Preached in Willesden Presbyterian Church,September 24th, 1882.
"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord."—1 Cor.xv. 55-8.
"Now concerning the collection for the saints, as I have given order to the churches of Galatia, even so do ye. Upon the first day of the week let every one of you lay by him in store, as God hath prospered him, that there be no gatherings when I come. And when I come, whomsoever ye shall approve by your letters, them will I send to bring your liberality unto Jerusalem."—1 Cor.xvi. 1-3.
I HAVE read this passage for one single purpose; it is to draw your attention to the singular way in which St. Paul passes from the doctrine of the Resurrection to the practical duty of Christian giving. It almost startles us, who have not quite St. Paul's way of thinking about collections, to hear him pass from that triumphant apostrophe of death, "O death, where is thy sting?" to "Now concerning the collection."
This seeming incongruity in the Epistle, and in the Church's work, is not confined to the Bible or to the Church; it runs all through life. Man has a poor, fleshly body, needing food, and drink, and sleep, and nursing; and he has an immortal soul. Say what youwill, we cannot deny that the body is there; and I do not think we shall ever come to deny that the soul is there too, and will live, so long as goodness, tenderness, and devotion, and truth, and being last. Life has got into it; and the material framework which carries that soul-man's life corresponds to himself. In our homes, in our national life, in our business life there is the strangest intermingling of tragedy and comedy, of what is reverent and sacred, and what is most secular, and common, and mean. You cannot divorce the two. You may dislike the commonplace, and the mean, and the material; but if you hope to preserve the region of the spiritual and the sympathy of the good, that you can only do by preserving the body; they are gone when you forget the body.
What is it that is the brightest, heavenliest thing in the whole earth? It is love. No amount of mere common propriety, in the humblest action, will make up for the absence of that which comes out in a sudden tear or looks out in a sweet smile. We all know it, however earthly and material we are. But what I have to say is this: Look at that sacred thing, that love, which is almost too refined to put its hands on the soiling things of earth; what do you find it doing? Nursing at the sick bed, doing tasks that are repulsive, planning, with all kinds of material medicaments, and helps, and reliefs, to ease bodily pain. Now, it is easily possible for a coarse heart and poor bodily eyes to be in the midst of all that is sacred, and secular too, and to call it all common, and poor, and mean. It needs a quick, warm heart, and it needs almost, I may say, some imagination, some touch of a fine fancy, something of that Divine power which comes of tender affection and love, to do such acts for God.
In the life of Christ's spiritual family, which we call "the Church" (and by calling it "the Church" so often put it clean away out of all control of common sense and of affection), the very same law holds. The Church is worth nothing if it is not lit up and warmed with heavenly devotion to Jesus Christ. It may look solemn at the Communion-table; but it is not worth having if it does not reach men's hearts with fingers which squeeze out their hardness, and make them penitent for their sins; it is not worth having if it has not God, and Christ, and the life of the soul all throbbing through it. And yet it has a body, and material buildings, and expenses to maintain its earthly fabric and framework; and the spiritual life and the spiritual love that will have nought to do with these "cares of all the Churches," which Paul, the greatest preacher and Apostle, carried, or with collections and planning for the maintenance of preachers, thereby destroy themselves. If we try to put away that, and say, "It is not spiritual," or "It is a low thing," we are simply committing suicide of the religious life. It cannot live without that. Christ Himself had to plan how His preachers were to be maintained; and He spoke a great word when He said that they were to go and live on those who could not preach; not taking it as charity—never!—but taking it as a helpful service, which, combined with their searching of the Divine Word, should make it triumph in the world. "He that receiveth" into his house—maintaining him, that he may preach—"a preacher" (that is the meaning of "a prophet"), "in the name of a preacher"—not because he brings honour to the house, and because he is a great man, but because he is a man who is converting souls, a man that takes God at His word, and prays, and preaches unto men—will havethe same "reward" in heaven, Christ providing for the spiritual wants and for the bodily wants of the preacher, and for his maintenance. And so, if once we lived in good earnest into that real, loving, great, broad thought of the actual life of Christ, we should not feel any surprise when we read how St. Paul passes from the great triumph of the doctrine of the Resurrection to the enforcement of Christian liberality.
Now I am going to spend the time at my disposal this morning in a very practical way. I hardly think that it needed that introduction to justify this use of the time at a Sunday morning's service; still, possibly, what has been said may be of use, not so much as a justification, but just as a preparation. I think that these things are for you. The subject is not a mere question of Church business; it is not a mere question, either, of interest to the men whose minds have a little of the statesman in them, and who consider the problems of Church government and Church management, as well as of national government and management; but I will say that it is a subject which ought to have a thorough interest to every one of you. I have been led to take it as my subject this morning because I was sent, a fortnight ago, by our Synod, as a deputy to one of our largest Presbyteries in the North, in order that I might interest congregations there in our Church's financial system of maintaining the preaching of the Gospel throughout this country; and I had the feeling, when I was doing it, and I had the assurance from those whom I visited, that it did them good. I have thought, therefore, that it might do my people good. Moreover, I had this feeling about the very strong and plain things that I said to them, that I should hardly be an honest man if I did not care openly to say thesame things to my own people. Nay, I was led in some things to speak of my congregation, and what they had done not only for their minister, but for all the schemes of the Church, as an example; and therefore I feel my honour somewhat pledged that our congregation should not only do well, as it has done, but should do better. I say these things that I may have your sympathy in what I am going on to explain and to say to you.
