And who shall dare to make sad the heart of him who is thus drinking daily of the well-spring of righteousness, by telling him that he is not yet saved, nor can be, unless he will come and bow down before his idol? And if, rather than do so, he break the idol in pieces, who shall dare to call him profane, or cold in love to his Lord, when it was in his very jealousy for his Lord, and in his full purpose to worship him alone, that he threw down all that exalted itself above its due proportion against him? And if a man be not so worshipping Christ only, who shall dare to encourage him in his evil way, by magnifying the sacredness of his idol, and ascribing to it that healing virtue which belongs to Christ alone?

What has been here said might bear to be followed up at far greater length than the present occasion will admit of. But the main point is one, I think, of no small importance, that all fanaticism and superstition on the one hand, and all unbelief and coldness of heart on the other, arise from what is in fact idolatry,—the putting some other object, whether it be called a religious or moral one,—and an object often in itself very excellent,—in the place of Christ himself, as set forth to us fully in the Scriptures. And as no idol can stand in Christ's place, or in any way save us, so whoever worships Christ truly is preserved from all idols and has life eternal. And if any one demand of him further, that he should worship his idol, and tells him that he is not safe if he does not; his answer will be rather that he will perish if he does; that he is safe, fully safe, and only safe, so long as he clings to Christ alone; and that to make anything else necessary to his safety, is not only to minister to superstition, but to ungodliness also; not only to lay on us a yoke which neither our fathers nor we were able to bear; but, by the very act of laying this unchristian yoke upon us, to tear from us the easy yoke and light burden of Christ himself, our Lord and our life.



LECTURE XXI.

* * * * *

ADVENT SUNDAY.

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HEBREWS in. 16.

For some, when they had heard, did provoke: howbeit not all that came out of Egypt by Moses.

I take this verse as my text, rather than those which immediately go before or follow it, because it affords one of the most serious instances of mistranslation that are to be met with in the whole New Testament. For the true translation of the words is this: "For who were they who, when they had heard, did provoke? nay, were they not all who came out of Egypt through Moses?" And then it goes on—"And with whom was he grieved forty years? was it not with them that had sinned, whose carcases fell in the wilderness? And to whom sware he that they should not enter into his rest, but to them that believed not?" I call this a serious mistranslation, because it lessens the force of the writer's comparison. So far from meaning to say that "some, but not all did provoke," he lays a stress on the universality of the evil: it was not only a few, but the whole people who came out of Egypt, with only the two individual exceptions of Caleb and Joshua. All the rest who were grown up when they came out of Egypt did provoke God; and the carcases of that whole generation, fell in the wilderness.

Had the lesson from the Hebrews been actually chosen for the service of this day, it could hardly have suited it better. For this day is the New-year's day of the Christian year; and it is probably for this reason that the service of the first day of the common year is confined entirely to the commemoration of our Lord's circumcision, and takes no notice of the beginning of a new year. It is manifest that it could not do so without confusion: for the first of January is not the beginning of the Christian year, but Advent Sunday; the last Sunday of the Christian year is not Christmas-day, as it would be this year if we reckoned by the common divisions of time; but it is the last Sunday after Trinity. Now, then, we are at the beginning of our year; and well it is that, as our trial is now become shorter by another year, as another division of our lives has passed away, we should fix our eyes on that which makes every year so valuable,—the Judgment, for which it ought to be a preparation. In fact, if we observe, we shall see that these Sundays in Advent are much more regarded by the Church as the beginning of a new year, than as a mere prelude to the celebration of the festival of Christmas. That is, Christmas-day is regarded, so to speak, in a two-fold light, as representing both the comings of our Lord, his first coming in the flesh, and his second coming to judgment. When the day actually arrives, it commemorates our Lord's first coming: and this is the beginning of the Christian year, historically regarded, that is, so far as it is a commemoration of the several events of our Lord's life on earth. But before it comes, it is regarded as commemorating our Lord's second coming: and wisely, for his first coming requires now no previous preparation for it; we cannot well put ourselves into the position of those who lived before Christ appeared. But our whole life is, or ought to be, a preparation for his second coming; and it is this state, of which the season of Advent in the Church services is intended to be the representation.

