(Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity.)
S. LUKE x. 30.
"A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves."
The scene of the parable is a wild, lonely road between Jerusalem and Jericho. It is a road with an evil name for murder and robbery, and is called the red, or bloody way. The mishap of the traveller was common enough in our Lord's day, and is common enough now. But I would take the scene of this parable in a wider sense; I would ask you to look at it as the wayside of life. The road through this world is a dangerous way, leading through the wilderness, stained by many crimes, haunted by many robbers. Travelling along this highway of life, I see crowds of persons, of all sorts and conditions of men. And I see moreover that all of them bear scars upon them, as though they had been wounded, and many I see are lying by the wayside in sore distress. All have at some time or other fallen among thieves. There is a famous picture by the great French painter which illustrates this. It represents a number of different people journeying through the valley of this world. The way is rough and gloomy, and all bear signs of having known weariness and sorrow. The king is there in his royal robes, and wearing his crown; but his brow is furrowed with care, and he seems to ask, like our own King Henry—
"Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shadeTo shepherds, looking on their silly sheep,Than doth a rich embroider'd canopyTo kings, that fear their subject's treachery?"
The poet is there crowned with laurel, but his eyes are sad, as though he felt how poor a thing is fame; how valueless the garland which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven. He looks with a yearning glance, as though searching for something not yet found. Even like the great poet Dante, who, when asked in exile by the monks, "My brother, what are you seeking?" answered, "I am seekingpeace." The soldier is there, his sword hacked, and his armour marked by many a blow. But he seems "weary with the march of life," and looks sadly upon the glittering stars and crosses which adorn him, remembering how soon they will only serve to decorate his coffin. There, too, is the minister of state, who directed the fortunes of empires. "Whom he would he slew, and whom he would he kept alive." But his head is bowed with trouble, and he seems to look wistfully to the time when "the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." Among the crowd there are women; the widow with veiled head, and tearful eyes; the mother clasping her dead child; the poor slave, cowering beneath the lash of the taskmaster, and stretching out her chained hands for pity. There, too, are many sick folk. Blind men sit in darkness by the wayside; cripples drag their maimed bodies wearily along; beggars grovel in their sores and raggedness. And all these different people seem to turn their faces longingly to one place, where a bright light breaks over the dark valley, and where there stands One with outstretched arms, and loving smile. It is Jesus, the Good Samaritan, who is ready to help these travellers on the road of life; it is the Good Physician, who has medicine to heal their sickness; and who says to every suffering heart, king and beggar, desolate widow, weary warrior, childless mother, "Come unto Me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest."
My brothers, this life is a pilgrimage through the vale of tears, a journey along the robber-haunted road. Everywhere we see the traveller of the parable who has fallen among thieves. Some have fallen among Satan and his followers, thieves and murderers of souls. I see young men who have thus fallen. My brothers, where is the white robe of your Baptism, the shining armour of your Confirmation? Is that troubled face of yours the same over which a pure mother wept and prayed, and which she sanctified with holy kisses? Can you recall a time when you went through the world "wearing the white flower of a blameless life?" And now, your white robe is stripped off from you, your armour is broken and cast aside, there are ghastly wounds upon you. Your conscience is wounded, your good name is wounded, your purity is all stained and foul, you have trampled on the white snow of some innocent life. You have wandered out of the right way, and strayed into bad company, into the drunkard's haunt, or the gambler's den, or the house of shame. You have fallen among thieves, and they have stripped you, and wounded you, and left you half dead.
Young men, is not this too true of some of those who hear me now? What will you do? Will you lie there in the dangerous path, and die, die in your sins? No, look for help—but where? The world cannot aid you. The world is selfish, the world is hard upon those who have fallen, the world will pass by on the other side. Money will not help you, it cannot purchase clothing for you, or procure medicine for your disease. Your clothing must be bought without money and without price. Turn to Jesus, the Good Samaritan, He alone has medicine to heal your sickness. Turn to Him in weeping, in praying, and He will give you wine, which maketh glad the heart of man, even the wine of pardon; and oil to make you a cheerful countenance, even the oil of comfort to your wounded spirit. He will clothe you once again, and make you in your right mind. O wounded wayfarer on the road of life, cry out to Jesus, the good Samaritan. Some have fallen among the thieves of bereavement and loss. As they lie there in their sorrow, they tell us how their money was lost in the bank, or their savings swallowed up in bad times of trade. There are poor widows lying there, who say to us, "We have buried our husband, the bread-winner, how can we feed and educate and clothe the children? How can we struggle on through a hard world?" To them I say—Listen for the footsteps of Jesus, the Good Samaritan. The same love which comforted the widow of Nain will comfort you. The same Hands which wiped away her tears will dry your eyes. Only believe, and turn to the Good Samaritan. Some have been beaten in the battle of life, and are nearly heart-broken. I have tried so hard to get work—they say, but there seems no room in the world for me, disappointment has been my meat and drink day and night. Ah! my brothers, have you not been trusting to the Priest and the Levite, rather than to the Good Samaritan? The world has passed you by, but Jesus will not. He will bind up your broken heart, and show you that there is room in God's world for all who will do their duty. But there is another lesson for us to learn. If Jesus does so much for us, we ought to help each other. "Go thou and do likewise." The common, popular idea of religion, is utter selfishness. We are taught that the great end and aim of religion is to get our soul saved, as cheaply as possible sometimes. Now this teaching is utterly wrong. It leads us to think only of ourselves, it makes us go to Church from a wrong motive—that we may get good. True religion teaches us to be good Samaritans, to do all to the glory of God, to love Him with all our heart and strength, and our neighbour as ourself. "Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world." The great lesson of the parable is this, that every man is our neighbour when he needs help, and we can give it. The Jews, as we know, had no dealings with the Samaritans, and our Lord's story showed how that middle wall of partition should be broken down. The Good Samaritan did not stay to question the fallen traveller about his religious views, or his political principles—he saw him in trouble, and he helped him. May we all go and do likewise. We Christians are all too ready to build up a wall of separation between ourselves and our brethren. One of these walls is that of religious difference. We disagree about some point of doctrine or ritual, and allow the disagreement to embitter our feelings, and to shut out our sympathy. Politics form another wall of separation. We differ from a neighbour in our political views, and we refuse to recognise any good in him because he does not think as we do. There are some among the rich who look down with contempt upon the poor, as though poverty were the unpardonable sin. And there are endless prejudices of rank and class which shutout man from man. Against all these things the parable of the Good Samaritan is a protest and a warning.