The special subject, in our Church's government and economy, of which I want to make you understand a little is what is called the "Sustentation Fund." I wish to be short and to be simple. Let me begin in this fashion: We believe that wherever there are Christian congregations who have the love of their Master in them, and some spiritual life, all these are blessed spots and centres, wherever they stand. We know how sorrows are soothed away by that Christian brotherhood and friendship, by those common prayers and praises, and by those words of truth which are read out of the Bible and often spoken by preachers. We believe that, or we do not believe in Christ at all. That is how Christ comes to men and women, and boys and girls, and little children, on earth. Oh, He does nothing for them like that! Well, now, it is a very practical question, that comes to all Christian men and women who are gathered together into any section of Christ's Church, how they can make their ministers, and their managers, and their elders, and their deacons, and their office-bearers (by whatever name you call them), and all their members, most useful and effective for good. It is the first question that their Master puts to them. He says, "Do your best." It is the duty of every Church in England just now todo everything in its power, by business methods as well as by spiritual methods, to make every congregation have a happy, harmonious, earnest, liberal, joyful, successful Christian life.
Now I will say this: It seems to me that the good which will be done by any denomination in England just now depends, of course first of all on its possession of the living Spirit and heart of Jesus Christ in its members; but that is not my subject to-day; I am talking of the material side, the body surrounding the soul; I say, the good which will be done by any Church in England will depend upon three things: first of all, that it shall have devised a government which will exercise power—superior control—over individual members, office-bearers, ministers, congregations; which will preserve a harmonious, law-abiding, just, and generous spirit and conduct between them all; not leaving it to two individuals in the Church, or some individual member, to fight the thing out, if a disagreement arises, without asking, before an impartial tribunal, which party is right, and each of them being willing to take the right. I say that a government which, without the evils of undue centralization, without crushing individual freedom, and liberty, and enterprise, will combine all congregations into one strong, united body, powerful to do Foreign Mission work and Home Mission work, cemented together so that the strong carry the weak when they are overtaken by sickness or disaster—and the strong get the blessing when doing work like that—a government the likest to that is a government which will make the most useful and the most spiritual and successful Church in our England. I say that I have watched the progress of things in these times of profound interest, and itseems to me that men are looking at one another in the Churches for what is good and desirable. That I believe to be our attitude in watching other Churches, and to be the attitude of other Churches in watching us. I look forward to a powerful, happy future in consequence.
The second thing which seems to me to be a great spring of a Church's usefulness in this modern England is the earnestness and success with which it devises methods of instructing its young people; not merely winning their affections for Christ, but giving them a reason for the faith that is in them; not merely teaching them that there is a Saviour to protect them at the Judgment, but giving them the life and thoughts of Christ, and that knowledge which shall cause them to grow into the perfect manhood of Christ. I say, the Church that most successfully and thoroughly, from the children in the Sunday-school and in the Bible-classes to those under higher systems of instruction, carries forward a knowledge of the Bible, and of God's ways with man, and of human nature in its religious aspects, to its young people, will be the greatest blessing in England; and once again I see that all the Churches are awake to it.
And the third thing is this (not by any means that there are not other things, which are perhaps just as important, but these three stand out prominent on account of the state of men's minds in England just now): the Church that can devise a method which will fill its pulpits with men who are not merely earnest converted men, loyal to Jesus Christ, but men abreast of the intelligence and thought of the times, men who have a calm reliance in their own faith by having looked all difficulties in the face, men who have something of the self-controland the large thoughts that come with culture; men who will be, not despised, but respected by the people that come to listen to them, and with whom they come in contact in the sorrows and trials of life—the Church that can best fill its pulpits with such preachers, and put such pastors into its congregations, will do the best work in England. And, mark you, it is not merely a question of denominational success; God forbid that I should care for that; but that Church is best fulfilling its Master's command, best doing its Master's work, most contributing to the realisation of that time when Christ shall be King of men.
I now come to the particular part of our Church's method of government and order which I have chosen for explanation to you to-day. We aim at having all our ministers men who, with great differences of original natural ability, have at least had all the thorough discipline and culture that training can give them. Our ministers have all passed through a high school course, a University course, and a course of study at a theological hall. Now, all that means a period of education of something like at least twelve years. We aim at having men who have ability, men who will be able to bear themselves, in all the relations of life, with dignity. We aim at having men worthy to speak in Christ's name. It is a worthy aim. Well, now, how are you to have such men? By praying for them; by planning thoroughly disciplined study for them; by seeking them out in families, and persuading and inducing them to give themselves to the work of preaching Christ's Gospel, and keeping alive spiritual love and truth in people's hearts. It is a worthy object. But I will be very plain: the Church's hands are largely tied by a very mean, material fact; it is thequestion of the salary which is attached to that office. If it be a wretched pittance, then it is a simple matter of fact that you will not get men who are capable of taking a position in the Christian world with dignity and efficiency to devote themselves to the work of preachers. Why should they? You say, "Why should a mercenary motive act?" Very good; why should it? But it does. But why should it not? Sometimes it is said, "You must not make the ministry a bribe by the largeness of its emoluments." Does it cease to be a bribe when its emoluments are a pittance? You only lower the level of temptation to an inferior grade of men, as well as where nothing is paid at all. God meant that men should be tempted, and you cannot get rid of it; they must battle with it and withstand it. But how does the thing work? I do not think that many men of much ability will be tempted, at least till the Millennium comes, by the emoluments of preaching, however good they come to be. I, for my part, should regret if it ever became a temptation to the highest ability—a money temptation, I mean. But what I have to say is this: I am talking of a thoroughly adequate maintenance—not ofpayment. The kind of service that is done by a man who saves a human being from sin and hell is a service which cannot bepaid. That man can only be maintained to do that work; there is no money equivalent to such a service. Partly the same thing is true of a medical man's service; he saves a life. Why, if you paid him the commercial value of his service you must give him your fortune; he saves yourlife. There are some things which cannot be paid for. You cannot pay for the love of wife and children. The sweetest things cannot be paid for; you can only show your appreciation of them bya worthy maintenance; it would be a pity to talk of paying for them.