There is something striking in the season of the natural year at which we thus celebrate the beginning of another Christian year. It is a true type of our condition, of the insensible manner in which all the changes of our lives steal upon us, that nature, at this moment, gives no outward signs of beginning: it is a period which does not manifest any striking change in the state of things around us. The Christian Spring begins ere we have reached the half of the natural winter. Nature is not bursting into life, but rather preparing itself for a long period of death. And this is a type of an universal truth, that the signs and warnings which we must look to, must come from within us, not from without: that neither sky nor earth, will arouse us from our deadly slumber, unless we are ourselves aroused already, and more disposed to make warnings for ourselves than to find them.

If this be true of nature, it is true also of all the efforts of man. As nature will give no sign, so man cannot. Let the Church do all that she may; let her keep her solemn anniversaries, and choose out for her services all such passages of Scripture as may be most fitted to impress the lesson which she would teach; still we know that these are alike powerless and unheeded; that unless there be in our own minds something beforehand disposed to profit by them, they are but the words of unavailing affection, vainly spoken to the ears of the dead.

Oh that we would remember this, all of us; that there is no voice in nature, no voice in man, that can really awaken the sleeping soul. That is the work of a far mightier power, to be sought for with most earnest prayers for ourselves and for each other: that the Holy Spirit of God would speak, and would dispose our hearts to hear; that so being awakened from death and our ears being truly opened, all things outward may now join in language which we can hear; and nature, and man, life and death, things present and things to come, may be but the manifold voices of the Spirit of God, all working for us together for good. Till this be so, we speak in vain; our words neither reach our own hearts, nor the hearts of our hearers; they are but recorded in God's book of judgment, to be brought forward hereafter for the condemnation of us both.

Yet we must still speak; for the Spirit of God, who alone works in us effectually, works also secretly; we know not when, nor how, nor where. But we know, that as the Father worketh hitherto, and the Son worketh hitherto, so the Holy Spirit worketh hitherto, and is still working daily. We know that, every year, he creates in thousands of God's people that work which alone shall abide for ever. We know that in the year that is just past he has done this; that in the year which is just beginning he will do it. Have we not here, also, many in whom he has wrought this work? may we not hope, and surely believe, that there are many in whom he is even now preparing to work it?

We know not who these are; still less do we know, what were the occasions which the Holy Spirit so blessed as to work in them his work of life. But this we know, that we are bound to minister all the occasions which we can; we must not spare our labour, although it is God alone who gives the increase. We must speak of life and of death, of Christ and of judgment, not forgetting that we speak often, and shall speak, utterly in vain; yet knowing that it is by these very thoughts, though long unheeded, that God's Spirit does in his own good time awaken the heart; he takes of the things of Christ and shows them to us; and then, what was before like a book in a strange language—we saw the figures, but they conveyed no meaning to our minds—becomes, on a sudden, instinct with the language of God, which we hear and understand as readily as if it were our own tongue wherein we were born.

Therefore, we speak and say, that another year has now dawned upon us; and we would remind you, and remember, ourselves, in what words the various Scriptures of this day's service point out its inestimable value. "Now is our salvation nearer than when we believed." So says St. Paul in the epistle of this day; and how blessed are all those amongst us who can feel that this is truly said of them! Then, indeed, a new year's day is a day of rejoicing; we are so much nearer that period when all care, all anxiety, all painful labour will be for ever ended. But there is other language of a different sort, which, it may be, will suit us better. "I have nourished and brought up children, and they have rebelled against me." "Their land is full of idols; they worship the work of their own hands, that which their own fingers have made;" which means to us, the work of our own hearts, that which our own fancies and desires have made. "Enter into the rock, and hide thee in the dust, for fear of the Lord, and for the glory of his majesty." For in the very temple of God, his Church, all manner of profane thoughts and words and works are crowded together; the din of covetousness and worldliness is loud and constant, and will ill abide the day of his coming, who will, a second time, cast out of his temple all that is unclean. And is there not also in us that evil heart of unbelief and disobedience which departs from the living God? are there not here those who are becoming daily hardened through the deceitfulness of sin? How are they passing their time in the wilderness, and with what prospects when they come to the end of it? God said, "I sware in my wrath, that they shall not enter into my rest." By the way that they came, by the same shall they return; they shall go back to that bondage from which they were once redeemed, and from which they will be redeemed again no more for ever.