It is the way of the world to leave a fallen man to his fate, but it is not Christ's way. It is the way of the world to speak very hardly of those who are in want and misery, for as nothing succeeds like success, nothing fails like failure. But again, that is not Christ's way. He never breaks the bruised reed, or quenches the smoking flax. My brothers, let us learn to look on all men as our neighbours, let us stretch out a helping hand to those who have fallen among thieves, let us pour the wine and oil of sympathy, and kind words where we can, let us be gentle in our judgment of another's fault, since "blessed are the merciful."
(Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity.)
GALATIANS v. 16.
"Walk in the Spirit."
The life of a Christian must be one of progress. S. Paul says, "Walkin the Spirit;" he does not say, stand still. It is not enough for us to have been born again of Water and the Holy Ghost, and to have received the Gifts of the Spirit from time to time through the different means of grace. We are bidden "to stir up the gift that is in us;" we are told to "growin grace." God has set us upon our feet in the right road. He has taken us by the hand, that is, the Holy Spirit is our leader and guide; but we have something to do—we mustwalk. There are some who tell us that everything has been done for us in the past, and that everything will be done for us in the future; and those who believe that doctrine never do a day's work for Jesus. They never go into His vineyard; they never make any use of their five talents, or even of one; they never put on the whole armour of God. They tell us they have nothing to do, all is done for them. I should be sorry to hold so selfish, idle, and unmanly a doctrine as that. I know very well that Godhasdone, and is doing, for me what I could not do for myself. I know how weak I am, and how much need I have of God's guiding, strengthening Hand: but I know also that He expects something from me. He bids me fight and struggle against temptation; He tells me to press forward towards the mark—to go up higher, to seek those things which are above, to forget those things which are behind. He would have me labour and strive to enter in at the strait gate, and to work out my own salvation. He commands me to take up my cross and follow, and all this means work, struggle,progress. "Walk in the Spirit." When Jesus had opened the eyes of the blind man, he did not continue to sit by the wayside begging, he arose and followed Christ. It is only blind folks, whose eyes Jesus has not yet opened, who are content to sit by the roadside of life and do nothing. God says to each one of us—"This is My way, walk ye in it." Let us see what this walking means. First, I think it meansgoing forward. There is no standstill in God's natural world, nor is there in God's spiritual world. If a child is healthy, he is growing:getting on, as the phrase is. So a true child of God is getting on, making progress, going forward every day. He goes on growing in grace till he comes of age, then God takes him to His Home, and gives him his inheritance. If you look at the tombs in a churchyard, you will see that those lying there died at all kinds of ages. Here is the tiny grave of an infant, snatched from its parents' arms almost as soon as the cross was written on its brow. But in God's sight that little one had come of age, and so was taken Home. Here is the grave of a child who had begun to do some work for God, and was as sunshine in its home, and the joy of its friends. When death took the child, people mourned because he died so young; but God had said of him, and his work, "He has come of age—it is finished." Here is the grave of an old man, a village patriarch. It required nearly a hundred years before he came of age, and he had to walk for many a weary day, and carry his cross, before God saw that the time of harvest had come, and sent "the reaper, whose name is death." And now comes the solemn question—are we making progress, going forward; are we striving to do the work which God has given us to do? Next, walking in the Spirit meansdiscipline, self-denial. "I keep under my body," is the motto for every Christian man. We must turn our eyes from the sight which tempts us to leave the right path; we must close our ears to the whisper of those who would lead us aside. We must keep our mouth, as it were, with a bridle; we must lay aside every weight. Each of us has his special temptation, which becomes a weight, a hindrance. One man is so weighted with the cares of business and money-getting, that he cannot walk in the right path. The gold and the silver weigh him down, and make him stumble. Another has piled up such a load of troubles and worries upon his shoulders that he cannot advance. One woman is so cumbered with her domestic concerns that she makes no progress towards Heaven. Another is overwhelmed with pleasures and amusements which cling about her, and hinder her from going forward.
My brethren, do not let the world over-weight you, or drag you back from the right way. There is one weight, however, which we must all carry—our cross. I have heard of a picture which represents two pilgrims along the road of life. One bears his cross on his shoulders, and steps forward manfully, looking up to Heaven; the other is dragging his cross after him along the rough road, with painful and unwilling labour. We musttake upour cross and bear it if we would walk in the Spirit. If we suffer it to drag behind us, it will only hinder instead of helping us. Each sorrow, each loss, or bereavement, is as a nail to fasten us closer to our cross. Let us stretch out our hands willingly to receive the nail, sharp though it be. Remember we must becrucifiedwith Jesus if we are to be glorified with Him. Again, walking in the Spirit meanspatient perseverance. A religion of fits and starts is worth nothing. There are many who come running to Jesus, like the young ruler, but when they know what being a Christian means, they go away. There are many who, at the time of a Confirmation or a Mission, declare that they will follow Christ whithersoever He goeth. But, after a little while, the enthusiasm dies out, they grow weary in well-doing, unstable as water, they follow no more after Him. If we would reach our journey's end, we mustkeep on walking, steadily, patiently, perseveringly. "He that endureth to the end shall be saved." Again, walking in the Spirit meanslooking forwardalong the road. Too much of our religion isshort-sighted. We see the pleasure or the sorrow at our feet, but we see nothing of the glorious future, the rest that remaineth for the people of God. We are like those who see the clod of earth against which their foot strikes, but never lift their eyes aloft to look on the towering mountain. Men of science tell us that shortness of sight is greatly on the increase amongst us, especially with those who live in great cities. The reason for this is that the city dwellers wear out their eye-sight by looking constantly on objects close to them, without having any wider or more distant prospect. So it is with our spiritual sight. We wear it out by fixing our eyes on some worldly object close to us. One man has grown near-sighted by gazing day after day at his money bags, till he can see nothing else; and another has studied his ledger and cash book till he has no eyes left for God's fair Heaven above him; another has looked at his own picture till he sees his own cleverness or greatness reflected everywhere.
My brothers, look forward, look up: see God's love and mercy on all sides of you. Come out into God's sunshine; ask Him to open your eyes that they may see the wondrous things of His law. I think, too, that walking in the Spirit means havingperfect trust in God—walking with our hand in His. If you see a man fearful about to-morrow, dreading the future, always expecting and anticipating evil, meeting misfortune half-way, be sure he is not walking in the Spirit. Hold fast to God's Hand—trust Him. Do you remember the story of the little Russian boy who trusted in God? He and a younger sister were left utterly destitute on the death of their father. Left alone in the house, without money and food, the little boy knew not how to comfort his baby sister. At last, urged by the tears of the little one, the boy wrote on a piece of paper, "O God, please to send me three copecks (a penny) to buy my little sister some bread," and then hurried away with this strange letter to the alms box of a neighbouring church, believing in his simplicity that in this way his letter would reach Heaven. A Priest saw the little boy trying to force the paper into the alms box. He took the letter from him and, having read it, gave the child food and assistance. Next day the Priest preached in the church on behalf of the orphans, and when he had related the story of the child's letter to God, a liberal offertory was given.