Now, suppose that the maintenance awarded to ministers, to preachers, be so small that they cannot live and bring up their children as men of such culture and such ability are made by God to require that they should be able to do; what is the effect of it? You often break that man's heart; you embitter it; he would be more than human if you did not. To go about begging for wife and child! That is the result; and it is not the result of mere disaster, but of stinginess and meanness in Christian England. I will tell you how it works. Where shall we get young men with brains, with talent, with ability, that they may give themselves to a life which is not thought to be worth a decent maintenance by Christian people? Look at it. Here is a young man, a member of some country Church; God has moved his heart, and made him wish to do all the good he can in the world. He has a feeling that he could do more if he were a minister. He would like to be one. He knows himself to possess powers to rise in the world and take a position of eminence, a position of dignity, and to do good in that fashion. Here is this youth with a warm heart, who wishes to be a minister. But I will suppose that the minister of his congregation has had some wretched pittance to live on, has been worn out with the cares of just making ends meet, has often been behindhand, has been talked of as such, and more than talked of, even by kind-hearted Christian men and women, with something of pity, and something of concern; and this youth says to himself, "That is the life of a preacher." He would be more than human if he thought it right and wise to choose it. And what ofhis father and mother—will they encourage him to do so? They would not be parents if they did. They will tell him, "Do not you suppose that there is anything so excellent, or dignified, or worthy, in a minister's work." Ah, you may say that it is a mercenary thing! True; but where does the mercenariness begin? who brings it in? After all, men will go by reason, and they will estimate what are the worth and dignity of the career of a preacher of the Gospel by what Christian men and women set them down at in pounds, shillings, and pence. That is reason.
I have said these things strongly; I have said them very strongly here, because, though I dislike to speak of things concerning ourselves, I am bound to say frankly that you to your minister have always acted with rare liberality and generosity, beyond what sometimes I have thought was proportionate. You will perfectly understand, then, that in what I speak it is not to reproach you; far from it; it is to interest you, and make you feel the importance of this question.
Since I came to be myself a teacher of theological students, and to take a pride in my students, and to seek that they should be able ministers, I have come to feel how my hands are hampered and crippled, and that the best men are kept out by such poor, mean drawbacks as these. You will understand me.
I now come to explain more fully the working of the particular method adopted by our Church to maintain an honourable, able, dignified Christian ministry: We call it the "Sustentation Fund." The immediate aim is this, to gather together the strength and liberality of rich congregations, and distribute them in districts where they are poorer. In that way the poorer congregations are able to give a more handsome maintenanceto their ministers. In that way, instead of the Church having men of parts, and culture, and dignity in the wealthier charges only, it has men of at least fair eminence, and dignity, and ability in all its branches; and that is an immense advantage. If it is a bane to society to have too great extremes of wealth and poverty, it is the same with the Church. If any Church is bound to avoid it, it isourChurch; for one of the central principles of our Church is that its ministers and office-bearers should all sit as equals in a deliberative assembly, and that none should be able to make their will press upon others. If you have one set of ministers begging for doles from other and richer ministers, what have you? You have destroyed the Church as a brotherhood, as a family. Now I have given you in that a reason why we endeavour to distribute the generous strength of the richer among the poorer congregations by the Sustentation Fund. Another method would be by an Augmentation Fund, by which wealthier congregations would dole out money to poorer congregations. That is not our system; our system is this: Every congregation is asked to give, "as God has prospered them," to a fund which we prefer to call by our old Scotch term, a "Sustentation" Fund; they have to give all that it is in their hearts to give to that fund, and they send it up to a central committee, charged with the duty of distributing it. The whole amount is divided by the number of the ministers, and an equal share is sent to each. Note how that works. It does not preclude the wealthier congregations from adding a supplement, as it is called—adding as much as they like to the income of their own minister. It would be unreasonable that a man should not give more to the minister to whoseministrations he has attached himself, and who has drawn out his sympathies; and therefore no such liberality is asked to this fund, which goes among all the ministers.
Again, the weaker congregations are urged to contribute a sum which is equal to their common share; but if they come short the deficiency is made up by the surplus from the other Churches. For instance, suppose the distributed sum is £200, and one congregation sends £230. Of that sum £200 comes back, £30 remains, and goes probably to some congregation in Northumberland who have only sent up £170.
Now, I have no time to go into details, or to talk about objections, technical objections, and so on; but just let me show you very briefly some of the advantages of this way of working. I have spoken about the sentiment of the thing. Ministers, like men, have feelings. The poorer ministers prefer to get their larger stipend in that fashion, rather than getting the money as a dole. That point has to be considered; and when you remember how great a part feeling plays in all our life you will not disregard such a thing, even if it is only sentiment. But look at the thing practically. It may be said, "What is the use of sending up the whole amount? What good is there in a congregation sending up £230, and getting £200 back? What good is there in a congregation sending up £170, and getting £200 instead? Cannot you just as well send the £30?" If you did that it would become a Dole Fund; it would not be a Sustentation Fund. Then is it a mere difference of arrangement or sentiment? Not a bit of it. I will show you how the thing works practically. It is one of those secondary sorts of advantage which generally go, more than anything else, to provea principal good. I suppose that, if you have ever thought of it, you are not surprised to find that Church business is constantly done in a most slovenly way. I suppose you are aware that even down in the City there are many offices where things are done in a slovenly, hap-hazard fashion. If that is so in business, and parish matters too, it is worse in Church matters; for even Church people seem to think that Church business need not be done with the same method and regularity as that with which secular matters should be done. Now, that is especially the case in country congregations, and the bearing of it upon finances is that moneys are not collected as they should be; they are not asked for, and are lying out when they ought to come in. A man who can give a shilling a month cannot get up twelve shillings at the end of the twelve months. All of you who are business men know what an immense advantage it is to business to have the whole of the book-keeping, and everything, done in an efficient manner. I saw, in this visitation of mine, congregations that had not connected themselves with this Sustentation Fund whose business affairs were in a shameful condition. It meant that the minister did not get his salary; it did not come in at the time; not that the money would not be given the moment it was applied for, but the treasurer was careless about it, and never thought of it. You can see the foolishness of such a position, and what a bad thing it is for the Church. What do they care about giving, when the thing is done in that careless fashion? Now, the Sustentation Fund means that the whole money collected for the minister's maintenance goes up to London; and the country people down in Northumberland try not to disgrace themselves in the eyes of the central officers inLondon, and the central officers in London have no hesitation in giving them a reminder. The advantage is the same as it is to a business house every year to have all its books and business pass through the hands of an accountant. It makes a man careful; things do not fall behind. This mode of working brings regularity and punctuality, not merely into the Sustentation Fund, but into the whole of the funds of all our charges. Well, but you may say, "What is the use of aid-giving congregations sending up their £200?" They do it, who do not need it, to get the others, who do need it, to do it too.