These are some of the passages of this day's service which speaks to us at the beginning of this new Christian year. Let me add to all this language of warning, the language in which God, by his apostle Paul, answers every one of us, if we ask of him in sincerity of heart, "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" He answers, "The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying: but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the works thereof." Now, I grant, that this day, of which the apostle speaks, has never yet shone so brightly, as he had hoped and imagined; clouds have, up to this hour, continually overshadowed it. I mean, that the lives of Christians have hindered them from being the light of the world. It has been a light pale and dim, and therefore the works of darkness have continued to abound. But admit this, and what follows? Is it, or can it be, anything else but a more earnest desire not to be ourselves children of darkness, lest what we see to have happened in part should happen altogether; namely, that the day should never shine on us at all? We see that God's promises have been in part forfeited; we see that Christ's kingdom has not been what it was prophesied it should be. Is not this a solemn warning, that for us, too, individually, God's promises may be forfeited? that all we read in Scripture of light, and life, and glory, and happiness, should really prove to us words only, and no reality? that whereas the promise of salvation has been made to us, we should be in the end, not saved, but lost? If, indeed, God's kingdom were shining around us, in its full beauty; if every evil thing were driven out of his temple; if we saw nothing but holy lives and happy, the fruits of his Spirit, truth, and love, and joy; then we might be less anxious for ourselves; our course would be far smoother; the very stream would carry us along to the end of our voyage without our labour: what evil thoughts would not be withered, and die long ere they could ripen into action, if the very air which we breathed were of such, keen and heavenly purity! It is because all this is not so, that we have need of so much watchfulness; it is because the faults of every one of us make our brethren's task harder; because there is not one bad or careless person amongst us who is not a hindrance in his brother's path, and does not oblige him to exert himself the more. Therefore, because the day is not bright, but overclouded; because it is but too like the night, and too many use it as the night for all works of darkness; let us take the more heed that we do not ourselves so mistake it; let us watch each of us the light within us, lest, indeed, we should wholly stumble; let us put on the Lord Jesus Christ. You know how often I have dwelt on this; how often I have tried to show that Christ is all in all to us; that to put on Christ, is a truer and fuller expression, by far, than if we had been told to put on truth, or holiness, or goodness. It includes all these, with something more, that nothing but itself can give—the sense of safety, and joy unspeakable, in feeling ourselves sheltered in our Saviour's arms, and taken even into himself. Assuredly, if we put on the Lord Jesus Christ, we shall not make provision for the flesh to fulfil the lusts thereof; such a warning would then be wholly unnecessary. Or, if we do not like language thus figurative, let us put it, if we will, into the plainest words that shall express the same meaning; let us call it praying to Christ, thinking of him, hoping in him, earnestly loving him; these, at least, are words without a figure, which all can surely understand. Let us be Christ's this year that is now beginning; be his servants, be his disciples, be his redeemed in deed; let us live to him, and for him; setting him before us every day to do his will, and to live in his blessing. Then, indeed, if it be his pleasure that we should serve him throughout this year, even to its end, we may repeat, with a deeper feeling of their truth, the words of St. Paul; we may say, when next Advent Sunday shall appear, that now is our salvation nearer than when we became believers.



LECTURE XXII.

* * * * *

CHRISTMAS DAY.

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JOHN i. 10.

He was in the world, and the world was made by Him, and the world knew Him not.

When we use ourselves, or hear others use, the term "mystery," as applied to things belonging to the gospel, we should do well to consider what is meant by it. For our common notion of the word mystery is of something dark; whereas Christ and his gospel are continually spoken of as being, above all other things, light. Then come others, and say, "Light and darkness cannot go together: what you call the mysteries of Christianity are no part of it, but the fond inventions of man: Christianity is all simple and clear:" and thus they strike away some of the very greatest truths which God has revealed to us. Thus they deal in particular with the great truth declared in the text, that He who made the world visited it in the likeness of man. Now, if this truth were a mystery, in the common notion of that term; if it were a thing full of darkness, defying our minds to understand it, or to draw any good from it; then, indeed, it would be of little consequence whether we received it or no. It is because it is a mystery in a very different sense, in the sense in which the word is used commonly in the Scriptures; that is, a thing which was a secret, but which God has been pleased to reveal, and to reveal for our benefit, that therefore the loss of it would be the loss of a real blessing, a loss at once of light and comfort.

