwhelmed her, or that any other violence befell her. But we read that she looked back, and became a pillar of salt, perhaps without a pang of " corporal sufferance," perhaps without the consciousness of outward change : one moment fall of ALMOST SA VED. 101 life, the next a white and sparkling, cold and lifeless mass. If this, my hearer, is the death which you would choose to die in soul or body, then look back to Sodom, stretcli your hands towards it, and receive the death Avliich comes to meet you in your cold embrace. Turn back, turn back, if you would fiiin become a pillar of salt. If not, on, on ! Escape for your life ! Look not behind you ! Stay not in all the plain ! Escape to the mountain lest you be consumed ! And though you feel a secret drawing towards the scenes which you have left, yield not to it, but let memory do the work of sight. Instead of turning back to perish Avithout hope, let it suffice you to Remember Lot's wife ! YIII. " It doth not yet appear what we sliall be." — 1 John iii. 2. THESE words admit of being taken either in a wide and com- prehensive, or a more restricted and specific sense, as referring to a blessed immortality beyond the grave, or to futurity in general, including the as yet unknown vicissitudes belonging to the present state of our existence. It is in this larger application of the language, and, indeed, with special reference to a proximate futurity, that I invite your attention to the fact that " it doth not 3'et appear what Ave shall be." There is nothing in the actual condition of mankind, or in the method of God's dispensations towards them, more surprising than the fact that, while the very constitution of the mind impels it to survey the future with intense solicitude, futurity itself is hidden by a veil which can neither be penetrated nor withdrawn. The light which glimmers through, this veil is strong enough to show that something lies beyond it, and the demonstration is completed by the misshapen but gigantic shadows which occasionally flit across its surface ; but the size, and shajDe, and relative position of the objects thus beheld in shadow are completely concealed from view. It is in vain that every artificial aid to the infirmity of sense is brought to bear upon the tantalizing spectacle ; the light, the shadows, are still visible, and nothing more, except that providential barrier which at the same time brings the shadows to our view and makes the substances invisible. This seeming contradiction between Providence and Nature, between human instinct and divine administration, is exemplified with perfect uniformity in all parts of the world and all the periods FUTURE LIFE. 103 of its history. It matters not how little or liow much is known as to the present or the past ; men everywhere and always long to know the future. The historian, in whose memory events are gathered as in one vast storehouse ; the philosopher, who looks into the actual condition of all nature with a view at once minute and comprehen- sive, can plead no exemption from the restless and solicitous forebod- ings of the savage, who knows nothing of the past and hut little of the present, but whose darkened and confused mind swarms, as it were, with visions of the future. Not a f(5rm of idolatry or false religion has existed which did not undertake to make its votaries acquainted with the future. This has always been regarded as a necessary means of influencing human minds, a strong proof of the universality and strength of the original principle. No pagan altar ever smoked without an oracle of some kind near it. The diviner or the prophet is in all such cases the companion of the priest, if not the priest himself. The occult arts of necromancy, sorcery, and witchcraft, in their intinite variety of form, are integral parts of one great superstitious system, the religion of fear, in which ignorance is indeed the mother of devotion. "Wliile the African bows down before his fetich and the Indian mutters to his medicine- bag, the Turk wears his talisman, the Egyptian his amulet, and even those who are called Christians sometimes Avatch the clouds, the flight of birds, or the most trivial domestic incidents, the breaking of a glass or the upsetting of a vessel, with as much secret dread as ever terrified the most benighted heathen ; nay, even educated men and women have been known, amidst the veiy blaze of scientific and religious light, to steal in secret to the haunts of the conjurer or fortune-teller, not alway in jest, but sometimes with a studied secrecy indicative at once of shame, fear, misplaced trust, and inexpressible desire to know what God, in wisdom and in mercy, has decreed shall not be known. The final cause or purpose of this determination ajjpears obvious enough. If sin and misery were wholly foreign from the expe- rience of man, this limitation Of his view might be complained of as a hardship or privation. But since man is born to sorrow and temptation, since his heart is deceitful and his understanding fallible, since no foreknowledge could effectually gixard him again«t sin or sufi"ering, without the intervention of a power which can just 104 FUTURE LIFE. as well be exercised without his knowledge and consent as with it ; since the pains to be endured would, in multitudes of cases, be immeasurably aggravated by anticipation, and the most important duties often shrunk from in despair if all the ^jreceding and ac- companying circumstances could be seen at once, whenever the contrary effect I'csults from the gradual development in slow suc- cession, urging only one step in advance, and at the same time cutting off retreat as either shameful or impossible ; for these, and other reasons like these, the concealment of futurity is, on the whole, to be regarded, not as a privation, but a priceless mercy. We have only to look back upon our progress hitherto, and some of us, alas ! not far, to see experimental evidence, which we at least mu.st own to be conclusive, that, in hiding from us that which was before us, God has dealt with us, not as an austere master, but a tender parent, knowing well how his children can endure, and, in the exercise of that omniscience, determining not only how much they shall actually suffer, but how much of what they are to suffer shall be known to them before their day of visitation comes. But this part of God's providential government, though emin- ently merciful, is not designed exclusively to spare men a part of the suffering which sin has caused. It has a higher end. By the partial disclosure- and conce;ilment of futurity, continually acting on the native disposition to pry into it, the soul is still led on- ward, kept in an attitude of expectation, and in spite of its native disposition to look downward, to go backward, or to lie stagnant, is perpetually stimulated to look u]), to exert itself, and make advances in the right direction. The immense advantage of the impulse thus imparted may indeed be lost, and even made to aggravate the guilt and wretchedness of those who disregard it ; but considered in itself and its legitimate effects, it is one of the most striking proofs of God's benevolence to man, that when the soul through sin has acquired a fatal tendency to sink for ever and for ever lower, or to rest where even rest is ruin, instead of suffering this tendency to operate without obstruction as he justly might, he lias created a new counteracting influence, and brought it to bear mightily, not only on the conscience and the understanding, but upon instinctive fears^ and the natural desire of man to know what is before them. FUTURE LIFE. 105 This view, partial and imperfect as it may bo, of the divine purpose, is abundantly sufficient to vindicate his wisdom and his goodness, in making men so curious of the future and yet utterly unable to discover it, except so far as he is pleased to make it known. For, I need hardly say, that this concealment of the future is not, and cannot be, from the nature of the case, absolute and total. In making us rational, in giving us the power of com- parison and judgment, and in teaching us by the constitution of our nature to infer effect from cause and cause from effect, God has rendered us incapable of looking at the present or remember- ing the past, without at the same time, or as a necessary conse- quence, anticipating that which is to come, and to a great extent with perfect accuracy, so that all the knowledge of the future which is needed for the ordinary purposes of human life, is amply provided and infallibly secured ; while, far beyond the limits of this ordinary foresight, he has granted to some gifted minds a keener vision and a more enlarged horizon, so that objects, which to others seem to lie behind the veil oF providential concealment, are detected and revealed by the far-reaching ken of their sagacity. Nor is this all, for even with respect to things which neither ordinary reasoning from analogy, nor extraordinary powers of forecast can avail to bring within the reach of human prescience, God has himself been pleased to make them known by special revelation. Experience and reason are enough to teach us that all men must die. Professional or personal sagacity may see the signs of speedy death in one, whom others look upon as firm in health, and sure, to all appearance, of long life. But neither reason, nor experience, nor sagacity, could ever teach us that the body now dead shall again live ; that the soul now living shall yet die the death, not of annihilation, but of perdition ; that this second death is, by nature, the inevitable doom of all mankind, and yet that it may be escaped, but only in one way. Much less can that one way be distinguished or revealed by the exercise of any unassisted human power. These are things which neither eye can see, nor ear hear, nor heart conceive, until the Spirit of God makes them known. The light which shines upon the ordi- nary duties and events of life, is that which glimmers through the curtain of futurity ; the more extraordinary sights which are lOG FUTURE LIFE. occasionally se 'i by some minds in the exercise of an extraordi- nary iwer, are the vague and dubious shadows which appear and disap )ear upon the curtain which conceals their cause ; but the view 'hich man obtains of heaven and hell, of everlasting life and of tl second death, can only be obtained through . n open' g whicn the hand of God liimself has made in that mj^sterious cur- tain, or at some favoured spot where he has gathered up its folds, and given man a clear, though partial glimpse beyond it, free from all obstruction. Revelations thus imparted do not change or modify the opera- tion of that great law of concealment under which God's dispensa- tions are conducted. He has indeed made known the way of life, the necessity and method of salvation, but the personal futurity of every man is still hidden from the view both of himself and others. And even with respect to that which is revealed, there is i-eserve and limitation, so that while men may rejoice in those discoveries which, through divine grace, now belong to them and thel." children, they are still constrained to say with jNIoscs of old, " Secret things belong unto the Lord our God." Through one such opening into futurity as I have been de- scribing, God has permanently brought within the view of all, who have his word in their possession, a long line of light, reach- ing, like Jacob's ladder, from the earth to heaven, a jjath for the descent of ministering angels, and the ascent of such as shall be saved. The points wliere it begins and ends are clearly marked ; and all along its intervening course, the line of its direction is identified by landmarks, by the altar erected at the gate of Para- dise, the ark of Noah, and the ark of the covenant, the tabernacle, the temple, the manger at Bethlehem, the garden of Gethsemane, the cross on Calvary, the tomb of Joseph, the ascent from Olivet, the throne of God, and the seat at his right hand. Along this pathway, from the depths of sin and sorrow, thousands have made their way through fire and flood, through the blood of mar- tyrdom and that of atonement, out of much tribulation, and with fear and trembling, to that world where there is no night, neither hght of the sun, where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest. That there is such a way and such an end, no one can doubt FUTURE LIFE. 107 who will use the light which God has given hi» . Behold, O soul, behold it for thyself. Withdraw thy curious gaze froir vain endeavours to discover that which is concealed, or from the use- less sight.of visionary phantoms; let the veil still hide the ' cret tt gs of :4c until his hand shall rend it ; hut behold that imi- nous and dazzling point, that ray of light illumining futurity, an aperture through which you may behold the life that is to come. See that narrow pathway with its difficult approach, and straitened entrance, scaling one mountain— then another, and another, and another — till it seems to disappear among the clouds ; and then again to be seen through them, indistinct, but still unchanged in its direction,— still ascending, still surmounting every intervening object, till the aching sense toils after it in vain, or the view which was afforded you is suddenly ctit off. For here is an example of that limitation and reserve which I have mentioned as accomp«.iy- ing even the clearest revelations of futurity. If anything is certain it is this, that they who do escape perdition, and by faith in the omnipotence of grace, pursue this upward course, shall till continue to ascend without cessation, rising higher, growing better, and becoming more and more like God throughout eternity. 1 say that this is sure— sure as the oath and promise of a God who cannot lie can make it; and it is a glorious certainty indeed; but when we task our powers to distinguish the successive steps of this transcendent change, to compute specifically the effects which certain causes will produce, and to anticipate the actual results of the whole process, we are lost, we are bewildered ; this is not yet revealed to us ; it could not be without confounding all distinc- tions, and making the present and the future one. Hence the apostle, who is speaking in the text, although ins[)ired to reveal the general fact that true believers are the sons of God, and joint- heirs wdth the Saviour of a glorious inheritance, even he stops short before attempting to describe in its details what glorified beUevers are to be hereafter, even his tongue falters, even his eye quails, he turns away dazzled from the light which no man can approach unto, and which even inspiration did not enable him to penetrate, saying, " It doth not yet appear what we shall be," — we shall be something, something great and glorious, something which we are not, and never have been, something of which we 108 FUTURE LIFE. cannot form an adequate conception ; this we sliall be, this we must be ; but beyond this, as to the mode of our existence, or the circumstances of our new condition, " it doth not yet appear what we shall be." So that with respect to that which is most certain as a general truth, many, at least, of the particulars included in it, may be still beneath the veil of providential concealment. This vagueness and uncertainty, although at first sight it may seem to be a serious disadvantage, is nevertheless not -without important and beneficent efiects upon the subjects of salvation. It may seem, indeed, that as a means of arousing and arresting the attention, an indefinite assurance of transcendent blessedness hereafter is less likely to be efficacious than a distinct and vivid exhibition of the elements which are to constitute that blessedness; but let it be remembered that no possible amount, and no con- ceivable array of such particulars, would have the least effect in originating serious reflection or desire in the unconverted heart. This can be wrought by nothing short of a divine power, and when it is thus wrought, when the thoughts and the affections are once turned in the right direction, the less detailed and more indefinite description of the glory which is yet to be experienced, seems often best adapted to excite and stimulate the soul, and lead it onwards, by still presenting something that is yet to be discovered or attained, and thus experimentally accustoming the soul to act upon the vital principle of its new-born nature, for- getting that which is behind, and reaching forth to that which is before. The same thing may be said of the indefinite manner in which the doom of the impenitent and unbelieving is set forth in Sciip- ture. The general truth that they shall perish, that their ruin shall be total, final, and irrevocable, and that their condition shall be growing worse, and worse, and worse for ever ; this is taught too clearly to be rendered dubious by any natural or rational interpretation of the word of God. And in the truth thus clearly taught there is a fathomless depth of solemn and terrific import, rendered more impressive by the vagueness and reserve of the description, when the mind has once been awakened to the serious contemplation of futurity ; but until this is the case, the general threatenings of perdition fall without effect upon the heavy ear FUTURE LIFE. 109 and the obdurate conscience. No attempt, however, has been made in Scripture to increase their efScacy by an accumulation of appalling circumstances. There are fearful glimpses of the world of woe, but they are merely glimpses, abundantly sufficient to assure us that there is a future state of punishment, but not to feed or stimulate a morbid curiosity. In this, as in the 'lorre- sponding case before described, if the mind is awakeiied, such details are needless, and if not awakened, they are unavailing. Tell a poor man that he has suddenly been made rich by the bequest of some unknown kinsman or a stranger, and so long as he regards it as a jest or an imposition, you gain nothing by the fullest and most accurate detail of the possessions which have thus devolved upon him ; nay, the very minuteness of your de- scription seems to confirm him in his incredulity. But let him by some other means be thoroughly persuaded of the fact that he has undergone this change of fortune, and he listens even to the most indefinite and vague assurance with avidity, and now, instead of slighting the particulars of which before he took no notice, he is eager to obtain them, and pursues his importunate inquiries until one fact after another has been fully ascertained. So, too, in the case of warnings against some impending danger. Tell a solitary traveller, that in the forest which is just before him there are wild beasts, robbers, pitfalls, precipices, labyrinths, or any other perils, and if he believes you not, it is in vain that you exaggerate the evil, or depict it in the most impressive and alarming colours. Every stroke that you add to your descrip- tion seems to make it less effective than the indefinite assur- ance which preceded it. But if a sudden panic should take hold of him, or, instead of being fearless and self-confident, he be naturally timid and accustomed to shun danger, even the first vague intimation of that danger is sufficient to unman him, and he either turns around, without waiting for a more detailed de- scription of the case, or else he liears it with the eagerness of unaffected terror. These familiar illustrations may suffice to show that in the wise reserve with which the Scriptures speak of the details of future blessedness and misery, there is no sacrifice of any salutary influ- ence upon the minds of men ; and that it does not in the least 110 FUTURE LIFE. impair tlie majesty, benevolence, and justice of God's dealings with the souls of men — that while the certainty, eternity, and endless progression, both of future blessedness and future misery, are clearly set forth in the word of God, the minute particulars of neither state and neither process are detailed, nor any attempt made to describe things indescribable; but both are left to be made known by a glorious or terrible experience, with the solemn premonition, clothed in various forms, that in reference, as well to our destruction if we perish, or to our blessedness if saved, " it doth not yet appear what we shall be.'' In thus extending what the text says of God's adopted children, to the misery of those whom he shall finally cast off, I have merely held up to your view the same great truth in two of its important aspects. It is the same pillar that is light to Israel and dark to the Egyptians. It was not, however, my design to dweU upon the mere doctrinal ])roposition, though unquestionably true and inconceivably important, that neither reason nor experience nor imagination can, in this life, furnish us with any adequate conception either of the joys of heaven or the pains of hell; nor can I be satisfied with simply pointing to the one and to the other, and in reference to both, assuring those who now hear me, in the accents of encouragement and warning, that "it doth not yet appear what we shall be." I desire rather to bring this interest- ing fact of the text to bear with all its rightful power on the character, interests, and duties of my hearers. To effect this pur- pose, I have no need to resort to any forced accommodation or t arbitrary application of the text, Avhich I have chosen with direct view to the use which I now propose to make of it. All that is necessary for my present purpose under God's blessing, is to lead your minds a little fui'ther in the same direction which we have been hitherto pursuing, and, if possible, to show you tlie effect I which the doctrine of the text, if rightly imderstood and heartily embraced, must have upon our views of human life, and more particularly of its earlier periods. If, my hearer, it be true, as I believe, and you believe, and as God's word assures us, that in reference even to the case of those who shall assuredly be saved or as assuredly be lost, " it doth not yet appear what they shall be;" if it be true that even those who FUTURE LIFE. Ill are already saved, not merely in God's purpose, but, in fact, beyond the reach of all disturbing and retarding causes, even they who are rejoicing at this moment in God's presence as the spirits of just men made perfect, if even they are unable to enclose in their conceptions that illimitable ocean into which they have been plunged but for a moment; if it be true that even those who are disenibodied spirits are now drinking of the cup of divine wrath, can, in the anguish of their torment, frame no definite idea of the volume and dui-ation of that stream of fire which for ever and for ever fills their cup to overflowing; if both these souls, however different their actual condition and their prospects for eternity, are forced alike to cry out in a triumphant burst of grateful joy and a convulsion of blaspheming horror, " It doth not yet appear what we shall be!" — oh, witli what multiplied intensity of emphasis may those whose future state is still unsettled, who are still upon the isthmus between hell and heaven, wavering, vacillat- ing, hanging in terrible suspense between the two, unable or un- willing to decide their fate, and waiting, it would almost seem, until some heaving of the ocean of eternity should sweep them from the earth they know not, think not, care not whitlier — oh ! with what emphasis might such exclaim, as they hang over the dizzy verge of two unchanging, everlasting states, " It doth not yet appear what we shall be !" But is it, can it be, a fact, that rational, spiritual beings, god- like in their origin, and made for immortality, with faculties sus- ceptible of endless elevation, and enlargement, and activity, can hesitate to choose life rather than death, and good in preference to evil ■? Yes, it may be so, it is so ; such neutrality is possible, so far as a decisive formal action of the will goes. The performance of that last act may be long deferred, and, in deferring it, the dying soul may chorish the belief that all is still at its disposal, and that by one independent act of will, the whole work of salva- tion or perdition is to be begun and finished. Oh, what a delusion ! when the cup, by long continued droppings, has been filled up to tlie brim, to imagine that the last and almost imper- ceptible infusion which produces its final overflow is all that it contains ; or, that the withholding of that one dro]">, leaves it em])ty and removes all danger of its ever overflowing. How preposter- 112 FUTURE LIFE. ous a hope ! and yet in no respect less rational than his, who lets his life not only run to waste, but run to ruin, in the expectation that by some one energetic act at last, the countless acts which have preceded it shall all be cancelled and their effect neutralized. It is the crying sin and the stupendous folly of our race, that while they own their need of expiation, and repentance, and con- version, and acknowledge, yea, insist upon God's sovereign right to give them or withhold them, they not only make no eflforts to obtain them at his hands, but, as it were, take pains to make the work which they acknowledge to be necessary, harder, and the grace, which they prefer to wait for, more and more hopeless. Does the man who looks to God for the productions of that which he has buried in the earth, demonstrate his dependence by intro- ducing tares among his wheat, by laboriously cultivating noxious weeds, or by violently tearing from the earth the very seed on which he is depending for a harvest 1 Does the man who looks to God for the recovery of health, presume on that ground to drink poison, to court exposure, and to plunge into the most insane and ruinous excesses % Does the mariner who looks to God for a successful issue to his voyage, throw his cargo and provisions overboard, dismantle his own vessel, pierce its bottom, or deliber- ately drive it upon fatal rocks 1 Is such madness possible ? or, if it were, would it be in the least extenuated by the calm profession of a purpose to do otherwise and better, at some future time, when all the evil may have been accomplished, and amendment irre- trievably too late 1 Of all reliances the weakest and the worst is a reliance on the permanence of present motives, which now have no effect, and may one day gather overwhelming strength, and those which now seem all-sufficient, and may be powerless. Because you now wish to re- pent, and to believe, and to be saved hereafter, you imagine your- selves safe in your impemtence, and unbelief, and condemnation. Why, the very disposition which is now made the pretext for pro- crastination may forsake you. The respect you now feel for the truth, for God's law, for the gospel, may be changed into a cold in- ditfercnce, contemptuous incredulity, or malignant hatred. The faint gleams of conviction which occasionally light up the habitual darkness of tlie mind, may be extinguished. Tlie compunctious FUTURE LIFE. 113 visitings which now preserve your conscience from unbroken stupor, may become less frequent, till they cease for ever, or give place to the agonizing throbs of an incurable remorse. In short, the very feelings and intuitions upon which you vainly build your hopes of future reformation may themselves be as evanescent as the outward circumstances which produce them ; and when these have passed away, the others may soon follow; so that, even though your judgment may be now correct, your feelings tender, and your plans of future action all that could bo Avished, " it doth not yet appear what you shall be." How often- — ^oli, how often ! — has some real or imaginary sorrow touched the secret springs of your affection with a sympathy so ex- quisite that change appeared impossible, and you imagined, ay, perhaps, declared, that you would never smile again ! Has that pledge been redeemed '] In other cases, how your heart has swelled with gratitude for some deliverance or surprising mercy, which you fondly dreamed could never be forgotten] Were you right in so believing'? O my hearers, where are the delights of infancy, the sports of childhood, and the hopes of youth, the joys and sorrows which absorbed your thoughts and governed your affections but a few years back ? Are they not all gone 1 Have not theii" very objects and occasions in many cases been forgotten ? And has not this process been repeated more than once, it may be often, till you find it hard to look back a few years, or even mouths, Avithout a passing doubt of your identity, so changed are your opinions, in- clinations, habits, purposes, and hopes] Recall that wish, and then consider whether its fulfilment now would make you happy, as it promised to do then ; nay, does it even seem desirable, or worthy of an eflbrt to secure it ? No, the appetite has sickened, and so died. The object is the same, but you are not; your mind, your heart, your will are changed; and do you, can you, dare you think that you are now unchangeable, or capable of changing for the better only, so tliat what you now approve, and wish, and purjDose, will still continue to be thus approved, desired, and purposed, and at last performed. Alas ! my hearer, if, when you look at what you are, you can scarcely recognise what you have been, surely "it doth not yet appear v/hat you shall be." To some of yon the period of childhood is so recent that memory 8 114 FUTURE LIFE. has not yet wholly lost its old impressions. You can easily re- member objects upon which you then looked with a solemn awe, })erhaps with terror. Do tliey still command your reverence ? There were others upon which you looked with infantile contempt, ;is far less interesting than your childish sports ; and yet these i)bjects have been rising and expanding in the view with every mo- ment of yoiu' life, and every hand's-breadth of your stature. And now, I ask you, what is the change owing to? — to lapse of time? to change of circumstances^? to the growth of all your faculties? And are you not soon to bu still older than you are ( Must not your circumstances undergo still furthei' change? Can you imagine that the develoi»ment and cultivation of your powers are already linished ? Is it not then i)0sslble, at least, that your future views and feelings may as widely differ from your present views and feel- ings as the present from the past? And is it rational or right to seal up your own destiny and character? Turn not away, then, from the gracious invitations of the gospel merely because you do not now feel the need of its protection, con- solations, and rewards. Life is not f)nly short, but full of change. If you could now look back and see some golden opportunity of wealth and greatness lost for ever through a freak of childish levity, you would scarcely be consoled by the reflection that you thereby gained another hour of amusement. But oh, how inadequate is this to give the least idea of your feelings in that awful hovu", when you shall see eternal life for ever lost for the mere playthings of this passing scene ! Try, then, to antedate experience, to anticipate as possible feelings the most remote from those which ycni are now indulging. For example, when I speak of consolation, there are some perhaps among you who could smile at the idea as entirely foreign from your present feelings. And when you look before you, and imagine scenes of sorrow, they are mere fantastic images, on which your stronger feelings rest but for a moment. This may not be the case with all. There may be some here whose experience has made them prematurely old. There may be hearts among you whose deep fountains have been broken u\) and taught to gush al- ready. Such need no admonition upon this point. The heart knoweth its own bitterness, and the stranger intermeddleth not with its joys, Lut you who are without experience of real and FUTUBE LIFE. 115 deep-seated sorrow, look afar oflfat that strange phantasmagoria of darkened chambers, desolated houses, beds of pain, dying struggles, funeral rites, and broken hearts — and amidst all these behold that human form, and tell me whether you can realize yourself. Now, as to outward things, you may be far beyond the reach of such considerations as a motive to repentance, but yon know not what an hour may biing forth. Whatever you are now, " it doth not yet appear what you shall be." But your danger lies not merely in disregarding motives which you are to feel hereafter, but in blindly trusting to the perform- ance of those Avhich you acknowledge now. I might go further, and excite your incredulity and even your contempt, by holding up as possible a total change, not only in your feelings and your principles, but even in your outward lives, — a change wliich you Avould look upon as utterly impossible, a change no less humbling to your pride than blasting to your hopes. I might startle you by holding up a mirror which, instead of giving back the smiling aspect that you now Avear, the countenance of health and buoyant spirits, should confront you with a ghastly likeness of your present self, under the strange and hideous disguise of an exhausted gamester, a decaying libertine, a bloated drunkard, a detected cheat, a conscience-stricken murderer. I might present you to yourself surroinided by the wreck of fortune, family, and character, seated amidst the ashes of deserted hearths and their extinguished fires, gazing unmoved upon peaceful homes made desolate, and fond hearts broken — the wreck, the refuse, the unquiet ghost of all that you are now. I might present all this, but you would shrink with indignation from the foul aspersion. You may be unfortunate, you may be changed, but this, but this you can never be — never ! My heart's desire and prayer to God is that you never may; but what is your security"? The mere intentions which you cherish now to be fulfilled hereafter? Ah, my hearer, go to yonder silent dwelling-place of crime, and learn how many good intentions have been cherished in those now degraded and perhaps now despairing bosoms. Go to some one haunt of vice, and trace the miserable victims who assemble there, back through their melancholy progress to the time when their intentions were as good as yours, their external circumstances no less promising. 116 FUTURE LIFE, Go to the gibbet, to the yard-arm, to the horrid scene of horrid vengeance wreaked by man upon himself, and learn that even there the deadly fruit has often sprung up into a rank vegetation, from the seed of good but ineffectual intentions. It is high time for our youth to be aware that they who die upon scaffolds, and pine away in prisons, are not seldom such as once scornfully smiled at the suggestion of their ever being worse than they were then ; and as they looked upon the kind friends and the multiplied advantages by which they were surrounded, and then in upon the purposes of future good they were intending, would have blushed at their own cowardice or self-distrust if they could have been brought to say, " It doth not yet appear what we shall be." When I recall to mind the countenances, persons, manners, talents, attainments, hopes, and purposes of some whom I knew in early life, and then consider what they now are, my heart sickens at the sight of early promise, not because it is not infinitely lovely, but because the possibility of fatal change looms with a ghastly speculation through the eyes of these encouraging appear- ances, as evil spirits may have glared upon spectators from the bodies of the men whom they possessed of old. From such anticipations, rendered more distressing by the grow- ing frequency of such deterioration and of awful crime, the heart is forced to turn away in search of something to reanimate its hopes, and this is only to be found in the innnovable belief tliat God's grace is omnipotent, and Christ's blood efficacious. To this the true philanthropist must chng, not only as the ground of his own hope, but as the only source of safety to the young around him; and when they earnestly inquire, as they sometimes do, how these fearful perils are to be avoided, instead of mocking them with prudential maxims of mere worldly policy or selfish cunning, let us lead them at once to the only secure refuge, to the only Saviour, to the cross and to the throne of Jesus Christ. Tiirn ye to the strongholds, ye prisoners of hope ! Press into yonder gate- way! Cleave to those massive pillars! Bind yourselves with cords to the horns of yonder altar ! And at every fresh heave of the ocean and the earth, take the faster hold of Christ's cross and throne, and you are saie. Whatever trials may await you here, a FUTURE LIFE. 117 glorious compensation is reserved for you hereafter; final and eternal deliverance "from, the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God." " Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God ! " But fitrange as the exaltation is, it is a real one. " Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what Ave r.hall be ; biit we know that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is!" Oh, blessed sight! Oh, glorious assimilation ! We shall not only see him as he is, Ijut shall be like him ! Let this bright anticipation stimulate and cheer us ! Let Christ be in us the hope of glory ! But let every one that hath this hope in him purify himself even as he is pure ! IX 6bi( Spirits. " Tlie last state of that man is worse than the first." — Luke xi. 26. SOME of the most remarkable inventions and discoveries by wliicli tlie present age has been distinguished, are of such a nature as to realize ideas which were once regarded as peculiarly visionary and absurd. The steam-engine, the daguerreotype, and the electric telegraph, are all of this description. To our fathers, these results would not only have appeared improbable or impos- sible, but as belonging to that class of impossibilities which most resemble mere imaginative fictions. That man should be conveyed upon his journey by the vajwur of boiling water; that the sun should be constrained to do the painter's work, and that words should be communicated instantaneously to any distance by a wire, are facts which, if predicted a few centuries ago, would not merely have been disbelieved as philosophically false, but laughed at as fabulous inventions, or the dreams of a disordered fancy. And yet these realized impossibilities are now so familiar to our everyday experience, that we scarcely think it necessary to dis- tinguish between them and the most oi'dinary processes of nature and of art, to which the world has been accustomed for a course of ages. The power of steam, however highly valued, is now seldom thought of as more wonderful than that of water, wind, or animal strength. The instantaneous operation of the light in delineating forms, seems scarcely more surprising than the tedious process of the chisel; and an instantaneous message from the ends of the earth may one day seem as natural and common- place an incident as oral communication with our nearest neigh- bours. F.VIL spinrrs. 119 The use which I would make of this extraordinary change from a contemptuous incredulity to a faith so unhesitating as even to exclude surprise, is to illustrate the position that a corresponding revolution may perhaps take place in morals and religion ; that the time may be at hand when some of those religions doctrines, which are now rejected by the mass of men, not merely as un- scriptural or imphilosophical, but as fanciful and visionary, shall begin to take their place among realities too certain and familiar to be even wondered at as something strange. If such a revolu- tion of opinion and of feeling should indeed take place, there is no subject with rcsi»ect to which we could expect its effects to be more striking than the subject of evil spirits ; their existence and their influence on human conduct and conditicm. The predomi- nant feeHng with which these are now regarded, even by multi- tudes who hear the gospel, and profess to be believers in the Bible, is a feeling of tolerant contempt or compassiduate indul- gence, such as Avc all entertain with respect to navigation through the air, or the schemes of miiversal language, and such as our fathers entertained with respect to those familiar facts of our ex- perience already mentioned. If to this suggestion of a like change in men's feelings and associations with respect to demoniacal agency, it should be objected that religious truth affords no room for new discovery, being already fully made known in a complete and ai;thoritative revelation, it may bo replied that tliis is true of everything essential to salvation or even to the full development of Christian character, but not of all things ])artially disclosed in ►Scripture. As the intimation.s Avhich we find there of the origin and structure of the universe do not preclude physical investiga- tion and discovery as useless, or foi'bid them as unlawful, because there are only incidental and subordinate subjects of divine revela- tion ; so the knowledge, or at least the fiiith, of men as to the fearful doctrine of a devil and his angels, may, for the same rea- son, he regarded as snsccptil)le of vast increase. At all events, the very possibilitj' of such a change should lead us to receive Avith anything but levity or supercilious indifference, tlie faint but solemn intimations of the Bible upon this mysterious subject. There is something sublime in the reserve with which it is thus treated. The views presented are mere glimpses rendered neces- 120 J^-VTL SPTRTTS. sary by the context. Sometimes the light is allowed to rest longer on the object than at other times, as in the history of Job's temptations. Even there, however, the unusual distinctness of the view afforded, is counterbalanced by the doubt which over- hangs the question whether the statement is literal or figiirative, poetical or historical. Between the two Testaments there is a great difference of clearness and minuteness in the statements on this subject. Even in those of the New Testament, however, there is still the same appearance of reserve, the same entire ab- sence of a disposition to indulge mere curiosity, by limiting the statement to such facts as seem required for some specific piu'- pose. To the attentive reader there will everywhere be visible a marked peculiarity of tone and manner in the treatment of these matters which is well adapted and no doubt designed to keep the reader in perpetual recollection of the awful nature of the things referred to, and of the fact that their complete development is yet to come. Some have inferred from this resei-ve, that expressions so obscure could not have been intended to convey important matters of belief, and that they ought, therefore, to be looked upon as strong Oriental tropes or mere jioetical embellishments. This may seem plausible enough when looked at in the general ; but it is not susceptible of a continued and consistent application in detail. The further we pursue it, the more clearly shall we see what may be mentioned as a second characteristic of the teachings of the Bible on the subject. It is tins, that while the revelation is reserved and partial, it is so made as to convey an irresistible impression of the literal reality of that which is revealed. Whatever different conclusion might be drawn from the language or the spirit of paiticular passages, it is impossible to view them all in a connected series mthout a strong conviction that these imperfect and obscure disclosures of an unseen world of evil spirits were intended to be strictly under- stood ; that the Bible does distinctly teach the agency of such a spirit in the great original apostasy and fall of our first parents, and his continued influence on fallen man, an influence Avhich, although it exists at all times, was permitted while our Saviour was on earth, to manifest itself with extraordinary violence and clearness, in the form of demoniacal possessions, which affected F.VTL SPinrTS. 121 botli the minds and bodies of the victims, and aflforded the sub- jects and occasions of some of Christ's most signal miracles, de- signed not merely to relieve the sufferer, nor merely to display his superhuman power, but to signalize his triumph, as the seed of the woman, over the adverse party represented in the first promise of a Saviour, as the seed of the serpent, Avhose last desperate struggles, not for existence, but for victory, were witnessed in those fearful cases of disease and madness which the gospel narrative ascribes expressly to the personal agency of demons, the history of whose dispossession and expulsion is so prominent a feature in the life of Christ. There are here two errors to be avoided, that of denying the reality of these possessions, and that of supposing that tlie influ- ence of evil spirits upon men was restricted to the time of our Lord's personal presence upon earth. It existed before. It con- tinues still. Its nature and extent are undefinable at present and l)y us. We only know that it is not a coercive power, destroying personal responsibility, but a moral influence extending to the thoughts and dispositions. The true view of the matter seems to be, that from the time of Eve's temptation to the present hour a mysterious connection has existed between fallen man and fallen angels, the latter acting as the tempters and seducers of the former, the influence exerted being mental and insensible, or, so fixr as it is corporeal, inscrutable by us ; but that at the time of Christ's appearance, the physical cff"ects were suffered to display themselves in an extraordinary mannei', for the purpose of mani- festing his superiority to the powers of darkness, and showing forth his glory as the conqueror of the conqueror of mankind. If he were now to re-appear, the same effect might be again produced. The latent adversary might be forced to show himself, and mani- fest at once his fear and hatred, not only by the paroxysms of his victim, by his unearthly shrieks, and spasms, and foaming at the mouth, but by the repetition of that cry, so often heard of old, " What have I to do Avith thee, thou holy One of God ; art thou come to torment me before the time ] " Or, if the veil which hides the spiritual world could now be lifted even for a moment, we might stand aghast to see how large a portion of the moral history of sinners is determined by satanic influence ; not such as 122 EVIL SPIRITS. to extenuate the sinner's guilt, biit rathei' to aggravate it by dis- closing that his sins are committed in obedience to the dictates of such a master, and in compliance witii the suggestions of such a counsellor. The drunkard and the liberthic, and every other class of sinners, might be then seen attended by their evil genius, smoothing the way to ruin and averting every better influence. The moral changes now experienced, might be then seen to have more than an ideal connection with the presence and absence of these helhsh visitants. The apparent reformation of the sinner might then be found to couicide with their departure, and his relapse with their return. Yes, and in many cases the experience of such might be found to correspond, not merely in a figure, but in literal truth, with the fearful picture set before us in the text. By means of a vision supernaturally sti-engthened, w-e might actu- ally see the evil spirit going out of this man and that man, now regarded as mere ordinary cases of reformation or conversion, and then returning with seven others worse than himself, so that the last state of that man is worse than the first. There is something fearful in the thought that such a process may be literally going on among us and around us; that from one and another of these very hearts the evil spirit may have recently departed, and may be wandering in desert places, seeking rest and finding none, until, despairing of another habitation, he shall come back to his old house and find it swept and garnished, rendered more desirable by partial and temporary reformation, and taking with him seven others, he may even now be knocking for admission, and woe to him who opens, for the last state of that man is worse than the first. But even granting what to some may seem too clear to be denied, that there is no such process literally going on, and that our Saviour's words contain a mere comparison drawn from a real or ideal case of demoniacal possession, and intended to illustrate a familiar fact in morals, that relapses into sin are always danger- ous, and often fatal; we may still gather very much the same instruction from the parable as if it were a literal description. Whatever horrors the imagination may associate with the personal invasion and inhabitation of an evil spirit, is it really more dread- ful, to the eye of reason and awakened conscience, than the constant EVTL SPIRITS. 123 presence of an evil principle, not as a mere visitant, but as a part of the man liimself ? Is it not this, after all, which makes the other seem so terrible 1 The coming and going of good angels has no such effect on the imagination ; nor would that of neutral spirits, neither good nor evil. Apart from their moral' effects, tlieir presence or absence is a matter of indifference. And if tlie effects are wrought, it matters little whether they are literally brought about, in whole or in part, by the influence of demons, or only metaphorically so described. It matters little whether our Saviour meant to represent the fluctuations of man's spiritual state as actually caused by the departure and return of these invisible seducers, or only to describe their fearful import and result by mysterious figures borrowed from the world of spirits. The primary application of the words, as made by Christ him- self, was to his own contemporaries — the Jewish nation — who for ages had been separated from the Gentiles ; and from whom the demon of idolatry had been cast out at the Babylonish exile; but who now, in their malignant persecution and rejection of their born Messiah, seemed to be repossessed by devils far more numerous and spiteful than those by which they had been actuated in the worst days of their earlier history, or even those which they believed themselves to be the gods of the heathen. Of such a people — so peculiarly distinguished, and yet so unfaithful, who had proved untrue to a vocation so extraordinary ; and, while boasting of their vast superiority to the heathen, had outdone the heathen themselves in crime, and were yet to sink as far below them in punishment — of such a people it might well be said, that their last state was worse than their first. The same thing is no less true of other communities, distin- guished by extraordinary providential favours, and by flagrant abuse of their advantages. If we could watch the tide of national prosperity, in such a case, until it ebbed, it would require no great stretch of imagination to perceive the evil spirit, who had seemed to forsake a people so enlightened and so highly favoured, coming back under the cloak of the returning darkness, from his wandering in the desert, not alone, but followed by a shadowy train, overleaping the defences which appeared impregnable to human foes, or mysteriously gliding through the very crevices of 124 ^TYZ SPIRITS. fast-barred doors, and unexpectedly appearing in their ancient haunts, which all the intei'vening glory and prosperity have only seemed to sweep and garnish for its repossession by its ancient master and his new confederates, under whose united usurpation and oppression the last state of that race, or society, or nation, must be worse than the first. But it is not merely to the rise and fall of whole communities that tliese terrific images were meant to be applied. The same law of reaction and relapse controls the personal experience of the individual. This is, indeed, its most instructive and affecting application. The vicissitudes of nations, or of other aggregate bodies, however imposing to the eye of the spectator, and however sweeping in their ultimate effects, do iiot, and cannot so excite our sympatliies as those which take place in a single soul, and by which the experience of communities and nations, after all, must be determined. It is not as the invaders of a country or besiegers of a city, that the evil spirit, with his sevenfold re-inforcement, rises up before the mind's eye in terrific grandeur. It is when we see him knocking at the solitary door from which he was once driven in disgrace and anguisL The scene, though an impressive one, is easily called up. A lonely dwelling on the margin of a wilderness, cheerfully lighted as the night approaches, carefully swept and garnished, and apparently the home of plenty, peace, and comfort. The winds that sweep across the desert pass it by vmheeded. But, as the darkness thickens, something more than wind approaches from that quarter. AVhat are the shadowy forms that seem to come forth from the dry places of the wilderness, and stealthily draw near the dwelling] One of the number guides the rest, and now the}^ reach the threshold. Hark ! he knocks; but only to assure himself that there is no resistance. Through the opened door we catch a glimpse of the interior, swept and garnished — swept and garnished ; but for whose use 1 — its rightful owner ? Alas ! no; for he is absent; and already has that happy liome begun to ring with fiendish laughter, and to glare with hellish flames; and, if the weal or woe of any man be centred in it, the last state of that man is worse than the first. Do you look upon this as a mere fancy scene? Alas! my hearers, just such fancy scenes are passing every day within you F.VIL SPIRITS. 125 or around you, rendered only more terrific by the absence of all sensible indications, just as we shrink with a peculiar dread from unseen dangers if considered real, and are less affected by the destruction that wastes at noon-day, than by the pestilence that walks in darkness. Come with me and let me show you one or two examples of familiar spiritual changes which, if not the work of evil spirits, may at least be aptly represented by the images pre- sented in the text and context. To the eye of memory or imagina- ti(jn there rises up the form of one who was the slave of a particular iniquity, which gave complexion to his character and life. It was perhaps an open and notorious vice, which directly lowered him in public estimation. Or it may have been a secret and insidious habit, long successfully concealed or never generally known. But its eftects were seen. Even those who were strangers to his habits could perceive that there was something wrong, and they suspected and distrusted him. He felt it, and in desperation waxed worse and worse. But in the course of Providence a change takes place. Without any real change of principle or heart, he finds that his besetting sin is ruining his health, his reputation, or his fortune. ►Strange as the power of temptation, appetite, and habit is, some form of selfishness is stranger still. The man reforms. The change is recognised at once. He is another man. After the first painful acts of self-denial, the change appears delightfid to himself. He seems once moi'e to walk erect. A new direction has been given to his hopes and his desires, and, like Saul, he rejoices that the evil spirit has de])avted from him. At first he is afraid of its return, and keeps strict watch against the inroads of the enemy. By degrees he grows secure, and his vigils are relaxed. The temptation presents itself in some form, so contemptible and little to be feared, that he would blush not to encounter it. He does encounter it. He fights it. He appears to triumph for a moment, but is ultimately overcome. The next victory is easier. The next is easier still. He tries to recall the feelings which preceded and produced his reformation ; but the spell is over. He knows that they have once proved ineffectual to save him, and he trusts in them no longer. Even the checks which once controlled him in his former course of sin are now relaxed ; he is tired of oppositioii, and seeks refuge from his self-contempt in desperate indulgence. 126 f^VIL SPIRITS. Do yoii believe a change like this to be unusual in real life, or too unimportant to be fairly represented by our Saviour's fearful image of the dispossessed and discontented demon coming back to the emancipated soul, and re-asserting his dominion, till " the l<^t state of that man is worse than the first]" Another man passes through the very same process of reforma- tion, but with diiferent results. His watch against the inroads of his once besetting sin is still maintained. His jealousy and dread of it continue unabated. The appetite seems to sicken and to die. He is indeed a new man as to that one sin, and rejoices with good reason that the fiend has left him. As the habit of forbearance gathers strength, he learns to trust in his own power of resistance. He naturally measures his morality by that sin which once so easily beset him. Freedom from that sin is to him a state of purity, and he flatters himself that he is daily growing better. But, alas ! in his anxiety to bar one door against the enemy, he has left the rest all open. A successful breach is made in his defences by an unexpected foe ; perhaps by one whom he had harboured and regarded as a friend. Before he is aware he finds himself a new man in another sense. The evil spirit has returned, but in a dif- ferent shape, and taking unopposed possession, is again his master. The reformed drunkard has become a gamester ; the reformed pro- digal a miser ; the reformed cheat a voluptuary. Such conver- sif)ns are by no means rare — conversion wrought without the troublesome appliances of prayer, or preaching, or the Holy Spirit. In all such cases the dominion of the new vice will probably be stronger than the dominion of the old one. The reaction and relapse from a state of .-^elf -denial is attended by an imjoetus which makes itself to be perceived. The man, as it were, makes amends to himself for giving up his former sin by larger measures of in- dulgence in the new one. The limits which impeded his indul- gence in the one are perhaps inapplicable to the other ; and from one or the other of these causes, or from both, " the last state of that man is worse than the first." I have said that in this case the anxiety to shut one door leaves the others open. Hence it often happens that the soul is invaded, not by one new spirit, but by many. Imagining that abstinence from one sin is morality, the man of course falls into others; and EVri SPIRITS. 127 the conquest of the citadel is frequently effected by the combined force of the enemy. If you ask the evil sjnrit which at first has possession, What is thy name? you may receive for answer, Drunkenness, or Avarice, or Lust. But ask the same after the relapse, and the response must be, My name is Legion, Have you not seen in real life this terrible exchange of one besetting sin for several] Have you not known men, who once seemed vulnerable only at a single point, begin to appear vulnerable, as it were, at all points, perhaps with the exception of the one first mentioned ? Now, when this is the case, besides the power exerted by each appetite and ])assion on the soul distinctly, there is a debasing and debilitating influence arising from the conflict which exists between them. Let the reformed libertine become at once ambitious, avari- cious, and revengeful, and let these hungry serpents gnaw his soul, and it will soon be seen by others, if not felt by the miserable victim, that the evil spirit which had left him for a season has returned with seven others worse than himself ; and as we see them in imagination enter the dwelling swept and garnished for their use, we may read, inscribed above the jjortal that shuts after them, " The last state of that man is worse than the first." Let us now leave the regions of gross vice, with the seeming reformations, and their terrible conversions from one sin to another, or from one to many, and breathe for a Avhile the atmosphere of decent morals, under the influence of Christian institutions. Let me show you one who never was the slave of any vice, and whose character has never been subjected to suspicion. Such arc always to be found among those who have enjoyed a religious education and the means of grace. Yet, so long as these advantages are luiattended by a change of heart, the evil spirit still maintains possession. Methinks I see one who has long held a high place in the public estimation as a moral and conscientious person, but whose views are bounded by the sensible horizon, who sees no- thing serious in religion, or deserving of profound regard. All is sunshine. Even death, while distant, has no horrors, and the world beyond is blank. The past, the present, and the future are alike themes of jest and laughter. But the scene is changed. A sudden shadow falls across the countenance and heart. The laui^her becomes srave. He indulges for the first time in serious 128 EVIL SPIRITS. reflection. Without knowing whence his change of feeling comes, he yields to it, and it increases. The realities of life are seen in a new aspect. What mere trifles seem momentous ! Sin is no longer mocked at, and the grave looks dull and dreary. The question of salvation, and the necessary means to it, begins to be considered ; and the world begins to see that he who once was so light-hearted has become, as they correctly term it, serious. The duration of this state of mind is indefinitely variable. Most men experience it for moments or for hours, many for days or weeks, and some for months, or even years. In many cases it becomes habitual — the feelings are adjusted to it; it proceeds no further, and is equivalent to a simple change of temperament. Nay, in some cases, while the appearance lasts, the feeling itself wears away. The shadows cast by some mysterious object on the soul are gradually mitigated and reduced in de^jth, until the sun breaks through the intervening obstacle, and broad daylight returns. The sensation of this change is naturally pleasant. It is Avel- comed, it is cherished, till the ancient habits of the mind are re-instated in their full dominion. Even supposing that the change is unaccompanied by any moral renovation, and is merely an alternation or vicissitude of gaiety and sadness, the return to the former state is not precisely what contimiance in that state would have been. There is now a sensitive shrinking from all gk)omy thoughts, a dread of solitude, an instinctive shunning of the ordinary means by which serious reflection is produced. In itself this state may be a pleasing one ; but, with respect to its effects, it is worse than the first. But some go further. Having passed through tlie change which I have just described — the change from levity to serious reflection — they reach a new stage of experience. Sin, which was heretofore a mere abstraction, or at most the name of certain gross enormities, is seen in its true nature. The law of God is seen to be what it is. The conscience is awakened to a sense of guilt, a dread of wrath, and a consciousness of deserving it. Eveiy act is now seen to liave a moral quality. The man grows scrupulous. He who was once bold to commit known sin, is now afraid to perform even innocent actions. The burden of unexpi- ated guilt becomes oppressive — nay, intolerable. An undefined EVIL SPIRITS. 129 anxiety torments him. He feels that some great crisis is approach- ing. Earthly pleasures grow insipid. The cares of life are child's play. He becomes indifferent to life or death, except in reference to the great absorbing question of salvation or perdition. The intensity with which he seeks relief exhausts him. He begins to grow languid. His alarm subsides into a stupid desperation. As this new sensation creeps upon him, he is conscious of relief from the poignant anguish of his former state. The soothing apathy is cherished. Strong emotion is excluded. Sin seems no longer so repulsive as it once did. Words begin to have their ancient meanings and to awaken only old associations. One strong im- pression is effaced after another. ( Jonscience shimbers. Hope revives. The noise of the Avorld again rings in the ears. The dream is past, the spell is broken, and the once convicted sinner is himself again. He has recovered his reason, his false friends assure him ; for they see not that the si)irit of delusion which had left him for a season has returned, and found his habitation swept and garnished, and shall dwell therein for ever. Ah, sirs ! what- ever may have been the first condition of the man who has passed through all these changes, there is little risk of error or exaggeration in saying that " the last state of that man is worse than the first." But the evil spirit does not measure the duration of his absence by any settled rule. He may return before the truth has made the least im^jression. He may wait imtil a serious state of mind has been induced, but come back before the soul has been con- vinced of sin. Or he may stay until a lively sense of guilt and danger has been wrought upon the mind, whether the views entertained be false or true ; and the anguish of distress having reached its extreme })oint, instead of gradually sinking into cold insensibility, is suddenly succeeded by its opposite — delight, joy, happy wonder. At this most critical and interesting juncture, when the soid seems ready to embrace and rest ixpon the truth of God, the enemy returns, and substitutes a false hope for the true one ; he encom-ages the false joy of a spiirious conversion. In the raptiire of the moment, all suspicion and all vigilance appear to be precluded, and the soul feeds upon its apples of Sodom till they turn to ashes. Then succeeds misgi\ang, unbelief, displeasure, shame, despondency, temptation, a new thirst for sinful pleasure, 9 130 EVIL SPIRITS. weak resistance to the enemy, an easy conquest, stronger chains, a deeper dungeon, and eternal bondage. He who once had his periodical returns of sensibility, and his convulsive efforts to be free, now lies passive, without moving hand or foot. But out of the deep dungeon where he thus lies motionless, an unearthly ' voice may be heard proclaiming, with a fiendish satisfaction, that " the last state of that man is worse than the first." Even this, however, does not seem to be the furthest length to which the soul, forsaken by the evil spirit, may be suffered to proceed. The man from being gay, may not only become serious, and from being serious, convinced of guilt and danger, and desirous of salvation, and from this state pass into a joyful sense of safety ; but he may long remain there, and without suspecting where his error lies, may openly acknowledge liis experience and his hopes,, and pass the bound which divides professing Christians from the world. Methinks I see one who has thus been forsaken by the evil spirit, not only brought into the Church, but made conspicu- ous in it, set in its high places, drunk with its flatteries ; but in the hour of liis intoxicating triumph, as he lies imarmed and un- protected in imaginary safety, the tramp of armed men is heard without, the sacred precincts of the Church itself are suddenly in- vaded, his old master is upon him — has returned to his old home — he smiles to see it swept and garnished for his use. He takes possession with his fellows, never more to be cast out. Even such are not beyond the reach of divine mercy, but it is not ordinarily extended to them, as appears from the images by which the state of such is represented in the text. The oil is spent and the lamp extinct. The axe is laid at the root of the tree. Its fruit ia withered, nay, it is without fruit, twice dead, plucked up by the roots. Twice dead ! — oh, fearful reflection ; dead by nature — then apparently alive — and now dead by relapse and by apostasy. Twice dead and plucked up by the roots. Surely such a catastrophe is terrible enough to be the work of one, or even many devils, or whatever we may think as to the literal agency in bringing it about, it is terrible enough to be described by the figure which our Lord here uses, and eniphatically summed up in those fearful words, " The last state of that man is worse than the first." There is but one more view that I can take or give you of this EVIL SPIRITS. 131 painful subject. Looking back to the nonentity from "which we all Lave sprung, and on to the eternity which awaits us all ; tracing tlie downward progress of the lost from bad to worse, from worse to worst, marking the aggravated guilt of eacli relapse into iniquity, after a seeming reformation and conversion, and remembering by whom and of whom it was said, " It were better for that man if he had never been born," we may take our stand between the gulf of non-existence and the gulf of damnation, and comixaring the nega- tive horrors of the one with the positive horrors of tlie other, may exclaim as we see the sinner pass through so short an interval from nothing into hell, " The last state of that man is worse than the first !" If what I have been telling you is true, true to nature. Scrip- ture, and experience, there is one application or improvement of the truth, which ought to be self-evident. I mean its application to the young, to the young of every class, and character, and sta- tion, but especially to such as are peculiarly environed by tempta- tion, and yet prone to imagine, as a vast proportion of the young do really imagine, that the wisest course is to secure the pleasures of the passing moment, and reserve repentance for a distant future, thus contriving by what seems to be a master-stroke of policy, to serve God and jNlammon in succession. Instead of arguing against this resolution as irrational and sin- ful, let me hold up before you the conclusion to which reason, Scripture, and experience, with a fearful unanimity, bear witness that the only spiritual safety is in present and immediate action ; that a purpose or a promise to repent hereafter, is among the most successful arts by which the evil spirit drowns his victims in the deadly sleep of false security ; that previous indulgence in a life of sin, so far from making reformation easy, is almost sure to make it utterly impossible. You who are, even at this moment on the verge of the appalling precipice beneath which millions have been dashed to pieces, stop, if it be but for a moment, and con- sider. The comparative innocence of childliood, the restraints of a religious education, the very resolutions you are forming for the future, may all be looked upon as indications that the evil spirit to whom you are by nature a hereditary slave, has for the time relaxed his hold upon you ; his chain, though still unbroken, may 132 ^^"^^ SPIRIT,^. be lengthened, but beware how you imagine that without divine grace you can ever break it. It may be that the unclean spirit has but left you for a time, and is even now wandering through dry places, seeking rest and finding none — roaming in search of a repose which is impossible, and gaining in malignity and craft at every moment — mustering new strength of purpose, virulence of hatred, and capacity of torment and corruption, to accelerate your fall, embitter your remorse, and deepen your damnation. At every access of temptation from without, and every movement of cor- ruption from within, imagine that you hear the foul fiend knocking for admission ; and distrusting the strength of your defences, fly to Christ for aid. Without it you are lost. Without it your best efforts, in your own strength, are uuavaihng. X. "To God only wise, be glory through Jesus Christ for ever. Amen." — Rom. xvi. 27. AMONG tlie peculiar features of the sacred writings are its numerous benedictions and doxologies. The former are ex- pressions of devout desire that man may be blessed of God ; the latter, that God may be honoured of man. They are the strongest verbal expressions of that love to God and love to man, which are together the fulfdling of the law. Doxologies are frequent in both Testaments, benedictions chiefly in the New, because so large a part of it is in the epistolary form, affording frequent oi^portunities for the expression of benevolent wishes. A solemn benediction, however, formed a part of the solemnities of public worship luider the old economy. Tlie form prescribed is still on record in the sixth chapter of Numbers (ver. 22), " The Lord spake unto Moses, saying. Speak unto Aaron, and unto his sons, saying, On this Avise ye shall bless the children of Israel, saying unto them, The Lord bless thee, and keep thee : the Lord make his fiice shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee : the Lord lift up his countenance i;pon thee^ and give thee peace." The use of the doxology in pulilic worship is apparent from the inspired liturgy of the ancient ChurchJ the Book of Psalms. This book has long been divided into five large portions, the close of each being indicated by a doxology. Thus the 41st Psalm ends with these words : " Blessed be the Lord God of Israel from ever- lasting to everlasting. Amen and amen." The 72d Psalm : " Blessed be the Lord God, the God of Israel, who only doeth won- drous things ; and blessed be his glorious name for ever, and let the whole earth be filled with his glory. Ameii and amen." The 134 THE DOXOLOOIES OF SCRIPTURE. 89th: "Blessed be the Lord for evermore. Ameu and amen." The 106th: " Blessed be the Lord God of Israel from everlasting to everlasting : and let all the people say, Amen. Praise ye the Lord !" The 150th : " Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord. Praise ye the Lord ! " Whether this five-fold division of the Psalter is of ancient date, and these doxologios were originally intended to mark the conclusion of the several parts; or whether the division was itself suggested to the rabbins, from whom we have received it, by the fortuitous recurrence of these fonnulas at tolerably regular intervals, may be disputed; but, in either case, the familiar use of the doxology in worship by the ancient saints is evident. But in the New Testament there is this peculiar circumstance, that the doxologies, though still more numerous than in the Old, occur in such connections, and, as already hinted, in such kinds of composition as to be not merely formulas for common use, but spontaneous ebullitions of devout afiection. As such, they show more clearly than any other form of speech could, the habitual . bent of the aftections on the part of the inspired writers, the favourite subject of their thoughts, the points to which their minds instinctively reverted, not only as the customary theme of usual meditation, but as the great object of desire and hope. As they never forgot, in care for self, the interest of others, so they never forgot, in care for others, that God was to be honoured; that of him, and through him, and to him, are all things — that to him must be glory for ever. Of the twenty-one epistles contained in the New Testament, seventeen begin with a solemn benediction, and sixteen close with one. Two others close with a doxology, instead of a benediction, while one concludes and two begin with a benediction and doxology together; and another substitutes a malediction for the latter. But it is not merely in these solemn openings and closings of the canonical epistles that the doxology occurs. It is sometimes inter- posed between the links of a concatenated argument, or in the midst of a detailed description. This is especially the case when something has been said which seems to savour of irreverence to- wards God, in order to express the writer's protestation against any such construction of his language, or to disavow his concurrence THE DOXOLOOIES OF SCRIPTURE. 135 in such language used by others, or his approbation of their ■wicked conduct. Thus, in the first chapter (ver. 25) of this epistle Paul describes the heathen as having " changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen." And again, in the eleventh chapter, after indignantly repelling the suggestion that man can add anything to God, and argumentatively showing its absurdity, he winds up his argument by an adoring exclamation, a triumphant interrogation, and a devout doxolog}'. " Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God ! How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out ! For who hath known the mind of the Lord, or who hath been his counsellor^ Or who hath first given to him, and it shall be recompensed to him again 1 For of him, and through him, and to him are all things, to whom be glory for ever. Amen." It is by these apparently misplaced ascriptions of all honour to God, that is, occurring where the ordinary usages of composition lead us to expect them least — it is by these that the habitual bent of the apostle's thoughts and feelings is most clearly manifested. Such ejaculations, in the midst of ordinary speech, may indeed be the mere effect of sanctimonious habit, and have often been so ; but where inspiration sets the seal of authenticity 'on all the emotions and desires expressed, there could not be a more unerring symptom of a heart overflowing with devout aflections. There are two things included in a doxology — the expression of a wish, and the performance of a duty. The writer gives utter- ance to his desire that God may be glorified, and at the same time actually glorifies him, and is the occasion of his being glorified by all who read or hear his words with understanding and with cor- dial acquiescence in the sentiment expressed ; for God himself has said, '' Whoso offereth praise glorifieth me." By these interrup- tions of their doctrinal discussions, therefore, the inspired writers have not only manifested their own dispositions, and actually glorified God themselves, but led to the performance of the same act by innumerable readers and hearers. There is something truly ennobling and exciting in the Christian doctrine, that although God is infinitely blessed in himself, and man incapable of adding to his essential excellence, there is yet a sense in which he may be 136 THE DOXOLOUIES OF ."itRWrURE. glorified or rendered glorious even by the humblest of his crea- tures. To render God thus glorious by manifesting and according his perfections is the very end of our existence, the pursuit of which sets before us a boundless field of exertion and enjoyment. The prominence given to this motive in the Christian system is one of the marks by which it is most clearly distinguished from all others, and, at the same time, of the strongest proofs of its divinity. The constituent parts of a Christian doxology have already been described. As another essential feature may be mentioned that they are always and exclusively addressed to God. The jealousy of the inspired writer as to this point is remarkable. Their doxo- logies not only include the name of God as their great subject, but they always occur in connections where he has already been the subject of discourse. To him the glory is ascribed, to the exclu- sion of false gods and of men, but especially of self. The spirit of these doxologies is everywhere the same—" Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but to thy name give glory." The very design of the doxologies of Sciipture is to turn away the thoughts from man to God, from the creature to " the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen." When they occur at the beginning of a passage or a book, tbey seem to remind the reader that, in order to go right, he must set out from God. When at the close, they teach him to re- member the great end of his existence. When they interrupt the tenor of discourse, they answer the salutary purpose of checking the tendency to lose sight of God in the contemplation of other objects. Thus, according to their relative positions, they continu- ally teach us or remind us that " of him, and to him, and through him are all things, to whom be glory forever. Amen." It is not, therefore, a mere incidental circumstance, but an essential feature of the scriptural doxologies that they have reference to God and God alone. The only seeming exception to this general statement really confirms it. There are doxologies to Jesus Christ, but as a divine person. It is because he is God that glory is ascribed to him. In the present instance, there is a singular ambiguity of construc- tion in the original. The literal translation of the words is this : " To the only Avise God, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory THE DOXOLOGIES OF SCRIPTURE. I37 f(ir ever." In the common version the ambiguity is removed by tlu' omission of the relative. The true construction may be this: " (llory be to the only wise God, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory likewise for ever. Amen." As it stands, however, it seems doTibtful whether Christ is expressly mentioned merely as a means or also as an end, whether merely as an instrument of glorifying God, or also as an object to be glorified himself. This very dubiety of phrase, however, seems to justify us in embracing both ideas in our explication of the terms. It is highly probable, indeed, as already suggested, that both were designed to be expressed; that Clu'ist was meant to be exhibited, at one view, as, in some sense, tlie medium by which God is or may be glorified ; and, as himself, entitled to that glory which belongs to God; and the anomalous constraction may have arisen, not from inadvertence or excited ifeeling, but from a desire to suggest these two ideas sinmltane- ously. The latter, it is true, might be considered doubtful if this were the only case in which he is the subject of a doxology. But this is far from being true. When Jude, in the close of his epistle, says, " To the only wise God, our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever, Amen," it may be plausibly alleged that he is speaking only of God in his character of Saviour or Deliverer, without express allusion to the incarna- tion, and that the cases, therefore, are not parallel. Even admit- iiig this to be the fact, the same thing cannot be alleged of Paul's .,wish, that the God of peace would make the Hebrew Christians perfect in every good work to do his will, working in them that which is well pleasing in his sight, throiigh Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen." Or, if it should be said that, even here, although Christ is the immediate antecedent, the God of Peace is the main subject of the sentence, and to him the doxology must be referred, there is still a case in which no such grammatical refinement will avail to make the reference to Christ uncertain. I mean the doxology which closes the second Epistle of Peter, where there is no double subject to confuse the sense or render the interpretation doubtful. The apostle closes with a simple exhortation to " grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. To him be glory both now and for ever. Amen." This text is not only unambiguous itself, but 138 THE DOXOLOOIES OF SCRIPTURE. Berves to tlirow light upon those which are more doubtful. If Clirist, in this case, is the evident and only subject of the doxo- logy, there is no longer any reason in explaining the one quoted from Hebrews, for overleaping the immediate antecedent; and, with respect to that in Jude, there is at least some ground for regarding "God our Saviour" as descriptive of the same blessed person. While it remains true, therefore, that the scriptural doxologies never have reference to any subject less than God, it is equally true that Jesus Christ is a partaker in these exclusive divine honours. We need feel no hesitation, therefore, in adopt- ing such an explanation of the text as will exhibit Christ not only in the character of a revealer and a glorifier, but in that of a glorified being; not only of creature, but Creator; not only man, but God ; God over all, blessed for ever. There is another circumstance to be attended to in the doxo- logies of Scripture. Being ascriptions of glory to God exclusively of all mere creatures, they might seem to require nothing more than a bare mention of his name, or the most general description of his nature. And in some cases nothing more is given. But in others, the ndnd of the doxologist appears to have been fastened specially on some one aspect of the Divine character, some attri- bute, or group of attributes, as the foundation of his claim to universal and perpetual praise. Thus, in the case before us, while the text embraces the doxology itself, the two preceding verses contain the preamble, or explanatory preface, setting forth the grounds on which the doxology is made to rest. The first of these is the omnipotence of God, or rather the omnipotence of his grace; for the allusion is not merely to the creative and sustaining power of God, but to his infinite ability to perfect Avhat he had begun in aU believers — ^the new creation of a spiritual nature on the ruins of that righteousness which man had lost. " Now, to him that is of power to stabhsh you according to my gospel, &c., to God only wise be glory through Jesus Christ for ever. Amen." A more general, but equally emphatic, declaration of the same kind may be fou 1 in ti e third chapter of Ephesians, where the apostle, after e. sing an importunate desire for tlie spiritual progress and perfection of the Christians whom he was addressing, adds : " Now unto Him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above THE DOXOLOGIES OF SCRIP TURE. 139 all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us — unto Him be glory in the Church by Jesus Clirist throughout all ages, world without end. Amen." Another attribute thus singled out to be the ground of a doxc- logy, is wisdom, the intellectual omnipotence of God in working out his purposes by chosen means. In rational beings, this view of the divine perfections is peculiarly adapted to excite astonish- ment and admiration. The universal presence and activity of mind throughout the vast frame of nature and machinery of Provi- dence, the triumph of that all-pervading mind over matter, over other minds, over apparent difficulties springing from the natural relations of one being to another; the wonderful results evolved from causes and by means apparently least fitted to produce them; the indisputable evidence contained in such facts of one harmoni- ous design and one controUing power, through a series of events which, as they happened, seemed fortuitous and unconnected, independent of each other, and of any higher principle than this — this Divine wisdom is indeed an ample and satisfying reason for ascribing glory to the being Avho possesses it, not only as con- sidered in himself, but as comj)ared with others; not merely as wise, but as only wise, alune entitled to be so considered, since the wisdom of all other beings is not only infinitely less than his, but derived directly from him — the gift of his bounty, the creature of his power, a drop trickling from the ocean, a spark kindled at the sun. The only true wisdom upon earth is " wisdom that cometh from above." The wisdom that sets itself in opposition to the wisdom of God, is earthly, sensual, and devilish — is folly in the lowest and worst sense. The admiration thus expressed in Scrip- ture for God's wisdom, is an admiration Avhich implies contempt of all opposing claims — an admiration which belittles, nay, anni- hilates all other in comparison. God is not merely wise, but only wise; not merely wiser than all other gods — which would be say- ing notliing, since we know that an idol is nothing in the world, — not only wiser than the brutes, than man, than devils, than angels, but so far exalted above them, each individually,' aid all collectively, that when confronted with the aggregate- jigence of all ages and all worlds, He alone is wise. This subUme description of Jehovah as " the only wise God," is 140 THE DOXOLOGIES OF SCRIPTURE. , not peculiar to the text. It occurs not only in other places, but in otlier doxologies, as an appropriate and ample ground for the ascription of eternal praise. The same apostle, writing to Timothy, after speaking in the most affecting terms of his own character before conversion, and expressing his gratitude that he should have been honoured with permission to preach Christ, adds, in the manner which has been described already, as characteristic of his writings and his spirit : " Now, unto the King eternal, im- mortal, invisible, the only wise God, be honour and glory for ever and ever. Amen" (1 Tim. i. 17). And another apostle, in a doxology already quoted, connects an appeal to the power of God in his preamble with a reference to his wisdom in the doxology itself : " Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen." We have seen that the doxologies of Sciipture, thougli they sometimes speak of God in general terms merely, often specify some attribute as giving him a peculiar claim to the adoring admiration of his creatures. We have also seen that the attribute of wisdom is repeatedly thus singled out and rendered prominent. It may now be added that it is not merely the wisdom of God in general that is thus held up to view. There is a certain manifes- tation of his wisdom which is placed above all others — not the wis- dom displayed in the creation of the universe or in its sustenta- tion — not the wisdom displayed in the common dispensations of his providence, or even in those extraordinary methods which he sometimes uses to effect his purpose. These are all recognised and represented as becoming subjects of our praise and meditation. But none of them is set forth as the great, peculiar, and dccisi\'e evidence that God alone is wise. That evidence is sought in the system of redemption, in the means devised for the deliverance of man from the inevitable consequences of his own transgressions. And this selection is entirely justified, even at the bar of human reason, by several obvious considerations. The first of these is the magnitude of the end to be accomplished. The second is the difficulty of effecting it — a difficulty- springing, not from fortuitous or outward circumstances, but from essential princiiiles, from the THE DOXOLOGJES OF SCRIPTURE. 141 nature of sin, from the nature of Clod himself. To the extent of this ditliculty, justice never can be done by our conceptions. Its existence may be recognised, its reality admitted, but its magnitude cannot be adequately measured. The hyjiothesis of infinite holiness and justice, as essential to God's nature, seems to render the pardon of sin, if once committed, and the salvation of the sinner, so impossible, that unassisted reason reels and staggers under the attempt to reconcile apparent contradictions. But this reconciliation God has effected ; he has solved the problem ; he has practically shown us how he can be just and yet justify the ungodly. Eeason approves of this solution when jiresented, but could never have discovered it. No created skill or strength could have surmounted difficulties so appalling. This, then, is a second reason for regarding the method of salva- tion as the greatest and most glorious display of divine wisdom. A third is the absolute success of the experiment, if such it may be called. Where the end is so important, and difficulties so great, a partial attainment of the end might be regarded as a great achieve- ment. Failure, in some respect, in some degree, might be forgiven, for the sake of what is really accomplished. But Avhen all is done that was attempted and when all that is done is completely done, the means being perfectly adapted to the end, and the magnitude of the difficulties fairly matched, nay, far surpassed, by that of the provision made to meet them, this is indeed a triumph of wisdom — such a triumph as created wisdom never could achieve — 'Such a triumph as could only be achieved by Him who claims and is entitled to the glorious distinction of the only wise God. It is not surprising, therefore, that in those doxologies which make the divine wisdom their great subject, this pre-eminent dis- play of it in the system of redemption, in the person and the cross of Jesus Christ, as the great centre of that system, should be brought distinctly into view. It is not surprising that in such connections the gospel should be represented as a stupendous revelation of God's wisdom, as disclosing what the wisdom of man could neither have invented nor discovered; that the doctrine of salvation should be called a mystery, a truth beyond the reach of unassisted reason, until made known by a special revelation; a demonstration, therefore, both of human folly and of divine wis- 142 THE DOXOLOOIES OF SCRIPTURE. dom, a proof of what man cannot do and wliat God can do. Thus, in writing to Timothy, when Paul breaks out into that grand doxo- logy already quoted, " Now, unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only wise God, be honour and glory for ever and ever, Amen," — it is immediately preceded, with the exception of a parenthetical allusion to the final cause of the apostle's own con- version, by that memorable summary of the gospel, " This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners." It was this appearance of the Son of God for such a purpose that presents itself to the apostle's mind as the masterstroke of msdom, and affords a ground for the doxology that follows to the only wise God. And even where the name of Christ does not appear, as in the closing words of Jude's epistle, the same idea is suggested by the epithet con- nected with the name of God himself It is not to God our Creator, our Preserver, or our Providential Benefactor ; it is not to God our Sovereign, our Lawgiver, or our Judge, that supre- macy in wisdom is directly ascribed, but " to the only wise God • OUR Saviour, be glory and honour, dominion and power, both now . and ever. Amen." The doxology which closes the third chapter ■ of Ephesians, is merely the winding up of one long sentence coex- tensive with the chapter, in which the apostle repeatedly mentions I the preaching of the gospel, and especially its open proclamation * to the Gentiles, as the revelation of a mystery, concealed for ages \ from mankind in general, but made known by the Holy Ghost to prophets and apostles — a mystery which from the beginning of the world was hid in God — a mystery, that is, a truth which human wisdom could not have discovered, the disclosure of which, therefore, tends to illustrate and magnify the wisdom of God. Precisely the same reference to Christ and the gospel of salvation, as the masterpiece of wisdom no less than of mercy, may be found in the preamble to the text before us, where the ascription of glory to God is founded on his wisdom, and his wisdom argued fi-om the manifestation, in the gospel, of a method of salvation which the human mind could never have discovered, and which is there- fore called a mystery, — a secret brought to light by no exertion of mere reason, but by direct communication from above, from Him whose wisdom was alone sufficient to devise and to reveal it. THE DOXOLOaiES OF SCRIPTURE. 143 " Now to him that is of power to stablish you according to my gospel, and the preaching of Jesus Christ, according to the revela- tion of the mystery, which was kept secret since the world began, but now is made manifest, and by the scriptures of the prophets, according to the commandment of the everlasting God, made known to all nations for the obedience of faith ; to God only wise, be glory, through Jesus Christ for ever. Amen." From a comparison of all these passages, it is evident that while the sacred writers no doubt recognised the proofs of divine wisdom, furnished by the works of nature, and the movements of Providence, their minds were habitually fastened on the method of salvation taught in Scripture, as the grand decisive proof by which all others are surpassed and superseded. It was through Christ, not only as the brightness of God's glory and the image of his person, but as a Saviour, a propitiatit)n set forth by God him- self, a means devised and provided by him for the accomplishment of what appeared impossible; it was throixgh Christ, considered in this light, that the lustre of God's wisdom shone with dazzling brightness upon Paul, and Jude, and Peter. Hence there is no absurdity in holding, as some have done, that the words " through Jesus Christ," in the text, are to be construed not with " glory," but with " the only wise God," by which, in the Greek, they are immediately preceded. As if he had said : " To him, who in the person, work, and sufferings of his Son, has revealed himself to us as the only wise God, to him be glory for ever. Amen." At the same time, the unusual collocation of the words, and the irregular construction of the sentence, seem to authorize, if not to require, that Jesus Christ himself should be included in the description of the object to which glory is ascribed. "To God only wise, made known as such by Jesus Christ, and to Jesus Christ himself as God, be glory for ever." Nor is this the only sense which may be put upon the pregnant phrase through Jesus Christ. The simplest and most obvious, and indeed the only one expressed by the sentence in the common version is, that Christ is the medium through which the divine wisdom is and must be glorified. Not only does he share, by right of his divinity, in all the divine honours; not only, by his mediation and atoning passion, does he furnish the most luminous display of divine wisdom ; — but as 144 THE DOXOLOGIES OF SCRIPTURE. head of the Church, and as tlie father of a spiritual seed, to whom that wisdom is, and ever will be, an object of adoring admiration, and as their ever-living and prevailing intercessor with the Father, he is the means, the instrument, the channel through which ever- lasting glory shall be given to the only wise God, who has estab- lished a Church, and caused the gospel to be preached for this very purpose, "to the intent that now, unto the principalities and powers in heavenly places, might be known by the Church the manifold wisdom of God ; unto him be glory in the Church, by Jesus Christ, through all ages, world without end. Amen." (Eph. iii. 10, 21.) To this doxology, as well as to the others which the word of God contains, the pious in all ages have been wont to say Amen. This ancient expression of assent to prayer and praise is, from its very nature, full of meaning. He who says Amen to the doxology before us, must be understood as giving the assent of his judgment to the propositions, that there is a God ; that he is infinitely wise ; that his wisdom has been specially disj)layed in the provision made for saving sinners, without the sacrifice of justice, through the incarnation and atonement of his Son — that mystery of godli- ness, the disclosure of which, by the Spirit, through the prophets, in the preaching of the gospel, is the most transcendent demonstra- tion of God's wisdom ever given to his creatures ; that the being thus proved to be the only wise God is deserving, in reason and in justice, of eternal praise; that of this honour, though exclusively divine, Jesus Clirist is infinitely worthy to partake; and that it is only through him, and by virtue of his mediation, intercession, and spiritual oneness with his people, that their obligation to give glory to God can, in any sort or measure, be discharged. All this may be considered as involved in the doxology, as interpreted by the context and comparison with others. Let no one who refuses to acknowledge and embrace all this as true dare to re-echo the apostle's words; but whosoever does believe and hold these precious doctrines, let him say Amen. This act, however, is expressive of far more than a mere in- tellectual assent to the righteousness and reasonableness of ascribr ing everlasting glory to tlie only wise God. It impHes, moreover, an assent of will, nay, it expresses a desire that what reason, and THE DOXOLOGIES OF SCRIPTURE. I45 a sense of right thus recognise as due to God, should be actu not, any adequate con- ception of that debt, which, if we saw it as it is, instead of filling our mouth with arguments against God, would strike us dumb, and strike us blind, Jind strike us dead before him. In this direc- tion you are right in seeing no escape, — there is none ; you ai-e right in saying that this del)t nmst be discharged, — it must ; and that you cannot pay it, for you never, never can. If you are only partially and superficially convinced of this, you will remain where I now leave you, and continue to excuse yourself by plead- ing that your sins are inexcusable. But if you are really and thoroughly persuaded that you must and cannot pay this awful debt, the very darkness of your self-despair may give you light oi- serve to make it vi.sil)Ie ; at first a dim spark, then a faint gleam, then a glow, a flame, a blaze, and in tlie focus of that blaze you may behold, as the ancient persecutor saw, amidst the white heat of his own devouring furnace, a form hke that of the Son of God standing erect beside the way which leads you to the throne of mercy. You mu.st pass by him, or you cannot reach the footstool. Who is he that thus awaits you ? liis eye moist with pity, but his 152 OFFERED MERCY. features pallid, as one risen from tlie dead. And in his out- stretched hand the eye of faith can discern something shining, something precious, something priceless ; not the glare of gold or silver, or the sparkle of invaluable gems, but something wet with tears and stained with blood, — the blood still oozing from that stricken lieart. It is the purchase of your life, — it is the ransom of your soul; it is the price which you could never pay, — which men and angels could not have paid for you — in default of which you had resigned yourself to perish. See, he holds it out ; he presses it upon you; and the turning point is, can you reject \i1 If you can, oh, let your lips be sealed for ever from all mention of the penalty of God's law as deterring you from mercy ; for, as you plunge into the gulf of self-destruction, the last sound from above that reaches you may be the dripping of that blood, one touch of which would have sufficed to cancel your vast debt for ever. Oh, if this alone is wanting to embolden your approach to God, I say again, my hearer, " Come, for all things are now ready ! " But now, perhaps, you feel another hindrance, one of which you took but little note before. Though God be ready to forgive you for the sake of Christ's atoning sacrifice, you find a hindrance in yourself, in your heart, in your very dispositions and affections. Besides being guilty, righteously condemned, justly exposed to punishment, unable to atone for your transgressions, you are pol- luted, your very nature is corrupt, averse from good, disposed to evil. How can you come into the presence of a holy God % How can you fail to be an object of abhorrence to him ? How can you love what you detest, or find your happiness in that which is directly contradictory to all your nature 1 Here again the fact alleged is true and awful beyond your worst conceptions. There are depths, there are abysses of defilement which j'ou need not undertake to fathom, into which you cannot even look without bewilderment and sickness of spirit. If God should lift the veil which hides them, and permit the light to shine directly on them, you would be unable to endure it. Oh, look away from that heart-ronding spectacle. Here is another object to contemplate. Over against that blood-stained form which proffers ransom, what is this] A gushing spring, a flowing stream, a flood, a sea of purifying virtiie. Plunge into it, and you are cleansed already. OFFERED MERCY. 153 You come up out of its waters changed, and yet the same. Coercion is no longer needed, for your very dispositions and desires are revolutionized. Old things are passed away; all things are become new — new without and new within, new heavens and a new earth, a clean heart and a right spirit ; this is, indeed, a new creation, a new creature, a new birth, born again, born from above, born of God, — the washing of regeneration, the renewing of the Holy Ghost. Be not deterred, then, by tlie sense of what you are,, any more than by the sense of wliat you cannot do, or what you have already done. The provision of God's mercy includes this as well as every other want. A new heart is as much his gift as expiation or forgiveness. Come, then, and receive what he vouchsafes to offer. Come without reserve, without delay, for all things are now ready. But I hear you say you cannot come alone, you cannot struggle by yourself!, you cannot brave alone the thunderings and lightnings of Mount Sinai, you cannot stand with Moses on the smoking and quaking summit, — you must mingle with the multitude below. You are not even willing to be saved alone. Having followed a multitude so long to do evil, you still feel the need of communion and example, of mutual incitement and restraint. And you shall have it. You shall have it in perfection if you will but come. " .For ye are come unto IMount Zion, and unto the city of the living . God, to the general assembly and churcli of the first-born, which are written in heaven." The Church of Christ stands open to receive you, to protect you, and to nourish you. Her institutions, her examples, her worship, her ordinances, her communion, all. all are ready for you. This is a want for wliich the grace that rescues you has specially provided. You are not asked to be saved alone, though that were surely better than to perish. You may bring as many with you as you will, and you will find many entered in before you. When we bid you come, you are invited to a feast, of which many, thanks be to God, are after all partakers, and though many that are bidden make excuse or even venture to make light of it, the giver of the banquet shall be still supplied with guests ; for while the broad way that leadeth to destruction remains crowded with infatuated victims, another concourse is seen streaming from the bye- ways and the hedges to the table of the Lord, where they shall 154 OFFERED MERCV. sit down, clothed and in tlieir viglit minds, waslied and beautified, eiuiobled and refined, while many who appeai'ed to be hereditary children of the kingdom, are excluded or exclude themselves from all participation in the banquet. Of the company thus gathered and transformed you are' to form a part. The doors stand open, open to receive you; and yet there is room. If all obstructions have now vanished from without and from within, if atonement, and forgiveness, and renewal are accessible, and if the Church is 'ready to receive you into its communion of saints, what remaining jjretext for delay can be imagined 1 " Come, for all things are now ready." Do you still object that these are only temporary institutions 1 that they do not reach as far as your necessities and fears ] Do you ask. When these fxil, whither shall I go, and who shall then receive me unto everlasting habitations'? I still reply, but in a higher sense, that ye are come unto Mount Zion, to the heavenly Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of angels, and to the spirits of the just made perfect. Heaven is ready to receive you, and in that assurance all is comprehended. Whatever local and material associations you may have with heaven, they are but the veil, the hull, the casket. We use heaven to denote a state, in which place other circumstances may be comprehended, but oh, how much more ! All goodness and all blessedness. All wrong and suffering shut out for ever. Let memory and imagination do their worst in multiplying images of evil, and in calling up before the mind the forms and the occasion of distress ; then add that all these will be wanting. Give indulgence to your boldest flights and wildest dreams of happiness, apart from sin, then add that all, and infinitely more than all you can imagine, will be yours and yours for ever, without the fear or possibility of change, or loss, or diminution. Every pure wish gratified, all lofty aspirations more than realized, and what is past or present still as nothing in comparison wdth wliat is yet to come. All attemiots to heighten such an object only lower it, and leave our apprehen- sions of it less defined and satisfactory than at first. But if this inefiable condition, this negation of all evil, this perpetual fruition of the liighest good awaits yon, stands prepared for you; — then surely it may well be said to you, Come, oh come, OFFERET) MERCr. 