Lastly, I think that walking in the Spirit meanswalking in hope. If we trust God and do our best, we cannot despair. We shall find the road hard and stony at times, but let us hope and go steadily forward. We shall fall sometimes, we shall make mistakes, we shall suffer defeats, we shall be cast down, and weary. Still let us hope, and go steadily forward.
"Hope on, hope ever, tho' dead leaves be lyingIn mournful clusters 'neath your journeying feet,Tho' wintry winds through naked boughs are sighing,The flowers are dead, yet is their memory sweetOf summer winds and countless roses glowing'Neath the warm kisses of the generous sun.Hope on, hope ever, why should tears be flowing?In every season is some victory won."
(Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity.)
S. MATT. vi. 28.
"Consider the lilies of the field."
This world is God's great Temple, and the voices of Nature are His preachers. The Holy Spirit speaks to us through these preachers like the wind breathing through the pipes of a great organ. To those who have ears to hear, the roar of the ocean, or the sound of the mighty rushing wind, are as an anthem of praise. The song of birds, the hum of insects, every voice in the world of Nature combine to take part in a hymn of thanksgiving, a greatBenedicite, and to sing, "O all ye works of the Lord bless ye the Lord, praise Him, and magnify Him for ever." And yet, my brothers, there are many of us too blind and too deaf to see and hear these things. To one man this world is only a gigantic farm, to be divided, and ploughed, and tilled, that it may bring forth more fruit. To another the world is merely a great market, a warehouse filled with all kinds of goods, which may be bought and sold. To some the world is like a chess-board, where each man plays a selfish game, and tries to overreach his neighbour. To others the world is a mere play-ground, where they pass a frivolous, useless existence, sitting down to eat and drink, and rising up to play. To the selfish man the world is a vast slave plantation, where unhappy slaves are forced to toil and labour to supply the needs of cruel taskmasters. To the faithless man the world is nothing better than a graveyard, where lie buried dead friends, dead hopes, dead joys, without any promise of a resurrection. But to the Christian this world is a great and solemn Temple, where he can worship the Creator, and where ten thousand voices teach him to "look through Nature up to Nature's God." When he stands in the meadow grass, or under the shadows of the pine-wood, he can feel that surely God is in this place, and that the place wherever he stands is holy ground.
"Oh, to what uses shall we put the wildweed flower thatsimply blows?And is there any moral shut within the bosom of the rose?But any man that walks the mead, in bud, or blade, orbloom, may find,According as his humours lead, a meaning suited to his mind."
Let us listen to-day to the preaching of Nature, and learn a lesson from the grass which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven. Let us consider the lilies, and make them our teachers. The first lesson which these silent preachers would have us learn is the unfailing care of God for His creatures. He never neglects to clothe the ground with grass, or to nourish the lilies, which neither toil nor spin. Yet we who both toil and spin, and haste to rise up early, and so late take rest, are often distrustful and full of doubt. Brethren, let us work our work, but not put our trust in it. It is God's right Hand and His mighty Arm which must help us. Let us strive to do our best, and leave the result to God. Let us dwell in the land, and be doing good, and verily we shall be fed. And next, we learn from the grass and the flowers how short our time is. Every meadow, every grassy hillock in the churchyard, seems to say to us, "as for man, his days are as grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more. All flesh is grass, and all the goodness thereof as the flower of the field: the grass withereth, the flower fadeth; because the Spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it; surely the people is grass." Yes, surely this thought should be a check to our pride, and our schemes, and our worldliness, that we must one day lay them all aside, like a worn-out garment, and that the pleasant grass, which our careless foot is pressing, shall grow green upon our grave. Let us hearken to the warning of a quaint old epitaph which I have seen in a Yorkshire Churchyard:—
"Earth walketh on the earth,Glittering like gold;Earth goeth to the earthSooner than it would.
Earth buildeth on the earthPalaces and towers,Earth sayeth to the earth—All shall be ours."
I read the other day that lately a workman, employed in some excavations at Rome, found a funeral urn containing the ashes of one of the Caesars. The workman knew nothing of the matter, but seeing that the ashes were very white, he sent them to his wife to bleach linen with. And this was all that remained of that body which had worn the imperial purple! "To what base uses we may return!" But the grass, and the flowers of the field, not only tell us of the shortness of life, and the certainty of death, they speak to us also of the resurrection. Looking at the world in the autumn and winter time we see nothing but death and decay. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," is the mournful text of every falling leaf, and faded flower. But God who lays nature in her grave, will, in the spring time, roll away the stone from the sepulchre. Who can look on Nature, touched by the warm breath of May, and doubt the resurrection?
"Each tree she kindles by her touch bursts into leafy flames,And, like the sacred desert bush, God's presence there proclaims.The chestnuts spread their leafy palms in blessing on the air,And from their minarets of bloom call all the trees to share.With bridal blossoms, pure and sweet, the blushing orchards glow,And on the hawthorn hedges lie soft wreathes of scented snow.God reigneth, and the earth is glad! His large, self-conscious heartA glowing tide of life and joy pours through each quickened part.The very stones Hosannas cry; the forests clap their hands,And in the benison of Heaven each lifted face expands."
Can we doubt, my brothers, that the same Jesus who rose from the dead, and also makes all Nature rise from the dead each spring time, will in like manner raise us up, and give us a body like unto His glorious Body, in that fair Kingdom where He maketh all things new? If we have seen our dear ones cut down like the grass, and withered like the flowers of the field, let us remember that the grass will spring again, and the flowers will once more appear on the earth; and that our loved ones will also come again, clothed in resurrection beauty by Him who clotheth the lilies of the field.
"Oh, rainy days! Oh, days of sun!What are ye all when the year is done?Who shall remember snow or rain?
Oh, years of loss! Oh, joyful years!What are ye all when Heaven appears?Who shall look back for joy or pain?"