But we must go a little further, and explain from what this sad confusion in the use of the term "mystery" has arisen. There are many things relating to ourselves and to things around us, which by nature we cannot understand; and of God we can scarcely understand anything. Now, while the gospel has revealed much that we did not know before, it yet has not revealed everything: of God, in particular, it has given us much most precious knowledge, yet it has not removed all the veil. It has furnished us with a glass, indeed, to use the apostle's comparison; but the glass, although, a great help, although reflecting a likeness of what, without it, we could not see at all, is yet a dark and imperfect manner of seeing, compared with, the seeing face to face. So, when the gospel tells us that He who made the world visited it in our nature, it does not indeed enable us yet fully to conceive what He is who made us, and then became as one of us; there is still left around the name of God that light inaccessible which is to our imperfections darkness; and so far as we cannot understand or conceive rightly of God, so far it is true that we cannot understand all that is conveyed in the expression that God was in the world dwelling among us. Yet it is still most true that by the revelation thus made to us we have gained immensely. God, as he is in himself, we cannot understand; but Jesus Christ we can. When we are told to love God, if we look to the life and death of Christ, we can understand and feel how truly he deserves our love; when we are told to be perfect as God is perfect, we have the image of this perfection so truly set before us in his Son Jesus, that it may be well said, "Whoso hath seen Him hath seen the Father;" and why, then, should we ask with Philip, that "He should show us the Father?"

What, then, the festival of Christmas presents to us, as distinct from that of Easter, is generally the revelation of God in the flesh. True it is, that we may make it, if we will, the same as Easter: that is, we may celebrate it as the birth of our Saviour, of him who died and rose again for us; but then we only celebrate our Lord's birth with reference to his death and resurrection: that is, we make Christmas to be Easter under another name. And so everything relating to our Lord may be made to refer to his death and resurrection; for in them consists our redemption, and for that reason Easter has ever been considered as the great festival of the Christian year. But yet apart from this, Christmas has something peculiarly its own: namely, as I said before, the revelation of God in the flesh, not only to make atonement for our sins,—which is the peculiar subject of the celebration of the season of Easter,—but to give us notions of God at once distinct and lively; to enable us to have One in the invisible world, whom we could conceive of as distinctly as of a mere man, yet whom we might love with all our hearts, and trust with all our hearts, and yet be guilty of no idolatry.

It is not, then, only as the beginning of an earthly life of little more than thirty years, that we may celebrate the day of our Lord's birth in the flesh. His own words express what this day has brought to us: "Henceforth shall ye see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of man." The words here, like so many of our Lord's, are expressed in a parable; but their meaning is not the less clear. They allude evidently to Jacob's vision, to the ladder reaching from earth to heaven, on which the angels were ascending and descending continually. But this vision is itself a parable; showing, under the figure of the ladder reaching from earth to heaven, and the angels going up and down on it, a free communication, as it were, between God and man, heaven brought nearer to earth, and heavenly things made more familiar. Now, this is done, in a manner, by every revelation from God; most of all, by the revelation of his Son. Nor is it only by his Spirit that Christ communicates with us even now; though, he is ascended again into heaven, yet the benefits of his having become man, over and above those of his dying and rising again for us, have not yet passed away. It is still the man Christ Jesus who brings heaven near to earth, and earth near to heaven.