155 for all things are now ready. Expiation, pardon, renovation, the gi-ace of the Father, the merit of the Son, the influenec of the Spirit, the Church on earth, and the Church in heaven, safety in life, peace in death, and glory through eternity, a good hope here, and an ineffable reality hereafter, — all things, all things are now ready. Will you come 1 If not, you must turn back, you must retrace your steps, and take another view of this momentous invitation. Higher we cannot rise in the conception or the presentation of in- ducements. If you must have others, they must be sought in a lower region. Let us, then, descend from this exalted point of observation whence you have surveyed the glorious things now ready to receive you, and survej'^ed them, it may be, without emotion or effect ; let us descend, and from a different position take a momentary view of certain other preparations no less real in themselves, and no less everlasting in their issues. I have already mentioned one important difference between the ideal feast and otliers, namely, that at these we may arrive too early, while at that, the only fear is, we may be too late. Another striking difference is this, that the refusal of an earthly feast involves at most the loss of some enjoyment, or at most the alienation of the giver. But in those parables of Christ, where this is the predominant image, the refusal of the feast is repre- sented as a crime, and they who would not partake of the supper are cast into outer darkness, where is weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth. The reason is obvious. The feast is a figure for salvation or deliverance from ruin. To refuse it, therefore, is to choose destruction. This must be taken into view, if we would estimate the motives here presented. AU things are ready, and in all is included more, perhaps, than you imagine. There are other things ready besides pardon, expiation, renovation, the communion of saints, and the joys of heaven. I shall mention only two. Such is the brevity of life, and such the transitory nature of the offer of salvation, that even the youngest who decides this question, may be said to decide it in the prospect of death, and on the confines of eternity. However numerous and long the years that stretch before you may appear when viewed in comparison with this world's trifling interests, tliey vanish into nothing when 156 OFFERD MEERCY. confronted with eternity. I say then to you, who even now are balancing the reasons for consenting and refusing to obey the exhortation of the text, that you are really so balancing with death immediately before you, that among the things now ready and awaiting your decision, this is one. Of some this is doubtless true, even according to your customary method of computing time. An eye endowed with supernatural perception, might detect among those youthful forms and beautiful countenances, some for whom the grave, almost without a figure, may be said to be already open. But of all, of all without exception, for the reason before given, the same thing may be affirmed, because the space which inter- venes between the fatal resolution, to reject this gracious invita- tion either finally, or till a more convenient season, and the actual close of your probation, will hereafter seem, and ought now to seem, so short and evanescent, and contemptible, that he who now rejects Clu'ist may be fairly represented as rejecting him with one foot in the grave, or with the body half submerged in the cold waters of the river of death. Whoever you may be, then, whether young or old, in sickness or in health, I tell you plainly, that among the things "now ready," and awaiting your decision, is the grave ; the grave, the cold, damp earth, is ready to receive you. If you impatiently repel this suggestion, as untimely or irrelevant, this only shows how unprepared you are to meet the fearful spectre that it raises. Even true believers may be all their lifetime subject to bondage, through fear of death, even in this restricted sense ; how much more natural and rational is such a fear in you who are imwilling to obey the invitations of the gospel. Death is the king of terrors, and however we may hate his presence, it is better to encounter it, when such encounter may be possibly of use to us, than when all hope of victory or rescue is extinguished. Look then, my hearer, with as steady and as bold an eye as your philosophy can furnish, — look into those shadowy recesses which even poetry describes to you as overhung by the funeral cypress, tenanted only by the dead, and vocal only Avith the dirge, the voice of weeping, and the solemn noises which accompany the rites of burial. Look at that silent shadow or the earth which it enshrouds, as your appointed place, your long home, and at that narrow chasm as the very bed in which your limbs are to repose, OFFERED MERCY. 157 perhaps for ages. Claim it as your own, assert your right to it, and give it place among the things now ready for you and await- iuL!: your decision. Do you say that all this is as true of one as of another, and that die you must, whether you accept or refuse the in\itation of the text % This is indeed theoretically true, but it is piactically false. Go tell the prisoner, as he enters his dark dungeon for the last night of repose before he mounts the scaffold, that his cell is no wliit darker, or his couch harder, or his chains heavier than those of his next neighbour, whose captivity expires on the morrow. Go read the countenances of the two men as they enter the same comfortless abode of crinie, each knowing that the morrow is to break his chains. To both, the filth, and darkness, and confinement may be now as nothing, but how different the reason. To the one the filth seems splendour, and the darkness light, and the confinement freedom, in the rapturous anticipation of deliverance, and as he falls asleep, he hugs the very chains that bind him, in the certainty that he shall never lie down chained again ; Avhile to the other, all these same things are absorbed and annihilated in the prospect of a doom compared with which captivity itself seems perfect freedom. Go persuade yourself that when those two men enter their dark dungeons and lie down to sleep, they are ahke in their condition ; then come back, and we will hear you say death comes alike to all, and deny that the grave's being ready to receive you is a reason which should govern your decision. Death comes alike to all ; but know, O vain man, the sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law. It is appointed unto all men once to die, and after that the judgment ; but oh, how different the case of those who can abide that judgment, and of those who cannot ; of those who die but once, and of those who die self-doomed and self-predestined to the second death. It is appointed inito all men once to die, but some die twice, some die again, some die for ever,— and if this is your doom, you may well shrink back and shudder at the grave before you, as the vestibule, the entrance to another. For, after all, it is not the terrestrial sepulchre considered in itself that I would set before you, any further than as shutting the door for ever on all choice. I look not merely into it, but through and beyond it, into that mysterious world which seems to yawn beneath it. 158 OFFERED MERCY. There, with the eye of fancy or of faith, you may see a deeper, darker, ghastlier grave, ready for your soul, and for your soul and body when again united. You may turn from this as a diseased imagination, but imagination as it is, the day is coming Avhen to some it will seem poor and weak indeed contrasted with the dread reality. The grave is ready both for body and for soul. I do not ask you to look into it, or listen to the wailings that come up from it, or breathe its sul})hurous vapours. I only ask you to believe, and to remember that the grave and the abyss are as truly ready if you will not come, as pardon, and redemption, and sanctification, and the Church, and heaven, are ready if you will come. On both sides, therefore, all things are ready. The world f bliss and the v/orld of woe spread out their motives in your sight. If you will die, death is easy, for the grave is ready both for soul and body ; it is hallowed for you both in time and in eternity. The earth, to which you must return, is open, and the narrow house already yawning to receive you, while beneath — far off in yonder shadowy world— a funeral pile begins to send up its thick smoke, and to project its lurid flames into the air. On that pile there is room enough for you, beneath it, fire enough for your destruction. Tophet is ordained of old, lie hath made it deep and large, the pile thereof is fire and much wood ; the breath of the Lord, like a stream of brimstone, doth kindle it. These are strong figures, but if such be the figures, what must be the reality 1 Whatever it be, know that it is ready for you if you will not come, and if you choose death rather than life. Aie you willing to live 1 Life is no less attainable. Your guilt, your weakness, your corrujjtion, the justice, truth, and holiness of God, are all against you where yini stand. But come, and all things that yovi need are ready for you. Come, oh come, and expiation, pardon, renovation, the Church on earth, and the Church in heaven ; all things are rmdy, " All things are i/uurs, Avhether Paul, or ApoUos, or Cephas, or the world, or life, or death, or things present, or things to come, all are yours, and yc are Christ's, and Christ is God's." xir. ■ Cfe^ ll^alincj of tljc nations. " The rich ami poor meet together; the Lord is the maker of them all." -. Piiov. xxii. 2. THIS is a proverb, and must be explained according to the prin- ciples and usages of proverbial language. An essential characteristic of this language is its condensation and the preg- nancy of its expressions, whicli often imply more than the same word would in continuous composition, where there is not the same effort to concentrate much thought in a few words. This peculiarity is common, however, to the popular or practical proverb and the scientific aphorism. The difference between them is, that while the latter affects abstract and generic terms, the former shuns them, and delights to clothe its lessons of wisdom in the dialect of common life, from which its substance is in fact derived ■ — the genuine proverb being a summary expression of the result of long experience. The same extent and fulness of meaning, which is given to the philosophical maxim by the use of compre- hensive terms, is no less certainly secured in the case of the popular maxim by a means directly opposite — namely, the exhibi- tion of particular examples to represent whole classes. The specific terms employed in this way are sometimes figurative, and even symbolical ; but, in a multitude of cases, they are to be literally understood, with due regard, however, to their representa- tive design as specimens or samples. Of this kind of expression we have two instances in the case before us, both clauses of the verse being highly specific in their strict immediate import, yet both generic in tlie whole sense which they were intended to convey. " Rich " and " poor," are terms properly descriptive of a single and familiar difference of 160 THE HE A LI NO OF THE NATIONS. external condition. Yet here, as in common parlance, there can be no doubt that they are put for social inequalities in general. And this interpretation is the more admissible, because the dis- tinction which the words immediately denote is not only one of the most universal and most palpable, but also one which, to a 5 great extent, determines all the rest. Knowledge and ignorance, ' i grossness and refinement, power and weakness, are, as a general >§;^^ fact, dependent upon wealth or poverty, tliat is, upon the want ^ or the possession of the comforts and necessities of life without "^ the necessity of constant and engrossing labour to obtain them. It is true that the advantage of refinement and of knowledge may be often found upon the side of poverty. It is also true, not only in the case of individual exceptions, but as a general fact, that they who become suddenly possessed of wealth, or who acquire it slowly by their own exertions, may be signally destitute of that elevation and improvement which is often found accoin- panjdng scanty means and humble station. But these are only apparent exceptions to a general rule, which they really illustrate and confirm. In all such cases, wealth and poverty have not had time to operate the change which they naturally tend to produce, and what appears to be concomitant of either, is in fact the fruit of an opposite condition which vicissitude has not yet succeeded in destroying. The vulgarity and ignorance of some who have recently become rich, are not the effects of their new condition, ' but the exuviae of their old one ; and the opposite qualities of some who are struggling for subsistence, bear witness to the pre- vious possession of advantages now lost. And even in the case of those who have obtained an education and experienced its refining influence, without any such vicissitude of fortune, it is plain that this could only be made possible by something, whether it be personal exertion or the aid of otliers, which exempted them so far and so long from the usual disadvantages of poverty, as to put them in possession of advantages naturally belonging to an opposite condition. There is nothing arbitrary or capricious, there- fore, in the usage both of common parlance and proverbial diction, which puts " rich " and " poor," or " poverty and wealth," for all the inequalities of social condition. Another example of the same thing is presented in the other THE HE A LINO OF THE XA TIONS. 161 clause, which, in its strictest sense, appears to relate only to the Ifact of creation, or the character of God as the creator of all men mthout exception. But the analogy of the first clause, and the general usage of proverbial language, fully justify us in supposing that this one relation between God and man is put for all the rest, (the rather as in this case the related things are really inseparable, and not merely similar, as in the otlier. The various distinctions iamong men, as we have seen, are I'Ot necessarily or invariable- coincident. Riches and knowledge, poverty and rudeness, do not [always go together. But the Being who created us must of neces- sity be also our preserver, our sovereign, our legislator, our judge, and, if we are redeemed, our Saviour. The possession of creative power implies the rest. To say that "the Lord is the maker of jthem all," is therefore equivalent to saying that " they have one pod," or sustain a common relation to him, with all the fulness and rariety of meaning, which the clearness of the gospel revelation now enables us to put upon tliese otherwise indefinite expressions. The affirmation of the first clause, that the classes thero described * meet together," may be best explained by reference to another characteristic feature of proverbial language, namely, its anti- :;hetic form. Besides the parallel construction so familiar to the Hebrew writers generally, there is a pointed opposition, both of thoughts and words, particularly frequent in the Book of Proverbs. : )f this usage we have also more than one example in the case before us. Besides the obvious antithesis between the " rich " md "poor," there are two others not less real, because residing ■ather in tlie thought than the expression. In the first place, ;here is an imijlied comparison or contrast lietvveen human and iivine, or temporal and eternal relations ; between those which nen sustain to one another, and those which they sustain to God. [n the first point of view, they are described as rich and poor, but ,n the second, as the creatures of one maker. Under one of these jispects, there is variety — under the other, sameness. As members af human society, men are unequal ; as creatures of God, they are dike. This, though really a mere variation of the one already stated, may with critical precision be regarded as a third anti- |;hesis — namely, that between the inequality of men in one respect, ind their equality in another. 11 162 THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. This view of the structure of the sentence will assist us in , determining the sense of the expression, that "the rich and poor meet together" by showing that it does not mean, as some suppose, that both are mingled in society, that they oppose or encounter one another, or as others understand it, they ought to have more intercourse, for neither of these perfects the antithesis ; but rather that they are alike, that with all their differences there is still something common to both, that with all their alienation and remoteness as to some points, there is one, after all, in which they " meet together." But what is this common ground, this point of contact and agi'eement 1 Not the bare fact of a common origin, for in this way all things may be equalized, and therefore the assertion of equality would be unmeaning. Not the fact that God has made men to be absolutely equal, for in this sense the assertion, although not \\\\- meaning, would be false, and proved so both by reason and ex- perience. We know that men are made extremely unlike in their capacities and susceptibilities ; we know still more certainly that their condition is diversified by providence, beyond all variations for which they are held responsible; and we have reason to believe that there will be as great a difference in heaven and in hell as upon earth, not, indeed, with respect to essential moral qualities, but as to the degree in which the same essential qualities will be possessed, and the amount of suffering and enjoyment by which they wiU be punished or rewarded. The point of contact and assimilation, then, is not an absolute identity of character or same- ness of condition, but participation in a certain good common to both, and independent of external qualities. And as these latter are com- monly regarded, at least by one part of mankind, as evils, and are recognised as such by the word of God itself, the substance of the whole when stripped of its proverbial form may be thus stated, — • that the true corrective of all social inequalities, so far as they are evil, must be furnished, not by human institutions and arrange- ments, but derived from a higher and an independent source. In other words, the only practicable efficacious remedy for social evils of the kind in question, is and must be a religious one, that is, one founded, not in mere prudential changes of man's mutual rela-^ tions, but in their common relation to their common God, whether THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. 163 considered as tlieir master and preserver, as their sovereign and their judge, or as their saviour and redeemer. In further prosecution of tlie subject, it may not be unprofitable to consider how and why the religion of the Bible is adapted to exert this influence ; and that inquiry, in its turn, will be facili- tated by a brief enumeration of some other means, to which men have confidently looked, and are still looking, for the practical solution of the same great problem. These may, with reference to our present purpose, be reduced to three. The first is the idea of obliterating social inequalities by a coercive distribution of all pro- perty. This method is condemned by its violent injustice, by its doing evil that good may come. It is condemned by the unworthi ness and meanness of its aims, by its assuming as the most essential element of human happiness, the very thing which may most easily be dispensed with, if the other conditions of well-being are fulfilled. It is further condemned by the hypocrisy of his professions, as betrayed in every case where there has been an opportunity of trial, by the tendency then manifested, not to extirpate social inequahties, but simply to reverse them; not to substitute uni- versal com])etence and comfort for the actual extremes of poverty and wealth, but by revolutionary and revengeful process, to make the poor rich by making the rich poor. And even if it were ex- empt from all these fatal errors and defects, it would still be con- demned, as a practical expedient for removing evils actually felt, by the proved impossibility of carrying it into execution without sacrificing tlie very ends which it engages to accomplish. No municipal contrivances or constitutional provisions can repeal or thwart the providential law, by which variety of outward condi- tion, no less than of character, is recognised, not only as an incidental evil, but as a necessaiy means to the attainment of the divine purpose, as with respect to man's condition in the present life, or at least in the present state of things. The remarkable provisions of the law of Moses for the relief and sustentation of the poor, are accompanied by the no less remark- able declaration that the poor shall not cease out of the land. If this providential arrangement was intended for the moral discipline of God's ancient people, it is hard to perceive wliy it should be dis- 164 THE HEALING OF THE NATIOXS, continued now, when every reason for it still exists in full force in the human heart, and in the structure of society ; and when we see around us most conclusive evidence that neither Christianity, nor civilization, nor political contrivance has succeeded in abohsh- ing the old distinction upon which the Mosaic institutions rest. In what sense the community of goods prevailing in the apostolic Church is to be understood, and how far in the sense which is often put upon it, it affords a type of the future condition of society in this world, when the power of injustice and of selfishness shall yield to that of equity and kindness, as the governing motives in the mass of men, may be still regarded as unsettled questions. But judging the future by the past, and by the probable design for which the world still stands, we have certainly strong reason to regard it as a prophecy still valid, that the poor shall not cease out of the land. Another remedy, less violent, irrational, and chimerical, but still inadequate, is that which aims at the removal of the evil, by securing an equality of civil rights, in spite of personal and social disadvantages. So far as this means has the negative effect of hindering oppression, and delivering the weak from the encroach- ments of the strong, it is a priceless blessing and a noble contri- bution to the sum of human happiness. But when it is considered as a positive means of rendering men actually equal, and correct- ing the effects of providential inequalities, it is as worthless as the other. The poor man's right to vote, or in any other way to con- trol the power under which he lives, on equal terms with his rich neighbour, may be preventive of a thousand other evils, but it no more suffices of itself to put him on a level with his neighbour, as to knowledge, or refinement, or intelligence, or character, than an agrarian division of all property. It may be said, indeed, and said with truth, that this political equality permits the poor • man to aspire to the possession of advantages from which he would be utterly shut out if living under an arbitrary or despotic system. But here, again, the advantage is not positive, but negative, consisting in the removal of obstructions and impediments, but not of itself, and necessarily, affording either strength or stinudus, to positive improvement. The difference is like that between a starving prisoner and one who starves at liberty for want of work, THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. 165 or want of strength, or want of inclination to employ it. In the absence of these personal disqualifications, freedom from all restraint is certainly a vast advantage, but of what use is it when these other difficulties all exist? of no more than the negative security afforded by political equality, when those enjoying it are endlessly distinguished from each other in capacity, improvement, character, and disposition. They are safe from the oppression of their neighbours, but it may be only to oppress themselves. Far superior to either of these schemes is that which seeks to remedy the evil by means of intellectual increase of knowledge and refinement of taste. Unlike the first, its aim is nobler, good in itself and wholesome in its influence, and this end it seeks to reach without injustice, without violence. Unlike the second, its effect, when realized, is not merely negative, but positive. It not only makes imjirovement possible, but actually produces it. The objection to this intellectual remedy, when applied alone, is that its influence, though positive and real, is not necessarily or wholly good. It strengthens, but the strength which it imparts may be used for evil as well as good. It gives a capacity for higher enjoy- ments than those of sense, but it may create the desire without affording anything to feed it; it may render lower objects distaste- ful, without really exchanging them for higher. Mere cultivation of the understanding, taste, and sensibilities, may be carried so far as entirely to disqualify the subject for lus actual condition with- out opening before him any other. If the existence of the mass of men were limited to this life, such refinement would be still more undesirable, because it would unfit them for the only world in which tliey are to live. It would be like the laboribus and expensive education of a man for professional or literary labour, who is doomed for life to tlie drudgery of mechanical employment. The same expense and intellectual exertion would be nothing if it were preparatory to a corresponding period and field of labour, but extreme intellectual refinement is not only useless as a prepa- ration for hard labour, but positively hurtful, by directly tending to unfit the person for the .sphere in which he is compelled to move. Now instruction, such as social reformers commonly rely upon to revolutionize society, restricts its views and those of its disciples to the present life, while at the same time it directly 166 THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. tends to make its actual duties and enjoyments more or less dis- tasteful. So far, then, as it operates at all on social inequalities, it aggravates instead of healing them, by tending to make all, as far as possible, alike in taste and capacity, but leaving them as unlike as ever with respect to their actual condition and enjoy- ment. If some men after all must be rich, and others poor, some laborious and some idle, is it not better upon mere utilitarian and worldly principles, that their habits and their tastes should cor- respond to these diversities, than that all should desire and relish the same objects, while the objects are attainable by only some 1 Even this imperfect view of the principal attempts which have been made to remedy the real or imaginary evils of external inequality, may aid us in our subsequent inquiry, how religion, or the Christian system, undertakes to accomplish the same end, or what advantages experience has shown it to possess over every sujjplementary or rival system. This, as being the immediate subject of consideration, must of coui'se be exhibited in more detail than either of the methods which have been described already. The first particiilar to which I would invite your attention, is the fact that Christianity distinctly recognises the existence and necessity of some providential inequalities in the external situation of mankind. It is characteristic of the Bible that it does not address itself to an ideal class of readers, but has reference through- out to the world as it is, and to the actual condition of mankind. This is the more remarkable because its standard of moral perfec- tion is so high, and its demands upon the race so large. It neither keeps out of view the corruption of our nature on the one hand, nor consigns us to it without hope upon the other. It neither exalts earth to heaven, nor debases heaven to earth. It places us in sight of the one, but in the midst of the other. In short, the Bible is as far as possible from that cheap and expeditious mode of remedying social evils which begins by denying their existence. The picture which it gives of human character and condition, is one drawn from the life with terrible exactness, and may be recog- nised in any country and in any age. The evils which it repre- sents as calling for a remedy, are not ideal, but precisely those THE JI BALING OF THE NATIONS. 167 which all men feel and know in their experience to be real. This creates a strong presumption that the remedies themselves will be adapted to their end, and that a book which so faithfully describes a thing to be done, may be safely relied on when it tells us how to do it. Let it also be observed, that the Bible differs from human systems of reform, by recognising not only the existence of these inequalities, but their injurious effects, so f^ir as they are real ; yet far from representing them as irremediable, it provides, as we shall see, the only practicable and effective remedy, consisting not in any one specific nostrum, but in a series and combination of corrective influences, each of which gives power and effect to all the rest, and none of which can therefoi-e either be dispensed with or relied upon exclusively. The first of these remedial effects is, the direct mitigation of the evils in question by the change wrought in the tempers and affections of the parties, so far as they are brought imder the influence of gospel truth. In this way, the tendency of wealth to foster pride, and of privation to breed discontent, is counteracted and controlled, and thus the chasm which divides the two condi- tions meets with a double diminution. The hardships of the poor are greatly aggravated in their apprehension, by the luxurious abuse of wealth which they are forced to witness or too ready to imagine ; wliile, on the other hand, the proud contempt of the rich and prosperous is embittered by the real or imputed thank- lessness and insubordination of the humbler classes. So far is a mere equality of civil rights from rectifying these unhappy mutual relations, that it rather seems to render them still more unfriendly, as appears from the unquestionable fact, that under our free in- stitutions, wherever these distinctions have a well-defined exist- ence and are brought into collision, it is with a deeper feeling of inveterate hostility than in those countries where there is actual experience of oppression, but less intelligence or less freedom of utterance on the part of those who suffer wrong. The conscious- ness of independence and of equal rights, instead of soothing the repugnance to distinctions of another kind, beyond the reach of constitutions and the ballot-box, necessarily exasperates it where it is already felt, and may, perhaps, tend to produce it where it is not 168 THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. Now the gospel operates upon tlie same materials in a very different manner and with very different results. Instead of recon- ciling men to one kind of inferiority or disadvantage by abolishing another which has no connection with it, Christianity applies its alterative remedies directly to the part diseased, subdues the pride from which revenge and discontent invariably flow, creates a gene- ral and habitual disposition to forbearance, and a modest estimate of self. How % Not by philosophical abstractions, but by con- vincing men of sin, and prompting them to accept of a gratuitous salvation. However imperfect these effects may be, they are pro- duced ; and just so far as they are realized in any man's expe- rience, just so far do they tend to heal the breaches in society ])roduced by providential inequalities. He who heartily believes himself to be a miserable sinner justly condemned, and entirely dependent upon sovereign mercy for salvation, must and will, in some direct proportion to the strength of these convictions, lower his demands upon his fellow-men, and rise in his demands upon himself. If rich, he will, to some extent, grow liberal ; if poor, contented ; and if either, thankful. For another thing observable in this whole process of correcting social evils by the positive influence of true religion, not of ortho- doxy merely, but of enlightened spiritual piety, is this : that while it recognises these invidiou.s distinctions as existing, and in some degree inseparable from the mixed condition of society in this world, it attaches to the various degrees of wealth, refinement, knowledge, influence, and leisure, their corresponding measures of responsibility. The gospel, when it operates upon the rich man's heart, does not force him to impoverish himself, but it constrains him to discharge the obligations by which wealth is accompanied. It does not necessarily make the rich man poor, but so far as it operates at all, it always makes him do the duties of a rich man ; just as in the other case, it often leaves the poor man poor, or makes him poorer, but it iiever fails to make him feel that God requires of poverty contentment, and submission, and frugality, as truly as he calls the rich to Christian liberality. And so of igno- rance and knowledge, jjublic station and obscurity, and all the other contrasts and antitheses of our social condition. It is not, however, by mere stress of conscience, or a painful THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. 169 sense of obligation, much less by a slavish dread of punishment, that true religion exercises this corrective influence. Siich a con- viction by itself would only make the evil fester in concealment, ■while the conscience thus enlightened makes the way of duty plain, the renewed affections move spontaneously along it, so that the rich and poor, the strong and weak, not only own it to be right that they should severally bear and forbear, and sustain each other's burdens, but are inclined to do it by as nati;ral a move- ment as they were once inclined to reciprocal envy and contempt. This is the first step in the grand remedial process which the Christian religion is even now applying to the evils of social inequality. It makes each party, at least to some extent, con- tented with his actual condition, aware of its peculiar obligations, and spontaneously disposed to discharge them ; while by thus removing or diminishing on each side what is chiefly provocative of envy or contempt upon the other, it not only makes each better in itself, but draws them nearer to each other. Now all this — and it is mvich — might be experienced, though all the original dif- ference in point of wealth, or knowledge, or refinement, still subsisted in full force ; because the salutary change is in the moral sensibilities, disposing them to overlook disparities in cul- ture and condition, and does not consist in the removal or material diminution of the disparities themselves. But, in the next place, Christianity contributes to this great change in the very way Avhich I have just excluded from the first stage of the process. That is to say, after making men willing to regard with charity and even complacency those far above or beh)w themselves upon the scale of intellectual improvement and of social cultivation, the gospel brings them nearer to each other upon that scale too — first disposes them to mutual benevolence while far apart, and then diminishes the interval between them, not by equalizing property, or biinging all parts of society to one dead level, but by giving to each rank or class, or whatever else you please to call it, a high degree of relative refinement, that is, of refinement suited to the actual position, and conducive to the right discharge of its peculiar duties. Here is a grand mistake of every other system for the elevation of what must be called, even among us, the lower classes of society — that they aim at an abso- 170 THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. lute and uniform amount of cultivation, having reference to some arbitrary standard, whereas Christianity gives eacli class what is best for it, and most conducive to its harmony with every other. The kind of cultivation which some would bestow upon the poor, could only serve to render them ridiculous, while that which Christianity really imparts to them tends, on the contrary, to dignify and elevate. However it may be explained, the fact is certain that the gospel has, in some parts of the world, given even to the peasantry a species of refinement which no other means has been able to effect without it, even under the most favourable cir- cumstances. Compare what the arts and the artistical attractions of the Romish faith have done for Italy, with what an austere Calvinism has done both for the Celtic and the Saxon race of Scotland. While in the one case the eye and the ear may have been trained, and picturesque attitudes and costumes rendered almost universal even among beggars ; in the other case, a poor, laborious population has been raised to a pitch of intelligence and real cultivation, which the best advantages of education often fail to produce among ourselves. This is the other part of the great creative and healing process by which the gospel is continually bringing the discordant elements of society together, and correcting the evils which would other- wise result from providential inequalities. By a process of moral elevation men are first taught to surmount the disadvantages arising from this cause, and then by one of intellectual elevation the operation of the cause itself is circumscribed and weakened, till in some cases it appears to be destroyed; and in all cases the result of this twofold influence exerted on the mind and heart directly by religion is a manifest reduction of the difference be- tween the various classes of society arising from diversity of out- ward circumstances and position. That diversity may still continue and be formally as great as ever, but the evils flowing ■ from it will be neutralized exactly in proportion to the action of the cause described. If, in what has now been said, too much should seem to be ascribed to religion in the abstract or the general, without regard to precise forms and systems of belief, this has arisen from two causes — one of which is, that even the most diluted form of Christianity, THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. 171 on one hand, or its most corrupted form, upon the other, will be found more efficacious for the cure of social maladies, and more especially the healing of these alienations whicli we are consider- ing, than any system of means which philosophers or politicians can devise without involving the assistance of religion. The other reason is, that general terms have been used for brevity, where more specific ones would really have made the case still stronger. For it is not more certain or susceptible of proof that religion is more potent in this matter than any other principle, and Chris- tianity more efficacious than all other systems of religion put to- gether, than it is that among the various forms of Christianity itself. The highest influence of this kind has been ever exerted by the doctrines of grace, or what we are accustomed to distinguish by the name of evangelical religion. This is no vain boast in behalf of what we hold to be the present form of Christianity. The fact itself is a matter of history, and its causes easily explained. If a graduated scale could be constructed, showing the degrees in which the national intelligence and character have been visibly affected by the direct influence of reUgion on the masses of the people and the evils of social inequality thereby corrected, there can be no doubt that wliile the weakest influence of this kind would be found to have proceeded from the Romish and Oriental forms of Christianity, or from the most diluted systems of Socinian or deistical neology, where these have been allowed to act, not merely on the educated classes, or on very small communities, but on a large extent of population, the highest measures of the same effect must be ascribed to what its enemies delight to brand as Cahdnism, even where it has been mingled and diluted, as in Holland or New England, and the highest of all, precisely where its purity and vigour have been least abated, as in Scotland. If a direct comparison is wanted, let it be furnished by the Scotch and Irish peasantry — the two most signal instances in his- tory of whole nations brought almost entirely under the control of certain systems of belief and certain spiritual leaders, yet how diflerent the moral, intellectual, and social fruits of these contigu- ous experiments ! The very evils which in one case have almost disappeared from the surface, if not from the interior of society, are even now menacinir the other with terrific revelation, 1 have 172 THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. said, too, that the cause of this notorious difference is easily- assigned, I mean a cause residing in the very nature of the several systems. It is the combination of the doctrines of individual re- sponsibility and private judgment with those of human corruption and gratuitous salvation that has produced the grand elixir to which Scotland owes her healthful social state; and as the lower degrees of the same influence are found to correspond to less de- grees of purity and reform in the maintenance of these same doc- trines, it may safely be affirmed, as a lesson even of experience, that this system of belief is demonstrably the best adapted to exert a purifying, healing influence on human society, and thereby to correct the evils flowing from the unavoidable diversities and outward situation and degrees of intellectual improvement, or, in other words, that it aff"ords the safest and the best ground upon which " the rich and poor" may "meet together " and acknowledge that '- the Lord is the maker of them all." If these views be correct, they throw a welcome light on a sub- ject of great practical importance — I mean the necessity of popular religious education, not only as the means of jDersonal improve- ment and salvation, but also as the grand corrective and perhaps the sovereign cure of the disorders which now prey upon society and "eat as doth a canker." It is not enough to believe that religious knowledge is a good thing for religious purposes, and that it even may supply the want of other knowledge and of gene- ral cultivation where these last are unattainable. We are bound to believe, because experience leaves no room to doubt, that reli- gious education has a social and secular as well as an exclusively religious use ; and that it is not merely a good thing, but the good thing, the very thing, the only thing by which the masses of man- kind can be extensively and healthfully affected, so that if, with reference to them, we were allowed to choose between a general intellectual refinement and complete religious training, considered simply as two rival means of social improvement and conciliation, we should still be bound to choose the latter, and to send it roll- ing as a mighty flood throughout the earth " for the healing of the nations." The other point which these considerations serve to set in a clear light is the importance of the ministerial oflice, in its relation THE HEALING OF THE NATIONS. I73 to society at large, as the administrator of this reconciling, elevat- ing, purifying system. It has been said of the English clergy that they belong to all ranks in society, enjoying free access to each, without thereby forfeiting the confidence of any. Of mini- sters, even among us, the same thing may be said, or rather that they properly belong to no class, because their authority and influ- ence are not dependent upon human usages or institutions, but ou God's appointment and God's blessing. Let those who seek the office bear in mind, then, that, in more than one sense, they are called or will be called to dispense " the word of reconciliation," first, by reconciling men to God, and then by reconciling man to man — healing the breaches and divisions of society, and rendering the evils which they generate as few and harmless as they can. This noble end is not to be promoted by a partial and exclusive self-devotion either to the higher or the lower ranks, by making common cause, as some do, either with the rich against the poor, or with the poor against the rich, but by endeavouring to bring the truth and power of God to bear upon the adverse parties with a moderating, elevating, and uniting influence, and thus preparing all, by nmtual forbearance and assimilation, for that better country and those better times when these invidious distinctions shall no longer be remembered, but "the rich and i^oor" shall finally and fur ever meet together in the presence of that God who " is the maker of them all." XIII. gtcrtn imtr Judgment. "Behold therefore the goodness and severity of God : on them which fell, seve- rity ; but toward thee, goodness, if thou continue in his goodness ; otherwise, thou also shalt be cut otf." — Romans xi. 22. THERE is sometliing sublime in the constancy of nature. We derive thence our strongest impressions of stability and uni- formity. This association has become proverbial in many lan- guages. It is also recognised in Scripture, and in the dialect of common life. But there is another side to this grand picture. The changes of nature are sublime too. Some of these are rare and even recondite. Such as occultations and eclipses. Some are familiar to men in certain situations. Such are the ebb and flow of tides ; still more the changes in the surface of the ocean. When calm, it seems immovable ; when roused, incapable of rest. Thus it furnishes the most vivid types of life and death. He who sees it in both states, might almost question the identity of the object. But these sights multitudes have never seen. There are other instances of change more universal. Who has not seen the cloud- less sky ? Who has not seen it overcast 1 What contrast can be more complete than that between a bright and lowering day 1 What more unlike than their effect upon the senses, the imagina- tion, and the nervous sensibilities 1 But this is an occasional and fitful alternation, which cannot be computed or foreseen, at least in our climate. There are others, and these the most familiar, which are absolutely uniform, and from which our ideas of regu- larity and constancy are chiefly borrowed. Such are the vicissi- tudes of day and night, and the stated revolution of the seasons. As to all these, our earliest impressions may be those of diffe- rent objects. To the child, j)erhaps, the dark and clear sky may J MERCY AND JUDGMENT. 175 have no identity ; the smooth and rough sea may be diiJ'erent oceans ; the world by day, and the world by night, distinct parts of the universe. Then when we learn to speculate and reason, we may verge towards the opposite extreme. We may suspect our- selves of some illusion, and conclude, not only that the object is the same, but that its changes are imaginary. The truth lies be- tween these two extremes. All this may be used to illustrate spiritual things. Whoever seriously contemplates God, is startled by apparent inconsistencies. While we gaze at the clear sky it is overcast ; or at the serene ocean it begins to lash itself ; or at the sunset, it merges into twi- light, and that into darkness. We fasten upon some view of the divine nature and become absorbed in it, till it is intercepted by another in a kind of occultation or eclipse. The first effect may be like that of natural changes on the child ; we refuse to identify the object. This is perhaps the source of polytheism. Unable to reconcile the various phases of the divine nature, men regard them as appearances of different objects. Philosophical abstraction goes to the opposite extreme, and identifies the attributes as well as the subject in which they inhere. Thus we are told that wrath and love, justice and mercy, are the same thing. But from this, common sense and natural feeling alike revolt. We rest at last in the conclusion, that what we behold are consistent because co- existent manifestations of one and the same substance. When Israel first saw the cloudy pillar growing luminous at night, he might have thought it was another ; when convinced of his mistake, he might have suspected some illusion of the senses; but a little experience must have satisfied him that both these con- clusions were erroneous, — that the Lord his God was one Lord, and that this one Lord did go before him in a pillar of cloud by day, and a pillar of fire by night. Especially must they have been convinced of this in that night, long to be remembered, when the Lord looked out in the morning-watch upon the host of the Egyptians, through the pillar of fire and of cloud, and troubled the host of the Egyptians (Exod. xiv. 24) ; when the angel of the Lord which went before the camp of Israel, removed and went be- hind them, and the pillar of cloud went from before their face and stood behind them, and came between the camp of the Egyptians 176 MERCY AND JUDGMENT. and the camp of Israel, and was a cloud of darkness to them, and gave light by night to these. Some — however we may speculate at ordinary times — may be brought into circumstances where it is equally impossible to doubt, that the wrath of God is something very different from his love, and yet that the justice which we dread, and the mercy we invoke, are co-existent and harmonious characters of one and the same God, " glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders" (Exod. xv. 11). This is still more striking when historically viewed in the actual exercise of those great attributes which seemed at first to be in conflict. To one such example Paul has reference in the text. The Jews had been chosen from among the nations, and made the depository of an exclusive revelation, not for ever, but a time ; not for their own sakes, but for that of men in general. But as a race they proved unfaithful to their trust. The honour which belonged to God, they arrogated to themselves. The salvation given to the world they desired and hoped to monopolize. Hence they were cut off from the Church and deprived of their national pre-emi- nence, Avhile the despised Gentiles, whom they looked upon as hopelessly rejected, took their place. This the apostle finely em- bodies in the figure of an olive-tree deprived of its own branches, while those of a wild olive-tree are grafted in. In reference to this stupendous change, he exhorts the favoured Gentiles both to thankfulness and fear. " Behold the goodness and severity of God ; on them," &c., plainly implying that still further change was pos- sible, and that they who had so strangely exchanged places might again be restored to their original position, and so gave occasion to a new application of the same solemn words, " Behold therefore the goodness and severity of God." In fact, this formula admits of an extensive application to the history of God's dispensations towards his rational and moral creatures, and it is in this wide view of it that I have selected it as the subject of discom-se. We may even go back to the age before the world began, and view the relation of Jews and Gentiles as a mere ype of that between men and fallen angels. It is a fearful truth, of which we have mere glimpses in the Bible, that a portion of those unhappy spirits who surrounded the divine throne in the highest heavens, fell by their own sin to the lowest MEi:CY AXD JUDGMENT. I77 hell, and that the same God whose goodness crowred their first estate with glory, stamped the last with the indelibl '\ impress of his wrath. As his goodness had been boundless, so his justice was inflexible. What a lesson to those who kept their first estate !' how plainly does this dispensation say to them, "Behold, there- fore, the goodness and. severity of God ! " But the same contrast soon presents itself again. Man is created, made a little lower than the angels, in the image of God, with dominion over the inferior creation, holy and happy, yet capable of falling. What a spectacle to angels both in heaveji and hell. What an object to the malignant ambition of the latter to destroy man too ; thus dishonouring God, and extending the reign of sin and death ; they are allowed access to the new crea- ture, in the paradise where danger seemed unknown and sin impossible ; yet God had warned them by a prohibition of the possibility of evil. That possibility is too soon realized. Seduced by one already fallen, man falls too. It might have been imagined that a divine fondness for this new creation would have stayed the exercise of justice. Higher intelligences may be conceived as waiting in suspense for the decision of this cpiestion ; half-hoping that the sky would still remain serene, the ocean of divine love still at rest, the garden of Eden in the bloom of a perpetual spring. But see, no sooner is the sin committed, than the spotless purity of God is vindicated ; the heavens become black, and seem to meet the ocean as it rises in its wrath, and mingles its tem- pestuous murmurs with the thunderings from above, while every flower in paradise seems blighted in a moment ; all its verdure withers, and a dreary winter overspreads the earth. The change is fearful, but it teaches us a glorious truth, that God is holy, just, and true ; that he is not mocked, and that he cannot deny himself. To the spirits yet unfallen, this new demonstration seems to say again, " Behold, therefore, the goodness and severity of God!" In the first of these cases there is no vicissitude to be e :pected. " The angels who kept not their first estate, but left th ir own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains, under darkness, unto the judgmejit of the great day" (Jude 6). There is no re- grafting of excluded boughs into the heavenly olive-tree ; the.\- 178 MERCY AND JUDGMENT. are not only " withered and without fruit, " but " twice dead, plucked up by the roots" {Jude 12), whose end, whose only end, is to be burned. From this hopeless prospect, let us turn to that of our own race, and consider the illustration of the same great truth afforded by its history, or rather that of God's most gracious dispensations towards it ; seeking the necessary contrast, not in the comparative condition of men and devils, but in the vicissitudes presented by the case of man alone. There could not be a stronger exhibition of God's goodness, than in man's creation and original condition. He was made not only hap[)y, but holy. His physical, intel- lectual, and moral state were all exalted, and yet all susceptible of further exaltation ; he was in innnediate contact and communion with the source and sum of all conceivable perfection. Beyond this our conceptions of Gt)d's g(X)dness could not rise, but for the new disclosures which we meet with afterwards. True, man was put upon his trial, and that not only for himself, but for his children. But how could this detract from the divine goodness in the case of one created holy, and with nothing to complain of or desire, as wanting to his happiness 1 The very test prescribed illustrates the divine goodness. What seems to be its arbitrary character was all in favour of ol^edience, and therefore illustrative of the divine goodness ; while in the same proportion it must vin- dicate the justice which inexorably punished the transgression. Every stroke in the jjicture of man's pristine happiness sets out in more prominent relief God's subsequent severity, not as con- flicting opposites, but as the lights and shades of the same picture. Whatever selfish or morlnd feeling might desire in an ideal case, the severity of the divine dispensations, when man fell, is as per- pectly accordant with our highest conceptions of the divine nature, as the previous exhibition of transcendent goodness. We might not be able to obtain this view by any unassisted use of our own faculties, but when presented, it approves itself to reason, con- science, and afiection ; we not only feel that such severity towards sin is reconcilable with w'hat we know of God, but that without it, we could not now be satisfied ; the very goodness which con- founded sin with holiness in indiscriminate indulgence, would jio longer seem to be goodness, or at best the goodness uf inferior' MERCY AND JUDGMENT. 179 natures, not the perfect goodness of a perfect God. The subse- quent severity, instead of marring what precedes, throws back a new and gk)rious light upon it. Once convinced that the severity and goodness are tlie attributes of one and the same substance, we are forced to admit that they enhance each other, and even if the history of man stopped here, Ave should be forced to own that in its darkened mirror the divine jjerfections were resplendent, and to cry out in the language, not of cavil or complaint, but of profound adoration, " Behold the goodness and severity of God ! " But thanks be to God, the history of man does not stop here. The dismal scene which we have just surveyed is but the entrance to a new and strange spectacle. As we gaze upon the darkness into which our race was plunged by the great original apostasy, like men who gaze by night upon the troubled sea, beneath which some great fleet has just gone down, the day begins to dawn, light breaks upon the surface of those heaving Avaters, and reveals to us, at fii=st the yawning gulf still open, into which the victims have descended, but the next moment, by a strange departure from the laws of nature, we behold them re-appear, or at least .some of them, many of them ; the abyss disgorges its devoured pi'cy, and the ascending sun illuminates the luiexpected spectacle of life from the dead ; mercy triumphant over justice. Yes, the scene has again been shifted, or to use a figure worthier of the sulyect, the unchanging orb of the divine perfections has again revolved, and as we watch its revolutions, we recognise with joy the phase of mercy, the same pure light which shone on paradise, but heightened by the contrast of the intervening Avrath, and mellowed by the memory of sin and sorrow, lately born into this lower Avorld. This re-appearance of the divine goodness, when it seemed to have been sAvallowed up in wrath for ever, may be likened to the rising of the sun in the Avest, still dyed Avith crimson by his setting ; to the substitution of a fresh dawn for an evening twilight, and the prospect of a ncAv day, Avheji a long night seemed inevi- table. As such a change in tlie order Avould aftect our senses and habitual associations, so our hearts and consciences Avould be aflected by a clear, full view of this astonishing vicissitude. Tluit God, after all his lavish kindness to the first man, should requite 1'80 MERCY AXD JUDGMENT. Ms first offence with such severity might seem surprising, till explained by a correct view of the divine holiness and justice as essential to his very being; but that surprise, even in its first tinrectified indulgence, could be nothing to the fresh surprise of men and angels at the first announcement of deliverance — salvation, not from suffering only, but from sin itself; not temporary, but eternal ; not capriciously or arbitrarily bestowed, but rendered pos- sible, and actually purcha.setl, by the humiliation of the Deity himself, the incarnation of the co-essential and co-equal Son, — his subjection and obedience to the law which man had broken, his endurance of the penalty which man had incurred, his -substitution for the actual offence, his complete satisfaction to the divine justice, his life, his death, for such an end as this, showing the turpitude of sin in the very act of expiating it, and the utterness and hopelessness of our ruin in the very act of retrieving it — oh ! if this is not goodness, where shall it be foimd ? or how shall we conceive of it 1 If this is not transcendent, perfect, heavenly, godlike goodness, let the word be hushed up, and the thought forgotten. Look, though it be but for a moment, at the cross, and Him who hangs upon it, and while in breathless silence you count the drops of more than human or angelic blood that fall upon the parched earth, cursed for man's transgression, but now panting for deliverance; by the light that streams from that dis- figured brow, read the old lesson written in new characters, " Behold the goodness and severity of God ! " No wonder that the angels bend with an inquiring gaze over this display of the goodness and severity of God ! We, too, may well regard it with adoring wonder. But let us not lose sight of the great objects here presented. Let us not forget, in this new exhibition of the divine goodness, that it also involves a grand display of his severity. We are liable here to the same mistake as in a former case. Because God was so good to man at first, •we feel surprised that he should be severe when man had fallen. And then, because of that most just severity, the exercise of mercy seems impossible. And now that mercy has been exercised, free favour to the utterly unworthy and the ill-deserving, we are apt to feel as if all danger were escaped for ever — as if ruin and damnation were utterly impossible. MERCY AND JUDGMENT. 181 This seems to be the effect of the preacliing of salvation upon many minds. The very grace of God incites them to go on in sin. Since he has exercised such, boundless grace as to sacrifice his own Son for the life of a lost world, they think it utterly incredible that any should be lost; or, if any, that themselves should be among the number. Tlieir whole life is a perpetual practical abuse of the great gospel doctrine — " He that spared not his own Son," ike. The language of their lives, if not that of their lips, is that such transcendent goodness shuts out all severity, as inconsistent and its opposite. Mercy has triumphed over God's inexorable justice, and disarmed, if not destroyed it ; so that henceforth it is only in recollection of the past that we can say, " Behold therefoi's the goodness and severity of God." This is one of the great practical delusions of the Christian Church, or rather of the Christian dispensation, which prevails among the hearers of the gospel, and is often nourished by the very advantages which they enjoy, but wliich must be corrected, or it will go on slaying its thousands and its tens of thousands — the belief that because God is so merciful, he cannot be severe ; that because his prressed or implied in the passage now before us. Its particular expressions need but little ex})lanation. The " salvation of God," literally, his saving thing, or that by which he saves, does not here mean the actual experience of salvation, but, as appears from the last clause of the verse, in which it is .spoken of as something to be heard, the doctrines, message, offer, or glad tidings of salvation ; the same that Paul to the Pisidians calls " the word of this salva- tion." The phrase, " and they will hear it," might perhaps be more exactly rendered, "they too shall hear it." By a simple change of emphasis, however, the expression may be made to con- vey these two ideas, or modifications of the same idea, that they sludl and that they toill hear the message of salvation; that they shall, in the dispensations of God's providence, enjoy the oppor- tunity of hearing, and that through the dispensations of his grace they will give ear to it. All this may, therefore, be considered as included in the meaning of the text. But the main point to which I would invite your attention is the contrast here exhibited between the Christianity of Paul and the Judaism of his hearers, under circumstances singidarly suited to bring out in bold relief the characteristic attributes of both, so that if we would compare ourselves with either, we could hardly ask a better opportunity. And as one part of the comparison essentially involves the other, let us inquire in what points, if ia 198 THE CM 7RCHES WARNED. any, we may claim affinity with these representatives of Judaism at the eventful epoch of its dying struggle with the infant Church. 1. The first resemblance which I would suggest is, that they, like us, had long been in possession of exclusive privileges, and accustomed to survey without emotion the great mass of mankind deprived of them. This is the grand assimilating fact in their condition and in ours, which has led to the habitual adoption of tlieir language, and appropriation to ourselves of what is really peculiar to their insulated and unique position. The ancient Jews were in exclusive possession of the Scriptures, a pure worship, and an authorized ministry. So are Christians now, as compared with millions of heathen, and the Protestant Churches, in com- parison even with millions of nominal Christians. Hence it seems natural and not unreasonable to regard ourselves as bearing just the same relation to the Gentiles of the present day, as that sus- tained by Israel to the Gentiles of antiquity. But let us not, in looking at the marked points of resemblance, overlook the no less marked points of diversity between the cases. The exclusive privileges of the ancient Jews were theirs by an express divine appointment. The barriers which divided them from other na- tions, although temporary in design, were reared by an Almighty hand, and could be demolished by no other. Their adherence to these old restrictions, after the set time for their removal had arrived, was indeed an act of flagrant unbelief and disobedience ; but until that time came, they had no choice, they were shut up to the necessity of standing aloof, and living apart, and avoiding all communion with the nations as such. Does our situation cor- respond with this % Are our exclusive privileges forced upon us, as it were, by irresistible authority ] If not, our insulation from the world is very different from that of ancient Israel. So far as the enclosures which have shut us in are human structures, reared by selfishness and cemented by apathy, they differ wholly from the walls by which the ancient Zion was encompassed, and her sons withheld from all communion with the Gentiles. They had- been taught, and by divine authority, to look upon the nations as excluded, for a time, from the covenant of mercy. We have been taught, and by the same authority, that these in all respects are heirs of the same promise. They, as a nation, were in fact the THE CHURCHES WARNED. 199 chosen and peculiar people of Jehovah. We, in this respect, have not, and never had, the shadow of a claim to take precedence of our fellow Gentiles. In a word, considering the divine institu- tions out of which their prejudices grew, and the want of any corresponding pretext for our own, we may say, without irrever- ence or perversion, that they were straitened in Moses and the prophets, but that we, if straitened, must be straitened in our- selves. Let this essential difference be kept in view, while we stiU distinctly recognise the real similarity between the cases in the long-continued luidisturbed enjoyment of exclusive privileges. 2. The other points of resemblance which I shall advert to, all arise from that just mentioned, as its more remote or proximate effects. And in the next place, I may specify the influence of long-continued and exclusive privileges on the opinions, the doc- trinal belief, of those enjoying them. It is curious, yet melan- choly, to observe with what facility advantages possessed by a few for the good of the many may come to be regarded as prero- gatives belonging to the few, to the entire exclusion of the many. Of this fatal tendency to abuse, the rise of all despotic power is an illusti'ation. It was never more remarkably exemplified, how- ever, than in the case before us, that of a particular people, made the sole depository of the truth and of the promises of mercy, for a limited time, with a view to their general diffusion afterwards, and seduced by the very possession of this glorious trust, first into forgetfulness, then into ignorance, and then into denial, of the very end for which it was created. That this perversion was facilitated by the peculiar institutions which were necessary to secure the purpose of the temporary system, cannot be denied. But this effect of the Mosaic institutions must be carefully distinguished from' their legitimate design and tendency. With all their re- strictions and exclusive regulations, they were not intended to create or foster a contracted nationality and a contempt or hatred of mankind. This might be presumed from the divine authority by which they were established. It may be more certainly inferred from many intimations in the law itself, and still more clearly read in the discourses of the prophets, its inspired expounders. One grand design of the pro- phetic office was to guard the institutions of the law against 200 THE CHURCHES WARNED. abuse, and to recall the people from the gross corruptions which its outward forms were apt to generate to more enlarged and spiritual views. A single instance of this general fact, is the prophetic exposition of the sacrificial system, equally distant from fanatical rejection of appointed rites and from superstitious wor ship of the rites themselves. The very terms of these inspired interpretations seem to show, not only that they were required, but that, with respect to many, and perhaps to most, they were without effect except to blind and harden. The great mass of the people, far from prizing their peculiar and distinguishing advan tages as present or prospective means of general good, valued them only for their own sake, and by so doing showed that they mistook their very nature, and instead of deriving from them an exclusive benefit, were utterly incapable of deriving any benefit at all. This cardinal error, as to the very purpose of the system under which they lived, could not fail to produce a general distortion in the doctrinal views oi those who held it. They who did not know, or could not be persuaded, that " the law must go forth i from Zion, and the word of the Lord hxnw Jerusalem," could never be expected to appreciate the truth, that the law of the Lord is perfect, converting the soul, and his testimony sure, making wise tlie simple. They who believed that the truth or mercy of Jehovah existed for themselves alone, could surely never have obtained a glimpse of what his truth and mercy are. Such was the doctrinal effect produced upon the ancient Jews by their long- continued and exclusive privileges. Now, its tendency to this result was not peculiar to the ancient world or to the house of Israel. It may exist and operate in us, and with a fearful force, proportioned to the magnitude of our advantages. If they, with an unfinished revelation and a heavy ceremonial yoke upon their necks, could dream of an exclusive right to God's compassions, what may not we, without preventing grace, infer from our unclouded light and our unshackled free- dom ? And if this grand error had a tendency to vitiate their whole view' of divine truth, what security have we that an analo- gous effect may not be realized in our experience ? Here, then, to say the least, there is a possible, if not an actual resemblance THE CHURCHES WARNED. 201 between us and them. Because they were favonred, for a time, with an exchisive revelation, they forgot the very end for which they had received it, and forgetting this, were naturally led to take distorted views of that religion which they thus regarded as exclusively their own for ever. So may we, perhaps I ought to say, so have we, reaped precisely the same fruit from precisely the same seed, so far as we have sown it. 3. This view of the matter may be rendered clearer by selecting from the whole mass of opinions thus injuriously affected by the culpable abuse of long-continued and exclusive privileges, one or two peculiarly important and pecuKarly conspicuous in the case before us. Take for example the great doctrine which divided the apostle of the Gentiles from his Jewish hearers, at the interesting juncture when they went their way after Paul had spoken to them " one word." What was the relative position of the parties ? Common to both was a professed belief in Moses and the prophets, and in the promises of Messiab as the Saviour of his people. But they fatally diverged at an essential point. Paul believes that the Messiah has already come, and that Jesus of Nazareth is he, and as a necessary consequence, that the restrictions of the old economy are at an end, and the diffusion of the true religion through the world the first great duty of God's people. They, on the contrary, regard the advent of Messiah as still future, and the barrier be- tween Jews and Gentiles as still standing. The connection of these doctrines in their several creeds is not fortuitous. It was because Paul believed in the Messiahship of Christ that he believed in the necessity and present duty of extending the blessings of the true religion to the Gentiles no less than the Jews, Believing, as his countrymen at Rome did, that Messiah had not come, they were consistent in believing also that the old restrictive system was still valid and still binding. I say they were consistent, not that they were right, or even excusable, in so believing. Their consistency was nothing but consistency in error, error sinful in its origin and fatal in its issue. Their mistake was not merely one of chronology. It was not that they put the date of tlie Messiah's advent too low down. Their rejection of Christ shows that they erred, not only as to the falfilment of the j^romise, but as to the meaning of the promise itself. Tiieir expectation was not reahzed 202 THE CHURCHES WARNED. because it was a false one. They had corrujitcd the very doctrine of salvation, npon which all depends. They looked for a Saviour who had never been promised, and could never come. Instead of one who should destroy all national restrictions, they expected a national deliverer, conqueror, and king. This dream of national advancement could be verified only at the cost of other nations. Their mistake as to the Messiah, therefore, tended directly to cherish a spirit of national exclusiveness, and to suppress all rising of a catholic charity. And thus appears the truth of the posi- tion, that the doctrinal error of the unbelieving Jews, with respect to the Messiah, and their practical error Avith respect to the Gen- tiles, were as really and closely connected as Paul's doctrine Avith respect to the Messiahship of Christ, and his practice with respect to the conversion of the world. And the same connection still exists and will betray itself be- tween a Jewish doctrine and a Jewish practice. For, although it is impossible that any Christian, even one by mere intellectual conviction, should embrace the very error of the old Jews as to the ]\Iessiah's kingdom, it is altogether possible and easy to em- brace one of a similar description, by unworthy and inadequate conceptions of the Christian system, as designed and suited for a universal faith, as well with respect to its doctrines as its institu- tions. Thei'e is no danger of our thinking that Christ came to be a worldly conqueror and not a Saviour, but there is great danger of our thinking, or at least of our acting, as if we thought that he came to save us, and to secure us in the undisturbed enjoyment of our temporal and spiritual comforts, and that the rest of the world must be consigned to his uncovenanted mercy. There is great danger of our looking through the wrong end of the telescope, and seeing that diminished which we ought to have seen magnified, the world reduced to a nut-shell, and our own house or village swelled into a world. There is great danger of our being taught and teaching others this great doctrine as some children learn geo- graphy, beginning at the spot on which they stand, and by degrees enlarging their horizon till they take in a whole country, state, or hemisphere, and at the last the world itself. This lesson in geo- graphy the Church has long been learning, but has stuck fast in the elements. In order to describe the larger circle, we must THE CHURCHES WARNED. 203 learn to reverse the process, and begin as the apostles did with the idea of a world to be converted, and from this descend to the par- ticulars included. There are great advantages, no doubt, in rising from particulars to generals, and in making home the starting- point of distant operations. But however necessary this may be in practice, it is well, in theory at least, to take the other course, and to begin at the beginning, that is, where the apostolic preachers set the ball in motion, who, although they obeyed their Lord's commandment by begin- ning at Jerusalem, were careful not to end there, like the charity of those who in their zeal for the maxim that charity begins at home, not unfrequently forget to let their own begin at all. This preposterous inversion of the grand design of Christianity, by put- ting first what ought to be put next, is a doctrinal mistake to which the Church is not a stranger, and which certainly bears some resemblance ; although far from coinciding wholly, or at all, in its external form, with that of the old Jews in relation to the kingdom of Messiah. And with this resemblance in the causes, we need scarcely be surprised at the analogy of their effects, or wonder that a Jewish spirit should produce a Jewish practice. If the unbelieving Jews of old were led by false ideas of the Messiah and his kingdom, to a spurious morality, an outside holiness, a voluntiiry humility, and will-worship, a deification of the outward and material, and a laborious groping in the darkness and the dust of mere observance, to the neglect of the rain, and sunshine, and refreshing airs of genuine religion, why should it be thought in- credible that kindred errors among us may lead to the exchange of spiritual life for dead formality, factitious morals, and a senseless trifle-worsliip 1 Would it, in fact, be extravagant to state it as a lesson of our own experience, that a similar contraction of the views and feelings has been actually found to produce a similar deterioration ; that the truth has not been kept most pure by those who kept it to themselves ; that the habit of leaving out of view the expansive nature and design of Christianity has sometimes been coincident with that of putting mere conventional arrange- ments in the place of vital principles and everlasting truths ? But it is not on this general deterioration of the religious life, however real and deplorable, that we are led to dwell at present, 204 THE CHURCHES WARNED. as the most important practical effect of long- con timied and exclusive privileges, and of the errors vphich they tend to generate; for in addition to all this, or in the midst of it, there rises np, like a colossus, one practical abuse which may, at least for this time, be allowed to overshadow all the rest. Besides the influence exerted by this error of the Jews, upon themselves, whether doctrinal, moral, spiritual, or ecclesiastical, it led, as we have seen, at the beginning of the Christian dispensation, to a practical denial of the very end for which the old theocracy existed, and a con- sequent refusal to extend the true religion to the Gentiles, thus converting their own boasted and adored distinctions into a mere historical enigma, to perplex the generations that should follow, by exhibiting the strange sight of a people created to save the world, and yet fondly dreaming to be saved alone ! How far it is possible for us to occupy the same position before men and angels must depend upon the sameness of our opportunities and conse- quent responsibilities, when tried by the avoAved rule of the divine adminstration, that of those who have much, much Avill be required, 'and the cardinal principle of Christian charity, " Freely ye liave received, freely give !" That a marked diversity exists between the situation of the Jews and ours, we have seen already. But let it be remembered, that all the diff"erence is in our favour. If tlie Jews, even while they were secluded from the Gentiles by divine authority, were bound to keep their eye xipon the great ulterior end of tliat seclu- sion, nnd to cherish feelings in accordance with it, how much more does this same obligation rest on us, who have no external disadvantages to hinder its discharge? The Christian world, or, if you please, the reformed part of Christendom, are not intrusted with the oracles of God as an exclusive deposit, even for a time. We have them that we may difi'use them. There are no walls built by a divine hand around us, for whose fall we must wait before we go unto the Gentiles. The very dust and rubbish of those old barriers have long since disappeared. A great and effectual door into the heathen world is opened, and the voice of God is calling us to enter it. We have no doubts to solve, and no disputes to settle — as to the ftict of the Messiah's advent — as to the question whether Jesus Christ is he. We have no associa- THE CHURCHES WARNED. 2f)5 tions with the old economy, or habits acquired under it, to restrain our feelings or impede our movements, even after the judgment and the conscience are convinced. Everything, both at home and abroad — in the teachings of God's word, and in the leadings of his providence — in the condition of the heathen and our own — makes us as free to think and act for their conversion, as the old Jews were paralyzed and crippled with respect to it. And yet, with all this difference in our favour, may we not be still too Jewish in our sj)irit and our conduct, with respect to those less favoured than ourselves 1 The gospel has indeed abolished national distinctions, but have we consented to their abolition % The old middle walls of partition have fallen at the blast of the trumpet, but may we not rear up others in their stead 1 and, if so, we may imprecate a curse upon ourselves, like that pronounced upon him who should rebuild the walls of Jericho. This leads me, in the last place, to consider the resemblance which may possibly exist between the cases, with resj^ect to provi- dential retributions. We have seen the effects produced by these errors on the doctrinal views, the affections, and the lives of the antichristian Jews, and, through their neglect, on the condition of the world. These results they may have partially foreseen, and deliberately ventured on. But there were others whicli tliey dreamt nt)t of, and which were, nevertheless, fixed in the divine determination. What means that solemn and repeated declaration of the great apostle, that he turns away from the Jews to the Gentiles 1 Does it mean merely that his personal ministry should now take that direction ? There is evidently more, far more, implied. Does it mean that the Gentiles should, in spite of Jewish prejudice and bigotry, become partakers of their once exclusive privileges, or rather, of others far siiperior 1 Even this is not enough. There is an evident allusion, not only to a change, but to an interchange of character and state — not only to the grafting in of foreign branches, but to the excision of the native boughs — not only to the culture of the desert, but to the desola- tion of the vineyard. " Is it not yet a very little while," said Isaiah, in prophetic anticipation of this very change, — "is it not yet a very little while, and Lebanon shall be turned into a fruitful field, and the fruitful field shall Ije reckoned as a forest?" Had 206 1'IfJ^ CHURCHES WARNED. this cliange literally taken place, it could not have been more complete or striking than that which has been wrought in the relative condition of the Jews and Gentiles. Left to his cherished notions of hereditary sanctity and safety, and his dreams of a Messiah yet to come, Israel has vanished from his place among tlie living, to haunt the nations as the restless ghost of a departed people, or to glide about the grave-yard where his hopes lie buried, while the dry bones of many nations, who appeared to slumber without hope, have been raised again and clothed with flesh, and new life breathed into their resurrection-bodies. They that dwelt in the dust awake, and the dew of God is as the dew of herbs, and the earth casts forth her dead ! But where are they who once monopolized the promises, and held fast, with a niggard grasp, the keys of heaven ? Were it not for prophecies still awaiting their fulfilment, we might weU say, in the words of the same prophet, " They are dead, they shall not live ; they are deceased, they shall not rise ; thou hast visited and destroyed them, and made all their memory to perish." Behold the goodness and severity of God ! Behold the vision of the prophet verified ! Lebanon has long since become a fruitfid field, and the fruitful field for ages reckoned as a forest ! But how shall I venture to present the other side of this same picture, or to bring ourselves into comparison with Israel as I have just described him 1 Without pretending to decide what weight is due to such analogies, we can scarcely shut our eyes to the analogy itself, or fail to see that the comparison, already pushed so far, admits, at least, of an ideal consummation. We are all disposed, as individuals and nations, to exempt ourselves from the operation of the rules which we apply to others. We can look at the vicissitudes of other times, or of other subjects in our own, without imagining that we or ours may be subjected to the same great providential law. What the heathen called tlie wheel of fortune, we may caU the wheel of providence. However imperceptiUe it may be on a small scale or within a narrow com- pass, it is impossible to take large views of human history, with- out perceiving that its processes are extensively, not to say uniformly, marked by alternation. We may leave altogether out of view the ajiplication of this statement to the case of individuals THE CHURCHES WARNED. 207 and families. We may pass lightly over those vicissitudes of nations wliich have ever been the trite theme of declamatory moralizers ; by far the most remarkable of which is that presented by the contrast of what Greece and Egypt were to the ancient world, with what they are to us. Let us dwell, for an instant, on the map of Christendom, as It is and as it was — as it was at the death of the last apostle, or even fourteen hundred years ago — looking particularly at the western coast of Asia Minor and the northern coast of Asia— comparing their in- numerable churches and multitudinous councils, not only with their present desolation, but with the actual state of Christianity in Bri- tahiand Scandinavia; and even in these nameless climes of which a Plato may have dreamed, and which Phenicians may have visited, but which have neither name nor place upon the chart of ancient knowledge, is it certain that this process of rotation has been finally arrested ] or that its future evolutions will be left to the control of what we call fortuitous or accidental causes, which can neither be computed nor accounted for 1 Is it not possible, to say the least, that the vicissitudes yet future may sustain the same relation to extraordinary privilege and culpable abuse of it, as those wliich are already past, and some of wliich we have been tracing 1 In a word, is it too much to suppose that the prophetic vision may again be realized — auothcr Lebanon become a fruitful field, and fields now fruitful be transformed into a silent and forsaken forest '] What a view does this imagination, if it be no more, open far and wide before us ! What a change of absolute condition and of mutual relations ! What a levelling of hills and filling up of valleys ! What fantastic confusion in the use of names, and in the associations coupled with them ! How strange may it yet seem, to remember that Britain once ruled India — that America once talked or dreamed of civilizing Africa — that iVustralia and the isles of the Pacific once invited missionary labour from the northern continents, instead of lavishing it on them. Should this ever become more than an ideal picture, he who surveys it may retrace the course of time, as we have done, and as he speculates on causes and efii;cts, and takes his stand lieside the turning point, the critical conjuncture, where the tide of tmr ])r()s[)erity began to ebb — he may iniaccinc tliat lie sees Paul staiuliu''-, as he stuul in 208 THE CHURCHES WARNED. his own lured house at Eoine, and stretching out his arms towards the perishing nations, and saying to the Christian Jews of this day, as he said to the Israelites of that, " Be it known unto you, therefore, that the salvation of God is sent unto the Gentiles, and that they will hear it." I am far from venturing or wishing to put such anticipations in the place of higher motives, and especially of love to God and love to man, as stimulants to Christian effort. But if the bare imagina- tion of such changes rouses us, and tends in any measure to en- large and elevate our views beyond the dull routine of ordinary duties and of selfish interests, it cannot hurt us, and may do us good. I see not, therefore, why we should refuse to apply the last words of the text to ourselves, in the way of warning. There is no room here for invidious distinctions. None can censure others upon this point without censuring themselves. If we are conscious of inadequate exertions and of cold affections in this great cause, let us think of Israel according to the flesh, and of what he was and what he is — remember that such revolutions are still possible — that if we do not value Christianity enough to share it with the heathen, they may yet become possessed of it at our expense — nay, that while the glorious gospel is so commonly ne- glected and despised among ourselves, the word of this salvation is already sent unto the Gentiles, and that they will hear it — are hearing it. But it is not only in the way of warning that the words may be applied. They are also full of consolation and encouragement — of consolation for the eyes that weep and the hearts that bleed over our own spiritual desolations. Such, with all their zeal for God, are prone to walk by sight and not by faith, and to let their hopes and fears be too nuich governed by appearances. They are sometimes tempted by a spiritual pride, only more dangerous be- cause insidious and luisuspected, to say, with the desponding prophet of old, " I have been very jealous for tlie Lord God of hosts, for the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, and I, even I alone, am left." For such grief, and the unbelieving fears that breed it, an appropriate remedy is furnished by the doc- trine "that God has visited the Gentiles, to take out of them a people for his name ; " and that, alUiougli every ear and heart in THE CHURCHES WARXED. 209 Cliristendoiu should be liencefortli and for ever stopped against the word of life, " the salvation of God Is sent unto the Gentiles, and they \\\\\ hear it." But the highest, best, and most important application of the words is yet to come. It is neither right nor salutary to dismiss this subject, with the tones of warning, and reproof, or even con- solation, ringing in. our ears. We sometimes lose as much by ex- cessive or unreasonable lamentation over our defects and failures as by sheer neglect and apathy. The world is not to be converted, nor our quota of the work contributed, by passionate regrets that it is not yet done. The only profitable sorrow in such cases is that which, like the sorrow of repentance, ends in joy, or leads to it, by prompting to exertion. Our grief, too, must be mixed with gratitude, or it is selfish. Our paramount duty, in contemplation of the future and the past, is neither to presume nor to despair, but to thank God and take courage. To a soul thus humbled and yet excited, the tone of this scripture is encouraging, and I may even say exhilarating. For the truths of which it testifies are these — that this work is the work of God — that the salvation Avhich we preach is his — that he has sent it, yes, and sent it to the Gentiles — and that they will hear it. And though among them, as among ourselves, many be called and few chosen, still this gospel of the kingdom inust be jjreached in all the Avorld, as a witness to all nations, before the end come. As Christ died, not for a nation, but a world, so all kindreds, tongues, and peoples, must be repre- sented in that great assembly, to be gathered on ISIount Zion, when the kingdoms of the world shall have become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ. As a necessary means to this ap- pointed end, and as a pledge of its accomplishment, in spite of I evil omens and discouraging appearances, be it known unto yoii, |you who long for it and hasten towards it, that "the word of this Isalvation," " the salvation of God " is sent unto the Gentiles, and ■that they will hear it. U XVI. " Kc]it by the power of God through i';iith unto salvatiou." — 1 Peter i. 5. THIS is only a fragment of a sentence, occurring in the midst of one of the most pregnant passages in the New Testament — one of the ricliest and most copious descriptions of the fruits of saving grace, and its effects upon its subjects. But, however undesirable it may be in general to insulate the doctrines of the Bible, and detach them from the context, upon which their just interpretation must depend, there is less objection here, because, the clause selected, though really one link in a long chain, is like a literal link, complete in itself, as propoundhig a great doctrine of the Christian system, which admits of being separately looked at, and, indeed, must be so viewed, if we would see it distinctly, as the field of vision opened in the context is too vast to be embraced at one view, without painful effort and injurious confusion. With- drawing our eyes, then, from the splendid but confounding spec- tacle presented in this passage, as a whole, of the divine love to believers, and its influence upon them, let us fix our attention, for a short time, on the apostolical description of them, as a class, " kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation." The odium theologicmn is now a proverb. The admiring cry of the old heathen, " See how these Christians love one another," is sui (planted by the sneer of the modern infidel, " See how these theologians hate one another." As usual, in the judgments of the world upon the Church, there is here a basis or substratum of truth, with a lofty superstructure of injustice and exaggeration. That earnest contention for the truth once deUvered to the saints, should be mixed with angry passions, is undoubtedly a fruit of KEPT BY THE POWER OF OOD. 211 human error and corruption. But that men should be most ardent and exacting, in relation to religious doctrines, and especially the doctrines of salvation, is both natural and rational. To expect men to be zealous and enthusiastic, as to minor matters, as to questions connected with their worldly business, their political in- terests, or even their most frivolous amusements, but entirely calm and self-possessed, dispassionate and even callous, when the ]ioints at issue have respect to moral duty and to spiritual truth, to God's glory and to man's salvation, is indirectly to deny the value and importance of religion, as compared \A'ith the affairs of this life, or at least to question the sincerity of those who give the ft)rmer the precedence. If such sincerity exists, it must display itself precisely in the way objected to, by zeal and ardour in de- fending what is held to be the truth, proportioned to its absolute and rehitive importance. That is to say, what men value most highly, they not only may, but must defend most earnestly. And Avhere this conviction and its natural effect exist, the purest zeal is too apt to be mixed with passionate excitement, and contam- inated by some form of selfishness. Tliis is not suggested as an apology for such unhallowed mix- tures, but simply as an explanation of the fact, that they occur in the defence of great religious truths, which has been often made the ground of an invidious charge against religion itself, as the direct and necessary source of such impure excitements, Avhei-eas it is only the occasion of their rising, when they do exist at all, to greater heights of violence, because the subjects which produce them are confessedly the most important that can possibly be made the subject of discussion or dispute. It does not follow because angry brawls in private life are sinful, and should there- fore be avoided, that a man is particularly blamable for being angry in defence of those who are nearest and dearest to him ; or that his passionate excitability in their behalf is justly chargeable i)n his affection for them ; or that in standing up for them he ought to be more cool and dispassionate, than when contending for a stranger, or for some trivial and indifferent matter. For the same reason, it is not so unreasonable as some have represented, that when Christians lose their temper, or become too ardent in contending for their own views, these wealaaesses should show 212 KEPT BY THE POWER OF GOD. themselves especially in vindicating what they prize most highly of religious truth, against weak misapprehension, artful misrepre- sentation, or malevolent aspersion. Another fact often misrepresented in the same way, is the fact that theological disputes are often sharpest, and apparently most angry, between those who, as to all important jjoints, except the one directly in debate, are nearest to each other, and most perfectly agreed. This circumstance, though sometimes used to aggravate the alleged tendency of Christianity itself to stir up angry passions, is as easily accounted for as that already mentioned. It is natp'-al, and not at all irrational, to feel especially astonished and displeased at the errors or the faults of those who are in other respects most exempt from both, because this very exemption implies a degree of elevation and intelligence with which it is difF -ilt to reconcile particular obliquities of faith or practice. There may also be in- cluded, as contributing to this effect, tlie same cause, whatever it may be, that makes and always has made quarrels between near relations and familiar friends, proverbially violent, if not irrecon- cilable. Whether this be an effect of the same cause already men- tioned— an instinctive application of the principle, that from him who hath much, much \rA\ be required, and that near approxima- tion to the truth, instead of extenuating, aggravates the guilt of any error still remaining, or the product of something in the state of the affections, or their very nature, which we cannot reach by our analysis or scrutiny, the fact itself is no more strange in one case than another, and can no more be alleged as a pecuUar vice of theological dispute, than of private and domestic alienations. If the heat and asperity of family disputes ought to throw no dis- credit on the family relation, as intrinsically tending to foment such passions, with as little justice can the warmth and even ran- cour of religious controversy, even and especially between jjarties otherwise agreed, be justly charged on Christianity itself, or any specific forms of Christian doctrine, as possessing in themselves, or imparting to their votaries, the viinis of malignant animosity; but as the intensity of feeling in the one case may be traced to the very nearness of their parties, and that intimate relation, which appears to make it most deplorable, so in the other case, religion and theology, and even the polemic form of Christianity, KEPT BY THE POWER OF GOD. 213 however vitiated by tlie presence of this sinful element, is certainly entitled to the benefit of just such explanations as we all admit to be allowable, if not unavoidable, in matters where religious truth is not concerned at all. What we ask for ourselves and our reli- gion is not favour at the hands of men, but " even-handed justice," But while all this may justly be alleged, if not in vindication, yet at least in explanation, of the violence commonly ascribed to doctrinal disputes between the great divisions of the Christian wo'-ld, it still remains a lanientable fact that such alienations should exist, not only between those who are in most essential points agreed, but in reference to what they respectfully regard as the most precious parts of Christian doctrine, the very parts which they cor vler as most intimately interwoven with their own experience, and with that of all believers. That alienations, both of judgment and of feeling, should exist just here, however it may be explained, is still to be deplored as an anomaly, to say the least of it, so painful and mysterious, that all affected by it ought to rejoice even in the possibility that it arises from misapprehension, and in all attempts, however feeble, to detect it in specific cases. A striking illustrative example of these general considerations is aff"orded by that feature of the Calvinistic system, Avhich is com- monly known as the doctrine of final perseverance, as opposed to that of possible defection and perdition on the part of true l)elievers and regenerated sinners. While the former of these doctrines has been cherished, in all ages, by a great body of pro- fessed believers, as among the clearest and most precious truths of their religion, it has been rejected by another, not simply as untrue, but as subversive of the gospel, and as fraught with the most dangerous tendencies, in reference to personal holiness and ultimate salvation. The sincerity of many, upon both sides of this question, both in general as Christians, and in particular as champions of the doctrines thus contrasted, cannot be denied with- out denouncing all belief in testimony, and indeed in evidence on moral subjects ; but this only makes it more desirable, if possible, to reduce the opposition to a mutual misunderstanding. Without attempting any new or pliilosophical solution of this ancient problem, upon which so many mighty minds and pious 214 KErr BY THE POWER OF OOD. hearts have spent their strength for ages, let us look once more to the objections to this doctrine, as they seem to weigh upon the minds, not of speculative theologians, but of practical experi- mental Christians, whose belief is, in purpose and profession, founded on the word of God, and the experience of his people. How are such, in many cases, affected by the doctrine now in question '] The objections urged to it assume a twofold form, or may at least be readily reduced to two. The first is, that the doctrine is unscriptural ; the second, that it is of evil tendency. On close in- spection, these two objections will be found to be further reducible to one, or one of them at least so dependent on the other, that they cannot be regarded as entirely distinct. That is to say, tlie objection to the doctrine as unscriptural, has no substantive existence or foundation, apart from its imputed or alleged pernicious tendencies in practice. It is not denied, or cannot be denied, with any show of probability, that there are expressions in the word of God^ which do at first sight, and according to their obvious and super- ficia] import, strongly favour the obnoxious doctrine. It is also certain that the strong presumption thus created, is not shaken, or at least not nullified by any explicit allegation of the contrary, or by the clear and unequivocal assertion of things plainly in- compatible and inconsistent with the odious dogma of a final perseverance. That neither of these possible cases is a real one — that is to say, that there is no categorical denial of this doctrine, or any statement absolutely inconsistent with it, is abundantly clear from the existence of so large and so intelligent a class, both of interpreters and ordinary readers, who are thoroughly persuaded that the doctrine, far from being contradicted, is expressly and dogmatically taught in Scripture. They may be mistaken in so thinking ; but the error would be inconceivable if there were no ground or even colour for maintaining it, much more if it Avere formally or certainly condemned. The true cause, therefore, of the confidence with which it is rejected as unscriptural, must be its real or imaginary tendency to practical experimental evU ; or, in other words, it is believed to be unscriptural because it is believed to be pernicious. What appears to be said in its favour is explained away, and what is adverse to it is exaggerated, under KEPT BY THE POWER OF GOD. 215 the impression of the foregone conclusion, that the doctrine is of evil tendency. Since, then, tlie scriptural objection really depends upon the practical or moral one, the qiiestion now arises, wliat the latter is, and wherein it consists 1 What is the evil tendency imputed to this feared and hated doctrine, not by its spiteful and deliberate calumniators, but by its sincere and honest adversaries — those who really believe that an opinion so pernicious in its influence on character and conduct cannot be a doctrine of the Bible 1 When attentively considered, the objectionable features of the doctrine as sincerely viewed by this class, may be said to be these two : That it assumes the final perseverance of the saints, to be secured by a power inherent in themselves, or by something in the very nature of a saving change, precluding all defection as a sheer impossi- bility, entirely irrespective of the subject's own religious state and dispositions, or of any influence exterior to him, over and above the impulse given at conversion, or the vis inpvtke of his new- born nature — a belief which may be justly charged with tending to indulge a proud reliance upon self, and an habitual security, alike dislionouring to God and dangerous to man. The other feature of this doctrine, as held by its opponents, is, that the only proof which it requires of the saving change, from which it draws its proud security and absolute immunity from danger, is the consciousness or memory of inward exercises, not susceptible of formal proof, and wholly independent of the actual condition of the subject at the time Avhen he asserts his claim to this prerogative or privilege of absolute exemption from tlie risk or possibility of a fidl from grace. Whatever may be the specific form in which the honest opposition to this doctrine clothes itself, and which may be indefinitely varied by fortuitous or incidental causes, it will always prove, upon a close analysis, or even an accurate inspection, to involve, as the essential groimds of con- demnation and rejection, the two assumptions which have just been stated, as to an inherent independent power of self-preserva- tion, and the sufficiency of mere subjective states and exercises, to demonstrate the possession of that power, as belonging to the doctrine of a final perseverance. Such being, then, the very grounds of the objection to this 216 KEPT BY THE POWER OF GOD. doctrine as unscripti:ral, the reasons for believing that it cannot be propounded in the word of God, whatever tends to show that it involves no such assumptions as are thus imputed to it, and then made the j^roofs of its pernicious tendency, must go so f;^r to clear it from the charge of such a tendency, as necessarily belong- ing to it, or proceeding from it, and entitle its defenders to insist upon the plain sense, now no longer admissible, at least in this direction, of the places where it seems to be expressly taught. To prove this negative, although the burden of the proof might well be left to rest on those who make the affirmation, is still not difficult, and may indeed be satisfactorily done by an appeal to any of the numerous expressions which are reckoned by the champions of the doctrine as decisive in its favour. Such a proof may be deduced, for example, from the words of the Apostle Peter, in the text, which has always been classed among the clearest recognitions, if not among the most direct and formal affirmations, of the truth in question. So far, then, is this scripture, as expounded in our system, from referring the continued safety of believers to a power inherent in themselves, or necessarily evolved in the process of regeneration, viewed as a subjective change, that, while it clearly and emphati- cally represents them as securely kept, garrisoned, or guarded, as the military term in the original denotes, suggesting the idea of complete and perpetual protection from the paramount dominion of their spiritual enemies, this preservation is explicitly described as the effect of a power exterior and superior to themselves ; nay, still more unequivocally and expressly, as effected by a sovereign, a divine, an almighty agency, " kept by the power of God unto sal- vation " — not merely capable of being so kept, but in fact, and actu- ally so kept ; not as a peculiar favour in the case of some, but as a constant and a necessary incident to the condition of all true be- lievers ; not as a mere contingency dependent on the unrevealed design and will of God, but as an ascertained and verified reality, attested by experience at present, and secured for the future by the promised covenant and oath of One who cannot lie. Of such a doctrine, where is the pernicious tendency ? If all depends upon the action of Omnipotence ; if perseverance is as much beyond our own control as that original mutation of our KEPT BY THE POWER OF GOD. 217 spiritual state in which we are said to persevere ; if we can no more, in and of ourselves, secure our OAvn continuance in this state, than we could create it, or create ourselves, or than we could create a world ; if this is our position, as defined by the very texts from which we prove the doctrine to be true, " wlierc is boasting then "? It is excluded ! " It may be said, however, that although the power which secures our perseverance is entirely exterior and superior to ourselves, and is, in fact, no other than the sovereign and almighty power of God, yet if we look upon its exercise as absolutely and irrevocably pledged for our protection, the tendency of this belief to generate security and license, is as evident and strong as if the poAver were inherent in ourselves ; nay, more so, since the power, instead of being finite, is now infinite ; instead of being human, is divine ; instead of being ours, is God's ; and yet completely under our control. This specious representation quietly assumes that we ascribe the per- severance of believers to an absolute immediate act of power, with- out the use of means or the prescription of conditions ; that God has irrevocably pledged the exercise of his omnipotence to save from the very possibility of falling, every sinner who has once be- lieved and been converted, be his subsequent experience and his actual condition what it may ; and, as a necessary consequence, that he who once had satisfying evidence of having undergone a saving change, may now and for ever claim the covenanted exercise of God's omnipotence to save him even from the just and natural effects of his own evident a2>ostasy and lapse into a state of impenitence and imbelief ; in short, that he who onee believed, or rather once believed that he believed, will certainly be "kept by the power of God \\n- to salvation," whether now or at any future time, or through eter- nity, be he a believer or an unbeliever. Of such, if any such thc7-e be, as live and die in this faith, we may well say, in the words of an apostle, " their damnation slumbereth not." But see again, how this aspersion on the doctrine in dispute, whether ca.st in malice or in ignorance, is Aviped off, and its foul stain utterly effaced for ever, by the simj^le but authoritative language of the text, which, so far from representing this conser- vative agency of God's grace and omnijiotence, as acting indepen- dently of faith in the preserved and persevering subject, holds up 218 KEPT BY THE POWER OF GOD. faith itself as in a certain sense the means by which the persever- ance is secured, by which the preservation is effected, " KLept by THE POWER OF GoD THROUGH FAITH UNTO SALVATION." Now, faith, as both the parties to this controversy are agreed, is not a thing to be assumed at pleasure or at random, but to be established by conclusive evidence ; not that of consciousness, or memory, or fancy, but of actual experience and practice. " Faith without works is dead." The only true faith is the faith that " works by love," and " overcomes the world," and " purifies the heart," and brings forth " all the fruits of the Spirit," which are also the " fruits meet for repentance." " By their fruits ye shall know them." Where these fruits are not, there is no evidence of faith. Where faith is not, there is no pledge of God's omnipo- tence to save from falling. It is only those who have this faith and bear this fruit, that have a right to claim a place among the happy souls who are " kept by the power of God through faith imto salvation." If this doctrine, as propounded in this one text, and harmoniously exhibited in many othei's, and frequently implied or presupposed where it is not expressed, pervading the whole tis- sue of the system of salvation, like a golden thread, not always visible, but always there ; if this doctrine is pernicious in its ten- dency, then so is truth, and holiness itself If this view of God's sovereignty and man's dependence, in the matter of salvation and of final perseverance; if this view of the absolute necessity of faith, of vital, operative, fruitful faith, as the only condition on which, the only means by which, the omnipotence of God will act to save us from apostasy ; if this doctrine tends of itself to Antinomian license and security, then out of the same fountain may flow salt water and fresh — then men may expect to gather grapes of thorn.s, and figs of thistles, and may be excused for calling evil good and good evil, putting light for darkness and darkness for light, put- ting bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter ! But, although the doctrine in itself has no such tendency, its perversion and abuse has. It becomes us, therefore, to consider, in conclusion, its liability to such abuse. That such a liability exists, is clear from the fact which gave occasion to this whole discussion — the fact that multitudes of seemingly devout and humble Christians have learned to regard it with a holy horror. KEPT BY THE POWER OF GOD. 219 Erroneous as their judgment may and must be, it is far less likely to have been dei'ived from the weakness of the proofs by which the doctrine is supported, than from the lives in which it is ex- emplified. There is also something in tlie very nature of the doctrine which exposes it to misapprehension, not only on the part of its opponents, but of those who plead for it and iindertake to act upon it. It presents, as it were, so many points of aberra- tion, where the mind is exposed to a centrifugal impetus towards errt)r. There is so much danger of mistake, and so much actual mistake, with respect to the very nature of salvation, as deliver- ance from punishment and not from sin, and witli respect to per- severance, in the very points which we have been considering, so much danger of mistake as to the power by which it is secured, and which is nothing more nor less than the power of God himself, as to the means by which that power operates, and which is no- thing more nor less than faith — a state of saving faith produced and perpetuated by divine grace ; and finally, as to the evidence that such a state exists, which is nothing more nor less than holy living or good works, in the highest and most Scriptural sense of the expression, there is so much danger of dejjarture from the truth, at all these points, that we who hold the doctrine as a j^re- cious part of our religious faith, and as one of the clearest and most unambiguous teachings of the Bible, are under a peculiar obligation to preserve it from abuse, not only by its enemies, but by its friends ; not only by others, but by ourselves ; not only in our theory, but in our practice ; not only in the statement and defence of our belief, but in the commentary on it which is furnished by our lives. To this circumspection we are called by a regard to our own safety, which is jeoparded by nothing more than by the culpable perversion of the most important and most precious doctrines. In this sense, none are more exposed to danger than those who have within their reach the most effective means of safety. Especially let us who preach the gospel, or expect to preach it, see to it that our example and experience afford no con- firmation of the old and profound saying, " Nearest the church, furthest from God." We should also be induced to use this caution by a jealous sensibility in reference to the honour of our God and Saviour, lest through our perversion or abuse of this 220 EEPT BY THE POWER OF GOD. great doctrine, he should seem to be capable of winking at iniquity, or even to be a minister of sin. And, lastly, we should be induced to use a wise precaution, for the sake of those who hate the doctrine which we love, as soul- destroying error, lest their misapprehensions should, through our unfoithfulness and indiscretion, be hopelessly confirmed, and their antipathy to what they reckon false, embittered into hatred of persons who, to say the least, are quite as lilcely as themselves to be " kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation !" XVII. 6raa aiitr ifs l^^ssons. For the grace of God tliat brincceth salvation hath appeared to all men, teach- ing us, that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world ; looking for that blessed hope, and the glorious appearing of the great God and our Saviour Jesus Christ ; who gave himself for us, that he might redeem us from all iniquity, and purify unto himself a peculiar people, zealous of good works. These things speak, and exhort, and rebuke with all authority. Let no man despise thee," —Titus ii. 11-15. rj^HE being of a God, with all that enters into that conception, J- being once established or assumed as true, the grand problem of humanity is to determine our relation to him j not as creatures merely, for that is settled by the very conditions of our being, but as sinners. Sin has disturbed and revolutionized the mutual relation between God and man, and as the one is entirely depend- ent on the other for his being and well-being, the inquiry into this effect of sin becomes something more than a curious specula- tion— it becomes a practical question of the highest import, one of life and death. All other questions, whether speculative or practical, are as nothing initil this is solved. Not what is God, but what is God to us ] in what aspect are we to behold him 1 as an absolute sovereign, an inexorable judge, an irresistible avenger, or as a saviour, a deliverer, or friend ] What have we to expect from him, wrath or favour 1 If man had never fallen, the answer to this question might have been readily deduced from the essential attributes of the divine nature, but the intervention of sin seems to bring these into conflict, so that what would otherwise be prompted by God's goodness is forbidden by his justice. The confusi(jn thus intro- duced into the subject gives it, when seriously con.sidered, an 222 GRACE AND ITS LESSONS. aspect of awful complication and uncertainty, which may be likened to the struggle between light and darkness, clouds and sunshine, on a doubtful day. That the sun is there, no one can doubt, nor that his rays are bright and genial, but between them and the eye of the spectator there is something interposed, and how long this obstruction is to last he knows not. Upon such a sky the whole race may be said to have been gazing, with more or less attention and solicitude, for ages after the fall, as if they expected every moment to see the divine countenance revealed, but knew not whetlier its expression would be one of unappeased displeasure, or of grace and favour. The great event in the history of fallen man is, that it was the grace of God that appeared, not merely as benignity in general, but as favour to the lost, tlie ruined, the condemned ; not as an inert, though friendly disposition, but as active favour, saving grace, the grace that brings salvation or deliverance from loss, from danger, from actual ruin, and from the wrath to come. Such is the grace of God which has appeared or been revealed, and the epiphany of wdiicli is here alleged by the apostle to have been vouchsafed to all men without national or other accidental dis- tinctions ; not to the Jews or any other nation, not to the rich or any other class exclusively, but to men in general, to mankind at large. That this is the true sense of " all men " in the text is clear from the connection. In the foregoing verses, he had urged ujjon servants their peculiar duties, and assigned as a motive to fidelity the honour which it would put upon the true religion as revealed and taught by God our Saviour. To some in their exclusive pride, both Jews and Gentiles, this might seem ridiculous, as if the honour of religion could depend upon the conduct of a slave ; and therefore the apostle takes occasion to remind such, that the mo- tives by which Christianity operates on character and conduct, are confined to no one class, but are common to the human race, be- cause Christianity itself as a remedial system, as a vehicle by which the saving grace of God is brought to us, has no respect of persons in the sense assumed, but has appeared to all men ; or, as the sentence may be construed, is saving to all men, that is, adapted and designed to save them without regard to difference of rank or GRACE AND ITS LESSONS. 