I have shown you what a very practical thing the Sustentation Fund is. I am now going to mention an advantage which requires little more of Church statesmanship to appreciate it. It is not the minister, but the congregation, who gets the greatest benefit; I will tell you how. Ministers do not like to go to congregations where they are kept in arrears, and where they do not get that proper maintenance which they should, just through carelessness, or where they have to ask the treasurer for money. To revert to the commercial illustration, you would not go as partner into a firm where all the books were carelessly kept, and everything was in a slovenly, negligent condition. And the congregation that has its whole business arrangements and financial affairs completely regular and punctual stands in a much better position when it has to seek a minister than one that has not; it will get a better man. That is a very real consideration.
Once more, the system of the Sustentation Fund acts in such a fashion that does not allow congregations to impose on it. The Committee of the Sustentation Fund say this: "We fix with the poorer congregationhow much of the money it shall send up, and we undertake that it shall share with the richer congregations so long as it does its duty." If they find that it is imposing on them, then they act very sharply; but if there is some local disaster, the loss of a wealthy member, or some sweeping misfortune, the Sustentation Fund will do what a family does for a sick child; it will nurse the sick child till it is strong again, and will not let it die out.
Once again, look how this system improves the position of the congregation (to use a commercial phrase) in the ministerial market. See what the Sustentation Fund amounts to. You know how the credit of a weak State is improved when a powerful State backs it up; it can borrow at a lower rate of interest. Any man, or any firm, whose business is punctually done, and whose books are properly kept, can get money from a banker much more readily than one who has the reputation of being slovenly. And the system of the Sustentation Fund improves the character of a congregation; it gives the shield of the whole Church to an individual congregation; it says that disaster shall not depress it; it carries such a congregation through a time of difficulty. A minister has more heart to go to a weak charge, to a congregation exposed to such disasters, when that congregation has its credit backed by the general credit of the whole Church. That is a businesslike and statesmanlike consideration, and it is a very real one.
There are a great many other things which I could tell you. Let me mention one fact to show what our Sustentation Fund has already done. It has always been weak hitherto, and there has been a great deal of opposition to it, and there have been a greatmany difficulties in introducing it. It has not been able to do what it would do if it were strong; but I will tell you what it has done already. In Northumberland, where our Churches get the best members and Church officers—young men brought up properly—young women brought up with prayers morning and evening—Churches with full light in them, but very poor—in these Northumberland Churches the annual ministerial stipend has in many cases been nearly doubled. Of course you may say that many ministers are not worth even £200 a year. That is true; but if they are not worth £200 a year they are not worth anything; it is better to have them out. It is not a question of degree or amount, but the question is, Is the man doing a minister's work in an honest way? If he is, it is not fair that he should have to struggle on upon such a pittance as many of the ministers have been receiving. Well, now, I will tell you what the Sustentation Fund has done. With the exception of two or three charges that have to be nursed by the Home Mission Fund, and put, as it were, on the child platform, this Sustentation Fund has given to every one of our ministers an annual income of £200; and what has it proved? That our giving it has brought before the congregations the duty of supporting their ministers as has never been done before. It has taught them to be more liberal in maintaining their ministers; it has induced them in that way to be more generous and liberal themselves.
Now I have left myself no time for some more spiritual thoughts with which I wanted to end. I do not think that it much matters, if you remember how the spiritual lives on the practical material working of Church organisation; but I just want to say this(I wish I could feel it for myself, and I do wish that our members could feel it), that there is a great risk of well-to-do congregations unconsciously growing very selfish, and being shut up in themselves. That position brings a curse with it if it brings a blight in the heart, and if we come to Christ just to get our souls saved, and then selfishly congratulate ourselves upon that. Christ wants a great, loving heart, panting to do good to every one, and to save him from sin. He says, "Do not be satisfied with just coming to say your own prayers, and sing your praises, and get your sorrows comforted, and have your joys brightened, by belonging to a congregation; but think of all the great Church everywhere, and whether you might not do something for it." I think that God gathers us into congregations just for the same reason that He gathers us into families. Our love is too weak to be left spread out—it would die altogether; it would be chill and cold as the world—and so he shuts it in, and bids a man love wife and child with family affection; and so he nurses that love, and makes it profound. What is it that causes the love of father and mother to be so strong and tender? Is it not that there are such endless demands upon them for giving their money, and time, and prayers? It is God's greatest gift. But sometimes I see men and women misuse it, and make gigantic walls, and turn them into prison walls, and they do not care for any human being outside their little circle. It becomes a blight and a curse to them. Our Church is strong now in England under the Presbyterian system, while others are isolated. There is a real danger that our hearts will be dried up and narrowed; and I put it to you that here is one means of counteracting it, by giving with a warm heart, thinking of the manses away in theNorth, and the ministers' homes, that will be made happier and better by the liberality of those whom God has prospered. The Church that shows most liberality and loyalty to others is the Church that will have most love and loyalty to the Master.