And again, the flowers teach us a lesson of usefulness. They are sent to make God's earth beautiful and sweet, and to gladden the heart of man. Surely we are sent for the same purpose. Most of us are destined to occupy a lowly place in life. Our position is like that of the humble violet, not of the towering forest tree. But, my brothers, the sweetest spot is where the violet blooms, and it is better to be sweet than to be grand. Never suppose that you can do nothing because God has placed you in a quiet corner of the world. God put you there as He puts a violet in a lonely nook, that you might make your cornersweet. If we could only remember this we should not have so many prickly tempers, and black looks, and cruel words spoiling our home life, and making the world a desert. Life would be what God would have it to be, if each of us would try by gentleness, by good temper, by unselfish love to make his corner sweet. Make up your minds now; say to yourselves—I cannot do any great work for God or my fellow man, but I will try by purity, by cheerfulness, by thought for others, to make my home sweet. And once more, the flowers teach us to be a comfort to our neighbours. When the earth is wrapped in snow, and the skies are grey and cold, and no leaf hangs on the tree, the snowdrop puts forth its fair, pure blossom to cheer and comfort us. The sight of that living flower when all the world seems dead, is like a message from the other world, whispering of coming spring and the resurrection. Well, there are times when it is winter weather in our heart. When sorrow and loss have made life desolate as a December day, and blessed, thrice blessed, are they who come to comfort us, and to whisper of brighter days in store.
In the highest part of the Peak of Teneriffe, far above the clouds, and in a dry and burning waste, there grows a plant which, in the spring time, fills the air with delicious fragrance. There are some of us who may be condemned to live in a barren and dry land of hard work, and lonely trouble. But loving natures, and gentle words, can make that desert blossom as the rose. The beauty of holiness, the sweetness of sympathy, will make the poorest home lovely and fragrant. May Jesus, the Rose of Sharon, teach us to learn the lesson of the lilies, and to make our lives sweet with purity and love.
(Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity.)
EPHESIANS iii. 19.
"To know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge."
There are some things which no earthly school can teach us, no earthly science explain. Science can do very much, it has done marvellous things, and will do still more. Men can work now with ease such wonders as would have sent them to the fire as wizards three hundred years ago. Science can calculate the exact time of an eclipse ages before the time, science can connect two worlds with the electric wire, science can make the powers of earth, and air, and fire, and water its slaves; but science cannot teach us the love of Christ which passeth knowledge, or show us how to find the peace of God which passeth all understanding. No, we must go to the school of Jesus Christ to learn these things; and in that school the learned, and the ignorant, the powerful, and the lowly, are just on a level. The man of science may be there, like Sir Isaac Newton, of whom some one said that he had thewhitest soulof any man he had ever known. But it was not the power of the telescope which had brought the love of Jesus to his sight. The poor, ignorant cottager, who cannot even read, may be there. He is no scholar, but he has learnt what some scholars are ignorant of, to trust God and love his neighbour as himself. Yes, brethren, if we would learn to know the love of Christ, we must go to His school, we must kneel at His Feet, we must hold close communion with Him, we must daily endeavour ourselves to follow the steps of His most holy life. Grey-haired old man, tender little child, anxious mother, busy worker, Jesus calls you to learn the lesson of His love, saying, "Come, and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart." But S. Paul says that the love of Christ passeth knowledge. And indeed we poor, sinful, selfish creatures can never hope, at least here, to understand all the wideness, the depth, the power, of that love. When the astronomer looks up at the starry sky above him, he does not think so much of what he knows about that shining world as about what he doesnotknow. He thinks of the mysteries which those calm skies hold, and of the countless stars which no telescope has ever yet brought within the range of human eye. So the more we learn of the love of Christ the more marvellous it appears. There are some among us who know absolutely nothing of the love of Christ. They are as ignorant of it as a blind man is of the beauties of Nature. To them Jesus is a character in history who did certain things, who suffered for them and for others, and with that they are quite content. But they know nothing of the love of Christ, and care nothing about it because they do not love Him themselves. Such people either neglect the duties of religion altogether, or perform them as an idle schoolboy does his task, unwillingly, grudgingly. There is no love in their service, and therefore it is worthless. There are many, I trust, who hear me now who have learned something of the love of Christ; others who would willingly learn. To them I say, come into Christ's school to-day. A willing scholar can always learn, if youwantto love Jesus you have begun already to do so.
First, let us think of some things in the love of Christ which make it wonderful, past knowledge. The love of Christ is wonderful because it isimpartial. "He maketh His sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust." Look at the sunshine pouring down over a great city, and think on what different characters the light falls. The same sun shines on the Church and its faithful worshippers, and on the house of shame and infamy. The same light gilds the dying bed of the Christian, and the couch of the infidel and blasphemer. The same beam glitters on the blessed Altar of the faithful, and on the cell of the impenitent murderer. Look at the sunshine and the shower in the country. The fields of the earnest, prayerful man, and those of the unbelieving, prayerless scoffer lie golden under the same sunlight, are watered by the same showers. And why is this so? Surely it is a type of the love of Christ which passeth knowledge. Surely it teaches us the wondrous height, and depth, and breadth of divine love. It warns us not to be kind and loving only to the good and gentle, but to love our enemies, to do good to those who persecute us and speak evil of us, to try to give all a chance to amend, even as God, in His long-suffering mercy, makes His sun to rise on the evil and on the good. We shall get to know more of the love of Christ if we learn to be moreimpartialin our love for our fellow men. I know a little island where the society, small enough already, is divided into certain classes, and it is considered a want of breeding for one class to unite with another. You can imagine the angry feelings, and petty jealousies, which such a system excites. But even in the greater world we are too much inclined to surround ourselves with a circle of friends and acquaintances, and to leave the rest of the world unknown and uncared for. The love of Christ teaches us to see in every man a brother, a neighbour, whom we must help if we can. The love of Christ would have us look on ourselves and others as one great family, joined together by one common Faith, one Holy Baptism; or as one consecrated building, where high and low, rich and poor, are all built into their appointed place, "Jesus Christ being the head corner-stone." My brothers, try to be more wide, more liberal, more impartial in your love for others, if you would learn the love of Christ which is wider than the ocean, impartial as the sunshine—passing knowledge.
Again, the love of Christ is wonderful in its effects. It makes the brave still more heroic; it makes the timid courageous, the sad joyful, the hardened tender. It was the love of Christ which made S. Stephen brave in the hour of his martyrdom, and taught him to pray for his murderers. In all the long roll of heroes there are none so great as those who fought under the banner of Christ's love. Feeble old men, little children, weak women, were transformed by that marvellous power; they could do all things through Christ who strengthened them. They suffered and died, but their death gave life to the faith of Christ. Did you ever read, brethren, how the last fight of gladiators in the Colosseum ended? It was when Rome had become Christian, but still the cruel sports of the people had not been entirely given up. After a famous victory, the Emperor, a feeble boy, and all the great men of Rome, went to the crowded theatre to witness the amusements given in honour of the triumph. After the harmless sports were over some gladiators entered the arena armed with sharp swords. The people shouted with delight because the old savage amusements of their heathen days were restored to them. Suddenly an old man, dressed in the habit of a hermit, and unknown to all, sprang into the arena, and declared that as Christian people they must not suffer men to slay each other thus. An angry cry rose from the eager crowd. The gladiators, disappointed of their gain, menaced the hermit fiercely, crying, "back, old man, for thy life." But the stranger stood fearless before that angry mob, he heeded not the swords of the gladiators, nor the yells of the people, but solemnly protested against the deed of blood. In another moment he lay dead on the red sand, pierced by a dozen wounds. He died, but his words lived. When the people saw the fearless courage of a weak old man, shame filled their hearts; the sports were stopped, and never again did the gladiators fight in the Colosseum. My brothers, if we are learning the love of Christ, we shall be brave to do the right, come what may.