223 nation. But as this "grace of God" is not inert, but active, so its effect upon its objects is an active one, — not only efficacious in itself, but such as to produce activity, to make them act, not blindly or at random, but in obedience to an active principle, and in due subjec- tion to a moral discipline. The " saving grace of God which has appeared to all men," is described by the apostle as "teaching us," or rather educating, training us in such a way as to secure the precious fruits that follow. The meaning is not, as it might seem, to a superficial reader, that the gospel simply teaches us that we ought to deny ungodliness, and so on ; that is, makes us understand our obligations so to do ; this is indeed included, but far more ; the full sense of the language is, that Christianity subjects those who embrace it to a discipline, a systematic training, a moral and spiritual education, so that, as a natural result, nay, a necessary consequence, they do in point of fact deny ungodliness and worldly lusts. To " teach " men that they " should " do this is somethhig, it is much, but it is fiir from being all that Christianity accom- plishes. It is a characteristic and essential feature of the gospel that it does men good by putting them to school, by making them disciples, not simply for the purpose of communicating knowledge, but for that of forming and maturing character ; for education in the highest, largest, and most emphatic sense. This pedagogical design and character of true religion is stamped upon all its institutions, and legible even in its phraseology. It is not by an unmeaning figure of speech, nor with any attenuation of the primary sense of the expression, that Christians are continu- ally called disciples, that is, learners, pupils, and that the ministers of Christ are spoken of as teachers. Equally false, though false in opposite extremes, is the opinion that knowledge, and conse- quently teaching, are of no avail in spiritual matters, and the opinion that perfect knowledge is a previous condition of admis- sion to the kingdom of heaven. Some knowledge is indeed an indispensable pre-requisite, but woe to him who imagines that these elements of wisdom are enough, and that he needs no f urtlier or more complete indoctrination. Is the child sent to school be- cause it knows so much already, or because it knows so little, and in order that it may know more 1 Well, in this sense too, it may be said to iill who seek admission to the body of believers, and a 224 GRACE AND ITS LESSONS- sliare in the communion of saints, " Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven." The Church is Christ's school ; he who enters it must enter as a learner, a disciple, with as real and sincere a deference to his great teacher as the little child feels, when it trembles for the first time in the presence of a master. Such submission is the more imperative in this case, because more truly than in any other case the process of instruction is moral as well as intellectual ; it is not mere teaching, it is training, education ; not the mere acquisition of knowledge, although that does lie at the foundation, but the cultivation of the powers and affections, as a preparation for the joys and services of heaven, as well as for the duties and the trials of this present state. The " grace of God " which has appeared as the only means and source of salvation to all men, does not save them by a charm or by a de- monstration, but by making them disciples in the school of Christ, by teaclung them and training them for earth and heaven, developing their faculties, moulding their affections, forming their characters, determining their lives. The design and the legitimate effect of this disciplinary process are distinctly stated in the text, with re- ference both to the present and the future ; both in a negative and positive form. The negative design of all this training is that we deny, repu- diate, or abjure allegiance to the sinful dispositions and afiections which are paramount in fallen nature, but the objects of which perish in the using, being limited to this world, so that they may be described as " worldly lusts " or desires, and may be said, so for as they predominate, to put man on a level with the brutes, whose highest good is present enjoyment of the lowest kind. By all who would be saved, these worldly, temporal, and short- lived lusts must be denied, renounced ; and this is never done without a simultaneous or previous denial of ungodliness, of all indifference and enmity to God, which is indeed the source of the other, for when human hearts are right towards God, the para- mount control of worldly lusts becomes impossible. It is because men do not love God that they love the world unduly ; it is there- fore that the friendshii3 of the world and that of God are repre- sented by another apostle as wholly incompatible. To this denial GRACE A XT) ITS LESSOXS. 225 of the world as our home, and of its lusts as our principles of ac- tion, Christianity trains us, — not merely informing us of what is wrong, but educating us to hate and shun it. This, however, is only the negative part of the effect produced by the spiritual discipline to which we are subjected in -the school of Christ. It has a positive side also. It teaches us how we are to live. It does not lose sight of the jiresent state either in profound abstractions, or in fond anticipations f)f the future. It adapts and purifies the heathen maxim, D^im vivimus vivamus, While we live let us live to some good purpose. The positive effect of Christianit}^, as a system of discipline or training, is to rectify the life in all its most momentous aspects and relations in reference to oiu'selves, our neighbours, and our God. In reference to himself, the true disciple in this school is educated to be sober or sound-minded ; the original expi'ession denotes sanity as opposed to madness, not in its extreme forms merely, but in all its more familiar and less violent gradations — all those numberless and nameless aberrations of the judgment which give character to human conduct, even in the absence of gross crime or absolute insanity. From these irra- tional vagaries, true religion, as a system of discipline and educa- tion, tends to free us, and so far as we are really set free, it is by this means and by this alone. The errors thus insensibly cor- rected are too many to be numbered and too various to be classified. Among the mo.st important are those visionary estimates of self and of the world by Avhich the mass of men are led astray; those " strong delusions," with respect to good and evil, right and wrong, true and false, hap2:)iness and misery, which, both by their absurdity, and by their ruinous effects, fully justify that terrible description, " Madness is in their hearts while they live, and after that they go to the dead." In opposition to this "madness," the saving grace of God trains its subjects to be rational or sober, and thus in the highest sense and measure to he faithful to themselves. But at the .same time it trains them to be faithful to others, to be just, in the wide sense of the term ; one of constant occurrence in the Scriptures, and especially in the Old Testament ; including all that one can owe another— including, therefore, charity and mercy, no less than honesty and rigorous exactness in the discharge of legal obligations. Justice or rectitude, in this enlarged and noble 226 ORACE Ayn ITS LESSONS. seuse, as opposed to every form of selfisliness, is no less really a dictate and a consequence of spiritual training, than sanity or soundness of mind, as opposed to the cliimeras and hallucinations of our state by nature. But "soberness" and "justice," in the wide sense which has just been put upon the tei'ms, have never yet been found divorced from "godliness." As we have seen already, in considering the negative effects of training by divine grace, it is man's relations to his God, that must adjust and determine his relations to his fellow-creatures. The symmetrical position of the points in the circumference arises from their common relation to a common centre. Set a man light with God, and he will cer- tainly be set right with his neighbours. The remaining exceptions as to this point only show the imperfection of his piety, but do not disprove its existence. In spite of all such exceptions, it is still true that the man who loves God loves his neighbour and himself, not with a frenzied, but a rational attachment, and that he who enters as a pupil in the school of Christ must lay his account, not merely in the way of negative abstinence, to deny ungodliness and worldly lusts, but in the way of positive per- formance to " live soberly, righteously, and godly in this jjresent world." Such are the cbjects and effects of Christian training, that is, of tlie method by which Christ trains his disciples, with respect to the present state or stage of man's existence, as distinguisht'd from those future .states or stages to which he cannot but look forward. For although the sobriety of mind produced by the discipline of God's grace, causes men of a morbid, penurious dis- position to lose sight of present duties and enjoyments in a vague anticipation of the future, it is so far from excluding expectation altogether, that our very salvation is prospective. " We are saved in hope," and that hope is a blessed one ; a hope of blessedness to be revealed and realized hereafter; a hope, that is, an object of hope, not yet fully enjoyed, but only " looked for," and to look for wliich is one of the effects and marks of thorough training in the school of Christ. A religion without hope must have been learned elsewhere. The saving grace of God instructs us, while we " live soberly, righteously, and godly " in this present world, to look for the fulfilment of that blessed hope, in reference to which we are I GRACE AND ITS LESSONS. 227 said, by an anticipation of our own experience, to be saved already. This hope is neither selfish nor indefinite. It does not terminate upon ourselves, our own deliverance from suffering, and our own reception into heaven ; nor does it lose itself in vague anticipations of a nameless good to be experienced hereafter. The Christian's hope is in the highest degree generous and well-defined. It is generous, because it rises beyond personal interests, even the highest, even personal salvation, to the glory of the Saviour as the ultimate end to be desired and accomplished. It is well-defined, because, instead of looking at this glory in the abstract, it gives it a concrete and personal embodiment; it is glory, not in the sense of the metaphysician or of the poet, but in that of the prophets, saints, and angels; it is manifested and apparent excellence, a glorious epiphany, analogous to that which marked Jehovah's presence in the holy of holies, but inispeakably transcending it in permanence and brightness ; the glorious appearance, not of any mere creature, even the most noble, but of (Jod liimself, and yet not of God in his essence, which is inaccessible to sense, nor even in some special and distinct manifestation of the Father, or the Godhead, under an assumed or borrowed form of which the senses may take cognizance, but in the well-known person of his Son, who is the brightness of his glory, and the express image of his person, in whom dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily ; and therefore it is not the uiitempered brightness of the divine majesty, and hohuess, and justice, which to us is, and must be, a consuming fire ; and yet it is the manifested glory of God, of the great God, — great in all conceivable perfections, but, as the object of this hope, emphatically great iti mercy — great in the power, not to punish and destroy, but to forgive and save, to save the simier, to save us ; — the glorious appearing of our great God and Saviour Jesus Christ. This hope is definite and vast enough to fill the mind and satisfy the heart, however vague may be its views and apprehensions with respect to the precise time, and place, and form, and other circumstances of the epiphany expected. It is enough to know that it is Christ our head who shall appear ; and thanks be to God, that when he does appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. These two considerations — the 228 GRACE AND ITS LESSONS. personal identity of that which is to be revealed in glory, and the prospect of personal assimilation to this glorious object — are enough to make us willing to be ignorant of all that concerns merely the chronology, or geography, or poetry of that blessed hope and glorious appearing of our great God and Saviour Jesus Christ, which the word of God not only suffers, but requires us to look for, as a sure sign, because an xinavoidable effect of genuine, thorough, successful training in the school of Christ, and under the educating guidance of that " saving grace," which, for this very purpose, has " appeared," or been revealed " to all men." Let it not be overlooked, however, that the gospel, while it sets Christ before us as an object of believing expectation, sets him also before us an object of believing recollection, and thus brings into a delightful harmony the hope of favours yet to be ex- perienced with gratitude for those experienced already. It is not simply as a glorious person, human or divine, that we look for his ai)pearing; it is not simply as a Saviour or Deliverer from evU in the general ; it is not simply as a potential Saviour or Deliverer, one who can save us if he wUl, and will if we should need it at some future time ; not merely a Saviour whose ability and willing- ness to save are yet to be displayed and proved, but as an actual deliverer, as one who has already done his saving work, by giving "himself for us, the highest gift, it may in a certain sense be said, of which even he was capable, for us, his creatures, his rebellious subjects, his despisers, and his enemies ! Had he given infinitely less for us it might have been too much for justice, too much for mercy, for any mercy but for that of God; but he gave all that he could give, for he gave himself to assume our nature, to be degraded, to be mocked at, to be put to death. He did not merely give his name, his friendship, or his royal favour, but he gave himself ! In the highest, strongest, most exhaustive mean- ing that the words will bear, he "gave Jdmse/f," and "gave him- self/or zw." This he has done, and he has done it for a purpose, and by every law of gratitude, as well as interest, we are bound, so far as that pui-pose concerns us, to do what we can for its accomplishment. What, then, was his object '? To redeem us, to buy us back from bondage, to save us by the payment of a ransom price, not only OB ACE AND ITS LESSONS. 229 from the punishment of sin, but from its power, from its love, from its pollution, from its foul and liideous embrace, no less than fr(.)m its sword and from its chains. It was to set us free from sin itself that Christ redeemed us ; not from some sin, but from all sin ; not that we should still remain, or afterwards fall back under the dominion of the very tyrant from whose power he re- deemed us ; not that we should merely exchange one hard master for another, or for many ; — no, he "gave himself for us," he laid down his life for us, he died upon the cross for us, " that he might redeem us from all iuujidti/." Nor was this deliverance from sin as well as punishment in- tended merely for our advantage, but for His. He had an end to accomplish for himself. He died to purify us, not merely that we might be pure and therefore happy, but also to purify a people for himself; a peculium, a possession of his own, a Church, a body of which he should be the head, a kingdom of which he should be the sovendgn. Over none but a purified and holy kingdom could he condescend to reign. Of none but a purified and holy body could he be the Head. Justification would have done but half tlie work for which Christ died ; his end would not have been accomplished if ho had not redeemed us from iniquity as well as condemnation, if he had not jiurified a people for himself, for his own use and his own honour ; a people in their measure like him- self, his own exclusively, his own for ever, his inalienable right, his indefeasible possession, his " peculiar people." How monstrous, then, the supposition or pretence that the design of Christ's death is reconcileable wth Antinomian license on the part of those for Avhom he died ; that because he died to make men holy, therefore they need ncjt be holy ; that because he gave himself for us, to purify a peoj^le for himself, therefore we may be his people, and yet not be pure ; that because his " good wt)rks " have been set to our account, we need do no " good works " for him. The very contrary commends itself as evidently true to gratitude, to conscience, nay, to common sense. The body, the Church, the kingdom, the peculiar people of Christ, without good works, without fruits meet for repentance, without experimental evidence of union to him by faith, is an absurdity, an odious con- tradiction, a blasphemous aspersion, — as if God could deny himself — • 230 GRACE AXD ITS LESSORS. as if the Son of God could be the " minister of sin." So far from dispensing with " good works " on our part, he is not eveo.^ ^isfied Avith good works practised or performed from stress of c" or from habit, or from fear, or as a sheer formality, works, indeed, he denies the attribute of goodness, for thejj very quality by which alone they could be rendered good,', least in his sight. It is not the moral or the physical effect on >t]ier3, nor the outward conformity to rule, nor the solemnity witu Avliich the action is performed, that constitutes it good. It must be wrouglit in faith and love ; not only love to man, but love to God, and love to Christ, or it is worthless. Nay, he asks still more to make good works acceptable. He asks that they be wrought with strong aflFection, with intensity of spirit, with a burning zeal ; a zeal of God, according to knowledge. The people whom he died to purify for himself, must be not only pure and diligent, but zealous ; not merely passive and submissive, but spontaneous, eager, emulous, to please^ him, " his peculiar people zealous of good works." All the doctrines here presented are, or ought to be, familiar to our minds as household Avords and elementary ideas. The mode in which I have endeavoured to exhibit them, is not, as I am well aware, the most agreeable to that taste which prefers points to lines, and lines to surfaces, and surfaces to depth and substance. It is well, however, at least sometimes, to contemplate the familiar truths of Christianity, not merely as they may be picked out, and adjusted in an artificial system, but as they lie upon the face of Scripture, and as they were associated in the minds of the inspired writers and the primitive disciples. The more attentively Ave read the word of God, the more highly shall we be disposed to value these original associations, the affinities as well as the intrinsic qualities of saving truth, not merely the more recondite affinities disclosed by philosophical analysis, but those more obvious ones suggested by juxtaposition in the letter of the Scriptures. In this, as in so many other cases, we may learn from experience that " the foolishness of God is Aviser than men." But Avhatever we may think as to the form of presentation, let us guard against a mistake as to the truths themselves. They are here exhibited, not only as objects of belief, but as subjects of in- GRACE AND ITS LESSONS. 231 struction. The writing which contains them is a pastoral epistle ; filled "th the advice and apostolical injunctions of " Paul the a spiritual child and an official representative, and hiiu to the ministry of that age, and of this, and every Til reference to all the foregoing precepts, but especially to those aniediately preceding, which have been the subject of dis- course his morning, he says to Titus : " These things speak," talk of then"", both in public and in private, make them the theme of conversr.tion, as well as of formal preaching. Do not be content with thinking of them, understanding and believing them, but speak them, utter them, impart them to your hearers, to your friends and neighbours, to your pupils and parishioners, your brethren in the ministry, your equals and inferiors in office, to all with whom you come in contact, or to whom you have access, " these tilings speak." But how 1 As curious and interesting matters of opinion, or the dictates of a mere theoretical wisdom 1 Not at all, but as matters to be acted on and acted out, as involving not merely truths to be believed, but duties to be done, and to the doing of which men must be aroused and prompted. " These things speak and exhort;'''' on the basis of sound doctrine rear the superstructure of sound practice, in your own case and in that of others. To yourself, to all who hear you, to all who need the admonition *' these things speak and exhort ! " , But what if men resist these humbling truths, and angrily reject them 1 No matter, only add reproof to exhortation — -not arbitrary and passionate reproof, but, as the word here used denotes, reproof produced by and founded on conviction. Convince them of the truth, and convict them of their guilt, and then reprove them. Appeal not only to their reason, but their conscience, " these things speak, and exhort, and rebuke," not in your own name, nor in mine, but in His name, whose you are, and whom you serve ; as asserting his rights, and as holding his commission, be not afraid or ashamed to speak the truth, but whenever the occasion is afforded, " these things speak and exhort, and rebuke with all authority!" But what if men treat you and your message with levity : " Let no man despise thee." This suggests two ideas, both of which 232 ^ GRACE AND ITS LESSONS. are useful and appropriate to us. Let no man despising thee pre- vent the full discharge of certain duty. " He that despiseth you, despiseth me, and he that despiseth me, despiseth him that sent me." If men will despise God and Christ, the human messenger may well consent to be despised along with them. Let them despise thee, but let not the effect be caused by cowardly sup- pression, or disingenuous corruption of the truth on your part. As a faithfxd messenger of God and an ambassador of Christ, let men despise you, if they will or if they must — let them despise you at their peril. But as a traitor to the truth and to its Author, let no man despise thee. " For this is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God endure grief, suffering wrongfully. For what glory is it, if, when ye be buffeted for your faults, ye shall take it patiently 1 but if, when ye do well, and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with God. For even hereunto were ye called : because Christ also suffered for us, leaving us an example, that ye should follow his steps." " Who is he that will harm you, if ye be followers of that which is good ? But and if ye suffer for righteousness' sake, happy are ye." " For it is better, if the wUl of God be so, that ye suffer for well-doing, than for evil-doing." " If ye be reproached for the name of Christ, happy are ye ; for the spirit of glory and of God resteth upon you : on their part he is evil spoken of, but on your part he is glorified." " If any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed ; but let him glorify God on this behalf" These consolatory warnings drawn from the experience of another great apostle, and one who well knew what it was to suffer both for his own faults and the name of Christ, may serve to illustrate and to qualify Paul's pointed charge — " Let no man despise thee." To us, my brethren, who preach the gospel or expect to preach it, and especially to those of you who are soon to enter on that difficult but necessary, dangerous but blessed work, the words of the apostle have peculiar interest ; for in reference to these simple but essential truths which we have been considering, and to the risk of error or un- faithfulness in teaching them, " he being dead yet speaketh," say- ing, not only to the Church at large, but more directly to each one of us, " These things speak, and exhort, and rebuke with all authority. Let uo man despise thee." XVllL Canbersbit. " When thou art converted, strengthen thy bretliren." — Luke xxii. 32. rFHERE is nothing in which self ignorance displays itself more J- frequently than in men's estimation of their own strength and weakness. It is enough that they consider themselves strong when they are weak. They go still further, and consider them- selves strongest at the very points where they are weakest. Hence the easy conquest of the tempter by assailing men at those points which require protection most, but which enjoy it least. Nothing is more familiar as a trait of human character, than the disposition to be vain or proud of foibles and weaknesses. A striking histo- rical example of this error and its fruits is afforded by the charac- ter of Peter. His intrepidity and self-reliance might have seemed to constitute his strength, and yet we find them lying at the root of his defections. This was the case even in those minor aberra- tions which incurred our Lord's rebuke from time to time. But it is still more clear in reference to his great fall — the de- nial of his master. To himself this seemed incredible, even when predicted, as it is in the passage whence the text is taken. But along with his fall our Lord predicts his restoration or conversion : " When thou art converted." This might seem to imply that Peter was before an unconverted man, or that his fixll was an entire fall from grace. Both these conclusions are forbidden by the promise Avhich immediately precedes the exhortation of the text : " Simon, Simon, Satan hath desired to have you that he may sift you as wheat ; but I have prayed for thee that thy faith fail not." These last words prove (1) that he had faith, and (2) that his faith was not entirely to fail. Nor will the context bear any 234 CONVERSION. other explanation of tlie word " faith," but as meaning that which constitutes a true believer. The conversion, therefore, here imme- diately referred to, is not the primary, original conversion of a sin- ner from his natural condition to the love of God, but a reconver- sion of one who had been befcjre converted. This reconversion is connected in the text with a peculiar in- fluence to be exerted on his brethren ; that is, those in the same situation, exposed to the same temptations, in danger of a like fall: " Strengthen thy brethren;" that is, confirm their faith, pre- serve them from the same disgrace which has befallen thee. This strengthening effect was not to be wrought by any natural power of Peter, nor by any official authority conferred upon him. It was only to be the product of a moral influence created by the very circumstances of the case ; that is, by the very fact of his conver- sion. And as this conversion may exist in other cases too, it will, perhaps, afford a profitable theme for meditation to inquire what it is and how it operates. The only division of the subject needed, is the one presented by the text itself — (1) When thou art converted, (2) strengthen thy brethren. (1) Conversion ; (2) Strengthening the brethren. In speaking briefly of the first, I shall begin with conversion in general, and afterwards advert to reconversion in particular. The term conversion is so familiar in its spiritual sense and applica- tion, that we seldom think of it as metaphorical. But the original terms corresponding both to this word and its cognate forms con- vert and convert, are applied even in the New Testament to phy- sical as Avell as moral changes. To this primary usage of the words it may be useful to revert, not only for the purpose of determining their essential import, but to mark certain gradations in their meaning as applied both to natural and spiritual objects. The essential, primary idea is that of a corporeal tui-ning round, without anything to limit it. The act described may be that of turning round and round indefinitely, still coming back to the original position, and then leaving it again, in a perpetual suc- cession of rotations. But to this original notion, which is insepar- able from the v.'ord, usage in many cases adds certain accessory notions. One of these is, the idea of turning in a definite direc- tion j that is, towards a certain object. The diff'erence is that CONVERSION. 235 between a whecrs turning on its axis and a flower turning towards tlie sun. But in some connections there is a still further accession to the primary idea ; so that tlie words necessarily suggest, not the jnere act of turning, nor the act of turning in a definite direction, but the act of turning from one object to another, which are then, of course, presented in direct antithesis to one another. Thus the magnetic needle, if mechanically pointed towards the south, is no sooner set at liberty than it will turn from that point to the north. In this case, however, there is still another acces- sory motion added to the simple one of turning, namely, that of turning back to a point from which it had before been turned away. And tliis idea of return or retroversion may, of course, be repeated without limit, and without any further variation of the meaning of the term used, which is still the same, whether the turuing back be for the first or second, tenth or hundredth time. All these distinctions or gradations may be traced also in the spiritual uses of the term. As thus applied, conversion is a change of character, that is, of ]ji-inciples and affections, with a corres- ponding change of outwai'd life. Now, such a change may be conceived of, as a vague, unsettled, frequently repeated revolution of the Adews and feelings, without any determinate character or end. But the conversion spoken of in Scrijjture is relieved froiii this indefiniteness by a constant reference to one specific object to which the convert turns. It is to God that all conversion is described as taking place. But how, in what sense, does man turn to God ? The least and lowest that can be supposed to enter into this conception is, a turning to God, as an object of attention or consideration — turning, as it were, for the first time to look at him, just as we might turn towards any object of sense which had before escaped attention or been out of sight. This is, in fact, a necessary part of the experimental pro- cess of conversion. To the mind in its natural condition, God is absent or unseen as an object of attentive contemplation. When a change is effected, one of the first symptoms is a turning of the soul to look at him, to gaze upon him, often wdth wonder at the blindness or stupidity which kept him so long out of view. This change of feeling can by no corporeal movement be so well represented as 236 CONVERSION. by that of turning round to look at something which before was out of sight. But the same influence which brings about this simple contemplation of God as an object before unknown or disregarded, gives it a higher character by fixing the attention on the attributes of the object, so that what might have been a gaze of curiosity, is deepened into one of admiration ; and, as the ab- solute perfection of the excellence admired becomes apparent, into one of adoration ; and as the personal affections become more and more enlisted, into one of love and confidence and self-devotion. Thus the turning which the word of God describes as necessary to salvation, is a turning to God as an object of admiring and adoring, loving and confiding contemplation. This may be so presented to the mind as to exclude or swallow up all accessory notions, by concentrating the thoughts upon Him to whom the sinner turns. But sometimes, perhaps commonly, the Scriptures so speak of conversion as to suggest distinctly the idea of that from which, as well as of that to which, we turn. We do not turn to God froua nothing or neutrality. We turn from his opposites, his enemies, his rivals. God is never the first object of supreme aflfection to his fallen creatures. The change is not from loving nothing, but from loving self, from loving sin. When we turn, we turn from darkness to light, from death to life, from hell to heaven, from the power of Satan unto God. The state from which we turn determines the method of con- version, or defines what acts and exercises are included in it. If our natural condition were only one of ignorance or innocent infir- mity, conversion would involve nothing more than intellectual illumination and increase of strength, both which it really includes. But if our native state be one of guilt and condemnation, and of utter impotence to aU good, then conversion necessarily implies deliverance from guilt by a power independent of our own ; and this presupposes faith in that gratuitous deliverance, while the very act of turning from a state of sin imphes a change of mind, that is, of judgment and of feeling with respect to it. Conversion, therefore, as exliibited in Scripture, is inseparable from repentance toward God and faith toward our Lord Jesus Christ ; because, from the nature of the case, without these it is utterly impossible, in any truly scriptural sense, to turn from sin and Satan unto God. COXVEBSTOX. 237 Sometimes, again, the idea is suggested that we not only turn to God, but turn back to him. This may at first sight appear inconsistent with the fact just stated, that our first afiections are invariably given to the world and to ourselves. But even those who are converted, for the first time, from a state of total aliena- tion, may be said to turn back to God, in reference to the great original apostasy in which we are all implicated. As individuals, we never know God till we are converted. As a race, we have all departed from him, and conversion is but turning back to him. But this expression is still more appropriate, even in its strict sense, to the case of those who have already been converted, and are only reclaimed from a partial and temporary alienation, from relapsing into sin, or what is called, in religious phraseology, de- clension, and, in the word of God itself, backsliding. That the term conversion may be properly applied to such a secondary restoration, is apparent from the language of the text, where it is used by Christ himself, of one who is expressly said to have had faith, and faith which did not absolutely fail. This usage agrees fully with the nature of conversion as described in Scripture, and with the primary import of the figurative term itself Suppose a person to have turned completely round from one object toward another, from the west, for instance, to the rising sun, and to be so attracted and absorbed by this grand sight, that he cannot wholly turn away from it, we may still conceive of him as turning partially away, and even trying to embrace both objects in his field of vision. This is no bad illustration of the case in ques- ticm. The perseverance of the saints is not secured by anj^thing inherent in tli em selves, nor even by the nature of the change wrought in conversion, but by an almighty intervention, rendered certain by a special promise. They are "kept by the i)ower of God through faith luito salvation." Upon this same power, and this same promise, they would be dependent even if transferred at once to heaven ; how much more when left to struggle Avith temptation and the remains of their original corruption. They wlio have once truly turned to God, can never wholly turn away from him, so as to lose sight of him for ever. But they may turn partly round, they may turn half i-ound, they may try to look both ways at once, as all do who endeavour to serve God and 238 CONVERSION. mammon, or who, like heathen settlers in Samaria, fear the Lord and serve their own god. They may turn more than half round, so as scarcely to see anything of that towards which they lately looked with such delight, and so as to be reckoned by the world with those who have their eyes and hearts fixed upon it There is something fearful in the length to which this retrover- sion may be carried, in the gradual approximation of the convert to his old position, and the little that seems wanting sometimes to complete the counter-revolution Avhen he is arrested and turned back again. When thus recovered, he must pass through much of the same process as at first. His second turning no less neces- sarily involves repentance and belief. The object of his faith is still the same. The pangs of godly sorrow, far from being soothed, are exasperated by the recollection of a previous repentance and a subsequent relapse. It is a new conversion, then, in all respects but one — the point at which the convert sets out, and the distance over which he passes. The neglect or rejection of this doctrine has a j^ernicious practical effect. The idea that conversion can in no sense be repeated, and that erring Christians must return to duty in a way generically different from that by wdiich they came to God at first, has a necessary tendency to foster spiritual jiride, by making all defection seem impossible ; and then, when pride has had its fall, to breed despondency by leaving no means of recovery. The truths opposed to these pernicious errors are, that even true believers may depart from God, and though, through Christ's intercession, their faith cannot wholly fail, they must experience a new conversion — must repent, believe, submit, as really as if they had been always in the gall of bitterness and the bond of iniquity. Often, when men are using palliative remedies or resting wholly on remote experience, what they really need is to be converted, to repent and do their first works. Peter had faith, and it was not to fail, even in that fiery tiial, because Christ prayed that it might not fail ; but it was to be severely tried, and he was to experience a fearful, ignominious fall, from which he could only be recovered by a new conversion, by a new repentance, and new acts of faith. " I have prayed for thee, that tliy faith fail not ; and when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren. cox VERSIOX. 239 This brings us again to the second point suggested by the text, to wit, that conversion, whether primary or secondary, total or partial, tends to the strengthening of others, that is, to their pre- servation or I'ecovery from the evils which the convert has himself escaped. In answer to the question. How does conversion tend to this result '] the general fact may be thus resolved into three dis- tinct particulars : 1. It enables men to strengthen others, 2. It obliges men to strengthen others. 3. It disposes men to strengthen others. The convert is enabled to confirm or rescue others by liis knowledge of their character and state. He knows, not only what he sees in them, but what he feels or has felt in himself. Take, for instance, the new convert from a state of total imbelief and impenitence. He knows the misery of that state, as it cannot possibly be known by those who still continue in it. They know what he knew once, but he knows in addition what he never knew at all until awakened and enlightened by the grace of God. Their view of it tends only to despair or false security. His rouses to exertion. He looks at the reality as well from their point of observation as his own, and the very insensibility which he perceives in them, excites him to new efforts for their rescue, for he knows that he was once as stupid and as much in danger. He knows, too, the inefficacy of the means which they employ to strengthen or to save themselves. For he remembers his own struggles in the slough, and the momentum with which every effort sunk him deeper and deeper. This remembrance helps him to discern what is truly needed in the case of others, and prevents liis relying, as he once did in his own case, upon anything except the true foundation. On the other hand, he knows the sovereign virtue of the means which God provides — the truth, the blood of Christ, the influences of tlie (Spirit. He appreciates the freeness with which these are offered, and the simplicity of God's way of salvation, which, with- out experience, men are always sure to underrate or misconceive. He knows, too, by experience, how their hearts are most accessible, what are their difficulties, doubts, and scruples, what are the vulnerable points at which they may be best assailed, as well for evil as for good, as well by Satan as by God. From this experi- mental knowledge of the evil, the remedy, and the application, 240 COXVEJiSIOy. even the new convert is peculiarly able to do good to others. It is accordingly a lesson of experience that men are or may be more particularly useful in this way to those who are most like their former selves. The same thing is true of the secondary, subsequent conversion from a state of declension or backsliding, to which the text more immediately refers. The person thus reclaimed knows better than his brethren who have not yet fallen, the peculiar dangers which environ them, the weakness of their faith, the strength of their temptations, the illusions of the adversary. He knows the hideous shame of the relapse, and the remorseful anguish of the first con- vulsive movements towards repentance. He knows the difficulties of the restoration-^how much harder it is now to excite hope or confirm faith, how much less effective either warning, or encourage- ment, or argument is now than it once was — how precarious even the most specious reformation and repentance must be after such deflections. All that tends to make him watchful in his own case, and to arm him against those insidious foes by whom he was be- trayed or vanquished, at the same time enables him to strengthen others. This advantage of experimental knowledge is accompanied, moreover, by a corresponding liveliness of feeling, a more energetic impulse, such as always springs from recent restorations or escapes. It is a matter of proverbial notoriety, that young converts, as a class, have more intensity of zeal and more promptness to engage in active effort. This zeal is often indiscreet, but when sufliciently informed and guided, it secures to those who have it an immense advantage over those whose hearts have been becoming cold, in due proportion to the increase of their knowledge and the ripeness of their judgment. It is this elastic spring of the afixjctions, this spontaneous movement of the active powers to exertion, which, united with the experimental knowledge before mentioned, enables the new convert or reclaimed backslider, above all other men, to " strengthen his brethren." Out of this increased ability arises, by a logical and moral necessity, a special obligation. This is only a specific application of a principle which all acknowledge, and which the word of God explicitly ])ropounds, " To him that knoweth to do good and doeth it not, to him it is sin." It needs not so much to be explained COS VERSIOX. 241 or established, as to be exemplified from real life. The recognition of the principle is there unhesitating and unanimous. He who has been recovered from the power of a desperate disease by a new or unknown remedy, is under a peculiar obligation to apply it, or at least to make it known, to all affected in like manner. Hence the unsparing, universal condemnation of the man who, from mercenary motives, holds in his possession secrets of import- ance to the health or happiness of others. The man who has just escaped, as if by miracle, from the devouring flames, often feels that, if he can, he is particularly bound to save those who are still unconscious of the danger or unable to escape it. He who is mercifully saved from shipwreck, often feels especially incumbent on himself the rescue of his fellows. He must do what he can even though he be exhausted; how much more if he is strengthened. For there is a circumstance which makes the obUgation of the spiritual convert to confirm or rescue others, gi'eater, even in pro- portion, than that of the escaped from fire or shipwreck. These ai-e often, if not always, more or less disabled by the very circum- stances of their own deliverance from helping others. The one, though saved as by fire, may be scorched and bruised, the other stiflened and benumbed — both stupified — so that long before they have recovered their capacity to act, the opportunity of saving others is gone by for ever. But conversion is attended by no such contusions, swoons, or burnings. On the contrary, it always strengthens and prepares for spiritual action, so that they who do not act for the deliverance of others, are without excuse. It seems to me that these considerations are suflicient to estab- lish the existence of the obligation, if, indeed, there can be any disposition to dispute it. But in this, as in other cases, the bare conviction or oppressive sense of duty is not always followed by an inclination to perform it. And without this inclination no eftects of a salutary kind can be expected. It is not the naked knowledge or belief of what is riglit that prompts to virtuous obedience. Such knowledge and belief may coexist with hatred of the thing required, and with a fixed determination not to do it. This state of mind is probably included in the torments of the damned. TJic heart must beat in concortl witli the reason and the conscience. And it does so in the case of the true convert, both in general and lb 242 CONVERSION. reference to this specific duty. For conversion moves liim to dis- charge it, first of all, by a general softening of the heart and the excitement of benevolent affections. But this, though indispens- able, is not enough. There must be higher motives even to secure good will and charitable acts to men. There must be love to God and zeal for Christ as the grand motives even to benevolent exer- tion, or the fruit will fail. But we may go still further, and assign a more specific principle of action prompting to the same result. This is gratitude for what the convert has himself experienced. You may possibly re- member that, when one of the great vessels wliich long maintained a constant intercourse between the old world and the new had weathered what was looked upon as an extraordinary storm, the passengers resolved to testify their gratitude to God by establish- ing a fund for the relief of shipwrecked seamen and their families. The principle involved in this proceeding was a sound one, and the feeling altogether natural. True thankfulness invariably creates the desire of requital ; and, as God cannot be its object, it is natural to spend it upon others, with a view, however, to glorify, please, and honour him. There is reason to believe that a large proportion of the purest charities of life are directly prompted by the gratitude of those who practise them. The mere conviction of right and sense of obligation would do nothing ; mere benevolence to others would do little • and even a general desire to perform the will of God and glorify his name would do less than it does, without the operation of that special motive recognised in Christ's argumentative command, " Freely ye have received, freely give." From all this it sufficiently appears that tnie conversion, whether primary or secondary, tends to the strengthening of others, by finabiing, by obliging, by disposing the convert to seek the rescue of the lost and the deliverance of those in danger. This view of the subject sets before us an important test of character and an invaluable means of iisefulness. If it be true that conversion always more or less disposes to the strengthening of others, it would seem to follow that wherever there is no sense of the obligation, much less any strong desire to discharge it, there is reason to sus- pect that we have never been converted, or, at least, that we need to be converted again. If, on the other hand, so large a part of cox VERSION. 243 the efficient charities of life depends upon the influence excited by conversion on the convert himself, we may infer that the spiritual labours of the unconverted are of little worth. This is a general proposition, but admits of a specific application to the labours of the ministry. Without this, genius, learning, eloquence, may please, they may improve, they may even in a higher sense do good, but how can we expect them to be savingly effectual, to strengthen those who are ready to perish, to confirm in good, and to deliver or protect from evil 1 Perhaps much of the unfruit- fulness which we lament proceeds directly from this very cause. How shall we strengthen our brethren unless we are converted 1 This applies even to declension and backsHding, — how much more to sheer impenitence and unbelief ! The consciousness, or even the well-grounded apprehension of this gi'and defect must paralyze exer- tion. Self-deception no less certainly must make it ineffectual. Nay, the very recollection of conversion as a past event, perhaps a distant one, although correct, may have the same result by hin- dering the soul from turning back to God, however gross and long- continued its declensions. Instead of seeking reconversion by renewed acts of repentance, faith, and love, we linger on in a con- dition half dependent, half presumptuous, in expectation of some special and extraordinary grace adapted to the case of " Christians," as distinguished from those whom we are wont to call " impeni- tent sinners." We forget that every interruption of repentance makes ourselves impenitent ; that eveiy lapse of faith converts u.s so far into unbelievers ; and that from this new state of impeni- tence and unbelief the way of restoration and recovery is the same as from the old. It is easy to imagine the effect of this mistake, whenever it exists, in rendering abortive the most zealous efforts even of men really converted, but estranged from their first love and their first works through the deceitfulness of sin. Through the Saviour's interces- sion their faith does not fail ; but they must be converted before they can confirm their brethren. Here, then, is the test, and here the means before referred to. Would you prove yourself con- verted ? Strengthen the brethren. Would you strengthen the brethren 1 Be converted. This last is indeed the best and safest course in any case. We may err in our attempts to strengthen 244 CONVERSION. the brethren, but we cannot err in aiming at our own conversion. Let us secure this, and the rest will follow. We have every in- ducement, personal and public, to seek reconversion. There are always some conversions going on among us and around us. The wicked are becoming worse. The Christian, if not growing, is declining. In the world one form of sin is constantly exchanging for another. There are many conversions from ambition to avarice, and from pleasure to ambition. And even in countries professedly religious there is scarcely any interruption of the same mysterious process. The best preventive of these retrograde conversions is conver- sion in the right direction, turning continually back to Him from whom we have revolted. Let not this be hindered by the evidence of former conversion. As long as there is sin there will be some- thing to turn from. And, thanks be to God, there is always something to turn to. While ive change he remains the same. Amidst all our fluctuations, the capricious ebb and flow of our affections, there is no change or motion in the everlasting rock against which they are beating. Through all our vicissitudes of light and darkness, night and morning, noon and twilight, light- ning and eclipse, he still remains the Father of Lights, with whom is no variableness neither shadow of turning. Even when we wander furthest, if we look back we still see him where he was. It is this sublime immutability and constancy that furnishes a basis for our hopes. If, at every fresh return to God, we found some change in the attributes of his nature or in the offers of his gospel, — if we had to make acquaintance with another Saviour, and to seek the aid of an unknown Spirit, we might well despair. But, thanks be to God, there is always something, and always the same thing, to turn to, and the same altar, tlie same laver, the same mercy-seat, the same Sovereign, the same Saviour, the same Comforter, — in one word, the same Father, Son, and Spirit, God over all, blessed for ever. There is always something to turn to ; and, lastly, there is always something to turn for. For the honour of Christ^he may be glorified in our growth rather than in our decay, in our salvation rather than our ruin. For ourselves — that we may redeem lost time, and wipe off the re^jroach which we have justly incurred upon the cause. For our brethren — that CONVERSlOy. 245 they may be strengthened ; if impenitent, converted ; if backslid- ing, reclaimed ; if assailed, confirmed. Let us give ear, then, to the tvs^o great lessons which the text affords. The one is. Be converted, for the first time, or afresh. And oh ! vi'hen thus converted, remember those whom you have left behind. You who are raised up by the great Physician from the bed of spiritual languishment, do not forget the sufferers still lying there, fevered, or palsied, or convulsed with pain. You who are plucked as brands from the burning, oh, remember the poor victims who are still asleep beneath the curtain of that stifling smoke, and with that horrid glare upon their eyelids, or perhaps just aroused to a benumbing sense of their condition. You who have reached the shore of mercy from that scene of spiritual ship- wreck, oh, look back upon those still unconscious victims, lying just as you lay but a little while ago, or on those pallid faces, mutely pleading for deliverance, or those hands lifted up above the surface of the bubbling waves, before they sink for ever. When you go hence, you will go to witness just such scenes as this, to stand upon the wreck-strewed shore, and there see thousands perish, while perhaps you may be able to save one ! But how precious even that one in the sight of God and holy angels. How well worthy of your best exertions and most fervent prayers. But forget not, in addition to the training through which you are passing, and which claims your most assiduous attention ; oh, for- get not that without which this nmst be for ever unavailing, — for- get not to prepare your hearts, yourselves, for future toil and future usefulness, by giving present, constant heed to the fiist great commandment of the Savioui', " Be converted ;" and to the second, which is like unto it " When thou art converted, strengthea thy brethren." ^"^^^ XIX. ITef iht graiJ gitrg tijerr gtab. "Let the dead bury their dead; but go thou and preach the kingdom of God." — Luke ix, 60. THE gospel history is distiiiguislied from all others by the in- trinsic dignity of its subject — the sayings and doings of our Lord and Saviour. In such a record, if inspired, there can be nothing smaU or unimportant. The slightest hint or trace of tlie I\edeemei''s words and deeds is precious to his people in all ages. And yet there is a secret disposition to regard these books as only fit for children, and to slight the gems of godlike wdsdom which are scattered through them — always invalualjle, although some- times, as, for instance, in the text which I have read, they may be strange and enigmatical. These remarkable words are recorded by two of the evangelists — that is, the words of the first clause — and in precisely the same form, which shows how carefully the apostolical tradition has preserved our Saviour's very words there, while in the other clause the two accounts agree only in substance. According to both accounts, our Lord said, " Let the dead bury their dead ;" but according to Matthew, he began by saying, " Follow me ;" according to Liike, he ended by saying, " Go thou and preach the kingdom of God." Both these versions may be literally accurate, though each has been preserved by only one his- torian. Or both may be paraphrases, giving the spirit, not the letter, of our Lord's reply. Or one may be such a paraphrase, and the other a statement of the words actually uttered. Upon any of these suppositions, all of wliich are natural and easy, and accord- ing to analogy and usage, the consistency of the accounts may be completely vindicated. At the same time, this diversity, however it may be explained, renders still more striking the exact agree- LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. 247 ment of the Gospels in the otlier words. Whatever else our Saviour may liave said besides, he certainly said, " Let the dead bury their (own) dead." There is also a remarkable agreement and diversity in the ac- companying circumstances, as related by the two evangelists. Both connect this little dialogue, in which the text occurs, with another of the same kind, and both put this other first. But Liike adds a third of the very same description, which Matthew does not give at all. They also agree in representing these brief conversations as taking place upon the road, or as our Lord was setting out upon a journey. Luke merely says. As they went in the way, or were proceeding on their journey, without specifying time or place. In the absence of all other information, it would be most natural to understand him as referring to the immediately preceding con- text, which is generally supposed to record the commencement of our Lord's last journey to Jerusalem. But observe, the writer does not say so j it Ls a mere inference, and more than half, perhaps nine-tenths, of the alleged variations in the Gospels, have arisen from confounding mere sequence or juxtaposition in the record, with exact or immediate chronological succession. All that Luke says is, that they were journeying, ov on their way. If this were all we knew about it, we might well infer that it was on the journey previously mentioned. But that inference is gone when Matthew tells us that this very conversation happened at an earlier period of Christ's ministry, when he was just embark- ing on that voyage across the sea of Galilee, which furnished the occasion of a miracle, evincing, for the first time, his dominion, over nature and the elements, as well as over demons and diseases. It was just before the stilling of the storm that Matthew places this occurrence; and as Luke's expressions are entirely indefinite, those of Matthew must of course determine the chronology, not in opposition to Luke's statement, or even in correction of it, but in addition to it, as a supj)lement or specification. This view of the matter involves no invidious distinction be- tween Luke and Matthew, as more or less exact or complete in their statements, because Luke, in other cases, supplies facts and incidents omitted by Matthew, and in this very case, it is only by a reference to Mark, who does not give the dialogues at all, but 248 LET THE DEAD BURY THEIB DEAD. does give what precedes and follows — it is only by a reference to this third witness, that we learn with certainty that all this hap- pened on the very day when Christ nttered that remarkable series of parables beginning with the sower, or at least a part of them. Matthew prefaces the dialogue from which the text is taken, by saying that, " When Jesus saw great multitudes about him, he gave commandment to depart unto the other side." This, taken by itself, might seem to mean that what follows in the narrative held the same position in the order of events. But he does not say so, and he may mean that it happened on a different occasion, when he saw a multitude around him. This possibility becomes a certainty when Mark informs us that this passage of the lake took place " on the same day, in the evening." This is perfectly definite as to the time, as well as the events. It cannot possibly be referred to any other day or hour, without impugning Mark's authority. There may have been a thousand days on which our Lord found himself surrounded by a crowd, and escaped them by embarking on the lake ; and this is all that Matthew says. We are, therefore, at liberty, nay, bound to fix the date of this vague statement, in accordance with the light obtained from other sources. Such a source is Mark, and such a light is his explicit statement (iv. 35), that the voyage across Gennesaret, in which our Saviour stilled the storm, occurred in the evening of the same day — what day ? why, of course, the day of Avhich he had just been speaking. Now, the immediately preceding context in Mark's narrative contains a series of parables, beginning with that of the sower, and ending with that of the mustard-seed, — the same series that occurs, with some additions, in the 13th of Matthew, long after he has recorded the dialogue from which the text is taken, but which ^lark, witliout giving it all, assigns to its exact place in the order of events, by telling us what happened just before and after. Luke merely says that they were on the way ; Matthew, more dis- tinctly, on their way to cross the lake ; and Mark, still more ex- plicitly, that they did cross it, and that Christ did still the storm, upon the evening of the same day when those parables were vittered. This is only one out of a multitude of instances in which one of the Gospels gives the actual order of events, while another gives LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. 249 them in another order suited to his own immediate purpose. Tliis deviation from the order of actual occurrence is practised by tlie historians of every age, and can only be condemned as unhistorieal by those who do not know the difference between history and chronology, or rather between dates and the events to which they owe their value. This practice is peculiar to no one of the evan- gelists, but common to them all, the attempt to make one of them the standard in chronology, to which the others are to be con- formed, having proved as impracticable in execution, as it is arbi- trary and gratuitous in theory. As Mark here furnishes a date which neither Luke nor Matthew giv^s us, so in other cases he receives from them the same additional specification. Thereasnn for departing from the rigid chronological arrangement is not al- ways the same, nor always apparent ; but the one most generally applicable is, that the liistorian means to put together facts re- sembling one another, although not immediately successive in the order of occurrence. Thus Matthew, in recording several parables that Mark gives, omits one and adds another, as more suited to his purpose, and inserts the whole series at a different point in the narrative from that to which it properly or rather chronologically belongs. Tiius, too, Luke, in giving the two dialogues between our Lord and two new followers, which Matthew had recorded, not only adds a third, which may have happened at a different time, but places the whole series in a different connection, yet without the slightest intimation as to time beyond the mere juxtaposition, and, therefore, without the slightest contradiction to the more specific statements of the other Gospels. A biographer of Washington who wished to give that gi-eat man's views on some important subject — say the subject of reli- gion— not only might, but must, in order to attain his end, collect the expression of those views from different periods of his history, and give them seriatim, without any risk of being charged, as the evangelists are charged by shallow and dishonest infidels, with con- tradicting those biographers who give the very same facts or words, not together — having no such purpose to answer as the one first mentioned — but in connection with the times and places at which they happened or were uttered. 250 LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. In the case supposed, too, no one dreams of cliarging the re- spective writers with mutual contradiction, simply because, in illustration of the point which they are proving, they may differ in the choice or the arrangement of their proofs, because one passes over what another has recorded, or repeats a certain part of it without the rest. When will the same principles and modes of judgment which experience and common sense are constantly applying on the bench and in the jury-box, and even in the ordi- nary intercourse of life, be fairly extended to tlie real or alleged variations in the gospel history or life of Christ 1 These considerations are abundantly sufficient for my purpose in proposing them, namely, that of showing that the question as of time and order, in the case before us, though admitting of an easy and satisfactory solution, is of little moment as an element of sound interpretation. Whether these three replies of Christ were uttered on the same or on different occasions, whether earlier or later in his public ministry, are questions which can have no effect, either upon their intrinsic value, or upon their mutual connection, which arises from their common bearing on a single subject of great practical importance. It is also a subject of peculiar interest to such an audience as this — composed almost entirely of persons looking forward to the ministry, or actually in it — being nothing more nor less that the spirit which should actuate those seeking this high office, and the principle on which it should be chosen as the business of a life- time, and on which its claims should be adjusted, when appa- rently or reaUy in conflict with attractions or demands from any other quarter. This is a subject which can never be wholly in- appropriate to us, and on which it may sometimes be expedient to let Jesus Christ speak in his own way, however paradoxical or strange it may appear when compared with the maxims of worldly wisdom, or even with those of casuistical theology. Let this be my apology for asking your attention to this text and context, just as it lies upon the face of Scrijjture, or with t)nly such departures from the form, as may render its considera- tion more convenient and more practically useful. In order to secure all the light which the connection can afford to the obscure words of the text, I shall include in my proposed examination all LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. 251 the similar or homogeneous cases here referred to, whether by one of the evangelists, or both. At the very threshold we are met, liowever, by a striking instance of the way in which the Gospels mutually specify and supplement each other. The first case mentioned, both by Luke and Matthew, is that of one who volunteered to follow Christ wherever he should go. Be- sides the unimportant variation in the title, by which this man addressed him, and which Matthew gives as Master or Teacher, Luke, as Sir or Lord, there is another more material and interest- ing difference, though not the slightest discrepance or contradic- tion, the difference being only in the degree of definiteness and pre- cision. Luke's account, by itself, might suggest the idea, that this volunteer disciple was an ordinary man, of little knowledge or intelligence, and his proposal a vague offer of discipleship in gene- ral, without reference to any special or official service. Both these impressions, although perfectly legitimate and natural, if we had only Luk6's description, are removed by Matthew's statement, that this "certain man," of whom Luke speaks, was a scribe, or liter- ally, "one scribe," — an unusual expression, which may either mean a certain individual of that class, or more definitely, one of the scribes known to have been present then and there. Remember- ing, as we should do, whenever scribes are mentioned, that they were not clerks or secretaries, nor simple copyists of the law, but its official conservators and professional expounders — the succes- sors of Ezra, without his inspiration, but aspiring to the same high trust of guardhig the Old Testament canon, wliich he closed, from mutilation and corruption, and unauthorized addition ; yes, and recognised by Christ himself as the legitimate interpreters of Moses, although grossly inconsistent in their lives, and forming a part, either collectively or representatively, of the Sanhedrim, the great national presbytery or senate — you will see at once that this was no fortuitous or vague proposal, from an unknown or unim- portant person, to enrol himself as one of our Lord's followers — ■ as multitudes were, no doubt, doing every day — but an extraor- dinary overture, of which there seems to have been few examples, from an educated student and interpreter of Scripture, to assume the same position in the new religion that he held already in the old ; in other words, it was an offer to become what Christ himself 252 LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. is elsewhere said to have described as a scribe instructed or dis- cipled, into and unto, that is, into the fellowship, and for the ser- vice of, the new dispensation or kingdom of heaven {^f att. xiii. 52) ; and that not merely upon certain terms, or in a certain place, to be selected by the offerer, but wherever he, whom by this act he owns as the Messiah, should be pleased to lead the way. Upon every principle of worldly wisdom, or of selfish policy, or even of what some regard as Christian prudence, how would this offer have been received and answered] as a flattering compliment? a condescen- sion? a remarkable example of distinguished gifts and lofty sta- tion laid upon the altar of religion, and entitled therefore to a high place in the synagogue or church, and to a grateful recognition, even at the hands, and from the lips of Christ himself? With such prepossessions and anticipations of our Lord's reply to this attractive offer, how should we, and how may some of his attendants upon that day have been shocked and startled, by its seeming harshness and irrelevance? Instead of thanks, instead of praise, instead of courtly acquiescence, and a graceful welcome, the poor scribe gets nothing in return for his proposal, but that wild and melancholy sentence, which has ever since been ringing in the ears of all who read or hear the gospel, like the burden of some funeral song, a snatch of some unearthly chant by " airy tongues, that syllable men's names on sands, and shores, and desert wilder- nesses,"— " Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head." Sublimely touching as the weakest intellect and meanest taste must feel these words to be, considered in themselves, how strange do they appear to most, considered as an answer. How evasive, incoherent, and unmeaning have they been declared to be by many a pedantic critic ! Yet the world has never heard, and the records of the world do not contain a more direct, conclusive, and exhaustive answer — not to the scribe's words; there is the error that gives birth to all these false and foolish judgments, of whicii every one of us has had his share, — not to his words, but to his thoughts, his wishes — those desires and purposes which lay so closely coiled about his very heart that he may have had no clear view of them himself. Not to his lips, or to his eye, or to his ear, but to his inmost soul, and to the hidden cci-e of his corrupt affec- LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. 253 tions, to his proud conceit and secular ambition, to his love of ease, and fame, and power to his sordid, carnal, and concealed hope of distinction and enjoyment in the kingdom of this untaught teacher, this unbribed benefactor, this amazing, wonder-working Son of man, — to these, to all these, as seen by an omniscient eye to constitute the man, did that unsparing, unexpected answer speak in articulate annihilating thunder. But even in attempting to do feeble justice to our Master's greatness upon this occasion, let us not be led astray by any false interpretation of his language, however natural, however common. Let us not impair its simple grandeur by forcing quaint conceits upon it, by supposing an allusion, in the foxes and the birds, which he seems almost to envy, to the cunning or the other evil attributes of those who hated him, but give the expressions their most obvious import, as descriptive of familiar living things, per- haps presented at the moment to the eyes of those who heard him, or at least to their memory and imagination. Nor let us rush into the opposite extreme of giving to the words that follow too obvious and easy an interpretation, as expressive of extreme want and privation, not only of the luxuries and comforts, but of the neces- sary means of life. Such a description would have been at vari- ance with the known facts of our Saviour's history, the apparent circumstances of his nearest relatives and friends, including some at least of his apostles, and still more of his disciples in the wider .sense, the various comfortable homes in Avhich we find him a most ■welcome guest, and the extreme devotion of a few choice spirits, whose substance and whose lives existed only for his service, and among whom, while none were poor, one was connected with the royal household. The glory of the Saviour stands in no need uf romantic or poetical embellishment. Starvation, peniuy, formed no part of his sufferings, thoiigh often gloried in as chief points of resemblance by ascetic bearers of his cross. His food and raiment seem to have been those of the society in which he lived, and he expressly describes himself as " eating and drinking' Avith his neighbours, in contrast with the austere life of his forerunner, who came " neither eating nor drinking," and was therefore thought to have a devil. The idea of extreme want and a state of beggary, is not sug- 254 LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. gested by his words on the occasion now before us. To the scribe's ambitious expectations of a long triumphant reign of the Messiah upon earth, and of distinction and enjoyment in his ser- vice, he opposes that of a mere transient visit and unsettled life ; the absence, not of ordinary food and shelter, but of a permanent and settled home, much more of a luxurious court and palace, using the very figure long before employed by Tiberius Gracchus, when complaining that the champions of Italian freedom were compelled to lead a homeless life, and flit from place to place, while the very beasts that ravaged Italy had lairs and pasture- grounds. The spirit of our Lord's reply to this deceived or hypo- critical pretender is : " You know not what you ask or what you offer; you are utterly mistaken in relation to my presence upon earth and its design. Instead of being here, as you imagine, for the purpose of establishing a temporal and worldly kingdom, I am only here to die and rise again. I am here, not as a conqueror or a sovereign, but as a servant and a stranger, less at home than even the inferior animals ; ' the foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests,' " ikc. The next place, both in Luke and ]\Iatthew, is assigned to the discourse from wliich the text is taken ; but it may be more con- venient to reserve this till we have considered the additional case found in Luke, and closing his account of the whole matter. From this we learn that, on the same occasion, or one like it, another ])ersou offered to follow him, but asked permission first to bid farewell to those at home. This request was so much like that of Elisha to Elijah, when he called liini from the plough to the prophetic office, that our Lord, with a beautiful acconuuodation in the form of his rejily to this designed or undesigned allusion, speaks of his own service inider the figure of husbandry or plough- ing, recommended also by tlie agricultural employments of the multitude before whom he was speaking, and perhaps suggested, as so many of his parables are thouglit to have been, by the sight of some one actually so employed. That sight, or even recollec- tion, was sufficient to suggest the necessity of close attention, un- divided thoughts, and undiverted eyes, in order to accomplish a straight furrow. The man, who with his hand upon the plough for such a purpose, could look idly back, in sport or in stupidity, LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. 255 would be pronounced by every ploughman present utterly unfit for that humble but important duty. Here, too, as in the first case, the reply is to the thoughts, or to the state of mind ; the character or disposition, rather than the language. And to those the answer is adjusted ; having reference in this case, not to proud ambitious hopes, but to distracted views, and a divided heart-wish and purpose to serve Christ, combined with a presumptuous desire to continue the enjoyment of what ought to have been sacrificed or left behind by one wlio sought his service. To this very differ- ent, but perhaps more common class of false professors and un- faithful servants, our Lord spoke once for all and for ever, when he said in answer to that new proposal, " No man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God." There is, however, still another question raised and answered in these few words : that of the comparative or relative demands of natural affection, duty and regard to relatives and friends, when brought into real or apparent conflict with the service of our Lord, or with his positive commands. But this is a subject still more clearly and impressively presented in the thii-d reply from which the text is taken. The person speaking and addressed in this case is by Luke simply called " another," but by Matthew " another of his disciples ;" in the wide sense of one who was already a believer in our Lord's Messiahship, and a receiver of his doctrine, but de- sired to sustain a more intimate relation to him, as an attendant on his person, and a messenger to carry his commands to others. Although mere sequence or juxtaposition, as we have already seen, is no sure sign of chronological succession, it is not perliaps un- meaning or fortuitous, that this whole narrative in Luke imme- diately precedes the mission of the seventy disciples, nor entirely improbable that these offers of service had respect to that import- ant mission. If so, this renders it still more certain that the propositions and replies in all the cases, referred, as they unques- tionalily did in one, not merely to discipleship in general, but to preaching in particular. If anything were needed, this would seem to be sufficient to awaken oiu- attention to a passage so directly bearing, not on Christian character only, but on the very office which we seek or hold already. 256 LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. In one point, Lnke is here more definite tlian Matthew, taking up the conversation at an earlier stage, and showing that the words which Matthew puts into the moutli of this disciple were occasioned by an express command from Christ to follow him, that is, to attend upon Ms person with a view to being sent out by him. The same command may be implied, though not expressed, in one or both the other cases. Unless it be, we must regard the one before us as a more direct evasion of acknowledged duty than the others, where the proposition seems to be a voluntary one, and not in answer to a special call. Be this as it may, the proposition itself is not unconditional, as in the first case, nor on the condition of a simple opportunity of bidding farewell to friends at home, as in the second, but turns upon a still more solemn and affecting duty, that of burying a father; not of waiting upon him till he died, as some interpreters have understood it, for such a proposition would have been absurd, asking to wait untU his father's death before he followed Clirist on this occasion. Nor is it the natural meaning of the words. Let me first go away and bury my father ; referring just as plainly to a momentary and immediate interrui)- tion as the following request to bid farewell to those at home. Even this has sometimes been explained as meaning to adjust or wind up one's affairs, or dispose of one's possessions ; but the only natural hypothesis, in either case, is that wliich concentrates the attention on a single act, and one connected with the tenderest domestic ties and personal affections, — in the one case, that of part- ing from the nearest living friends, and in the other, that of bury- ing the body of a father. Here, again, a different answer might have been expected, not by policy or selfishness alone, but by the kindliest sentiments of human nature ; and our Lord's reply may therefore seem abrupt and harsh to a much larger and more elevated class than those who are offended by his former answer. The difficulty here felt has betrayed itself in exegetical expedients to impose some other meaning on the words than that which can be gained by any natural interpretation. As a single but extreme specimen of such expedients, I may name the monstroiis supposition that the dead first mentioned are tliose charged with the burial of the dead, so that our Lord's words are only a consolatory or encouraging assur- LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. 257 ance that this sacred duty would not be neglected, even if the son should instantly obey his call. To the same class may be referred the supposition that his words have reference to ceremonial defilement, and that his refusal is no more severe than that which would have been received from any priest, whether Jew or Gentile. The total silence of the narrative on this point, and the inconsistency of such a meaning with the whole spirit of our Lord's instructions, may serve as a sufficient refutation of this notion, and of every other which supposes the permission to have been withheld on any other ground than that suggested in the accompanying words, namely, the paramount necessity of following Christ, and preaching or lUDclaiming the kingdom of God. Of the enigmatical words, " Let the dead bury their dead," there are only two interpretations which appear in any age to have commanded the assent of sober and judicious minds; and of these two, one has always had so gi-eat a majority of suffrages that it may be regarded as established by the voice of the Church and exegetical tradition. This is the cild interjiretation which assumes two entirely different senses of the word dead, in the two parts of the sentence, the first figurative or spiritual, the second literal or natural. " Let those dead in sin bury the bodies of the naturally dead." There are enough of worldly, unconverted men, or of men not called into my immediate service, to render these last oflices to lifeless bodies, but do thou go and preach the kingdom of God. To thiis it has been objected, not without some force, that the very assumption of a double sense within so short a con)pass is not to be assumed without necessity; and also that the sense obtained is not entirely satisfactory, since it is not consistent with the letter or spirit of Christianity to devolve such duties on the unconverted, to the exclusion of *' devout men," such as carried the first martyr to his burial. Without pausing now to show how these objections may be answered, I may simply state that they have led some eminent, though few interpreters, to give the same sen^ to the word d^ad in both clauses, and to understand the whole as meaning, "leave the dead to bury one anotlicr." This, it is objected, is impossible ; but that impossibility is looked upon by those who take this view aa constituting the 17 258 LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. whole force and point of the expression, like the camel passing; through the eye of a needle. It is then equivalent to saying, an-i saying in the boldest and the strongest form, " If necessary, leave the dead unburied, but at all events obey my call to go and pro- 'claim the kingdom of God." According to this last view of the passage, it belongs to what have sometimes been, perhaps improperly, described as the para- doxes of our Lord's instructions — those unexpected and surprising forms of speech, by which he first awakens the attention of his hearers, and then states a principle or rule of action, not in its abstract form, nor yet in application to an ordinary case, but to an extreme case, so that every other may be readily disposed of Thus, instead of laying down in general terms the rule of charity or Christian love, he commanded the young ruler, whom he saw to be enamoured of his wealth, to sell all that he had, and come and follow him; thus showing him at once, by an extreme test, where his weakness lay, which might have been untouched by requisitions of another kind, or of inferior degree. So, too, instead of giving rules for the mortification of sin in ordinary cases, he at once supposes the extreme case of a choice between wilful indulgence and the loss of a limb, and teaches, not that such a case is likely to be expected to occur, much less that we may lawfully ^Ji'oduce it ; but that if it did occur, we ought to be prepared to sacrifice the body to the soul. Instead of dealing out empirical prescrip- tions for the regulation of our duties and regards to God and man respectively, he assumes abruptly the extreme case of our love to God excluding or forbidding that to any relative, however near or dear, and then requires his followers, in that case, not only to prefer God, but to hate even father or mother. Not that the case itself is one to be expected, but because the principle of 2"yaramount affection to the Saviour reaches even such a case, however rare and unexampled, and must therefore, of course, cover every other, just as every Christian at the present day is bound to suffer martyrdom rather than deny Christ, although actual martyr- dom has been unknown in most parts of the earth for ages. This seems to me to be the true key to the enigmas of our Sa\doTir's sermon on the mount, and to the fallacies by which so many Christian men have been seduced into the effort to convert LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. 259 the extreme cases thus employed into formal rviles of ordinary conduct. In the case before us, the same principle would lead to the conclusion that the Christian should be willing and prepared to leave his dearest dead unburied, or to slight any other tender natural affection, the indulgence of which would be in conflict with a plain command or call of God ; but not that such a conflict commonly exists, or may be brought about at pleasure, which, so far from being pleasing in the sight of God, is really the sin committed by the hypocrites who said " Corban," when they ought to have supplied the wants of their dejiendent parents. These are the grounds on which the literal interpretation of the words has been defended and explained, but, as I said before, almost the whole weight of authority and long prescription is in favour of the other explanation, which requires the follower, and especially the minister of Christ, to leave all natural attentions, even the most tender duties of affection, to the men of this world, when they would conflict with his obedience to the call of God. As topics of reflection on this interesting jjassage, I suggest — 1. That there is still a special call of Christ to individuals, not only to believe in him, but to preach his kingdom. Without attempting to define this call at present, I may observe that it is neither miraculous on one hand, nor a matter of business calcula- tion on the other, but a complete judgment or conclusion to which various elements contribute, such as intellectual and physical capacity, without which a call is inconceivable^providential facilities and opportunities, opening the way to this employment more than to all others — the judgment and desire of others, and especially of those best cpialified by character and situation, to sib in judgment on the case. I might add a desire for the woik, which, in a certain sense, is certainly included in a call, but which is apt to be confounded with a mere liking for the outward part of the profession — for example, with that mania for preaching which is sometimes found in grossly wicked men, and has been known to follow them, not only to their haunts of vice, but to the prisc)n and the madhouse. Tliere is also a desire which results from early habit and association, the known wish of parent'^, pastors, and other friends, or the fixed inveterate habit of regard- ing this as a man's chosen calling, even when every evidence of 260 LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. piety is wanting. The desire which can be referred to any of these causes is entirely distinct from that which God produces in the heart of his true servants, as a part of tlieir vocation to the ministry. 2. This vocation, where it really exists, is paramount to every personal and selfish plan, to every natural aflfectiou, even the most tender, which conflicts with it. 3. This conflict is not usually unavoidable, though often so regarded by fanatics. The first duty of the Christian, is not to desire or create, but to avoid it ; but if imavoidable, his next is to obey God rather than man. 4. Our Saviour did not deal indiscriminately with all cases of desire to enter his immediate semce. The remark is at least as old as Calvin, that in this case he repelled the man who wanted to go with him everywhere, and urged the man to follow him at once who wanted to go home for what appeared to be most necessary purposes. So far as his example is a guide to us in these things, we are bound, not only to persuade, but to discourage, as the case may be. 5. There is no more danger of excluding those whom God has called by faithful presentation of the whole truth, than tliere is of preventing the conversion of his chosen ones by showing them the true tests of faith and repentance. The man who can be finally driven back in this way ought to be so driven. He whom God has called will only be confirmed in his desire and resolution by such warnings against self-deception, though he may pass through the discipline of painful doubt and hesitation for a season. To you, my young brethren, whose presence here to-day is a profes- sion that you believe yourselves called of God to this high office, my desire and prayer is, that the Lord would speak directly as lie sees your case to need ; that if any of you are anticipating only ease, and honour, and enjoyment of a selfish nature in his service, though you honestly believe yourselves prepared to follow him wherever he may lead you, he may say to you this morning, as he said to that deluded scribe of old, " The foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests ; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head;" that if any of you, although willing and desirous to engage in this service, have your hearts divided between it and LET TUB DEAD BURY THEIR DEAD. 261 that wliicli you have left, the business or the pleasi;res of the world, or its mere natural attachments and enjoyments, you may this day hear him say, and say with a medicinal effect, " No man having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God." And lastly, that if even one among you is distracted and distressed by imaginary obligations to ypur nearest friends, at variance with your duty to your Lord and Master, he may nerve your courage and disj^el your doubts, by saying, as he said to him whose father lay unburied, " Let the dead bury their dead, but go thou and preach the kingdom of God." XX. "What I say unto yuii, I say unto all: Watch." — ]\1ark xiii. 37. THE personal ministry of Christ was limited ttj one small country. On two occasions only do Ave read of his haA'ing crossed the frontiers of Palestine. The first was in his infancy, when he was carried into Egypt, to escape the sanguinary sj)ite of Herod. The second was in later life, when he visited the coasts of Tyre and Sidon, in Phoenicia, and there wrought a miracle of healing on the daughter of a Syrophoenician woman, and in com- pliance with her urgent prayer, as if to show, by one signal action of his public life, that he came to be the Saviour of the Gentiles as well as of the Jews. With tliese exceptions, his whole life was passed in the land of Israel; its earher years chiefly in the northern part, called Galilee; its later years partly in that region, partly in Judea, partly beyond Jordan. We read repeatedly in Scripture that his fame was spread, not only through these j^rovinces, but over the surrounding countries, and that wherever he went he was accompanied or followed by vast multitudes. These multitudes were no doubt always chang- ing as he passed from one part of the country to another. There is reason to believe, however, that a large number followed him from place to place, forming a permanent body of attendants. These were influenced no doubt by various motives ; some by vague curiosity, and a desire to see new and wonderful performances ; some by a desire to be healed, or to obtain healing for their friends ; some by gratitude for such gifts experienced already ; some by a wish to be instructed ; some by a conviction of sin and a desire of salvation. Those who were governed by the higher ]VA TCHFULNESS. 