It has been well said by Augustine, that babes in Christ should so think of the Son of man as not to lose sight of the Son of God; that more advanced Christians should so think of the Son of God as not to lose sight of the Son of man. Augustine well understood how the thought of the Son of man is fitted to our weakness; and that the best and most advanced of us in this mortal life are never so strong as to be able to do without it. Have we ever tried this with our children? We tell them that God made them, and takes care of them, and loves them, and hears their prayers, and knows what is in their hearts, and cannot bear what is evil. These are such notions of God as a child requires, and can understand. But, if we join with them some of those other notions which belong to God as he is in himself; that he is a Spirit, not to be seen, not to be conceived of as in any one place, or in any one form; what do we but embarrass our child's mind, and lessen that sense of near and dear relation to God which, our earlier accounts of God had given him? Yet we must teach him something of this sort, if we would prevent him from forming unworthy notions of God, such as have been the beginning of all idolatry. Here, then, is the blessing of the revelation of God in Christ. All that he can understand of God, or love in him, or fear in him—that is to be found in Christ. Christ made him, takes care of him, can hear his prayers, can read his little heart, loves him tenderly; yet cannot bear what is evil, and will strictly judge him at the last day. But what we must teach when we speak of God, yet which has a tendency to lessen the liveliness of our impressions of him, this has no place when we speak of Christ. Christ has a body, incorruptible and glorified indeed, such as they who are Christ's shall also wear at his coming, yet still a body. Christ is not to be seen, indeed, for the clouds have received him out of our sight: yet he may be conceived of as in one place—at the right hand of God; as in one certain and well-known form—the form of the Son of man. Yet let us observe again, and be thankful for the perfect wisdom of God. Even while presenting to us God in Christ; that is to say, God with all those attributes which we can understand, and fear, and love; and without those which, throw us, as it were, to an infinite distance, overwhelming our minds, and baffling all our conceptions; even then the utmost care is taken to make us remember that God in himself is really that infinite and incomprehensible Being to whom we cannot, in our present state, approach; that even his manifestation of himself in Christ Jesus, is one less perfect than we shall be permitted to see hereafter; that Christ stands at the right hand of the Majesty on high; that he has received from the Father all his kingdom and his glory; finally, that the Father is greater than he, inasmuch as any other nature added to the pure and perfect essence of God, must, in a certain measure, if I may venture so to speak, be a coming down to a lower point, from the very and unmixed Divinity.

I have purposely mentioned this last circumstance, although it is not the view that I wish particularly to take to-day, because such passages as that which I quoted, where Christ tells his disciples that his Father was greater than he, and many others of the same sort, throughout the New Testament, are sometimes apt to embarrass and perplex us, if we do not consider their peculiar object. It was very necessary, especially at a time when men were so accustomed to worship their highest gods under the form of men, that whilst the gospel was itself holding out the man Christ Jesus as the object of religious faith, and fear, and love, and teaching that all power was given to him, in heaven and in earth,—it should, also, guard us against supposing that it meant to represent God as, in himself, wearing a human form, or having a nature partaking of our infirmities; and, therefore, it always speaks of there being something in God higher, and more perfect, than could possibly be revealed to man; and for this eternal and infinite, and inconceivable Being, it claims the reserve of our highest thoughts, or, rather, it commands us to believe, that they who shall hereafter see God face to face, shall be allowed to see something still greater than is now revealed to us, even in him who is the express image of God, and the brightness of his glory.

But, now, to return to what I was dwelling on before. It is not only for children, that the revelation of God in Christ is so valuable; it is fitted to the wants of us all, at all times, and under all circumstances. Say, that we are in joy; say, that we are enjoying some of the festivities of this season. It is quite plain, that, at whatever moment the thought of God is unwelcome to us, that moment is one of sin or unbelief: yet, how can we dare to mix up the notion of the most high God with any earthly merriment, or festivity? Then, if we think of him who was present at the marriage in Cana of Galilee, and who worked a miracle for no other object than to increase the enjoyment of that marriage supper, do we not feel how the highest thoughts may be joined with the most common occasions? how we may bring Christ home with, us to our social meetings, to bless us, and to sanctify them? Imagine him in our feasts as he was in Cana:—we may do it without profaneness; being sure, from that example, that he condemns not innocent mirth; that it is not merely because there is a feast, or because friends and neighbours are gathered together, that Christ cannot, therefore, be in the midst of us. This alone does not drive him away; but, oh consider, with what ears would he have listened to any words of unkindness, of profaneness, or of impurity! with what eyes would he have viewed any intemperance, or revelling; any such, immoderate yielding up of the night to pleasure, that a less portion of the next day can be given to duty and to God! Even as he would have heard or seen such things in Cana of Galilee, so does he hear and see them amongst us; the same gracious eye of love is on our moderate and permitted enjoyments; the same turning away from, the same firm and just displeasure at every word or deed which turns pleasure into sin.