Again, the love of Christ is wonderful in its effect on ourwork. It is a common saying that such and such a work is a labour of love; and, believe me, that is the best done of all which is done for love. Did you ever watch a young mother making the clothes for her first child? Never before has she bestowed such care, such thought, such patience, on her sewing, every stitch is prompted by love.
Long ago, there was an old Cathedral somewhere abroad, I cannot tell you where. On one of the arches was sculptured a face of exceeding beauty. It was long hidden, but one day a ray of sunshine lighted up the matchless work, and from that time, on the days when the light shone on the face, crowds came to look at its loveliness. The history of that sculpture is a strange one. When the Cathedral was being built, an old man, worn with years and care, came to the architect, and begged to be allowed to work there. Fearing his age and failing sight might cause the old man to injure the carving, the master set him to work in a dark part of the roof. One day they found the stranger lying dead, with the tools of his craft around him, and his still face turned up towards that other face which he had carved. It was a work of surpassing beauty, and without doubt was the face of one whom the artist had long since loved and lost. When the craftsmen looked upon it, they all agreed—"this is the grandest work of all, it is the work of love."
We, my brothers, are all set to do some work here in the temple of our lives, and the best, the most beautiful, the most enduring, will be that which we do because the love of Christ constraineth us.
And yet once more, the love of Christ is wonderful in itspower of pardon. Have you ever known what it is to have sinned grievously, and to have repented truly? Have you felt the shame, the sorrow, the misery of knowing your sin, and the exquisite sense of relief when you knew that you were pardoned? Have you known the power of Christ's absolving word? Have you felt that He has given the prodigal the kiss of pardon, that He has carried the lost sheep home once more, that He has said toyou—"I will, be thou clean, depart in peace?" To know this is to know the love of Christ. Are there no prodigals here now who have not yet arisen and gone to their Father? Are there no weak, tempted women straying into danger, like the lost sheep? Are there none here who are carrying about some secret sin which poisons all their life? If there are such, I say, come and make trial of Christ's loveto-day. "Come, drink of the water of life freely." Come with your sin, your sorrow, your trial, your temptation, to the feet of Jesus, and you shall learn "the love of Christ which passeth knowledge."
(Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity.)
EPHESIANS iv. 1.
"The prisoner of the Lord."
This is what Paul the aged called himself in writing to the Ephesians. He had appealed unto Caesar, and he was a captive at Rome. But he does not style himself Caesar's prisoner, but the prisoner of the Lord, whose he was, and whom he served. Let us think first of the place and manner of St. Paul's imprisonment. The place was Rome, the capital of the world. A city full of glorious memories of the past, and famous in the present for art, and eloquence, and learning. Its soldiers could boast that they had conquered the world, and could point out the tombs of Pompey and of many another hero along the Appian Way. Its streets had been trodden by some of the greatest of poets, and its Senate-House had echoed with the burning words of the first orators of the world. Rome was full of contrasts, wealth and beggary, beauty and squalor, the palace of Caesar, and the haunt of vice and shame, were close together. The city was ruled over by a cruel tyrant, at once a hypocrite and a monster of iniquity.
It was in such a place, so glorious and so shameful, that S. Paul was a prisoner. He was not, however, confined in a dungeon. By the favour of the Praefect of the Praetorian Guard, whose duty it was to take charge of all prisoners awaiting trial before the Emperor, the Apostle was allowed to live in a hired house of his own, to have free access to such friends as he had, and to preach the Gospel freely to those who would hear him. But still S. Paul was a prisoner. After the Roman fashion, he was chained to a soldier, and at night probably two soldiers were linked to him. Perhaps no such wonderful sermons have ever since been preached as those spoken by S. Paul, "the prisoner of the Lord." We can fancy the old man, grey-haired, and bent with suffering, and want, and hardship, bearing on his wrinkled face and scarred body those marks of the Lord Jesus, of which he tells us, and yet brave, unflinching as ever. We can picture him preaching the Gospel of Jesus with the same boldness in his bonds as when at freedom, glorying in the cross of his Master, and rejoicing that he is permitted to enter into the fellowship of His sufferings. We can fancy even the stern Roman soldier watching with admiration, as the old man exhorts his hearers to show themselves good soldiers of Jesus Christ, to fight the good fight, to take unto them the whole armour of God. Whilst many a Christian's heart must have swelled with emotion as the fettered hands were lifted in earnest exhortation, and the blessing was given amid the clanking of the Apostle's chains. And thus all the hearers of S. Paul must have been struck with the wonderful faith and patience of the man; just as we are struck when we read his words to-day. Although he was an exile, a prisoner, waiting for a trial where he would have little chance of justice, knowing that the sword hung above his head ready to fall at any moment, S. Paul utters no complaint, no murmur of discontent. On the contrary, he bids his hearers rejoice in the Lord alway; he himself thanked God, and took courage; he tells his disciples that he has learnt in whatsoever state he is, to be content. He is poor, yet making many rich. He has nothing, yet possesses all things. He has that peace of God which passeth all understanding, that good part which shall not be taken away. The heathen tyrant can make him a prisoner, but his chains cannot keep him from the glorious freedom of the sons of God. Persecution may drive him from his home, but nothing can rob him of his home eternal in the Heavens. The sword of the Roman may slay him, but to him to die is gain, and he is ready to be offered. He has suffered want, and sorrow, and loss; he has endured perils by land and by sea, by robbers, by shipwreck, by the heathen, and by his own countrymen, but for this S. Paul cares not, he has kept the faith, he has run the race set before him, looking unto Jesus, and he knows that the crown of glory is laid up for him. A great preacher of our day tells us how they brought the news to Athens that the battle of Marathon was won. The swiftest runner had come panting and exhausted with the glad tidings of victory, and worn out with exertion, he dropped, and died on the threshold of the first house he reached, sobbing out with dying breath the words—"Farewell, and rejoice ye, we, too, rejoice." So the Apostle, the prisoner of the Lord, dying daily, and expecting each hour to be his last, tells the glad tidings of Christ's victory over sin and death, and whispers with his dying breath, "rejoice." It is no wonder that such a preacher should have produced marvellous results, and should have begotten many spiritual children, as he tells us, in his bonds. Luke, his fellow traveller through so many varied scenes, was there to comfort Paul the aged in his bonds. Tychicus, who had formerly accompanied him from Corinth to Ephesus, was ready to carry the Apostle's letters to the Churches; and Mark, who had once failed in his ministry, was once more restored to the side of his great teacher. Others, too, were with him, but none perhaps was dearer to S. Paul than a certain slave, Onesimus, who had fled from his master, Philemon, in Colossae. This runaway slave had found his way to Rome, and here probably some one, who had seen him in the house of his Christian master, took pity on the fugitive, and brought him to S. Paul. How tenderly the prisoner of the Lord dealt with the erring slave we can well imagine, as we read the loving words which the Apostle wrote in his Epistle to Philemon. Then, too, we can fancy the prisoner of the Lord talking to his jailor, the stern Roman soldier, who was chained to him night and day. Often in the long night watches, when the care of all the Churches kept S. Paul from sleep, he must have conversed with the warrior so closely linked to him. I think we may believe that a yet closer link than that of the iron chain at last united the prisoner and the guard. I think that the earnest prayers, and burning words, of that brave soldier of Jesus Christ, must have led the soldier of Caesar to take up his cross, and follow Jesus.