Sunday Readings.
Read Ps. cxxxviii., and John xiii. 1-17.The Self-asserting.—John xiii. 4, 5.
ON the evening before He died, Jesus washed the disciples' feet. This touching action of our Lord is constantly taken and turned into a picture of spiritual truths, and it is a very fair use to make of the story. No wonder if there is ever an overflowing surplus of meaning in all the things that Jesus said and did. But we must not forget that their symbolic use is a matter of secondary moment, and we must take care, first and chiefly, to recognise in our Lord's words and deeds that simple, direct meaning which He intended them to have. In the present case He has Himself told us why He did this strange and beautiful act of self-abasement to His faulty followers, and what effect the memory of His great humility ought to have on our hearts and characters, if we would be like Him, divinely wise and good in our treatment of erring friends.
In the country where Jesus lived the roads were hot and dusty, and the people wore sandals that left the upper part of the foot exposed. In the course of even a short journey the skin became covered with anirritating kind of sand. Therefore, on the arrival of a visitor, it was the first duty of hospitality to offer water to wash and cool the weary feet. When a feast was made the guests, as they entered, would lay aside their sandals, and take their places on the couches that surrounded the table. Then the humblest servant of the house was wont to come with basin, towel, and pitcher of water, to kneel behind each couch, to pour the water over the projecting feet, to wash them clean and free from stain, and to wipe them gently dry. It was a comfortable and kindly custom, and we know, from the anecdote of Simon the Pharisee, that our Lord missed it when it was omitted, and gratefully welcomed it when it was observed.
This night Jesus and His disciples are gathered for supper in the upper room of a strange house in Jerusalem. The room has been lent for the occasion, and so there is no servant in attendance on them. In such circumstances it had been customary among the little company for one of their number, ere the meal began, to do this needful service for the rest. In a corner of the room stood the pitcher and basin, with the towel folded by their side. They had all taken their places round the table, and the time to commence supper had come (so read verse 2). But this night—the last of their Master's life on earth—none rose to wash their feet, none stirred to perform that friendly office. One and all, they kept their places in painful and embarrassed silence. Their refusal of the lowly but accustomed task was due to an unwonted access of pride and self-assertion in their hearts. That very day, in the way, there had been a fierce contention among the disciples as to which of them was greatest. The dispute reached the Master's ear, and he firmly rebukedtheir rivalry and quelled the quarrel. The storm of passion was silenced on their lips, but the sullen surge of anger had not quite died out of their hearts. Not yet would it be easy for any one of them to forget his dignity, and do a humbling service to the rest. And so it came to pass on that solemn evening, when their Master's heart was so soft and tender, their hearts were hard with pride and anger, and though they felt the painfulness of the pause and the wrongfulness of their obstinacy, not one of them had the manliness to rise and end it, and by humbling himself make peace and harmony in their hearts.
The consciousness of discord entered the holy heart of Jesus and pierced it. His soul was filled that night with love unspeakable, and He longed to pour out to His friends the joy and the pain of His mighty purpose. But that could not be while their breasts were possessed by petty rivalries, and mean thoughts, and angry feelings. He must first shame away their pride, and melt their hardness, and make them gentle, lowly, and loving. How can He do this most quickly and completely? "He riseth from supper, and laid aside His garments; and took a towel, and girded Himself. After that He poureth water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples' feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith He was girded." Who is not able to picture the scene—the faces of John, and James, and Peter; the intense silence, in which each movement of Jesus was painfully audible; the furtive watching of Him, as He rose, to see what He would do; the sudden pang of self-reproach as they perceived what it meant; the bitter humiliation and the burning shame! The way John recites each detail tells how that scene had scorched itself on his soul and become an indeliblememory. Truly his Master had "given him an example." To his dying day John could see that sight, and many a time in the hour of temptation it crossed his path and made him a better man. May that same vision of our Lord's great humility rise before our eyes, when life is full of pride and rivalry, and our hearts are hot and angry; and may its sweet influence come on our spirits like cool, pure water, to wash these evil passions out, and to make us good and gentle, like Jesus!
Read Job xvi., and Matt. xxvi. 31-46.The Unsympathetic.—John xiii. 1-3.
The preface to the narrative of the feet-washing is long and involved. The ideas move in a lofty sphere, seemingly very remote from the simple scene they prelude. At first sight the reader is tempted to count the introduction cumbrous, and to question the relevancy. A more profound appreciation of its contents and connection changes questioning into admiration, and transforms perplexity into wondering delight. We perceive how the thoughts of the prelude light up the whole scene with a golden glow of human tenderness and Divine grandeur, so that, like a picture set in its true light, we now discern in it a depth of meaning and a wealth of beauty previously unsuspected. The perplexing preface proves to be the vestibule that leads into the innermost shrine of the temple.