263 class of motives, tlie desire of instruction and salvation, may be comprehended under the general description of " disciples ;" that is, such as acknowledged Christ's authority and received his doctrines. Out of this undelined and shifting body of disciples he selected twelve, that they might constantly attend him or be sent out by hiui. These were called apostles. But even among these we read of three who were admitted to more intimate and confidential intercourse, as appears from the frequency and prominence with which their names are mentioned in the gospel history, and from the fact that they accompanied their Master upon some occasions when the rest were left behind. The three thus specially dis- tinguished were Simon Peter and tlie two sons of Zebedee, James and John. In this point of view our Lord appears surrounded by a succession of concentric circles; first the narrow circle of his confidential followers, then the wider circle of his twelve apostles, then the still wider circle of disciples, beyond which spreads the less defined and constant circle of his hearers and spectators, like a circle on the surface of the water spreading till it merges in the smooth face of the lake or stream. Corresponding to these various sets of hearers is the various design of the discourses which our Lord addressed to them. Some were intended for the ear of the few nearest to him, some for the whole body of apostles, some for his disciples generally, some for the vast mixed multitude who happened to be present. In some cases, what was said had reference to the wants of his contemporaries generally, not of those merely whom he imme- diately addressed. Sometimes liis instructions had a universal ajjplication to all countries and all ages. Sometimes, though im- mediately adapted to one purpose, they admitted of a wider or a more specific apjilication. Thus the text has reference directly to the downfall of the Jewish nation, and to the dangers in which . Christ's disciples were to be involved. It was against these dangers that he meant to warn them. But the warning was applicable to the case of all then living, as he intimates himself, by adding, "What I say unto you, I say unto all." On the same principle, we may make a still further application of the precept, to ourselves and to our spiritual dangers. For if 264 WATCHFULNESS. sucli a warning was appropriate in reference to temporal calamities, however fearful, it can be no perversion to extend it to perils no less real, and as much more tremendous as the soul is more im- portant than the body, and eternity than time. We need not, therefore, hesitate to look upon ourselves as comprehended in the wide scope of our Saviour's exhortation, though addressed to his immediate hearers, " What I say unto you, I say unto all, Watch!" Let us considei", then, the duty and necessity of watchfulness in reference to spiritual dangers. The exhortation to watch may be resolved into two others : be awake, and be upon your guard. The last necessarily implies the first. No one can be upon his guard vmless he is awake ; but the converse is not true. A man may be awake, and yet not on his guard. Let us, therefore, consider them successively. And first, what is meant by spiritual watchfulness ? This again may be resolved into several particulars. In the first place, the mind must be awake, the understanding, the rational powers. And in order to this, it is essential that the powers should be exercised ; in other words, that the man should think. There is, indeed, a sense in which the mind must always think. Thought is inseparable from its very being. In another sense, which, al- though less philosophical, is equally intelligible, mind may be said not to think. Hence the familiar terms, unthinking, thoughtless, and the like. The thing required is not the mere possession of rational faculties, but their use. The man must think in earnest, think with vigour, think coherently. Some thinking is not so much active as passive, not so much an exertion as an indulgence. This dreamy, indolent condition of the soul is the lowest stage of intellectual life, and that state of oinnion must be morbid and corrupt wliich represents it as the highest mode of thought, and even as a kind of inspiration. To be mentally awake, there must be life, spontaneous action and coherence in the thoughts. But this is not enough. The mind may be awake in this sense, and yet dreaming in another. It may act, and yet the world in which it acts may be not the present, but another. Some minds .')l)erate too fast, and some too slow. Some men's thoughts are for ever in advance of that which claims their present attention- \VA TCHFULNESS. 265 This is the case with those who habitually dwell upon the circum- stances of our future being, and attempt to discover that which has not been revealed, and therefore has no bearing on our present duties or interests. The same is true of some who do not look so far off, who confine themselves to this life, but who constantly anticipate a state of things still future, and do now what they ought to do hereafter. On the other liand, some are either con- stitutionally or habitually slow ; they are constantly behindhand ; they think, but think too late, when the necessity for thinking has gone by. Both these mental states and habits have analogy to sleep ; the first to the condition of the fitful, feverish, visionary dreamer, the last to that of the more drowsy slumberer. Both, however, are asleep. The mind, to be awake, must not only think, and think with vigour and coherence, but think sea- sonably also. Even this is not enough. This may be done, and yet the mind remain absorbed in spiritual slumber. For what can vigour, coherence, or promptness avail, if the thoughts are exercised on trifling or unimportant objects 1 However thoroughly the mind is roused, however actively it may exert itself, however ready it be to act precisely at the juncture when its action is re- quired, if it does not act upon the proper objects, it might just as well not act at all, it may still be figuratively represented as asleep. This is the spiritual state of many. Their powers appear to be in active exercise, but they are spent on trifles. Even when they think of serious things in general, it is not of the great doc- trines of religion — the substantial truth of God, but of enigmas, difficulties, puzzles in theology, about v/hich men may speculate for ages without reaching any satisfactory result, or doing any good to themselves or others. Such minds may seem wide awake, but they are walking and talking in their sleep ; just as in real life we meet with cases Avliere the person performs certain acts with vigour and precision, but not such as belong to his present situation : he is asleep. The mind which is asleej) in this sense, never proves itself awake until it turns away from its beloved theme of speculation to the matters which deserve and claim its attention. But even when it does this, it may still come short of the de- sired and necessary end, by thinking to no practical purpose. 2f,6 WA TCHFULXESS. We may think, tliink in earnest, think with vigour, tliink coher- ently, think seasonably, think of the right things, yet think of them merely as themes of speculation, without any reference to our own duty or practical concern in- them. This is the case of those who hear the gospel, and read the Scriptures, and think much of religion, but still keep it at arm's length, or still further off from any personal contact with themselves, or with anything beyond their understandings or their speculative faculties. This leads me, in the next place, to observe, that the conscience as well as the intellect must be awake — the moral as well as the purely intellectual faculties. There must be perception, not only of what is true, but of what is right. A power of distinguishing, not only between true and false, but also between right and wrong ; and that not only in the abstract, but in reference to ourselves, our own duty, and our own transgressions. If the con- science is asleep, no liveliness of intellect can make up the defici- ency. We are but talking in our sleep. We are not spiritually awake. And lastly, in addition to all this, the heart must be a\s'ake. There must be liveliness of affection no less than of intel- lect. We nmst not only feel bound, but feel disposed to do the will of God. We must see the coincidence of what is right with Avhat is good and pleasant. When all these conditions are com- plied Mdth — when the mind, the conscience, and the heart all act, and act in harmony — when the man thinks in earnest, and coher- ently, and seasonably of right objects and to practical purpose- when he feels his obligations, and his failures to discharge them — when he earnestly desires, and sincerely loves what he admits to be true and binding — then indeed he may be said, in tlie highest spiritual sense, to be awake. And being thus awake, he is a pro- per subject of the second precept comprehended in the text — Be on your guard. The figure is a military one. So much may depend upon the vigilance even of a single soldier — so many lives — so many per- sonal and public interests — so many subsequent and seemingly remote events-— that there is scarcely any situation in real life more responsible. Hence the severity vnth. which a breach of trust or even an involuntary lapse of attention has been punished in all ages. To sleep upon one's post might seem, at first sight. WA TCHFULNESS. 267 to be rather a jiitiable Aveakness than a crime — at least a crime deserving the extreme penalty of death, which has so often been inflicted. But when the remote as well as the immediate conse- quences of neglect in such a station are considered, the venial offence swells into a crime of awful magnitude, and worthy of the highest penalty. But what is there analogous to this in the spiritual warfare 1 At whose door are we stationed as sentinels to watch, upon pain of death ^ If I should answer, at the door of every neighbour, friend, or fellow-christian, some might be disposed to ask as Cain did — Am I my brother's keeper 1 For this cause, although there is a real and important sense in which we may be, figi;ratively, re- presented as sentinels o^er one another, I shall confine myself to that watch which every man is bound to keep over the citadel of his own heart. The order given by the Captain of our salvation, is, " Keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life." If a dereliction of this duty were not liable to be punished by virtue of a positive decree, it would still be punished by the loss incurred, the total loss of that which can never be supplied ; " for what is a man profited if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul, or what shall a man give in exchange for his soulT* With these \dews of the importance of the charge, let me again remind you that, although it is essential, it is not enough to be awake. This admits of illustration from the case of literal ex- ternal watching. See that sentry at the gate of an encampment or a fortress — mark his measured tread, his martial port, his anxious though determined countenance — his quiet and searching glance, as he repeats his constant walk, — that soldier is awake ; but he is more — he is upon his guard — his mind is full of his important trust — he feels the weight of his responsibility. Bub see — his frame becomes relaxed, his form grows less erect, his movements lose their regular mechanical succession — his look is vacant or abstracted, he no longer looks afar ofi" and at hand in search of approaching danger, he has either forgotten it, or ceased to reckon it so imminent. And yet the man is wide awake; not only are his eyes still open, but they see surrounding objects; all his senses are still active, and his mind, though distracted from his present duty, is as much at work as ever; for no sooner does the 268 WATCHFULNESS. slightest sound arouse him, than, as if by magic, he recovers his position and the tension of his muscles, he resumes his measured walk, his mingled air of circumspection and defiance, and his look of bold but anxious scrutiny. Even before, he was awake; but now he is awake, and at the same time on his guard. Precisely the same difference exists between a simple wakeful- ness in spiritual matters — a wakefulness of understanding, con- science, and affection — and the active exercise of spiritual vigilance ; this is impossible without the other, but the other does not necessarily involve this. In both cases, that is, in the literal and spiritual case supposed, there is a sensible gradation of remissness or the opposite. We have seen the sentry wholly losing for a moment the recollection of his solemn trust ; but this is not the only way in which he may unconsciously betray it. Look at him again. Every look, every motion, now betokens concentration of his thoughts and feelings on the danger which impends, and against which he is set to watch. Perhaps he is now motionless, but it is only that his eye may be more steadfastly fixed upon the point from which the enemy's approach is apprehended. In that point his whole being seems to be absorbed. And you can see at a glance that he is ready, even for the first and faintest intimation of a moving object on that dim horizon. But while he stands like a statue, with his face turned towards that dreaded point, look beyond him and behind him, at those forms which are be- coming every moment more and more defined against the opposite quarter of the heavens. He hears them not, because their step is noiseless ; he sees them not, because his eye and all his faculties are employed in an opposite direction. While he strains every sense to catch the first intimations of approaching danger, it is creeping stealthily behind him, and when at last his ear distin- guishes the tramp of armed men, it is too late, foF a hostile hand is already on his shoulder, and if his life is spared, it is only to be overpowered and disarmed without resistance. And yet that soldier was not only awake, but on his guard — his whole being was absorbed in contemplation of the danger which impended ; but alas, he viewed it as impending only from one quarter, and lost sight of it as really approaching from another. We may even suppose that he was right in looking where he did, and only wrong WA TCIIFULNESS. 269 in looking there exclusively. There was an enemy to be expected from that quarter, and if this had been the only one, the sentry's duty would have been successfully performed ; but he was not aware, or had forgotten that the danger was a complex one — that while the enemy delaj'-ed his coming, another might be just at hand, and thus the verj^ concentration of his watchfulness on one point defeated its own purpose, by withdrawing his attention from all others. By a slight shifting in the scene, I might present to you the same man or another, gazing, not at one point only, but at all, sweeping the whole visible horizon with his eye as he maintains his martial vigil. See with what restless activity his looks pass from one distant point to another, as if resolved that nothing shall escape him, that no imaginable source of danger shall remam un- watched. That man might seem to be in eveiy sense awake and on his guard — surprise might seem to be impossible— but hark ! what sound is that which suddenly disturbs him in his solitary vigils % he looks hastily around him, but sees nothing, yet the sound is growing every moment louder and more distinct, " a voice of noise from the city" — "the voice of them that shout for mastery" — "the voice of them that cry for being overcome!" Doubt is no longer possible — it is — it is behind him — yes, the enemy for whom he looked so vigilantly, is within the walls, and the banner which he thought to have seen waving at a distance, is floating in triumph just above his head. The cases which I have supposed are not mere appeals to your imagination. They are full of instruction as to practical reaUties. Tliey vividly present to us in figurative forms the actual condition of the soul in reference to spiritual dangers. It is just as true of us, as of the soldier in the case supposed, that we may fail of our duty and expose ourselves to ruin, not only by actually falling asleep, but by want of proper caution when awake — by forgetting the danger or by underrating it — by admitting its reality and magnitude, but losing sight of its proximity and imminence — by looking for it from a quarter whence it is not likely to proceed, while we turn our backs on that from which it ought to be ex- pected— by looking for it with good reason from one quarter, but forgetting that it may proceed from others also — by looking for 270 ^VA TCHFULNESS. one enemy instead of many — and above all, by looking at a dis- tance when the danger is at hand ^by exercising vigilance without, when the danger is within — and vainly hoping to anticipate its first approaches, when the fight is finished and the battle lost. If it be asked, Wlio is the enemy against which spiritual vigil- ance is called for ? I reply, His name is Legion. There is no end to the forms under which he can disguise himself, nor to the arts which he can practise — " We are not (wholly) ignorant of his de- vices." But our spiritual dangers, although endlessly diversified in their specific characters, may all be resolved into one, and that is sin. Indeed, all danger, whether physical or moral, may be traced back to this source, for it is wholly incredible that suflfering could ever have existed without sin. But in reference to spiritual dangers, it is still more emphatically true that they are all re- ducible by ultimate analysis to this same form. There is nothing to be spiritually dreaded except sin and its efiects. Whatever, therefore, tends to sin, not merely to the overt act, nor even to specific acts of will, but to the love, the practice, the dominion of iniquity, in any form or measure whatsoever, is a danger to be dreaded and assiduously watched against. And this extends, not only to the actual comndssion or indulgence, but to all exciting and facilitating causes, such as are usually comprehended in the name temptation. However little you may be aware of it, I tell you that temptation is your danger, and the tempter your enem}'. This danger, this enemy, as I have said, appears in various dis- guises, and assails us from a thousand different quarters. Our vigilance must, therefore, be a constant and a universal vigilance, or we can have no confidence of safety. To concentrate and define our vague conceptions of a multiform peril, we may group the innumerable dangers which surround us under several descriptive heads ; and these, in accordance with the figure hitherto adopted, and, as I think, implicitly suggested by the text, may be enumerated as st) many distinct quarters from which danger tlu-eatens us, and towards which our vigilance must therefore be directed. The first that I shall mention is the devil, both as an individual spirit and as representing the collective hosts of hell, the aggre- gate of the powers of darkness. This, of all spiritual dangers, is WA TCHFULNESS. 271 tte one winch most men look upon as most remote and least sub- stantial. However readily they may assent to what is theoretic- ally taught upon the subject, they are practically less afraid of this than of any other adverse power. Nay, some professed be- lievers in the Bible are by no means loth to join in the derisive language of the irreligious as to this mysterious subject. Be it so. Let those who can, derive amusement from the doctrine of a fallen spirit, far superior to ourselves in original intelligence, and now possessed of faculties strengthened and sharpened by the malig- nant activity of ages, allowed access to the minds of men, and suffered to exert a moral influence upon them, thoiigh deprived of all coercive power. But let such, even wliile they laugh, remem- ber that the time maynot be far off when they shall perceive their situation to be that of the soldier or the general who denies and even laughs at the existence of a certain enemy, until he is sud- denly convinced, by being crushed beneath the very force which he derided as imaginary. If the sentinel be justly doomed to death who jeopards his own life and that of others by neglect, or even by too narrow an attention to his trust, what shall be said of him who does the same by making hght of the existence of the danger 1, With this premonition of the change which may take place hereafter in your views upon this subject, I am not ashamed to say to the most incredulous among you, in the words of the apostle Peter, " Be sober, be vigilant, because your adversary, the devil, like a roaring lion, goeth about seeking whom he may devour. " Another quarter from which danger is always to be appre- hended, is the world, a term by which the Scriptures designate the complex influence exerted by mankind upon each other, not as individuals mei-ely, but as elements of human society, whether tills influence be brought to bear upon the opinions, the passions, or the appetites ; whether the bait presented be that of sensual enjoyment, social popularity, official rank, civil power or military glory, intellectual fame, or mere inglorious ease and exemption from annoyance. The reality of this danger few will dare to question. StJine may be ready to exclaim. We know what this is, we believe in its existence, we have felt its power ! Whether there be an infernal devil or not, we know that there are devilish 272 ^^^ TCHFULNESS. powers at work in human society. The young and inexperienced, who have not been sucked into this fearful whirlpool, may swim carelessly around it, but you whose hearts have "been already blighted, and your consciences seared, perhaps, as with a hov, iron, — you know, although you may not choose to tell, what depths of meaning are contained in that one syllable — the world, the world ! Vou know, too, that it is not, as the young sometimes imagine, the enmity, the scorn, the hatred, the oppressions, wrongs, or persecutions of the wicked world that constitute the danger, but its smiles, its blandishments, its friendship ; " Know ye not," says the apostle James, " that the friendship of the world is enmity with God ; whosoever therefore will be a friend of the world is the enemy of God." But neither world nor devil would be objects of alarm and apprehension, if they always remained without us and external to us ; what makes them dangerous is, that they get -within us, they obtain a lodgment in our hearts, they are leagued with our own corruptions ; hence the third and most alarming source of spiritual danger is ourselves, the last to be suspected and the hardest to be watched, and yet the most in need of our susjjicion and our vigilance, because one enemy within the camp or fortress is worse than many foes without ; because one traitor is more to be dreaded than a host of open enemies. Yet such is our condi- tion, exposed all at once to these three dangers, any one of which would seem sufficient to destroy us — the world, the flesh, and the devU • seduced to evil by human example, urged to it by de- moniacal suggestion, and inclined to it already by the very dis- positions of our fallen nature ; assailed without by the united hosts of earth and hell, betrayed within by our own corruptions, bound hand and foot, and left to float upon the rapid current which every hour brings us nearer to the judgment seat of Christ. While such is our condition, how can we look forward with joy to his appearing 1 This is a painful thought, but one which can- not be avoided, that to these three dangers which have been already mentioned, we nmst add as a fourth the coming of our Lord. Is he, then, our enemy, from whose apjDroach we ought to shrink back in terror *? It may be so. Let us see to it that it is not so ; let us so resist our spiritual foes, and watch against them, WA TCHFULiXJi.S,S. 273 as to meet him when he comes with joy, and nt)t with grief. Let us so live as to show that we are not of those who shall hereafter call upon the. rocks and mountains to conceal us from his view, but of those who sincerely love his appearing. We have surely no need of additional inducements to obey the exhortation of the text. The only question that remains is, How shall we obey it 1 We have seen the necessity and duty of spiritual watchfulness, and wherein it essentially consists, but we are like the sick man who is told of his disease and of the remedy, but still looks round for some one to aj)ply it. It is natural to ask, Is there not some safe- guard, some appointed, tried means of spiritual safety, something that will at once secure our vigilance and make it efficacious 1 Yes, there is such a talisman, and its name is prayer ; not the mere act of supplication or devotion, whether audible or mental, but that prayerful attitude or frame of mind which is ever ready to commune with God, and of which Paul could say without extra- vagance, and meaning to the letter what he did say, " Pray with- out ceasing," — that settled bent of the affections which makes actual devotion not a rare experience, but the normal condition of the soul, to wliich it naturally flies back whenever it escapes from any temporarj pressure. This prayerful habit is repeatedly con- nected in the a\ ord of God with watch ; " Watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation." " Continue in prayer, and watch in the same with thanksgiving." And Paul, in that sublime description of the panoply of God (Eph. vi.), seems to add this as essential to the efficacy of the rest j for, after urging them to take the girdle of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of tlie Spirit, which is the word of God, he crowns all with this closing exhortation, " praying always with all prayer and supplication in the spirit, and watching thei'eunto with all perseverance." Thus it seems we must watch that we may pray, and pray that we may watch. The influence which prayer exerts is easily explained. It operates by keeping the mind ever awalce and in a state of healthful activity, by keeping it in contact with the best and highest objects, and bringing the affections and the powers to bear primarily upon them. If, then, we would watch to any good efi'ect agamst our 18 274 l^'^ TGHFULNESS. spiritual clangers, let us pray without ceasing, let us breathe the atmosphere of genuine devotion. And in this way we shall do far more than escape injury. The benefit of prayerful vigilance is not merely negative, but positive ; a blessing is suspended on it. In the present state the best of us are like men that wait for their Lord, that Avhen he cometh and knocketh we may open unto him. Already the flashing of his torches is beginning to illuminate the darkness, already the voice of his forerunners comes through, the silent night, saying, Be ye also ready ; and amidst these cries, his own voice may be heard, still afar off, saying, " What I say unto you I say unto all, Watch." " Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation." "Blessed are those servants whom the Lord, when he cometh, shall find watching ; whether he come in the second watch or come in the third watch, and find them so, blessed are those servants." XXI. CIjc €ntr is not gtt. "The end is not j'et."— Matt. xxiv. 6. THE proplie*ical discourse of Avhicli this sentence forms a jmrt lias been the subject of conflicting explanation ever since it was originally uttered. The grand difficulty lies in the appro- priateness of its terms to two distinct and distant events, — the end of the world and the destruction of Jerusalem. But whether we assume, wdth some interpreters, that the one catastrophe was meant to tyj^ify the other, or, with another class, that the discourse may be mechanically divided by assuming a transition, at a certain point, from one of these great subjects to the other, or, with a third, that it describes a sequence of events to be ijepeated more than once, a prediction to be verified, not once for all, nor yet by a continuous progressive series of events, but in stages and at intervals, like repeated flashes of lightning, or the peri- odical germination of the fig-tree, or the re-assembling of the birds of prey whenever and wherever a new carcase tempts them ; upon any of these various suppositions it is still true that the primary fulfilment of the prophecy was in the downfall of the Jewish state, with the previous or accompanying change of dispensations ; and yet that it was so framed as to leave it doubtful, ixntil the event, whether a still more terrible catastroj^he was not intended. How- ever clear the contrary may now seem to us, there was nothing absurd in the opinion which so many entertained that the end of the world and of the old economy might be coincident. This ambiguity is not accidental, but designed, as in many other pro- phecies of Scripture. Another striking feature in the form of this discourse is the 276 THE END IS NOT YET. precision with which several stages or degrees of the fulfilment are distinguished from each other, each aflfording the occasion and the premonition of the next, until the close of the whole series. Of these successive periods or scenes of the great drama, each might, considered in itself, have seemed to be the last. And no doubt each as it occurred was so regarded even by some who had been forewarned by Christ himself. To correct this error and prepare the minds of trixe believers for the whole that was to come upon them, he says at the close of the first scene, " See that ye be not troubled, for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet;" or, as Luke expresses it, "the end is not by-and-by"— that is, immediately. And again, at the close of the next stage of this great revolution, " All these are the beginning of sorrows." The same intimation, although not expressed, may be supplied throughout the prophecy. At every solemn pause, until the last, a kind of echo seems to say again, " The end is not yet." When the prediction was fulfilled we may easily imagine the impression whicii this Avell-remembered formula would make upon the minds of the disciples. As each new sign appeared they were no doubt ready to exclaim, The end cometh, and, as each gave way to an- other. The end is not yet. And what Avas thus true of the several stages of this great catastrophe was also true of the whole. The impression made on many by the very structure of the prophecy, that the Jewish state and the world would come to an end together, was no sooner rectified by the event than multitudes who had been breathlessly awaiting the result, as they again respired freely, cried out to themselves or others. The end is not yet. The need of this caution has not ceased. Men have ever since been and are still too much disposed to precipitate the fulfilment of God's pur- poses, and to confound " the beginning of sorrow " with " the end." They are slow to learn the lesson that " the believer will not make haste," that an important element of faith in the divine engage- ments is a disposition to leave time and every other circumstance to God himself, a disposition perfectly consistent witli intense desire and urgent importianity. There is something curious in the difference of men's feeUngs and opinions with respect to the life of individuals, and to that of the race or the continued existence of this present world. The great majority of men live as if they THE EJSfD TS NOT YET. 277 were to live for ever. The efiect of this upon their character and lives affords a constant theme to moralists and preachers of the gospel. In all this there is only a misapplication or undue restric- tion of a piinciple inherent in our very constitution. Man is im- mortal, and was made for immortality. He cannot, if he would, look only at the present and the past. He must feel and act for the future also. And that not only for a definite or proximate futurity, but also for one more remote and undefined, the bound- less field of what is yet to be. The practical error lies in confound- ing endless existence with an endless prolongation of the present life. The negation of all end is confounded with exemption from all change. The more profoundly men reflect the more they are brought off from this illusion. But so long as they are heedless and controlled by natural feeling, they expect to live for ever. No extent of observation, no degree of familiarity with death and its accompanying changes, is sufiicient to correct this practical error, for, of course, it can have no theoretical existence. But the most surprising fact of all is, that these views may co- exist with a strong disposition to expect a speedy termination of the whole system under which we live. The certainty of this fixct is clear from the efiect of those fanatical predictions which at diff"erent times have agitated Christendom. In all such cases the panic has had reference to the end of the world. Let this be quelled, and all fear is extinguished. It does not occur to the alarmist that however probable the near approach of the event may be made by calculation or by reasoning, it never can be rendered half so certain as his own death in the course of nature at no distant period. Nay, the probability of this inevitable change occurring even speedily must always transcend that of a speedy occurrence of the final consummation. Yet the oldest and the least prepared to die remain unmoved by this appalling cer tainty, althoiigh they would be terrified by any intimation that the world was to continue but a twelvemonth longer. It matters not that they may die to-morrow or to-day, if they can only be assured that the end of the world is not immediately at hand. In some cases it is easy to refer these very different effects to one and the same cause. The self-love which forbids some men to look upon themselves as mortal, makes them equally unwUling, 278 THE END IS NOT YET. when this truth is forced upon them, to allow a longer terra to others. If they must die, let humanity die with them. Some- thing of this selfish feeling no doubt enters into the strong dis- position of some good men in all ages, to regard their own times as the last, and to fix the winding up of the great drama as near as may be to their own disappearance from the stage. As Herod the Great is said to have ordered a large number of distinguished persons to be massacred as soon as he was dead, in order that his death might not be wholly unaccompanied by mourning, so the class in question seem to look upon the end of the world as a necessary part of their own obsequies. The impression of ap- proaching change and dissolution, which is perfectly appropriate to their own case, is transferred by a natural association to the scene which they are leaving, as if it were out of the question that the world can get along without them. This pardonable vanity, if such it may be called, seeks, of course, to justify itself by the authority of Scripture. Hence the prophecies are tortured into confirmation of the fact assumed, and every art of calculation and construction is employed to bring the end of the world as near as may be into coincidence with that of the interpreter. Nor have these been barren and inoperative speculations. Their eiFect has been immense and sometimes long continued, both on individuals and whole communities, Tlie most remarkable exemplification of the general statement, is afforded by the memorable panic which diffused itself through Christendom at the approach of the year 1000. The belief had been gradually gaining ground that the close of this millennium, or first period of a thousand years, was to be the final close of human history. As the fatal term drew near, the superstitious dread associated with it grew continually more intense and power- ful in its effects. These, as disclosed by the historical research of modern times, have more the aspect of romance than of true history. They might indeed be thought incredible, but for the like effects of the same causes in our own times, on a smaller scale and in less imposing circumstances. One of the most striking facts recorded is, that a large portion of those massive mediaeval structures which now constitute the monuments of those times were, at least, projected under the first imiiulse of recovered THE END IS NOT YET. 279 liope, occasioned by the transit of tlie fatal era. They who, a little while before, were throwing away treasures and abandoning estates as henceforth worthless, by a natural reaction, now rushed into tlie opposite extreme, and began to build as for eternity. However improbable the actual recurrence of such scenes may now appear, the principle from wliich they spring has been too often manifested to be looked upon as temporary or accidental. It continues to exist and to exert its power, not always with tlie same effect or to the same extent, but so far constantly and uni- formly, as to make it an interesting subject of inquiry what we ought to think, and how we ought to feel and act in reference to it, as connected with our own times and circumstances. What I believe to be the true solution of this question may be reduced to tliese two propositions : — 1. So far as we have any means of judging, the end is not yet. 2. So far as it remains a matter of doul:)t, it is better to assume that the end is not yet, than to assume the contrary. 1. So far as we have any means of judging, the end is 7iot yet. This may be argued negatively and positively. The negative argument is this, that there are no conclusive indications of a speedy end, afforded either by the word of God or the condition of the world. Such indications are indeed alleged, and that with confidence, but they have no conclusive force ; because, in the first place, they rest upon gratuitous assumptions. It is assumed, for instance, that a certain form or pitch of moral dej^ravation is incompatiljle with the continued existence of society. That there is or may l)e a degree of wickedness irreconcilable with any social organization, is too clear to be disputed. But it does not follow that the present condition of the world is such. Such a conclu- sion is not warranted by the mere degree of actual corruption, however great, because we do not know how much is necessary to the end in question, and any attempt to determine it must rest on a gratuitous assumption. The same thing is true as to the real or supposed predictions of the final consummation in the word of God. That these were meant, not merely to assert the general fact, and in some cases to describe the attendant circumstances, but to afford specific indica- tions of the very time of its occurrence, so that it may be dis- 280 THE END IS XOT YET. tinctly known beforeliand ; all this is assumed in the nsnal reason- ing on the subject, but assumed without proof. It is not more easy to affirm than to deny it. Whatever plausibility there may be in the sense thus put upon the passage in question, there can be no certainty. It is not necessary to maintain that this cannot be the meaning. It is enough to know that it may not be. The position taken is not that the proofs alleged are manifestly false, but that they are inconclusive ; they prove nothing, because they rest upon gratuitous assumptions. This, by itself, would be enough to justify the negative position, that we have no sufficient reason to believe that the end is at hand. But the same thing is still clearer from experience. These signs have all been misapplied before. There is perhaps not a single indication now made use of for this purpose, that has not been so employed in former ages. Every striking coincidence, every verbal allusion, has been weighed already in this balance and found wanting. Nay, arithmetic itself, of which it has been said the figures cannot lie, has here misled its thousands. The most positive numerical specifications may be varied indefinitely by the variation of the term from which they are to be computed. The millennium of the Book of Kevelation has by turns been proved to be present, past, and future. All this argues no defect or error in the Scriptures, but only something wrong in the interpretation. When anything can thus be made to mean anything, we have reason to believe that it was not intended to reveal so much as we imagine. In other words, the passages of Scripture thus ap- pealed to, having been applied before in the same way and with equal plausibility, and the application falsified by the event, we are naturally brought to the conclusion, that they never were intended to disclose so much as some are able to perceive in them. We may reason in the same way, from experience, with respect to the condition of society and the degree of actual corruption. The extraordinary abounding of iniquity at any one time, in itself considered, might well lead us to believe that such depravation must be preparatory to the final dissolution of society. But when we find analogous appearances insisted on, from age to age, witli equal confidence, in proof of the same thing, and the proof as THE END IS XOT YET. 281 constantly annulled by the event, we may not unreasonably hesi- tate to rest upon such, evidence in this case, and conclude that tests, which have always led to false results before, must be at least defective, and their testimony inconclusive. Whether we look, tlien, at the word of God or at the world around us, or com- pare the condition of the one with the predictions of the other, we hiiive no satisftiotory or adequate ground for the conclusion that *' the 'iud of aU things is at hand " in this sense. Let us now look for a moment at the positive argument in favour of the same position, which may be conveniently reduced to this foi-m, that the fulfilment of the Scriptures is still incom- plete, and will require a long time for its completion. In support of tliis, we may appeal in general to the grand and comprehensive scale on which the divine purposes are projected in the Scriptures. The natural impression made, perhaps, on all un- biassed readers is, that in the Bible there are vast beginnings, which require proportionate conclusions even in the present life. There are germs which were never meant to be developed in the stunted shrub, but in the spreading oak. Tliere are springs, in tracing whicli we cannot stop short at the brook or even at the river, but are hurried on, as if against our will, to the lake, the estuary, and the ocean. Every such reader of the Bible feels that it c(mducts him to the threshold of a mighty pile, and opens many doors, through which he gets a distant glimpse of long-drawn aisles, vast lialls, and endless passages ; and how can he believe that this glimpse is the last that he shall see, and that the edifice itself is to be razed before he steps across the threshold 1 This impression made by the very structure of the Scriptures is confirmed by their peculiar phraseology — the constant use of language, pointing not to sudden, instantaneous revolutions, but to long-continued dilatory processes of change, decay, and restora- tion, dissolution, and relapse, which have as yet but had their beginning, and the fall coui-se of which can only be completed in a cycle of ages. And besides these general considerations, fciunded on the structure of the dialect of Scripture, we can specify parti- cular changes which have scarcely yet become perceptible, but of which the Bible leads us to anticipate the end and the completion before "the end cometh." 282 THE END IS NOT YET. One of these is, the universal spread of the gospel. Without insisting on particular predictions of this great event, we may appeal to the general impression made upon all readers of the Bible, that it must and will take place before the end of the existing dispensation. Closely allied to this, as one of its con- spicuous effects, is the regeneration of the race, the reconstruction of society — the realization of those glowing pictures of the earth and its inhabitants which can neither be explained as day-dreams of an imaginary golden age, nor as poetical anticipations of the joys of heaven. Nor do the Scriptures lead us to expect a mere restoration, but a continued exhibition of the race and of society in its normal state, contrasted with its previous corruptions and distortions. To these and other mighty changes we must look, not only as important means of human elevation, but as necessary to the vin- dication of the truth of prophecy. The longer its fulfilment is delayed, provided it is clearly verified at last, the stronger is the proof of divine foresight. This is enhanced still further if the fulfilment of the prophecy is gradual, or marked by a series of gradations. The longer the intervals between these, the more striking the fulfilment, if the several gradations can be clearly ascertained, and their mutual connection rendered palpable. Now, there certainly are such predictions even now in the process of ful- filment, and the very fact of their existence is a strong proof that tJue end is not yet. Before this comes, there is still another object which must be accomplished. This is the vindication of the Scriptures generally from the doubts engendered by apparent inconsistencies, not only with itself, but with history, with science, with the principles of morals. These clouds are not to rest for ever on the word of God, nor are they merely to be scattered by the brightness of the final conflagration or the clear sunlight of eternal day. We have cheer- ing reason to believe that the reconciliations which have been effected in our ov/n day between difterent forms of truth, are but the foretaste and the pledge of what is to be done hereafter and before the end cometh. It may, indeed, be urged in opposition to this argument, that all these changes may he suddenly and speedily effected, so that THE END IS NOT YET. 283 their necessity proves nothing as to the nearness or remoteness of the final consummation. That sucli an issue is within the reach of the divine omnipotence cannot be doubted. But it does not follow that because God can, he will produce a certain effect, or that his power is the measure of his wisdom or his actual purpose. His wisdom, on the contrary, controls the exercise of his power. Such a sudden termination of the system, therefore, although pos- sible, is far from being probable, because some of the proofs, by which the truth of the divine word is to be established, from their very nature seem to require time for their perfect exhibition. If, for example, it is one of the great purposes disclosed in Scripture to exhibit human society in its normal state, and the effects of holiness compared with those of sin, it is not easy to imagine how this could be brought about by any sudden, partial, transient revolution, which, although it might illustrate the omni- potence of God, could scarcely serve to show the operation of moral causes. And even where a longer period does not seem to be required by the veiy nature of the proof itself, it may be neces- sary to its full effect, as in the case of prophecy, which, as we have already seen, becomes impressive and conclusive, as an evi- dence of prescience, in proportion to the number and remoteness of the jjoints at which its fulfilment may be verified. A pro- phecy fulfilled a day after its date may leave no doubt as to its origin ; but what a cumulative increase in the clearness of the evidence and in the scope of its effect would be produced by suc- cessively enlarging the interval between the date and the fulfil- ment to a week, a month, a year, a generation a century, a mil- lennium ! Now, if some signal prophecies have as yet been but partially fulfilled, and the fulfilment thus far has been marked by numerous gradations and divided by long intervals, there is, at least, a pro- bability that what remains will exhibit the same aspect, and will, therefore, require time for its development. The sum of these considerations, negative and positive, appears to be, that there is no conclusive indication of a speedy end ; that, on the contrary, there are strong reasons for believing that it is remote ; but that even these are insufficient to decide the question absolutely ; so that, after all, it is a doubtful point. Regarding it as such, we may 284 THE END IS NOT YET. naturally hesitate between two courses. Sball we, on the one hand, follow the preponderating evidence in favour of a distant consummation 1 or shall we, on the other, take what seems to be the safer course of looking for that soon which may be still far distant, but which may be already at the very door ? In other words, considering the case as doubtful, is it better to proceed upon the supposition that the end is near, or upon the supposition that the end is not yet "? This is a question both of principle and practice, and the way in which it is decided may exert, as we shall see, no feeble influence upon the character and life. It is therefore worthy of a brief but serious consideration, the result of which may serve as the prac- tical improvement of a subject that might otherwise seem rather to belong to the class of curious and subtle speculations, than to that of experimental truths or Christian duties. To what quarter shall we look, then, for an adequate solution of this question % The first consideration that presents itself is this : that the very doubt in which the Scriptures leave the thing involved, creates a presumption that it was not meant to influence our conduct by the expectation of this great event as just at hand. This, however, is at variance with the general analogy of revelation, in which, though everything of absolute necessity is clear, yet many things of high practical importance are left to be determined by laborious scrutiny and processes of reasoning. There is nothing, therefore, in the mere dubiety of this case to forbid the supposition that its practical de- sign was to keep men in a constant attitude of expectation. But, the probability of this is greatly lessened by the fact, already shown, that the proofs are not in equilibrio, but preponderate in favour of the negative conclusion, although insufficient to establish it. It can hardly be supposed that in order to maintain a health- ful expectation of approaching change, they would be so mentioned as to favour the belief that they are still fiir distant. Nothing, indeed, could warrant this assumption but experimental proof, that the belief just mentioned has necessarily a bad effect. But so far is this from being certain or admitted, that the contrary admits of a most plausible defence. The expectation of a speedy end seems naturally suited to enervate, nay, to paralyze exertion, while the opposite beUef invigorates it. THE END IS NOT YET. 285 TTo less dissimilar is the eflfect of these two causes, in relation to the credit and authority of Scripture. The perpetual failure of the signs, which soiue see there, of instant dissolution, though it only proves the falsehood of the principle assumed, has a practical tendency to bring the word of God itself into discredit, as if these ever-shifting whims and fancies of professed interpreters were really expedients necessary to disguise or palliate the failure of predictions which events have falsified. The existence of this danger is apparent from the ill-concealed contempt with which the irreligious argue, from the failure of fanatical predictions, to the worthlessness of prophecy in general. But no such inconveni- ence could result from the other supposition, even if it should be falsified by the speedy occurrence of the thing which it assumes to be remote, because the failure could occur but once, and tlien in circumstances utterly exclusive of eflfects like those which have been just described as flowing from the constant repetition of mis- take and failure on the part of those who undertake to fix an early day and hour for the end of the world. The other doctrine would seem, therefore, to be safer, both as respects the honour of the Scriptures and the zeal of Christian enterprise. The only practical advantage of the same kind which can well be claimed for the opposite opinion is, that it leads men to be always ready, as our Lord requires. This is, in fact, the grand recommendation of the theory, and that to which it owes its currency among some truly devout Christians. Yet it rests upon a fallacy, for it confounds the life of individuals with the existence of the race on earth. The readiness which Christ re- quires of us, is a personal readiness to leave the world and meet our God. This has existed in the case of thousands who had no such expectation as the one in question. The necessity of this individual preparation cannot justify the sacrifice of higher inter- ests, or dispense with the discharge of duties which we owe, pot only to ourselves, but to our successors, to the Church, to society, to human kind. This preparation, too, for personal departure is not secured by a belief in the approach of the great final catastrophe. No such belief has ever wrought it. Where it really exists, it is preceded by a due sense of the shortness and uncertainty of life, and the 286 THE END IS NOT YET. importance of the interests suspended on it, without any reference whatever to the subsequent continuation or destruction of the world. The strongest possible persuasion, that this world is yet to last for ages, may exist, because it has existed, in connection with the deepest sense of men's mortality and need of constant preparation for the great change which awaits them all without exception. But if the two convictions are thus perfectly compat- ible, we cannot, of course, argue from the requisition of the one to the exclusion of the other. The duty of constant preparation for the end of our career, m-ay be truly and successfully performed by those who honestly believe that the existing state of things is to continue perhaps ages after they are themselves forgotten. It may still be urged, however, that this state of mind exposes those who entertain it to be taken by surprise. What, it is some- times said, if, after all, the great event should be at hand, how fearful the surprise of those who fancy it to be still distant ! Here, again, we may sec traces of that same confusion of ideas which has been already mentioned. If men are unprepared to die, they will be just as much surprised by death, as by the com- ing of the end while they are living. If prepared to die, they are prepared for anything. However great or sudden the surprise, it cannot be to them a fearful one. And if divested of this attri- bute, surprise is not an evil. Joy involves surprise as well as horror. Some of the most exquisite sensations of delight which have ever been experienced, have taken those who felt them by surprise. Nay, exclude all thought of danger, doubt, or fear from your conception of surprise, and most men would deHberately choose it, in preference even to the fullest opportunity of calcula- tion, measurement, and deliberate foresight. But whether this lie so or not, we know that the catastrophe in question will take most men by surprise at last, and not only the unthinking and the reckless, but the sober, the considerate, the wise. This seems to Ije a necessary feature of the providential scheme imperfectly disclosed to us in Scripture; and among the means by which it is secured, may probably be reckoned that very ambiguity of Scripture which has given rise to so much fruitless controversy, and to so many vain attempts to render clear and definite, what God has left obscure and vague until the time for a fuller revela- THE END IS NOT YET. 287 tion shall have come. There is no advantage, therefore, upon either side in this respect, and if there were, there would be nothing in the mere risk of surprise, even though it were unavoidable, to make the state of the believer less secure, or that of the unbeliever more so. If it be true, then, that the supposition of a distant end diverts the thoughts of men from this great change, it is only by trans- ferring them to one stUl more momentous, because more closely connected with the loss or gain of personal salvation, because per- fectly inevitable in reference to every individual of every generation but the last, and because, according to the most indulgent compu- tation, " not far from every one of us." Whether we look, then, at the absence of all certain indications that the end of the world is at hand, or at the existence of some striking proof that it is still far distant, or at the practical effect of both opinions, we may safely rest in the conclusion, that so far as we can judge at all, the end is not yet, and that so far as we are in doubt, it is better for ourselves and others to suppose that the end is not yet than to suppose the contrary. The practical conclusion to which these theoretical conclusions point is obvious enough. Let us first of all prepare to die, and thus in the most effectual way prepare to live. This preparation is of course not to be made by needlessly anticipating cares which are appropriate only to the time of actual departure, but by the doing of our present duty, in reliance upon that grace which provides for all emergencies, but seldom grants to one the aid appropriate to another. Having made this indispensable provision for the future, let us cease to look upon our own salvation as the final cause of all that God is doing. Let us look away from our minute concerns to that stu- pendous whole, of which they form an indispensable though humble part. Instead of feeling and acting as if all must die with us, let us continue, until God shall teach us otherwise, to cherish the be- lief and expectation of a glorious work yet to be accomplished even licTc, of wliich the changes which we now behold are not the end but the beginning. Let us not shrink even from the thought that un- known evils are yet to be experienced before the good can be finally triumphant. Through the clouds of such anticipations we may still discern the cleiir sky of better days to come ; nay, even in the 288 THE END IS NOT YET. mean time, we may see the storm and sunshine striving for the mastery, and although we may be forced to say, as one disaster treads upon the heels of its forerunner, " these are but the begin- ning of sorrows," we may still console ourselves by looking further off to still remoter changes, saying, " The end is not yet." Let this not only solace but incite us. At every new stage of our course, when we are tempted to imagine our work done, let this word rouse us, " The end is not yet." Let the same conviction follow through life. Whatever you may seem to have already suffered or accomplished, still remember that the end is not yet; and from the midst of your trials, your perplexities, your errors, your temptations, yes, your doubts of God liimself, still force yourselves to look even on the beginning of sorrows as prophetic of their end, and to take refuge from the worst that can befall you, or the cause for which you live, for which you die, in the fixed persuasion that with refe- rence both to labour and reward, " the end is not by and by." The time, indeed, is coming when the same thing can no longer be said equally of both. Yes, the time is coming when these present light afflictions shall be past, forgotten, "as a dream when one awaketh," but at no point of your history more truly than at that, will you be justified in saying as you look forward to the glory that awaits you, " These are but the beginnings of an everlasting life, — ' The end is not yet.'" XXII. "Awake, thou tnat sJeepest, and arise from tlie deaJ, and Christ shall give thee light."— Eph. v. 14. IF we would profit by the reading of the Scriptures, we must not take partial, superficial views of them. We must not be governed too much by the form in which the truth is clothed. If tliat form be poetical, we must not regard the passage as mere poetry ; or if parabolical, as mere parable; or if historical, as no- thing more than history. In like manner it would be a serious mis- take to regard the devotional parts of Scripture as mere vehicles of individual sentiment. But the error of tliis kind, into which, we are most apt to fall, has reference to the doctrinal and horta- tory parts of Scripture. Our knowledge of the doctrines of the Bible will be small, if we derive it wholly from the formal doctri- nal propositions which the book contains. And on the other hand, our views of Christian duty must be limited, if they are formed exclusively upon the strictly preceptive parts of Scripture. The truth is, tliat the doctrinal and practical run constantly into each other. Every doctrinal statement involves a precept, and every exhortation involves doctrinal instruction. For exam^^le, in the doctrine, that except a man be born again he cannot see the king- dom of God, Avhat a lesson do we learn as to our own interest and duty! What could be a stronger exhortation to the duty of seek- ing admittance to God's kingdom by means of the new birth] As an opposite example, take tlie text which I have read. It consists entirely of an exhortation with a promise to encourage the per- formance. And yet it is full of doctrinal instruction. While it for- mally does nothing more than call us to the performance of certain duties, it impliedly teaches us truths to be believed. And as truth 19 290 AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. is in order to goodness, it is vain to expect that men will practise Ibe preceptive part wliicli lies upon the surface, without compre- hending and believing the doctrinal part which lies back of it. In order to illustrate this whole statement, let us discriminate between the doctrinal and practical elements combined in the text, and inquire first what it calls us to believe, and then what it calls us to do. The doctrinal lessons which it calls us to believe may- be reduced to two. It teaches us, first, what is our natural con- dition ; and second, how it may be changed. Let us look at both in order. The text impliedly describes our state by several figures, all of which are natural and intelligible. It describes it, in the first place, as a state of darkness. I read this doctrine in the last clause of the verse : " and Christ shall give thee light.'' If the change here spoken of was to consist in the imparting of light, then the previous condition of the soul was one of darkness. This figure is so natu- ral and common in the Scriptures that it needs no explanation. Light in the external world is the element or medium by which we see other objects. Darkness precludes light, not by extinguish- ing the sense, but by rendering it useless. So spiritual darkness destroys our power of discerning spiritual objects, not by impair- ing the substance of the soul, nor by destroying any of its facul- ties, but by rendering them inefficient and unavailable. The ob- jects are still there, and the natural powers of the soul are there ; but darkness cuts off" all connection between them, and therefore it is as insensible to spiritual objects as if they had no existence, or as if itself had no capacity to see them. This, at least, is the case just so far as the spiritual darkness reaches ; but in order to present the case exactly, three gradations may be stated, three degrees of darkness, as it aff"ects the soul and its perceptions. The first and highest is that which has been men- tioned, and in which the soul has no perception at all of spiritual objects or "the things of God," which are, to it, as though they were not. The second degree is that in which it sees the objects as exist- ing, but is blind to their distinguishing qualities and relative propor- tions. The third is that in which the qualities are seen, but not appreciated; they are seen to exist, but not seen to be excellent or the reverse. This, if I may use so inaccurate a phrase, is not so A WAKE, THOU THAT SLEEP EST. 291 inucli a darkness of the mind as of the heart, — a blindness of the affections as to spiritual objects. Now, it is not necessary, for our present purpose, to make nice distinctions as to the existence of either of these degrees of darkness in different cases. They may all co-exist in the same case, but with respect to different objects. There are some things of a spiritual and religious nature, of which the natural man may form distinct ideas, and about which he may reason, that is, about their existence and their attributes. But ho is no more able to perceive or feel their excellence, than a blind man to enjoy varieties of colour. Well, there are things of a still higher order which the natural man may see to be real; but he not only cannot see the absolute or comparative excellence of their at- tributes, he cannot see the attributes themselves. The objects are to him a confused maze without definite figures or proportions. He sees them as trees walking. And above these there are others of the highest excellence which he neither appreciates as excellent, nor recognises as possessing an existence. He is blind to them. So far as he is affected by them, they might as well not be. And as these last are things which must be known, in order to salva- tion, it matters Httle what imperfect vision he may have of other matters. His darkness may be described as total, because it de- stroys his view of those things without which the sight of others avails nothing. In this sense our state by nature is a state of total darkness. Now, darkness affects only the sense of sight. A man may grope in darkness, he may feel his way, and he may judge of what he cannot see, by hearing, smell, and taste. Such a condition is in- deed inconvenient, but it does not destroy the man's perceptions. If, then, spiritual darkness is analog(jus to natural though it im- pair the comfort of the soul by blinding its eyes, it may leave it other means of knowing that which nmst be known in order to salvation. But observe : a man can grope his way and use his other senses to advantage only when awake. There are somnambulists, indeed, but as a general fact, the man who contrives to live in safety, though in darkness, must be wide awake. But, alas ! our text teaches us that our spiritual state is not only a state of darkness, but a state of sleep. This I infer from the command in the first clause: " Awake, thou that sleepest." Now, 292 AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. sleep is more than darkness. Darkness is included in it. To Liin who is asleep the external world is dark. But what is there be- sides implied in sleep % The man who is asleep has his senses sealed ; not his sight merely, but his other senses. External ob- jects are to him as though they were not. So to the sleeping soul, all that lies beyond this life and its interests is veiled from view. It might as well not be. But while the senses of the sleeper are suspended, his imagination is awake and active. The more in- sensible he is of that which really surrounds him, the more prolific is his fancy in ideal objects. Though dead to the every-day world, he is ali^e to an imaginary world. So powerful is the illusion, and so vivid the creations of the fancy, that he lives whole years in a single hour, a lifetime in a night. Our spiritual state is also one of dreams. The life of the natural man is but a dream. He sees, he hears, he feels; but the objects of his hearing, sight, and feeling are imaginary. They are either wholly fictitious, or dis- torted and falsified by the imagination. That the unregenerate man enjoys a certain kind of pleasure is not more wonderful than that the dreamer has his pleasures too. That the one despises the enjoyments of religion is no more surprising than the other is un- willing to exchange the joys of sleep for the realities of waking life. In either case the judgment is perverted or suspended. Who does not know that in our dreams we form opinions and conclu- sions which to our waking minds appear absurd; and yet while we are dreaming, we have no suspicion that they want consistency or truth. Why should Ave wonder, then, that souls which are asleep form opinions so extravagant, so groundless, so preposterous, and confidently hold them, till the grace of God awakens them and shows them their own folly? Here let us leani, too, the absurdity of yielding our own judgments, if enlightened by the grace of God, to the contempt or opposition of the sleeping world around us. Will any sane man let his judgment in important matters of the present life be affected by the babble of one talking in his sleep 1 I have named as points of similarity between natural and spiritual sleep, the inaction of the senses, the indulgence of the fancy, and the suspension of the judgment. Let me add the in- activity of the whole man as to external things — the sorrows, joys, A WAKE, THOU THAT SLEEP EST. 293 and business of tlie world around liim. The natural sleeper is not more completely paralyzed for secular concerns than the soul asleep in sin is for the business of eternity. The existence of the sleeper is a blank in either case. This, then, is the meaning of the text, A\ hen it describes us as sunk in sleep as well as wrapped in dark- ness. Not only are our eyes sealed to the truth, and to our own condition, but we are the subjects of perpetual illusion. Darkness alone would be a mere negation ; but a darkness full of dreams and visions is a positive infliction. It matters not that the illusions are of a pleasing nature. That can only aggravate the pain of our awaking. Did you ever forget any of the pains of real life in a delightful dream? And do you not remember the convulsive pang Mith Avhich the truth rushed back upon your waking thoughts 1 And can you imagine that the anguish will be less when the dream of a whole lifetime is abruptly broken 1 Or if you know what it is to be aroused by harsh and grating noises from a jileasant dreafti, do you suppose that your long dream vdll be agreeably dissolved by the blast of the great trumpet? It is related by one of those who witnessed and experienced a late exj^losion, that when it oc- curred he was asleep, and that his first sensation was a pleasant one, as though he had been flying through the air. He opened his eyes, and he was in the sea ! May there not be something analogous to this in the sensations of the sinner who dies with his soul asleep, and soars, as he imagines, towards the skies, but in- stantaneously awakes amidst the roar of tempests and the lash of waves upon the ocean of God's wrath? The Lord preserve us all from such a waking, yet it is to this that our condition tends— it is a state of darkness and a state of sleej). According to the ancients. Sleep is the brother of Death; and the resemblance is too obvious to be overlooked. In aU the negative attributes of sleep which have been men- tioned, death resembles it. In death the senses are effectually sealed; the functions of the judgment are suspended, and the active powers of the man are in abeyance. It is frequently not easy to distinguish sleep from death. The repose is so profound, the frame so motionless, that one who looks upon it feels that Sleep is indeed the brother of Death. But I need not say that death is more than sleep. And wherein is the difference ? He that sleeps 294 AWAKE, TIIOU THAT SLEEPEST. may wake again, and the suspension of his senses and his judg- ment may be terminated by his simply starting out of sleep. But in death the intellectual and bodily inaction are continuous and permanent. There have been instances in which tlie body, washed and dressed for burial, has amazed its watchers by resuming its vitality, but in such cases the death w.as an apparent one. The man once dead never starts again to life by a convulsive effort. As the tree falls so it lies. In these two points Death differs from his brother ; the suspen- sion of the faculties is permanent, and there is no power of self- resuscitation. Now, the text teaches that the soul by nature is not only dark and asleep, but dead. It says not only, " Awake, thou that sleepest ! " but, " Arise from the dead !" And in every point that has been mentioned this death of the soul is like that of the body. It is sleep rendered permanent, as to the sus})ension of our ordinary functions ; it is a sleep too sound to be disturbed, a sleep from which no one rises of himself, refreshed in feeling and re- newed in strength. Even with respect to dreams death may be described as a continued sleep. " For in that sleep of deatli what dieams may come, Wlien we have shuflfled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause." But there is one distinction between sleep and death, whether natural or spiritual, that must not be overlooked. In natural sleep, although the senses are inactive, and the judgment in abey- ance, and the whole man dead as to external things, the body is still under the conservative dominion of the princij^le of life. That mysterious power holds the elements of humanity in health- ful combination, and the man still lives. But in the sleej) of death, this antiseptic energy is gone ; the harmonious combination is dissolved ; the parts all tend to dissolution, and the whole frame hastens to putrescence. This is a subject too familiar and too painful to be dwelt upon at large. It is sufficient to observe that on this point also the analogy holds good. The spiritual death to which we are all heirs, is something more tlian a negation of activity. It misrht be said of the soul, as the disciples said of Lazarus : If he sleeps he shall do well ; he may rise from this lethargic state to life and action. But in spiritual death there is AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEP EST. 295 a constant tendency to moral dissolution; or rather, since this tendency begins to show itself as soon as we are born, it is for ever growing, the majority of men exhibit not a mere approach to it, but actual putrefaction. " They are altogether become filthy." If our eyes could be unsealed and disabused of all illusion, we should see ourselves to be by nature inmates of a charnel-house, surrounded by the shapeless remnants of dissolved humanity, in- haling every moment the dank atmosphere of death, and feel- ing in our own frames the first gnawings of the worm that breeds corruption. Yes, our state by nature is not only one of sleep, but one of death and putrefection. This might seem to be all; but we must take another step, and one of great importance. If men are convinced merely that their condition is a wretched and degraded one, they are prone to feel a sort of satisfaction in the fact, as if their misery entitled them to pity and respect. This absurd and pernicious feeling springs en- tirely from the false assumption that our wretched state by nature is a blameless one; that our depravity is not so much our fault as our misfortune. Hence you will hear men converse fluently about their own corrupt and fallen state, who would repel with rage any specific charge involving moral guilt. To do away this false impression, we have only to observe that, according to our text, the state of man by nature is not alone t)ne of darkness, sleep, and death, but one of guilt. This is implied in the whole exhorta- tion of the text. The sleeper is evidently called on to awake, as that which he was bound to do ; and the dead man is summoned to arise, as though he had no right to remain in that condition. Every exhortation to perform a duty involves a condemnation of its neglect as sinful. But the sinfulness of that estate whereinto we are fallen, is evinced not merely by the form of speech which the apostle uses. It is also apparent from the nature of the case. The will of God is to us the rule of light, and eveiy departure of our will from his is a departure from strict rectitude, and therefore sin. Now the spiritual darkness, sleep, and death before described, are nothing more than figurative statements of our deadly alienation from the love of God, the defection of our will from his, and consequently our exceeding sinfulness. There is no true test of right and 296 AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. wrong to which we can refer ourselves, that will not show our natural condition to be one of awful guilt as well as misery. And if a state of guilt, it is a state of danger. For guilt is our exposure to the wrath of God as a consequence of sin. It may be said, however, that this statement is at variance with the figura- tive language of the text ; for though a state of darkness or of sleep may be dangerous, a state of death can scarcely be so called. The evils of this life terminate in death, which cannot therefore be called dangerous. But danger may be predicated properly of all the situations which are figuratively set forth in the text, be- cause they all admit of increase and progressive aggravation. Dark as the soul is, it may yet be darker. It admits, as we have seen, of different gradations. To some objects we are totally blind. Others we see imperfectly, and others still distinctly, but without a just appreciation of their real attributes. Now, by con- tinuance in a state of darkness, our perceptions of this last class may become as faint as those of the preceding ; and ultimately both degrees of twilight may be merged in midnight darkness, — a darkness which not only destroys vision, but which may be felt deadening the senses and benumbing all the faculties. There is something dreadful in the thought of such a change, even in rela- tion to the bodily perceptions. To see one source of reflected light after another quenched, and at last to witness the extinction of the sun itself, and the annihilation of all light, is terrible enough. But not so terrible in truth as the removal of all spiritual light, and the gradual advance of darkness, till, like a funeral pall, it overspreads the universe, confounding all distinctions, and commingling all objects in the chaos of a night that has no twilight and no morn- ing. Oh, it is one thing to imagine such a state of things, while actually in possession of a thousand radiating lustrous points, im- parting the reflected light of heaven to our souls; but quite another thing to see them all grow dark in quick succession, and to feel the darkness creeping to our inmost souls. If such a change be possible, then surely a state of spiritual darkness is a state of danger. And is not spiritual sleep likewise a state of danger ? May not that sleep become sounder and sounder, and the sleeper more and more insensible of all surround- ing objects 1 May not the chances of his ever waking become less AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. 297 and less, until the case is desperate ? Have you not heard of sick men who have fallen, to appearance, into sweet and gentle slumber, the supposed precursor of returning health, and never waked again 1 Oh, there are doubtless many spiritual invalids who come to a Hke end. After a life of irreligion and of vice, they experience a few pangs of compunction, and subside into a state of calm quiescence, equally free from the excesses of gross sin, and the positive exercises of a renewed heart. In this soft slumber they remain amidst the thunders of the law and the gospel, confident of their own salvation, and unmoved by what is said to men and sinners. And in this somnolent condition they remain, until the taking of rest in sleep is followed by the sleep of death. No waking interval seems to show them their true situation, and they are not undeceived until the first flash of eternal daylight forces their eyes open. Is not spiritual sleep a state of danger, then 1 All this will be readily conceded, but the question still recurs : How can death be properly a state of danger 1 A man in the dark may be exposed to peril on the margin of a precipice, and so may he who is asleep upon the top of a mast; for both are exposed to sudden death. But when already dead, where is the danger] Is not death a state of safety as to temporal perUs? The answer to this question involves a striking difference between natural and spiritual death. The death of the body, as it simply puts an end to all the vital functions, is an absolute and changeless state, admitting no grada- tions ; whereas spiritual death is something positive, and constantly progressive. The man who died yesterday is just as dead to-day as he will be to-morrow. But the dead soul becomes more dead every day and every hour. The process of corruption never ceases, and, if tlie soul continues dead, never will cease. The worm that feeds upon the carcass of the dead soul is a worm that never dies, and the fire that decomposes it is never quenched. What we call spiritual death in this world sinks from one degree of putrefaction to another, till it gets beyond the reach, not only of restorative, but of embalming processes, until it is resolved into eternal death. And even in that lowest pit there is a lower pit of putrefaction and decay, opening one beneath another into that abyss from which reason and imagination shrink Avith equal horror. Yes, the 298 AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEP EST. first is to the second death as a mere point of time to all eternity. The soul that dies once, dies for ever, nay, is for ever dying ; not as in the first death with an agony of moments or of hours in its duration, but with a throe of anguish which shall blend mth all the dying soul's sensations through eternity. And oh, what an eternity ! each thought a pang, and every respiration a mere dying gasp ! This is the second death ; and will you say that spiritual death, which tends to this, is not a state of danger ] If it be true that our natural state is one of darkness, sleep, death, guilt, and danger, no one who really believes it to be so, can fail to be aroused to the necessity of doing something to obtain deliverance. The real ground of men's indifi"erence to this matter is their unbelief. They do not really believe what they are told as to their state by nature. Where this faith really exists, it shows itself in anxious fears, if not in active efforts. And the soul's first impulse is, to break the spell which binds it, by its own strength. It resolves that the darkness shall be light, that the sleep of sin shall be disturbed, and that there shall be a resurrec- tion from the death of sin ; its guilt sliall be atoned for, and its dangers all escaped. Such resolutions always have the same re- sult— a total failure in the object aimed at, and an aggravation of the evils to be remedied. To save you from the pain of a severe disappointment, let me remind you, that according to our text, the state of man by nature is not only one of darkness, and sleep, and death, and guilt, and danger, but of helplessness. I say, according to the text, for although this doctrine is not taught explicitly, I read it in the promise added to the exhortation, " Christ shall give thee light." It might, indeed, at first sight, seem as if our compliance with the exhortation were a conditiuu of the promise which is added. And so indeed it is, but like other conditions in the system of free grace, it is dependent upon that which seems dependent upon it. Repentance and faith are con- ditions of salvation ; but the author of our salvation is the giver of rejjentance, the author and finisher of our faith. It seems as if God, in divine condescension to the feelings of poor sinners, had thought fit to clothe his own gratuitous bestowments in the guise of acts to be i)erformed by us. He forgives us freely if we repent and believe, but we can just as well make expiation for our sins. A WAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. 299 as repent and believe without divine assistance. It is as if a father should offer to forgive his child's offence, on condition that he pay a certain sum, and should then produce the sum required from his own purse. When the text says, therefore, "Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light," the analogy of gospel truth constrains us to believe, that so the light which is promised in the last clause is the means, the only means, by which the exhortation can be possibly complied with. Nor is it only from the text that this appears. It results from the veiy nature of the state in question. Would it not have been a bitter irony to call upon the Egyptians to strike light out of the palpable obscurity in which they were involved 1 Would it not have been worse than irony to wait till Lazarus should raise him- self 1 Above all, would you tantalize the breaker of God's holy law by promises of pardon, ou condition of his perfect obedience for the future, and satisfactory atonement for the past 1 Does he not know that every effort for the expiation of his guilt adds something to its depth and its enormity 1 That having his face naturally turned from God, the further he proceeds, the more remote he is fi-om God, and every impulse which he feels, instead of bringing his soul nearer, drives it further from the centre of perfection ] What a condition ! If it were possible to sit still and do nothing, we should surely perish through our own neglect. And if Ave exercise our strength, we only stir up a centrifugal impetus which drives us to perdition ! Surely this is helplessness in the highest sense. And 1 appeal to any one who ever was awakened to a sense of sin and the desire of salvation, whether his own heart does not respond to my description. If it does, we have experimental confirmation of the scriptural doctrine, that our state by nature is not only miserable, dangerous, and guilty, but pre-eminently helpless. But will not this doctrine tend to paralyze the efforts of the sin- ner for salvation ] And what then 1 The more completely his self-righteous strength is paralyzed, the better. No man can tru.st God and himself at once. Your self-reliance must be destroyed, or it will destroy you. But if, by a paralysis of effort, be intended a stagnation of feel- ing, and indifference to danger, I reply that this doctrine has no 300 AWAKE, TIIOU THAT SLEEPEST. tendency to breed it. Suppose it should be suddenly announced to this assembly that a deadly malady had just appeared, and had begun to sweep off thousands in its course; and that the only pos- sibility of safety depended on the use of a specific remedy, simple and easy in its application, and already within the reach of every individual, who had nothing to do at any moment but to use it, and infallibly secure himself against infection. And suppose that while your minds were resting on this last assurance, it should be authoritatively contradicted, and the fact announced, with evidence not to be gainsaid, that this specific, simple and infallibly success- ful, Avas beyond the reach of every person present, and could only be applied by a superior power. I put it to yourselves, which of these statements would produce security, and which alarm 1 Which would lead you to fold your hands in indolent indifierence, and which would rouse you to an agonizing struggle for the means of safety 1 I speak as unto wise men : judge ye what I say. Oh, my friends, if there is any cure for spiritual sloth and false secu- rity, it is a heartfelt faith in the necessity of superhuman help. The man who makes his helplessness a pretext for continuance in sin, whatever he may say, does not really believe that he is help- less. No man believes it till he knows it by experience. The firmest believers in man's plenary ability, are men whose hearts are hai'd through the deceitfulness of sin. Those, on the contrary, who have been taught to fathom the abyss of their own hearts, and who know what it is to have leaned upon the reed of their own strength until it jnerced them, will be forward to acknowledge that our state of nature is not only one of darkness, sleep, death, guilt, and danger, but of utter helplessness. Here we may pause in our eimmeration. Each item in the cata- logue has made our state by nature more degraded and alarming, and we now have reached a point, beyond which we need not, and indeed cannot advance. Darkness is bad enough, but its perils may be shiinned by men awake. But we are also asleep; and sleep, though it suspends our powers, is a transient state. But, alas ! our sleep is the sleep of death. Yet even in death some men take pleasure, as a state admitting of no further change. But our death is progressive, and therefore far more dangerous than any state in life- Yet even here v.-e might take refuge in the consciousness of our AWAK£, THOU TEAT SLEEPEST. 301 own innocence, and draw a kind of desperate consolation from the proud thought that we have not brought this ruin on ourselves. But even this poor consolation is snatched from us. We are guilty ! we are guilty ! This puts an end to all self-pleading, and im- pels us to escape from a condition which is equally miserable, dange- rous, and guilty. But even here we are encountered by a last con- viction. We are helpless ! we are helpless ! This is the death-blow to our hopes, and we despair. Yes, despair may be described as the conclusion to which we are conducted by the text. Not abso- lute despair, but that despair which is essential to salvation. For there is salvation, even from this lowest depth to which we have descended. The text teaches us, not only what our state by nature is, but how it may be changed. Our bane and antidote are both before us. And what is this gi'eat remedy ? Hear the answer of the text : " Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light." Light, light is the specific for our case. And as light is the opposite of darkness, the description before given of our spiritual darkness, will teach us what is signi- fied by spiritual light, and what are its effects upon the soul. In the first place, it dispels that blindness of the heart and the affections, which disables us from seeing the true qualities of spii-itual objects. That which before seemed repulsive, becomes lovely ; that which was mean, is glorious. That which was pleasing or indifferent, is now seen to be loathsome. The beauty of holiness and the ugliness of sin, are now revealed in their true colours. Moral and spiritual objects which before were undefined and in- distinct, are now seen clearly, and invested with their true propor- tions. Things which, through the mist of sin, were magnified, distorted, and confused, fall at once into their natural position and their real size. Nor is this all. The light which beams upon us, not only rectifies our views of what we saw before, but show us what we never saw. We are like the prophet's servant, who imagined that his master and himself were left alone, until his eyes were opened, and he saw the mountain to be filled with chariots, and horses of fire. Have you ever read, or heard, of the effect produced upon the feelings by the sudden restoration of the sight 1 Those objects, which to us are too familiar to affect us, are to the blind man full of glory. In the moment of his restoration, a 302 AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. whole lifetime of enjoyment seems to be concentrated. But what are these sensations to tlie feelings of the soul when the scales fall from its eyes, and the curtain is withdrawn from the spiritual world, and the intense light of divine illumination, with gradual dawn, or sudden flash, lights up the amphitheatre by which we are surrounded, and shows us that, instead of standing by our- selves in a contracted circle, we are a spectacle to angels and to devils, and spectators of a universe ! Light, then, is the remedy ; but how shall we obtain it 1 We are still driven back upon our helplessness. We see that light we must have, but we see not how it can be kindled by us. Here the text teaches us another lesson. It teaches us not only that we must have light, but that it must be given to us. Christ shall give thee light. If it conies at all, it comes as a free gift. This harmonizes fully with the sense of our helplessness, and, indeed, confirms it. Think not that I lay too much stress upon this in- cidental form of speech. This circumstance I hold to be essential to the doctrine. It matters not how sensible we may be of the need of light, nor how intensely we may long for it, unless we know that it can only come to us by being given. Thousands come short of everlasting life, because they trust for light in sparks of their own kindling. The light which we need is not from any earthly luminary. It is not from any twinkling star, revolving planet, or erratic comet. It is from the sun, the Sun of righteous- ness. And where is he ? In what part of the firmament is his tabernacle set ] This is the last question answered by the text. It not only shows us that we must have light, and that this light must be given to us by another, but it shows us who can give it — who alone can give it. " Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light." Brethren, from whatever point you set out when you trace the gospel method of salvation, if you follow the Scriptures, you will always come to Christ, And that way of salvation which conducts to any other point, is not the Avay for us. Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to every one that believeth. This world, to the believer, is a dark, perplexing labyrinth, and in its mazes he would lose himself for ever, were it not that ever and anon, at certain turnings in the AWAKE, TIIOU THAT SLEEPEST. 303 crooked path, he gets a glimpse of Calvary. These glimpses may- be transitory, but they feed his hopes, and often unexpectedly re- turn to cheer his drooping spirits. Sometimes he is ready to despair of his escape, and to lie down in the darkness of the laby- rinth and die. But as he forms the resolution, an unlooked-for turn presents a distant prospect, and beyond all other objects and above them, he discerns the cross and Christ upon it. Look to Christ, then ! look to him for light to dissipate your darkness — to arouse you from your sleep, and to raise you from the dead ; for though these figures are not carried out by the apostle, he obviously means that the light here promised is to be a cure, not only for our darkness, but our sleep and death. And, indeed, the perception and enjoyment of light, implies that w^e are living and awake. If, then, you would have this sovereign remedy for all your evils, look to Christ ! Perhaps you have already looked unto him and been lightened. Oh, then, look on, look always ; for it is not enough to have looked once. The believer's face must be fixed continually on this source of light, and fastened there for ever. Have you not had your hoin-s of darkness, nay, your days, weeks, months, and years of darkness, even since you obtaine 1 light from Christ 1 Ah, it was when you turned away your stead- fast gaze from the pillar of fire which went before you, that it be- came to you a pillar of cloud. To all who are now in darkness, I hold up the only source of spiritual light ; and in the ears of every one slumbering at ease within the Church of God, I cry aloud, " Awake thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light ! " But its exhortation is not only or chiefly to the believer who is wrapped in darkness. Its voice is still louder to the soul asleep in sin, dead in trespasses and sins, " Awake thou that sleepest. and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light ! " And oh, remember that you cannot shut your eyes upon this Kght without an aggravation of your future wretchedness — without adding a decider shade of blackness to the darkness of your grave. It is said that, in some of the great light-houses built on rocks lying mostly under water, the brightness of the lantern attracts multi- tudes of sea-birds, which dart headlong towards it, like the moth into the candle, and are violently dashed back dead into the sea. 304 AWAKE, THOU THAT SLEEPEST. And oh, is it not a fearful thought that the salvation of the gospel, that the cross of Christ itself may be a living, yet not a saving sight — that souls may be attracted by it only to perdition ] But that same radiant lantern wliich sheds its saving beams upon the souls of the elect, shines no less brightly upon those that perish. But, alas ! instead of using its divine light to escape the wrath to come, they only dash against it with insane hostility, and fall back stunned into the dark abyss which washes its foundations. God forbid that you or I should die so terrible a death, and be lighted to perdition by that very blaze which might have guided us to glory. XXIII. ^h lltigbt Scene in (iietbsemane. " Sleep on now, and take your rest : it is enough, the hour is come ; bihold, the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners."— Mark xiv. 41. rPHE Bible is full of exhortations to awake ; but a command to J- sleep is rare and paradoxical ; so much so, that many inter- preters have chosen to regard this sentence as a question : " Do you still sleep, and take your rest? you have slept enough : the hour is come, behold, the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sin- ners." This construction of the passage, though it yields a good sense, is less consistent with the form of the original than the common version, Avhich is supported by a great majority of the ablest critics. Viewing it therefore as an exhortation, or at least a permission, I repeat that it is something rare and paradoxical. And this first impression is increased by the reason which is given for the exhortation. Had the language been, " Sleep on, and take your rest, my hour is not yet come," it would have been at once intelligible ; but it is, " Sleep on and take your rest, the hour is come ; " and as if to leave no doubt that " the hour " was that mysterious hour of darkness, towards which the voice of prophecy and the finger of providence had been so long pointing with inces- sant premonition, " behold the Son of man is betrayed into the hands of sinners." Was there ever a command so strange, su])- j)orted by a reason so much stranger 1 I call your attention to this singularity, because we are too a[)t to overlook these striking points in the familiar Scriptures, and because I see wrapped up in these remarkable expressions a rich volume of instruction to my- self and to my hearers. To unroll it, and decipher at least some of its most solemn lessons, is my present purpose. From the very nature of the case, however, it is not by meta- 20 306 THE NIGHT SCENE IN GETHSEMANE. physical or logical analysis that this leaf in the book (jf life is to be rendered legible. So far from it, that I design to call in the aid of your imaginations in pursuing my design. I know that the very name of this unruly power is cast out as evil by many sincere Christians. But I also know that almost every page of (Scripture calls for its due exercise ; that neither prophecies nor parables can do their office without its assistance ; that even those who dread it as an instrument of evil, habitually use it as an instrument of good; and that much of our indifference to the word of God arises from the want at their guilt is great, their misery extreme, their own strength nothing, and their HO, EVERY OXE THAT TIIIRSTETII. 