And now what lesson can we learn from the prison-house at Rome? We can learn this, that this world in which we live is in one sense a prison-house to all. It is a prison-house of hard work. In our great cities the roar of traffic, the rattle of machinery, the shriek of the steam-whistle, the eager crowds flocking to office and bank and exchange all mean one thing—work. Every man's talk is of business; he is in the prison-house, and he is chained to his work. Next, this world is a prison-house ofsorrow and trial. Every one who has lived any time in the world can show you the marks of his chain. Every one whom we meet is wearing a crown of thorns. It is hidden under the scanty white locks of the old, and the sunny tresses of youth. It is covered by the soldier's helmet, or the peer's coronet, or the widow's cap; but the crown of thorns is there. Specially is this world a prison-house to those who strive to do their duty, and help their fellow men. For them in all ages there have been prison bars, and chains of persecution. Joseph resists temptation, and he is cast into prison. But the iron of his chain made his soul as iron, and changed the spoiled darling of his father into the wise ruler of Egypt. He was the prisoner of the Lord, and this suffering was the way to glory. Truly says a great poet (Milton), "who best can suffer, best can do." If we would look on some of the greatest teachers, philosophers, and benefactors of mankind, we must look for them in a prison-house. Socrates, when seventy-two years old, was a prisoner, and condemned to drink poison, because he taught higher lessons than the mob could understand. He died discussing the immorality of the soul, and his farewell to his judges was full of quiet dignity. "It is now time," he said, "that we depart—I to die, you to live; but which has the better destiny is unknown to all, except to God." Bruno was burnt at Rome, because he exposed the false philosophy of the day. When Galileo, an old man of seventy, taught the truth about the earth's motion, they cast him into the dungeons of the Inquisition, and after death the Pope refused a tomb for his body. And so for many others who dared to do their duty and to speak the truth,—reformers in religion, in science, in politics,—there was a prison-house, there was a chain. But the stone walls could not confine the mind; the iron chain could not bind the truth. Some of the most glorious works in literature were composed in prison. The prison-house at Rome has given us some of those Epistles of S. Paul which have gone far to convert the world; and the finest allegory in the English language was written in Bedford gaol. "If we suffer for righteousness' sake, happy are we." If we are the prisoners of the Lord, let us welcome the chain of trial, of sorrow, of self-denial, of persecution. There are prisoners who are not the Lord's. There are some fast bound in the misery and iron of bad habits, and habitual sin. These are lying in the condemned cell, bound hand and foot with the devil's chain. The drunkard, the impure man, the unbeliever, these are prisoners, but not the Lord's. I do not speak now of them. I speak to you, my brothers, who are trying to live a godly and a Christian life, the life of duty. And I tell you that you will often find this life a prison-house, where you must give up your own will, deny yourselves, learn to endure hardness, and to bear the chain which suffering, or neglect, or ignorance put upon you. If you are indeed the prisoners of theLord, the iron of your chain will make you brave to suffer and be strong. The same hope which sustained Paul the aged long ago will sustain you now; the glorious certainty that after a while the Lord looseth men out of prison, and receives them into the glorious liberty of the sons of God.
(Eighteenth Sunday after Trinity.)
1 COR. i. 8.
"Who also shall confirm you unto the end."
Steadfastness is one of the most important characteristics of a Christian. Perhaps you will tell me that love, and self-denial, and patience, and faith are the chief marks of Christ's followers. And I answer that these things are useless without steadfastness. It will not avail us to be very loving, and self-sacrificing, and patient, and trustful for a little while, and then to fall away, and be selfish, and impatient, and faithless. It is not the best regiment of soldiers which makes the most headlong charge, but which canstand firmagainst the enemy. The Spartans of old were forbidden by their laws ever to flee from a foe. In the Pass of Thermopylae stands a monument to Leonidas and his followers, bearing this inscription—"Go, stranger, and tell at Lacedaemon that we died here in obedience to our laws." My brethren, what we want, as soldiers of Jesus Christ, is not so much zeal, or enthusiasm, or outward profession, asfirmnessto the end, steadfastness to die, if need be, for the laws of our God.
We find plenty of people ready to make professions, to be very zealous in the service of God, but after a time the fire of their zeal dies out into dead ashes; they have nostaying power; like the seed on the rocky ground they wither away, because they have no root. Such unstable religion as this is useless. We must be firmlyrootedandestablishedin the faith. We must endure to the end, if we would be saved. We must, for our part, hold fast to the truth as it is in Christ Jesus, and He, for His part, will confirm or strengthen us unto the end. Every period of the Church's history has had its special dangers and temptations. The Corinthians had theirs long ago. We have ours to-day. Let us see what some of the special dangers of the Church are now, and how Jesus provides means to confirm us to the end.