The Gospel of St. John was not written till half a century later than the events it records; yet it is written as though it were but yesterday the Apostle had witnessed the scenes he describes. Those recollections had not been casual visitants, but constantinmates of his mind and heart. There was hardly ever a day he had not thought about them. At night when he lay awake and could not sleep he had thought about them. He conned them over in memory, he pored over them in his mind, he cherished them in his heart lovingly. And the promise his Lord had given came true to him, for the Holy Spirit took of these things of Christ, and showed them unto him, so that they grew to his eyes better and better, and more beautiful, and more full of meaning, till their inmost heart of Divine goodness was revealed to him. Ah! when we first get to know Christ it is but His face, His eyes, His outer form we see. That is a great sight! But to see and know all the heart of God that was in Him—that takes a very long time; it takes half a century; it takes eternity to get at that! John lived in that high quest almost all his life, gazing at the Master, worshipping and adoring, laying his heart on the Master's heart; and the result was that he got to know Jesus far better than he did when he lived with Him. Hence it is that the fourth Gospel is so different from the other three. They just tell us what Jesus said and what Jesus did. But John's Gospel mixes up the acts and words of Jesus with John's own thoughts and explanations, so that it is sometimes hardly possible to tell whether we are reading what Jesus said or what John thought about it. He is ever passing behind the loveliness of the human life, to trace its explanation in the inner heavenly nature. He paints for us the tree with its beauteous branches, leaves, and blossoms, and then he bids us behold the great root in God's earth out of which it grew; that wonderful root, which is Divine, and which is the source of all the sweetness that is brightening the upper air. The Jesus of John's Gospelhas more of God in the look of face and eyes, and in the ring of His voice, than the Jesus of Matthew, Mark, and Luke. It is the Jesus that lived and grew on in John's loving memory, year by year becoming greater, holier, Diviner in the illumination of the Holy Spirit, that was brooding over that home of Christ in the heart of John. It is, indeed, Jesus coloured by John's thoughts and John's feelings; but then they are true thoughts and true feelings. And so it is that sometimes, in the evangel of the Beloved Disciple, we almost lose sight of the outer form and familiar features of our Lord, but only that we may see more clearly the glory of His inner nature and the beauty of His heart Divine.
It is to this loving industry of John's mind that we owe the preface of our story, so laden with great thoughts. It bids us, before we scan the picture of our Lord's humility, gaze into His heart, and see how that night it was filled with contending emotions of exaltation and agony, of tenderest devotion and unrequited love, and then, in the light of His inner grandeur, grief, and forlornness, measure the marvel of this wondrous act of self-abasement. He who washed the feet of those sinful men was the Son of God and the world's Saviour. He made Himself their servant! He washed their feet! But more than that, He was a dying man that night, and He knew it. His hour was come. Already the presaging pangs of the bloody sweat, of the scourging and the spitting, of the anguish and forsakeness of the cross, had broken like stormy waves of a troubled sea on Christ's sensitive spirit. The pain, and the parting, and the solemn awe of death had fallen upon His soul. He was going to bid good-bye to the faces He had loved, to the things that were so beautifulin His eyes, to the lilies and the birds, to those He had clung to on earth, to mother, and brother, and friend, to all that was sweet and dear to His human heart. His thoughts were preoccupied that night. He was preparing Himself for death. His heart was already getting detached from earth. Oh, if ever there was an hour when He might have been forgiven, if He had had no thought but of Himself, it was that night! If ever He might have held Himself exempt from thinking of others, and expected them to think of Him, it was that night. If ever there was an hour when He might have counted selfishness unforgivable, and bitterly resented want of sympathy, it was that night, when His grief was so great and His love so warm and tender. And yet, says John, it was on that night that amongst us all, engrossed in our petty, selfish rivalry, He was the one that could forget Himself, could lay pride aside, and humble His heart, and do the lowly act that made peace amongst us, and melted all our pride away, and made us good, and loving, and fit to hear the wondrous thoughts of grace and love that were glowing in His heart for us and for all mankind.
The lesson is one for good men and women. They are too apt to think, because they have set out on some great enterprise of goodness, that therefore they are exempt from the little courtesies and forbearances of lowlier service. They mean to do good, but they must do it with a high hand and in a masterful fashion. They cannot stoop to conciliate the lukewarm and to win the unsympathetic. And so too often their cherished purpose ends in failure, and we see that saddest sight in Christ's Church—beautiful lives marred and noble service spoiled, because the sacrifice is not complete enough, because pride lingers in the heart, andself-assertion and selfishness. We cannot be faithful in that which is greatest unless we are willing to be faithful also that in which is least.
Read 2 Sam. xxiv., and John xxi. 15-23.The Wilful.—John xiii. 6-10.
The character of Peter stands clear cut in the Gospels. He had a warm heart, an eager mind, an impulsive will, a quick initiative, and a native aptitude for pre-eminence. He took the lead almost unconsciously and without premeditation, but none the less he was conscious of a keen pleasure in being first. Prominence with him was not a choice of calculation, but rather an innate instinct and necessity of nature. Alike by what was best and by what was worst in him, it was natural for Peter to stand out from the rest, and whether right or wrong, to be their spokesman, champion, and chief.
As Jesus went round, washing the disciples' feet, there was perfect stillness in the room. None ventured to speak in explanation or remonstrance till He came to Peter. But as He prepared to kneel down behind him, Peter stopped Him with a protest: "Lord, dost thou wash my feet?" It looks on the face of it altogether good, and pure, and manly. But then Christ was no narrow-hearted pedant, eager to find fault, and imagining offence where none existed. Yet Peter's protest, instead of being approved, is gently but firmly refused. "What I do thou dost not understand now, but thou shalt understand presently." Beneath the fair surface of the remonstrance there must have been some unlovely thing that had to be rebuked away. What was the jarring chord? Had Peter's motive been contrition, and contrition only, would he have waited till itcame to his turn? Would he not have leapt to his feet at once, and insisted on taking the Master's place, and washing the feet of them all? Did he sit still, ashamed for himself and them, but angrily ashamed, resolving first that he would not basely allow his Lord to demean Himself, then thinking hard things of the others, who suffered it without protest? And so, when it came to his turn, was his heart full of censorious thoughts, and a proud resolve that he would come out of the humiliation better than the rest? If, without breach of charity, we may take this to have been his mood, then we can understand Christ's kindly deprecation of his words and act. He fancied his impulse all good and noble. He did not know the treachery of his own heart. He did not fathom the necessity for the humbling experience of having to be washed by his Master. With the cleansing of his feet in simple obedience, his heart would be cleansed also of pride and of anger. Then he would understand what his Master was doing, and how He had to do it to put right so much that was wrong in the heart of His wayward follower.