343 merit less than nothing ] for instead of meriting reward, tliey merit punishment. Will you exclude them, or impede them, on the ground that a gratuitous offer will encourage sin ] If you do it at all, this will no doubt be your motive. And to what does it amount 1 That you are more afraid of sin, and more unwilling to encourage it, than God himself The necessary consequence of Avhat you do is to condemn your Maker, — " Snatch from liis hand thp sceptre and the rod, Re-judge liis justice, be the God of God." They who are good enough or bad enough for Christ to save, are good enough for you to seek in order to salvation. The objection is a merely theoretical objection ; it is utterly at war with all experience; the abusers of God's grace have never been the true recipients of gratuitous salvation. They have been the cavillers and carpers at it. They have often been the self-suffi- cient formalist, and the self-deceiving hypocrite. There is no danger in obeying God, and following his example. And as he has made the want of merit, and of all reliance upon merit, a con- dition of acceptance with him, let us go and do likewise. Let us not act the part of the ungrateful and uncharitable servant, who no sooner had obtained fi'om his master the remission of his own debt, than he cruelly exacted the inferior obligation of his fellow- servant. In the parable, indeed, the debt exacted was one due to the very man whose own debt had been just remitted. But we may be sure tliat if he had been equally severe in the exaction of debts owing to his lord, although his guilt would have been less, although his error might have sprung from an unenlightened zeal for the rights of him by whose free favour he had been him- self forgiven, he would not have escaj^ed censure. Nor sliall we, if we do likewise. No, my brethren, it is not the W'ill of Him who, as we humbly trust, has pardoned us so freely, that in publishing the gospel of His grace, we should lay hold of our wretched fellow-sinners by the throat, and say. Pay my Master what thou owest. It is not the will of Christ that the salvation which he died for, which he bought by death, and which he paid for with his heart's blood to the uttermost farthing, should be brought into the market and exposed to sale by us, as if it could 344 HO, EVEllY ONE THAT T HIRST ETTT. again be purcliasecl by the groans wrung from tlie heart of the despairing sinnei-, who instead of being brought to Christ is thus put from him, it may be f(jr ever. If any perversion of the trutli can be insulting to the Saviour, it is this. " It must needs be that offences come, but woe to that man by Avhom the offence cometh !" The way in which that woe may be avoided is too phiin to be mistaken. It is one which brings us back to the same point from which we started; the necessity of following God's own examjjle in the offer of salvation. If we do this we are safe. Let us all, then, learn to do it. Both in public and in private, as we have occasion, let us open to the sinner's view the fountain of life ; and if he will not look, or if he be so far off that he cannot see it, while he dies of thirst and hunger, let us lift up our voices and with piercing accents bid him come and live ; let us tell him that he must come or be lost for ever, — but beware of adding any other limitation ; let us call with special emphasis to those who are most destitute of all meritorious pretensions to be saved, — to the ignorant, the des- jjarately wicked, to the heathen; and as they pass by, rushing madly to destruction, whether near us or afar off, let us make their ears to tingle with the memorable words of the prophetic preacher, " Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money ; come ye, buy and eat : yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price."' ^:m XXVI. Mljcreforc tta m Speiitr ||loncn for tlmi tobicb is trot grcab? *' Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not ] Hearken diligently unto rue. and eat ye tliat which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness." — Isaiah Iv. 2. HAVING set forth, in tlie first verse, the perfect adaptation of the grace which is offered ia the gospel, to the wants of sinners, as a source of refreshment, spiritual strength, and divine exhilaration; and having, at the same time, exhibited its absolute and perfect freeness, by inviting men to buy it " without money, and without jorice," the evangelical prophet now expostulates with tliose who are unwilling to receive it, and exposes tlie absurdity of thus reftising to embrace the only real good, while at the same time they are toiling in pursuit of that which is imaginary. If it were possible for men to forego all desire of happiness, and all attempts to gain it, such a course would be demonstrably un- worthy of a rational and moral agent, whose entire constitution shows him to have been created for the future. But in that case, notwithstanding the stupendous guilt and folly of his conduct, he would have wherewith to parry the attacks of conscience, and evade the invitations of the gospel, by alleging that he asked for nothing more than he possessed, that his desires were satisfied, and that it would be folly to disturb his own enjoyment and exhaust the rem- nant of his days in seeking that of which lie felt no need, and the attainment of which could not possibly afford him any satisfixction. It is easy to perceive the self-deluding sophistry of such a plea, assuming, as it does, the non-existence, nay impossibility of all degrees of happiness not actually experienced ; an absurdity so palpable, as of itself to be an adequate preventive of that stagnant 346 WHEREFORE DO VE &PEXD MONEY apathy which it defends. But the necessity of any such pre- ventive is excluded by the very constitution of our nature, which has made it impossible for sentient creatures to be wholly regard- less of their own well-being. Blinded and grievously mistaken they may be as to the best means of securing it, and as to the comparative amount of good attainable in that course which they are pursuing and in others. But they must pursue some course as the way to happiness. The living creature clings to life until he finds it insupportable ; and even then he chooses death not as a greater, but a lesser evil. It is not against a hatred of enjoyment, therefore, or an absolute indifference to it, that the gi'ace of God and the salvation of the gospel must contend ; it is against the most intense desire of happiness acting in the wrong direction, and im- jjelling him who feels it to the use of means which must ultimately thwart the very end which they are now employed to bring about. The expostulation of the preacher is not, " Why, oh why, are you not hungry 1 why do you refuse to spend your money and your labour in obtaining food 1 " but it is, " Why do ye spend money for that which is not bread, and your labour for that which satisfieth not?" Observe, too, that he does not seek to remedy the evils which arise from perverted and unsatisfied desire, by the extinction of the appetite itself, — of that immortal, inextinguish- able craving, which can only cease by amiihilation, or by full fruition. This, indeed, is a distinctive mark of true religion, as opposed to other systems. Since the evils under which the human race is groaning may be clearly traced to the inordinate indulgence of desires after happiness, under the influence of "strong delu- sions " as to that which can afford it, we are not to wonder that when unassisted reason undertakes to do away with the effect, it should attempt the extirpation of the cause ; and you will find, accordingly, that every system of religion or philosophy, distinct from Christianity, either indulges, under some disguise, that per- version of man's natural desire after happiness which makes him wretched, or affects to cure it by desti'oying the desire itself Between these Epicurean and Stoical extremes, all systems of religion but the true one have been oscillating since the world began. The one has found fjivour with the many, the other with the few; the one has prevailed in society at large, the other has FOR THAT WHICH IS NOT BREAD 1 347 arisen from the over-refinemeiits of a vain philosophy. And thus tliese two antagonist errors have existed and produced their bitter fruit simultaneously, and under every outward form of practice and belief. While the one has shown itself in the prevailing self- indulgence of all heathen nations, in the sensual creed and practice of the Moslem, in the Papist's compromise between his pleasures on the one hand and his periodical confessions on the other, and in a similar but more concealed mode of compensation on the part of those who hold the truth in unrighteousness ; the other has appeared in the speculations and self-denial of the old pliilo- sophers, the austerities and self-inflicted sufferings of heathen, ]\Iohamniedan, and Christian self-tormentors. And with what effect? that of plunging men in the bottomless abyss of self- indulgence on the one hand, or in that of a desperate unbelief upon the other. But while one voice cries to the bewildered sinner, " Cease to hunger, cease to thirst," and another from an opposite direction bids him " Eat and drink, for to-morrow we die," the voice of God and of the gospel is, "Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread, and your labour for that which satis- fieth not]" The question presupposes that the soul is hungry, that it must be hungry until it is fed, that the gnawings of this hunger will constrain it to seek food, and that the instinct of self-preservation, no less than the desire of enjoyment, will induce it to give any- thing it has in exchange for the necessary means of its subsistence and enjoyment ; that the fatal error lies not in the seeking after something to sustain it and to make it happy, but in imagining that this end can be answered by the pleasures, gains, and honours of the world, which are not only brief in their duration, but un- suited in their nature, even while they last, to satisfy the wants of an immortal spirit. It is this view of man's natural condition upon which the invitations of the gospel are all founded ; and the absolute coincidence of this view witli the lessons of experience is among the strongest proofs, not only that Christianity is better suited to the actual necessities of man than any other system of belief, but also that it is a plan devised by one who had an intimate and perfect knowledge of our nature; while the most ingenious speculations of philosophy, even when aided by a partial reception 348 WHEREFORE DO YE ."iPEXD MONEY and appropriation of the doctrines of the Bible, at every step have betrayed the grossest ignorance of man's original and actual con- dition, and of the only way in which his restoration can be possibl}-^ effected. The Christian, in endeavouring to win men to the Saviour, may proceed in full assurance, that the plan which he develops and the offers which he makes are in perfect accordance with the natural capacities and wants of those for whose salvation he is labouring ; and under this encouraging conviction he may cry aloud and spare not, to the starving souls around him, " Hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good." For let it be observed, that while the prophet shows the in- sufficiency of temporal enjoyments or advantages as means of happiness, he is far from leaving us to be content with this as a mere theoretical opinion, which can lead to nothing but a painful consciousness of want unsatisfied, and to that sickness of the heart produced by "hope deferred." But, on the contrary, he makes the utter insufficiency of earthly good an argument, a reason, not for ceasing to desire, which is impossible, and if it were not, would be wrong and foolish, but for fixing the desires upon other objects, good in themselves, and adapted to our nature. He assures the disappointed soul that happiness is really attain- able ; and while the last achievement of philosophy (falsely so called) is to make mail acquiesce with a sullen apathy in the frustration of his dearest hopes, the gospel soars immeasurably higher, and assures him that his hopes shall not be frustrated; that there is a good as perfect, nay, immeasurably more so 'than his fondest wishes ever yet conceived; a good, substantial and enduring, ay, and satisfying too, at which he may, at which he ought to aim, and aiming at which he shall not be disappointed, because God invites him to desire it and to seek it, holding it out as an equi- valent, a substitute, for that ideal and fallacious good in quest of which he is exhausting nature and despising grace. To such, to all such let the voice of invitation come in tender and persuasive tones. Let all who are employed in the laborious, but vain attempt, to feed a spiritual nature with material good, hear God's voice like the voice of a compassionate father to his erring children, saying, " VvHierefore do ye spend money for that which is not FOR THAT WHICH IS NOT BREADS 349 bread, and your labour for that which satisfieth not? Hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness." But is this all ] Is this indefinite assurance that there is a good sufficient and attainable, the highest and best offer that the gospel makes to sinners ? Must the soul, disappointed in its quest of earthly good, be left to gaze at random on the infinite variety of possible contingencies by which the cravings of its nature may be satisfied % Alas ! if this were all, the tender mercies of the gospel would be cruel. If the sinner is to be convinced of the unsatisfy- ing nature of the objects he is actually seeking, only in order to be taught that there is somewhere in the universe an object truly worthy of his choice and suited to his nature, but without direc- tion where or how he is to seek it ; how can this tantalizing process be regarded as a fiivourable change, or one promotive of his happiness 1 If he is ever to know more than this, that there is only one way of becoming blessed, and that he has missed it, it were better for him to remain in his delusion. But, my friends, if Christianity has ever left men in this state of mere negation, it is not because its Author or the word of God has thus revealed it, but because the heralds who were sent forth to proclaim it were mis- taken in their own views, or unfaithful to their trust. But the voice of God himself has no such " uncertain sound." He does not proclaim.merely that there is salvation somewhere, and exhort mankind to seek it ; but he leads them to it : he stands at the fountain of life and cries, " Ho, every one that thirsteth, come 3^e to the waters, — " to iliese waters. "Look unto me and be saved, all ye ends of the earth." " Incline your ear, and come unto me ; hear, and your soul shall live." He does not merely tell the wanderer in the desert that he has lost his way; he does not merely show him how he may regain it; but he stands, and calls him to come hither : Come to me ; turn away your eyes from evesy other object, and especially from those which have hitherto misled you ; listen no longer to the voices which have tempted you astray, and which are still loudly ringing in your ears. Regard them not, for they would lead you downwards to despair and death. " I am the way, and the truth, and the life." " Incline your ear, and come unto mc; liear, and your soul shall live." 350 WHEREFORE DO YE SPEND MONEY This direction of the soul to a specific and exchisive object as its only ground of hope and trust, without allowing any interval of doubt, or any liberty of choice, is a distinctive feature in the gospel system, and should never be forgotten in the dispensation of the grace of God by his ambassadors. The soul, when really convinced of its own error in resorting to the world and to itself for hajipi- ness, if suffered to remain without a fixed point of attraction and dependence, will infallibly revert to its abandoned idols, or to some new form of self-delusion, more incurable and fatal than the old, because adopted under the excitement of a groundless hope, and amidst the raptures of a spurious joy. The only safe- guard against such delusions is a full exhibition of the one way of salvation ; and in this as in other points already mentioned, we have only to foUow a divine example. For the prophet, speaking in the name of God, after calling men to come to him, to hear him that their souls may Uve, annexes to this gracious invitation the specific promise of a sure salvation ; a salvation not contingent or fortuitous, but one provided by a gracious constitution on the part of God himself; a salvation promised and confirmed by oath; a covenant of mercy, eternal in its origin, and evei'lasting in its stipulations, comprehending in its Avonderful provisions the essential requisite of an atonement, a priest and sacrifice, an all-sufficient Saviour; — not a Saviour whose performance of his office should be partial, or contingent, or uncertain from the change of person, but the one, the only Saviour, " the same yesterdaj^, to- day, and for ever;" a priest for ever after the order of Melchisedec; the Son of God, the Son of man, the Son of David, who should sit upon his I'oyal father's throne for evei"; who was promised to the dying king himself, and of whom that expiring saint exclaimed, " This is all my salvation, and all my desire ! " It is to this ex- clusive object that the sinner's faith and hope are turned when God says by the prophet : " Incline your ear, and come unto me ; hear, and your soul shall live : and I will make an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure mercies of David." Some suppose that Christ is here expressly mentioned by the name of David, an interpretation not by any means so arbitrary as it may appear to those who have not made themselves acquainted with the remarkable variety of names by which the prophets FOR THAT WHICH IS NOT BBS AD? 351 designate tlie Saviour. In the words before us, however they may be explained, there is an evident alhisiun to the promise made to David, and recorded in the Second Book of Samuel (vii. 16), "Thine house and thy kingdom shall be established for ever before thee, thy throne shall be established for ever," — namely, by the succession of Messiah, of whom it was said, before his birth, by a messenger from heaven, "He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest; and the Lord shall give unto him the throne of his father David : and he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever ; and of his kingdom there shall be no end " (Luke i. 32, 33). It was in the prospect of this glorious succession, by which David was to live again and reign again for ever, that the ancient prophets uttered some of their most cheering and sublime predic- tions : " Behold the days come, saith the Lord, that I will raise unto David a righteous Branch, and a King shall reign and prosper, and shall execute judgment and justice in the earth. In liis days Judah shall be saved, and Israel shall dwell safely; and this is the name whereby he shall be called, Jehovah our Righteousness " (Jer. xxiii. 5, 6). In these words of Jeremiah, Christ is re- presented as a branch which should be raised up unto David; in those of Ezekiel which follow, he appears in the character of David himself : " I will save my flock, and they shall no more be a prey; and I will judge between cattle and cattle; and I will set up one shepherd over them, and he shall feed them, even my ser- vant David; he shall feed them, and he shall be their shepherd, and I the Lord will be their God, and my servant David a prince among them: I the Lord have spoken it" (Ezek. xxxiv. 22-24). And again : " So shall they be my people, and I will be their God, and David my servant shall be king over them, and they all sliall have one shepherd : they shall also walk in my judgments, and observe my statutes, and do them. And they shall dwell in the land that I have given unto Jacob my servant, wherein your fathers have dwelt ; they shall dwell therein, even they, and their chil- dren, and their children's children for ever : and my servant David .•^=hall be their prince for ever" (Ezek. xxxvii. 24, 25). These are clear cases of the application of the name to Christ, and will perhaps suffice to justify a like interpretation in the case before us, even in the absence of all parallel expressions in the writings of Isaiah. 352 WHEREFORE DO YE tiPEND MONEY Tliere is, however, no necessity for any such interpretation, as the words here used, unlike those of Ezekiel, may be referred either to the future or the past ; and because, if taken in their obvious meaning, as referring to the literal king David, they afford a sense good in itself and perfectly coherent "svith the context. There is less reason for departing from the obvious and common- sense meaning, because, in either case, the reference to Christ is clear, though more explicit in the one case than the other. On the one supposition, he is spoken of as David; on the other, as the great blessing promised to David. In the one case, the pro- mise is : " Come unto me, and I will make you partakers of the blessings i^romised in and through the second David, the Messiah;" in the other case it is, " Come, and I wUl make an everlasting covenant with you, securing to you the sure, mercies, the blessings faithfully and irrevocably promised to the ancient David, — all which blessings meet and terminate in Christ." In either case, therefore, the promise is specific, and the offer made is not an offer of salvation in the general or the abstract, but of free salva- tion through the blood of Christ. Upon these two points in the ofter of salvation let us look with fixed attention. It is specific. It is sure. It is not mercy in general that is offered, but the mercies of David, the mercies pur- chased by the second David, the mercies promised to the ancient David, which he hoped for, which he trusted in, and of which he could say, " This is all my salvation, and all my desire." It is this peculiar, special exhibition of God's mercy to lost sinners that is here held forth to them; it is this that he offers to make theirs by the provisions of an everlasting covenant, even the sure mercies of David ; for the blessing offered is not only definite but sure. It is a covenanted blessing, and it therefore cannot fail ; it is a permanent blessing, and can undergo no change ; it is a durable blessing, and shaU last for ever. These two attributes or qualities of Christ's salvation, though to some they may appear of little moment, seem not so to the con- vinced, alarmed, and half-despairing soul, after trying eveiy source of natural enjoyment, but without obtaining rest or satis- faction, while the vast variety of objects sought and tried serves only to distract and weary it. Hope faints and the heart sickens. FOn THAT WHICH IS XOT BREADl 353 till at last, through sovereign mercy, the inviting voice of Clu-ist and of his servants gains access to the reluctant ear ; and with the ear the eye is turned to that quarter whence the voice proceeds; and there, no longer roving among many objects, fixes finally on one, and thei'e abides iov ever. But to this concentration of tlie sinner's hopes, there must be added an assurance of security and constancy in that wliich he relies upon, or he can never rest. And this the gospel offers when it calls him to partake of " tlie sure mercies of David." It is the glory of tliis great .salvation that it is thus " sure;" sure, from the very nature of the change Avhicli it produces in the relation of the soul to Christ; and sui'e from tlie irrevocable oath and promise of a covenant-keeping Qod. When the soul is awakened to a sense of its condition, the first great object of its Avonder is the depth and aggravation of its guilt, which seem to render its escape from wrath an impossibility. Soon its Avonder is excited by another and a nobler object, — l)y tlie revelation of the truth that God can be just and yet a justifier of the ungodly. Nor is this its last discovery; for after vainly struggling to acquire some legal right to the salvation which is thus seen to be possible, the soul is filled Avith ncAv amazement as it forms at la.st a just conception of the glorious truth, that this salvation is as free as it is full and effioa- cious, that none can taste of it at all but those who are content to purchase it on God'sown terms — "Avithout money and Avithoutprice." But even after this conception has been formed, and has become familiar, Aveakness of faith and a remaining leaven of self- righteous- ness Avill often lead to sceptical misgivings, and suspicions that, although the gospel method of salvation be a perfect one, and perfectly gratuitfnis, it may, like other favours, be Avithdrawn, and he Avho rested in it perish after all. But Avhen it pleases God to throw the rays of his illuminating grace upon the soul, and to dis- pel the ch)uds of ignorance and error Avhich involve it, one of the first objects Avhich stand forth to view in that self- evidencing light, is the unalterable steadfastness and absolute security of that salvation Avhich is offered in the gospel. It is there seen, too clearly to admit of doubt, that the believer's hope is founded, not at all upon himself, but altogether on another, and the merit of that other alAvays the same and ahvays infinite. This " great sal- 354 WHEREFORE DO YE SPEND MONEY vatiou " is as sure as it is free, sure as the merit of the Saviour and the covenant of God can make it, and may therefore well be called, as the pi'ophet calls it in the text, " the sure mercies of David." And is it not an interesting thought, that the same sure mercies upon which the dying king so confidently rested, and in praise of which " the sweet psalmist of Israel " aroused the farewell echoes of his harp, that these same mercies are the song and rejoicing of the humblest convert in the darkest spots of Africa, and Asia, and the islands of the sea, and that on this same foundation are erected all the hopes of those who name the name of Christ in these ends of the earth ? Was this extension of the truth foi-eseen by David and Isaiah 'i or did they imagine, with their carnal and narrow-minded country- men, that " Israel according to the flesh " should continue to monopolize the promises of God for ever ] There are some parts of Scripture where the promises of God are so exclusively con- nected with the name and local circumstances of his ancient people, as to furnish some apology, at least, for the pretensions of the modern Jews, and at the same time to divide interpreters, who harmonize in other matters, as to the question whether these pre- dictions are to be literally verified hereafter, or have already been accomplished in a figurative, spiritual manner. In all such cases it may be disputed whether the promise, in its original. and proper sense, extended further than the Jewish Church ; but in the case before us, the ungrateful necessity of such restriction is precluded by the language of the prophecy itself ; for the attention of the thirsting, starving sinner has no sooner been directed to the Saviour us the son and yet the Lord of David, than the prophet, speaking in the name of God, as if to encourage even us who are " sinners of the Gentiles " to confide in the same all-sufticient Saviour, says, " Behold, I have given him for a witness to tlie jteople, a leader and connnander to the people." The connection leaves no doubt that Christ is here the subject of discourse. He was a witness of the truth, but an authoritative one, because he spoke what he did know : he spoke on his owJi authority, not that of others; hence he was, at the same time, a leader and commander of the people. To the mer3 English reader, this important verse is shorn of half its meaning and of all FOR THAT WHICH IS XOT BREADS 355 its emphasis, by the unhappy use of the word " people," which in Enghsh has no plural, to translate a Hebrew word not orxly plural in its foru!, but most emphatically plural in its sense. It may be given as a general suggestion to the readers of the prophecies in English, that in multitudes of cases, where the very thing pre- dicted is the calling of the Gentiles, it is utterly obscured in the translation by this idiomatical defect of form in the equivalent selected for the word denoting "nations;" a defect which cannot possibly have failed to render that illustrious event less conspicuous and striking to the mind of the unlearned Enghsh Christian than to the readers of some otlier versions. In the case before us, the divine declaration is not merely, or at all, that God had set Christ forth as a witness and commander to the Jews ; but, on the con- trary, that he had made him, by express appointment, a witness and a leader to the other nations, by whose convincing testimony and almighty power, God's elect were to be gathered out of every kindred, tribe, and people under heaven. Christ is a witness of the truth, a prophet, a divinely constituted teacher, not to this or that community or race of men, not even to God's chosen and peculiar people, but to nations, — to all nations ; and his office as a Prince of Peace and Captain of Salvation is no less extensive. To the nations generally he reveals the Father, and brings life and immortality to light. This wide extent of his official influence is furthermore expressed in what immediately follows, where the Eather speaks of him no more in the third person, but addresses hiin directly, and assures him that his saving power should extend tti nations which he knew not in his human personality, to nations which were aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers to the old restricted covenants of promise. To the carnal Jews, this doctrine was a stumbling-block and foolishness, because they reckoned as political and natural advantages those means which God had used to prepare the way for Christ's appearance and the calling of the Gentiles. Hence they clung with impious folly to the means, when the end had been accompHshed, and imagined, in t1;eir blindness, that the system wliich they worshipped had been framed for tlmr sake, when the word of God on every page assured taem that its object was to glorify Jehovah; and that wlien this great end could be answered more effectually by the 3r)6 WHEREFORE DO YE SPEND MONEY, ETC. abrogation of the ancient system, it should cease for ever. And in view of that cessation, and of Him who should accomplish it by breaking down the middle wall of partition which divided Jews from Gentiles, it is here said of him, or directly to him (ver. 5,) " Behold, thou shalt call a nation which thou knowest not, and nations that knew not thee shall run unto thee, because of the Lord thy God, and for the Holy One of Israel, for he hath glorified thee." As Messiah was to glorify the Father by revealing him not only to the Jews, but to the other nations which had never known him, so the Father was to glorify the Son by making hiiu a witness and commander of the nations, and by granting him a glorious accession from the Gentile world; by giving him the heathen for his inheritance, the uttermost parts of the earth for his possession ; by inviting all the ends of the earth to look unto him for salvation, and thus making good to all who hear the call, the stipulations of that eveiiasting covenant which seals to all believers, without national distinction or respect of persons, " the sure mercies of David." If, in addition to the doctrinal instructions of this interesting passage, we would learn from it a lesson in the art of invitation, let it be observed, 1. That we must not address our invitations to a nature of which man is not possessed, but to his actual capacities and wants, admitting or assuming their reality and strength, and striving to convince him that they never can be satisfied by any- thing but that which is so freely offered in the gospel. 2. In the next place, let us see to it, that this great offer of the gospel be distinctly and specifically held up to the sinner's view, instead of suffering his mind to rest in a mere negative conviction that the world is not a satisfying portion, or allowed to roam at large in search of untried sources of enjoyment, which can never prove more lasting or abundant than those which have already been I'esorted to in vain. 3. Let no man be invited to a general, inde- finite reliance upon mercy as an attribute of God, Avithout regard to that particular and only way in which it can and will be exer- cised to fallen man ; but let him be invited to a share in the provisions of that everlasting covenant which God has promised to bestow upon him." * A few pagps of tlie conclusion wanting. XXVII. Seek ^t lljc l^orb. " Seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye upon hira while he is near." Isaiah Iv. 6. IN the preceding context these truths are taught : that there is an abundant supply for the spiritual wants of men ; that this supply is suited to their various necessities; that it includes refreshment, strength, exhilaration ; that the constitution of man's nature forces him to seek some satisfaction ; that the multitude are actually seeking " that which is not bread," and cannot satisfy the soul; that instead of this, the gospel offers them "that which is good," and invites the soul to "delight in fatness;" that this offer is a free one ; that the blessings offered may be bought, and must be bought, "without money, and without price;" that they can only be obtained by hearkening to God, and coming unto him ; that there is only one way of access to him ; that this one Avay is opened by a covenant ; that this covenant is " an everlast- ing covenant, ordered in all things and sure" (2 Sam. xxiii, 5); that the Mediator of this covenant is the Son of David, the second J3avid, the Messiah, in whom are fulfilled the promises made to the son of Jesse, so that the mercies which are secured to men through him may well be called " the sure mercies of David ; " that these mercies are not offered to the Jews alone ; that Christ is the Saviour of the Gentiles also ; that his office is that of " a witness to the nations, a leader and commander of the nations;" that however unbkely the extension of the gospel to the nations might appear, it must take place; that Christ Avill call nations Avhich he knew not, and that nations which he knew not will run unto him ; that this event must happen as an appointed means of glorifying God and doing honour to the Saviour. 358 ^EEK YE THE LORD. All this was addressed, in the first instance, to the Jews ; and now the prophet seems to press upon them the practical question — What then ought ymi to do 1 If God designs thus to save the heathen, who have never known him, what eifect should a know- ledge of that purpose have on you, to whom he is well known i Shall the Gentiles enter the kingdom of heaven before you ? Shall publicans and harlots press into the kingdom, while the very children of the kingdom, whose inheritance it is, are excluded 1 This would be a shame and a calamity indeed; but how will you prevent it ? — by excluding tliem 1 — by gaining possession of the key of knowledge, and neither entering yourselves, nor suffering those Avho would to enter ? This, if it were possible, would be the height of wickedness and folly. No; the true course is to enter with them ; or, if you will, before them. Your true course is to seek the Lord, his favour, his protection ; to call upon him, pray to him, confess to him, acknowledge him, and that without delay — before it is too late — now, even now — now, while he may be found, while he is near, while he is still your God by special covenant. If you would not see the heathen, whom you now despise, preferred before you, and received into the kingdom of Messiah, while you yourselves are shut out, use the only sure preventive — " Seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near." This view of the meaning of the text is perfectly consistent with the context, and with other passages in which this motive is presented to the Jews, as an inducement to be prompt and dihgent in making their calling and election sure. But it may well be doubted whether this is the whole meaning. It may be doubted whether this is even the chief meaning. The terms of the text are in no respect more restricted than those of the preceding verses, and especially the first part of the chapter, which obviously relates to the wants of men in general, and the best way to supply them. If the invitation of the first verse is general, the exhorta- tion of the text must be general also. If it is to all mankind that the prophet cries, " Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters !" it is surely not to any one community or nation that he here says, " Seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near." Besides, if this address be SEEK YE THE LORD. 359 restricted to the Jews, the reason implied for the command is irrelevant. If the words "while he is near" denote "while he continues in a special covenant relation to the Jews," then the command would seem to imply that by seeking the Lord and calling upon him, that peculiar, exclusive covenant relation might be rendered perpetual, which was not the case. Or if, on the other hand, " while he may be found " denotes in a general way the possibility of finding favour and forgiveness at his hands, then the reason suggested is in no respect more appUcable to the Jews than to the Gentiles. In this sense God was just as near to the one as to the other. The principles on which he would forgive and save were just the same in either case. The necessity of seeking, tlie nature of the object sought, the way of seeking it, are wholly independent of external circumstances. As in the con- text, so here, the exhortation is addressed to all who are in need. It is therefore universal, or, at least, admits of a universal appli- cation. Even supposing that it has a special reference to the Jews, it is clear that the prophet says, and that, in imitation of him, we may say likewise, both to Jew and Gentile, " Seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near." I do not scruple to address the call to all who hear me. Are you disappointed and unsatisfied % then seek the Lord. Are you oppressed with a sense of guilt "i seek the Lord. Are you careless and at ease 1 I warn you to seek the Lord. Sooner or later you will certainly seek him. However careless you may now be, the day is coming when you shall seek and not find ; when you shall call upon him and receive no answer. There is a limit to the offer of salvation. If there were not, sin would be without con- trol. If the sinner could suspend his choice for ever, there would be no punishment. The offer is limited to this life. And even in this life there is a limit. There is a day of grace in which men may be saved, and this day may be shorter than the sinner's life- time. There is a time when God is near, and when he may be found. There must be a time, therefore, when he is no longer near, and is no longer to be found. Consider this, you who are now asleep in sin. From that sleep you must and will aAvake. You wUl either awake to righteousness or to despair. However deep your sleep may now be, and however long it may continue, SfjO SEEK YE THE LOlil). you shall awake at last, and in your terror seek for God, when he is no more to be found, and call ujion him when he is no longer near : when he is grieved, and has departed, then you shall " feel after him " in vain amidst the darkness which surrounds you, and shall be constrained at last to take up the sorrowful and bitter lamentation, " The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved/' If this be true, and it cannot be disputed, " Seek ye the Lord while he may be found." But how shall you seek him % Not in this or that locality. Regard not those who say, " Lo, here, — lo, there ;" but go to him in secret, make confession of your sins, renounce yoiirselves, accept the Saviour whom he oti'e)-s, devote yourselves to him, and thus " call upon him while he may be found." Is this too much to ask of a poor mined sinner, as the i)rice of his salvation % But is this indeed all % Is no reformation, no change of life required % Not as the meritorious cause of your salvation. It is purchased by another. But you cannot avail yourselves of it, and continue as you are. You cannot be saved in sin. You may be saved from it. The same voice which says, " Seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near," says like- Avise (ver. 7), "Let the wicked forsake his way." He cannot con- tinue in that way and be saved. " No man can serve t\\ o masters;" but "whosoever committeth sin, he is the servant of sin." Between sin and holiness, between God and Mammon, he nuut choose. The refusal ti) choose is itself a choice. To refuse to choose God is, in fact, to choose sin. In relation to this ques- tion there is no neutrality — there can be none. If, then, the sinner would indeed seek God, he must " forsake his way," — a common figure for the course of conduct. Life is a journey which may be pursued by many distinct paths; but the way of God and the way of sin lead in opposite directicms. H e who would tread the one, not only will, but must, forsake the other. How % — by a mere external reformation % No ; the change must be a deeper and more thorough one. The law of God, which condemns the sinner's life, extends, not only to his outward acts, but to his thoughts, desires, dispositions, and affections. The moral quality of outward acts arises from the motives which pro- duce theni; and the reformation which the gospel calls for, reaches SEEK YE THE LOUD. 361 far beyond the mere external conduct. This is often an unwelcome discovery. Men are at first hard to be convinced that there is any danger in the course wluch they pursue. When this becomes too evident to be disputed, they are prone to cling to the idea that the gospel asks no change or reformation ; and when this truth can no longer be denied, they still delude themselves with the belief that the required reformation extends merely to the outward life. But this delusion is dispelled, and they are made to hear the voice of God not only saying, " Let the wicked forsake his way," but, " the unrighteous man his thoughts." This is merely negative. It cannot be that what God calls men to is a mere negation, a mere abstinence. There must be some- thing positive. There must be commands as well as prohibitions. The mere cessation of former habits would be insufficient ; nay, it is impossible. An active being must have something to seek as well as something to avoid. Evil courses can be really abandoned in no other way than by exchanging them for good ones. If men would " cease to do evil," they nuist " learn to do well." This is a dictate of nature, of reason, of experience, of revelation. It is the voice of God himself, who says, " Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord." The fact is assumed that all have departed from him. The words may seem strictly applicable only to backsliders — those who have falsified their own professions — who have apos- tatized from a voluntary, visible relation to Jehovah, and who may with strict propriety be summoned to " return," — to return to Him from whom they have " so deeply revolted." To any such now present I apply the words, however far you may have gone back in the wicked way which you appeared to have for.saken — however far yoiu" present thoughts may be from God and righteousness — I call upon you to give ear to God's rebuke and invitation : " Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man liis thoughts, and let him retuin unto the Lord." This is your only hope, and even this may soon be gone; therefore, " Seek ye the Lord while lie may be found, call ye upon him while he is near." But it is far from being true that this appeal is applicable only to backsliders. However strictly understood, it is a])propriate to all manldnd. It is true, the word " return " is used, and this 362 SEEK YE THE LORD. word certainly implies departure from a previous state of nearness; and it may at first sight seem, on this account, inapplicable to the mass of men ; for how, it may be asked, can they return to him from whom they never have departed, but from whom they have always been wholly alienated 1 But this view of the matter is extremely superficial. It is true, most true, that the invitation to " return " implies a previous departure ; and can any departure be more real or deplorable than that which involves, not merely indi- viduals, but the whole human family ? The terms of the summons do indeed point back to that original apostasy under the curse of which the whole race groans. When the rebel is exhorted to return to his allegiance, the call comes with emphasis enhanced, not lessened, to the ears of those who are hereditary traitors, born in rebellion, inheriting the taint, and living in the practice of notorious treason. Such is our condition. It is under this double burden that we sink ; it is from this double penalty that we must be delivered ; it is therefore to us all, without exception, that this solemn call is addressed — " Return unto the Lord " — " Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord." All who are aliens from your God, to you he says this day, Return ! return ! Return with penitent confession of your sins, with self-renunciation, with sub- mission, with a solemn consecration of yourselves to God ; but, above all, and before all, in the exercise of faith, believing in the Saviour, and accepting him as yours. This includes all the rest. Where this exists, they follow, as a thing of course; where this exists not, they are null and void, without worth, nay, without existence. In the exercise of this faith, and of that repentance which has never yet failed to accompany it since the world began, and of tliat zeal and obedience which can no more fail to spring from such repentance and such faith than the fruit can fail to spring from the prolific seed, " Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord." But what is the inducement to return which is here held out 1 It is man's part to forsake his evil ways and thoughts, to return to God, to seek him, and to call upon him. None of these will he do until God draw him. None of them can he do until God SEEK YE THE LORD. 363 enable liim. But this is true of every service wMch man ever renders. Though unable of himself to do these things, he is still bound to do them. It is his i^art to do them ; and when he has performed his part, what does God promise in return 1 What Avill he do for man 1 He A\ill liave mercy upon him : " Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him." Mercy is the inducement offered, and mercy is precisely what the sinner needs. Nothing else can meet his case but this. Without this nothing can be given, or, if given, can do him any good. Mercy implies two things, misery and guilt. Innocent suffering may be relieved through pity, but it cannot, strictly speaking, be regarded as an object of mercy. And, on the other hand, if guilt could exist unaccompanied by suffering, it might be pardoned, and the sinner might, in that sense, be said to obtain mercy. But, in strictness of speech, the term is applicable only to those cases in which misery and guilt co-exist. And, alas for us ! this is, with- out exception, the condition of man. No one sins -without suffer- ing. No man suffers without guilt. Individual sufferers may be innocent in reference to those who immediately cause their suffer- ings; and, on the otlier hand, guilt may, for the present, seem to be accompanied by pleasure only. But in due time both these false appearances will be removed. Every sin will be seen to be tlic necessary cause of sorrow, and every sorrow will be seen to flow more or less directly from sin. And, in the meantime, we have no need to look further than ourselves for objects upon which mercy may be exercised. In us, in all of us, the two pre-requisites are found abundantly — misery present and prospective, the expe- rience of it here and the dread of it hereafter — misery not produced by chance, but by ourselves — by sin, and that our own sin. To us, then, this inducement ought to be a strong one. To induce, then, " the wicked to forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts," and to "return unto the Lord,"' it ought to be enough t<^ know that the Lord " will have mercy upon him." But, alas! he is insensible of his condition. The more he stands in need of mercy, the more blind he is to, that necessity. By nature, man is never prompted to implore God's mercy on account of his iniquities. He either asks nothing, or he cries for 364 SEEK YE THE LOUD. justice. While lie is prosperous, and life seems long, he is con- tent to remain always as he is. And Avhen death stares him in the face, or anything compels him to think seriously of his end, he assumes the character of injured innocence; he claims eternal life as the reward of his obedience ; he appears before God not to plead for mercy, but to demand justice; and, with that demand upon his lips, or in his heart, he is often swept into eternity to get what he presumptuously asked for. Then, then, if not before, he cries for mercy; for that very mercy which he spurned before, and with that last despairing cry upon his lips, he goes " to his own place." Such is the end of those who presumptuously ask for justice and will not have mercy. But it often pleases God to undeceive the soul before it is too late. And then, when tlie sinner's eyes are opened, he beholds with wonder what he never .saw before; he sees his own condition, his own guilt — the misery to which that guilt consigns him, and his utter incapacity to help himself. Ah, what a change takes place then in his feelings, and the tone of his addresses to the throne of grace ! He who once called for justice at the hand of God, now sues for mercy. He who once stood erect, and said, " I thank thee, God, that I am not like other men," is now unable to lift so much as his eyes to heaven, but smites upon his breast, and says, " God be merciful to me a sinner." Is it not better that this opening of the eyes .should take place now than in eternity'? " Seek ye the Lord, then, while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near : let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him, and to our God." Do you observe that expression, "our God % "■ — the phrase by which the Jews expressed their covenant relation to Jehovah. As addressed to Jews, the phrase may be understood to mean, that God was still their God by a special engagement ; and that notwithstanding their departures from him, if they would forsake their evil ways and thoughts, and return unto him, he would have mercy upon them, as their God, as their own God, and fulfil the promises made unto their fathers. But is there any such encouragement to us who are sinners of the Gentiles'? May we return to God, not merely as an absolute SEEK YK THE LORD. 305 and righteous sovereign, i)ut as our own God, bound to us by covenant, who will not, cannot cast us off? Yes, we may. Even the vilest sinner who forsakes his evil courses and returns to God, may trust not only in his sovereign mercy, but in the faithfulness of his engagements. Even such he is bound by covenant and by oath to save. Even the poor, benighted heathen, who has never been a sharer even in the outward privileges of the Christian Church, may come, and, as it were, lay claim to the salvation of the gospel, not in liis own right but in that of another. Yes, my hearers, whoever you may be, and however ignorant of God and of salvation until now, if you will but come to him, and come to him in the way before described, if you will but come to him, forsaking your sins and repenting of them, seeking him and calling upon him, and believing in him, then he is yours, your Saviour; and you have a right to say, not oiUy that the Lord will have mercy, but that our God will pardon. He will not only pity and relieve, but pardon ; he will not only pity and reUeve distress, but pardon sin. And this is absolutely neces- sary; without this there could be no real permanent relief. There is no mercy opposed to justice. In the nature and the works of God, these attributes must harmonize. He cannot exercise mercy until justice be satisfied. He cannot be merci- ful to man until his justice is appeased. But justice demands punishment. And man, if punished, must be punished for ever, because a fiiiite being cannot exhaust the penalty of the broken law. How, then, can mercy be extended to him 1 Only by punishing another in his stead. In this substitution hes the sinner's only hope. God gives his own Son to be punished for him ; not for ever — ah ! how would that impair the rapture of forgiveness and salvation; not for ever — but long enough ti> answer the demand, through the infinite dignity and merit of the sufferer. In this way and in this way only, God can be just and yet a justifier. In this way he can pardon sin. In this way he will pardon all who come unto him. Is not this enough "? Is not this a sufficient earnest of his willingness to save? "He that spared not his own Son, but freely gave him up for us all, shall he not with him also, freely give us all things ? " Come then, seek the Lord and call upon him, and that without delay. Seek 366 ."^RRK YE THE LORD. him while he maybe found; call upon hi in while he is near. The way you are in is a bad way — a destructive way, however it may now appear. " There is a way that seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death." But "let tiie wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him." What is there to prevent such a retui-n 1 Does guilt stand in the way? He has provided for this difficulty. Guilt is itself a reason for returning. " He will pardon." Is your guilt too great 1 Too great for what 1 To be atoned for by yourself 1 Yes, it is indeed, even the least sin, such as you took no note of at the time, or have long since forgotten; even the least of such sins is too great for expiation by yourself, and unless otherwise atoned for, will rise up hereafter to condemn you, aye, will seize upon your soul and plunge it into endless ruin. You who are wont to say or think that you are not a great sinner, you shall yet be made to see that the most despised and trivial sin, as you esteemed it, is enough to slay your soul for ever. But if you mean that your sins are too great for divine forgiveness, that is another matter. Even if pard(-)n were a mere sovereign, arbitrary act of mercy, without regard to justice, you would have no right to limit the power and compassion of God. Much less when pardon is in one sense really an act of justice, not to you but to another, when the penalty is paid and justice fully satisfied for all believers. Is not this enough 1 Is Christ not great enough 1 Is his blood not rich enough 1 Were his pangs not keen enough to pay your debt, however great and overwhelming 1 Do you not see that the fountain which is opened for sin and uncleanness is the fountain of Christ's merit, and is, therefore, inexhaustibly abundant, so that God, for his sake, can not only pardon, but abundantly par- don?— that Christ's atonement is sufficient in itself for all, how- ever great the multitude, aye, and for all the sins of all whoever sinned, however many and however heinous 'I So that God, for Christ's sake, can not only pardon but abundantly pardon? And he will, he will, if he pardons at all, "he will abundantly pardon." Oh, then, hear the voice of invitation, whether old, inveterate offenders or beginners in the wavs of sin — whether the burden of SEEK YE THE LORD. 367 your guilt be overwhelming or comparatively light — whether your minds have hitherto been careless, or alarmed about your state — you are all alike in danger and in need of speedy rescue. " Seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call upon him while he is near : let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon. For my thoughts are not your thoiights, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord." These last words are connected with what goes before, by the conjimction "for" — ^^ For my thoughts, Arc." To what is this "for" to be referred — of what does it assign the reason? Some have thought that it relates to the national prejudices of the an- cient Jews, to whom the calling of the Gentries and the abrogation of the Mosaic system seemed impossible events, and to whom the prophet may be understood as saying, Do not imagine that because this dispensation has so long existed, it will last for ever, or that l:)ecause you are so blindly attached to it, I will not be willing to annul it when the time for its cessation shall arrive, " for my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways."' But however good this sense may in itself be, it is far frcmi being obvious in this connection, and refers the eighth verse to a remote and doubtful antecedent. Besides, as we have seen before, the terms of this whole passage cannot be understood as having re- ference merely to the Jewish dispensation. Even if that were the primary and obvious sense, we have abundant reason and authority to superadd another more extensive and more spiritual. But it is not the primary and obvious sense, as we have seen, and it is therefore necessary to connect the "for" with one of the clauses of the seventh verse. If with the first clause, then the eighth verse gives a reason for the call to refoimation and repent- ance— " Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts — for my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your Avays my ways." Here the same two words are placed in opposition — "ways" and "thoughts" — let the wicked, &c., — that is. You cannot walk in my ways and the ways of sin; you caii- iiot think my thoughts, and yet cherish thoughts of sin ; sin and salvation are irreconcilable, mid you must choose between them. P,C)S SEEK YE THE LOUD. This is, to many ulio would fain escape perdition, "a liard saying." Having cherished the dekisive hope that free salvation implies liberty to sin, they are painfully surprised at the discovery tJiat God's ways and thoiights are wholly incompatible with theirs. They are afraid of hell, and they are willing to be saved from it, but that is all. That slavish fear is the sum of their religion. They must keep their sins. At first they plead for all sin, then for some ; and as one after another is torn from them by the hand of the inexorable law, although their conscience, now en- lightened, can no longer question or deny the truth, they hate what they acknowledge, they would gladly shut their eyes u})on the light which has revealed to them this odious truth; and in the vain hope of escaping it, many — ah, how many ! — "draw back to perdition," and as they rush along that downward course, they still hear that gracious but inexorable voice ci-ying after them, " Turn ye, turn ye, for why will ye die 1" I have given my Son to die for sinners, and all who come unto me through him I will aljundantly pardon; but the wicked 7n)(st forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, for my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways — there is, there can be no communion between light and darkness, between Christ and Belial. Ah, my hearers, God only knows in how many ears this expostulating voice has rung, and rung in vain ; how many sinners on the verge of death have stopped their ears against it, or at most have paused and listened, with one foot iipon the precipice, perhaps looked back, and even wavered Avitli a momentary impulse to return, and then for ever disappeared. But there are others wliom divine grace has arrested, even those upon the dizzy verge of that abyss, and juade to hear the warning voice, and see the saving light as it shines upon this fundamental truth, that sin must be forsaken or the sinner cannot possibly be saved. But this conviction often generates a new doubt of another kind — I see it to be not only true but right that sin must be left, or God cannot pardon; bu^' can he jmrdon CAcn then, or if lie can, will he ])ardon, will he jiardon me? Can he, will he, pardon so abundantly that I shall be included? This misgiving, under (Satan's artful and malignant influence, would drive men to despair, unless the grace of God ]irevent. Tlie soul admits the frecness SEKK YE THE LORD. 369 and suft'eriiigs of Christ's atonement as a truth revealed, but rejects it practically against itself; it makes a merit of its unbelief, the ehind, and to reach forth to that which is before. But there is yet another way in which the same thing is accom- plished. All that has just been said would be true if stagnation or repose in religious life were possible. I have hitherto proceeded on the supposition that the only alternative is progress or stagna- tion; that the worst which can befall the soul which will not go on is, that it must stand still. And I have tried to show that even then it would be aggravated sin and folly not to advance. But oh, how unspeakably is this conclusion strengthened by the fact which I have hitherto left out of view, that there is no such thing as standing still, or resting on your oars. Forward or backward, up or down the stream, you must and will go. Yes, my hearers, reason and experience but echo the instructions of God's word as to this momentous truth, and I call them both to witness, to set to their seal that God is true, when he declares that from him that hath not, that is, hath not more abundantly, who does not gain, who does not make advances, shall be taken away even that he hath. It would be easy to show from the very constitution of our nature and the circumstances in which we are placed, the reason of this universal fact ; but I choose rather to appeal to your ex- perience, and ask you when you ever wilfully neglected or ceased to use the means of improvement without a positive deterioration. Let us take it for granted, as we safely may, that the choice is not between onward motion and repose, but between onward motion and recession. Will the convalescent choose to be a con- valescent all his life, instead of seeking to regain his health? Does he not know that unless he soon regains it, he may look for a relapse, and for peril of death greater than before. He does, he does, and so may you, my hearers. God has shut jow up to the necessity of going on, by limiting your choice to that or going PR/'JSS TOWARD THE MARK. 379 back ; by sliowing you that motion cannot be avoided ; tliat you must rise or sink ; that you must grow worse or better ; that yuu must draw nearer to God, or be driven further from him ; that you must love him more than j^ou do now, or love him less ; that you must go on and live, or go back and die ; that however unprepared you may have l^een for the necessity now laid upon you — however far you have been from foreseeing the solemnity and peril of the juncture where you now are, it is even so,, it is too late to seek ;uiother choice, another alternative ; you are shut up for ever to this one, you must either forget Avhat is before, retrac^e your steps, repent of your repentance, and go back to that .which is behind ; or, on the otlier hand, forgetting that which is behind, you must reach forth to that which is before. And now, my hearers, how are you disposed to regard this law of the new life, which forbids not only retrocession but repose, which insists upon perpetual pi'ogression, and accepts of nothing- short of this progression as conclusive evidence of its own exist- ence 1 Are you ready to say, as the disciples said of old, " This is a hard saying, Avho can hear it 1 " Are you ready, like some of them, to go back from the Saviour and walk no more with him 1 Ah ! consider what you do, and if such thoughts rise within you, crush them, I pray you, in their veiy birth. For I assure you that this, so far from being cruel, is a merciful economy, required not only by God's honour, but your interest ; a dispensation tend- ing purely and directly to your highest happiness in time and in eternity, so that if you could but see its operation and its issue, you would rather die tlian be subjected to a different constitution, — that is, one which sliould allow you to go backwards, and to stagnate instead of urging you for ever onwards. And you would thus choose, not because you felt yourself constrained to sacrifice a present and inferior good for a greater one still future; not be- cause you were enabled by divine grace to forego all ease and happiness at jiresent, lest you should finally come short of it for ever, but because you would perceive in this "hard saying;" this inexorable law of progress, an exhaustless source of purest satis- faction, an unfaltering incitement to exertion, an abundant conso- lation under trials. Yes, the trials of the Christian would be hard indeed to l)ear, bitter alike in blossom and in fruit, if it were not 380 PnESS TOWARD THE MARK. for this new-born and immortal disposition to know more, to do more, to rise higher, to grow better, to grow more like God, to approach nearer to Mm, and the accompanying disposition to regard the past, not past sins, but past attainments, as a mere fulcrum, a mere stepping-stone, a round upon the spiritual ladder, by which higher things may be attained. But this conviction, reasonably as it might be founded on the daily experience of its efficacy even in the least affairs of life, can- not be felt in all its strength until it is obtruded, forced upon the mind, by the working of the self-same principle in great emer- gencies and critical junctures ; as, for instance, when the mind is first awakened by the Spirit to a sense of sin. Remember, oh, remember, when that light first beamed into your soul with an intolerable brightness, and you saw yourself, your heart, your past life, your iimumerable sins, set before you in a light which you could neither bear nor shut your eyes upon. Recur to that point of your spiritual history, recall the feelings which that retrospect produced ; the shame, the sorrow, the remorse, the self-abhorrence, and I do not ask you wliether you could then have consented to remain in that abyss of filth and darkness where you saAV your- self to have been rolling till the voice of God aroused you, and a light from heaven showed you your condition ; for with such views that would be impossible. You could not thus repent of your repentance, and become your former self again. But I ask you whether you could have consented, or whether you can wish that you had been left to languish and to stagnate till the end of life ; not, indeed, within that slough, but just without it, on its verge, in sight of it, in sight of nothing better; safe, safe, but only safe without the power or desire of onward progress ; chained for a lifetime to the contemplation of what you had been ; forced to look upon the hideous corruption of your former state, without relapsing into it, but at the same time without getting further from it than at the moment of your actual deliverance ; a ship- wrecked sailor chained to the rock on which he had found refuge ; a convalescent leper, bound at the threshold of the lazar house, whose poison lie had been for years inhaling. Could you have borne it 1 No, my hearer, you could not.* * The conclusion of this sermon is wanting. XXIX. Drau toitbout Ctasinci;. " -Vnd he spake a parable unto them to this end, that men ought always to pray, and not to foitit; sayin-, There was in a city a judge, which feared not God, neither regarded man : And there was a widow in that city; and she came unto him, saying, Avenge me of mine adversary. And he woukl not for a while- but afterward he said within himself, Though I fear not God, nor re-'ard man; yet, because this widow troubleth me, I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me. And the Lord said. Hear what the uniust iudge saith. And shall not God avenge his own elect, which cry day and niohtunto him, though he bear long witii them? I tell you that ne will avlnge them si>eedily. Nevertheless, when the Son of man cometh, shall he find faith on the earth 1 "— Luf.e xviii. 1-8. i LL is not easy that appears so to a hasty, superficial observa- A tion, which is apt to mistake the simplicity of strength for the simplicity of weakness. The most wonderful discoveries, when once made, may seem obvious. The highest creations of genius appear level to the humblest capacity. The profoundest wisdom often shows no more surface than the shallowest foUy. Of this the parables of Christ are eminent examples. Many a sage and scholar has neglected them as only fit for chUdren. Others have looked upon them as befitting themes for first attempts and young beoinners in the work of exposition. The best corrective of this error is experiment. As few have failed to entertain it, few, per- haps have used this means without being undeceived. What appe'ared at first incapable of two interpretations, is successively subjected to a dozen. Whatever this may argue with respect to the interpreter, so far as the Scriptures are themselves concerned, it is not a fault, but a perfection. These divine discourses were intended to accompHsh more than one end, and to this variety of purpose their structure is adapted with an exipiisite precision. Some were to see clearly, more were 382 PRAY WITHOUT CEASIXG. to be dazzled. They Avere also meant, at least in many cases, to be variously applied. A lesson crowded with allusions to the actual condition of our Lord's immediate hearers, is often so con- structed that these very points enforce its application to a thou- sand other cases wholly different externally. Either from this or other causes, there is sometimes an illusion, like that produced by a painting, seen from a certain point of observation, while from any other it is a distorted daub. The imagery of the parables,v when seen from a particular distance, may be definite in outline, faultless in perspective, perfect in colouring. But approach a little nearer, and the figures lose their symmetry, the tints their richness. This is often a key to the correct mode of exposition. It forbids the coarse manipulation of the little-souled grammarian, no less than the cloudy indistinctness of the speciilative dreamer. It compels the one to stand back, and the other to draw near, until they both see neither too much nor too little, but precisely Avhat they ought to see, and must see, if they woi^ld see to any purpose. In this way, some of the most valuable lessons may be learned as to the folly of over- refinement and extravagant minute- ness in the explanation of strong figures. But sometimes this advantage seems to be precluded or dimin- ished by a doubt as to the general design of the whole parable. This doubt may extend to the very doctrine taught, or be restricted to its application. The truth embodied in some parables is plain, but it may be questioned whether it is predicted of the Jews or the disciples, or some other class exclusively, or meant to be applied to men in general. In other cases, both the doctrine and the application may be clear j but there is something obscure in the mode of illustration, an apparent incongruity between the substance and the shadow. This appearance often springs from a misapprehension of the image or its use, and then occurs one of those instances of self-interpretation which have already been mentioned. As soon as the true principle is once applied, the incongruity is gone. This proves the principle itself to be correct, and furnishes, or may furnish, valuable aid in solving other cases. To this last class belongs the parable from which the text is taken. There is no indistinctness in the images themselves, nor PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. 383 any doubt as to what they were designed to represent. The Avidow and the judge stand out before the mind's eye as fully and clearly as the forms of flesh and blood which we remember seeing yester- day or expect to see to-raorrow. The widow's wrong, the judge's ■wickedness, his equal scorn of God and man, the prayer, the re- fusal, the return, the ceaseless importunity, the selfish tyrant',s reasoning with himself — all this is like an object of sense. We do not merely read — we see, we hear, we feel it as a real, present living spectacle. The moral, too, is not left to be guessed at or inferred; it is explicitly propounded. This parable was uttered for a certain end, to teach a certain lesson, to produce a determinate effect; and that was, that they who heard it should pray always and not faint, nor give up, or desert their post- — the Greek word having properly a military sense and application. As to the length which we may go in applying it, the only question that has ever been raised is, whether it had a special reference to the prayers of Christ's disciples after he should leave them, till he came again for the destruction of their nation. But even if it had been so intended, it is one of those cases where the lesson taught to one class is evidently universal in its nature and the purpose of tlie teacher. This is the more certain here because the terms used are so comprehensive, and without any qualifying adjunct. " He spake a parable unto them to this end, tliat it is right or binding to pray always." If, then, there is any obscurity or doubt, it is neither in the images presented, nor in the doctrine taught, nor, to any practical effect, in its appUcation. But it lies in an apparent in- congruity between the illustration and the thing which it illus- trates. This may be rendered palpable by placing type and antitype over against each other. That the elect of God should be represented by the wronged and helj)less widow, agrees well with the fact and with the usage of the Scriptures. But the 1 irayers which these are bound to offer without ceasing, must be prayers to God; and, therefore, he would seem to be the object corresponding to the judge of the parable. But this judge is an unjust judge ; he neither fears God, nor respects man. He has no restraining motives either liere or here- 384 PRAV WITHOUT CEASING. after. In addition to tliis general habitual corriiption, he is actually guilty in this very case of gross injustice. He is faithless to his trust in refusing to discharge the solemn duties of his office. He perverts the right by constantly refusing to redress the wrongs of the injured. When at last he consents to do so, it is from the meanest and most selfish motive. It is merely to escape trouble and annoyance, — " Lest by her continual coming she weary me." Between this character, this conduct, and this motive for a change of conduct, on one hand, and the reasons for our importunity in prayer, upon the other, what connection, what resemblance is there or can there be % To some the difficulty may seem hopeless, as their rules of interpretation force them to admit that the unjust judge is here a type or representative of God as the hearer of prayer, and that being such, there must be a minute resemblance of the type and antitype. There have been those who would not scruple to assume and carry out this monstrous notion. They would say, perhaps, that the resemblance is a limited specific one; that God resembles the unjust judge only in his turning a deaf ear to the petitions of his people, and in granting their requests because of their unceasing importunity. In order to sustain tliis view, they are compelled to extenuate the guilt of the unjust judge, and to exaggerate the supposed resemblance between him and God, lest the comparison should be revolting. But this is utterly at variance with the drift and with the terms of the description. Why is it said that the judge was an "unjust" onel Why is it said that he "feared not God, neither regarded man ■? " These terms prohibit all extenuation. They are evidently added for the very purpose of determining the character. Injustice and contempt of God and man, are not incidentally mentioned ; they are prominent. They do not modify the char- acter ; they constitute it. It is as an " unjust judge " that he is held up to our view*; and, lest we should mistake his quality, we are told that he neither feared God nor respected man. This accumulation of condemnatory jjhrases makes it certain that the wickedness of the judge is an essential stroke in the description. The idea evidently is, that the worse we make him out, the better we shall understand the parable. We cannot, therefore, substitute PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. 385 a merely careless, sluggish, or forgetful judge, much less a weak, but honest one, without destroying all the point and meaning of the apologue. How, then, are we to reconcile this seeming incongruity 1 How can the conduct of this selfish tyrant to a helpless sufferer, be any illustration of a just and merciful God's dealing with " his own elect '?" One thing, at least, is certain, that in this, and by parity of reasoning in all like cases, it does not follow, because two things are compared in one point, that they must be alike in every other; nor even that they must be alike in all the points which are specifically mentioned. For neither the character in general, nor the conduct in this one case, nor the motive for reforming it, can possibly have any counterpart in the divine nature or dispensa- tions. The only points of contact are the mutual relation of the parties as petitioner and sovereign, the withholding of the thing requested and its subsequent bestowal. In all the rest there is, there can be no resemblance ; there is perfect contrariety. Why, tlien, was this unsuitable image chosen even for the sake of illustration "? Why was not the Hearer of Prayer represented by a creature bearing more of his own image ? Wliy was not the judge of the parable a conscientious, fixithful magistrate, who, though compelled to put off a compliance with the prayer of the poor widow, still designed to grant it, and allowed her to come often and return unsatisfied, in order that her wishes might be kept up(m the stretch until it became possible to satisfy them '? Because this would not have answered our Lord's purpose, bi;t would only have taught feebly by conq^arison what is now taught mightily by contrast. The certainty of our pi'ayers being answered could not possibly be strengthened or evinced by any similar proceeding vq)on man's part. The ground of confidence here fur- nished is not the similitude of God to man, but their infinite disparity. The argument inq^lied is not, that if imperfect goodness goes so far, that perfect goodness must go further; but, that if a certain good effect may be expected to arise fortuitously out of what is evil, it may surely be expected to arise necessarily out of what is good. If even such a character, governed by such in(jtives, may be rationally expected to take a certain course, how- ever alien from his native disposition and his haliits, there can be 25 386 PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. no risk in counting on a like result wliere all these adverse circum- stances favour it. This view of the parable, or of the reasoning involved in it, as founded not on mere comparison, but contrast, does away at once with the necessity of strained constructions and unnatural refine- ments. Instead of trying to exculpate the unrighteous judge, or even to extenuate his guilt, we are at liberty, or rather under the necessity of taking the description in its strongest sense. The worse he is, the better for the beauty and effect of our Saviour's illustration. We are also freed from the necessity of seeking points of fanciful resemblance between this ideal person and the Father of Mercies, to whom all flesh come as to the Hearer of Prayer. When the object is no longer to assimilate, but to dis- tinguish and confront as opposites, we may give the language of the text its full force, without any fear of blasphemy or even of irreverence. The three main points of the antithesis are these — the character, the practice, and the motive of the judge — his moral character, his official practice, and his motive for acting upon this occasion in a manner contrary to both. His official practice is intimated by the word unjust applied to him near the conclusion of the parable. If this were meant to be descriptive merely of his inward dispositions, it would add nothing to the previous description. It refers more probably to the habitual discharge of his functions, to his exercise of power. He was not only destitute of any love to justice or any wish to do it, but unjust in practice. The interior source of this exterior conduct is then described in other terms. He feared not God. He neither reverenced him as a sovereign, nor dreaded him as an avenger. Without this fear, justice is im- possible. He only can command who knows how to obey. He only can direct tlie fears of men to right and wholesome uses, who is himself governed by the fear of God. A judge who " fears not God," is of necessity an " unjust judge." But this, though decisive of the real character, is not necessarily so of the outward conduct. If the acts of men were always an unerring index of their moral state, the v.'orld would be a very different world from what it is. If human society depended for its temporal advantages exclusively on genuine virtue, it would PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. 387 soon come to an end. There are appearances of goodness which, although abominable in the sight of God, are highly esteemed among men, and for that very reason have a social, civil, or poli- tical value, wholly irrespective of their moral worth or worthless- ness. These outside virtues, having no pure fountain in the heart, must spring from other sources. They are not the fruit of politic contrivance and collusion, being only overruled for civil ends by Providence. Their real source is in the selfishness of those who practise them. Among the motives which may act upon this principle, not the least potent is the fear of man. This may include the dread of his displeasure, the desire of his applause, and an instinctive shrinking even from his scorn. Shame, fear, ambition, all may contribute to produce an outward goodness having no real counter- part within. This is particularly true of public and official acts. How many magistrates and office-bearers, who have no right prin- ciple to guide or check them, are controlled by a regard to the decencies of life, to the conventional exactions of society, in short, to public sentiment. Such fear not God but man. They can brave the terrors of eternity, but not the nearer retributions of the present life. They can consent to risk their souls, but not to jeopard their respectability. Under the influence of this selfish but most salutary fear, they do what they would otherwise leave undone, and abstain from what would otherwise be done without a scruple. There would thus seem to be three grounds for expecting justice and fidelity in human society, and especially in public trusts. The first and highest is the fear of God, including all religious motives — then the fear of man or a regard to jiublic sentiment— and last, the force of habit, the authority of precedent, a disposition to do that which has been done before, because it has been done before. These three impulsive forces do not utterly exclude each other. They may co-exist in due subordination. They may all be neces- sary to a complete official character. The first in that case must control the others, but the others, under that control, may answer an important purpose. The man who fears God does not, on that account, despise the judgment of Ms fellows, though it cannot be to him the ultimate, supreme rule of his conduct. 388 PRAY WITHOUT CEASIXa. The same is true of a regard to settled visage, or even to personal habit, when correctly formed. Indeed, these latter motives never have so powerful an influence for good, as when they act in due subordination to the fear of God. It is only when this is wanting, and they imdertake to fill its place, that they become unlawful or objectionable. And even then, although they cannot make good the deficiency in God's sight, they may make it good in man's. Although the root of the matter is not in them, a short-lived verdure may be brought out and maintained by artificial means. In tliis case, tbe defect is one which cannot be supplied. But even where the secondary lower motives fail or cease to act, the consequence may be unhappy. ' lie most conscientious man, who disregards the public sentiment or tramples on established usage, may do far less than he might have done, though far more than the demagogue who lives on p( pular applause, or the precisian who acknowledges no higher ' ow than custom. The want of any one of these impulsive forci 3 may detract from the complete- ness of the ultimate effect. How much more the absence of them all ! If the judge, for instance, who is governed by the fear of God, and pays due respect to the opinion of mankind, may fall short of the standard, through a want of fixed habit, or contempt of settled usage ; if he who, in addition to this, sets at nought the judgment of his fellows, sinks still lower in the scale, how low must he sink Avho has not even honesty, much less religion, to compensate for his minor errors ! In other words, how utteiiy unjust must that judge be who neither fears God nor regards man. It seems then, that the few words which our Saviour uses, are so happily chosen and so well appHed as to exhaust the subject, by afi"ording a description of an absolutely worthless judge, on whom none of the ordinary motives to fidelity have any influence, and from whom nothing, therefore, can be expected. What could be more hope- less than the case of the poor widow at the feet of such a tyrant '? If he knows neither fear nor shame — if there is nothing to restrain him either in the present or the future — if she has not the means of appealing to his avarice — how clear it seems that his refusal to avenge her is a final one, and that continued importunity can only waste time and provoke him to new insult. PRAY WITHOUT CEASIXG. 389 I dwell on these particulars to show that, in their aggregate, they are intended to convey the idea of a hopeless case. The petitioner was helpless — she was poor — she was at the mercy of her enemies. The judge was habitually unjust, and uninfluenced either by the fear of God or by respect for man. What is this but to say — and to say in the most graphic and expressive man- ner— that the case is hopeless — that her importunity is vain % And yet she perseveres; so ha-e thousands in like cases. Why ] Because there is nothing more to lose, even though there may be nothing to hope. And there always is some room for hope. For hope does not depend on certainties nor even probabilities, but on possibilities. When there can be no change for the worse, and a change for the better is even barely j^ossible, men will hope, from the very constitution of their nature. When the widow's case is said to be hopeless, it is not said tvith respect to her own feeling, but with respect to any rational, appreciable ground of hope. She hopes against hope. An indoniitable instinct triumphs over reason. Slie persists in her entreaties. So have thousands The ideal case was meant to bring before us a ftimiliar practice. It is equivalent to saying, Men in such situations still confide in the efiect of importunity. When everything seems plainly to for- bid it, they persist, because success is possible, and on that possi- bility the natural repugnance to despair exerts itself. Yes, even in the most discouraging condition, men will jjray to their fellow- men, so long as there is a possibility of having what they ask. And in this perseverance they are often justified by the event. Of this fact too, the widow's case is but a type. With every reason to cease praying, she prayed on, and she was heard at last. When every higher motive failed, a lower one was still available. She could not bribe, but she could weary him. He who neither feai'ed God nor regarded man, was tenderly mindful of his own ease. He did not say, " lest God be angry," or " lest man despise me," but he said, " lest by her continual coming she weary me." This might have seemed a frail foundation for the hope of the petitioner, or rather it would never have occurred to her as likely to decide her case, and yet, on this it turned at last. Lest she should weaiy him he did her justice. Her continued impor- tunity was therefore justified by its success. She did well in cou- 390 PRAT WITHOUT CEASING. tinning to urge her claim, however little reason she might have to look for its success. The widow in the parable, and those of whom she is the type or representative, do right, act reasonably in thus persevering, even where the case seems desperate and every rational consideration is in favour of abandoning the suit. There is often a divine art in our Saviour's parables, by which we are led unawares to pass judgment on ourselves. This is sometimes recoi'ded as the actual effect produced upon the unbe- lieving Jews. But the effect is often still more general. It arises partly from the peculiarities of structure which have been described. The indistinctness of the images presented seems at times to be intended to disguise the final application of the lesson till its truth is fully recognised. In this way the Pharisees were made to utter their own sentence, and in this way we too may become our own judges without knowing. The simpler, the more natural the case supposed, the more tremendous is the force of its recoil upon the real oljject. In the i^arable before us, we are all led irresistibly to own that the widow's persevering application to the unjust judge was rational and right, although ajjparently the case was hopeless. Though there seemed to be nothing in the character, the habits, or the circumstances of the judge, on which a reasonable expecta- tion could be founded, yet we know that she was right, because she gained her end, and that not by accident, but in a way entirely natural and likely to occur again. The true force and application of the parable may best be shown by varying the ideal case pre- sented, first a little, and then more, until it merges in the real case it was intended to illustrate. The conclusion which we have already reached is, that the widow in the parable did right, acted a reasonable part, in hoping against hope, and still persisting in her suit when everything combined to prove it hopeless. If so, the converse of the proposi- tion must be true ; and by abandoning her suit or susj>ending her entreaties, she would have been chargeable with folly and with sin proportioned to the interests at stake. If it had been her own subsistence merely, that would be enough to condemn her dereUction ; how much more if that of others were dependent on the same decision ! She would have had no riirht to sacrifice the PBAY WITHOUT CEASING. 391 comfort and tranquillity, much less the life or the salvation of her children to her own despondency or weariness of effort. All this is certain, and will be at on^ admitted in the case which the parable supposes, to wit, that of an unjust, unmerciful, and selfish judge, " who feared not God, neither regarded man." But let us suppose that he had been an upright, conscientious, faitliful judge, whose execution of his office was delayed by some mistake or want of information. How much less excusable would she have then been in relinquishing her rights or those of others in despair ! Suppose, again, that there had not been even ignor- ance or error on the judge's part to make the issue doubtful, but that his decision was delayed by temporary circumstances which were likely soon to have an end. The case would then be stronger still, and the folly of abandoning the suit still greater. But advance another step. Imagine that the granting of the widow's prayer had been deferred for the sake of the petitioner herself, in order that the favour when obtained might be enhanced in value. Suppose that, instead of knowing that the judge was in principle and habit unjust, she had known him, by experience, to be just and merciful, as well as eminently wise. Suppose that she had been protected by him, and her wrongs redressed in many other cases. Suppose that she had, even in the present case, his promise, nay, his oath that justice should be done her. How easy must it then have been to trust ! How doubly mad and Avicked to despair ! There seems to be room for only one more supposition. Those which have been stated, from the lowest to the highest, all imply the ■possibility of error or delinquency, however strong the reasons for expecting the actual exercise of wisdom and integrity. But now remove this possibility. Exclude all chance of intellectual or moral wrong. Enlarge the attributes before supposed, until they reach infinity or absolute perfection. What, then, would be left as the foundation or the pretext of a doubt ? The bare fact of delay 1 Under this pretence, suppose the suitor to despair and to renounce his suit. Is not this, indeed, a case of madness too extreme to be supposed, because it could not occur often, even if it occurred once 1 Alas, my hearers, this extreme case is our own ! It is to this view of ourselves that the consummate wis- 392 PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. dom of the ^Master brings us by a way that we knew not. Just so far as we practically doubt the promises of God, or fail to use the means of his appointment, we reverse the conduct of the widow in the parable, and that, too, under the most aggravating circumstances. If she was wise in hoping against hope, what must we be in despairing against evidence ? From this conviction we perhaps take refuge in the false view of the parable before exposed. We would fain deny the possi- bility of arguing from one case to the other. For this purpose we exaggerate and multiply the points of difference. Slie asked for justice ; we for mercy or free favour. Her judge was unjust, im- pious, and reckless ; ours is the infinitely Holy God. She gained her end by exhausting his patience ; but " the everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary." How, then, can we be either bound or condemned by her example 1 Because she at last wearied an unjust judge into doing right in order to escape a worse annoyance, what ground have we to hope that we can weary the Most High into compli- ance with our wishes 1 It need scarcely be said now, that this is ;iot the true state of the case. The true state of the case is this : if she would have been chargeable with sin and folly in despairing of justice from an unjust, impious, and reckless judge, who feared not God neither regarded man, what may we be charged with if we despair of mercy, freely offered, dearly purchased, clearly promised, on the part of God himself? If she was right in trust- ing to the selfish love of ease in such a man, how wrong must we be in distrusting the benevolence, the faithfulness, the truth of such a God ! Every point of dissimilitude between the cases does but serve to make our own still worse and less excusable, by bringing into shocking contrast men's dependence on the worst of their own species, with their want of confidence in God. For what the widow in the parable did, all men do substantially. They will not be deprived of any temporal hope, however great the human wicked- ness which seems to crush it. On the contrary, they will not, in a multitude, alas, a vast majority of cases, be persuaded to trust God, and to prove their trust by importunity in prayei", however ample the encouragement, however strong and unequivocal the promise. PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. 393 The extensive application of the lesson here taiip;ht is apparent from the nature of the principles involved. It is impossible to feign a case at all analogous, to which it may not be as properly applied as to the one expressly mentioned. The only grounds of limitation which have ever been suggested, are the supposed refer- ence to the downfall of Jerusalem, and an alleged restriction of the parable by Christ himself to the specific grant of vengeance on the enemies of his elect. The first has been already shown to be really no limitation, even if the primary intention were the one supposed. The other rests upon a twofold misconception. In the first place, the avenging here meant is judicial or forensic vindication ; the redress of wrongs endured, and the assertion of disputed rights. The adversaries meant, as appears from the form of the original expression, are the adverse party in a case of litiga- tion. There is no allusion, therefore, to the gratification of mali- cious or revengeful passions. In the next j)lace, even if there were, it would belong to the type and not to the antitype, and be no better reason for restricting the import of the passage, than the fact that the petitioner is represented as a widow. Because the ideal judge says, " I will avenge her, lest by her continual coming she weary me," our Lord, adapting his expressions to the case supposed, says, " Shall not God do likewise ; shall not he avenge his own elect, which cry day and night unto him, though he bear long Avith them ? " This evidently means. Shall he not at last hear their prayers, though he long defer an answer 1 So instead of saying, Yes, he Avill surely hear them, he still retains the cos- tume of the parable in answering his own demand, " I tell you that he will avenge them speedily," that is, he will do what they ask more certainly, because for reasons altogether different, and from motives infinitely higher than those for which the unjust judge consented to avenge his helpless but importunate petitioner. But how shall it be speedily, when by the very supposition it is long deferred 1 Because the longest term of expectation, when surveyed by an eye of faith, and not of doubt or jealous appre- sion, will be short enough to the believer ; and because continued expectation of the right sort, while it fortifies his faith, is con- stantly diminishing the period of its exercise. If we really be- lieve that God will grant us our petitions, we shall gladly 394 PRAY WITHOUT CEASING. acquiesce in his appointed time, and own, when he " avenges " us, whether it be sooner or later, that he did it "speedily." The only question is. Have we that faith to which, as to the Lord himself, " one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day 1 " The only difficulty of the case is in ourselves, and hence the Saviour winds up his divine instructions with a " nevertheless," that is, notwithstanding the immense weight of preponderating reasons for implicit confidence in God, expressed by importunity in prayer — notwithstanding the gross folly, and the aggravated guilt of that despondency which "casts off fear and restrains prayer before God" — though the faith required is so simple, so reasonable, so delightful — is it common, is it ever to be universal 1 The reasons for believing are the most complete and satisfactory conceivable. " Nevertheless when the Son of man Cometh, shall he find faith on the earth 1 This solemn question comes home just as really to us, as if we were to meet the Lord on earth to-morrow. And if we would answer it aright, let us remember that the faith in question is a faith that must be proved and exercised by prayer ; so that if men would either have it or demonstrate that they have it, they " ought always to pray, and not to faint." ^.^^;5?v XXX. Cnic Rnb Jfals£ Jfcar. " They feared the Lord, and served their own gods."— 2 Kings xvii. 33. " npHE fear of the Lord is the beginnnig of knowledge " — " the -L fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom," are two of Solomon's most pregnant maxims (Prov. i. 7 ; ix. 10); or rather two forms of the same, which is again repeated in the Book of Psalms (cxi. 1 0). The word " beginning " in all these cases, may- be strictly understood as having reference to time. Tliis is the point from which all successful students of true wisdom must set out. Their first lesson is to fear the Lord. If they cannot learn this, they can learn nothing, to any valuable purpose. They can no more attain to high degrees of wisdom without tliis, than a child can learn to read without a knowledge of the alphabet. This comparison, however, like all others, ceases to hold good at a cer- tain point of the application. The elementary knowledge, with which the culture of the child begins, is afterwards left far behind, as something which no longer claims attention. But in spiritual culture the first elements of knowledge and its ultimate attain- ments may be said to be identical. " The fear of the Lord " is as really the end as " the beginning of wisdom," although not in such a sense as to exclude progression, and a vast variation of degree in tlie experience of one and the same person. " The fear of the Lord," which is thus both the Alpha and Omega, of the spiritual alphabet, may be taken either in a generic or a specific sense. The former is, in fact, co-extensive with the general idea of religdon or true piety, including, either directly or by necessary inference, every right disposition and afiection on the part of man, as a dependent and unworthy creature, towards the 396 TRUE AND FALSE FEAR. infinitely great and holy God. All such affections may be readily deduced from fear, in its specific sense, as signifying not a slavish but a filial feeling, not mere dread or terror, which, from its veiy nature, must be always tinged with hate, or at least with repug- nance, but a reverence impregnated wdth love. Tliis genuine and spurioiis fear of God, unlike as they may seem, and as they are, have often been confounded, on account of their having something really in common, to wit, a sense of God's power, and an appre- hension of his wrath as awaiting all transgressors of his will. But this common element, which justifies the use of the Avord fear in reference to both these dispositions, is blended in the one case with a consciousness of alienation and hostility, whUe in the other it is lost, as it were, in the feeling of attachment, confidence, and common interest. The varying proportion, in which these dis- tinctive qualities are blended with the fundamental property of fear, determines the facility with which a filial awe may be con- founded with a slavish dread. To discriminate between the two might sometimes be impos- sible, but for a practical criterion or test which the Word of God has laid down, in accordance with our Savioiir's fundamental rule of moral diagnosis, " By their fruits ye shall know them." In one of the passages which recognise the fear of the Lord as the beginning of wisdom, it is closely connected with obedience to his will. " The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom ] a good understanding have all they that do them," that is, his command- ments (Ps. cxi. 10). " Blessed is the man that feareth the Lord, that delighteth greatly in liis commandments " (Ps. cxii. 1). This intimate connection between genuine fear and obedience is recognised in the law itself, when Moses warns Israel " to do all the words of this law that are written in this book, that thou mayest fear the glorious and fearful name, The Lord thy God " (Deut. xxviii. 58). The negative aspect of the same truth is exhibited by Job, when he winds up his subUme inquiry after wisdom with the solemn declaration, " Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom, and to depart from evil is understanding " (Job xxviii. 28). Here then is the touchstone of a genuine and a spurious fear of God. The one disposes us to do his will, from a sincere complacency and acquiescence in it. The other prompts TRUE AND FALSE FEAR. 397 US rather to resist it, except so far as our compliance may seem necessary to escape his wrath, which is the only real object of this slavish dread. The one is a fear of punishment as the consequence of sin ; the other a fear of sin itself, as intrinsically evil, or, which amounts to the same thing, as oj^posed to the will of God, and to his very nature, which is thus assumed as the ultimate criterion . of right and wrong, of good and evil. Only a filial fear disposes men to serve God. Selfish and slavish fear disposes them to flee from him. This uneasy sense of insecurity would be relieved and gladdened by the assurance that there is no God; whereas the same assurance would be anguish or despair to the affectionate and reverential fear of the believer. These two things, then, are to be regarded as insepai'able, the fear of God and service of God. He who will not serve God does not fear him, that is, in any good sense of the term. His fear, so far as he has any, is a slavish fear ; and slavish fear is never free from some admixture of hostility. This distinction, however obvious as it is in Scripture and familiar in experience, is not practically recognised by all men. There seems to be a natural propensity to look iipon fear, blank fear, as the essence of devotion, as the whole of Avhat is due to God, the rendering of which absolves from all obligation to believe, to trust, to love, or to obey. Among the heathen, this idea of religion is perhaps predominant, or certainly far more prevalent than we frequently imagine. It may well be questioned whether their deities are ever the objects of their love, excepting in those cases where the god is but a personification of some darling lust. Beyond this homage rendered to the unchecked sway of their own appetites and passions, there is strong reason for believing that their devotion is nothing but the tribute of their fears to a superior power which they hate, and which they look upon as hating them. The service rendered under the influence of such a motive, is in no case more than they regard as absolutely necessary to secure them from the wrath of the oflended godhead. If they could be convinced that less would gain their end, they would joyfully diminish the amount, and still more joyfully receive permission to withhold it altogether. But this complete immunity is rendered unattainable by conscience. They feel that they are guilty, that 398 TR UE A ND FA LSE FEA R. is, justly liable to punishment, and cannot rest without an effort to escape it. But this universal and unconquerable sense of guilt may co-exist with an indefinite variety of notions as to the means of propitia- tion, and the extent to which those means must be applied. Some men may feel it to be necessary to expend their whole time in appeasing the divine wrath ; but by far the greater number, under every known form of idolatry, consider less than this siiffi- cient, and rejoice to appropriate the residue to self-indidgence. They give no more than is extorted by their fears, and have no conception of religious service as a voluntary, cheerful, joyous consecration of the whole man to an object which he venerates and loves, and in the doing of whose will he finds his highest hap- piness. The only service of this free, spontaneous, and absorbing nature that the heathen devotee pays, is the service rendered to himself, in the indulgence of his own corrupt desires. He gives even to his chosen idol only what he is unable to withhold, his fears; and by so doing proves himself a stranger to all genuine religious fear, whicli cannot be divorced from the willing and devoted service of its object. I have stated this as a grand practical error of the heathen, in order that we may be able to judge of it impartially, and not at all because it is confined to them. Of men in general it may be affirmed, that they are prone to separate religious fear, in their conceptions and their practice, from religious service, and by that separation to convert the former into a slavish dread, as far as possible removed from the filial reverential fear of genuine devo- tion. Wlietlier the proffered object of their worship be the true God or a false one, they naturally slide into this error. Hence it is that the majority of men adore their god or their gods with a divided heart, and try to obey two masters, serving whatever they love best — the world, their fellow-creatures, themselves ; fearing whatever they believe can punish or destroy them, which for that very reason they consider as entitled not so much to love as hatred. Wherever conscience is at all awakened, and religious means, no matter what, are used to pacify it, it will be found a brief but just description of the multitude thus influenced; that they fear one thing and serve another. To the judge and the TRUE AND FALSE FEAR. 399 avenger they give what they must, and lavish all the rest upon th.emselves, their pride, their malice, their ambition, their insatiable aii[ietites, their raging passions. An apt illustration of this general truth is afforded by a singu- ];ir and interesting passage of the sacred history. The king of iVssyria had carried into exile the ten tribes of Israel, and supplied their place with settlers ftom his own dominions. These were heathen, and brought with them their own idols and idolatrous rites. Having no knowledge of Jehovah, whom their predecessors had professed to worship, even under the forbidden form of golden calves, they had, of course, no fear of his displeasure, till he sent wild beasts among them, and slew some of them. Regarding this correctly as a penal visitation from the god of the land, they pro- cured from their own sovereign the assistance of an Israelitish priest to teach them how to worship him. He accordingly taught them, as the narrative expresses it, " how they should fear the Lord," and they acted promptly upon his instructions. They took care, however, to provide gods of their own, each tribe or nation for itself, while at the same time they offered to Jehovah a worship of fear prompted more by the recollection of lions than by faith or reason. " So they feared the Lord, and served their own GODS." How far the sacred writer was from recognising this as any genuine rehgious fear at all, we learn from his saying, in the very next sentence, " unto this day they do after the former man- ners ; THEY FEAR NOT THE LoRD." Why ? Bccause " they feared the Lord, and served their own gods." We may be disposed to smile with some contempt at the absurd and inconsistent conduct of these wretched pagans. But wherein did their folly and their sin consist 1 Certainly not in being afraid of the displeasure of Jehovah and in seeking to avert it ; for in this they acted wisely. But it lay in their imagining that forms of worship, extorted from them by their selfish fears, would be sufficient to propitiate the Most High and secure them from his vengeance ; while their voluntary service, their cordial and habi- tual devotion, was expended on his enemies and rivals. If this is the absurdity which we condemn, our judgment is a just one ; but let us impartially condemn it wherever we may find it, Avhethcr in ancient or in modern times, whether in eastern or in western 400 TRUE AXD FALSE FEAR. climes, whether in heathendom or Christendom, whether in our neighbours or ourselves. To facilitate this self-denying process in your case and my own, let us look for a moment at some ways in which precisely the same folly, and with incomparably less extenuation, may be prac- tised, and is practised now in the nineteenth century, and here, amidst the blaze of gospel light. Let us not shrink from the un- welcome truth, if it should be discovered that this race of idolaters is not extinct ; that " unto this day they do after the former man- ners ;" fearing the Lord and serving their own gods ; "as did their fathers, so do they unto this day." To make the transition easier from the heathen to the Christian world, we may begin with our own heathen, the heathen at our own doors, in our own streets ; I mean those who approach near- est to the heathen both in the positive and negative circumstances of their spiritual state, their ignorance of truth, and their enslave- ment to sin. Look at the worst part of your population, as it pours its turbid streams along in times of more than usual excite- ment ; hear its muttered or vociferated cvirses ; mark the bestial character of its propensities and habits. All this you have seen, and as you saw it, you have been disposed perhaps to say that here, at least, there is no divided worship or allegiance ; here, at least, are men who serve their own gods, but who do not, even in profession, fear the Lord. No, in profession, certainly not ; in form, in purpose, not at all ; but do you think they never fear him, that is, feel afraid of him ? Be not precipitate in drawing such conclusions. Li the vast mixed multitude of those whom you regard as tlie most ignorant, and reckless, and besotted of your countrymen, observe, on some occasion of extraordinary concourse, how many haggard faces, and contracted bi-ows, and strangely gleaming eyes encounter yours. Do you believe all tliis expression of anxiety and dread to be the fruit of poverty, or sickness, or domestic cares I If so, you are mistaken ; for the same expression may be seen in those who are not poor, who are not sick, or outwardly distressed at all ; and on the other hand, its absence may be marked in thou- sands who are poorer, and who suifer more from care and sickness than do any of those whom you are observing. There is some- TRUE AND FALSE FEAR. 401 thiiig back of all these causes to i)roduce this uniformity of coun- tenance, and I will tell you what it is — IT is feak. Yes, even the boldest and most insolent defier of all outward peril, the foolhar- diest provoker of temptation and destruction, at the very moment when he is repelling, with vindictive rage, the charge of cowardice, is often chilled with fear, unqualified, unmitigated fear ; and that of the most paralysing kind, because it is a vague fear and of an invisible object — a fear which is written in the face of some as legibly as on the broAvof the first murderer. We sometimes speak lightly of the fear of ghosts and phantoms, as a childish folly ; but it is often nothing more than a disguised fear of the great avenger ; the man shrinks and trembles as seeing him who is in- visible. Tell him of storms and earthquakes, and he shudders, though the danger be distant or long past. Tell him of sudden casualties, and he turns pale, though the same form of accident, in his case, be imjx^ssible. Tell him of pestilence, of fever, plague, or cholera, as slowly, steadily approaching, and judge for yourself whether the emotion caused by this announcement can be all re- feri'ed to dread of bodily sufferiiig, or even of death as a physical change only. No, his thoughts run onward to the dread tribunal where he is to stand, and to which this may be his summons. What he now feels is that "fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation," which the apostle represents as following the obstinate rejection of an offered Saviour. I do not mean that this is always present to the mind ; it may be rare, it may be momen- tary. These forebodings may but occasionally interrupt the ordi- nary current of the thoughts and feelings, like a dark cloud swept across the sun, or a lurid flash, making darkness visible. The at- tempt to banish such reflections may be commonly successful, and the man, instead of being weaned from his accustomed cares or pleasures, may plunge into them more madly and more desperately, for the veiy reason that he wishes to avoid these fearful premoni- tions. He may never cross the threshold of a church — he may never look between the covers of a Bible — he may shrink from the touch of a religious book — he may run from the presence of reli- gious men as he would shun contagion — but he has that within him which he cannot flee from or for ever silence; he is guilty and he knows it, and he knows that God v/ill punish sin, and that his •2i5 402 TRUE AND FALSE FEAR. own time may be near at hand ; and often, in the interval of busi- ness, or the necessary lulls of his tempestuous enjoyments, in the silent watches of the night, or on a sick-bed, or when some afflic- tion forces him to serious reflection, he hears that whisper which ' he heard in childhood ; a mysterious voice syllables his name, as it has often done before, and mutters of some fearful secret soon to be disclosed. Nay, the same unwelcome premonition sometimes reaches him when all around is gay and joyous ; in the very moment of indulgence, with the cup of pleasure at his lips, he hears that sound ] he knows not whence it comes, he sometimes even knows not what it says ; the very vagueness of the warning makes it more terrific. His very ignorance of God and of religion adds a strange, peculiar teri'or to these pangs of conscience ; and the man, however brave at other times, is really afraid ; he fears, he fears the Lord, although he knows him not ; he fears him as the un- seen and anonymous avenger who has followed him through life, and now awaits his death ; and if, in spite of all this he still plunges deeper into worldly cares or sensual indulgence, and vainly strives to seek oblivion from them, this only shows that, like the settlers of Samaria, he fears the Lord and serves his own gods. The case of which I have been speaking is the case of those wh(j are excluded, or exclude themselves from the operation of all ordinary methods of religious influence — who are not permitted, or refuse to hear the gospel — who avoid association with its preachers and professors — and who lead a heathen life on Christian ground. Such may well be likened to the foreign idolaters who occupied the territory of the ten tribes, in immediate juxtaposition with the cliosen people ; and in such it may not seem surprising or unnatural that, like their prototypes in history, they should fear God and serve the devil. But is such a compromise or combina- tion possible within the precincts of the Chiu-ch itself — within the bounds of even nominal Christianity — among the decent and respect- ful hearers of the gospel and professed believers in its truth ? Can they be charged with this stupendous folly of dividing or multiply- ing what they worship — giving half to good and half to evil, be- lieving half in truth and half in falsehood, living half in light and Jialf in darkness ? Perhaps the very form which I have given to TRUE AND FALSE FEAR. 403 the question may suggest an answer, by presenting no exaggerated picture of the life which some of us are actually living. You fear the Lord ; you are unwilling to provoke his anger ; you acknowledge your obligation to serve him, and you discharge that obligation by attending on his worship ; but is he the master that you daily serve 1 Where is your treasure and your heart 1 By whose will do you regulate your life ? A man may so far fear the Lord as to frequent his house, and join in the external acts of wor- ship there ; but what if he has other gods at home, and there bows down to Mammon or to Belial 1 What if the world is in his heart, and the prince of this world on the throne of his affections ] Will the stain of these habitual idolatries be washed out by patiently enduring the penance of a Sabbath service 1 Will the Lord, who is thus feared with a slavish dread of his displeasure, be contented, for the sake of this, to pass by all the rest — all that is done, or all that is not done, in defiance of his absolute authority and positive command 1 My hearers ! let us not deceive ourselves. There are idol-temples sometimes reared against the very walls of Jehovah's sanctuary. There are heathen oracles which give forth their re- sponses "fast by the oracle of God." There are those who seem to fear the Lord on one day in the week, but during all the rest of their existence are unceasingly employed in sernng their own gods. The charge which is here brought is not one of hypocrisy. It is one of delusion. I do not say that those of whom I speak pretend to fear the Lord when they know they fear him not. I say that they believe they fear him, when in fact they fear him not. Or rather, which is really the same thing in another form, they do fear him ; but it is not with a fear which honours, or conciliates, or pleases him, as they imagine; and here, just here, is their delusion. They are sincere enough in thinking that they fear God; but they are terribly mistaken in supposing that they fear him as they ought. This is a painful truth to those of las whom it concerns ; but it is one which, sooner or later, must be told. And it requires not many words to tell it. It may be summed up in this short sentence : If yoii do not serve the Lord, you do not /ear him. You may attend upon his worship, you may respect religion, you may believe the Bible to be true, yon m;ty l:ope to be saved through Christ, yuu may expect to die the death of the rigliteous. 