First among these dangers we may place therestless spiritof the age. This is the result of various causes. The spread of education is one cause. Men are taught to cultivate their heads at the price of their hearts. Children are sent to schools where God is almost shut out. Many people get that "little learning" which "is a dangerous thing," and which makes them doubtful and uncertain in the faith. The growth of cheap literature is another cause. The printing press which gives us a cheap Bible and Prayer Book, and a vast amount of pure, useful reading, also sends out much that is dangerous, and positively wicked. The most holy mysteries of the Christian faith are held up to mockery and ridicule, and treated as old wives' tales; and the restless spirit of the age leads people to read these things, and to have their faith shaken and their ideas confused. Thus we find nowadays people arguing and doubting about doctrines which at one time were taken for granted. One says,perhapswe shall rise again after death; anotherwondersif there be such a place as Hell. Onethinksthat God answers prayer, another is doubtful about it. Now we do not find S. Paul and the other Apostles talking in this way. We do not find the early Church talking in this way. They could say, "I know in whom I have believed. I believe, therefore will I speak." The fact is, some of us in these days are getting too clever. We have got a few drops of learning, and we fancy that we can pour the whole great ocean of knowledge into our poor little bottle. Education is a great and glorious blessing, but, like every other blessing, it may be put to a wrong use. And when we find shallow young men and women, who have just mastered enough subjects to be able to pass an examination, sneering at the Bible, and calling religion superstition and folly, we can only wish that they had drunk deeper, or not tasted, of the water of knowledge. True education makes us humble, because it shows us our ignorance. My brothers, what are the doubters and the unbelievers going to give you in exchange for what they rob you of? They can perhaps rob you of your faith in Jesus Christ as a Saviour. But what then, they cannot make you forget that you are a sinner. You know better, your own heart tells you the truth. They can take away the Saviour, and only leave you your sins. The doubter may scoff you out of believing in the resurrection. But can he laugh you out of believing in death? When your little child dies, and you look at the loving eyes closing for the last time, what comfort has your doubting friend to give you? Not a word. He leaves you alone with your dead, and he has robbed you of the only hope which makes death bearable—the resurrection unto eternal life. You come to your own dying bed; is there one of these doubting, scoffing faith-destroying friends who can bring peace or calm to your last hours? Will it be any comfort to you to hear them say that "there is nothing new, nothing true, and that it does not signify?" They tell you one fact, which you know already, that you are dying. But beyond that they know nothing, hope nothing, believe nothing.
My brothers, do not let these people, with their shallow talk and shallow books, rob you of your peace, cheat you out of your birthright. Look at the lives of these doubters, and then look at the lives of Jesus and His saints. See which example is the purer, the more noble. Which is better, to imitate the life of self-sacrifice which Jesus led, to copy the dauntless faith of S. Paul, the loving gentleness of S. John, the humble penitence of Augustine, the fearless courage of Savonarola, or to sit at the feet of those who spend a selfish life in trying to describe a world in which there is no God?
Another of the dangers of the day is a constant desire forsomething new, and, if possible, sensational. There are some who would have their religion as full of novelties as their newspaper, or their amusement. The old paths which God has given us to walk in have become too commonplace for such as these; and they run eagerly into any new way, however fantastic. And, above all, these people want a religion which is made easy for them. They have no objection to being saved provided that the process is quick, easy, and costs them nothing. They turn away from the thought of self-denial, of keeping under the body, of fasting and prayer, of watchfulness and self-examination. They must be made good all at once, and be admitted into the front rank of saints, without having fought and suffered in a lower place. My brethren, beware of this mushroom religion, which grows up suddenly, and as suddenly vanishes away. The best fruit is not that which ripens most quickly, and the best Christian certainly does not come to maturity all in a moment.
There is a fable of the Persians which tells us how a gourd wound itself round a lofty palm-tree, and in a few weeks climbed to its very top. The quick-growing gourd asked the palm-tree its age, and the tree answered, "an hundred years." Then the gourd answered boastingly that it had grown as tall as the palm in fewer days than the tree could count years. "True," answered the palm-tree, "every summer has a gourd climbed round me, as proud as thou art, and as short-lived as thou wilt be."
These, then, are some of the special dangers of the time—an unfixed, unsettled faith, leading men to question, and argue, and doubt, when they should believe; and next, a restless desire for something new and exciting in religion. And, besides these, there are special dangers peculiar to ourselves, arising from our position, or temperament. This is a speciallybusyage, when men must work if they would eat bread. Every walk of life is crowded, and the competition in every calling and business is most keen. Now there is great danger in all this to a man's spiritual life, if he has notGod with him in his work. He will become selfish, unscrupulous, and determined to gain a place, and make money at any cost. He will think only of himself, and God is not in all his thoughts. There are some who would have us believe that religion is one thing and business another, and that the two must be kept distinctly apart. Never believe that false doctrine, my brothers. A Christian man may not take part in any work on which the name of God may not be written. Whatever business he may engage in, a Christian must always remember that he must be about his Heavenly Father's business. The great merchants of old times used to begin their ledger and business books at the new year by writing "Praise be to God" on the top of the first page. I would that all men of business could honestly do the same now. Consecrate your work to God, so that you need not be ashamed to pray about it, to study the Bible about it, to writePraise be to Godon all your business transactions. And last of all, a word as to the means by which Christ will confirm or strengthen you unto the end. I can tell you nothing new about this, I would not if I could. The old wine of the Gospel is better than all the new inventions with which some men would poison the cup of religion. God confirms you by the gift of the Holy Ghost, given by His Word, and Sacraments, and means of grace. Let no one laugh you out of believing in the Bible; let no one argue you out of trusting in that Book which has been the guide, the teacher, the comforter of tens of thousands. The followers of new creeds would like you to exchange your Bible for their books. They will offer you the gospel of selfishness, the gospel of pride, the gospel of hopelessness, the gospel of money-making; turn away from them, and hold fast to the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. Hold fast to the Sacraments of the Church. Let the scoffer sneer, let the proud man refuse to bend before the Altar of his Lord; but let nothing drive you from the Blessed Sacrament of Christ's love. Hold fast to prayer. Let no crowd of difficulties, or worries, or troubles keep you back from Jesus. Press through the crowd like that woman of old, and touch the hem of Christ's garment, in prayer. Only hold fast to your Bible, to your Altar, to your prayers, and "the Lord Jesus shall confirm you unto the end, that you may be blameless in the day of the Lord Jesus Christ."
(Nineteenth Sunday after Trinity.)
EPHESIANS x. 20.
"Ye have not so learned Christ."
Education is a very prominent feature in the England of to-day. Schools are among the most conspicuous of our public buildings, and competitive examinations are thronged by eager crowds; and, seeing all this, it seems almost impossible that a few years ago most of our poorer brethren could neither read or write. I am not going to speak to you now about the blessings and the evils of the present state of education; I want you to think of another school, and another kind of lessons, which are far more important than all else in the world. The time comes when the schoolboy can lay his books by, and when the young man quits college, they have finished their education. But it is never so in Christ's school, about which I am going to speak. As long as we are here in the world we must go to school. And when we come to die, our education is not finished, but we go to a higher class, as it were, to learn such lessons as we never could master on earth.