It is not easy to obey without understanding. What was noble in Peter, and what was base, combined to hold him back from yielding. Peter's love recoiled from the humbling of his Master. Peter's pride shrank from the humbling of himself. "Thou shalt never wash my feet." Truly a noble, proud refusal! There was in it a strange mixture of good and evil. Peter wanted to come back to right, but he wished to come in his own way. Christ's way was painful, and the disciple would fain choose another that did not lead through the Valley of Humiliation. But then, if you have gone wrong through pride you cannot get right again and yet keep your pride. If you would be good youmust abase yourself. Peter's refusal meant that his spirit still was not quite subdued, his heart not quite humble and contrite. In that mood he could not enter into the sacred communion of his Master's dying love. With that spirit cherished and maintained he could not belong to His fellowship. "If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with Me."
Christ knew Peter's heart. The man loved his Master with a passionate personal attachment. These words fell on his spirit with a sudden chill. To have no part with Christ—that was more than he could bear. "Lord, not my feet only, but also my hands and my head." It is as though he would say, "A great part in Thee!" And we might readily count the request blameless, and the mood that uttered it commendable only. But Jesus declines it, and in refusing suggests that it has in it something of unreality and excess. So then, without his knowing it, there must have lurked in the thought Peter's love of pre-eminence. First of all, he had wished to differ from the others in not being washed at all. Now that he must be washed, he would be the most washed of all. Ah, the subtle danger of wanting to be first, even in goodness! We cannot safely try to be good for the sake of being foremost. We must be good just for goodness' sake, with no thought of self at all. And surely silent submission had become Peter better than any speech. When a man knows he has gone wrong again and again, and Christ has undertaken to set him right, his wisdom is to offer no resistance, nor make any suggestion, as if he knew better than Jesus what had best be done.
Self-will in choosing the way in which we are to be saved and sanctified is a blunder from which few are quite free. We cannot leave our souls simply in God'scare and teaching. We catch at Christ's hands, and distrust the simplicity of His grace, and dictate to the Holy Spirit the experience and discipline we deem best. Surely it is not becoming and it is not wise. When a man has been taken into God's hands, and has been forgiven his sins, and is being taught by God, he should just keep very still and very humble, and let God make of him what He will.
Read 1 Sam. xxiv., and Luke xxii. 47-62.The Faithless.—John xiii. 11.
Jesus enjoined us to love our enemies. We count it a hard saying. An enemy is not lovable. The sight of him wakes instinctively not affection, but antagonism. It is not easy to wish him well, to do him good. We find it difficult to endure his presence without show of repugnance. Still harder is it to pity him, to help him, to do him a service. But there is something worse than an enemy, something more repulsive, more unforgivable. That is a traitor—the faithless friend, who pretends affection with malice in his breast, who receives our love while he is plotting our ruin, and under cover of a caress stabs us to the heart. Open hostility may be met, resented, and forgotten, but cold-blooded treachery our human nature stamps as the all but unpardonable sin. Its presence is revolting, and its touch loathsome. An honest heart sickens at the sight of it.
Among the guests gathered around the table, that night before our Lord's death, was Judas, who betrayed Him. He had sold his Master for thirty pieces of silver, and was watching his opportunity to complete the covenant of blood. He sat there while Jesus washedtheir feet. Jesus knew all his falseness, all his heartlessness, all his treachery. He knew it, and He washed the traitor's feet.
The perfection of our Lord's holiness is apt to mislead us into the idea that because it was faultless, it was therefore easy. We conceive His goodness as spontaneous, His sinlessness as without effort. But in truth He was a man tempted in all points like as we are. He was obedient unto death, but His obedience He learned by the things which He suffered. He was perfect in purity, meekness, self-denial, but only by humbling Himself and crucifying the flesh. His self-control was absolute, but it cost Him as much as it does us—perchance more. His sinless, holy heart shrank from sin's foulness, and suffered in its loathsome contact as our stained souls cannot. The base presence and false fellowship of a Judas must have been a perpetual pain to His pure spirit. But He endured his meanness with a heavenly self-restraint that curbed each sign of repugnance, and to the last He maintained for the traitor a Divine compassion that would have saved him from himself, and that in Jesus's nature compelled the very instincts of loathing to transform themselves into quite marvellous ministries of superhuman loving. It was no empty show of humility and kindness, it was pity and love incarnate, when Jesus knelt at Judas's back, and washed the feet of His betrayer.
That seems to me one of the most wondrous, most tragic scenes in this world's story. Could we but have seen it—Jesus kneeling behind Judas, laving his feet with water, touching them with His hands, wiping them gently dry, and the traitor keeping still through it all! What a theme for the genius of a painter—theface of Jesus and the face of Judas—the emotions of grandeur looking out of the one, of good and evil contending in the other! If anything could have broken the traitor's heart, and made him throw himself in penitent abasement on the Saviour's pity, it was when he felt on his feet his Master's warm breath and gentle touch, and divined all the forgiving love that was in His lowly heart.
This was our Lord's treatment of a faithless friend. On the night of His betrayal He washed the feet of His bitterest enemy, of the man who had sold Him to death. He rises from that act, and speaks to you and me, and says, "I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you." If you have a friend that has deceived you, do not hate him; if you have an enemy, forgive him; if you can do him a humble kindness, do it; if you can soften and save him by lowly forbearance, be pitiful and long-suffering to the uttermost. It is the law of Christ. If you call it too hard for flesh and blood, remember how your Master, that night He was betrayed, washed the feet of the man that betrayed Him
Read Isa. xl., and 1 Cor. xiii.The Secret of Magnanimity.—John xiii. 12-17.