404 TRUE AND FALSE FEAR. But how do you live 1 How are you living now 1 From what source is your present happiness derived? What influence do you exert 1 What are you doing, not as a weekly recreation, or a mere periodical solemnity, but as a daily business, for the honour of God and the good of your fellow-men? If your fear of the Lord shows itself in these particulars, and in the constant dis- positions and affections of your mind, it may be genuine. But if you fear God only in the church, or only on the Sabbath ; if your life, beyond these bounds, is atheistical ; that is, if you live pre- cisely as you would if you believed that there is no God ; if your fear of him is nothing but a natural unwillingness to suffer at his hands, and a consequent desire to avert his wrath; if you joyfully redeem from his service what you can, to be expended on the world ; if you come before him reeking from the sordid cares or frivolous pleasures of a selfish and unprofitable life, and then leap back from the threshold of his presence into the hot and steaming atmosphere of that same world from which your fears had detached you for an hour or a day; — if this is your experience, or anything like this, however clear it may be to your own mind that you fear the Lord, it is still more clear to others that you serve your own gods. Is not this an object of compassion % Has this de- lusion no share in the pity which we lavish on the heathen 1 Yes, to those really enlightened there is something peculiarly pitiable in the state which I have been describing. The degree of know- ledge really possessed, and the hopes so fondly cherished, only render their inevitable disappointuient more affecting to the heart of one who can foresee it. Looking out from the inner sanctuary into which he has found access by the blood of the everlasting covenant, he compassionates not only those who still wander in the court of the Gentiles, but those who have penetrated into the interior enclosure, within sight of the laver and the altar of atonement, or have even found their way into the holy place, and there continue, unsuspicious that the holiest of all is still beyond them, that the mercy seat is not yet reached, and that, without this, neither the loaves spread ujjon the golden table, the light that streams from the golden candlestick, nor the incense that rolls upward from the golden altar,' can be theirs, or made available for them ; that notwithstanding their near bodily ap^iroach TR UE A ND FA LSE FEA R. 405 to God, tliey are still far from him ; — over such a sight the true penitent might weep even in the presence of the ark and under the shadowing pinoins of the cherubim. Especially might this be the effect if these deluded worshippers were seen leaving their idols at the entrance of the temple, and casting many a fond backward glance at these beloved objects from the holy place, or even bringing them in, half concealed, beneath some flimsy pre- text, or some fair appearance, and then hastening forth to worship them; yes, scarcely waiting till the veil has again fallen on the sacred scene, before tliey drop down in the dust before the gods of their idolatry. This, this is a spectacle to draw tears at the very mercy-seat and under the cloud of the divine presence. But, sad as is this, would to God it were the worst ! It were surely enough that we, who pi'ofess to have found access to the mercy- seat, should be compelled to sorrow over those who, though ex- ternally almost as near it as ourselves, are still, in heart, as far from it as ever, and who serve their own gods in the presence of Jehovah. But what if our lamentations should be interrupted by a voice from the holy of holies, saj'ing, " The time is come that judgment must begin at the house of God !'' (1 Pet. iv. 17). What if the cloud should rise or open, and disclose to us the fearful sight of idols in immediate contact with the ark of the covenant and the inercy-seat itself ! This is no hideous imagination of a wild impossibility. The thing supposed is not impossible at all. It is a palpable reality. It has been, is now, and will be hereafter, until human corruption cpases to exist, or is no longer suftered to exert an influence on true believers. False gods may be brought into the holy of holies. I speak not now of false profession, or of total self-deception, but of those who give evidence of having really passed from death unto life. Even these may cling to idols ; even these may give themselves to other masters ; even these may fear the Lord and serve their own gods ; and in so doing, I should hesitate to intend the possibility of Christians, even by profession, being tainted with the poison of a literal idolatry, did not notorious contemporary facts demonsti-ate the existence of this monstrous combination. In proof of this, we need not go to India, and contemplate the connivance of a Christian government at heathenish abominations, 406 TRUE AND FALSE FEAR. and its violation of the rights of Christian consciences, in order to maintain those of a lieathen population, which it ought to have enlightened in the knowledge of the truth. We need not join in the censure which the world has passed upon these false concessions, or attempt to trace the marks of the divine displeasure in the blood and ashes of that great catastrophe, the sound of which has not yet died away in Europe, Asia, or America ; because, admit- ting all that is alleged, or even all that is conferred, and rating at the highest mark the guilt of such connivance or encouragement, it cannot, after all, be justly charged with actual participation in the idolatry itself, but only with a sinful and pernicious toleration of it, on the part of those who really despised or pitied it, as the wretched but incurable delusion of a half-enlightened and inferior race. But what shall we say of those who, nearer home, and in a Christian country, and amidst the light of a reformed and puri- fied religion — nay, perhaps with the profession of it on their lips and on their conscience, can sanction by their presence, or sustain by their pecuniary gifts, a worship which, though nominally Chris- tian, they confess to be idolatrous — crowding its sanctuaries even with their children, led, perhaps, by simple curiosity, but strength- ening the faith of others by example, and themselves incurring the tremendous risk of learning first to tolerate, and then to ad- mire, and finally to worship what at first they viewed with wonder and contempt. Be not surprised, my brethren, if you should en- counter such phenomena in your fields of ministerial labour ; and if you do, be not afraid to tell those who exhibit them, that such compliances, so far from being justified by simultaneous or alter- nate acts of purer worship, or by the continual profession of a purer faith, are thereby only brought into a closer and more hideous assimilation to the mixed religion of these ancient settlers, in the land of Israel, who, in that consecrated soil, and not far from the temple of Jehovah, almost in sight of its majestic rites, and within hearing of its solemn music, while they owned the true God as a God of judgment, and experienced his wrath as an avenger — were so mad upon their idols, that with fatal inconsistency " they feared the Lord, and served their own gods." But, returning to the figiirative spiritual meaning of idolatry, with which we are immediately concerned, and to its fearful com- TRUE A XD FALSE FEAR. 407 bination with the worship of the true God, which I have described as introducing idols into the most holy place — as a complete enumeration of these idols w^ould be neither possible nor needful, let me sum up a vast number of them under the collective name, so often used in Scripture, of the world — the world, including all the various and complex influences exercised by men, not only as detached individuals, but as an aggregate body, called society — - the various allurements by which true Christians are seduced into compliance with its questionable practices. It may be under the pretence or in the hope of doing good, without experiencing evil ■ — the oldest and most specious of the arts by which the tempter has achieved his conquests, since he whisj)ered in the ear of Eve, " Ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil," and displayed to her the fatal tree so " good for food," so " pleasant to the eyes," and so "desirable to make one wise." Here is an idol temple — vast, magnificent, inviting, at the verj^ thrcsliold of our churches, ■ — nay, out of which idols are continually brought into Jehovalrs presence, not by false professors merely, but by deluded worship- pers, who fain would fear the Lord, and worship their own gods. But what are the gods which may thus be served by those who, at the same time, seem to fear the Lord ? Leaving wholly out of view, as I have said, the case of those who worship self and the world, under the mask of hyi^ocritical profession, or the fatal spell of " strong delusions," let us look exclusively at those who seem sincerely to fear God, but who do not serve him with a perfect heart, because their affections are divided and seduced by idols. What are these idols 1 I might almost say, their name is Legion. I can mention but a few of them. But leaving these and otlier more familiar forms of this idolatrous delusion, let us glance at some less palpable, and more compatible with light and even genuine profession. Such is the idol of self-righteousness, a very diffferent thing from self-indulgence. While the latter owns no obligation to obey any other master than its own imperious lusts, the other recognises God's authority, consents to do his will, and thinks it does it, yes, and makes a merit of it. Its very reliance, or professed reliance, on the merit of the Saviour, is transformed into an idol, and usurps the honour due exclusively to Christ. It submits to the righteousness of God in order to exalt its own. 408 TR UE A ND FA LSE FEA R. Of such it may be said, without injiistice, that they fear the Lord, and serve their own gods. Closely allied to this idol is another — the idol of spiritual pride • — a disposition to exult in the extent and depth of our religious experience, and in the variety of our attainments, a complacent estimate of our own love to God, a zeal for his honour, and sub- mission to his will, as meritorious achievements of our own, and not as the gratuitous products of his sovereign grace. Alas ! how many sincere Christians are led far astray by tliis insidious se- ducer, till at last they seem to fear the Lord still, but to serve their own gods. To the same race and family of idols belongs that pharisaical censorious spirit which regards the essence of religion as consist- ing in vindictive opposition to the sins of our fellow-men, and imagines that the surest way to rise in the divine life is to lower our neighbours, whether saints or sinners, drawing a morbid satis- faction from this painful view of others as no better than ourselves, and expending on this object the attention which might better have been given to our own defects, or better still, to the desire and pursuit of excellence. This, too, is to fear the Lord and serve our own gods. Further enumeration is superfluous. It is enough to know the general fact that such things are possible, are real. If we do know it, and acknowledge it, what shall we do next 1 Let judg- ment begin at the house of God. Let every image which defiles it be cast down without mercy from its pedestal and dashed in pieces, like Dagon on the threshold of his temple. Let us, like Jacob and liis household, put away our false gods, before we come to Bethel to renew our vows. Instead of weeping over the delu- sions of our neighbours, let us first seek to have our own dispelled. Let those who gaze from without into the temple of the Lord, or from its holy place into the holiest of all, be under no mistake, or even doubt, as to tlie object of our worship. Through the cloud of incense which ascends from our altar, let not even the un- friendly or malignant eye detect the semblance of an idol placed above it. Let friends and enemies alike be constrained to ackno^\'- ledge that our Lord is one Lord, and that we his people have no other gods before him. Then, with our consciences cleared from TR UE A XD FA LSE FE. \ R. 40t) dead works, to serve the living God, we shall be able, with con- sistency and good hope of success, to say to those who hear the gospel with us, but have not yet avouched the Lord to be their God, Forsake your idols, crucify the flesh, die to the world, serve Him whom you fear already, fear him no longer with a slavish dread, but with a filial reverence, believe in him whom we trust as our Saviour, " Walk about Zion, and go round about her : tell the towers thereof, mark ye well her bulwarks, consider her palaces, that ye may tell it to the generation following ; for this God is our God for ever and ever : he will be our guide even unto death." Yes, and then with this accession to our strength, we may go forth beyond the precincts of the sanctuary into the highways and the hedges of the world, in search of those neglected and bewil- dered outcasts who are trembling at the presence of an unknown God, who have fearful forebodings of his wrath, with no cheering anticipations of his mercy, fearing the Lord, and serving their own gods. Yes, even these may be compelled to come in, to join tlie procession of experienced saints and recent converts from the world, as it draws near to the footstool of God's mercy, and point- ing to the fragments of forsaken idols which lie strewn around it, say, " 0 Lord our God, other loi'ds beside thee have had dominion over us ; but by thee only will we make mention of thy name. They are dead, they shall not live ; they are deceased, they shall not rise ; thou hast visited and destroyed them, and made all their memory to perish." XXXI. ^j\n loxmiam of o])ular credulity kee]is DESPISED AND REJECTED OF MEN. 449 pace with the very extravagance of the pretensions, so that men seem, by some strange inversion of the ordinary laws of reasoning, to believe and be convinced in inverse proportion to the evidence afforded. Look, again, at the avidity with which new fields of speculation, or new mines of wealth are seized upon without a disposition to contest the most improbable assertions, or rather with a perverse disposition to lay hold of what is most improbable in preference to what is less so, and to make a mine of merit of believing it, and proving the sincerity of the belief by corresponding action, not unfrequently involving painful sacrifice of actual possession or of cheering prospect for what may be a chimera, for what must be an unsatisfying portion. All this is exemplified among ourselves. For a third example, we must look abroad at those tumultuous excitements in the sea of nations, from which we, through the divine mercy, dwell apart, as having already reaUzed the vision of which others dream. Without detracting in the least from the value of the object aimed at, the secure enjoyment of ci\'il and religious freedom, it is impossible to look at these commotions from our post of observation without seeing how the rational and right desire of liberty is diluted on the one hand, or poisoned on the other, with childish folly, with insane illusion, with corrupt ambition, and, above all, with an iitterly irrational credulity, a blind and superstitious faith in the sufficiency of theories and systems to heal wounds which have been bleeding and discharg- ing nearly six thousand years, and an impious reliance upon men, and not the best men, to effect what God has solemnly reserved as an inalienable, incommunicable part of his divine prerogative. From all this it is easy to infer that we do no injustice to our- selves or others, when we represent it as a characteristic feature of man's actual condition, that he is predisposed to look with favour upon any specious i^roject of amelioration — that his bias, in relation to such schemes, is rather to credulity than scepticism, and that this propensity is not a matter of prudential calculation, but proved to be as much an affection of the heart as of the head, by the avidity with which the incHnations constantly outrun the judgment, and in some cases wholly supersede its action. It would, however, be at variance with man's nature as a 29 450 DESPISED AND REJECTED OF MEN. rational being, if liis reason were completely set at naught, or even held in abeyance, by his sense of want, and liis impatience to supply it. While the restless character in question does un- doubtedly arise from an instinctive consciousness of something needed to appease the cravings of unsatisfied desire, and a vague beUef in the reality of something more desirable than anything as yet attained, it seems impossible that man, without a forfeiture of that which raises him above the brutes, should systematically act in opposition to the dictates of his reason and his better judgment, or perversely choose what he cannot but see to be least entitled to his choice. Passion, and appetite, and strong delusion may obscure his perceptions and impede the action of his rational powers, but cannot utterly destroy them. And, accordingly, we find that in relation to these very schemes and hopes of temporal advancement, there is a vast expenditure of cunning and sagacity in order to secure the advantage and to baffle competition. It might, therefore, be expected fi'om analogy, that the influence exerted upon men by offers to ameliorate their actual condition would bear some proportion to the greatness of the evils wliich they actually sufier, to the fitness and efficacy of the means em- ployed to bring about a change, and to tlie value of the positive advantages bestowed or promised. Seeing how credulous men are, how ready to believe and act on the authority of questionable evidence, and under the control of interested guides, provided there is any possibility of bettering their condition after all, it might be supposed that this facility of faith and action, this promptness to believe, and this eagerness to act on the belief, would rise with the clearness of the evidence afforded, and the authority by which the movement has been , sanctioned or required. And, as the strongest case conceivable, , it might have been expected, with the liighest antecedent pro- bability, that if the prospect, f)pened to mankind or any p(,)rtion of the race, was that of complete deliverance from the worst of^ evils by tlie use of means infallibly effective, and if they were summoned and encouraged to the use of these by an authority alike incapable of error and deception, I say, in such a case as I have just supposed, it might well liave been inferred from alll analogy, that the restless disposition of our race to better its con- DESPISED AND REJECTED OF MEX. 45I dition, and the readiness with which it is convinced that such amelioration is attainable, would operate at once, without restraint, and with complete unqualified effect, in the production of the change proposed. With this antecedent probability let us now compare the fact as attested by the most authentic evidence. The key to history, both sacred and profane, is furnished by the fact that, after man had fallen through the influence of evil spirits, and God had determined to restore him by the gift of his own Son and Spirit, he foretold to our first parents, or rather in their presence to the great seducer, that there was to be a ^jrotracted contest between two antagonistic races, called in the prophecy the seed of the serpent and the seed of the Avomau ; a warfare full of fluctuations and reverses, but ultimately tending to the triumph of the cause of truth, and righteousness, and mercy. This prospective division of maixkind into two great parties gives complexion to all history, and may be traced distinctly from the date of the prediction to the end of time. The first visible triumph of the good cause was reserved for the appearance of its champion upon earth, when it was symbolized and really begun by victories openly achieved over the adverse powers of darkness. To prepare for his appearance, the explicit revelation of God's will was limited for ages to a single race, and everything in their condition was so ordered as to excite, in the highest possible degree, the sense of want and the correlative desire of something to sujDply it. As the time iov the fulfilment of the promise drew near, this restless expectation reached its height. From the Jews it passed over to the Gentiles, where it seems to have combined with a collateral tradition, reaching back to the first periods of human history, and both together generating in the palmiest days of Roman domination, a pervading apprehension of some great event or personage as near at hand, a state of feeling attested both by Jewish and classical historians. This general condition of the public mind throughout the Roman empire, at the very acme of its greatness, and the widest sweep of its victorious yet pacific sway, was nothing more than an extraordinary and simultaneous exhibition of those same uneasy movements of the mind and will 452 DESPISED AND REJECTED OF MEX. "which we have seen to be exemplified, in more irregular and insu- lated forms, throughout all nations and in every period of history. It was the innate consciousness of want, and the irrepressible desire of something better and yet unpossessed, subjected to new stimulants, and brought, by providential means, to bear upon the great scheme of human renovation and advancement which was about to be unrolled by the hand of God himself. This scheme possessed, in the highest degree, everything which we have seen to be required as passports to men's confidence. The evil which it undertook to cure was the greatest in itself, and the cause of every other ; the means such as only the divine com- passion could have brought to bear upon the end proposed ; and this end, far from being merely negative, or limited to freedom from existing evils, comprehended the experience and possession of the highest good conceivable, both natural and moral. Here, then, was a case in which that native impulse might have been expected to have full scope and activity. It is left to conjecture, or to reason from analogy, how natural and easy to imagine the effect of this stupendous revelation on the hearts and lives of the expectant nations. As aU eyes had, by some mysterious influence, been turned towards the spot where the Deliverer of mankind was to appear, and the great men and wise men of the world, no less than the vast mixed multitude around them, held their breath, half in hope and half in dread of the event, it might have been imagined that when He, the incar- nate Son of God, and yet the Man of Sorrows for our sake, rose on the view of this vast amphitheatre of nations, not as a gladiator in the arena of Vespasian's matchless structure, for the amusement of the world, but for its ransom, for its rescue from the greatest of | all evils, and indeed from all the evils that had stained or crushed it since the first sin was committed — the wonder, gratitude, and joy of the spectators would have found vent, not in noisy acclama- tions, not in silent and inactive tears, but in a mighty simultaneous rush of nations towards the cross, and the gushing life-spring which flowed from it — a unanimous, enthusiastic self-appropriation of this heaven-descended panacea for all pains, this inexhaustible supply of all necessities, this talisman of entrance to eternal glory, comprehending in itself all the true, and superseding all the false DESPISED AND REJECTED OF MEX. 453 expedients for attaining the same end, by which these very nations had again and again been roused to frenzy, and excited as one man to energetic but insane exertion. Yes, it might have been imagined that the men v^'ho had been thus roused by the false, or partial and inadequate devices of philosophy, philanthropy, or practical experience of plotting craft or soaring ambition, would have fallen down in speechless adoration at the feet of Him, in vested with divine authority and power to do what men and angels had essayed in vain. With this imagination, natural and reasonable as it would have been beforehand, let us now compare the simple, unexaggerated fact as recorded in the text by the prophetical historian, of a suf- fering Messiah. "He was despised and rejected of men." This is no hyperbole or Oriental figure of speech, it is the literal history of Christ's reception by the nations ; the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He was despised and rejected. He for Avhom they had been waiting with an eager curiosity, when he came was despised and rejected by the very people who had hung with idiotic faith upon the lips of augurs, pythonesses, magi, and fjilse prophets. Even by the Jews themselves, who had existed as a nation to prepare for liis appearance, he was despised and re- jected, that is, by the masses of the people ; while among the Gentiles, with the exception of the chosen few who joined with the elect Jews to compose the Christian Church, the exciting anticipation of his coming was exchanged for bitter spite, or frivolous contempt, or stupid indifference, and they who were too wise and too refined to believe the record God had given of his Son, went back to their oracles, and fanes, and mysteries, to the filthy rites of Venus and the bloody rites of Moloch, " as the dog returns to his own vomit, and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire." These expressions may be strong, but the reality is stronger, and the utmost license in the use of language would fall short of the loathsome folly and ingratitude of this reception given to God's highest, best, and most invaluable gift. Nor was it a mere temporaryss fit of madne, an ephemeral delirium. It has lasted ever since without so much as a lucid interval in the case of the great masses of mankind. And never has this scornful rejection 4o4 DESPISED AND REJECTED OF MEX. of an offered Saviour been more odious in its spite, or more pitiable in its senselessness, than at the times, and in the places, and among the men where the natural credulity of which I have been speaking, and the practical docility which is its fruit, were most conspicuously manifest. These darkened glimpses of a distant past may prejjare our eyes for the intenser and less grateful light of times and places nearer to ourselves. Why should we talk of the old Eomans and the Jews, of the Crusaders and the mediseval generations, when we liave only to look out of our windows to behold precisely the same spectacle, the same susceptibility of strong impressions, the same lively hopes and fears, the same credulity or easy faith, disposing to believe the most extravagant inventions, if embellished with a promise of long life, or boundless wealth, or unstinted freedom ; the same restless inquiry after some new bait to this insatiable appetite ; the same precipitation in obeying any call to fresh indul- gence, without stopping to compute the chances or to count the cost ; the same compassionate Redeemer knocking at the door of men's hearts, as a man of sorrows bruised for their iniquities, en- treating, as it were, for leave to save them., and the same contemp- tuous repulse. As tliis was, in prophecy, a constituted token of the true Messiah, so has it been in history, and still is, the invari- able character of Christ's reception by the world, by the nations, by the masses of mankind. The offence of the cross has not ceased. " He is despised and rejected of men." This would be bad enough and strange enough, even if it were in perfect keeping with the character and conduct of mankind in general. Even if men were naturally unsusceptible of strong ex- citement in relation to the future, even if it were hard to rouse their hopes and fears, or to render them available as means of practical control ; if they were not easily imposed upon by false- hood or exaggeration, or disposed to act without sufficient evi- dence or warrant, it would still be an unspeakable infatuation to refuse to believe or act on God's authority. They might be inac- cessible to dreams of wealth, and independence, and longevity, and yet be chargeable with madness in rejecting everlasting life. But how shall we find words for the description of tliis madness when the ordinary conduct of mankind is all the other way ; wheu DESPISED AXD REJECTED OF MEN. 455 tliey are credulous and tractable, and eagerly precipitate in every- tliing that promises to better their condition in the present life, ,uid only sce^Jtical, and self-willed, and refractory, when it is God ^\ lio calls, and Christ who pleads, and everlasting life or death that is at stake ! This astonishing exception to the general rule (if human character and conduct seems to call for explanation, and the Bible gives it. The secret of this startling inconsistency lies ill the simple but humiliating fact, that men are most insensible jirecisely to the greatest evils and the greatest good. This is a }i;ut of their hereditary curse. '• Madness is in their heart while they live, and after that they go to the dead," to be for ever un- deceived. One decisive symptom of this madness is, that it re- gards eternity as less than time, the soul as inferior to the body, ({nd as less entitled to belief than man, an hour of animal in- dulgence more attractive than all heaven, a year of bodily priva- tion or endurance more terrific than the gnawings of a guilty conscience, and the tire of divine wrath in the hottest hell for ever. I am speaking now of those who do not pretend to doubt the truth of Christianity or to dispute the authority of God, but who nevertheless act in direct opposition to their own avowed convictions. With such delusions, why attempt to reason 1 " Mad- ness is in their heart while they live, and after that they go to the dead." This view of the delusion, under which the whole race natur- ally labours, casts a melancholy light upon the actual condition of the world, and more especially on those great national convulsions wliich are continually reaching even these ends of the earth with the prolonged reverberation of their noise, and the sympathetic shock of their concussions. However highly we may estimate the prize for which the nations are contending, how should we be aiFected by the thought that, after all, these struggling masses are unconscious of their greatest dangers, and unsuspicious of their deepest degradation. To us the fearful events that are now pass- ing, seen by a dim light at so vast a distance, are like some great nocturnal conflagration, or some scene of shipwreck ; and to one who takes the view which I have just presented, most of the actors in this fearful drama must appear like men enveloped in the flames, or sinking in the waves within reach of the only means of 456 DESPISED AND REJECTED OF MEN. possible escape, yet unaware of it, or in their blindness and con- fusion disregarding it ; catching with desperate eagerness at this or that expedient, only to relinquish it anon or to perish in reliance on it, when a single step, a motion of the hands, a turning of the body, nay, a look or a word of admonition from another, might in- sure their safety. He who could gaze on such a scene in real life without a sicken- ing of the heart, must be without one altogether. And a kindred feeling may be naturally stirred by the sublime but awful spectacle of burning empires and of shipwrecked nations. As in the case supposed, however distant or however feeble, the humane spectator would experience an involuntary impulse to do something, to hasten towards the scene of death, to shout or cry aloud in warn- ing ; so the man who looks ujjon contemj^orary changes in the light of truth and of eternity, may feel an irrepressible yearning to extend a helping hand, or raise a helping voice to those great masses now in violent commotion, and too soon perhaps to be baptized in blood, to warn them that there is a worse oppression than the one beneath which they are chafing, and a nobler freedom than the one in which they are rejoicing, to divert their eyes and their idolatrous affections from the objects of their overweening trust — the men whom they worship as their national deliverers- to One who is a Saviour indeed, a deliverer both of men and nations, but whom, in common with their enemies and tyrants, they are still rejecting. To a mind susceptible of such impressions, and capable of large and lofty views of human interests, as well as open to the calls of suffering himianity, the question may perhaps present itself as one of individual duty. What can / do 1 what shall / do for the remedy of this great evil % I will answer the question, if it comes from one who is himself a voluntary subject of Christ's kingdom. I say, follow your leader into the thickest of the fight, into the hottest of the fire, into the heart of the deep sea if need be ; do what you can to let his name be heard and his victorious banner seen on every bloody field, on every wreck-strewed sea or shore. But if, alas ! you are yourself an alien from the very Christ whom you would preach to others, then my answer is, remember that the ocean is made up of drops, and all societies of rational. DESPISED AND REJECTED OF MEN. 457 responsible, personal agents. If every man among the masses now in motion on the surface of society, like conflicting icebergs in the Arctic Sea, were personally loyal and devoted to the Saviour, the entire mass could not despise or reject him. If the greater portion were thus faithful, the controlling influence in nations and communities must be a good one. Let us not then be so far absorbed in the condition of the mass as to lose sight of its constituent elements. For a moment, at least, insulate yourself from the surrounding mass in which you are, perhaps, too much disposed to lose sight of your individuality, and let me put a parting question, to be an- swered, not to me, not to any fellow-man, but to your conscience and your God, " He was despised and rejected of men." Of these men you are one by nature ; are you still one in the heat of your aff'ections and the conduct of your life 1 Are you still one of those by whom the offer of salvation is rejected 1 Do you still refuse or delay to trust him, and to give yourself away to him 1 Ah, then ! I beseech you, think no longer of the nations or the masses who reject him. Waste not your pity on mankind in general, but reserve it for that one deluded heart, which, in the midst of all this light and all this mercy, still despises and rejects the Saviour. While you thus bar the door of your own heart against him, shed not the tear of sentimental sorrow over his ex- clusion from the hearts of others, lest he turn and — pointing to that untried future which is still before you — say to you as he said to the women who lamented him, when on his way from Gabbatha to Golgotha, from the judgment seat of Pilate to the place of crucifixion, " Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me, but for yourselves and for your children." tm!mi-± mm^m^m XXXV. ^\^t |)opc of g^bnibam. " He looked for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God." — Heb. xi. 10. rpHESE Avords refer to the patriarch Abraham, one of the most -i extraordinary characters of any age. Without going into his biograi^hy at large, let me call your attention to two circumstances, which especially distinguished this great man from others. In the first place, he was the Friend of God. I mean not merely that his history entitles him to this honourable appellation; not merely that God treated him and looked upon him as his friend ; but that he is expressly called the Friend of God in Scripture, By the mouth of the prophet Isaiah, the Lord said to Israel : " Thou art my servant, Jacob whom I have chosen, the seed of Abraham my friend." And why was he thus honoured 1 Was not Abraham a child of wrath even as others 1 Yes. He could not therefore be entitled meritoriously to the distinction which his name implies. No, he himself well knew that it was not for any merit of his own, that he was allowed to be the friend of God. On the contrary, it was by renouncing all dependence on himself that he acquired this honour. Faith was bis grand distinction ; simple reliance on the word of God • belief in his promises, and acquiescence in his method of salvation. It was thus that Abraham became the Friend of God. But w^as not this a meritorious faith? Did not this very self-renunciation and reliance upon God entitle Abraham to claim his favour 1 It would have done so, but for this simple reason, that his faith was the gift of God, and that the same glorious Being who rewarded him, bestowed upon him that which was rewarded. Where is boasting then 1 It is excluded. By THE HOPE OF ABRAHAM. 4.59 irhat law 1 The law of works 1 Nay, but by the law of faith. 'X was faith, my brethren, faith that rendered Abraham pre- 'tninently great, so great as to be called the Friend of God, and he Father of the Faithful. This is the second honourable title which I propose to mention. \.braham, the Friend of God, was also the Father of the Faithful. !^ot, as the Jews supposed, the father of their nation merely. This mistaken notion made them cry out, in reply to our Lord's severe reproofs, " We have Abraham to our father." And what vas his answer '? " God is able even of these stones to i"aise up shildren unto Abraham." That is to say, though all Israel should ail, Abraham might still have a numerous spiritual seed; and jrod can give him such even from the most unexpected quarters, ;he most unpromising materials. While the unbelieving natural iescendants of Abraham are cast out, the degraded heathen can be out into their place by the power and grace of God. He is able, jven of these stones, to raise up children unto Abraham. It was lot of Jews then, but of true believers, that Abraham was the spiritual father ; the Father of the Faithful. He was their father, first, as being their exemplar. He is held ip as a model of strong faith to all believers, and they who foUow ;he example of his faith, are in that respect his children. In tliis sense he is the Father of the Faithful. But he is also the Father of the Faithful, because the promise made to him embraced all aelievers who came after him. The condition of this promise was not obedience to the law, but faith in the gratuitous mercy of God, and in the atoning sacrifice of Christ. And this was the condition, aot to Abraham only, but to his spiritual seed, that is, to all who hould believe as he believed. " For the promise that he should be the heir of the world, was not to Abraham, or to his seed, through the law, but through the righteousness of faith." As one of the contracting parties in this gracious covenant, or rather as the representative of those to whom these promises were given, Abraham was the Father of the Faithful. Passing over all his other claims to high distinction your memory will readily suggest, I desire you to fix your eyes on these two titles of nobility bestowed upon Abraham in the word of God, and measuring his rank by these, to take into consideration the 46(1 THE HOPE OF ABRAHAM. remarkable fact in his history to which I now invite you attention. This fact is, that Abraham, the Friend of God and the Father of the Faithful, was a homeless man, a. wanderer, who sojourned in the land of promise, as in a strange country, dwelling in tents like an Arab or a Tartar. This fact, though not inexplicable, is so far singular as to deserve our particular attention. 1. Why, then, was Abraham a wanderer, a homeless man, a sojourner in the land of promise 1 I remark that it was not on account of poverty. In the East, indeed, the wandering mode of life is not in any case a sign of poverty. Powerful chieftains and whole tribes of warriors lead such a life from choice, or because it is necessary for the subsistence of their flocks and herds. But even if it were in general a criterion of poverty, it could not be so in this case. Abraham was rich- — rich by inheritance— rich by acquisition — rich by the blessing of God on the increase of his possessions — and rich through the favour of the kings and cliiefs whose friendship he enjoyed. His history is that of one who lived in ease and affluence, practising the characteristic hospitality of an Eastern chief. 2. Was it then because he had no real estate, no landed property, to which, he could lay claim, and on which he might reside 1 The Avhole land of Canaan was in one sense his own. It was his by express grant from Jehovah — made sure to him and to his heirs for ever. It is true that when he needed a possession of a burial- place he bought it with his money of the children of Heth. But this was a part of that same course of self-denial and forbearance which is now in question. The same motive that made him a sojourner and wanderer, led him to forego his rights as the legiti- mate owner of the soil, and the question still arises what these motives were. 3. We read that when Abraham first crossed the Jordan from the East, "the Canaanite was in the land," The Hivite, the Hittite, the Jebusite, the Amorite, and other sons of Canaan, had possession of the country. And so thickly were they settled, in the central part at least, that there was not room for Abraham and Lot to live together. May it not be, therefore, that these actual possessors of the country would not suffer him to dwell among them? Had they known his pretensions, or, to speak more properly, his rights, THE HOPE OF A BRA HA M. 401 they might have hated him and driven him away. But as he made no efforts to enforce those rights, nor even to assert them ; and as he came among them from the East with flocks and herds, and as an independent chieftain, they received him with respect, and this respect increased. It is, indeed, an interesting feature in the history of Abraham's expatriation, that in Egypt, in Philistia, and in Canaan, he was treated by the natives, not only as a man respectable for wealth and power, but as a prince, a " prince of God," and as a prophet, one who held immediate intercourse with God, and was an interpreter of the divine will. In these characters he was known and rever- enced by the heathen who surrounded him; and except in the case of the attack on Sodom and Gomorrah by the " confederated kings," all his relations with the Canaanites were amicable. And in the only case where he applied for land, it was granted by the Hittites in a manner most courteous and cordial. It was not, therefore, on account of any enmity between him and the Canaan- ites, that, instead of foimding or accepting a great city, he preferred to live ^a wandering and what we would call a homeless life. There must be other reasons for his course. 4. Since then it was neither poverty, nor the want of land, nor opposition on the part of its possessors, that deterred him from inhabiting a city, or, at least, from leading a more settled life, it may be suggested, that his perseverance in a wandering course, shows him to have been a mere barbarian, one who was unable to appi'eciate the comforts of a settled life, or rather, who had never had experience of them. Thus we find that in Arabia there are tribes of Bedouins who regard their wandering life as the most honourable possible, and laugh to scorn those pleasures and ad- vantages of civilized society about wliich they know nothing by experience. But let it be observed that these tribes inhabit the Arabian desert, where cultivation exists only in detached spots, and where the herdsman is obliged to change his pasture-ground and home continually. Abraham, on the other hand, was in a fertile, cultivated, thickly settled country, full of proud cities, walled towns of inferior size, and villages innumerable. There is strong reason to believe that the Canaanites who were then in the land, had reached a 462 THE HO PE OF A BRA HA M. pretty high degree of civilization. Scanty as our information is about them, there are incidental indications of improvement which are not to be mistaken. But even supposing that they Avere bar- barians, it does not follow that Abraham was also one. Coming as he did from that part of the globe which seems to have been first settled after the flood — from a country, which in later times, claimed, and was allowed to be, the cradle of knowledge by the heathen world, it is not to be supposed that he was a barbarian. The mere possession of the true religion would have had, in this as well as other cases, a refining influence. No, he was no bar- barian. It was not because he knew no better that he chose to sojourn as a stranger in the land of promise — to dwell in tents instead of houses — and to govern an encampment, not a city or a kingdom, 5. Was it then because he thought it wrong to lead a settled life in towns and cities, that he dwelt in tents 1 There is no trace of such a doctrine in the Avord of God, and Abraham was too well grounded in the divine will, to hold it as a superstition. He was no ascetic. His mode of life, as I have said already, was a gen- erous one, without fanatical antipathies — without the practice of monastic austerities or the will-worship of self-inflicted mortifica- tions. It was not because he looked upon a settled life and civilization as sinful, that he was willing to relinquish them. What then was his motive 1 C. To some the thought may here occur, that we are searching for the explanation of a fact which needs none. Why should Abraham's wanderins; be considered strantfer than the wandering of any other Eastern chief] And as those of the highest rank lead such a life to this day, it need not be regarded as below the dignity even of tlie Father of the Faithful and the Friend of God. He came into the country with his flocks and herds; and as the land was densely peopled, he was under the necessity of frequently changing his encampment and his pasture. This would be wholly satisfactory, but for the apostle's mention of the patriarch's unsettled life as a remarkable evidence of faith. If it arose merely from the nature of his projjertj^, and in fact contributed to his convenience and increase in wealth, it would hardly have been said of him, thiit "by faith he sojourned in the land of promise, as in a strange THE HOPE OF ABRAHAM. 463 country, dwelling in tents with Isaac and Jacob, the heirs with him of the same promise." We are, therefore, forced to the conclusion, that his motive for pursuing such a course was very different from that which leads the ordinary herdsmen of the East to shift from place to place, and to live and die beneath a roof of camel's hair or goatskins. 7. Having thus determined negatively, that it was neither poverty, nor want of title to the land, nor opposition on the part of the inhabitants, nor ignorance, nor mere ascetic self-denial, nor a regard to temporal convenience that induced him to reside in tents, rather than in a palace and a city worthy of so great a prince, we are ready to receive the exi^lanation of the text, wbich is this, "he looked" or was looking "for a city." There is an ambiguity in the English version which is not in the original. " To look for," in modern English, means to search for or to seek. In the English of our Bible, wJiere the phrase is not uncommon, it means simply to expect. The sense, then, is not that Abraham was wandering in search of a city upon earth, but that he lived in quiet expectation of a city. " If we hope for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it." It was this "patience of hope" that rendered Abraham indifferent to the walled cities of the Canaanites around him, whose antiquity was of ancient days, and whose defence was the munition of rocks. Nothing so effec- tually breeds indifference to present objects, as tlie hope of better things to come. The traveller pressing homewards after a long absence, can pass, with a contemptuous smile, or absolute uncon- sciousness, those very objects which the homeless traveller dwells upon with rapture. As the venerable patriarch journeyed from L)an to Beersheba, passing among the cities and domains of the Canaanites, we may imagine that we saw him looking ever and anon beyond these objects to one more remote, and losing sight of Kirjatli-Arba and Jebus, since called Hebron and Jerusalem, with their tall towers and heaven-scaling walls, amidst the loftier battlements and turrets of that real yet ideal city, towards which he was journeying. " He looked for u city." 8. And what sort of u city did he look for, in contempt of those annind him ] How did the city of his expectations differ from tlie cities of tlie Canaanites and the Philistines, from old Damascus, 464 THE HOPE OF ABRAHAM. and from Ur of the Chaldees 1 It had foundations. " He looked for a city which hath foundations." And had not they founda- tions ] In one sense they had none. They were liable to change. In the same sense, Abraham's city, which he looked for, had foundations, has them now ; for observe the present form of the expression. It was a city, therefore, not of this world; for in this world there are no foundations time-proof. And whence had the city of his hopes these firm foundations? From the Architect. 9. Whose builder and maker is God 1 God does not build like man. The foundations of his structures are laid deep in his de- crees, and the cement has been growing hard from all eternity. His power over the materials he uses is not merely the disposing power of a builder, but the absolute power of a maker. What he builds he creates. The city of which he is the maker and builder, is eternal; it has foundations which decay can never weaken, and which laugh at the violence of storm and earthquake. Abraham lived in expectation of a city which was not of this world. It was what we call heaven, in the highest sense, the residence pre- pared by God for his true followers after death — a faithful city in which dwelleth righteousness, the new Jerusalem which John beheld in vision. It is a city which has no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it ; for the glory of God lightens it, and the Lamb is the light thereof. And who are its inhabitants ? " The nations of them which are saved shall walk in the light of it, and the kings of the earth bring their glory and honour into it. And the gates of it shall not be shut at all by day ; for there shall be no night there. And they shall bring the glory and the honour of the nations into it." And are none to be excluded 1 Ah, yes ! " There shall in no wise enter into it anything that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination or maketh a lie : but they which are written in the Lamb's book of life." And no names are foiind there but the names of those who wash their robes and make them white in the blood of the Lamb. This is the grand distinction of the city for which Abi'aham looked. It is a city free from sin. In this it differs from all earthly cities. It is hard to conceive of one of our great cities without the associated images of filth, riot, drunken- ness, debauchery, and wretchedness. But if we ever reach the THE HOPE OF ABRAHAM. 455 City of Abraham, and rest upon his bosom at its sumptuous feasts, we shall know how to separate these hateful concomitants from our conceptions of a city. And why is it called a city '? Because with a city we associate ideas of substantial strength, immense wealth, regular government, social intercourse, refinement of manners, and external splendoui". But what are all these, in the cities of the earth, to the surpassing glories of that city for which Abraham looked, and where the saints shall be enthroned as kings and priests unto God ? No wonder, then, that Abraham, forgetting things around him, looked for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God. 10. Here, then, we begin to see a marked resemblance between his case and our own. However foreign and remote from our experience, what has hitherto been said of his condition, at last we are alike, we are all sojourners and strangers upon earth, we seek the same city as the patriarch. However well we may be pleased with it, however fully satisfied with what it can afford, we know that our abode in it is only for a time : it is not the place of our rest. And of this we are receiving constant admonitions. If iiuiu's relations to his fellow-man remained unaltered during the presejit life, he might be tempted to believe that this was his final resting-place. But Providence has left no room for such an illusion. The cords that bind us to the world are breaking one after another, and the very ground on which we stand seems to slide away from under us ; so that, in middle life and old age, wo appear to tread no longer the green and smiling earth we trod in childhood. We have within us also abundant indications that we are mere sojourners. The sense of a hereafter, the instinctive stretching of the thoughts towards it, teach us the same lesson ; while the voice of conscience sometimes shrieks, and sometimes whispers, Arise and depart hence : this is not your rest. You may, perhaps, have heaped up wealth, and used various methods, in order to persuade yourself that you are here at home, and you may be ready to exclaim. What, am I a mere sojourner, sur- rounded as I am by all this permanent prosperity ? You are hke a man upon a journey homeward, who should tarry at a wayside inn, and expend his time and money in furnishing and decking 30 466 THE HOPE OF A BRA HA M. his temporary lodgings. And do you not at times feel yourself that it is so ? Have you not often an uneasy sense of present in- security and approaching change 1 And is not this sufficient to obscure the brightness of your precious metals, and to impair the verdure of your pleasant fields ? And you, O men of pleasure, have not you the same experience 1 In the midst of your excit- ing and degrading pastimes, have you not paroxysms of alarm and restlessness 1 Amidst your voluntary madness, have jow not your lucid intervals, in which you feel you are mere sojourners in a foreign country 1 All feel it ; all know, though all will not allow themselves to act as if they knew that they are not at home, and that a journey is before them. 11. Now, this feeling of uneasiness, this sense of homelessness, is, as you well know, incompatible with happiness. In order to be happy, you must have a home, either present or in prospect. Have you such a home 'I Remember that earthly homes, in re- ference to eternity, are nothing worth. Look at the households breaking up around you, and say whether these can be your solace and your stay for ever. What Avill jow do then 1 Will you waste yourselves in misanthropic discontent 1 No ! do as Abra- ham did : look forward to the city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God. The more unsatisfactory you find this world, look the more eagerly and steadfastly on that which is to come. Are you just beginning life, and have you, as yet, ex- perienced no vici.-situdes 1 Oh, then, be wise beforehand. Do not wait till your heart is gickened and your temper soured by disappointment. But now, Avhen your feelings are elastic, and your affections ardent, even now, look for a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God. If, on the other hand, experience has taught you the treacher- ous hollowness of sinful pleasures, and your heart is almost break- ing with defeated hopes, unsatisfied desires, and a sense of want, then have you the less excuse for looking any longer at those objects wliich you have already proved and foxmd unsatisfactory. Oh, begin at last to look away from this world, with its cloud- capped towers and gorgeous palaces — look away from the baseless fabric of a vision, to a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God. THE HOPE OF ABRAHAM. 467 1 2. But here let us guard against a fatal error — the error of imagining that mere expectation is alone required. Believe me, multitudes have looked for that city who have never reached it. There is but one path to it through the wilderness of life, and that path is a narrow one. It was by that path that the Father of the Faithful gained the object of his faith and hope. If you would gain it likewise, you must walk in the footsteps of the Friend of God. Do you ask what path he travelled? I reply, the path of humble, childlike faith. We knoAv from the life of Christ himself, that Abraham desired to see his day, and saw it, and was glad. It was faith in God's mercy, and that was counted to him for righteousness. It was a firm belief that God would set forth a propitiation for the sins of men, and a hearty acceptance of the pardon thus provided for himself. These are the footsteps of the Father of the Faithful. If, then, you are merely looking forward to the haiDpiness of heaven, with- out knowing or caring how it is to be obtained, learn from the example of Abraham that you must renounce all sin and self- reliance, and believe in Jesus Christ for the salvation of your souls, if you would look, with any well-grounded hope, for a city ■which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God. 13. And now let nie turn to you who have your faces turned to Zion, and arc already looking for that city to which Abraham aspired, and where he reigns in glory. It is said that when the caravan of pilgrims to the sepulchre of Christ cross the mountains of Judea, worn with hunger and fatigue, they are sometimes ready to relax their efforts and despair of safe arrival. They may t'ven repent of their own folly in attempting so adventurous a journey, and wish themselves in safety at their own distant fire- sides. But these thoughts all vanish when the summit is attained, and from the mountain's brow they catch a glimpse of Olivet and Zion, and the Forsaken City seated in her widow's weeds upon her throne of hills. That sight reanimates their courage and renews their strength. With simultaneous energy they rise and hasten onward, and the roughness of the journey is forgotten in the pre- sence of Jerusalem. O brethren, we are also strangers and pilgrims, and our way through the world may be precipitous and rugged, and so long as we look only at the things around us, our 468 THE HOPE OF ABRAHAM. hearts may well grow faint and our knees feeble. But amidst these trials and discouragements, look upward to the heavenly hills, and through the dust and smoke of this world's troubles, keep the Eternal City steadfastly in view. That sight wiU make your hearts beat with new vigour. It wiU nerve your arm for battle and your bosom for resistance. It will enable you to look down with contempt upon the pleasures and temptations of the world; it will preserve you from illusions, painful even to the Christian, and ah ! how often fatal to the unbeliever. With such illusions, we may rest assured the world, the Church, the ex- perience, and the souls of men are ever teeming. Upon one or two such, I may dwell for a moment in conclusion. If the scenes which I describe are but ideal, they may serve, at least, as types of a most solemn reality. Let us imagine that we see one standing, even now, upon an eminence, a rising ground in life, and looking forwards. He sees nothing but green fields and waving forests — all is fresh and all is smiling — an unrufiied stream of pleasure rolls through his imaginary landscape, and the distinctions which he hopes for rise like mountains in the distance. Upon these delightful and inspiring objects his eye rests and feeds. He has no desire to look beyond them. At times, indeed, he may catch a momentary glimpse of something bright, and tower- ing above the highest of the heights before him. Sometimes, when the sun breaks out with sudden splendour from behind a cloud, it seems to be reflected, for an instant, from a thousand gUttering points, as though there were a city in the sky. B.it in a moment it is gone, and he forgets it, or congratulates biir.self that he is no enthusiast, to give up the real and substantial splendours of the scene before him in exchange for cloud-built palaces and castles in the air. This proud reflection brings him back, with new complacency,, to the Elysian fields which he before him, and he drinks in with new pleasure the delightful sights and sounds presented to his senses. No wonder then that he refuses to listen, or listens only , with incredulous contempt, to the fanatic who would tell him that this fairy prospect is a cheat, a mere illusion — that its colours fade and its music ceases on a near approach, and that the city in the clouds, which he supposed he saw, is not only real, but the only THE HOPE 0> A BRA HA M. 469 refuge from approacliing dangers. He turns with pity or disgust from such forebodings, and then passes on, until he stands upon the verge of the eminence from which he has been gazing. He looks down into the valley, and beholds with fresh delight its verdure and its fruits, its sunshine and its shade. He envies the retirement of its peaceful hamlets, and listens with awe to the distant murmur of its populous cities. All seems delightful — all substantial — and above all, near at hand. Enchanted with the prospect, he contemplatively lifts his eyes to yonder dim horizon, as if to satisfy himself that there is nothing there to lure him onward. And nothing does he see but fleecy clouds, or " the body of the heavens in its clearness." Or if he does for an instant see again that strange unearthly gleam, and catch a faint sound like the dying swell of distant music, the flash is transient, and the sound no sooner heard than it is hushed. He pauses for a moment at the point where the upward and the downward paths diverge; he looks up the narrow winding way into the mountains, and then plunges into that which leads him gently down through groves and gardens into the deep valley. Once and again he may stand still to listen as a voice of warning comes again upon his ear. But his election has been made. He passes dowaiward and still downward, guided by the hum of dis- tant voices, and the gentle rush of water far below. He observes with surprise that as he passes on, the distant prospect still seems bright and beautiful, but objects near at hand have no such charms. However far he journeys, the green fields are still as far off" as at first; the fields around him appear parched and barren. Flowers are in the distance, but at hand are thorns and briers. Gardens like that of the Hesperides are yonder, but here a garden like that of the sluggard, full of weeds and unenclosed. He begins to imagine that all nature droops and fades at his approach. The grass seems to wither where his footsteps fall; his breath seems to poison vegetation and the atmosphere. The healthful airs of heaven become hot winds of the desert when they touch his cheek; and the glassy streams which were to slake his thirst dry up as he bends over them, and leave a putrid slime in their for- saken channels. The birds whose song allured him, become owls or vultures, or drop lifeless from the branches, Hamlets aud 470 THE HOPE OF ATinAHAM. cities turn to rocks and sandhills; and the shadowing trees, now leafless, leave his head exposed to scorching rays from an unclouded sun. As he looks up to tell him how he hates his beams, Ms torment is enhanced by another passing glimpse of that mysterious city in the clouds above the mountain tops, and another dying echo of its music. In despairing spite he stops his ears and hastens onwards, and the heat soon grows more tolerable, for the sun is hidden and the sky is overcast. Winds begin to howl and whistle ; thunders mutter angrily, and a thousand echoes frt)m the hills around proclaim the coming tempest. The very earth beneath him quakes, and the illusions of the fairy landscape cease, and cease for ever. All, all is desolate, not even a shelter from the driving rain. The traveller looks desperately around for refuge from the storms of life, and then madly plunges into some dark cavern of pre-eminent iniquity ; and now unable to arrest his progress, passes furiously onwards in the midst of darkness and strange noises, till he suddenly comes forth into the light of day upon the margin of a precipice. With convulsive energy he pauses on the brink ; for nature sickens at the gulf below, and the instinct of self-preservation gives him strength to stop, but only for a moment. The impulse of his downward progress is too strong to be resisted, and a fierce wind from behind still pursues him. Forced to look down, his brain begins to swim; he loses his balance; he falls in; he sinks; he catches with the strength of desperation at a twig or a projecting point, and looks up from the mouth of that devouring chasm with a piercing shriek for mercy. And in that last, dying, and despairing upward look, he is entirely and for ever undeceived. He knows what he has done, and oh, unutterable anguish ! he knows to a degree which plants a thou- sand daggers in his dying soul, he knows what he has lost. For there, far above him, at the end of the narrow path which he despises, is the city in the sky which he had learned to laugh at as a baseless vision. But he sees it no longer as a shadowy pile of clouds. Its walls and battlements are of adamant; its deep foundations reach beyond the view of the lost sinner, as he loses his last hold upon the upper world, and after unavailing and con- vulsive struggles, sinks, sinks, like lead in the mighty waters, his eye still fixed upon that city with foundations, whose builder and THE HOPE OF ABRAHAM. 47I maker is God, until it is withdrawn to be fixed for ever upon sights which, God forbid that you or I should ever see. Let me for one moment shift the scene, and show you another instance of illusion equally powerful, but oh, how different in its nature and its end ! Let me show you a small company of pil- grims who have chosen the rough, narrow, upward path which leads away from the green valley into the recesses of the bleak and barren mountains. Some you might see passing onwards Avith alacrity, forgetting all below them and behind them, or remembering it only to accelerate their progress towards that city with foundations, upon whicli their eyes are fastened. It is not of these that I would speak. Others I might show you pressing on in the sanie course as long as sunshine lasts, or moonlight gilds the piiniacles of yonder city; but when black clouds hide the sky, and thick mists veil the earth, they avert their faces, they begin to linger, and to cast a longing glance into the depth below them, where the world and its temptations are aiTayed in fatal splendour, and from which the voice of mirth and business constantly ascends, until sooner or later they hang over the edge with too intense a curiosity, and what follows is only known by the soiind of a heavy plunge in some depth below. But it is not of these that I woidd speak. It is of one who neither lingers nor looks back, nor gazes down into the valley, but whose face is still turned Zionward, whose progress, though now faster and now slower, is perceptible and constant. I wish to show you one who, while he thus moves onward in the right direction, is no less the subject of illusion than the wretch whose end I have described to you. He journeys towards the heavenly city, but he sees it not. Jerusalem is in his heart, but not before his eyes. He even dreams that he has taken the wrong path. Imagination magnifies the dangers of the journey. Every step appears to lead into some hidden snare, and every stone to be the mark of some deep pit- fall. Every thicket is an ambush; every dark spot an expected place of conflict. The hardy plants that bloom along the rugged path seem poisonous; the springs provided by the Master for liis pilgrims are passed by in timid and suspicious thirst. And when 472 THE HOPE OF ABRAHAM. at length tlie body sinks exhausted and in need of sliimher, all seems lost; and the man of little faith sleeps in the belief that lie shall never wake. And when he does awake, it is only to a repe- tition of the same illusion. He is still afraid that he shall never reach the city. He is still unable to discover it in the distance : he will not look for it, but keeps his eyes hxed on the ground ; or if he looks, he will not look to the right point ; or if he looks to the right point, he finds the mist too dense, or the light too bright for his diseased vision. Or if he sees the object, he refuses to believe his senses, and suspects delusion on the only point where he is free from it. Thus goes the doubter on, often ready to lie down and die, and sometimes tempted to go back or turn aside, but still moving on- ward because Christ is in his lieart, and the secret hope that, not- withstanding all his fears, he shall yet aj^pear in Zion before God, But see, .the prospect changes. Real dangers now arise. The storm which deluges the valley sweeps across the mountain also. The doubting Christian gives up all for lost. But the very dan- gers which alarm his fears, qiiicken his footsteps, and although he may believe that he is going wrong, tlie tempest and the eartli- quake drive him on and up, until the last ascent is gained, tnitil the last cloud breaks away, and he who thought himself approacli- ing to the verge of an abyss, finds liimself standing on an ever- lasting rock, and at the threshold of an everlasting door. If shame can then be felt, he blushes as he looks back for a moment at the scene of his imaginary terrors, which now seem so sweet ; the sun breaks out upon the path wliich he has trodden, and gladdens every dark spot where he wept or trembled; the noises wliich once terrified him and have still pursued him, now begin to blend with shouts and songs of triumph within ; the everlasting doors lift up their heads, and with one farewell look at earth's baseless fabrics, the emancipated soul enters, never to return, the city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God. XXXVI. ,|ntcr«ssorp ^rancr. " brethren, pray for us."^l Thess. v. 25. THIS brief request, standing as it does in a series of laconic exhortations, is a striking illustration of tlie importance which the Scriptures attach to intercessory prayer. " Rejoice evermore," " Pray without ceasing " " Quench not the Spirit," " Despise not prophesyings," " Prove all things : hold fast that which is good," " Abstain from all appearance of evil," — these are some of the pi'e- cepts with which it stands connected. With an evident design to close his epistle with a series of pointed practical directions, the apostle gives a place among them not only to the general pre- cept, " Pray without ceasing," but also to the special request, " Brethren, pray for us." The request itself is one very frequently repeated in the Pauline epistles, under different forms, but always expressive of the writer's confidence in tlie real efficacy of such intercessions, as means of spiritual good to himself, and of further- ance to the glorious cause in which he was engaged. To the Hebrews Paul says, " Pray for us : for we trust we have a good conscience, in all things willing to live honestly. But I beseech you the rather to do this, that I may be restored to you the sooner " (Heb. xiii. 18, 19). The same request is made to the Romans with reference to the same result, but with greater earnestness of importunity : " Xow, I beseech you, brethren, for the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, and for the love of the Spirit, that ye strive together with me in your prayers to God for me ; that I may be delivered from them that do not beHeve in Judea ; and that my service which I have for Jerusalem may be accepted of the saints ; that I may come unto you with joy by the will of God, and may with you be 474 INTERCESSORY PRAYER. refreshed " (Rom. xv. 30-32). In asking the same favour, and exacting the same duty of the Ephesians, he sets before them, as the end to be attained, his gi'eater fidelity and success in the per- formance of liis ministerial functions : " Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints; and for me, that utterance may be given unto me, that I may open my mouth boldly, to make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in bonds ; that therein I may speak boldly, as I ought to speak" (Eph. vi. 18-20). In all these passages there are several points of resemblance, connecting them together, and identifying them as characteristic manifestations of one and the same Spirit, the same personality. In the first place, there is the absorption of the whole soul, with its powers and affections, in the one great object of the writer's life. In the next place, there is the habitual disposition to do something more than think of it, or wish for its attainment — the disposition to employ with energy the necessary means and all the means available. In the third place, there is the appearance, or rather the conclusive evidence of a thorough persuasion, that among these means the prayers of true believers held a place, and an important place; that the apostle asked them and enjoined them, not merely as a salutary exercise to those whom he ad- dressed, not merely as a token of affection and of confidence on his part towards them, but as a real efficacious means to the attain- ment of that end for which he lived and was prepared to die, as actually helping him, procuring him divine grace, and in a certain sense securing his success, and even his salvation. This idea, which is not obscurely implied in the passages already quoted, is distinctly expressed in others, as when writing to the Church at Corinth, after .speaking of the dangers and sufferings from which God had delivered him, he adds, " In whom we trust that he will yet deliver us ; ye also helping together by prayer for us, that, for the gift bestowed upoH us by the means of many per- sons, thanks may be given by many on our behalf" (2 Cor. i. 10, 11). But the strongest exjDression of this confidence, in con- nection with the great apostle's governing desire, and we may al- most say his ruling passion, is contained in his address to the INTERCESSORY PR A YER. 475 Philippians, with respect to one of the severest trials winch he had experienced : " What then 1 notwithstanding, every way, whether in pretence or in truth, Christ is preached j and I therein do re- joice, yea, and Avill rejoice. For I know that this shall turn to my salvation through your prayer, and the supply of the Spirit of Jesus Christ, according to my earnest exjjectation and my hope, that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but that with all boldness, as always, so now also Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether it be by life, or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain " (Phil. i. 18, 21). With this sublime expression of humility and triumph, of in- ditference and superiority to life and death, and at the same time of believing reliance on the power even of human intercession, I close the examples of Paul's habitual desire and entreaty for the prayers of others. What has been cited will suffice to show that, at his own request, and in obedience to his own command, " prayer was made without ceasing of the church unto God for liim " (Acts xii. 5), throughout the wide field of his apostolic labours, in Italy, in Greece, in Asia Minor, and in Palestine — at Rome, at Corinth, at Philippi, at Thessalonica, at Ejjhesus, and among the Churches of the Hebrew Christians. This extensive organization of a systematic and concerted intercession in behalf of the apostle and his work, is a practical demonstration that he not only believed in the necessity and efficacy of prayer in general, but of intercession in particular, and that so far from regarding the ministry or even the apostleship as superior to this means of grace, as exempted from the need of it, he looked upon the exalta- tion of his office and the greatness of his work as creating a peculiar and more urgent necessity for this assistance, that his official movements and his intercourse- with the Churches might be imobstructed ; that his mouth might be opened to speak boldly as he ought to speak ; that the very trials and discouragements with which he met might tend to the salvation of himself and others, and that, whether living or dying, he might gain his darling end, that of magnifying Christ. With such an end in view, and with such convictions of the means by which it was to be accomplished, Paul uttered volumes when he wrote these four words, '•' Brethren, pi^ay for us." 476 INTERCESSOR Y PRA YER. Let us now consider, for a moment, whether Paul regarded this important spiritual service as incumbent only iipon others towards himself, or whether he expected it to be reciprocal, both as an obli- gation and a benefit. The solution of this question will be greatly facilitated, and the result rendered far more striking, by applying the inquiry to those very Churches upon which we have seen the apostle so importunately calling for their intercessions. Near the end of his Epistle to the Romans, we have heard him asking " for the Lord Jesus C'hrist's sake, and for the love of the Spirit," that they would strive together with him in prayer to God for him (Rom. XV. 30). The prayers of the apijstle, in which they are asked to join, might seem to be prayers only for himself and for his work. But near the beginning of the same epistle, with a solemn appeal to the Searcher of hearts, expressing his anxiety to be believed, and implying the importance of the fact in question, he says, " God is my witness, whom I serve with my spirit in the gospel of his Son [still keeping in his own view and the view of others his official relations to the Church and to its Head], that Avithout ceasing I make mention of you always in my prayers " (Rom. i. 9). Observe the strength of the expressions, " always," " without ceasing," lest he should be understood as speaking only of periodical or occasional intercession, and not of the habitual and constant burden of his prayers. What follows might indeed seem to describe even Paul's own prayers, as having reference simply to himself, " Making request (if by any means now at length I might have a prosperous journey by the will of God) to come unto you " (Rom. i. 10). But how utterly unselfish even this desire was breaks out in the next sentence, " For I long to see you, that I may impart unto you some spiritual gift, to the end ye may be estab- lished " (Rom. i. 11). It was for their sake that he thus desired to come to them, yet likewise for his own, " That is, that I may be comforted together with you," or jointly comforted in you, " by the mutual faith both of you and me " (Rom. i. 1 2), — a beautiful expression of the truth, that he who prays for others not only will pray for himself, but does so in the very act of intercession, by identifying his own spiritual interest with that of those for whom he prays, and regarding every blessing granted to them as being more or less directly a blessing to himself. INTERCESSOR Y PR A YER. ^yj We have seen that Paul prayed for the Romans always, without ceasing. In like manner he says to the Ephesiaus, " I, also, after I heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus, and love to all the saints, cease not to give thanks for you, making mention of you in my prayers" (Eph. i. 15, 16). Here, again, the constancy of his in- tercessions is particularly mentioned ; but there are two additional circumstances not to be neglected. The one is, that the apostle's prayers for the Ephesian Christians included thanksgiving for what they were already and had already experienced. The other is, that these attainments in the spiritual life, although calling for grateful recognition, did not preclude the necessity of earnest prayer that God would grant to them the spirit of wisdom and of revelation, in the knowledge of him and of the riches of that glorious salvation to which he had called them. Gratitude for past gifts did but stir up the apostle to ask more. To the Philippians, through whose prayer the apostle knew that even his sorest trials should turn to his salvation (Phil. i. 19), he says, as he said to the Ephesians, " I thank my God upon every mention or remembrance of you, always, in every prayer of mine for you all, making re- quest with joy" (Phil. i. 3, 4). Here, again, the prayer is a daily, a perpetual prayer, a thankful, nay, a joyful prayer, a prayer for further, greater gifts, increasing knowledge, holiness, and useful- ness, as instruments in glorifying God — " And this I pray, that your love may abound yet more and more in knowledge and in all judgment ; that ye may be sincere, and without offence, till the day of Christ ; being filled with the fruits of righteousness, which are by Jesus Christ, unto the glory and j^raise of God " (Phil. i. 9, 11). To the same Thessalonians whom Paul exhorts to pray Avithout ceasing (1 Thess. v. 17), and to pray for him (v. 25), he could say and does say, "We give thanks to God always for you all, making mention of you in our prayers " (1 Thess. i. 2), — and again, with his favourite combination of thanksgiving, joy, and importunate desire — " What thanks can we i-ender to God again for you, for ;ill the joy wherewitli we joy for your sakes before our God ; night and day praying exceedingly that we might see your face, and might perfect that which is lacking in your faith?" (1 Thess. iii. 9, 10.) As he shows how far he was from stagnant acquiescence in what he had uljtaincd 478 INTERCESSOR Y PR A YER. already for them, by his prayers for their advancement in the spiritual life, so he shows how far he is from flattering their spiritual pride, by making the deficiency of their faith a reason for continuing to pray even for those whose actual attainments he regarded as a matter of gratitude and joy. In the same spirit, he says in another epistle to the same Thessalonians, " We pray always for you, that our God would count you worthy of this call- ing, and fulfil all the good pleasure of his goodness, and the work of faith with power ; that the name of our Lord Jesus Christ may be glorified in you, and ye in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ" (2 Thess. i. 11, 12). I shall only add, under this head, that for the same Corinthians, whom Paul describes as helping together by prayer for him and his associates, he prays to God, in the same epistle, that they may do no evil, and rising still higher, that they may be perfect (2 Cor. xiii. 7, 9). It is surely no fortuitous coincidence, that in these five cases, the same persons, whose prayers he importunately asks for him- self, are represented as the subjects of his own unceasing, thank- ful, joyful, fervent intercessions. The general inference is there- fore obvious enough, that one of the most uniform and intimate relations which subsisted between Paul and his spiritual children, throughout the vast field of his laboiu's, was that of mutual inter- cession, not as a mere interchange of spiritual compliments, but as an indispensable and efiicacious means of grace. That this was not an incident of the apostleship, a relation growing out of any- thing peculiar in the circumstances under which these Christians were converted, is clear, not only from the absence of any terms implying such restriction, and from the fact that Paul's fellow- labourers are more than once apparently included with himself in the profession and request, but also from the obvious considera- tion that, as soon as we are able to perceive and willing to admit the existence of sufficient reasons for this mutual relation in the case of the apostle and his spiritual children, every one of these reasons bears with double force upon the case of other ministers and other converts. If they wl)o had received the gospel under the impression of inspired preaching, and attended by the tokens of miraculous power, needed still the wrestling intercessions of the INTERCESSOR Y PR A YER. 479 m.an of God, to shield them against danger, to preserve them from error, and to fill up what was lacking of their faith, how much more must this necessity exist, or rather, how much clearer is it, in the case of those who have had no such outward pledges of divine interposition. And if he, clothed with extraordinary powers, accredited from heaven by the signs of an apostle, had occasion so repeatedly and earnestly to ask the prayers of others for his personal safety and the progress of his work, how much more pressing should the sense of this necessity be on the hearts of those who with ordinary powers are called to the same difficult and responsible work. If these considerations are sufficient to extend the application of the principle involved in the precejjts and the practice of Paul, to all Christ's ministers and those who are in any sense their spiritual children, it is easy to foresee that the very same reason- ing will carry us still further, and require us to recognise the right and duty of mutual intercession as extending to all Christians, and as arising, not from any peculiar official relations, but from a common character and interest. Whatever special motives and incitements to the duty may be afforded by the mutual relations of the teacher and the taught, the spiritual father and the spiritual children, the essential ground of the necessity in question must lie back of these, in something not confined to these relations, but existing in the common experience of all believers. Especially is tins the case if we regard the right and duty of mutual interces- sion, not as a mere token of aft'ection, but as an appointed and effective means of grace, as well to those who ask as those for whom they ask. If God has indeed ordained this as an efficacious instrument of spiritual good, it cannot be supposed that he in- tended to restrict its use and operation to the case of those who sustain what may be called an accidental relation to each other in the family of Christ. The necessity of mutual intercession may, indeed, appear to some to be so clearly involved in the admitted necessity of prayer in general, as to supersede all argument for or against it. The diffei'ence between prayer for others and ourselves, being merely circumstantial, the essence of the prayer, as consist- ing in sincere desire addressed to God, for something in accordance Vv-ith his will, is of course the same in either case. The exclusive 480 INTERCESSORY PRAYER. object of address is still the same. The same moral qualities,- sincerity, humility, and faith, are requisite in both to make the prayer acceptable. The warrant of encouragement to pray, in either case, is furnished by God's mercy in the precious promises with which his word abounds. There is but one throne of grace and one way of access to it. The meritorious intercession of the Son, and the auxiliary intercession of the Spirit, are in all cases equally necessary. Why, then, should the question even be propounded. Whether prayer for others is a right and duty of all Christians ? Not, of course, because the answer is in any measure doubtful, or the grounds on which it rests in any measure recondite or susceptible of novel illustration, but simply because a brief consideration of these grounds may serve to place the duty in its proper place, not only as a duty, but as an important means of grace. Because we are familiar with the precepts and examples of the Scriptures on this subject, it does not follow that truth respecting it might have been inferred as a matter of course from the general teachings of God's word respecting prayer, even without specific teachings as to this kind of prayer. It is conceivable, to say the least, that the efficacious influence of prayer might have been confined to the suppliant himself. Christian benevolence, it is true, must prompt him to desire the good of others, and to use the necessary means for its promotion. But this might not have been among the number. The power of men to help each other might have been restricted to the use of physical and moral means externally. Such an arrangement is indeed so foreign from our scriptural asso- ciations and habitual ideas as to the duty and the means of doing good to one another, that we may find it hard to form a definite idea of it as really existing. But as no man can believe, or repent, or obey for another ; as each man must in this respect bear his own burden ; as the wants and dangers of each are numberless, requiring all the grace that he can ask ; it would not be absurd, in the absence of explicit revelation and experience, to suppose that every man was called upon to pray for himself, for the par- don of his own sins, for the sanctification of his own corruj)t nature, for his own deliverance from the power of temptation, and his own preijaration for the joys of heaven, without presuming to INTERCESSOR Y PR A YER. 481 address the throne of grace in behalf of any other, however strong liis sympathy, however ardent his desires for their good. Such a supposition, however foreign from the actual state of things, is, in itself, no more surprising than that all participation in the faith, repentance, and obedience of each other, is impossible to true believers, however earnestly they may desire to supply each other's lack of faith or service, or to bear each other's burdens. On these grounds, and in this sense, the right and duty of inter- cessory prayer, however certain and familiar, may be represented as a doctrine of revelation, rather than a necessary rational deduc- tion from the necessity of prayer in general, as a means of procur- ing the divine favour, and an immediate source of salutary spiritual influence. This view of the matter, so far from obscuring the glory of divine grace as beheld in the economy of man's salva- tion, greatly enhances it by making that a free gift, a gratuitous concession, which might otherwise have seemed to be a natural necessity. If men might justly have been suffered to pray only for themselves, as they are actually sufiered to repent and believe only for themselves, then the privilege of doing good to others by our prayers, and of deriving benefit from theirs, is a distinguishing feature in the gospel system, and a notable instance of divine com- passion. That the system does, in point of fact, include such a provision, is a proposition which requires no proof. That it occupies a prominent position, and is insisted on as highly import- I ant, is sufficiently established by Paul's precept and example as already exhibited. We have seen that with a frequency and emphasis too marked to be mistaken, he addresses to the same persons urgent requests for their prayers in his behalf, and strong asservations of his constancy in prayer for them. We have seen that the blessings which he hopes to obtain through their inter- cession, are deliverance from danger, consolation under sorrow, but especially boldness and success in his ministry, and more abundant honour to the name of Christ; while the mercies which he asks on their behalf are steadfastness, increase of faith, of love, of knowledge, more abundant usefulness, and full salvation. From these examples we may easily deduce a safe and comprehensive rule as to the objects and tlie compass of our intercession. The induction may, however, be made more extensive by in- 31 482 INTERCESSORY PRAYER. quiring briefly what other case-s are particularly mentioned in connection with this duty, that is to say, for whom and for what the Scriptures teach us, either by precept or example, that we may or ought to intercede. The right and duty once established, it is true, there can be no practical difficulty in applying the prin- ciple to special cases, any more than in applying the general rule of charity or Christian love. It has pleased God, however, to incite and regulate our best affections, not by general rules merely, but by particular directions and examples, so as to leave us under no doubt either with respect to our right and duty in the general, or to particular cases and emergencies. Lest the mention of some cases should be understood as simply exclusive of all others, we have general precepts of the largest kind. " I exhort, therefore, that first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, should be made for all men," then with a distinct specification of a certain class, "for kings, and all that are in authority," not merely for their own sake, but for the peace of society and tlie edification of the Church, " that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty" (1 Tim. ii. 1, 2). But while we are thus authorized and taught to pray for men in general, and for that class on whom the peace and welfare of the whole depend, we are especially encouraged to expect a blessing on our prayers for true believers, " praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and suppli- cation for all saints" (Eph. vi. 18). A different apostle exhorts believers to "pray one for another" (James v. 16), that they "may be healed," whether of bodily or spiritual maladies, for both are mentioned in the context. This peculiar obligation to pray for all saints does not destroy our right to pray for sinners, I and esjiecially for those who are particularly near to us. While we pray that saints may be saved from error and from temporal distress, we should pray that sinners may be saved from death and everlasting ruin. Paul's heartfelt desire and prayer to Grod for Israel was, "that they might be saved" (Rom. x. 1). So intense was his desire for this blessing, that he could wish him- self accursed from Christ for his brethren, his kinsmen according to the flesh" (Rom. ix. 3). While these specifications teach us that the most expansive INTERCESSOR Y PRA YER. 483 Christian benevolence has no need to consider itself straitened in God, there are others to warn us against being straitened in our- selves. As we are taught not to restrain prayer before God on account of exceptions which we may suppose him to have made, so likewise we are taught not to restrain it on account of excei)- tions which we make ourselves. To pray for children may be deemed a thankless or a needless form ; and so when " there were brought unto" our Saviour "little children, that he should put his hands on them and pray, the disciples rebuked those that brought them ; but when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven : and he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them." This was an exercise of his divine prerogative. The only way in whicli a mere "man can effectually bless is by invoking the blessing of God, that is, by praying for the object. This example of the Saviour, therefore, furnishes a rule for our intercessions, by teacbing us that even little children may be prayed for. Here the exception, if made at all, would rest on the supposed insigni- ficance of the object. But there are other cases where a deeper feeling and a stronger motive may be supposed to hinder intercession. To pray for fellow-Christians is an obhgation easily acknowledged. To pray even for sinners, if they be our friends, can scarcely be denied to be a duty. To pray for those unknown to i;s, or those to whom we are indifferent, is stUl an obligation which may be externally discharged, at least without repugnance. But to pray for enemies might seem to be impossible, or if possible, extravagant, the mere ro4nance of chaiity, if we did not know it to be the glorj'- of the Christian morality, the triumph of the gospel over Jew and Gen- tile. " Ye have heard that it hath been said. Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy : but I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which desjDitefully use you, and persecute you" (Matt. V. 43, 44). Well might the Saviour add to such a pre- cept, " Be ye therefore perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect." No religion or morality but that which aims at the ^highest perfection could find place for such a privilege or sucli a 484 INTERCESSORY PR A YER. duty. Nay, not only are our enemies to be the subjects of our intercessions, but forgiveness of injuries is made the condition of our being heard at all for others or ourselves. By this variety of precept and example, we are not only assured of our right and duty to pray for others as well as for ourselves, but are taught, in every variety of form, that in our apphcation of the general rule, we need make no exceptions on account of the unworthiness or insignificancy of the object prayed for, and we must make no exceptions, in compliance Avitli a spirit of malignant partiality. Nevertheless, we may and must pray more earnestly for some than others. While we own the obligation to make supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks for all men, and espe- cially for kings and all in authority, that we may lead quiet and peaceable lives in all godliness and honesty, it is natural and right that we should pray with all prayer and suppUcation in the Spirit, and watch thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints, and even among these we may pray with special emphasis for God's ambassadors, that utterance may be given them, or for his new-born children, that they may be sincere and without offence until the day of Jesus Christ. We may pray for all men, but there are some who have a special right to say to us and we to them, Brethren, pray for us. To the questions, may we pray for others ? must we pray for otiiers 1 a sufficient answer seems to have been given from the word of God. To the further question, whether we sufficiently appreciate the value of this doctrine, and its influence upon the whole condition of the Christian, we may all, perhaps, safely and sincerely answer. No. In order to recover or obtain a correct notion of the value of salvation, it is not unusual to recur to the position, that without injustice, and without detracting even from his goodness, God might have left the world to perish without hope. But even supposing that he meant to save some from eternal miseiy, he might have left them in a dubious state of mingled good and evil like the present life. Or even if he meant to make them ultimately blessed, he might have suffered ages of expurgatory suffering to intervene. But God has magnified the riches of his wisdom, power, and grace, by revealing a method of total deliverance from evil, and of introduction to eternal bliss, IXTERCESSOR Y PRA YER. 485 directly subsequent to the present state. The transition of the saved is not from darkness into an eternal twilight, or through twilight into a far-distant day. It is from darkness to light, from total darkness to unclouded light, from death to life, from hell tt» heaven, from the power of Satan unto God. And yet, so familiar are our minds with this great doctrine, that we compai'e it only with itself, forgetting the innumerable terrible alternatives which might have been presented. Forgetting what might have been, we look upon what is as that which must be, and detract so much from our inducements to adore the saving grace of God. Now the error thus committed with respect to the whole method of salvation, may be rejieated likewise with respect to many of the particular provisions comprehended in it. By regarding what is actually done as the result of a fatal necessity, we fail to consider Avhat our condition might have been, and thus withhold from God a large share of the praise wdiich would have been extorted from us by a view of what he has gratuitously added to the bare hope of deliverance from hell. He might have left us, as it were, within its jaws, and hanging over the abyss of fire. He might have left us on its verge, enveloped in its thick smoke, and deaf- ened by its ascending shrieks ; in a word, he might have done immeasurably less for us, and yet have saved us. To borrow a single illustration from the subject which has been before us, God might have given us the hope and promise of eternal life, and yet excluded us till death from all communion with himself, from all approacli to him in prayer. Oh, what a dispensation even of free mercy, yet without a throne of grace, or way of access to the Father ! Or again, he might have sutfered us to pray, but only for ourselves, without the right of intercession on behalf of others, or the hope of human intercession for oiirselves. The way in which we are affected by this supposition may perhaps afford a measure of the value which we put upon the privilege. If we regard it with indifference, its practical value is, to us, as nothing. If we shrink from the idea of a different arrangement with sincere aversion, it can only be because we estimate in some degree aright that wonderful provision of God's mercy which, by suffering his redeemed ones to pray not only for themselves, but for others, with the hope of being heard, and with the promise of the Holy 486 INTERCESSORY PRAYER. Ghost to aid their infirmities, establishes an intimate connection between every renewed soul and every other, through the throne of grace ; — a subtile and mysterious power, by which one may reach another— nay, may reach a thousand — nay, may reach a world, and be himself the object of as many influences as he thus puts forth ; of influences tending all exclusively to good, for God will not hear the prayer of malice and hypocrisy, nor answer that of well-meant ignorance ; — one soul interceding for all saints, and all saints, as it were, for one— sending up the exhalation of a pure desire for others, and receiving in return a rain of heavenly influ- ence ; each drop, each shower, representing the petition of some pious heart, on which his own prayers had invoked a blessing, either individually, or as one in the nameless but beloved com- pany of "all saints," for which the Bible taught him, and the Spirit prompted him, and aided him to pray ! The hope of such a recompense, even in this life, together with the impulse and variety imparted by a man's prayers for others to his prayers for his own soul, may well incite us both to utter and obey more readily the precept of the text ; like Paul, to " pray tmthout cea&ing" for the brethren; like Paul, to say, "Brethren, 2)ray for MS / " XXXVII. lalicni Mnitrn0 upon ^0jtr. " Here is the patience of the saints ; here are they that keep the command- ments of God, and the faithof Jesus."