In the school of Jesus Christ it is not always the oldest or the cleverest who are the best scholars. There are white-haired old men who are only just learning the alphabet of Christ's religion, in the lowest place; and there are little children, so pure and white-souled, that they have already mastered some of the hardest lessons. In other schools the scholar must be naturally clever, or, at least, most industrious, if he is to gain a high place, and win a prize. In Christ's school there is a place, and a prize, for the dullest, and he will succeed very well if onlyhe wants to learn. I have known many people who, as they said, "were no scholars," and yet they were not very far from the kingdom of Heaven. Brethren, some of us have never yet been to Christ's school. We have been playing truant, or altogether taken up with the lessons of that great, selfish, public-school—the world. I want you all to come to Christ's school to-day, old and young, clever and dull, and to hear some of the lessons which that school teaches. I think that if we examine ourselves honestly in these lessons, we shall find how little we really know, and we shall begin with shame to take the lowest place. And we must remember this, that in Christ's school we shall have tounlearna great deal which the world's school has taught us. The world will have instructed us to take care of ourselves, at the expense of others. One of the favourite mottoes in the great world school-room is—"every man for himself." The world will have taught us that to make money, and to be successful, are the highest aims possible. And there are many similar lessons which are being daily learnt in the world school. Now, when we become scholars of Christ, we have to unlearn a great deal of this. Instead of finding the text, "every man for himself," placed conspicuously before us, we see another, and quite opposite command—"No man liveth unto himself, and no man dieth unto himself." We were taught in that other school outside that to make money and to succeed were the greatest good. Here we are instructed differently. "Lay not up for yourselves treasure on the earth, where rust and moth doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal." One of the chief things which we learnt in the world's lesson-book was to mistrust our fellow men, and to be ready to resent an injury when discovered. In Christ's school the lesson is quite different, we are told to love our neighbour as ourself, and more than this, to love our enemies. There are some here to-day, perhaps, who are very old scholars of the world's school. They have got all its lessons by heart, they can repeat its selfish maxims, and practise its hard teachings. My brothers, God grant that you may find out how greatly your education has been neglected! God grant that you may learn, before it is too late, how little you know about the things which concern your peace. You, who have grown grey in the great world school, learning its sordid, selfish lessons, grinding away at its daily tasks, adding up your sums of addition, and interest, scanning the money table with eager eyes, practising your skill in profit and loss, and daily writing as your one copy—make money, and be rich—to you, I say, come into Christ's school to-day, and see whose teaching is the better: that of the world, or that of the Son of God. There comes to every school a day of breaking up, when the scholars go home. One day a man is missed in the great world school. His place is vacant. The shutters are up at the shop, or office, the servants at the place of business speak in smothered whispers. They miss the sound of the master's voice, the echo of his step upon the stair. He has learnt his last lesson in worldliness, and his schooling is over. The world has broken up, as far as he is concerned, and he has gone home. But where? He knew nothing beyond the world's lessons, he never provided for another home. "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?"
Briefly, then, let us look at some of the chief lessons which we must learn in the school of Jesus Christ.
First, we must learn to hate our old sins. Like David, like S. Peter, like every penitent, when we think of the past we abhor ourselves, and sit down among the ashes of humiliation. Like the Prodigal, we cry, "I am no more worthy to be called Thy son." If you find yourself taking pleasure in the thought of former sin, boasting of your evil deeds, be sure you are yet in your ignorance, you have never learnt the alphabet of Christ's lesson.
Next, we must learn to know our own weakness, and our need of a Saviour. The world will not give us that lesson. The world will tell us to make our own way, to trust to ourselves, to our cleverness, and sharpness. In Christ's school we shall be taught our weakness, and shall learn to say, "Lord, save me, I perish."
Another of the lessons we must learn is toconquer ourselves. The world gives a great many instructions about conquering difficulties, beating down obstacles, overcoming enemies; but it is Christ's school alone which can show us how to conquerourselves. You have probably noticed the change in a young country lad after he has enlisted for a soldier, and gone through his drill. Whereas he was a high-shouldered, slouching, ungainly figure, now he has learnt to carry himself like a soldier, he has conquered the old bad habits which he acquired by lounging in the lanes, or plodding along the furrow. My brethren, we have all got our bad habits, our ugly tempers, our sharp tongues, our discontented feelings, and it is only the drill of Christ's soldiers, and the teachings in Christ's school, which will make us get the better of them. Christ's school will make a radical change in us. Jesus—our Master—says, "behold I make all things new," and we know that they who are in Christ are become new creatures, old things are passed away. We may be quite sure that if we are Christ's scholars we shall be changed people. S. Paul tells us, as he told the Ephesians, some of the marks of this change. We shall learn to speak, and act, the truth. "Putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour." We shall learn to control our temper,—"be ye angry, and sin not. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." We shall learn to work, and to work honestly,—"let him that stole steal no more; but rather let him labour, working with his hands the thing which is good." We shall learn to control our tongue,—"let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying." We shall learn to be kind and gentle to our neighbours,—"let all bitterness and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil-speaking, be put away from you, with all malice." The great world school will teach us to practise these things, but not the school of Jesus. There we shall learn "to be kind one to another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God, for Christ's sake hath forgiven us."
And we shall learn in Christ's school to be brave. The world school can teach us a certain kind of courage, but not the highest, nor the best. The world can teach us how to resent an injury, not how to forgive one. It is in Christ's school only that true heroes are made. The world can make such soldiers as Caesar, or Napoleon, but the school of Christ alone can make a Havelock or a Gordon. I have read of a poor boy who came to school with a patch on his clothes. One of his schoolmates singled him out for ridicule and insult; and the boy answered—"do you suppose I am ashamed of my patch? I am thankful to a good mother for keeping me out of rags, and I honour my patch for her sake."
All the noble army of martyrs, of every rank and kind, learnt the secret of their courage in the school of Christ, and have left us an example to follow.
"By all the martyrs, and the dear dead Christ;By the long bright roll of those whom joy enticedWith her myriad blandishments, but could not win,Who would fight for victory, but would not sin;By these our elder brothers, who have gone beforeAnd have left their trail of light upon our shore,We can see the glory of a seeming shame,We can feel the fulness of an empty name."
My brothers, it may be there are some here now who have not so learned Christ. Who have been in the world's school from the beginning, and have grown weary of its selfishness, and its hollow maxims. If it be so, pray now that Jesus, the Great Teacher, may give you a new heart, and a new mind, bow the proud head, and bend the unwilling knee, say to the Lord—"Lord Jesu, make me as a little child, let me come to school to-night."