But if I seek for instances to show how God in Christ is brought very near to us, what can I choose more striking than that most solemn act of Christian communion to which we are called this day? For, what is there in our mortal life, what joy, what sorrow, what feeling elated or subdued, which is not in that communion brought near to Christ to receive his blessing? What is the first and outward thing of which it reminds us? Is it not that last supper in Jerusalem, in which men,—the twelve disciples, the first members of our Christian brotherhood,—were brought into such solemn nearness to God, as seems to have begun the privileges of heaven upon earth? They were brought near at once to Christ and to one another: united to one another in him, in that double bond which, is the perfection at once of our duty and of our happiness. And so in our communion we, too, draw near to Christ and to each other; we feel—who is there at that moment, at least, that does not feel?—what a tie there is to bind each of us to his brother, when we come to the table of our common Lord. So far, the Lord's Supper is but a type of what every Christian meeting should be: never should any of us be gathered together on any occasion of common life, in our families or with our neighbours; we should sit down to no meal, we should meet in no company, without having Christ also in the midst of us; without remembering what we all are to him, and what we each therefore are to our brethren. But when we further recollect what there is in the Lord's Supper beyond the mere meeting of Christ and his disciples; what it is which the bread and the wine commemorate; of what we partake when, as true Christians, we eat of that bread, and drink of that cup; then we shall understand that God indeed is brought very near to us; inasmuch, as he who is a Christian, and partakes sincerely of Christian communion, is a partaker also of Christ: and as belonging to his body, his living spiritual body, the universal Church, receives his share of all those blessings, of all that infinite love which the Father shows continually to the head of that body, his own well-beloved Son.

Say not then in your hearts, Who can ascend up into heaven, that is, to bring Christ down? As on this day, when he took our nature upon him, he came down to abide with us for ever; to abide with, us, even when we should see him with our eyes no more: for whilst he was on earth he so took part in all the concerns of life, in all its duties, its sorrows, and its joys, that memory, when looking back on the past, can fancy him present still; and then let the liveliest fancy do its work to the utmost, it cannot go beyond the reality; he is present still, for that belongs to his almightiness; he is present with us, because he is God; and we can fancy him with us, because he is man. This is the way to lessen our distance from God and heaven, by bringing Christ continually to us on earth: the sky is closed, and shows no sign; all things continue as they were from the beginning of the world; evil abounds, and therefore the faith of many waxes cold; but Christ was and is amongst us; and we need no surer sign than that sign of the prophet Jonah—Christ crucified and Christ risen—to make us feel that we may live with God daily upon earth, and doing so, shall live with him for an eternal life, in a country that cannot pass away.



LECTURE XXIII.

* * * * *

SUNDAY NEXT BEFORE EASTER.

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MATTHEW xxvi. 40, 41.

What, could ye not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.

These words, we cannot doubt, have an application to ourselves, and to all Christians, far beyond the particular occasion on which they were actually spoken. They are, in fact, the words which Christ addresses daily to all of us. Every day, when he sees how often we have gone astray from him, he repeats to us, Could ye not watch with me one hour? Every day he commands us to watch and pray, that we enter not into temptation; every day he reminds us, that however willing may be our spirits, yet our flesh is weak; and that through that weakness, sin prevails over it, and having triumphed over our flesh, proceeds to enslave our spirit also.

And as the words are applicable to us every day, so also are they in a particular manner suitable now, when the season of Lent is so nearly over, and Easter is so fast approaching. Have we been unable to watch, with Christ one hour? Already are the good resolutions with which, we, perhaps, began Lent, broken in many instances; and the impressions, if any such were made in us, are already weakened. They have been a burden, which we have shaken off, because the weakness of our nature found it too heavy to bear. Sad it is to think how often this same process has been repeated in all time, how often it will be repeated to the end.