— Rev. xiv. 12. THE duty, necessity, and good effects of patience, are often set forth in the word of God. This is the more remarkable, because, by the wisdom of the world, patience, unless accompanied by selfish cunning, or a proud contempt of others, is regarded rather as a weakness than a virtue. Strongly contrasted with this vulgar estimate of patience, is the prominence with which it is exhibited, commended, and enjoined in Scripture. The applica- tion of the term, however, by the sacred writers, does not coincide exactly with its ordinary usage. Nor is its use in Scripture alto- gether uniform. The name is sometimes applied to the humble, submissive endurance of sufiering ; sometimes to consistent per- severance in any good course. It is used, however, in a higher sense, including both the others ; and even where the lower sense would seem appropriate, there is often at least an allusion to the higher. Evangelical or spiritual patience is not mere resigna- tion to the ills of life and the dispensations of Providence, nor mere perseverance in the path of duty, although neither of these can really exist without it. It is something more than either, or than both combined, that is described in Scripture as the charac- teristic imtience of the saints, or, as it is frequently expressed, their patient waiting upon God. This English phrase, to tvait upon, has gradually undergone a change of meaning. In modern usage it denotes a personal ser- vice or attendance, either literal, as when the servant waits upon his master, or metaphorical, as when one friend is said to wait upon another. The original words which it is used to represent signify simply the act of waiting for, including expectation and a 488 PATIENT WAITING UPON GOD. personal interest in the thing expected. This, too, is the primary import of the English phrase itself, waiting upon and ivaiting /a?-, having been once synonymous, and being often interchanged in our translation of the Bible. As applied to servants, it expresses strictly nothing more than their habitual expectation of their master's orders. Its general sense, of service or attendance, is a secondary one, derived from this. In those parts of Scripture where the duty of waiting upon God is explained or enforced, the idea of serving him is certainly implied, but the direct and primary meaning of the phrase is that of waiting for, expecting God, his presence, his favour, the fulfilment of his promises, as well as the utterance of his commands. That state of mind which waits for God in this sense, is spiritual patience. The apostle's declara- tion to the Hebrews, " Ye have need of patience, that, after ye have done the will of God, ye may inherit the promise " (Heb. x. 36), seems, at first sight, to mean merely that the complete fulfilment of the promise would be long deferred, or, in other words, that they must wait long for it, because it could not take place until after they had done the will of God. But the words are apjjlicable, in a higher sense, to the necessity of spiritual patience, as a char- acteristic and essential element of Christian life, without which no one can perform either part of the great work described ; that is, can neither do the will of God, or be partaker of his promises. The same necessity is intimated by the same apostle, in the same e2:)istle, when he expresses his desire that those to whom he writes may be followers of them who, through faith and patience, inherit the promises (Heb. vi. 12). So far, indeed, as the necessity of any act, or habit, or affection, can be expressed by an exhortation to perform or cherish it, the necessity of spiritual patience may be said to be frequently alleged in Scripture, both directly, as a matter of religious obligation, and indirectly, as an object of God's favour and a source of blessing. " Blessed are all they that wait for him " (Isa. XXX. 18). "It is good that a man should hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord" (Lam. iii. 26). "The Lord is good to them that wait for him, to the soul that seeketh him " (Lam. iii. 25). This patient waiting upon God is represented not only as acceptable to him, and as a source of good in general, but of specific benefits, without which spiritual life can never flourish, PATIENT WAITING UPON GOD. 489 if it can exist. For example, it is represented as a source of strength, that is, spiritual strength, the power of performance, and endurance, and resistance, — of withstanding evil and of doing good. This strength, the soul, convinced of its own weakness, cannot cease to long for, since, without it, it can neither do that which is pleasing in the sight of God, nor shun that which offends him. Now, this strength is exhibited in Scripture, not as the result of any natural power, inherent or acquired, nor external advantages, defences, safeguards, and facilities of action; but of patient reliance upon God. "Wait on the Lord : be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thy heart; wait, I say, on the Lord" (Ps. xxvii. 14). It is, indeed, contrasted with all other means and causes of strength, as being the only one that can be trusted, while all the rest are imperfect and delusive. Even the strongest who rely on these, shall fail and be exhausted; but, "they that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength ; they shall mount up with wings as eagles ; they shall run, and not be weary; they shall walk, and not fahit " (Isa. xl. 31). So far from warning us against excess in the employment of this means for the recruiting of our spiritual strength, the Scrip- ture points it out as the highway to perfection: " Only let patience have its perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing;" not only perfect and entire in patience, but in all that spiritual imtience tends to generate and foster (James i. 4). It is presented, likewise, as the only security against the disappoint- ment and frustration of our strongest confidence and highest trust. They who rely upon themselves or upon any other creature for this same security, shall surely be confounded ; but God himself has said, " They shall not be ashamed," — that is, according to the usage of the Bible, disappointed andbetraycd,— "that wait for me " (Isa. xlix. 23). This assurance against future disappointment com- prehends within its scope the highest hopes of the believer, the reality of which is expressly connected Avitli the exercise of patience. " They that wait on the Lord shall inherit the land " (Ps. xxxvii. 9). " Wait on the Lord, and keep his way, and he shall exalt thee to inherit the laud " (Ps, xxxvii. 34). Nay, eternal life is spoken of as sure only " to them who, by patient continuance in well- doing, seek for glory, honour, and immortality" (Horn. ii. 1\ 490 PATIENT WAITING UPON GOD. Such are the terms in which the duty, necessity, and blessed fruits of patience are exhibited in Scripture. The very strength of the expressions, and the comprehensive nature of the promises which they involve, might suffice to show that the patience of which such things are affirmed is neither resignation, fortitude, nor constancy of purpose, but something more than either, though inclusive of them all. The idea of patience, in its ordinary sense, is of course presuj^posed. That the heavenly patience thus en- joined and blessed, is, like all other patience, tranquil and quiet, the negation and the opposite of turbulence, disorder, and undue excitement, is clear, not only from the name applied to it, but also from the declaration, " It is good that a man should hope and quietly ivait for the salvation of the Lord " (Lam. iii. 26); and from the junction of the two commands, ^^ Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him " (Ps. xxxvii. 7). Is it, then, a mere inert quiescence, a stagnation of the soul, without affection or activity, that God's word sets before us, as a duty, as a necessary source of strength, and as the highway to perfection. Such a conclusion is well suited to the tendency of human nature to extremes ; but if it were correct, the apostle could never have used such a combina- tion— in exhorting the Hebrew Christians — " That ye he not sloth- fid, but followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises " (Heb. vi. 12). The patience that is heir to the promises of God, is therefore not a mere negation, not a stagnant patience, not a slothful patience. It is urged on to action by a potent jjrinciple, the love of God, without which patient waiting, in the true sense, is impossible. " The Lord direct your hearts into the love of God, and into the patient waiting for Christ " (2 Tliess. iii. 5). But this divine love may itself be personated by a mere inert affection or by a corrupt one, which refuses to be subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be. He has therefore taught us that obedience to his will is an essential characteristic of true patience. " Wait on the Lord," and " keep his way,''' that is, walk in the way of his commandments, are inseparable precepts, form- ing, not severally, but together, the condition of the promise : " He shall exalt thee to inherit the land " (Ps. xxxvii. 34). They for whom glory, and honour, and immortality, and eternal life are re- PATIENT WAITING UPON GOD. 491 served, are they who seek it, not simply by patient continuance, but *'by patient continuance in well-doing" (Rom. ii. 7). "Ye have need of jjatience, that after ye have done the will of God, ye may inherit the promise" (Heb. x. 36). The patience of the saints, then, is neither an inactive nor a lawless patience, but a loving and obedient patience. The same perverse tendency which leads men to convert quiet and patient waiting for salvation, into absolute inaction or a disregard of duty, will lead them to convert the re- quisition of obedience into an exhortation to reliance on them- selves or their own meritorious service. But the patience of the saints is a believing patience, which not only believes the truth, but trusts the pi'omises, — a trust implying self-renunciation and despair of self-salvation ; for without these an implicit trust in God's grace is impossible. It is through faith and patience, a patient trust and a believing patience, that the saints in glory have inherited the promises. From such a faith hope is insepar- able. He who would not be slothful, but a follower of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises, must do so by " showing diligence " in every duty " to the full assurance of hope unto the end" (Heb. vi. 11), The patience of the Scriptures springs neither from despair nor fear, but from hope, which is the opposite of both. It is not a mere quiet endurance of the present, or a quiet retrospect of the past, but a quiet expectation ; and that not a fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation, but an expectation of good — a hope, an assurance of hope ; the more assured the hope the more perfect the j^atience ; patience can have her perfect work only where there is full assurance of hope to the end — " For if we hope, for that we see not, then do we with patience wait for it " (Rom. viii. 25). " It is good that a man should hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord " (Lam. iii. 26). The faith and hope which are thus represented as essential to the patience of the saints, are not merely a vague trust and ex- pectation, founded upon no sufficient reason, or simply on the attributes of God, or his promises in general, without regard to the restrictions and conditions by which they are accompanied, but a specific trust and expectation, having a definite object, reason, and foundation. We have seen already that the exercise of Chris- 492 PATIENT WAITING UPON QOD. tian patience is described in Scripture as a patient waiting, not for something unknown — not for evil — not for good in the general, but for God. " Blessed are all they that Avait for Mm, " (Isa. xxx. 1 8). " Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him." "Those that wait on the Lord shall inherit the earth." "Wait on the Lord, and keep his way." " Wait on the Lord, and he shall save thee." " They that wait on the Lord shall renew their strength." " The Lord is good to them that wait for him." " They shall not be ashamed that wait /or me." Here is a definite object of patient expectation set before us. It is not mere ivaiting, nor mere patient waiting that will answer this description ; but patient waiting for the Lord, by loving him, obeying him, believing him, confiding in him, seek- ing him, " The Lord is good to them that wait for him, to the soul that seeketh him." The object of the Christian's patient expectation is made still more definite. It might be asked how or why should men wait for or ex- pect the Lordl He Avill be for ever what he is. He will be for ever, as he is now, intimately present to his creatures. If the object of expectation be supposed to be some special or extraordinary manifestation of his presence or his j^ower, such an expectation would be apt to prove fanatical, and instead of promoting quietness and patience, would more probably destroy it. But the definite ob- ject of the true believer's patient expectation is the manifestation of God's mercy in his own salvation, in his complete and final deliver- ance from suffering and from sin. "Wait on the Lord, and he Avill saVe thee" (Prov. xx. 22). " It is good that a man should hope and quietly Avait for the salvation of the Lord." But even here, the ex- pectation of the Christian might be too vague to secure the exercise of genuine patience. He might look to God for salvation, but with- out understanding how it was to be procured, or bow it could be reconciled with the divine justice. While this doubt or ignorance existed, he could hardly rest with implicit trust even on God's mercy, and could not therefore be expected to possess his soul in patience. The only remedy for this uneasiness and restlessness of spirit, is a just apprehension, not only of God's nature as a merciful Being, but of the precise way in which his mercy can and will be exercised, in which he can be just and yet justify the un- godly. In other words, the soul must not only see God as he is PATIENT WAITING UPON OOD. 493 in himself, but see him in Christ reconciling the world unto him- self, and not imputing their trespasses unto them, but imputing them to Christ ; making him to be sin for us, who knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in him. The man whose hope is fixed, not on abstractions or on generalities, not even on the attributes of God, as such, nor on his promises at large, but on the positive, distinct, specific promise of justification and salvation even to the chief of sinners, who renounces his own righteousness and submits to the righteousness of God, by a simple trust in the righteousness of Christ, that man may indeed be said to " wait for the hope of righteousness by faith" (Gal. v. 5). The attitude of that soul is indeed one of waiting, of patient waiting, of patient waiting for God, of patient waiting for the salvation of the Lord, of "love to God and patient waiting for Christ." Beyond this it is impossible to go in making the object of our patient expectation either greater or more definite. He who waits for the hope of righteousness by faith, through the love of God and the patient waiting for Christ, may have a faint hope through his own infirmity, but cannot have a vague one through the vagueness of the object. His hope, and, by necessary consequence, his patience, may be variable, fluctuating, and capricious, but not from any want of amplitude, or fulness, or distinctness in the object. The more he sees of that, the more profoundly tranquil and un- broken vdll the patience of his spirit be. If we know not what we hope for, or if we doubt of its reality or excellence, or of its being attainable by us, we may still have hope, but we cannot have patience. Our hope will be a restless, an unsteady, an impatient, a capricious hope. "But if we hope for that" which, though "we see not, we believe" and know to be real, and excellent, and within our reach, "then do we with patience wait for it;" not because we no longer desire it, but because we do ; not because we are willing to postpone the full fruition of it, but because we are so filled with the joyful expectation and the assured hope of obtaining it at last, that we are willing to wait the will of Him on whom it all depends, and whom we know to be able to keep that with which we have intrusted him, luitil that day, however distant. This is the kind of hope that generates true patience ; and if we 494 PATIENT WAITING UPON GOD. would indeed "be followers of them who through faith and patience inherit the promises," let us lay aside our fluctuating, short-lived hopes, which are extinguished at the first blast or drowned by the first wave that washes over us, and let us not be slothful, but diligent in duty, in the full assurance of hope unto the end (Heb. vi. 11, 12). We have now seen reason to conclude that the patience of the true believer, though a state of rest, is one of rest in God, and therefore not a slothful or inert one, but a diligent and active one ; not lawless, but obedient ; not comj)ulsory, but wUling ; not fear- ful, but loving ; not despondent, but hopeful ; not vague, but de- finite ; not resting on the reason, or the fancy, or on nothing, but on God, on Christ, on salvation, on the righteousness of faith ; not capricious and short-lived, but constant, uniform, and perse- vering. The connection which has been already pointed out be- tween this patience, and the love of God and faith in Christ, is a sufficient answer to the question, Whence does this patience spring, by what is it produced, and how shall we obtain if? Are we still without the love of God and faith in Christ 1 Then patient wait- ing is for us impossible. We may wait long, we may wait for ever, in the sense of doing nothing, sinking deeper in sin, and growing harder under it ; but if in the sense before explained we would possess our souls in imtience, we must believe, and love, and hope. Faith lies at the foundation. Where faith is wanting, there can be no patience. With little faith there can be little patience. Not that the highest degrees of faith are necessary to genuine patience ; much less that faith which is assailed and tried can breed no patience. But of these trials, patience often springs; patience not only in the lower, but the higher sense; not only the passive power of endurance, but the active power of humble, hope- ful, joyful, and believing expectation; only "let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing, knowing that tlie trial of your faith worketh patience''^ (James, i. 3, 4). But this eff'ect supposes an internal preparation, without which mere external trials of our faith, instead of working patience, would render it impossible. And this internal preparation can be wrought by nothing but a spiritual influence, not only from without, but from above, from heaven, from God. None but the PATIENT WAITING UPON GOD. 495 Holy Gliost can work, in our darkened and corrupted heart, that humble yet triumphant expectation of deliverance through the righteousness of Christ, which is the life of spiritual patience. " For we through the Spirit wait for the hope of righteousness by faith" (Gal. v. 5). This hope, and the faith from which it springs, and the love to God by which it is accompanied, are all Ms gift. Patience and all the elements of which it is composed must come alike from him. The Lord alone can "direct [our] hearts into the love of God, and the patient waiting for Christ" (2 Thess. iii. 5). The sum of all these scriptures seems to be, that there is a patience necessary to the Christian life, a patience Avliich includes resignation and endurance, but includes far more ; a patience which God approves, and upon which he has promised his blessing, as a source of strength and as a means of perfection ; that this patience is a rest in God, not slothful, but diligent, obedient, loving, and believing, springing from the hope of salvation through the right- eousness of Christ and from faith in him, augmented even by the trial of that faith when it is genuine and does not fail ; a patience wrought by the Holy Spirit directing our hearts into the love of God, and the patience of Christ, or patient waiting for him. If, in what has now been said, the declarations of the Scriptures should appear to be distorted from their natural, simple meaning, as applied to patience in the lower sense, let it be considered, in the first place, that some of the things predicated of patience in the word of God are wholly inapplicable to a mere submissive temper, power of endurance, or freedom from uneasy restlessness and discontent. In the next place, let it be considered that the higher patience which the word of God describes, and which tlie grace of God produces, is so far from being opposed to the one just mentioned, or in any sense at variance with it, that it includes it as the whole includes the part, or as the spring includes the stream, or the plant its fruit or flower. While it still stands true, attested both by Scripture and experience, that a mere philosophical or natural patience can never lead to those results which are ascribed to Christian patience in the word of God, it is equally true and equally well ascertained, that this is the only certain and unfailing source of meekness, resignation, and tranquillity accessible to man. The patience of wrong, or suffering, or hope deferred, which springs 496 PATIENT WAITING UPON GOD. from mere prudential motives or from self-control, can never rise higher than its fountain in the heart, and must therefore prove unequal to the greatest emergencies of human life. But break a man's heart vdth a conviction of sin ; open his eyes to the impend- ing danger ; make him feel his incapacity to help himself, and his urgent need of superhuman help ;— then let him see Christ as an all-sufficient Saviour, just such a Saviour as he needs, and has at last been made to wish for ; let him understand and appreciate the freeness of the gospel offer ; let him close with it in hearty acqui- escence by a true faith ; let him feel the love of God shed abroad in his heart and controlling his affections ; let him see the hope of . full salvation and of future glory streaking the horizon like the dawn of a celestial morning ; — on this dawn let his eye rest with a full persuasion that the day is breaking, that the sun is there, that it will rise, that it will soon rise ; and with this conviction what wUl he care for the expiring of the few flickering tapers that surround him 1. The patience which will best enable men to bear the wrongs, and sorrows, and delays of life, is patient continuance in well-doing ; the patient waiting for Christ ; the patience which is joint heir of the promises with faith; the patience of hope, which waits for things unseen, looks for the hope of righteousness by faith, and quietly waits for the salvation of the Lord. Where this exists, the forgiveness of injuries, the endurance of sufferings, the loss of all things, are comparatively easy. If, then, we would exercise the lower forms of patience, we must do it by securing the possession of the higher. If faith and repentance are unknown to our experience, we must repent and believe before we can expect to bear and forbear, even in this world's matters, with a truly Christian spirit. If we have repented and believed, we must learn to love and hope, as necessary elements of patience. If we have already studied in this school, and begun to practise its celestial precepts, let us show the same diligence to the full assurance of hope unto the end ; let patience have its per- fect work, that we may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing. Let us wait on the Lord, and keep his way. Let us rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for him. Let ns hope and qiiietly wait for his salvation. Let us tlu-ough the Spirit wait for the hope of righteousness by foith. Let, us by patient continuance in well- PATIENT WAITING UPON GOD. 497 doing, seek for glory, and honour, and immortality. If we hope for what we see not, let us Avith patience wait for it, and ere long we shall see it. We shall see it! Faith shall be turned into sight. The work of patience shall be done for ever ; and while the patience of the philosophers and worldlings shall be seen in all its hollowness and emptiness, a voice from heaven shall say, even of the weakest and unworthiest of us who have thus pre- served our souls in patience, " Here is the patience of the saints ; here are they that keej) the commandments of God and the faith of Jesus." XXXVIII. ^^t Maxii of 60b noi ^0nnb. " The word of God is not bound." — 2 Timothy ii. 9. THIS is the language of a prisoner at Rome. The imperial city had seen many a captive brought in singly, or to grace the triumph of her conquering chiefs. In comparison with these, there was little to attract attention in the case of a Cilician Jew, sent by tlie Roman prefect of Judea to be tried before the judgment-seat of Caesar upon charges pertaining to the Jews' religion. To the Romans, such a case was too familiar and too unimportant in it- self to excite much interest, especially before the prisoner's actual appearance at the emperor's tribunal. With the exception of a few ofHcial functionaries, and of his own brethren, who were numerous in Rome, it is probable that few were aware of his presence, or even his existence. It was little imaghied by the soldiers whose swords rattled on the ancient pavement of the street where Paul dwelt, or by the vast mixed multitude of citizens in gown or armour who continually passed before his prison, that within those doors sat one whose influence was to be felt throughout the empire, and beyond its furthest pale, fur ages; one wl|o, as well by self-devotion as by divine appointment, was the apostle of the Gentiles, the official founder of the Christiai; Church aujong t^he nations. He was now a prisoner ; and this hfs aptual condition bore a significant analogy to son^c points of his efi,rlier history. In hu- eage and breeding fie w£),s a thorough Jew — a Hebrew of the Hebrews — a Pharisee of the straitest sect — brought up in Jerusalem at tlie feet of Gamaliel, a famous doctor of the law. His attachment to the faith of his fathers was attested by his zeal in opposition to what seemed to threaten it. In the first persecution of the Chris- TUE WORD OF GOD NOT BOUND. 499 tians at Jerusalem, lie was present, at least as a spectator. The upper garments of those who stoned the protomartyr Stephen were laid at the feet of Saul of Tarsus. This sight, instead of softening his heart towards the sufferers or rousing his indignation against the persecutors, seems to have kindled in his own breast the flame of an intolerant zeal. Our next view of him is in the service of the persecuting priesthood — making havoc of the Church — enter- ing into every house, hahng men and women and committing them to prison. A little after he appears again, still breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord, solicit- ing employment as their enemy, and volunteering his services to the high priest, and demanding letters to the synagogues of foreign cities, that if he found any of this way, whether they were men or women, he might bring them hound unto Jerusalem. This was known to Christians abroad before he actually came among them ; for when Ananias received the divine command to visit him and restore his sight, he expostulated, saying, " Lord, I have heard by many of this man, how much evil he hath done to thy saints at Jerusalem; and here he hath authority from the chief priests to hind all that call on thy name." So after he began to preach Christ in the synagogues of Damascus, all that heard him were amazed and said, " Is not this he that destroyed them which called on this name in Jerusalem, and came hither for that intent, that he might bring them hound unto the chief priests ]" The prominence given in this narrative to Paul's eagerness in binding, — that is, arresting or imprisoning all converts to the new rehgion,^ — is not an accidental one. It re-appears in his own state- ment of his conversion, before the multitude on the castle- stairs in Jerusalem : " I persecuted this way unto the death, hinding and delivering into prisons both men and women. I went to Damas- cus to bring them which were there, hound unto Jerusalem." And in answer to the Lord's command to go forth, — " Lord, they know that I imjmsoned and beat in every synagogue them that believed on thee." And again at Cesarea, before Festus and Agrippa, "Many of the saints did I shut up in prison." To the circumstance thus marked in his own recollection of his persecuting ministry, it l^leased God that there should be somethii\g corresponding in his later history as a Christian preacher and confessor. In the cata- 500 THE WORD OF GOD NOT BOUND. logue of his sufferings for Christ, one item is, " In prisons more fre- quent." When he aa^rs bound with thongs upon the castle-stairs, it was but the beginning of this series of captivities, the last of which was terminated only by his martyrdom. Thus he who once breathed only to bind the followers of Christ, became himself the prisoner of the Lord ; " for whose sake," said he, " I am bound with this chain." How much his own mind was affected by this providential coincidence, is clear from the frequency and point of his allusions to it in his epistles, from the earliest in date, to this to Timothy, in all probability the last of all, — " Where- in I suffer trouble, as an evil-doer, even unto bonds; but the word OF Gob IS NOT BOUND,"— that is, though I who preach it am a prisoner, the word itself is not confined, and cannot be. As he once said, in writing to the Roman Christians, " Let God be true, but every man a liar ;" so here he seems to say, " Let me abide a prisoner for ever, if the glorious gospel may but run, have free course and be glorified." This was the prisoner's consolation in captivity — a consolation at once rational and trustful, pregnant with lessons of practical wisdom, some of which it may not be inappropriate or unjustifiable to consider in detail. 1. The first idea suggested by the words in their original con- nection is, that Paul's incarceration did not hinder his own personal exertions as a preacher of the gospel. His countrymen and others WTre allowed access to him. Through the wise and tolerant in- dulgence of the Roman government, he " dwelt two whole years in his own hired house, and received all that came in unto him, preaching the kingdom of God, and teaching those things which concern the Lord Jesus Christ, with all confidence, no man for- bidding him." Though he was bound, therefore, the word of God was not— not even as to his personal share in its promulgation. This was, of course, a precious consolation to the captive. How much would the pains of his confinement have been aggravated if, in addition to the restraint upon his limbs or his movements, his mourii had been stopped as an ambassador of Christ ! How fer- vently may we suppose that he Avould then have prayed, and called on others to pray for him, that his mouth might be opened, that utterance might be given him, to speak freely, as he ought to speak ! But such facility he did possess ; and, in the joyful con- THE WORD OF GOD NOT BOUND. 501 sciousness of this advantage, he here puts the bane and antidote together : " Wherein I sufter trouble, as an evil-doer, even unto bonds ; but the word of God is not bound." The practical lesson taught by Paul's example, in this view of it, is obvious. It is a reproof of our disposition to regard external disadvantages, restraints, and disabilities as either affording an immunity from blame if we neglect to use the power still left us, or discouraging the hope of any good effect from using it. Be- cause we cannot do all that we would, we are too apt to do nothing ; or, because we cannot command the means with which we are familiar, we are often ready to abandon the whole enter- prise. In this disposition there is more pride than humility. It is tainted with the selfish ambition of a Caesar, who must be all or nothing. It is also condemned by the experience of the world. Some of the greatest achievements in science and the arts, in war- fare and in government, in morals and philanthropy, have been effected in the absence of what some men would regard as indis- pensable appliances, arid in a wise contempt of them. It is not the music or the uniform, the burnished metal or the flaunting flag, that secures the victory, however useful they may be in their own places. Had they been the indispensable conditions of success, the tattered and unshod champions of our own independ- ence must have yielded to the brilliant and well-appointed forces of the enemy. Nay, the very loss or interruption of accustomed comforts and accommodations has been sometimes the not remote occasion of a victory. It may be so, too, in the spiritual warfare. Men may form the habit of regarding the conventional facilities to which they are accustomed, even in benevolent exertion, as essential means to the desired end, and when these are withdrawn, may look upon the case as hopeless — as if Paul, when made a prisoner at Rome, had given up aU for lost, and ceased to speak or labour for the cause of Christ — as if he had said, I am bound, and the gospel is bound with me. It must share my bondage, and continue shut up within the walls of my compulsory abode. Such a course would not have been irrational or sinful on the principles which many of us Christians seem to hold ; but it was wholly inconsistent with the sentiments and character of Paul. When he could not do all, he 502 THE WORD OF GOD NOT BOUND. still did what he could ; he had learned both to abound and to suffer need ; he could be all things to all men, that he might save some. When he could not preach Christ as a freeman, he must preach him only the more zealously as an ambassador in bonds. When forced to say, " Wherein I suffer trouble, as an evil-doer even unto bonds," he could cheerfully and thankfully add, " but the word of God is not bound." 2. It was still true, however, that Paul's bonds diminished his efficiency. While he avoided the extreme of abandoning all hope, he equally avoided that of foolishly imagining that he could per- sonally do as much for the diffusion of the gospel in his own hired house at Rome, as in the wide sweep of his itinerant apostleship. This was impossible, as he well knew ; and knowing it, he needed something more to comfort him in his confinement than the con- sciousness that, though he could no longer do as much as he had once done, he could still do something. This might be enough for him, but it was not enough for the honour of his Master. It might satisfy his conscience, but it could not satisfy his heart or appease the cravings of his thirst for the salvation of the world. His work, though not yet at an end, was interrupted, and how should his lack of service be supplied 1 The answer is a plain one : By the labours of others. This was a large ingredient in the cup of the apostle's consolation. He rejoiced not only in the labours of others during his comparative inaction, but in that inaction as the occasion, the exciting cause, of other men's exer- tions. Nay, he could even go so far as to consent to be wronged and dishonoured, if by that means his ruling passion might be gratified. To the Macedonian Christians in Philippi he writes as follows from his confinement in the city of the Cajsars : "Brethren, I would ye should understand that the things which happened imto me have fallen out rather unto the furtherance of the gospel ; 80 that my bonds in Christ are manifest in all the palace, and in all other places ; and many of the brethren in the Lord, waxing confident by my bonds, are much more bold to speak the word without fear. Some indeed preach Christ even of envy and strife ; and some also of good-will. The one preach Christ of con- tention, not sincerely, supposing to add affliction to my bonds; but the other of love, knowing that I am set for the defence of the THE WORD OF OOD NOT BOVXD. 503 gospel. What then 1 Notwithstanding, every way, whether in pretence or in truth, Christ is preached ; and I tlierein do rejoice, yea, and will rejoice. For I know that this shall turn to my salva- tion through your prayer, and the supply of the Spirit of Jesus Christ, according to my earnest expectation and my hope, that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but that with all boldness, as always, so now also Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether it be hy life, or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. " What is the principle involved in this sublime profession of heroic devotion to the cause of Christ 1 Plainly this, that while Paul was even ready to magnify his office as apostle to the Gen- tiles, and correctly appreciated both the honour and the difficulty of the work assigned to him, he never dreamed that it was meant to be entirely dependent upon his individual activity. It was not at himself, but at tlie world that he continually looked. 1 1 e regarded his own laboui'S as important only so far and so long as it pleased God to employ them as means to the appointed end ; and when they seemed to lose this peculiar relation to the cause, instead of lamenting that his agency was suspended, or dreading the success of any other than his own, he loses sight of his own share in the great work, to look at the great work itself, as some- thing dear to him, yet independent of him, which he was willing to promote either by his life or death, as God might please to order, but which he desired to see promoted at all costs and at all hazards, whether by himself, or by his friends, or by his enemies. This is a spirit worthy of a hero, nay, of an apostle ; of one who could and did rejoice that Christ was preached, by Avhom- soever, and whose highest hope was that Christ might be magni- fied in him, whether actively or passively, by life or by death. Here, too, the lesson to ourselves is obvious. The apostle's example ought to shame us out of all undue reliance upon certain human agencies and influences. Especially ought this to be the case in relation to our oivn share of the work to be performed for the honour of God and the salvation of the world. If Paul, with his apostolic dignity, confirmed by all the signs of an apostle, regarded his own personal exertions only as appointed means with which the sovereign Power that prescribed them could as easily 504 THE WOJW OF GOD NOT BOUND. dispense; wliat are we, that we sliould think ourselves or our assistance necessary to the divine purpose, or that purpose in danger of defeat and disappointment at any mom.entary inter- ruption of oiir share in its promotion, or tliat we should frown upon the emulous exertions of our neighbours in the same cause, as a kind of encroachment upon our j^rerogative, an insolent in- trusion on our chosen and appropriated field of labour 1 How completely does the spirit of the great apostolic captive j)ut to shame all such exclusiveness and self-emulation, as displayed too often by the individual labourer, and still more by large bodies of such labourers, however zealous and sincere ! This last is but another form of the same error, more insidious, because clothed in the garb of humility. He who professes to distrust, nay, who really distrusts himself, as insufficient for this work, may be guilty of an undue reliance upon others, either singly or collectively. However little he may look for from his own individual exertions, he may repose an uncommanded con- fidence in those of his neighbours, or his leaders, or in the united strengtli of his party, of his Church, or of his nation j and to these corporate bodies may transfer the idolatrous trust and admiration which he dare not arrogate to himself. But this kind of depend- ence upon human strength for that which God alone can do, though less offensive in its manifestations, is equally at variance with a spirit of true faith, and equally condemned by Paul's example. The principle which actuated and controlled his con- duct, comprehends in the wide scope of its application all depend- ence upon human agencies as absolutely or intrinsically necessary to the execution of the divine plan, whether the objects of this mis- placed trust be individuals or communities, ourselves or others. The primary meaning of Paul's joyful exclamation is, that though he was a prisoner, the word of God was free ; but it obviously implies that though all the preachers of the word were altogether like him, not even excepting his bonds, it would still have been true, that the word of God was not their fellow-captive, but might rmi and be glorified. Though I and every other human instrument be paralyzed or shattered, God can perform his own work in his own way ; though I and every other messenger endure affliction, even unto bonds, tlie ivord of God is not bound. There is no need, THE WORD OF GOD XOT BOUXD. 505 however, of our stopping even here. We are not required to con- tent ourselves with knowing tliat the word of God is not bound to the hand or foot of any human instrument, liowever eminent, liowever useful. Let us view the teaching of the text in its utter- most extent, and sound it in its lowest depths, or rather to the depth of our capacity, even though it should conduct us to what may at first sight seem a more abstract and artificial view of the apostle's meaning. One of the most important lessons, couched in this significant expression or deducible from it, would be lost upon us if we went no further. I refer to the doctrine tliat the truth of God is inde- pendent, not only of particular human agents, but of all human systems of opinion, organizations, and methods of procedure. This must be appi'ehended and believed as a distinct proposition. We may grant the insignificance of any particular personal agency, and yet rely upon the intrinsic efficacy of certain theories and certain plans, whatever be the agency by which they are reduced to practice. As in politics, so in religion, and especially in its active benevolence, the maxim, " Principles, not men," may be delusive, by leading only from one error to another, by withdraw- ing confidence from personal advantages of character or talent, only to fix it the more blindly on the real or imaginary attributes of systems, schemes, contrivances, and methods. It is important, therefore, that the words of the apostle should be taken in their widest sense, as intimating that "the word of God is not bound" v.'ith this chain any more than with the others. The diftusion and triumph of the truth are not suspended on our methods of promoting them, however excellent. The truth we circulate is not a lifeless, inert mass, which we may shape and regulate, and bear about at our discretion or caprice ; it is a living element, which we can neither generate nor kill, but to which God allows us the honour of furnishing conductors and assigning a direction with a view to certain applications. Whatever reason we may have for cherishing our own accustomed modes of doing this, we must still remember that, in reference to these as well as other things, " the word of God is not bound." There may seem to be but slight grolind or practical necessity for this admonition ; but the fact is otherwise. This error is a 506 THE WORD OF GOD NOT BOUXD. real and an operative one. Its tendency, if not directly to relax effort, is to weaken faith, discourage hope, damp zeal, contract tli^ views, and thereby most effectually stop the wheels of all great enterprises. The error itself does not lie in the contrivance of ingenious and effectual plans, or in their zealous execution, but in looking upon their operation and results as the aggregate effect produced by saving truth ; as if one should suppose that there was no light in the world but that employed in optical experiments, and no electric, or magnetic, or galvanic influence but that sub- jected to our senses by the pile or battery. It is an honour and a happiness to be allowed to gather up a portion of revealed truth, as the Hebrews gathered manna in their vessels, and to cast it into certain moulds without destroying its vitality or virtue, and to blend it with other things congenial, though distinct, and to clothe it in legitimate though uncommanded forms of our own clioosing, and to apply it, as we find expedient, for our own advan- tage or for that of others. But we must not let this privilege mislead us into the delusion of imagining that this is all the truth of God can do, or rather that there is no truth at aU except as we choose to exhibit or diffuse it ; that if our machinery should burst or fall to pieces, it would leave the world to spiritual darkness and starvation; — in short, that the word of God is bound to us and to our methods of preserving and diffusing it. In this, as in the other senses heretofore considered, be assured, my hearers, tliat "the word of God is not bound." The mistaken views, of which I am now speaking, arise from natural and moral causes, some of which are easily detected. Our ideas of value, from their very nature, are connected with our customary modes of measurement and estimation. Whatever we can count or weigh, we own to have a real, tangible existence. Whatever we can thus treat to a certain point, even without being able to include the whole, we look upon as vast in its extent or worth, but no less real than if we could measure it by pounds or inches. But that which cannot be subjected to our measurement at all, we are disposed to reckon as imaginary, or as only half existing, not entitled to a place among the tangible realities by which we are surrounded. The very air we breathe, because it is invisible, is apt to be regarded by the uninstructed mind as almost a I THE WORD OF GOD NOT BOUND. 507 nonentity; and even when it proves its own existence, when it sweeps over the earth in the tornado, tearing up whole foi^ests, some would rather trace the terrible effect to causes utterly un- known, than to an agent in immediate contact with their bodies, yet apparently beyond the reach of their investigation. It is true that some of these mysterious agencies in nature have been brought to bear witli wonderful effect upon the interests of real life. The indomitable light is made to do the slow work of the artist's pencil in a moment of time, and the flitting shadow is arrested in its flight and rendered permanent. An unsubstantial vapour now replaces, on the ocean and the land, on the road and in the factory, a vast amount of animal exertion. A power once reckoned too mysterious for scrutiny, or even for belief, now apes the wonder of annihilating time and space, and instantaneously conveys men's Avhispers, not only over continents, but under oceans. Eff"ects so real must have real causes, and the world reluctantly admits the fact. Now, there are triumphs of advancing knowledge in the field of natural discovery — her triumphs over ignorant and stubborn prepossessions. And why may not the truth, though in itself immutable, gain kindred victories in morals and religion "? Why should they who no longer venture to dispute the existence and activity of physical causes, which they cannot estimate or measure, still persist in believing that the truth of God is only operative through their channels and in their machinery — that when they have computed the amount of saving knowledge spread through these, by counting the words, or the pages, or the volumes tliat contain it, they have stated the sum total of the cleansing, strengthening, illuminating influence exerted by the truth upon this evil world? The doctrine which I would oppose to this delusion is the simple doctrine that "the word of God is not bound " or restricted, in its salutary virtue, to the formal and appreciable power exerted upon Churches and Christian communi- ties, or through the ordinary modes and channels of religious influence, however great this power may be, however indispensable to the completion of the work which God is working in our days. We may even admit that it is relatively almost all, but it is still not quite allj and the residuary power may be greater, vastly 508 THE WORD OF OOD NOT BOUND. greater, than it seems to us before attentively considering the other less direct, less formal, less appreciable ways, in which the word of God, the truth revealed in Scripture, is at this moment operat- ing on the condition of society, apart from its constant and direct communication through the pulpit, the school, and the religious press. These are the agencies, indeed, by which sound doctrine is maintained in your Churches and impressed upon your youth ; and this, in its perfection, is the highest end that can be wrought by the diffusion of the truth. But let us not forget that much may be effected even when this highest end is not attained. In many a heresy, for instance, how much truth may be mingled, saving it from absolute corrup- tion, and perhaps the souls of those who hold it, from perdition. Infidelity, in all its forms, affects to treat religion with contempt, as the offspring of ignorance ; but its own discoveries are mere mutilations of the truths which it has stolen from its despised enemy. The attempt of infidelity to do away with the great doc- trines of religion, is the prowess of a dwarf mounting on a giant's shoulders to put out his eyes. The best constructed system of un- scriptural philosophy, however close and dark, still has its crevices, and through these some light cannot fail to percolate, if only to be seized upon as proof that the system is not one of darkness after all. The same thing is true as to those slighter and more trivial, but for that very reason more effective forms of unbelief, which are propagated, not in philosophical abstractions, but in poetry, ro- mance, and other current literature. The novelist or journalist who, with a scorn of Christianity only to be equalled by his ignor- ance of what it teaches, undertakes to show his readers " a more excellent way," often brings them at last to some elementary truth, already wrought into the mind and stamped upon the memory of every child who reads the Bible. What a tribute is this to the pervading, penetrating force of truth, that it can find its way even into such dark places, and at least serve to make the dark- ness visible ! Look, too, at the schemes of civil government and social order framed by irreligious men, or unbelievers in the Scrip- tures, and observe these two facts easily established : that every departure from the lessons of God's word is a demonstrable evU oi* defect in relation even to the lower object aimed at; and that THE WORD OF 00 D NOT BOUND. g09 everything conducive to a good end in the system is an adaptation of some Christian doctrine to a special purpose. It is, no doubt, far more flattering to the pride of theorists and system-mongers, to regard what they have borrowed or stolen from the Bible as a common stock from which both parties are at liberty to draw ; but they have no right, upon this ground, to deny the notorious fact, that this pretended common fund was given to the world by revelation ages before their own inventions came into existence. It would be easy to pursue the same inquiry through every field of science and every walk of art, and to show that even there, the word of God has first been followed as a guide, and then ex- pelled as an intruder; that its light has first been used to kindle others, and then vain attempts made to extinguish it for ever ; in a word, that its enemies have first resorted to it in their time of need, and then ungratefully forgotten or unblushingly denied the obligation. In all these cases it is no doubt true that the result of the mutilating and perverting process is something unscriptural and antichristian. It is not pretended that the few drops of pure water neutralize the poison; or that the single ray of light dispels the darkness into which, as if by accident, it finds its way. The general result may still be evil, although these foreign elements are there; but if they are there, who will undertake to say how much less, after all, the evil is than it would otherwise have been"? Here, then, is a case in which an inappreciable cause may be known to be producing great effects. The indirect and incidental influence of Bible truth upon erroneous systems of religion, the various forms of infidelity, on science, art, and literature, on manners, government, and social morals, cannot be measured, but it cannot be denied. It may be inscrutable, but it is real, and we must not leave it out of our account when we would estimate the power of di^dne truth, or our own obligations to difiuse it, or our causes and occasions of encouragement to persevere and look for great results from the diff"usion of that light which, though it sheds its full effulgence only on a few most highly favoured spots, at the same time sends some of its rays into the dark places of the earth, which are full of the habitations of cruelty, Thanks be to God, tliat the beneficent effects of his word are not entirely confined to those who willingly receive it, but that even in relation to the 510 THE WORD OF GOD NOT BOUND. Church and to Christendom, however vast their advantages above the heathen, " the word of God is not bound." If this be a correct view of the influence exerted even indirectly by the word of God ; if over and above its certain and complete results, it shines through the interstices of unknown caverns, and mitigates the darkness of unftithomed depths ; if in fertilizing one spot, it sheds even a few scattered but refreshing drops upon a multitude of others; if in doing all for some, it incidentally does some for aU, let me ask, in conclusion. What should be the prac- tical effect of this belief ? Not that of paralyzing hope or crippling eftbrt, but the very contrary. It should forbid despair ; it should excite to new exertion. Its tendency to this efiect may be ex- hibited in three particulars : — And first, if all these things be so, we need not tremble for the truth itself. Our efforts to preserve it and improve it may be vain; but it will take care of itself, or rather God will take care of it. If his word were something that existed only here and there, like precious stones and metals, we might fear that it would be drained off to meet some urgent de- mand elscAvhere, or that it might be actually lost or destroyed. But who can fear the loss of that which penetrates all substances, and reaches even the remotest regions ? Who can fear the loss of water, air, or fire "? To individuals, to families, to entire communi- ties, the truth may, indeed, be wholly lost, to their eternal undoing. But it shall not be banished from the world. There may be savages to whom the use of fire is unknown. There are deserts which are always almost wholly void of moisture. But the flames can never be extinguished on these millions of hearths, or if they were, they would be soon rekindled by the electric clouds of heaven, or the volcanic craters of the earth. The world cannot die of thirst until the windows of heaven are for ever stopped, and the fountains of the deep for ever emptied. So shall it be with the word of God. He has not only spread it over the surface of society, but given it a lodgment in its innermost recesses. Eveiy system, every institution, every community, has received of its fulness, more or less. Should its regular depositories be destroyed, it will burst forth from its hiding-places where it lay forgotten, to regenerate the world. Its champions may be overcome, its heralds carried captive, "but the word of God is not bound." TUE WORD OF GOD NOT BOUND. 511 Another aspect of the same thing is, that if such be the indirect as well as the direct effects of truth, there is some hope for the world itself, and even for those parts of it, and those things in it, which otherwise might seem to be confined to hopeless, irrecover- able ruin. The mass may in itself be wholly corrupt, yet there may be present in it, and difi'used throughoi;t it, a potent antiseptic principle, a salt, not superficially applied, but absorbed into the pores, and lodged in the vessels of the body politic, not so as en- tirely to purge out its impurities, but so as to preserve it from im- mediate dissolution. When we hear of wars and revolutions, when we see the weakness of all human safeguards proved experimentally by one convulsion following another, till the cause of human free- dom and good government seems desperate, let us remember that amidst the corruptions and infirmities of even the best human institutions, there is still a power working, it may be insensibly, but constantly, and not without effect, to procrastinate, if not to prevent for ever, the catastrophe which sometimes seems so inevit- able. The statesman and the demagogue are far from dreaming that what sometimes saves them from the ruin which they had long ceased to think avoidable, is that despised religion which tliey have in vain endeavoured to exclude from aU participation in the honoiirs of their boasted system, but which, in spite of them, has so far leavened it, that even their own suicidal violence fails of its efiect. The hand of i^ower may be palsied, or the wild force of the multitude coerced by various accidental causes; but this mys- terious principle still lives, and moves, and acts upon society, if not enough to give it health, enough to save its life. The ruler and the ruled may be aUke in bondage; " but the word of God is not bound." Lastly, if this be a correct view of the powerful and multiform energies of truth, of its oblique as well as its direct effects upon the world, it may teach us a valuable lesson as to the true spirit of philanthropy, as being not a formal, rigid, matliematical attempt to save men's souls by certain rules, and in the use of certain ceremonial forms ; but a generous, impulsive, and expansive zeal for the glory of God in the salvation of the lost. If such be even the remote and secondary influence of truth upon men's social, intellectual, and moral state, their science, literature, arts, and government, let us give them excess of it, whether they will 512 THE WORD OF GOD NOT BOUND. liear, or whether they will forbear. And as the surest way of gaining this end, let us flood the world with the pure and un- adulterated word of God. To our several and our separate systems of belief, we owe a dili- gent use of the necessary means for their establishment and pro- pagation. But to God, to Christ, and to the souls of men, we owe an energetic and unceasing effort to saturate the whole earth with that word in which we all agree. Even when we have done all that seems incumbent on us through the channels of our own ecclesiastical relations, we may still do more through the deep and broad channel of our common Christianity. The word of God has already been repeatedly compared to water, the natural emblem of purification and refreshment. Its diffusion may be likened to the measures for supplying a whole population, such as that of a great city, with this precious element of cleanliness, comfort, health, and safety, — great municipal measures now. Other supplies may be acceptable, or even indispensable, to certain classes or to certain spots, but this is requisite alike to all. To provide it may cost labour, time, skill, and vast expense ; but it is worth the price. By some it may be wasted ; some may mix it with intoxicating drinks, or use it in other noxious jireparations, or directly apply it to the injury of others ; but in s];)ite of all these possibilities of evil, and a thousand more as easily imagined, it is still a blessing, and may safely be afforded in unlimited abundance. So is it, and so be it, with the word of God, Whatever some may choose to do with it or mix with it, however some may lavish or neglect it or pervert it, it is still the word of God, and in its unadulterated form may be poured upon the nations as a flood, without a fear of either poisoning or drowning them. Then let it gaish, and let the world bear witness that though every other channel be obstructed, and every other source of influence exhausted, — though philosophy and fancy be found unavailing, — though prophecies fail, and tongues cease, and all other knowledge vanish away, — though tlie very ministers of truth be fettered in civil or religious bon- dage, the word of God is not bound. It is not bound; it is free; it is alive ; it is in motion ; it sliall win ; it shall have free course and be glorified, till " the earth shall be full of the knowledge of God, as the waters cover the sea." XXXIX. " 0 Lord our Lord, how exci-'llent is tliy luuuc in all the earth !" — Ps. viil. 1, i>. THERE is no traditional and uncommanded usage of the Jews, among the many with which they have overlaid and darkened tlieir own Scriptures, half so affecting to the imagination and re- ligious sensibilities, as that immemorial supj)ression of the name Jehovah, which has for ages been a kind of negative or tacit shib- boletli, to mark and to perpetuate the difference between Jew and Gentile. However false in principle, however destitute of Scrip- tural foundation and divine authority, it cannot be denied that there is something in this national and everlasting reticency as to the most solemn and significant of all the divine names, not far removed from the sublime, and that even their extreme of super- stitious silence, when at all combined with feelings of elevation, is far better than the frivolous levity with which that venerable name is tossed from mouth to mouth, not only in profane dis- course, but even in public offices and courts of justice, not to say in the pulpit and the private circles of Christian and religious intercourse. The want of agreement and congruity between this singular usage and the characteristic absence of all mysteries and esoteric doctrines in the Church of the Old Testament, while it affords a strong presumptive proof that the usage is one foreign from the principle and spirit of the Jews' religion in its purest days, only adds to its imaginative grandeur and effect, by bringing it out in bold relief, like a dark spot on a luminous or shining surface. Tlie religious awe which the suppression was originally meant to indicate, and which has no doubt often since attended it, if right 33 514 HOW EXCELLENT IS THY NAME at all, could not have been associated with a more legitimate or worthy object, than that pregnant tetragramniaton, in the four characters of which, as in a sacramental symbol, is wrapped up the germ, or rather the quintessence, of that wonderful preparatory system which excited and sustained the expectation of a Saviour till the time of his epiphany was fully come. However difficult it may be to determine in detail the reason for the use of the two principal divine names by the sacred writers in specific cases, there is no ground for doubt, or for diversity of judgment, as to the main fact, that Jehovah is distinguished, in the Hebrew Scriptures, from all other designations of the Godhead, as the name which attested his peculiar relation to his Church or chosen people, and the clear revelation of himself and of his purposes, vouchsafed exclusively to them ; so that the very sound of this word, now supposed by many to be lost through immemorial dis- use, or its very sight, when that disuse had grown inveterate, suggested not the vague idea of divinity, nor even that of a per- sonal God, viewed merely in himself and at a distance, but the warmer feeling of a God in covenant with his people, making himself known to them as he did not to the world at large ; nay more, literally dwelling in the midst of them, and actually, per- sonally, reigning over them. With such associations, this signifi- cant and pregnant name must soon have grown as different in meaning and effect, from the generic name Elohim, which was common to the true God with all others, as tlie corresponding terms in modern parlance are from one another ; and as all men among us are free to use the name of God, in season or out of season, blasphemously or devoutly, while the name of Lord is for the most part shunned by ijrrehgious lips, as properly belonging to the dialect of personal religion ; so the ancient Jews, although they still continued to adore God as the God of all men, under the name Elohim, with more or less of that religious reverence! which the name implies, praised him and served him as their own pecuUarl}^ revealed and covenanted God, by the distinctive nam Jehovah. This being the case, it might have been supposed that the dis- tinctive name, thus used to designate the God of revelation and the God of Israel, if significant at all, would have been significant I IN ALL THE EARTH/ 515 of something closely connected with this singular relation between God and his peculiar people, so that when the name was heard or seen by others or themselves, its very etymology and meaning- might suggest ideas of a national or local kind, and irresistibly convey to all minds the conception of a special propriety in Israel on God's part, and in God on theirs. But so far is this from being true, that there is none of the divine names so remote from such associations, or so little suited in itself to rouse them ; none so lofty, or profound, or comprehensive, as an expression of what God is in liimself, \\'ithout regard to the relations which he may sustain to all or any of his creatures, who are recognised in their description only as unlike him, or contrasted with him, whom it represents as not only the Supreme, but in a certain sense the only Being, of whom alone existence can in the highest sense be right- fully affirmed ; who was when nothing else was ; who is what nothing else is ; without whom nothing else was, is, or can be ; the source of being in all others, the self-existent, independent, and eternal essence, whose most perfect designation of himseK was given in that paradoxical but grand enigma, of which the name Jehovah is but an abbreviated symbol — I shall be what I shall be, or I am what I am. That a name suggestive of aU this should be applied to the peculiar relation between God and his people, seems entirely unac- countable, except upon the supposition that it was intended to remind them, by the very name employed to designate their natit)nal and covenanted God, that he Avas not a God distinct from the Creator of the universe, not an inferior and derivative divinity, not even a co-ordinate, co-equal, co-eternal being, but the one, sole, self-existent, independent, and eternal essence, " the blessed and only potentate, the King of kings and Lord of lords ; tvho only hath immor-tality, dwelling in the light which no man can aj)- proach unto ; whom no man hath seen or can see ; to whom be honour and power everlasting, Amen" (1 Tim. vi. 15, 16). This precaution against such an error may at first sight seem gratuitous and inconsistent with the very idea of a chosen people ; but the whole tenor of the liistory of Israel shows that such a notion would be perfectly erroneous, and that the native tendency of fallen man to transmute truth into falsehood and pervert the 616 !fOW EXCELLENT 7.S THY NAME richest blessings into curses, was never more remarkably exem- plified than in the national experience of that extraordinary race, who, when they had been severed from the rest of men by a divine choice, for a temporary purpose, and for the ultimate advantage of the whole, strangely imagined that their segregation was designed to be perpetual, and sprang from some intrinsic or innate supe- riority, or at least had reference to their own exclusive aggrandize- ment as its final cause and providential purpose. Had this error terminated on themselves, and merely served to aggravate their overweening self-esteem, it would have been comparatively harm- less ; but, alas ! the transition was an easy one from fiilse views of themselves to false views of the God whose favour they affected to monopolize as not the God of the Gentiles also ; and from this the fatal step was almost unavoidable to the conclusion, that their God was not the God of nature or the universe, but either the antagonistic principle in some monstrous scheme of duahsm, or an- inferior deity restricted to the Holy Land. When such views became possible, even to the least enlightened Jews, no wonder that the Greek and Eoman learned to sneer at the provincial God of Palestine ; no wonder that the modern sceptic still delights to represent him as a local deity ; no wonder that the great apostle had occasion to demand in his day : " Is he the God of the Jews only 1 is he not also of the Gentiles 1 " (Rom. iii. 29.) How far this process of deterioration went, even among the most corrupted of the people, cannot now be ascertained ; but it is certain that these false views are never prescribed among the enlightened and believing class, and that they are without the slightest countenance or shadow of authority from the experience or example of the ancient Church, as such, or of the men who Were inspired to furnish it with forms and models of devotional experience, some of which are still on record, and contain the clearest exposition of the true sense of the name Jehovah, and of the divine intention, in revealing it, to hinder the indulgence of a grovelling nationality and sectarian bigotry, even under institu- tions in themselves so capable of breeding it ; or if it could not be prevented, to condemn it and expose it by means of the per- petual contradiction between such a spirit and the very name by which they were accustomed to invoke God, as the God of their IN ALL THE EARTH! 5 1 7 fatliers, and the God in covenant witli themselves. Throughout the law, the prophets, and the psalms, the uniform tendency of revelation, and of the sj^irit which the ancient saints imljibed from it, is to identify the God of the Jews with the God of the Gentiles, the God of revelation with the God of nature, and the God of nature with the God of grace ; to say, O Lord, our Lord, our King, our national, our covenant God ! how glorious is thy name, the revelation of thy nature, not only among us, but in all the earth ! Nor was this effect suffered to depend upon the dictates of reason or of conscience ; much less was it left to the discretion or caprice of the collective Church or individual believers. It was forced, as it Averc, upon the very senses, which could not refuse to recognise the name of God inscribed upon the frame of natui'e, as the human architect or sculptor leaves his own indelibly impressed upon the incorruptible and almost unchangeable material upon which his skill and genius work their wonders. It is the doctrine, not of poetry or mere aesthetics, but of Scripture, that the heavens are telling the glory of God, that the perpetual interchange of light and darkness furnishes a long unbroken series of witnesses for him, — day unto day pouretli out speech, night unto night impart- eth knowledge ; that the absence of articulate expression only adds to the sublime strength of this testimony — no speech, no words, not at all is their voice heard, and yet their voice is gone out into all the world, and their words unto the end of it ; that the whole frame of nature is instinct and vocal with the praises of another than itself; that throughout the majestic temple of the universe, all of it says. Glory — not its own, but God's — whose name, Jehovah, is distinctly legible all over the stupendous struc- ture, and whose glory is placed upon and above the very heavens. The instinctive adoration of that glory is not limited to men ot science and cultivation ; it is felt by the most ignorant and un- informed ; it is felt by the savage as he eyes the heavens from his forest or his desert ; it is felt by the young children whose intelli- gence is still but partially developed, but whose wonderful struc- ture and mysterious progress do not more truly bear a passive testimony to the glory of their Maker, than their unconscious admiration actually contributes to the same end, affording a strong 518 HOW EXCELLEN^T IS THY NAME defence against the unbeliever who would question God's holiness or obscure his glory ; so that out of the mouth of babes and sucklings he has ordained strength to silence even his most spite- ful enemies. To all this, the very name Jehovah should have led the least enlightened of the Jews, as it did to aU this lead the most en- lightened, who were wont to read that sacred name, not only in the volumes of their law, and on the high priest's forehead, but on everything ; so that, to their believing eyes, the very bells of the horses were, as if in anticipation of the prophecy, inscribed already, Holiness to Jehovah. As in God's palace, all says Glory, all its contents and inmates, so did they among the rest. Some of the noblest of the Psalms of David, those in which even an irreligious taste can see most to admire, were written for the very purpose of identifying the Jehovah of the Scriptures with the God of nature. Of this, the nineteenth and the twenty-ninth, besides the psalm before us, are remarkable examples. The sublime description, which has been already quoted, of the heavens as witnesses for God, is merely introductory to a desciip- tion of this same God as the author of a still more glorious law ; and in the other case referred to, the God whose mighty and majestic voice the psalmist hears upon the waters, and sees crush- ing the cedars of Lebanon, heaving out flames of fire, shaking the wilderness, and stripping forests — the God whom he sees riding on the flood and enthroned as King for ever, is not, as the infidel pretends, a faint copy of the cloud-compelling Zeus or the Thunder-god of Scandinavian mythology, but a God who must be worshipped in the beauty of holiness — the Lord Jehovah, who gives strength unto his people, who blesses his people with peace. With these views of his physical suj^remacy, as well as of his moral perfection, the inspired poets of the old economy, and those for whom their compositions furnished vehicles of pious senti- ment, were not unwilling to look nature in the face, or afraid to look up from the ground on which they trod, at the magnificent creation overhead and aU around, as if it were the devil's handi- work, or that of some inferior god, or that of fallen man, and, therefore, necessarily contaminating to the eyes and ears of saints ; but in that very character of saints or holy ones, and in the exer- IN ALL THE EARTH t 519 cise of those affections wbicli determined them to be such, they looked nature in the face, not by chance, but of set purpose ; not by compulsion, but spontaneously ; not rarely, but often ; not as an occasional indulgence, but as a habitual duty ; not with a gaze of vacant listlessness, but with a serious contemplation, they considered, they attentively considered the heavens ; yet witli no idolatrous and overweening reverence, as if self-made ; with no atheistical indifference, as if not made at all ; but with a genuine, devout, believing interest, as knomng them to be the handiwork of God — not the gross product of a bhnd and brutal power, acting irresistibly, yet wholly without purpose, but the perfect and sym- metrical result of a divine intelligence, as really designing and constructing what it brings into existence, as the mind of man directs his fingers in the nicest operations of mechanical contriv- ance or artistic skill • so that the psalmist, by a bold and beauti- ful assimilation of the finite to the infinite, describes the heavens as the work of God's fingers — a work not abandoned to its own control, or left without control, when once created, but ordained, fixed, settled, by the same creative and almighty power, each celestial body in its own allotted sphere or orbit ; so that when he considered the heavens, the work of God's fingers, the moon and the stars which he had ordained, he looked through the con- trivance to the great contriver, through the building, in which all says "Glory !" to the builder, by whose skill and power, and for whose everlasting praise it is and was created. Such religious views of the material universe must, of necessity, re-act on the spectator, to whom the works of God perform the office, not only of a telescope, but of a mirroi-, through which he sees God, in which he sees himself ; and, as some celestial phe- nomena can only be observed by the assistance of reflectors, so in morals, man can only see himself in God, and never becomes con- scious of his littleness until it is reflected from God's greatness. Hence the atheist must be proud, because his standard is so low, because he substitutes for God, in his comparison of magnitudes, not only man, but self, not only an inferior species, but the indi- vidual example of that species, as to which he knows, or ought to know, most evil, while the true believer in a God employs a very different measure, and sees his own diminutive proportions 520 I^OW EXCELLENT /,S' TUT NAME constantly reflected from the glass of God's majestic works above him and around liim, he can say with David, When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained, what is man that thou shouldst think of him, or thinking of him, shouldst remember liim or bear in mind so insignificant an object, — not as implying any serious doubt as to the fact ; for if there is a providence at all, it must be a particular one. JN^or does the difficulty of the subject turn upon the greatness or smallness of the objects comprehended in its scope, but on its being exercised at all ; and if it is, as we are well assured, and if, without it, not a hair falls or a sparrow dies, how much more may man expect to share in this divine protec- tion, the reality of which is not denied or even called in question by the psalmist, who is not laying down a proposition or estab- lishing a doctrine, but expressing a strong feeling, namely, that of conscious insignificance before God, under the sense of which he wonders, not whether God thinks, but that he should think of an object so diminutive ; or having once thought, should remem- ber ; or remembering, should visit man, considered as a race, or any son of man in particular. Whether the reference be to figura- tive visitations, such as men are hourly receiving, or to those more sensible theophanies, appearances of God in human or angelic form, by which the saints of the Old Testament were sometimes honoured, when about to be called to some extraordi- nary duty, or distinguished l3y some signal mercy, — what is man that God should thus remember him, or the son of man that God, in either of the senses just explained, should visit him 1 This feeling of surprise, though always reasonable and becoming, never seems so natural as when it is immediately suggested by the sight of God's stupendous works, especially the heavens, which are the work of his fingers, the moon and the stars which he has or- dained. It is not, however, before these material works themselves that man is called to bow with such a deep conviction of his own inferiority. IMatter is no more above mind upon a large scale than a small one, in an earth than in a clod, in a sea than in a drop, in a sun than in a spark, in a world than in an atom. The least mind is superior, in itself and in the scale of existence, to IN ALL THE EARTH! 521 all matter. l\Ian is not boimd to recognise either the heavens or the heavenly hosts as his superiors. His homage is due, not to them, but to their Maker. He stands in speechless admiration of them, only as stupendous proofs of God's existence and perfec- tions. In themselves considered, they are man's inferiors ; be looks down upon them, nay, he exercises a dominion over them, and that not by chance or usurpation, but express divine autho- rity. For strange as it might seem, that he who made and man- ages those shining worlds, in all their complicated systems, should remember man and visit him in favour, it is true, for God made .man in his own image, and invested him with power as his own vicegerent, with dominion over the inferior creation, so that even sun, and moon, and stars, and elements, and seasons, should con- tribute to his wealth and his enjoyment, and the earth from which he was originally taken be compelled to yield her fruits for his subsistence, and the most mysterious powers of nat'ire made to minister to his convenience ; and besides this strange subjection of inanimate creation to his interest and his will, the lower animals are pressed into his service, even those wliose strength is far superior to his own, and who might well seem able to shake off his yoke at any moment, and yet bear it with submission, not as a necessary consequence of reason upon his part— for the highest animal sagacity brings Avith it no such relative superiority among the brutes themselves — but as a relic and a proof of man's original formation in God's image, and his original vestiture with delegated power as God's vicegerent over the material and irrational creation, in admiring retrospect of which the psalmist says : " Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thy hands ; thou didst put all things under his feet, all sheep and oxen, yea, and the beasts of the field, the fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas." Even this honour put on man as an intelligent and spiritual being, partaking, in this cardinal respect, of God's own nature, although infinitely less, might seem sufiicient of itself to justify the bold assertion, " Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels," or, as the words literally mean, " hast made him to lack little of divinity," so richly hast thou crowned his head with glory and honoiir. But the full justification of this bold description is 622 HOW EXCELLENT IS THY NAME afforded by another fact, as to the most essential and conspicuous feature of that image in which man was created — his moral similarity of nature and uniformity of will to God— coincidence of judgment, disposition, and affection; in a word, true hohness, the crowning excellence of God himself, without which his created image must have been a sightless mask, a lifeless statue, or a living but soulless form, but with which man was really invested, and possessing which he may, without irreverence or extravagance, be said to have been " made a little lower," not " than angels " merely, but than God himself, from whom he differed only, although infinitely, in degree. But although Adam might have triumphed in this glorious and blessed likeness, how can we, or how could even he, who was the man after God's own heart, but who so often and so bitterly bewails his own corruption, as one conceived in sin and shapen in iniqiiity, whose only hope was in the mercy of the God against whom he had sinned, through what illusive medium could even he behold himself or the race of which he was a member, as still holding this sublime position, as httle lower than the angels, nay, as lacking little of divinity 1 If he, if men in general, had lost their chief resemblance to their Maker; if the image in which they were made at first had been defaced and broken, and their mutual communion turned into estrangement, and the prospect of perpetual favour bantered for a fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation, how could David wonder at the honour and glory with which man was crowned, instead of standing horrorstruck to see it torn from his dishonoured brow ? Was it because he did not know or had forgotten this great fact in human history? Alas, his psaluis are full of it ! Was it in musuig recollection of a state of things now past and never to return 1 But such a glowing exhibition of a happiness and greatness irrevocably lost, wriuld be unnatural, irrational, and as such, inconsistent with his character whether intellectual or moral. Nor are these unworthy suppositions needed to explain his language, which receives its full solution from the fact that he contemplates man, both in the future and the past, as fallen and raised again, as cast off and restored, as lost in Adam and as saved in Christ, not only re-instated, but exalted higher; for the IN ALL THE EARTH! 523 first Adam was indeed a living soul, but the last Adam is a quickening spirit; the first man is of the earth earthy, the second man is the Lord from heaven. Yet as the offence, so also is the free gift, for if by one man's offence death reigned by one, much more they which receive abundance of grace and of the gift of righteousness, shall reign in life by one, Jesus Christ. Without this link the chain is broken; without this simultaneous view of man as he was and is to be, of the first and second Adam, there is something wanting in the psalm itself, a flaw, an incongruity, a contradiction between revelation and experience, which can only be removed by looking down as well as up the stream of time, forward to Christ as well as backwards to Adam. It is therefore no fanciful accommodation, but a true and necessary exposition of the psalmist's meaning, when the apostle, after quoting these words, speaks of Jesus as made a little lower than the angels for the sufiering of death, that he by the grace of God might taste death for every man, and thereby re-instate us in our pristine exaltation, renewed in the spirit of our minds and clothed upon with that new man, which is created after the likeness of God, in knowledge, and righteousness, and true holiness (Eph. iv. 24; Col. iii. 10). Not only as a model or example does the second Adam thus restore the race of which he has become the head by his assump- tion of its nature, so that in him as then* representative they see themselves acain exalted, but by actual union with him, they experience a real and substantial exaltation from the depths of sin and misery to a state of justification through his righteousness and sanctification by the power of his Spirit, and a consequent participation in the elevating and ennobling process by which he has raised humanity from being almost lower than the brutes to be again a Httle lower than the angels, than divinity, than God himself How much of all this David clearly saw, we can no more determine than we can look back at noon and tell hoAv much of what we then see bathed in light was visible at sunrise or at daybreak ; but we do know that the Saviour whom he saw and whom we see, however gi'eat the difi'erence of clearness, is the same, just as we know that the skies which are now telling the glory of God, and the starry firmament which now shows forth r,2-l IWW EXCELLENT IS THY NAME his huncliwork, are literally and truly the same objects of whicli David said, " When I consider the heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained, what is man that thou shouldst remember him, or the son of man that thou shouldst visit him and make him lack but little of divinity, and croAvn him with glory and honour, and make him have dominion over the works of thy hands, and put all things under his feet." In Christ as the head, and in his people as the body, this is gloriously fulfilled, " for he hath put all things under his feet" (1 Cor. xv. 27), and given "him to be head over all things to the Church, which is his body, the fulness of him that filletli all in all" (Eph. i. 22, 23). In prophetic foresight of the Saviour the inspired king could say, and in believing recollection of him we can say, of man not only as he was before the fall, but as he is, already fallen, yet susceptible of restoration to God's image and to the dignity inseparable from it, " Thou hast made liim a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honour." The train of thought which we have been pursuing, is not only in accordance with the general tenor of the word of God, but identical with that which runs through the psalm before ns, as expounded and applied in the New Testament, and may be profit- ably used by us for the correction of some common and pernicious errors. It may serve, for example, as a corrective of that spurious and vitiated taste which many cherish for the beauties of nature, and which sometimes verges towards the worst form of idolatry. It is true, the views which we have taken are equally adverse to the opposite extreme of sanctimonious indiiference or fanatical contempt for the material works of God; to both these forms of error they afford the only safe and efficacious antidote, by teaching us to " consider the heavens " as " the work of God's fingers," " the moon and the stars " as things which he has " ordained," and to derive, from the view of his perfections thus suggested, new im- pressions of our own insignificance, and his benignant condescension in originally placing man above this glorious creation, and again restoring him when he had fallen. A habitual contemplation of this aspect of God's works would be the best corrective, both of tlie spurious religion which ignores them, and of the atheism which beautifies or the pantheism which deifies external nature. IN ALL THE EARTH! 525 Nor would this corrective influence be limited to the domain of sentiment or taste; it might extend to science, and restoi-e a healthful circulation in the otherwise inanimate and soulless frame of mere material wisdom, from astronomy, whose chosen work it is to " consider the heavens, the work of God's fingers, the moon and the stars which he has ordained;" to zoology, which prys into the habits and the constitution of the animal creation; "all sheep and oxen, yea, and beasts of the field ; the fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the sea." But why should I speak of this ameliorating process as one merely possible, when it is really a matter of experience; when the cases of eminent investigators and discoverers who believe in God and Christ, and who apply to the connection between physical and moral truth the maxim, "What God hath joined together let not man put asunder," are no longer rare exceptions to the general rule of sneering scepticism or dogmatizing unbelief, but bid fair, in our own day and country, to reverse the old relation between faith and infidelity in scientific studies, by affording in their own example the most striking and conclusive proof that ignorance of God or hatred to him is by no means a pre-requisite to thorough knowledge, and correct appreciation of his works. When the change, thus aiispiciously begun, shall be completed, we may hope to see it followed- by another in the feelings and the dialect of common life, as to the dignity of human nature, a cessation of that strong de- lusion which leads men to shut their eyes upon the most notorious fact in human history, the fact of man's apostasy from God, and Avith impotent energy try to struggle back to their original position by their own unaided strength, speaking and acting just as if the fall and its effects were a mere phantasma and a hideous dream, from which the Avorld was now awaking, when in fact the dream and the illusion are all the other way, and whoever is awakened from them, must awake to the discovery, however humbling and unwelcome, that man, though once exalted, is now fallen, and can only be restored by sovereign mercy, as offered and exercised through Jesus Christ. The soul, once roused from its protracted stupor, may distinctly read tlxis truth by looking inwards at the ruins and remains of man's original condition, at his present degra- 626 BOW EXCELLENT IS THY NAME dation and pollution, and at the aspirations after something better which disturb him even in his deepest slumbers and his worst excesses. The same thing, if he looks out of himself, is legible, not only in the word, but in the works of God, or rather in the word and works of God together, — in his works as expounded by his word and Spii'it. However blank or dark the universe may seem till thus illuminated, when the light does shine upon it, the re- awakened soul can no longer " consider the heavens, the work of God's fingers, the moon and the stars which he has ordained," without inquiring, " What is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou shouldst visit him, and make him want but little of angelic, nay, of godlike exaltation, crowned with glory and honour, and invested with dominion over the irrational creation !" This conception of man's pristine elevation sometimes rises be- fore the mind's eye, as a beautiful and splendid image of unfallen humanity, standing like a statue upon some triumphal arch or commemorative column, or suspended in mid-air like some celes- tial visitant surveying with compassion this inferior world. But as we gaze upon it, and indulge the fond imagination that the re- lative position of the race and of the individual man is still en- chanted, the light of revelation and experience grows brighter, and as it reaches its extreme degree, the image vanishes away, as if absorbed in the intense light, and the lofty place so proudly occu- pied by man, is seen to be a blank, a vacuum, an empty space, through and beyond which may be seen the pure effulgence of the divine perfections, " unobscured, unsullied by a cloud or spot, though man is fallen, fallen from his high estate." And as the eye of the spectator shrinks from this unveiled, dazzling brightness, it is suddenly relieved by an intervening object, at first undefined and dubious, like a radiant cloud or mist, which by degrees as- sumes a sliajje and a distinguishable outline, till at length it can no longer be mistaken, as a human form, a man, the Son of man, but oh, how changed, how transfigured before us ! his face shines as the sun ! his raiment is Avhite as the light ! and from the bright cloud overshadowing him, a voice comes forth out of the excellent glory, saying, " This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased; IN ALL THE EARTH I 527 bear ye him." It is indeed the Son of God, it is indeed the Son of man, the type of our humanity restored and glorified. Oh, if this blessed sight could be associated, even in imagination, with our daUy contemplations of the face of nature ; if we could not look upon the heavens, the work of God's fingers, the moon and the stars which he has ordained, without rememhering what man once was, what he now is, and above all what he yet may be; we might find not only pleasure in prosperity, but solace under sorrow in contemplating the works of God, not as poets, or artists, or philosophers, or atheists, but as Christians, W'hose perspicuous faith cannot rest in what is visible, but pierces through the thin material veil in search of hope and consolation, just as Stephen, on the very verge of martyrdom, and from the very midst of liis judicial murderers, " looked up steadfastly into heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing on the right hand of the Father." Yes, there is a sense in which even we might have a right to say as he did, " Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of man stand- ing on the right hand of God." And though the bhnded world around us might cry out with a loud voice, and stop their ears, and run upon us with one accord, even they might be compelled to take knowledge of us as having been with Jesus, even they, if they l6oked steadfastly upon us, might see the face of every one among us beaming with unearthly radiance, as if it were the face of an angel. Having reached this point in our experience, having thus learned to associate the material works of God with the profoundest views of spiritual truth, we should need no further remedy for that grovel- ling nationality or party spirit, which is apt to spring uj) even in renewed hearts and enlightened minds, not only in spite, but in consequence of those very privileges which ought to have for- bidden its existence, just as the Jews learned to associate their most narrow and uncharitable prejudices with that very name of God — which ought to have reminded them, at every moment, that Jehovah, though in covenant with them, was not the God of the Jews only, but of the Gentiles also. If we would shun the kindred, but more odious error of degrading the God whom we worship, and the Christ in whom we trust, to the level of a local chief or party leader, let us here learn to identify the object of uur 528 no W EXCELLENT IS THY NAME IN ALL THE EARTH! faith and adoration with the God of creation and of providence • let us not only read the name of God our king, and God our Saviour, traced in characters of hght upon the whole material universe, but strive to make it legible to others also, till the book of nature and the book of revelation are enveloped in one vast illumination, in the blaze of which all lesser lights are lost, and in the midst of which all human tongues of man shall be heard in harmony or unison, responding to the loud but speechless testimony of the heavens, " O Lord, our Lord, how glorious is thy name in all the earth !" XL. ^bc lolim 0f fife. "This is life eternal, that they might know thee tlie only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent." — John xvii. 3. IT is a glorious doctrine that there is a God. We are forced to assume it, as a first principle of our religious knowledge, and perhaps for that very reason, are prone to underrate or to forget its value. To correct this practical error, we need only ask our- selves, what should we be Avithout a knowledge of this great truth ? Men may dispute as to the mode in which our first conceptions of a God have been obtained. Some may derive it from an observa- tion of his works, and subsequent reflection on them. Some may regard it as innate — a kind of invisible Avriting on the soid, to be educed and rendered legible by intellectual and moral culture. But this much appears certain ; we can form a conception of a rational S(jul without any definite notions of God, even of a God, of any God. We can conceive of such a soul with its ideas restricted to itself, or to beings like itself, with no higher standard or more perfect model than that afforded by its own experience, or its observation of its fellows. Or if we .suppose it to rise higher, as imagining one like itself, but differing in degree, conceiving only of itself exalted to a higher rank, but wdth no conception of a lawgiver, a sovereign, an almighty deliverer, — such a mind Avould be truly dark, com- pared with tlie light which blazes around us. But suppose a portion of that light to be let in upon it by de- grees, and with it a conception of something intrinsically higher, better, nobler than the man himself, distinguished from him, not merely by an individual or even a specific, but by a generic differ- ence, possessing all that appears good inns, but wit'iout the limita- tions and defects which mar it ; possessing more of knowledge, I 530 THE WA Y OF LIFE. power, and goodness, mucli more, vastly more, infinitely more ; — • this is a great advance upon his previous conceptions ; this is the idea of a God, however vague and immature ; it is a new and grand idea, it presents a new aim and a higher standard, something to which the awakened soul can now look up, and towards which it can stretch in emulous desire to rise above itself. Even by re- moving all limitation, and by raising every excellence to the highest pitch conceivable, we come to the idea of perfection, at least nega- tively ; and this, if not all that is attainable, is certainly a great advance from nothing or from self to God, to the notion of a per- fect object for our contemplation, our desire, our love. But this idea of perfection may itself be imperfect. The mind may leave out of view some essential attributes, or view them in a false light and in disproportion. It may even view them as abstractions not inherent in a personal subject, inherent only in the universe, or in its parts, or in the powers of nature, or in deified men, or in lower animals, or in artificial idols. This is heathenism in its various gradations. But even where these grosser errors are avoided or escaped, the view may be confined to what the older theologians called the natural attributes of God, to the exclusion of the moral. The power, wisdom, omnipresence, and omniscience of the deity may be contemplated alone. In- crease the light so far as to afford a glimj^se of his truth, justice, holiness, benevolence, and mercy. What an advance is this upon the previous conception, even of an all-wise and almighty being ! It is scarcely less than that before described ! But even among the moral attributes of deity so called, some may be acknowledged to the exclusion of the rest. He may seem aU mercy and no justice, giving license to transgression; or all justice and no mercy, driving the guilty to despair. So too with Ins natural perfections ; his wisdom may be exalted at the cost of liis omnipotence, a wisdom utterly unable to effect its own desigris ; or his power may appear divorced from wisdom, a blind, unintelli- gent brute force. All these varieties of error are not only possible, but have been really exemplified in systems of religion and philosophy, and in the tentative inquiries of the individual speculator on tiie mode of the divine existence. But let these discordant views be brought into harmony and due proportion, as THE WAY OF LIFE. 531 the light of day reduces objects magnified and distorted by the dubious twilight, and how astonishing the change ! It is like a new revelation. What before appeared in conflict now harmo- niously co-operates; things which seemed contradictory, illustrate one another. This is indeed perfection. What was seen before was but a name, this is the reality ; that was called a perfect being, but this is one ; that was the vague conception of a god, this is the God, this the true God. But even here experience proves that men may cling to the idea of plurality, as something at least possible. Why may there not be many perfect beings 1 The very question implies some defect in the idea of perfection. That supreme perfection in one being must exclude it in all others, is a higher refinement to which even wise men have not always attained. Hence the doctrine of the divine unity ; of monotheism as opposed both to polytheism and to pantheism, is a further advance upon the steps which we suppose to have been already taken in the ideal progress of a soul from total ignorance of God towards just and clear conceptions of his nature. That the unity of the divine nature stands neax-er to the end than the beginning of this progress, is apparent from the fact, that iu proportion as the unassisted powers of the human mind have risen to more just views of the deity, the number of the beings in whom it was supposed to reside has always been diminished, sometimes from many thousands to a few hundreds, then to scores and tens, until it has reached two, where many, with the Gnostics and the Manichees, and other dualists, have stuck fast, unable to account for the existence of evil, except upon the supposition of two co- eternal but antagonistic principles. When this last difficulty has been vanquished, and the oneness of the Godhead seen to be essential to his absolute perfection, men have sometimes stood still in amazement at their own delay in reaching a conclusion which now seems to them not only obvious, but unavoidable. And if we may suppose a single mind to have been brouwlit through all these stages of conviction and illumiuation, and to look back from the last through those by which it was preceded, to the distant starting-point of its ascent, it is easy to conceive of the astonish- ment with which such an inquirer would survey the vast strides by which he had passed from darkness to t-wdlight, from twilight 532 THE W'A Y OF LIFE. to the dawn, and from the dawn to the meridian blaze of clearly- revealed truth — from no god to a god, from a god to the God, the first to whom there is no second, the whole in whom there are no parts, " the only true God." I say this is a glorious doctrine. It is a glorious thing to know the true God, even in the lowest sense; to know that he exists, to see the proofs, to feel the necessity of his existence. Even in this, supposing it to be possessed alone, there would be something elevating and enlarging in the capacity to frame such a conception of the true God, even as remote, even as an object of mere speculative contemplation. How much more to feel his in- fluence ! If it is a privilege and honour to behold, by the artificial aid of glasses, those heavenly bodies which directly and sensibly affect us least, how must we feel towards those which are revealed to the unassisted eye, if free from all obstruction and disease, and whose effects are matters of perpetual experience 1 So, too, the soul, when once brought to contemplate God, the only true God, feels a desire, or at least a need of some more intimate relation to him. Not contented with his light, it craves his heat, or in its absence, feels itself to be for ever cold and dead. Under this impression, in obedience to the law of our original constitu- tion, many a great but half-enlightened mind has yearned after intimate communion with that God whom it has learned to con- template, with an eye of speculative reason, as possessed of all conceivable perfection. But this instinctive movement is re- pressed by new discoveries, disclosing the necessity of further and still clearer revelations of the object which appeared to be com- pletely unveiled to the eye of the spectator. I have supposed the inquirer, in the process which has been described, to set out from himself, and by removing all that seems imperfect and corrupt, and indefinitely magnifying all that we regard as good in his own constitution, to arrive at last at the conception of a God. From the very nature of this process, it in- volves comparison at every step between God and himself. And this comparison inevitably carries with it a conviction of in- feriority, a sense of insignificance and meanness. This could not fail to arise, even from the contemplation of God's natural perfec- tions, his power and his wisdom, as contrasted with the ignorance THE WA Y OF LIFE. 533 and weakness of his creatures. No wonder that it shoidd be so, when God and he are at the opposite extremities of the scale, through which he has been passing in his quest of infinite perfec- tion. In proportion as his views of God have risen higher, must his views of himself have become more humbling, even in reference to natural qualities. But he cannot confine his view to these. If really enlightened as to the divine nature, he must see that its moral perfections are not only real but essential, and that these must be taken into the account in measuring the interval between himself and God. This new and more complete comparison invariably produces a deep sense, not only of physical inferiority, but of moral uncongeniality. The more correct his notion of God, the more clearly must he see that holiness is necessarily included in it, and the more distinct his view of that holiness, the more vivid and painful the sense of his own sinfulness, because it essentially consists in opposition to that holiness of God which he now sees so clearly. This is in fact necessary to a just view of the divine nature on the part of fallen creatures. Where there is no sense of sin, there is no appreciation of God's holiness. This is to fallen man the natural order of his thoughts and his discoveries. We do not first see God, and then by contrast with his holiness discover what sin is. It might be so with other beings, or with man before his fall, but it is not so with us. It is the gnawing sense of guilt that leads men to their first discoveries of God in the perfection of his nature. The reproofs of conscience presuppose a law, discriminating between right and wrong ; and such a law presupposes a lawgiver. It is not before a mere abstraction that man trembles, but before a personal avenger, While the conscience still remains insensible, the proofs of God's existence may make slight impressions on the understanding. But when conscience is aroused, and man confesses to himself, if not to others, that he is a sinner, his thoughts are irresistibly borne onward to the bar at which he is to be arraigned, to the judgment-seat and Him who sits upon it. This indivisible connection between conscience and the being of a God is far beyond the reach of sophistry ; this witness cannot be silenced or gainsayed, and if its testimony be for a time suppressed 534 THE WA Y OF LIFE. or disregarded, it will yet speak out, in shrieks or wliispers, in some emergency of life, upon the death-bed, or in hell, bringing home the irresistible conviction that there is a just and holy God, against whom we have sinned, and from whom we are to receive our everlasting portion. It is the want of this convincing evidence, at least in any adequate degree, that dims the clearest speculations of the heathen sages. Because they had no due sense of sin, they had and could have no correct conception of that God against whom all sin is committed, and to whose very nature, no less than his will, it is essentially opposed. Hence, too, the Vidsest of the heathen, those who approached nearest to the Scriptures in their views of the divine perfections, are precisely those who seem to have had the most definite, experimental sense of sin. The same thing is exemplified in Christian errorists. The further they recede from deep and thorough views of sin, the more they are disposed to extenuate it, the more jejune do they become in their conceptions of the divine nature, till in many cases God becomes to them a name, an idea, an 'abstraction, a nonentity. On the other hand, the clearer the conception of God's holiness, the deeper the conviction of man'svileness ; so that nothing more con- tributes to this deep humiliation than enlarging views of the divine perfection, forcing the self- convicted sinner to exclaim with Job, " I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee ; wherefore I abhor myself and repent in dust and ashes !" And this sense of vileness cannot be separated from an appre- hension of God's wrath, and a desire to escape it. The man can no longer be contented with a scientific contemplation of the deity; he feels his alienation, and his need of reconciliation, and he asks. Can God communicate with fallen creatures'? Avill his holiness admit of it ? his justice suffer it % And if he can thus condescend to deal with sinners, will he % has he done so % has he ever sent a message to man since the fall % The knowledge that he can renew the intercourse without a violation of his attributes is blessed knowledge that he will; still more so that he has already actually done it is a glorious revelation, prompting the earnest, passionate inquiry, when, Avhere, how ? what has he sent % whom has he sent % The answer to this question brings us on still further in our THE WA Y OF LIFE. 535 search for God. He has sent us a message in his word, indited by his Spirit, a written revelation, perfectly consonant with that in nature, but transcending it, and going far beyond it ; so that one of these great volumes serves to illustrate and expound the other. When we open this new volume, it is to meet a new dis- closure. He has not only sent a message, but a messenger — a living representative, a personal ambassador. He has sent not only his own Spirit in his word and in the hearts of men, but his own Son, the brightness of his glory, the express image of his person — not a created representative, but God manifest in the flesh, the great mystery of godliness, or of the Godhead, the unity of persons in that one divine essence — a secret hidden from plii- losophers, and held back even from the chosen people, or imper- fectly disclosed to them in types and symbols, perliaps to save them from polytheism, until they were established in the doctrine of God's unity, but now brought to light in the gospel, a new and glorious light, transcending all our previous discoveries — three persons and one God — the Son and the Spirit the revealers of the Father, sent by him for this very purpose, the Spirit in his word and in the hearts of his people ; but his mission is dependent upon that of the Son, who comes in human flesh to reveal the Father, to instruct, to conquer, to atone — first as the Angel of the Cove- nant, then as the Messiah, the Anointed^ — as a Prophet to instruct, as a King to conquer, as a Priest to expiate, as a Saviour to redeem — the Christ — Jesus — both togetlier Jesus Christ — the anointed Saviour, the Son of God and the Son of man — God and sent of God — man and sent to man. This is indeed the only true God and Jesus Christ whom he has sent. What a privilege to know tliis Saviour, not apart from God or independently of him, but as essentially one with him ! None knoweth the Father but the Son, and he to whom the Son revealeth him. We cannot know God without him. He is the great revealer of the Father • — his Word, his Wisdom. Our notions, which might else be too abstract, are embodied and realized in him. Even in theory, our views of God are too vague without Christ, and unless taken through him. But there is still another and a far stronger reason why we must come to God through him. God is holy, and we are sinners. As an absolute sovereign, as a righteous judge, he is 536 THE WA Y OF LIFE. for ever inaccessible. Our God is a consuming fire, to wliicli no man can approacli and live. Christ is the way, the truth, and the life. We may come to God through him, not only as a man but as a Saviour. It is through this new and living way that we may venture to approach. God brings us near to himself through the blood of the everlasting covenant. There is forgiveness with him that he may be feared. We are forgiven that we may know him. It is only thus that we can know him, and that not speculatively, but experimentally. We may know him as a merciful and sin- pardoning God. We may know him as ours by faith and a self- appropriating knowledge. In our own happy experience we may know, not only that he is, but that he is the rewarder of those diligently seeking him. We may know him as a child knows its parent, with a knowledge which cannot be mistaken, or confound its object with another — a knowledge necessarily including trust, esteem, and intimate coiamunion. To know God is to love him. All alienation here implies some defect of knowledge. To know God in Christ is to know him as a Saviour, and to trust in him as such. To know him is to know his Holy Spirit, and to seek his influences, and to have tliejn. All this is really included in the knowledge of the only true God and Jesus Christ whom he has sent. Now this experimental knowledge of the highest good, when imparted to a lost and ruined world, is life. Look abroad upon the valley of dry bones by which you are surrounded,— see all the elements of our moral constitution dislocated, decomposed, dis- solved,— a wide-spread scene of confusion and corruption, in which matter and form may still be recognised. But life is wanting— all is dead. Philosophy has lavished its experiments upon it for a course of ages, but with no effect, except to aggravate the ghast- liness of death by occasional spasms of apparent life. To this scene of mournful desolation and decay introduce the knowledge of God, the true God, the only true God and Jesus Christ whom he has sent. This is precisely what was wanting — it is life, it is life from the dead : the effect is instantaneous and electric ; the graves of humanity are opened ; see, it bursts its cerements and comes forth in a blessed resurrection, alive to God, to holiness, to happiness ; the paralyzed faculties begin to move ; the affections are restored to their forsaken objects ; the harmony and balance THE WA Y OF LIFE. 637 of the powers are re-instated; darkness is turned to liglit, weakness to strength, death to life; old things are passed away, all things are become new. But what if this new life, all glorious as it is, should prove to be but transient, evanescent, like a pleasing dream 1 But see, it stretches out into the future, and as it advances, all checks are removed. It swells, it grows ; life from the dead is followed by no new vicissitude : man lives to die no more. We may look for decay and retrocessi(,n, but it comes not. God is unchangeable, so is the new relation of the soul to him ; it cannot fail vmtil the mercy of the Father and the merit of the Son, and the influences of the Spirit are exhausted ; it is a new creation ; it is a new world ; and the life, instead of failing, grows more real and abundant, till it reaches the verge of this world, and launches forth into a new state of existence, but not there to die ; it lives in those waters of eternal being, buffets the waves of that shoi-e- less ocean, rises and falls upon their crests, and by them is borne on and on beyond our view. It is for ever. Yes, it is for ever. Yes, this new life is eternal. Well might the great High Priest of our profession, in his sacerdotal prayer, say of his followers and of all who should beHeve upon him through their word, — " And this is life eternal, that they miglit know thee, the only true God and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent." To be ignorant of all this is a terrible condition ; but there is another still more fearful, I mean that of knowing it but only as a speculative truth. Yes, the thickest darkness of the heathen mind in reference to these great truths, though more degrading in itself, and in its present efiects, is less appalling in its influence on character and destiny, than barren, unavailing, unbelieving knowledge. Why ? because opposition or indifi"erence to the truth is never a mere intellectual deficiency or error, but invariably the fi-uit of moral dispositions. The ear which will not hear when God speaks, and the eye which cannot see with all the light which he afibrds, are sins of a corrupted and hard heart; and he who finds himself in this position, instead of pitying the blindness of the heathen, and the doom to which it is conducting them, may almost envy their superior chance of clemency at God's bar, in comparison with those who know and even boast of knowing who 538 THE WA Y OF LIFE. lie is and what lie lias already done for man's salvation, and yet proudly say by every action of their lives that they will not be saved in this way, or rather that they need not to be saved at all. For this, disguise it as you will, my hearer, is the genuine spirit of your life, if not the language of your lips, so long as you remain contented with a cold intellectual assent to the great doctrine of one only true God and of Jesus Christ whom he has sent. For nothing can be clearer than that this one true God is a God of infinite holiness and justice, and that these perfections of his nature make the punishment of sin an absolute necessity, and that this necessity can only be avoided in the person of the sinner by the transfer of his guUt to another, and that Jesus Christ whom God has sent was sent for this very purpose. These are not mere circumstantial adjuncts of the great truths which we have been considering, but integral and essential elements. There is no revelation of the one true God which is not a revela- tion of his holiness, that is, the opposition of his nature to all sin ; for what is sin but opposition to his nature and his will, and how can he but be opposed to his own opposite, or fail, in the exercise of infinite rectitude and power, to destroy it ? And again, if you exclude from your idea of the Christ whom he has sent the capacity and wUl to save, by self-substitution for the actual offender, Avliat is left % If you leave this out, you have not even a correct intellectual apprehension of the one true God and Jesus Christ whom he has sent, and must suffer the same consequences from the want of this essential knowledge that you pity in the doom of the poor heathen. If you take all this in — if you know God as a God of perfect holiness and justice, and Jesus Christ whom he has sent as a divine and all-sufficient Saviour, and yet bid defiance to the one by refusing to accept the other, your fate can difier from the heathen's only as the fate of one who stumbles in the dark ought to differ from the fall of one who tushes to destruction with his eyes wide open, and amidst the blaze of noon. The course of duty and of safety, then, is plain. Kepent, believe, submit to God by accepting of his Son, and thus prove by your own experience that this is indeed eternal life, to know the only true God and Jesus Christ whom he has sent. XLI. % §rohen untr n €oninU JcHi't. " The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit : a broken and a contrite heart, 0 God, thou wilt not despise." — Ps. li. 17- THE process of salvation is, and must remain, a mystery to those who never shall experience its power. They may appreliend correctly the great doctrines of religion ; they may make nice and accurate distinctions in theology; they may speculate ingeniously, and reason powerfully, as to the nature and the means of conver- sion; but they never can be made to understand, without ex- perience, the mysteries of saving and regenerating grace; the practical mysteries of that deep, noiseless, thorough, total, lasting change, eftected in the hearts of men by one touch of God's finger — by one breath of his Spirit. And yet the work is going on among them without ceasing. Ah! how little do the unconverted know of what is passing in the bosoms of their neighbours. How little does their shallow, superficial experience, teach them of the depths of their own hearts, until the fountains of that great abyss are broken up, and the windows of heaven opened from above by the same almighty power. The sanctuary where the broken-hearted sinner seeks and finds a refuge, may be likened to a temple in the midst of a great city, passed by thousands every hour, but entered only by a few ; and yet it is separated from the crowded thoroughfare by no solid wall, or massive seats, but by a veil or curtain which the hand of faith and penitence may raise at pleasure, and through which a strange light glimmers from within, aiid strange sounds fell upon the ear of passers by. And ever and anon some one stops to gaze and listen ; he stands still for a moment and then hurries on ; another stops, and moved by curiosity draws nearer to the entrance, listens. 