There is a contagious quality in greatness. Young hearts, generous souls, dwelling in the vicinity of a hero, are apt to catch his thoughts, and words, and ways. Christ's greatness is His goodness, and that is absolute. Men look at Jesus, behold His perfection, grow to love Him, and hardly knowing how, become like Him. We see His tranquillity, whose minds are so perturbed by life's worries and men's wrongs. We wonder at His infinite peace, whose hearts are so hotand restless with the world's rivalries and ambitions. Our spirits, tired, and hurt, and fevered, gaze wistfully at the great serenity of His gentle life, and ere we know it a strange longing steals into our breast to learn His secret and find rest unto our souls. Plainly the panacea does not consist in any change outside us, for, do what we will, still in every lot there will be crooks and crosses that cannot be haughtily brushed aside, that can only be robbed of their sting by being humbly borne and patiently endured. Moreover, the world was not least, but most unkind to Him, yet could not mar His peace, nor poison the sweetness of His soul. Within Himself lay the talisman of His charmed life, the hidden spring of His unchanging goodness. It was the spell of a lowly, loving, and loyal heart. This is the key to the enigma of His perfect patience. He loved us, and He gave Himself for us. And so, whether His friends were gentle and obedient or wayward and rebellious, whether they were kind and sympathetic or cold, and hard, and selfish, whether they were good or evil, He remained unchanged and unchangeable. "Having loved His own which were in the world, He loved them unto the end."
The machinery of life is not simple, but complex and intricate. In its working there cannot but be much friction. If the strains and jars of social existence are to be borne without irritation and ill-will, there must be between us and our neighbours a plentiful supply of the oil of human kindness. The pressure and constraint that from a stranger would be irksome or unendurable become tolerable or even gladsome when borne for one we love. Did we, as God meant us to do, love our neighbour as ourself, life's burdens would seem light, for love makes all things easy. But thenthe difficulty just is to love our neighbour as ourself. Here, as elsewhere, it is the first step that costs. For too often our neighbour is not lovable, but hateful, and our own self is so much nearer to us than any neighbour can be. Its imperious demands silence his claims on our kindness, and drown the calls of duty. Its exuberant growth overshadows his, and robs him of the sunshine. Its intense acquisitiveness absorbs all our care and interest, all our sympathy and affection, so that we have no time or heart to spare for his exactions—no, not even for his necessities. Clearly in this inordinate love of self is the root of the wrong and unrest of our life. Because we love our own self too much, we love others too little to be able to be generous and good like Christ. Wrapped up unduly in selfish anxiety for our own happiness and dignity, we become too sensitive to the injuries of foes, the slights of friends, the cuts and wounds of fortune. The reason why we lack the lowliness of Jesus, and miss the blessedness of His heavenly peace, is our refusal to take up the cross and follow Him in the pathway of self-sacrifice. It was His detachment from self that made Him invulnerable to wounds, imperturbable amid wrongs, good and kind to the evil and to the froward. Because He cared much for others and little for Himself, He was lifted above the strife and restless emulation of our self-seeking lives. The charm that changed for Him the storm of life into a great calm was the simple but potent spell of self-renunciation.
The thought is one that captivates fresh hearts and noble souls with the fascination of a revelation. It seems to unlock all doors, to break all bars, and to lift from life its mysterious burden of perplexity and pain. The pathway of renunciation opens before their eyeswith an indefinable charm, unfolding boundless vistas of lofty achievement, haunted by sweet whispers of a joy and content, dreamt of many a time, but never before attained. It is a fond delusion, that experience soon dispels. At the outset the way glows with the rosy light of a new dawn, and our footsteps are light with the bounding life of a fresh springtide; but ere many miles are traversed the road becomes hard and rough, and we, with heavy hearts, drag hot and dusty feet along a weary way. For the way of the Cross has indeed blessedness at the end of it, but easy it cannot be till it is ended. To curb our pride, to crush our self-seeking, to conquer passion, to quell ambition, to crucify the flesh—these things are not easy. They have the stern stress and strain of battle in them. To be patient under injuries, to suffer slights and wrongs, to take the lowest place without a murmur, are conquests that demand a strong heart and a great mind. Where shall we learn a serenity that can be disturbed by no trouble, where find a peace that disappointment cannot break, where reach a goodness that no wrong can ruffle? What is the secret of magnanimity?
The answer comes to us from John's picture of his Lord's humility. In the forefront we behold Jesus kneeling on the ground and washing His disciples' feet, and we wonder at such lowliness. But now John's finger points, and our eyes rest on the heart of this lowly Saviour, and reverently we read His thoughts. "Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into His hands, and that He was come from God and went to God," washed the disciples' feet. There is at once the marvel of His condescension and its explanation. He was so great He could afford to abase himself. His followers stood on their dignity, and jealouslyguarded their rank. He was sure of His position. Nothing could affect His Divine dignity. He came from God; He was going to God. What mattered it what happened to Him, what place He held, what humiliation He endured, in the brief snatch of earthly life between? And we, if we would be great-minded like Him, must have the same high faith, the same heavenly consciousness. We must know that this world, with its wrongs and disappointments, is not all; that this life, with its pride and pomps, is but a passing show. We must remember ever the grander world beyond, the infinite life within, and even now, amid the glare and din of time, live in and for eternity. Then we should no longer fret for a thousand trifles that vex us, we should not trouble for all the wrongs that pain and grieve us. What dignity, what grandeur, what Divine nobility there would be in every thought, in every word, in every deed of all our life on earth, were the consciousness ever glowing in our hearts that we too came from God and are going back to God!