Let us just review what the course of this process has probably been. Now, as the parable of the Sower describes three several sorts of persons, who never bring forth, fruit; so in the very same persons, there is at different times something of each of the three characters there described. We, the very same persons, are at one time hard, at another careless, and at another over-busy; although, if compared with, other persons, and in the general form of their characters, some are hard, and others are careless, and others over-busy; different persons having different faults predominantly. But even the hardness of the road side, although God forbid that it should be our prevailing temper, yet surely it does sometimes exist in too many of us. In common speech, we talk of a person showing a hard temper, meaning, generally, a hard temper towards other men. We have done wrong, but being angry when we are reproved for it, we will not acknowledge it at all, and cheat our consciences, by dwelling upon the supposed wrong that has been done to us in some over-severity of reproof or punishment, instead of confessing and repenting of the original wrong which we ourselves did. But is it not true, that a hard temper towards man is very often, even consciously, a hard temper towards God? Does it never happen, that if conscience presents to us the thought of God, whether as a God of judgment to terrify us, or as a God of love to melt us, we repel it with impatience, or with sullenness? Does not the heart sometimes almost speak aloud the language of blasphemy: Who is God, that I should mind him? I do not care what may happen, I will not be softened. Do not all sorts of unbelieving thoughts pass rapidly through the mind at such moments; first in their less daring form, whispering, as the serpent did to Eve, that we shall not surely die; that we shall have time to repent by and by; that God will not be so strict a judge as to condemn us for such a little; that by some means or other, we shall escape? But then they come, also, in their bolder form: What do I or any man know about another world, or God's judgments? may it not be all a fiction, so that I have, in reality, nothing to fear? In short, under one form or another, is it not true, that our hearts have sometimes displayed actually hardness towards God; that the thought of God has been actually presented to our minds, but that we have turned it aside, and have not suffered it to make any impression upon us? And thus, we have not only not watched with Christ according to his command, but have actually told him that we would not. But this has been in our worst temper, certainly; it may not have happened,—I trust that it has not happened often. More commonly, I dare say, the fault has been carelessness. We have gone out of this place; sacred names have ceased to sound in our ears; sights in any degree connected with, holy things have been all withdrawn from us. Other sounds and other sights have been before us, and our minds have yielded to them altogether. There are minds, indeed, which have no spring of thought in themselves; which are quiet, and in truth empty, till some outward objects come to engage them. Take them at a moment when they are alone, or when there is no very interesting object before them, and ask them of what they are thinking. If the answer were truly given, such a mind would say, "Of nothing." Certain images may be faintly presented to it; it may be that it is not altogether a blank; yet it could not name anything distinctly. No form had been vivid enough to produce any corresponding resolution in us; we were, as it were, in a state between sleeping and waking, with neither thoughts nor dreams definite enough to affect us. This state finds exactly all that it desires in the presence or the near hope of outward objects; the mind lives in its daily pursuits, and companions, and amusements. What impressions have been once produced are soon worn away; and in a soil so shallow nothing makes a durable impression: everything can, as it were, scratch upon its surface, while nothing can strike deeply down within.

Or, again, take the rarer case of those who are over-busy. There are minds, undoubtedly, which are as incapable of rest as those of the generality of men are prone to it; there are minds which enter keenly into everything presented to them by their outward senses, and which, when their senses cease to supply them, have an inexhaustible source of thought within, which furnishes them with abundant matter of reflection or of speculation. To such a mind, doing is most delightful; whether it be outward doing, or the mere exercise of thought, either supplies alike the consciousness of power. Where, then, is there room for the less obtruding things of God? Into that restless water, another and another image is for ever stepping down, pushing aside and keeping at a distance the sobering reflections of God and of Christ. Alas! the thorns grow so vigorously in such a soil, that they altogether choke and kill the seed of God's word.

So, then, we are either asleep, or, if we are awake, we are not waking with Christ. On one side, in that garden of Gethsemane were the disciples sleeping; below, and fast ascending the hill,—not sleeping, certainly, but with lanterns and torches and weapons,—were those whose waking was for evil. Where were they who watched with Christ one hour then,—or where are those who watch with him now?

HOW gently, yet how earnestly, does he call upon us to "watch and pray, lest we enter into temptation." To watch and to pray: for of all those around him some were sleeping, and none were praying; so that they who watched were not watching with him, but against him. In our careless state of mind the call to us is to watch; in our over-busy state the call to us is to pray; in our hard state there is equal need for both. And even in our best moods, when we are not hard, nor careless, nor over-busy, when we are at once sober and earnest and gentle, then not least does Christ call upon us to watch and to pray, that we may retain that than which else no gleam of April sunshine was ever more fleeting; that we may perfect that which else is of the earth, earthly, and when we lie down in the dust will wither and come to dust also.