540 A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. wavers, turns away, and passes on. Another draws still nearer, looks and listens, lays liis hand upon the curtain, and then draws back from the very threshold, and is seen no more. Another stops to look and listen, not from idle curiosity, but weary, weak, and sick at heart, despairing of a refuge from the evils which pur- sue him; he falls prostrate on the threshold— the veil rises for a moment — he is drawn within its shelter, and is seen no more. But I have represented some who do not enter as listeners at the threshold ; these are they who treat religion with respect and curiosity, but never know its power. As they stand and gaze at the mysterious shadows which are thrown upon the curtain from within, the sound of many mingled voices strikes their ears. These they know to be the voices of regenerated sinners, the elect of God. But it is not the voice of triumph which they thought to hear; it is not the voice of them that shout for mastery, nor yet the voice of them that sing for joy; it is more like "the voice of them that cry for being overcome." It is a voice of suppressed wailing from a multitude of broken and of breaking hearts, going up like melancholy music to the ears of the Lord God of Sabaoth ! As the veil of the temple is shaken by the wind, the listener gets a glimpse of its interior; he sees an altar — an altar of atonement - — not an altar of oblation — not an altar of burnt offering — but an altar of incense. The bloody sacrifice has been already offered, and accepted, and apijlied. The blood has been sprinkled and the vapour has ascended; and the penitent who laid his hand upon the victim's head approaches to the golden altar, not to pur- chase pardon, but to offer gdfts. And on the altar the oblation lies — a heart — a bruised and broken heart — a heart once stained, alas, how deeply, but now fresh from the laver of regeneration ; a heart pierced with many sorrows, the deep scars of which remain, but now melted and broken by the fire and the hammer of God's efficacious word. There it lies encompassed in the newly kindled flame of pure and holy love ; and as it burns there unconsumed, a sweet and solemn voice, like the voice of a parent to a suffering child, says: "My sou, give me thine heart;" and another one, still tremulous with weeping, cries out from beneath the altar: "My heart is fixed, 0 God, my heart is fixed;" and then a mul- A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. 541 titude of voices, like the sound of rushing Avaters, are heard saying all together: "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, 0 God, thou wilt not despise," It is this that the proud, the sensual, and the frivolous cannot understand. It is this mysterious sacrifice of broken hearts at which they wonder or at which they laugh. Apart from all mis- take as to the fundamental doctrine of atonement, they stUl stumble at this stumbling-stone. Who can tell what merriment the men of this world have derived, in this and other ages, from the sighs and tears of penitence 1 How many sound and good hearts, in the world's estimation and their own, have been made glad and proud of their own greatness, by the anguish of some broken spirit, by the agonizing throbs of some contrite and broken heart. In multitudes of cases the contempt and the derision have been never known to him who was their object, but in multitudes of others, the first pangs of godly sorrow have been strangely mingled with the painful sense that all who pass by wag the head and shoot the lip in bitter scorn; and that the man whom God has smitten is the song of the drunkards in their secret haunts or in their public gatherings to strengthen one another's hands and hearts in Satan's service. Under the pressure of these complicated pains, the penitent is often ready to cry out: "For thy sake I have borne reproach : shame hath covered my face. They that sit in the gate speak against me, and I am the song of the drunkards. Eeproach hath broken my heart, and I am full of heaviness. I looked for some to take pity, but there was none, and for comforters, but I found none." The dread of this has stifled the incipient convictions of its thousands and its tens of thou- sands. Are there none now present, who have thus been driven back, first to silence, then to apathy, and then to sinl Are there none now present who at this very moment are aware of such a struggle in their hearts? And are there none, nay rather, are there n(.>t very many, who can now thank God that they have jiassed through this fiery ordeall — who remember when reproach had well-nigh broken their hearts too, vmtil the sense of man's derision was ab- sorbed in that of their own guilt before God ; until they felt that their excessive sensibility to men's reproaches Avas a relic of un- 542 A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. broken pride ; until they saw that they were but sharers, and small sharers, in the Lord's reproach; and comparing their own trials as to this point with his buflfetings and cruel mockings, they were suddenly inflamed with zeal to vindicate his honour and for- get their own, crying out, " The zeal of thine house hath eaten me up : the reproaches of them that reproached thee are fallen upon me." Then were they made to understand that the best cure for a heart which pride has broken, is a heart bruised and broken on account of sin; and tliat while this brokenness of heart is matter of derision to the worldling, "the sacrifices of God are a broken spirit: a broken and a contrite heart, 0 God, thou wilt not despise." How different from this is the experience of the unconverted, unsaved sinner, even when his theoretical opinions of the method of salvation are correct. Let us suppose the case of one well in- structed in the doctrines of religion, and unable to obliterate the deep intellectual impressions of his early training, but a stranger to the power of rehgion in his heart. He knows and will acknow- ledge that he is a sinner ; that his sins deserve the Ava-ath and curse of God in this life and the life to come ; that if saved at all he must be saved through Christ ; that no outward acts or mental exercises of his OAvn can expiate the guilt of sin ; that even faith, to which eternal life is promised, has no merit in the sight of God, but is a mere recej^tion of the grace which brings salvation. All this the man appears to understand and pi'ofesses to believe ; and, under some auspicious influence, he resolves, perhaps, to act upon his principles, believing as he does that atonement has been made ; and relying, as he thinks, upon the merit of that sacrifice, he won- ders that he has not the assurance of forgiveness, joy and peace in believing, peace of conscience, peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. But, alas ! he has to learn that, though the sacrifice which purchases salvation has been offered once for all upon the cross, and though he cannot cast an atom's weight into the scale of Christ's preponderating merits, there is still a sacrifice which he must offer, and without which he can never be accepted, — a sacri- fice so far from being meritorious or in any degree capable of making expiation for the sins of hi:u avIio makes it, that it never can be offered but by one whose sin is already covered, and to 1 A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. 543 •whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity. Tlie expiatory altar of the Jewish ritual was situated in the open court, and only they who passed by this could draw near to the altar of incense. This secondary sacrifice can be accepted from no hands but those which are already reeking with the blood of the sin offering. In shoi't, the sinner knows not that although his guilt can be removed by nothing but the sacrifice of Christ, his interest in that atonement can be proved by nothing but the sacrifice of himself — " a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable xmto God." Here is the i-ock on which the Antinomiau of every age con- cerning faith has made shipwreck. On the pretext that the sacri- fice of Christ is all-sufficient, he withholds the oblation of himself to God. Because he has no merit he believes he has no duty, and throws off at once his sense of goodness and his sense of obliga- tion ; and because the grace of God abounds to sinners, he goes on in sin, that grace may abound. But the day is coming when the wood, hay, and stubble of such hopes shall be consumed in the crackling furnace of God's righteous retributions ; and even they who thus abused the doctrine of gratuitous salvation and the all-sufficiency of Christ's atonement, shall see by the glare of the final conflagration that the sacrifice of Christ for any individual, upon the altar of atonement, is inseparably connected with the self-immolation of the man himself upon the altar of God's ser- vice ; that no man who rejects the one can lay claim to the other ; that Christ gives the purcliase of his agonies to no one who refuses or neglects to give himself to God ; and that although this self-sacrifice is not demanded as a previous condition of access to Christ, it does arise from it as a necessary consequence, and docs, therefore, serve as an infallible criterion of any person's interest in Christ's atonement. But let us suppose the sinner to be now convinced of this im- portant truth, — to believe that, while his only hope of everlasting life is in the sacrifice of Christ, he has no right to believe that it was offered up for him until he offers up himself, through Christ, t;) God. Hei-e, agam, he is liable to fatal error. He may wash his hands in innocency, and so compass the altar of God ; he may bind the sacrifice with cords to the horns of the altar ; lie may offer it upon the altar with the most imposing rites ; Init no sweet 544 A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. savour rises from it to the throne of God. The victim and the ofiferer are alike rejected, — "For God abhors the sacrifice Where not the heart is found." The man has brought his body and his outward wealth, his time, his talents, and his acquisitions, but his heart is left behind. This is the error of the formalist who, whether right or wrong in his conceptions of the method of salvation, whether trusting in his own works as an adjunct of Christ's sacrifice, or believing truly that the sacrifice is all-sufficient, but that it requires and indeed pro- duces a self-sacrifice on man's part, fails, after all, to present the right oblation. Ah, how many well-instructed and apparently sin- cere professors are there who, acknowledging their obligation to give all to God, and professing so to do, do in fact withhold the very thing which God requires, endeavouring to please him and to satisfy their consciences by strict compliance with external rules, without a yielding up of the affections of the soul, and of the soul itself, which is their reasonable service. But the heart is net only a necessary part of the required obla- tion. It is itself the very thing required. It is the heart which gives vitality and value to the rest. It is because words and actions come forth from the heart that they have any value ; and without this they are worthless, nay, offensive, as professing to be what they are not. Not only is the sinner bound to sacrifice him- self upon the altar of God's service, but to sacrifice his heart, which is indeed himself This is a second stage in the progress of discovery to which we may suppose the inquirer's mind to have attained. He knows that if Christ gave himself for him he must give his heart with- out reserve to Christ And here again begins to show itself that spiritual blindness which has been before described. The man consents to give his heart to God, just as it is ; but what a heart ! It must be laid upon the altar whole, unbroken, unmelted. He consents, perhaps, that it should first be cleansed. He is willing that those deep, dark stains should be washed out, and that those ulcers should be healed by the application of another's blood. This is all that he will offer — all he has to give. But ah, what changes are to pass upon that heart before it is accepted ! How A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. 545 little does lie think that it must first be pierced, and bruised, and broken ! Or if informed of this necessity, how quickly does his pride revolt ! The natural man may be brought to acknowledge his corruption, and to assent in profession to the only means by which it can be purged; but he never can divest himself of his old feelings with respect to the firmness and the stoutness of his heart. He may plead guilty to a mere superficial depravation, but he openly or secretly exults in his integrity and strength of heart. He boasts in time of trouble that his heart does not fail him, and prides himself upon his openness of heart. He would rather be thought to have a heart of iron than a heart of wax. He lays his hand upon his heart, as if to swear by it ; and, in short, deifies tliat very heart which is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked ; and with these very feelings, and especially this confidence and pride in the integrity and firmness of his heart, he sometimes draws near to the altar of his God, there to offer up his hard heart as a sacrifice. But there he is thrust back, with an assurance that his stony heart must first be broken. The result of this discovery is very diff"ereut in diff"erent cases. Some are disgusted by it, and go back for ever. Others, towards whom God has purposes of mercy, are subjected to a process which results in an eff"ectual contrition of their hearts. However reluc- tant they may feel at first to undergo the change, the time comes when they not only feel it, but rejoice in it, — as the same apostle who at first said, " Lord, thou shalt never wash my feet," said at last, " Not my feet only, but also my hands and my head." And thus they are brought by the winding course of their expe- rience to the knowledge and beHef of these three propositions : — ■ 1. Every sinner who is saved through the sacrifice of Christ must also sacrifice himself to God. '2. This self-immolation must in- clude the heart, or rather it is really an offering of the heart. The heart thus offered must be broken and contrite. But it is now time to consider in what this brokenness of heart consists. The figure is a common one, perhaps, in all languages. In our own it is one of those expressions which most vividly arouse the sympathies, and with which are associated some of the [most tender and affecting images that fancy can create or niemory [recall. Who is there here, however narrow his experience, who 546 ^ BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. cannot call to mind some memorable case of deep affliction, in which the hopes of the sufferer, so far as this life is concerned, were not only nipped in the bud or blasted in the flower, but sud- denly and violently plucked up by the roots ; in which the affec- tions which had twined themselves around earthly objects were at once and for ever snapped asunder, and the soul became dead to the world, not by spiritual Crucifixion, but by a providen- tial flash and thunderbolt ? It is to such cases of abrupt separa- tion from the hopes and the enjoyments of the present life that we familiarly apply the figure of a broken heart. And the phrase appears especially appropriate and natural when those who suffer are in character and circumstances such as to excite compassion unalloyed with any harsh or acrimonious feeling — such as cannot or will not seek a stoical relief in moody silence or in proud en- durance— such as suffer without fault, or through the fault of others — and, above all, such as suffer without hope of reparation in the present life. It is of such that we are wont to speak as broken-hearted ; and when the sufferings of such extend to the sudden or gradual decay of life, they are said fiimiliarly to die of broken hearts. I refer to the ordinary usage of this phrase, in order to illustrate its true sense in application to contrition and repentance — not be- cause there is any sort of sanctity belonging to the sorrow of this world, which worketh death. An eminent writer upon practical religion, speaks of that compound of pride and madness, which is usually termed a broken heart ; and there can be no doubt that the broken hearts of poetry and romantic fiction are too often such as, if they really existed, would be followed in the next life by a brokenness of spirit, which no balm would ever heal, and no l)hysician ever bind. Still, the very application of this metaphor to cases of profound and hopeless sorrow, even where it is essen- tially unholy in its origin and sinful in its exercise, will help us to illustrate its true imjiort when applied to godly sorrow, as a sor- row which involves a loss of hope and a privation of enjoyments and dependences long fondly cherished. While the heart remains unbroken on account of sin, there are certain prospects upon wliicli the eye is prone to fasten and to feed — the illusive forms of future happiness are seen through certain vistas and in certain quarters A BROKE X AND A CONTRITE HEART. 547 only. To these points, when the mind conceives the thought of being happy, it instinctively reverts. But when the bruising and the breaking process has begun, these \'istas are obstructed, and these prospects fade away; and when the mind instinctively reverts to its accustomed points of joyful expectation, they are veiled in darkness. Thus its fixed associations are dissolved, its ancient hopes unsettled, and its ancient fears give place to new ones ; so that, in the confusion of its passions and affections, the heart may ) be described as being broken in pieces. But the cliange which is properly and specially denoted by this figure, is the change from insensibility and apathy to a directly opposite condition — to a keen susceptibility of shame and grief. It is equally amazing to behold how much the heart can bear, while yet vmbroken, and how little is enough to make it quiver with emotion, when the hammer has descended, and the rock is dashed in pieces. If the secrets of two hearts coiild be disclosed at the same moment — for example, in the hearing of a single ser- mon— we should see the one receiving, with a calmness too un- natural to be called philosophical, the most momentous doctrines; while the other, by the same enunciation of the same things, is not only agitated, but convulsed. The same whid which excites the living waters of Gennesaret into a storm, is said to leave no trace of its efiect upon the smooth and silent waters of Asphaltites, the Sea of Death. But th& difference of feeling in the cases now supposed, however great, can never be distinctly seen by others. There is a case, however, which presents the contrast, at succes- sive turns, indeed, but with a vivid clearness to the eye of an ob- server,— I mean when the observer is himself the subject of both fetates of feeling ; when he looks back with amazement to the time when he could hear with cool indifference the same things which now freeze his blood, or make it boil. Has it never happened in your experience, that you have been apprised of some appalling danger after it was past ; of your having just before been standing on a spot where the motion of a limb in one direction would have been your death, a death perhaps of aggravated horror'? and when thus apprised of your deliverance, do you not remember the strange T thrill of horror which at once shot through you, suspending for a time your sense of safety, and recalling the sensations proper to 548 A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. your former state 1 This may serve to illustrate very faintly the retrospective feelings of the sinner, when his heart is broken, in relation to his exercises while it was yet whole ; — but with this difference, that his amazement lias respect not only to the awful danger whicli he did not feel before, but to the turpitude and guilt of sin to which he was insensible, and his own base ingrati- tude to God, at whose feet be now lies subdued and humbled. It is in sorrow- for his sins, as sins against a God of justice and of mercy, that the sinner's heart is said to be broken, — not merely softened, but broken in pieces and reduced to powder, as the word translated contrite really denotes. True contrition, then, includes sensibility of conscience and the tenderer affections, with a just apprehension of the evil of sin, not only as considered in its own nature, but also as inherent in the penitent himself. "Upon spiri- tual brokenness of heart as thus explained, I invite your attention to a few remarks, some of which have been implied in what has been already said. The first remark is, that the broken si^irit and the contrite heart are really a sacrifice, a sacrifice to God. I recur to this idea, on account of the opinion which extensively prevails among the hearers of the gospel, and particularly those who are not thoroughly instructed in the doctrines of the Bible, that contrition is a price which we must pay for our salvation; the death of Christ being either excluded altogether, or admitted merely to give weight and value to the sorrows of the penitent. How strange it is that an opinion which men never think of acting on in common life should be maintained so seriously and with such tenacity in spiritual matters ! He who should undertake to cancel any civil obligation in like manner, to discharge his private debts or pay the penalty of violated laws by mere regret that he had broken or contracted them, would be regarded either as dishonest or a fool. And yet there are wise and honest men, — wise and honest as to this world's matters, — ^who regard repentance as an ample compensation for their worst transgressions, and who fasten with avidity on every phrase which seems to favour that opinion. Such a phrase is that before us, which describes the broken spirit as a sacrifice. Some may be ready to inquire, If this does not mean a satisfac- A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. 549 tion to God's justice, what else can it mean ? It means, as we liave seen, a consecration of the heart to God, not in its natural, obdurate state, but broken and contrite ; a consecration which can never go before the application of Christ's blood and the remission of our sins, but will invariably follow it. They love much to whom much is forgiven, not because forgiveness is the purchase of their love, but because their love is the effect of their forgive- ness. So, likewise, all who are redeemed will offer up a broken heart as a sacrifice, not because their brokenness of heart redeems them, but because whenever Christ saves a sinner, he invariably breaks his heart. The same almighty grace which sets him free from the dominion of the law, sets him likewise free from the obduracy of nature. And as these two deliverances ahvays go to- gether, there can be no assurance of the one without a satisfactory assurance of the other. We have no right to believe that Christ has died for us, unless we are ready and resolved to live for hira. Let us maintain our hold upon both doctrines, and remembering that the only efficacious sacrifice for sin is that of Christ, at the same time remember that " the sacrifices of God are a broken spirit." My second observation is, that this is an offering which God does not despise. In the language of the text, it would appear to be implied that God might well have been expected to despise it. And is this not true 1 Are these worthless, Avicked, and deceitful hearts a fit oblation for God's altar ] There is wonder in the psalmist's exclamation. God despises and rejects the costly offer- ings of princes ; gold and silver, pomp and pageantry, he spurns : thou despisest all that wealth or pride can offer at thy footstool ; but " a broken and a contrite heart, 0 God, thou wilt not despise." It is also an expression of his thankfulness. The broken heart itself is thy gift, thou alone canst break it; and having thus bestowed it, thou art pleased to accept of it again at our hands : thou requirest nothing but a broken, contrite heart ; " a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise." At the same time there is humble and rejoicing confidence. Since thou art pleased to ask nothing but a broken and a contrite heart, I despair no longer ; only break my hard heart more completely by the sense of thy forgiving mercy, and I ask no more, for I can then come 550 A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. before thee with a broken and a contrite heart for ever, and " a broken and a contrite heart, 0 God, thou wilt not despise." In the third phice, I remark that though a holy and a righteous God accepts the sacrifice, ungodly men despise it. It is better to fall into the hands of God than into the hands of man. The chastisements of God are tender mercies to his people, but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel. The licentious, proud, and selfish worldling, who believes that he does honour to God's word by hearing it, and whose religion is a condescending patron- age of Christ and his salvation, hates and scorns a broken spirit and a contrite heart as heartily and proudly as the evil one him- self. Let the humble Christian be prepared for the contempt of those whose hearts were never broken ; and amidst " the proud man's contumely," let him lift his heart to heaven and breathe the psalmist's confident assurance, " A broken and a contrite heart, 0 God, thou wilt not despise." Again, we may remark that in the Church itself there may be those Avho, while they wear the yoke of Christ, appear impatient of its pressure ; these are the worshippers of manly Christianity, who love religion in its fierce, and proud, and insolent disguises, but disdain it in its unadorned simj^licity and meekness. How far such a spirit is compatible with brokenness of heart and deep contrition, let those who cherish it determine for themselves, by comparing their own feelings and habitual dispositions with the language of the psalmist, "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit : a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not de- spise." In conclusion, there are, no doubt, many who now hear me that are perfectly unconscious of the slightest feeling which could be, Avithout absurdity, described as a broken spirit and a contrite heart. To such the subject is, and must be, unintelligible ; and they are, perhaps, disposed in secret to rejoice that it is so. Believing, as they do, that the experience of this change would deprive them of the only pleasures which they are now capable of relishing, they may, perhaps, console themselves by thinking that " where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." It is not my design, by a vain reiteration, to attempt to change your present feelings in relation to this matter. But I wish, before I close, to A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. 551 guard your minds, if possible, against a very natural illusion with respect to the future. The unbroken heart is always loath to think that it can ever be subdued. As it invariably glories in its strength, it cannot bear the thought of losing it. Some, in the madness of their pride, resolve that they will rather lose eternal life, than gain it by humi- liating weaknesses. Others, unwilling to proceed so far, merely dismiss the subject from their thoughts ; while a third class per- suade themselves that though they must repent and be converted, they may certainly do this without a loss of native dignity or the indulgence of unmanly weakness. And accordingly their purpose is to keep a good heart even in repenting, and to quit themselves like men in the salvation of their souls. The eye of my imagina- tion rests upon one who would rather be detected in a crime than in the shedding of a tear for crimes already perpetrated ; one who would rather break than bend ; one who would rather be broken by God's wrath than by his mercy ; one in whose nature this Satanic pride is so profoundly fixed, that he is utterly unable to conceive of it as possible that his heart ever can be broken either by misfortune or repentance. The scene is changed, and I behold that same man still a hearer of the gospel ; but his countenance is altered. He still maintains a posture of resistance ; but his eye is restless and his brow con- tracted, and I read in his vain efforts to suppress and hide his feelings, that the enemy he once despised has found his way into the fortress of his heart. There is commotion there. There is a deadly struggle between flesh and Spirit. With desperate strength the strong man guards his palace, but a stronger than he is there. He would rather die than yield to his convictions. His soul chooses strangling rather than life. He reflects with horror on the scorn and contumely which await his fall ; and in the anguish of that fear, he summons every motive and musters all his strength to hold united his already bursting heart. But in the crisis of his last convulsive effort it is broken — it is broken. The most in- credible of all impossibihties is realized. The stony heart is broken, and the man who feared and hated it in prospect now rejoices in it. The tears which once he would rather die than shed, flow freely. The man is willing in the day of God's power; 552 A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. and as he looks up at the cross beneath which his obdurate heart Avas broken, and beholds the bleeding Sacrifice by which his life was purchased, he throws, as it were, the bruised fragments of his heart at the Redeemer's feet, beneath the droppings of his blood, and says, " Lie there for ever ; " while from every wound of him who hangs upon the cross a voice responds, " The sacrifices of God are a broken s^jirit : a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou wilt not despise." Of such, some, no doubt, are saved — saved, perhaps, as by fire. Would to God that this might be the end of all who now despise the gospel, and resolve that no misfortune and no spiritual influ- ence shall ever break their hearts. Well might the contrite and the broken-hearted Christian bear "the proud man's contumely" and the scoffer's sneer, if by such endurance he could purchase the consolatory hope that his despisers should be one day broken- hearted like himself But, alas ! with Scripture and with history before us, where shall M'e take refuge from the fear that to many who now make a mock of sin and of repentance, and who trample on the broken heart, the last words of the Saviour, as he points to his despised ones, will be, " Behold, ye despisers, and wonder and l^erish ! " It is matter of thankfulness that we who preach the gospel are not authorized to read the future history of those who now reject salvation, and that God has invested this distressing subject with a shroud of intermingled hope and fear. But notwithstanding this compassionate reserve, it may be said without presumption, that among those who are now disposed to laugh at the idea of a broken heart, there are some who, though they never shall expe- rience the power of subduing grace, shall yet know by experience what it is to be heart-broken. Metbinks I see one of this class, also, at another time and in another place. I see him surrounded by the comforts, and the honours, and the pleasures of the world, I see him still a cold, fastidious hearer of the gospel. I see him ]-egarding with a proud contempt the penitent contrition of his fellow-sinner. I see him laugh in scorn at the idea of his own heart being broken. I see him arm himself with stoical philo- sophy, with heathen fortitude, with hellish pride. But while I see him watchful upon one side, I behold his enemy approaching on A BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. 553 another. While he surrounds the garden of his happiness with walls or hedges to repel wild beasts, I see the flower on his favourite vine begin to droop and sicken, till it drops into the earth a withered weed. I see the vine itself decaying in its branches and its stock, until the root alone is left. I see the soul of the proud sinner touched with exquisite exactness in its most unguarded and most vulnerable points. I see the appetite for earthly pleasure " sicken and so die," with nothing better to suc- ceed it. I see the man as he looks back upon the wilderness and forward to the ocean, as he turns with a sore conscience from the trackless sands, gaze -with, anxious apprehension on the trackless waters. " His strength is hunger-bitten," and his courage spent. Is this the man who braved misfortune and defied conviction 1 Is it he who laughed at the idea of a broken heart, and vowed that his heart never could be broken 1 Is it he who even now has only strength enough to hide, and that at the expense of most excru- ciating torments, the approaching fracture of his own proud spirit, for a few more days of unimaginable anguish, till in the very article of death his heart and flesh give way together, and he who boasted of a whole heart while he lived, dies of a broken heart at last ! Ah, my hearers, you may think it a mere fiction of romance that men should die of broken hearts ; but when the records of God's righteous retributions are unfolded, some of us may see that this and that man, whose decease was here ascribed to accident or bodily disease, were the victims of an obstinate, unbending spirit, and of a wounded, ulcerated conscience — were consumed by secret efibrts to suppress conviction, and at last, after all their proud derision and bravado, died of broken hearts ! Is it, then, the case, you may be ready to inquire, that they who pass through life without experience of sorrow and devoid of sensibility — who steep themselves in selfish and ignoble pleasures till their souls are cal- lous— is it true that these alone are to escape the sad experience of a broken heart ? My hearers, there are two very common errors in relation to the future state of those who die impenitent. The one is the idea, that because the tree must lie just as it falls — because he who is filthy must be filthy still — men can deprive themselves in some degree of that susceptibility of pain which is essential to the misery 654 ^1 BROKEN AND A CONTRITE HEART. of hell. Hence there have been men who, as their death ap- proached, chose to stupify their minds with intoxicating liquors ; partly, no doubt, for the purpose of excluding all reflection on the future ; partly from unbelief of any future state ; but in many cases, I have no doubt also, in the hope that their stupified and brutal apathy would still continue in the other world. Think of this vain attempt to quench the flames of Tophet with intoxicat- ing liquors, or with any other stupifying drug, and then imagine, if you can, the awaking of that spirit after death ! The only gift of God to the lost sinner is the gift of sensibility unknown before ; a gift which shall overwhelm with shrinking shame the man, the woman, to whom shame is now a stranger; agitate with terror those who now are brave ; and sting with keen remorse the con- sciences of those whose hearts are never visited in this life by the dread of wrath or by the consciousness of guilt. Whatever other changes may await us, be assured, my hearers, that the day is cuuiing when the most unfeeling shall be made to feel. XLIT. ^Ijc Cbrisfian's girtiJ m ^iutcs iDf (Trnil. " My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations ; knowing this, that the trying of your faith worlveth patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing. If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him. But let him ask in faith, nothing wavering : for he that wavereth is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed. For let not that man think that he shall receive anything of the Lord. A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways." — James i. 2-8. THE questions which have been raised in reference to the antlior of this epistle, however interesting they may be to the his- torical critic, are of very little exegetical importance. Whether it be the work of James the son of Zebedee, as the old Syriac trans- lators, and perhaps some others, thought ; or of James the son of Alpheus, which has been the prevalent opinion in all ages of the Church ; or James the brother of the Lord, not a member of the apostolic body, but the bishop or pastor of the Church at Jeru- salem, of whom contemporary history relates that he was called the Just or Righteous, and whose death, at the hands of the infu- riated Zealots, is described by the same author as an immediate cause or occasion of the fall of Jerusalem ; these are alternative hypotheses, our choice of which cannot materially affect our view of the design and meaning of the book itself. The doubts respecting its canonical authority among the ancients, as in the case of the Epistle to the Hebrews, sprang from its hav- ing been addressed to Jews, or Jewish Christians, and not made known to the Gentile Churches until after some time had elapsed. The like doubts, entertained by Luther and some other modern writers, have been founded on a supposed contrariety between 556 THE CHRISTIAN'S DUTY IN TIMES OF TRIAL. the teacliings of James and Paul, as to the fundamental doctrine of justification. The little currency which this opinion has ob- tained among believing readers and interpreters shows that its supposed ground is imaginary, and that there is no reason even for assuming two divergent types of Christian doctrine, — an ingeni- ous figment which has been carried to extremes by certain German theologians of our own day. A key to all the difficulties of the case is furnished by the simple supposition that the epistle presup- poses what is taught in other parts of the 'New Testament, and is intended, not to commvmicate the fundamental truths of Chris- tianity, but to correct abuses of them which had already shown themselves, perhaps especially in certain portions of the Church, and under certain circumstances, — among which one was probably the influence of persecution, and the peculiar trials and tempta- tions which it brought along with it, and in wliich the apostle here exhorts his readers to rejoice, just as Paul, in still more general terms, exhorts us to "rejoice alway." This positive injunction of the Christian ethics may seem too difficult, if not impossible to be obeyed. And even if the natural repugnance to suffering can be so far vanquished as to make dis- tress itself a subject and occasion of rejoicing, the moral sense still shrinks from what is here commanded, to rejoice in temptation. The paradox is not to be removed by violently changing the estab- lished meaning of the word, which never means affliction simply, but in every case conveys the idea of a moral trial, or a test of character. The petition which our Lord himself prescribes, " Lead us not into temptation," cannot be a mere deprecation of adversity, as something painful. Had not popular usage lowered the mean- ing of our own word " trial," as applied to providential changes, so that it now expresses little more than pain or privation, it would correspond exactly to the Greek term here used, and applied to sufferings or afflictions, not as such, or as mere chastisements, or means of grace, but as tests or touchstones of the sufferer's dis- positions and affections, of his faith, and patience, and obedience; to which the term is as legitimately applicable as it is to those direct solicitations to evil which are commonly denoted by the word " temptation." But even this word " temptation " strictly denotes trial, that is, I THE CHRISTIAN'S DUTY IN TIMES OF TRIAL. 557 moral trial of character, and merely comprehends within it that specific mode of trial which consists in direct attempts to make men sin, by exciting their sinful dispositions, setting before them the unlawful object, and affording them the means and oppor- tunity of actual transgression. All this, I say, which is the ordinary meaning of the word " temptation," is but one form — • though undoubtedly the worst form — of that whole testing pro- cess which the term in Greek as well as English primarily signi- fies. The question whether it is here used in its nari'ower or wider sense may be determined by the context, where the fruit of sancti- fied temptation is described as patience, patient endurance. But the fruit and remedy of temptation in the ordinary sense is not the habit of endurance, but of strong resistance. To be patient under the suggestions of the devil, the seductions of the world, and the corruptions of our own heart, would imply acquiescence, not to say complacency in evil. A temptation, to which patience is the proj^er antidote, must be specifically a temptation to impa- tience, insubordination, a rebeUious and rejoining temper, and these are just the sinful dispositions and affections to which we are tempted by a state of suffering. We must, therefore, ^^nderstand the words as having reference to those providential trials of men's faith and patience in which they are rather passive than active, and under which their appropriate duty is not so much resistance as submission. But even these trials and temptations are not to be Koi;ght for or solicited. It is not in voluntary, wilful subjec- tion to them through our own fault, or in the indulgence of our own perverse ambition to be martyrs or confessors, that we are encour- aged or commanded to rejoice, but when we " fall into " them or among them, so as to be quite encompassed and enveloped by them, as the traveller from Jerusalem to Jericho, in the parable of the good Samaritan, " fell among " thieves or robbers, the original ex- pression being just the same in either case ; and in the only other place where it occurs (Acts xxvii. 41), although applied to a kind of trial altogether different, the running of a ship aground, it still suggests the same idea of unstudied, unintentional, unforeseen emergencies, and therefore makes it still more certain that the trials in which we are commanded to rejoice ai"e not those into which we presumptuously rush, but those into which we unintentional I v 658 THE CHRISTIAN'S DUTY IN TIMES OF TBTAL. fall, and which, for that very reason, are better suited to make proof of our obedience to the will of God, and of our trust in his power and willingness to keep us. The difficulty of complying with this general injunction may appear to be enhanced by the variety of outward forms and circumstances under which the work of providential trial may be carried on, including all the num- berless and nameless " ills that flesh is heir to." How can all these be reduced to one description, or provided for by one prescription % Though it may be rational and right, and therefore must be possible if not always easy, to rejoice in one variety of such temptations, it does not follow necessarily that it is possible or right in all. But this objection or misgiving as to the extent of the apostle's requisition, is anticipated and pre- cluded by himself in the express use of the epithet " divers," manifold, multiform, diversified, the sensible quality originally signified being that of variety in colours, particoloured, piebald, motley, and therefore well adapted, by a natural association, to express in a lively manner the idea of diversity in general, as if he had said, — -However varied the complexion of the trials into which you faU, or by which you are encompassed, I tell you still to " count it joy " and " aU joy," not by a figure of speech or para- doxical abuse of language ; so that, according to the famous say- ing of a great diplomatist, it serves to conceal thought rather than express it, saying one thing and meaning another; not in a limited degree, as implying that a little joy may possibly be squeezed out of the heart surcharged with grief ; not with a stoical apathy, affecting to confound or identify pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow; but in the true sense, and the full sense, and the Christian sense of the expression, let us count our providential trials " all joy," nothing but joy, as Paul tells the Ephesians, Christ has abounded towards us " in all wisdom and prudence," and exhorts them to walk worthy of their vocation " with all lowliness and meekness " (Eph. i 8 ; iv. 2), all kinds and all degrees of wisdom in the one case, and of meekness in the other. So here, it is not the mere name, or the mere pretence, or some infinitesimal degree of joy, that believers under trial are to exercise, but " all joy " as opposed to none, and to too little, and to every kind of counter- feit. So far from grieving or repining when you fall into divers THE CHRISTIAN'S DUTY IX TIMES OF TRIAL. 559 trials, " count it all joy." But as we know, both from Scripture and experience, that no " chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous, and that afterward (va-Tcpov) it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness to them which are exercised there- by " (Heb. xii. 11), it is not unreasonable to suppose that the joy here required is not a joy to be experienced in the very article or stress of the temptation, but a joy to be engendered by a believ- ing, grateful retrospection of the trial after it is past, or at least, after the first shock is over, and the soul is able to reflect upon it. This is perfectly consistent with the form of expression (orav ■7repnrea")]T€) which might even be translated to mean " when " or " after," " ye have fallen into divers trials," so as, at least, to sug- gest the idea, that this is not a joy to be indulged in prospect of the trial or temptation, wliich might too easily degenerate into a proud, presumptuous, self-confident defiance, or even a fanatical solicitation of such trials, which is something very difierent from the humble, grateful joy of having been subjected to them for a wise and gracious purpose, and brought through them, and then out of them in safety. This precise determination of the time at which the joy is to be exercised, as not the time of actual endurance, much less that of previous expectation, but rather that of subsequent reflection — I mean subsequent, if not to the whole trial, yet at least to its incep- tion— this, I say, may throw some light on two points which have been already mentioned, but perhaps not yet made wholly clear. The first is the paradoxical aspect of the exhortation to rejoice in that which necessarily involves pain and sufiering. The paradox, to say the least, may seem less startling if we understand the text as calling upon men to rejoice, not that they a?-e sufi"ering, or while they sufiier, althougli even this does not transcend the limits of experience, as we know from the triumphant joy of martyrs at the stake, and of many a lowlier believer on his deathbed, but that they have suffered, that it has pleased God, without their own con- currence, to afford them the occasion of attesting their fidehty, and patience, and submission to his will. Such joy, in the recol- lection of past trials, has so many analogies in general experience, that it cannot even be called " paradoxical " without injustice. The other point on which the same consideration may throw 560 THE CHRISTIAN'S DUTY IN TIMES OF TRIAL. some light, is the choice of an expression which, although it primarily signifies no more than moral trial or a test of character, in general usage does undoubtedly denote a positive solicitation to do wrong. For even in this worst sense of temptation, it may be a subject of rejoicing, not beforehand, no, nor in the very crisis of the spiritual conflict ; but when that is past, and when the soul, unconscious of its danger till it could no longer be avoided, looks back upon the fearful risk from which it has escaped, not merely with gratitude for its deliverance, but with unaffected joy that there was such a risk to be delivered from, because it has now served to magnify God's grace, and at the same time to attest its own fidelity. Just as the soldier, who would have been guilty of the grossest rashness and the most unpardonable violation of his ' orders, if he had deliberately thrown himself into the way of a superior enemy, may — when unexpectedly surrounded and attacked, he has heroically cut his way through — rejoice, not only in his safety, but in the veiy danger which compelled him to achieve it. But the joy experienced in the case before us is not merely re- trospective, but prospective also. It is not an ignorant or blind joy, but is founded in knowledge, knowledge not only of the prin- ciples on which men ought to act, but of the consequences which may be expected from a certain course of action or of suffering ; for as we have already seen, it is of passive, rather than of active or positive obedience, that James is speaking. The trials or tempta- tions of the Christian are the test or touchstone of his faith, both in the strict and comprehensive sense. They put to the proof his trust in God, liis belief of what God says, of what he promises. But in so doing, they afford the surest test of his religion, of his whole religious character. Specific trust in God's veracity and faithfulness is not and cannot be an independent, insulated quality, or act, or habit. It must have its causes and effects homogeneous to itself in the man's creed, in his heart, in his life. Among these is a definite reliance on God's mercy, not as a mere attribute of the divine nature, but as offered and exercised in a specific form, the only form in which it can be offered or received by sinners. The text says nothing expressly of faith in our Lord Jesiis Clirist, but every believer in the Saviour who peruses this epistle, feels that it is presupposed, assumed, or taken for granted, so that tlie THE CHRISTIAN'S DUTY IN TIMES OF TRIAL. 561 contracted form of speech here used, convej's to such a reader all that is expressed in the beginning of the second chapter, where the one word " faith " is amplified into the " faith of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Glorious," or " the Lord of Glory." What is there said explicitly, is here said by necessary implication. He who could use the longer form, could not use the shorter without meaning to suggest more than he says. There is therefore no violence whatever done to the apostle's language, when we under- stand him to describe temptation as a test of sincere belief in Christ as " the only name given under heaven among men whereby we must be saved " from sin as well as punishment, and not of mere reliance on the power and willingness of God to deliver or preserve from suffering. In both these senses, or in both these applications and extensions of the term, faith is necessarily included in the religious character, of which a test is furnished by l^rovidential trials or temptations. But it does not merely furnish present evidence of faith. It produces a permanent effect upon the character. It generates a habit — that of patient endurance, that of steadfast perseverance in the way of God's commandments. For of patience, as of faith, it may be said that it cannot stand alone, it cannot exist indepen- dently of other virtues, other graces, other traits of Christian character. The princij^le of active and passive obedience is the same. He Avho will not do God's will cannot endure it in a Christian spirit. He can only endure it in the way of punishment. Evangelical patience presupposes, includes, or carries with it evangelical obedience or activity. It therefore comprehends a very large part of experimental and practical religion, and to say that it is fostered and matured by trial, is to say that trial or temptation, in the sense here put upon the term, is an important means of grace, of spiritual growth, and instead of being angrily complained of or sullenly rei^ined at as a hardship or a cruelty, ought not indeed to be desired or courted any more than medicines, especially when composed of poisons, should be used as ordinary food; but when administered, without our agency or even option, by the Great Physician, should be thankfully submitted to, and afterwards rejoiced in, as a potent agency of God's appointment which produces great effects, not by a sudden or immediate ■'u; 4 562 THE CHRISTIAN'S DUTY IN TIMES OF TRIAL. change, but as the original expression seems to mean, by a gradual, and long-continued alterative process; for the trial of our faith " worketh out," elaborates, and as it were laboriously cultivates a habit of persistent and unwavering obedience and submission to the will of God, both in the way of doing and suffering. That the patience thus commended is not an inert and sluggish principle, much less a mere condition of repose, but something active in itself and tending to activity in others, is evident enough from the apostle's exhortation, not to hinder it or check it in its operation, but to give it free scope, let it have its perfect work or full effect. Could this be said of mere inertia, or even patient nonresistance 1 Is it not implied, or rather is it not expressly said that this divine virofiovr], this principle and habit of patient continuance in doing and suffering the wUl of God, is not a mere superfluous embellishment of Christian character, a work of super- erogation added to its necessary elements by way of doing more than man needs or than God requires, but itself an element that cannot be dispensed with, and without Avhich neither sufferers nor actors in God's service can be "perfect and entire, wanting nothing." How many, in compounding their ideal of a perfect Christian character, forget to put in patience, and how many, who in theory acknowledge its necessity, refuse to let it " have its per- fect work " in their experience and practice ! i\ll this affords abundant room for wise discrimination and a sound discretion. It is evidently not a matter which can be dis- posed of or conducted to a safe and happy issue by mere audacity or force of will, by cutting knots which ought to be untied, or by a reckless disregard of delicate distinctions and perplexing ques- tions which arise from the very nature both of God and man, and from their rputual relations, and which can neither solve them- selves, nor be solved by any intellectual force short of wisdom in the highest sense ; not mere knowledge, not even genuine and solid knowledge, much less the capacity of barren speculation, but wis- dom in the noble sense attached to it even by profane philosophers, intellectual powers and resources under the control of moral prin- ciple, and faithfully applied to moral uses ; a wisdom shown in the selection of the highest ends, and in the application of the most effective means to gain them. This wisdom, the idea of which THE CIIliiaTIAX'iS DUTY IN TIMES OF TRIAL. 563 ■was familiar to the wisest of the heathen, has been realized only in the school of revelation. And woe to him who undertakes, without it, to solve the intricate and fearful problem of man's character and destiny ! This can be done successfully, and even safely, only by the wise man, and in the actual use and exercise of real wisdom. He who attempts it otherwise can only be regarded as a madman throwing about firebrands, arrows, and death, and saying, Am I not in sport ] This is no arbitrary or unmeaning requisition, for unless we abandon the very definition and idea of true wisdom as chimerical, we cannot possibly conceive of any higlier or more necessary use to which its possessors can apply it, or for which those who have it not are bound to seek it. But how, or where 1 they may be ready to demand. In what quarter, or by what means is this transcendent, superhuman wis- dom, to be made available for those who need iti If no exertion of man's unassisted reason, no reach of speculation, no variety of knowledge, no extent of observation, no depth of exi^erience, can supply this want even to the wisest, what shall he do who lays claim to so much dignity, but feels himself to be deficient in tliis most essential point ] My brethren, whoever does feel this deficiency, whoever in his own conviction does lack wisdom, and does realjy desire to have it, is the very man who has no right or reason to despair of it — the very one for whom this Scripture makes express provision — first, by pointing out the only source from which his want can be supplied, and then by assuring him that he may confidently draw upon it. " If any of you lack wis- dom, let him ask of God." The " if" is not expressive of a doubt, but presupposes an unquestionable fact, or rather the doubt which it does seem to express relates not to the fact itself, but to the sense of it — not to the actual necessity and absence of true wisdom in the case of every fallen man, of every sinner to be saved, for this is certain and notorious, attested both by revelation and experience, but to the consciousness of this deficiency, the want of which is part and parcel of our native blindness ; nothing but wisdom can reveal our folly. We do not even feel our mental maladies until the healing process is begun, in strict accordance with the wisest saying of the wisest of the ancient Greeks, that he kncAv nothing certainly, except that he knew nothing. This epigrammatic 564 THE CHRISTIAN'S DUTY IN TIMES OF TRIAL. maxim is the shell or wrapper of a very profound truth, to have discovered which is the highest honour of the man who uttered it — a truth, however, which to him and to the wisest of his followers was a mere negation, one of sweeping magnitude and awful import, but a negation still ; the positive correlative of which was, what " the world by wisdom " was for ages striving after without ever grasping, till at length God pitied them ; and seeing that the world, with all its wisdom, knew not God, was pleased to save them that believe by the foolishness of preaching, ■ — by the promulgation of a new philosophy which seemed mere folly to the wise men of the world, as it reduced their wisdom to the simple and most unphilosophical acknowledgment of Socrates, and made the conscious lack of wisdom as to spiritual matters indispensable as a condition of reception into its school among its disciples ; and to those who felt it, and confessed it, simply saying, " If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God." My hearers, familiar, elementary, and almost tritical as this may seem to our eyes, bleared and dazzled by the blaze of gospel light, it was a grand discovery and a vast advance upon the previous achievements of the human mind. It is like uncovering the sun to those who have been trying to strike light from the flint, or digging for it under ground. All that the schools of Greece and Egypt and the East had been saying for a course of ages was, Let no man think that he lacks wisdom, for he has it in himself — or, at most, If any man lack wisdom, let him come to me ; but when the voice of the evangelizing Angel, whom John saw in his apoca- lyptic vision, became audible, the schools were silent, and the oracles were dumb, before that simple precept to which we attach so little value, " If any one of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God." But this asking of God was to the Greeks a mockery. Even those who believed in God had no conception of immediate spiritual intercourse with God, still less of intellectual illumina- tion, sent directly from him. They knew what it was to work out wisdom for themselves, or to seek for wisdom at the hands of human sages ; but this was a new idea, " If any of you lack wis- dom, let him ask of God." And that not as a ceremony, but a means, a certain means of acquisition,^not of God the unknown and the unapproachable, but God the giver, God who gives, who THE CIIEISTTAX'S DUTY IX TIMES OF TRIAL. 565 actually gives, has given, will give again, wdll give for ever. This is no rash venture, but a matter of experience. You are only asked to do what others, nay, what multitudes have done before you, — ask of God, of God himself ; — what, directly, without any media- tion, without any but his Son's, without any influence but that of his Spirit, which is his own, without the intervention of philoso- phers or priests, without circuitous or ceremonial methods of approach ! As simply as a child asks food of a parent, " If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God," " of God the giver, God who giveth," — who habitually giveth, not to certain favoured nations, castes, or individuals, but to all men, — not to Greeks or Jews alone, not to philosophers or priests alone, but to all men ; yes, to all men, that is, all who ask, all who really desire it, all who ask aright. Like other great discoveries, it seems almost incredible that this should never have been stimibled on before ; that among the num- berless expedients for supplying the deficiencies of human wisdom, this should never have occurred, in its simplicity, to any of the heathen sages, " If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who actually giveth unto all men." How 1 In what way 1 In what spirit ? There is something really sublime in the simplicity with which this question is here answered. It is not only simple, but simplicity itself. " He giveth simply." The very grandeur of this phrase has hindered and embarrassed its interpretation. It seems to say tt)o little, when in fact it says too much for us to compass. It seems to be irrelevant, when nothing- can be more precisely adapted to the end proposed. The doubtful and secondary meanings which have been preferred, if not inad- missible, are all superfluous. " He giveth liberally " is suggested rather than expressed ; " He giveth simply " is the naked sense of the original, or perhaps it may be rendered more precisely still, " He simply gives," — he gives — he gives — and that is all He does not give and not give, as some men too often do ; he docs not give and take as some men do ; he does not give and nullify the kind act by unkind words or disclosing unkind motives ; he does not give as many a proud human benefactor gives, and then upbraid the beneficiary with his wants, his weakness, his \\n- worthiness, his former gifts, — "he simply gives ; " "he gives to 506 THE CHRISTIAN'S DUTY IX TIMES OF TRIAL. all men and upbraidetli not." This human propensity to mar the value of a gift by mixtures c^f unkindness or ill-timed severity, was so familiar to the ancients as to be embodied in their proverbs. But from all these mixtures, and from others like them, and from everything that poisons human favours, God's are infinitely, wholly free. The best of men give only to some objects, and with some accompanying drawbacks; but he simply gives, — he gives to all men and upbraideth not. My brethren, for such a giver is it too much to expect, that he who asks shall ask in faith and in sincerity, desiring what he asks, believing in God's willingness and power to bestow it 1 If God giveth, simply giveth, and u^jbraideth not, is it too much to require that man should ask, and doubt not, and dissemble not, and waver not 1 If God gives simply, singly, with a pure, un- mixed, unqualified benevolence, is it too much to require that man should not ask doubly, hjrpocritically — no ; nor even with a double mind or soul in a less offensive sense, the sense of instability and vacillation, sometimes wishing, sometimes not, — now asking this, now that, — asking, and then refusing to receive the very thing before desired. Eespectfor even human benefactors requires that the petitioner should know his own mind before asking, and not lightly change it after asking. And is less respect due to that glorious Giver, who, with every reason to refuse, still giveth, and with every right to make distinctions, giveth unto all men alike ? and with every right and every reason to accompany his gifts Avith hard conditions, and with harsh upbraidings, simply giveth, freely giveth and upbraideth not ] Is it too much for him to say of every one who asketh, " Let him ask in faith, notliing wavering," either in trust or purpose — not at variance with himself— not self- contradictory in his petitions — not a man of two minds, or of two souls, or of two hearts, but of one, and that one fixed on God, on Christ ? No ; so easy and so reasonable a condition scarce deserves the name, especially as he who asks it gives it. Well might the wisest of the fathers pray, " Give what thou requirest, and require what thou wilt ! " It is an insult of the grossest kind to God the giver, to bring into his presence a mind tossing with tumultuous and inconsistent passions, like the troubled sea whicli cannot rest, but casteth up mire and dirt. " Let not that man THE CHRISTIAN'S DUTY IX TIMES OF TRIAL. 5G7 think that he shall receive anything of the Lord," but only he who, through divine grace, can exclaim, " ]\Iy heart is fixed, O God, my heart is fixed ! " The man whose heart is wavering and double is not merely deficient in his prayers, but in his whole reli- gious character, of which his prayers are but an index ; he is in- consistent and inconstant, fickle and " unstable in all his ways." Wliile he thus reasons he cannot therefore expect God to give him wisdom, that transcendent wisdom, withoiit which patience cannot have her perfect work, or extract her spiritual food out of the medi- cine of trial and the poison of temptation. And yet this is our last resort ; if this fail us, there is no hope elsewhere. Whither shall we tui'n in search of wisdom but to Him who giveth freel}" unto all men and uiibraideth not? We come back, therefore, to the conclusion, that if any man lack Avisdom, let him ask of God. XLIII. MToe xxnio i\mn ilmi tall €h\i d^oob, m\b (Unotr ^bif . " Woe unto them tbat call evil good, and good evil ; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness ; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter."— IsA. V. 20. IF the jvidgments of men are habitually influenced by their affec- tions, it is not surprising that their speech should bear tlie impress of the same controlling power. What we hear men say in the way of passing judgment upon things and persons, unless said deliberately for the purpose of deceiving those who hear them, will afibrd us, for the most part, a correct idea of their disposi- tions and prevailing inclinations. There is, indeed, a customary mode of talking, practised by some men, in which familiar formulas of praise and censure, as to moral objects, are employed as if by rote, involving the admission of important principles, and recog- nising in its fuU extent the grand distinction between moral good and evil. Such men will speak familiarly of other men, and of their acts, as right or wrong, as virtuous or vicious, in a manner which implies not only preference of judgment, but of inclination ; so that if we draw conclusions from their language merely, we should cer- tainly infer that they not only understood the i:»rinciples of sound morality, but loved them and obeyed them. The latter conclu- sions would, in too many instances, be found to be erroneous, not because the person, in his talk, was guilty of deliberate hypocrisy, or even intended to deceive at all, but because his words conveyed more than he meant, especially when phrases used of course, and by a sort of habit, came to be subjected to the rules of a strict in- terpretation. But in aU such cases it will soon be found, upon a little observation, that the dialect in question, however near it may approach to that of evangelical morality, is stiU distinguished from it by indubitable marks, — to one of which I shall direct your notice, and have no doubt it will be confirmed by your own experience. WOE UNTO THEM THAT CALL EVIL GOOD, ETC. 509 If, tlien, you know any one who tlius indvilges in the use of such conventional expressions as imply a recognition of those principles of morals which are laid down in the Bible, but whose conduct, on the other hand, rejjudiates and nullifies them — have you not ob- served, that in expressing his opinions upon moral subjects, he avoids, as if instinctively, those terms of censvure and of approbation which belong distinctively to Scripture, and confines himself to those which are common to the Bible and the heathen moralists, to Christian ethics and the code of honour 1 He will speak of an act, or a course of acts, as wrong, perhaps as vicious, — it may even be as wicked, but not as sinful. There are crimes and vices, but no sins in his vocabulary. The difference between the terms, as viewed by such, a person, seems to be that vice and crime are referable merely to an abstract standard, and perhaps a variable one ; while sin brings into view the legislative and judicial character of God. Sin, too, is associated in most minds Avith the humiliating doctrine of a natural depravity, while vice and crime suggest the idea of a voluntary aberration on the part of one by nature free from taint, and abundantly able to stand fast in his own strength. By tracing such diversities, however slight and trivial they seem to be when in themselves considered, we may soon learn to dis- tinguish the characteristic dialect of worldly moralists from that of evangelical religion. It will also be found, that in the use of terms employed by both, there is a difference of sense, it may be unintentional, denoting no smaU difference in point of principle. Especially is this the case in reference to those important jjrin- ciples of morals which bear most directly upon the ordinary busi- ness of life, and come most frequently into collision with the selfish interests and inclinations of ungodly men. Two men, for instance, shall converse together upon truth and falsehood, upon honesty and fraud, employing the same words and phrases, and, perhaps, aware of no diversity of meaning in their application. In their principles and feelings they shall seem to coincide, both approving and condemning with a perfect unanimity. And yet when you come to ascertain the sense in which they severally use the terms employed by both, you shall find that while the one adopts the rigorous and simple rule of truth and falsehood which Ls laid down in the Bible and by common sense, the other holds 570 WOi: UNTO TIIEM THAT CALL EVIL GOOD, it with so many qualifications and exceptions, as almost to render it a rule more honoured in the breach than the observance. The one is so tolerant of innocent deceptions, and of jocose lies, or of conventional concealments and pretences in the way of business, that the other, when he comes to understand him, finds the ground on which he stood swept away by these insidious refinements, and begins to feel that even in morals the old proverb Is a true one — what is one man's food may be another man's poison. There can be no doubt that this unperceived and undefinable diversity in the use of language exerts a constant and extensive influence on human intercourse, and leads to many of those mis- conceptions which are tending daily to increase the mutual distrust of men in one another's candour and sincerity. But while it is un- questionably true that the language which men hold in regard to moral subjects is not, in every case, a sure criterion of their own dispositions, even where there is no direct intention to deceive, there remains, after all allowable deduction upon this score, an extensive field of curious and profitable observation. There are multitudes of instances to which the force of habit and colloquial usage, as explained already, do not reach, and which are, there- fore, fair occasions for employing men's expressions as a test of their secret inclinations and the state of their affections. And in this there is very little danger of injustice to the subject of the scrutiny. The cases which have been already mentioned are ex- ceptions to the general rule, or rather to its rigid application, that " out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." All tend to favour him whose words are taken as an index to his character. The exception which has been admitted is, not that men are often better than their words would represent them, but the contrary. If, indeed, it were commonly or often true that men em- ploy language which impKes a denial or a disregard of moral distinc- tions, and, indeed, a preference of evil to good, while, in fact, they are not only sound in judgment upon this essential point, but cor- dially disposed to give the preference to virtue, then, indeed, it might be possible to do them gross injustice by the use of such a test. But who pretends to think that men are often, I might almost say ever, better in the bent of their affections and their moral dis- positions than in the general drift of their discourse 1 Who does AND GOOD EVIL. 57I not know that they are often worse, and that where any marked diversity exists, the difference is conmiouly in favour of his words, at the expeiise of his thoughts and feelings ? If we err, therefore, in the application of the test proposed, we are far more apt to err in favour oi the subject than against him. If his words are, in truth, an exponent of liis feelings, we shall do him justice ; if not, tliere is every reason to believe that he is worse than he appears to be. Let it, however, be observed, that nothing could be more unjust or utterly subversive of impartial judgment in this matter, tlian to choose as tests or symptoms mere occasional expressions. Few men arc so bad that they never speak good sentiments. And alas for the best, if they must stand or fall by their ability or inability to prove that they have never uttered splenetic, or frivo- lous, or unbecoming language ! The holiest men have had occa- sion to lament their own delinquencies in this respect; wliile, on the other hand, notorious profligates and imbelievers have been known to utter sentiments of pure and stern morality, with such apparent earnestness and candour, that the hearers might have been excused for crying out, " Is Saul also among the prophets ? " It is not by such ebullitions, whether good or evil, that the heart is to be judged, but by the general tone and tenor of the conversa- tion u^jon moral subjects. It would not be just or safe to say that he who has been known to bear his testimony to the excel- lence of virtue, is a good man even in the worldly sense ; or, on the other hand, that he who has been heard to speak deridingly, or spitefully, or doubtfully of fundamental principles in morals, is infallibly a villain, though the latter conclusion would be far more warrantable than the former, for a reason before stated. But it may be said Avith due regard to truth and justice in the abstract, and in aj^plication to the character of individuals, that he who habitually, and as if by impulse, takes the side of virtue, without partiality and without hypocrisy, is virtuous himself; and that he who in like manner is invariably prompted, when there is no outward counteracting influence, to call evil good, and good evil, is one Avho, like the fallen angel, says in his heart, " Evil, be thou my good!" and is, therefore, a just subject of the woe de- nounced by the prophet in the text. It may, indeed, be thought that this expression is descriptive, not so much of those who hate 672 WOE UN^TO THEM THAT CALL EVIL GOOD, good and love evil, as of tliose wlio err as to what is good and what is evil. But it must not be forgotten that a rational nature is incapable of loving evil, simply viewed as evil, or of hating good, when simply- viewed as good. Whatever thing you love, you thereby recognise as good ; and what you hate or abhor, you thereby recognise as evil. To hate a thing, and yet regard it as a good thing, is a mere contradiction, if the terms be taken in the same sense, or referred t(3 the same standard of comparison. No man can dislike a taste, or smell, or sound which, at the same time, he regards as pleasant, nor can he like one which he thinks unpleasant. To regard a thing as pleasant is to like it, and to dislike it is to think it dis- agreeable. But change the standard of comparison, and what appeared impossible is realized. The music which is sweetest to your ear may be offensive when it breaks the slumber of your sleeping friend ; the harshest voice may charm you when it an- nounces that your friend still lives. The darliug sin is hated by the sinner as the means of his damnation, though he loves it as the source of present pleasure; and in proportion as the present and the future world are present to his thoughts and his belief, may his affections vary as to the same object. When, therefore, men profess to look upon that as excellent which in their hearts and lives they treat as hateful, and to regard as evil and abomin- able that which they are seeking after, and which they delight in, they are not expressing their own feelings, but assenting to the judgment of others. They are measuring the object by a borrowed standard, while their own is whollj' different. And if they are really so far enKghtened as to think sincerely that the objects of their passionate attachment are evil, this is only admitting that their own affections are disordered and at variance with reason. It is virtually saying : Such a thing is good to my perceptions, but I know that they are wrong. It is just as if a man's sense of taste should be so vitiated through disease, that what is sweet to otliers is to him a pungent bitter. He may be con^dnced by argument and testimony, that according to the natural perceptions of mankind the thing is sweet, and that the bitterness is in his own disordered palate. This may satisfy his reason, but when- ever that same object comes in contact with his palate, it wUl AND GOOD EVIL. 573 still be bitter, till its qualities are changed, or his organs of taste resume their natural and healthful functions. So the sinner may believe on God's authority or man's that sin is evil and that holi- ness is good, but as a matter of affection and of inclination, his corrupted taste will still reject the sweet as bitter, and receive the bitter as sweet; his diseased eye will still confound light with darkness, and his lips, whenever they express the feelings of his heart, will continue to call good evil and evil good. These three forms of expression in the text appear to be signifi- cant of one and the same thing. The thought is clothed, first, in literal, and then in metaphorical expressions. To jDut darkness for light and light for darkness; to put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter ; is nothing more nor less than to call evil good and good e\al, or, as the same idea is differently worded in the margin, to say of evil it is good, and of good it is evil. The claar- acter thus drawn is generally applicable to ungodly men. They all put darkness for light and Hght for darkness. They all put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter. They all call evil good and good evil. If the verse be taken merely in this general sense, the woe which it pronounces is a general woe, or declaration of divine displeasiu'e and denunciation of impending wrath against the wicked generally, simply equivalent to that in the third chap- ter (ver. 11), "Woe unto the wicked! it shall be ill with him, for the reward of his hands shall be given him." Such a declaration, awful as it is, and perfectly in keeping with the uniform tenor of the word of God, would furnish no specific test of character, because it would still leave the question unde- cided, who it is that chooses evil and rejects the good. But it is very obvious that, in the case before us, the prophet is very far from meaning merely to assert the general liability of sinners to the wrath of God. The text is the fourth in a series of six woes, denounced upon as many outward manifestations of corrupt affec- tion. Under the figure of a vineyard which, though sedulously cultivated, only produced wild grapes, he had represented the un- grateful and unprofitable service of the ancient Israel, explaining the parable and summing up its lessons in the seventh verse : "The vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the men of Judah his pleasant plant : and he looked for judgment, but 574 ^yOE UNTO THEM TUAT CALL EVIL GOOD, behold oppression ; for righteoiisness, but behold a cry," From this general and sweeping charge against the nation, he proceeds to an enumeration of particular offences then especially prevailing, but by no means limited to that age or country ; and he sets these forth, not as the product of so many evil principles, but as the varied exhibition of that iiniversal and profound corruption which he had just asserted to exist in general terms. The first of these specified corruptions is the avaricious and ambitious grasping after great possessions, not merely as a means of luxurious indulgence, but as a distinction and a gratification of pride: "Woe unto them that join house to house, that lay field to field, till there be no place, that they may be placed alone in the midst of the earth" (ver. 8). Is this an obsolete iniquity in our day. and especially in our favoured country, where the rich and l^oor so often exchange places, and where the children of poor parents can aspire to be the masters of the soil, ay, and stojj their ears against the claims of their poor creditors, that they whose in- heritance was nothing may lay field to field, and be placed alone in the midst of the earth'? "In mine ears, saitU the Lord of hosts, of a truth many houses shall be desolate, even great and fair without inhabitant." It was to such that the prophet threat- ened woe, and to such that the apostle James exclaimed long afterwards : " Behold the hire of your labourers who have reaped down your fields, which is of you kept back by fraud, crieth; and the cries of them which have reaped are entered into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth" (James v. 4). The next form of iniquity denounced is drunkenness: "Woe unto them that rise up early in the morning, that they may follow strong drink; that continue imtil night till wine inflame them" (ver. 11). Is this, too, a peculiar vice of ancient times, iinknown in modern civilized society, and alas, that I should say it, in the Church of God? In this, as in the first case, the description of the crime is foUowed by its punishment, including not only per- sonal but national calamities, as war, desolation, and captivity. The third sin is that of the presumptuous, blaspheming sinner, who goes on to sin, not that grace may abound, but that God may take vengeance: "Woe unto them that draw iniquity with cords of vanity, and sin as it were with a cart rope : that say. Let hira AXD GOOD EVIL. 575 make speed and hasten his work, that we may see it ; and let the counsel of the Holy One of Israel draw nigh and come that we may know it" (ver. 18, 19). Have we no such blasphemers, or at least such tacit challengers of vengeance 1 Let your eyes, and ears, and memory, and conscience answer. The fourth form in iniquity is set forth in the text. The fifth is that of overweening confidence in human reason as opposed to God's unerring revelation : "Woe unto them that are wise in their own eyes, and prudent in their own sight;" another marked and hideous feature in the age in wliich Ave live. The sixth is drunk- enness, considered, not as in the former case, under the aspect of a personal excess, producing inconsideration and neglect of God, but as a vice of magistrates and rulers, and as leading to oppres- sion and all practical injustice: "Woe unto them that are mighty to drink wine, and men of strength to mingle strong drink, which justify the wicked for reward, and take away the right of the righteous from him " (ver. 22, 23). I should blush for my country if compelled to answer to the question, whether such ex- cesses have not been associated even in her borders with official power and official influence; and I must tremble for my country, when I hear the voice of God proclaiming as the consequence of this incestuous connection between vice and power: "Therefore as the fire devoureth the stubble, and the flame consumeth the chaff", so their root shall be as rottenness, and their blossom shall go up as dust : because they have cast away the law of the Lord of hosts, and despised the word of the Holy One of Israel " (ver. 24). This rapid recapitulation of the context I have given for two reasons: 1, To show that in this whole passage, the prophet has reference to species of iniquity familiar to our own time and country; and 2, Chiefly to evince, that in the text we have not a mere denunciation of God's wrath upon wickedness in general, but the description of a certain outward form in which the pre- vailing wickedness betrayed itself It does not teach us merely that punishment awaits those who choose evil in preference to good, but that an outward mark of those who hate (jod, and whom God designs to punish, is their confounding moral distinctions in tlieir conversation; calling evil good and good evil, putting dark- ness for light and hght for darkness, putting bitter for sweet and 576 WOE UNTO THEM THAT CALL EVIL GOOD, sweet for bitter. As tlie other symptoms of a general corruption, whicli are here enumerated, have their counterparts in modern times, and in the world around us, we are warranted in thinking that the analogy holds good in this case also, and that among the surest signs of those who hate God, and whom God abhors, is their habitual, instinctive disposition to call evil good and good evil. How this is done, I now invite you to consider, not as a theme of abstract speculation, or as a matter of fact in which you feel no individual concern, but as a practical and personal inquiry of the deepest moment, which, as rational and conscientious beings, you are bound to answer each one for himself. And in suggesting this inquiry, I assume that all who hear me are respectful hearers of the gospel, and professed believers in the truth of Christianity; that none of you are wont to call in question any of its funda- mental doctrines, much less to carp at the first principles of morals. You admit distinctly the essential difference of right and wrong; the excellence of truth, and the turpitude of falsehood; the supe- riority of reason and conscience to appetite and passion as the guides of human conduct ; you allow the will of God to be a binding rule of action, and the Bible to be a revelation of that will. You grant that it reveals the only method of salvation for a ruined world, and that whatever tends to make it known, and give it practical effi- ciency, contributes to the happiness and elevation of the human race. From none of these important doctrines would you perhaps be willing to dissent in terms, and so far you are innocent of calling evil good and good evil. I do not ask you whether by your con- duct you are not belying your profession of these principles ; for difficult to answer as the question might be, it would interrupt the train of thought which we have been pursuing. But the ques- tion which I ask is this : when one who thus admits in words the great first principles of morals, takes away so much on one hand, and grants so much on the other, as to obliterate the practical distinction between right and wrong ; Avhen with one breath he asserts the inviolable sanctity of truth, but with the next breath makes provision for benevolent, professional, jocose, or thoughtless falsehood; when in the abstract he asserts the claims of justice, and the obligation to give every man his own, but in application to specific cases thinks it lawful to enrich himself at other men's A yn GOOD E VIL. 577 expense, or to take advantage of another's weakness, ignorance, or error ; when he admits the paramount importance of religious duties in the general, but in detail dissects away the vital parts as superstition, sanctimony, or fanaticism, and leaves a mere ab- straction or an outward form behind; when he approves the re- quisitions of the law and the provisions of the gospel in so far as they apply to other people, but repudiates them as applying to himself ;— when any one does this, or any part of this, or anything analogous to this, I ask, whatever his professions or his creed may be, whether he does not virtually, actually, call evil good and good evil. Again, I ask you, whether he who in the general admits the turpitude of fraud, impurity, intemperance, malignity, and other vicious dispositions with their practical effects, and thus ajjpears to be an advocate for purity of morals, but when insulated cases or specific acts of vice are made the subject of discussion, treats them all as peccadilloes, inadvertencies, absurdities, indiscretions, or perhaps as virtues modestly disguised ; whether he who con- demns drunkenness, but clears the drunkard ; he who frowns upon fraud, but smiles upon the fashionable swindler or defaulter ; he who hates licentiousness, but loves the libertine; is horror-struck at murder, but can fawn upon the duellist and flatter the assassin ; I ask, whether he who does all this can be protected by the mere assertion of a few general principles from the fatal charge of call- ing evil good. And, as the counterpart of this, I ask you whether he who praises and admires all goodness, not embodied in the life of living men or women, but detests it when thus realized in concrete excellence ; who praises piety, but blames the pious ; who extols benevolence, but doubts the motives of the few who practise it ; who honours warm devotion, but laughs the wretched devotee to scorn ; in short, who worships virtue as a being in the clouds, but hates her when incarnate in the form of a reproving example ; whether he who does all this, does not really and practically call good evil. And I ask you, lastly, whether he who, in relation to the self- same acts, performed by men of opposite descriptions, has a judg- ment suited to the case of each, a pillar of fire one way and of cloud the other, but the dark side turned to Israel and the bright to the Egyptians; all compassion to the wilful transgressions of tlie wicked, and all inexorable sternness to the innocent infirmities 37 578 WOE UNTO THEM THAT CALL EVIL GOOD, ETC. of godly men ; lie who strains at a gnat in the behaviour of the meek and conscientious Christian, but can swallow a camel in the conduct of the self-indulgent votary of pleasure ; he who lauds religion as exhibited in those who give him no uneasiness by their example, but maHgns and disparages it when, from its peculiar strength and brightness, it reflects a glare of painful and intoler- able light upon his own corruptions ; — I ask whether he who does all this, let his maxims of moral philosophy be what they will, does not, to all intents and purposes, incur the woe pronounced on those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter. Ah, my hearers, these distinctions may at present appear arbitrary, frivolous, or false, and as a necessary consequence, the guilt of confounding them may fade almost to nothing, to a stain so faint upon the conscience as to need no blood of expiation to remove it. In the present darkness of your minds, that stain may even disappear. But methinks I see already the faint glim- mer of a light which is to play upon that fatal spot until it glows and sparkles, a deep, indelible, and damning spot. The day is coming when the eye of reason shall no longer find it possible to look at light and darkness as the same ; when the moral percep- tions, from acute to agony, shall cease for ever to confound tlie sweetness of true holiness with the envenomed gall and wormwood of an evil conscience ; and the woe already heard, shall then be seen and felt ; seen by the sinner in the writhings of his fellow- sinners, felt more intensely in his own. From that state many will look back and wonder at themselves, and at what they now are doing in despite of reason, conscience, and experience, and with that solemn admonition ringing in their ears, " Woe unto thorn that call evil good, and good evil ; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter." From the darkness and the bitterness of that damnation, may we all find deliverance throu£rh Jesus Christ our Lord !' 165