Jesus Christ brought life and immortality, it is said, to light through the gospel. He brought life and immortality to light:—is this indeed true as far as we are concerned? What do we think would be the difference in this point between many of us—who will dare say how many?—and a school, I will not say of Jewish, but even of Greek or Roman or Egyptian boys, eighteen hundred, or twenty-four hundred, or three or four thousand years ago? Compare us at our worship with them, and then, I grant, the difference would appear enormous. We have no images, making the glory of the incorruptible God like to corruptible man; we have no vain stream of incense; no shedding of the blood of bulls and calves in sacrifice: the hymns which are sung here are not vain repetitions or impious fables, which gave no word of answer to those questions which it most concerns mankind to know. Here, indeed, Jesus Christ is truly set forth, crucified among us; here life and immortality are brought to light. But follow us out of this place,—to our respective pursuits and amusements, to our social meetings, or our times of solitary thought,—and wherein do we seem to see life and immortality more brightly revealed than to those heathen schools of old? Do we enjoy any worldly good less keenly, or less shrink from any worldly evil? Death, which to the heathen view was the end of all things, is to us (so our language goes) the gate of life. Do we think of it with more hope and less fear than the heathen did? Christ has risen, and has reconciled us to God. Is God more to us?—God now revealed to us as our reconciled Father—do we oftener think of him, do we love him better, than he was thought of and loved in those heathen schools, which had Homer's poetry for their only gospel? We talk of light, of revelation, of the knowledge of God, while verily and really we are walking, not in light, but in darkness: not in knowledge of God, but in blindness and hardness of heart.

"The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." How great is the loving-kindness of these words,—how gently does Christ bear with the weakness of his disciples! But this thought may be the most blessed or the most dangerous thought in the world; the most blessed if it touches us with love, the most dangerous if it emboldens us in sin. He is full of loving-kindness, full of long-suffering; for days, and weeks, and months, and years he bears with us: we grieve him, and he entreats; we crucify him afresh, yet he will not come down from the cross in power and majesty; he endures and spares. So it is for days, and months, and years; for some years it may be to most of us,—for many years to some of the youngest. There may be some here who may go on grieving Christ, and crucifying him afresh, for as much as seventy years; and he will bear with them all that time, and his sun will daily shine upon them, and his creatures and his word will minister to their pleasure; and he himself will say nothing to them but to entreat them to turn and be saved. This may last, I say, to some amongst us for seventy years; to others it may last fifty; to many of us it may last for forty, or for thirty; none of us, perhaps, are so old but that it may last with us twenty, or at the least ten. Such is the prospect before us, if we like it: not to be depended upon with certainty, it is true, but yet to be regarded as probable. But as these ten, or twenty, or fifty, or seventy years pass on, Christ will still spare us, but his voice of entreaty will be less often heard; the distance between him and us will be consciously wider. From one place after another where we once used sometimes to see him, he will have departed; year after year some object which used once to catch the light from heaven, will have become overgrown, and will lie constantly in gloom; year after year the world will become to us more entirely devoid of God. If sorrow, or some softening joy ever turns our minds towards Christ, we shall be startled at perceiving there is something which keeps us from him, that we cannot earnestly believe in him; that if we speak of loving him, our hearts, which can still love earthly things, feel that the words are but mockery. Alas, alas! the increased weakness of our flesh, has destroyed all the power of our spirit, and almost all its willingness: it is bound with chains which it cannot break, and, indeed, scarcely desires to break. Redemption, Salvation, Victory,—what words are these when applied to that enslaved, that lost, that utterly overthrown and vanquished soul, which sin is leading in triumph now, and which will speedily be given over to walk for ever as a captive in the eternal triumph of death!

Not one word of what I have said is raised beyond the simplest expression of truth; this is our portion if we will not watch with Christ. We know how often we have failed to do so, either sleeping in carelessness, or being busy and wakeful, but not with him or for him. Still he calls us to watch and pray, lest we enter into temptation; to mark our lives and actions; to mark them often; to see whether we have done well or ill in the month past, or in the week past, or in the day past; to consider whether we are better than we were, or worse; whether we think Christ loves us better, or worse; whether we are more or less cold towards him. I know not what else can be called watching with Christ than such a looking into ourselves as we are in his sight. It is very hard to be done;—yes, it is hard—harder than anything probably which we ever attempted before; and, therefore, we must pray withal for his help, whose strength is perfected in our weakness. And if it be so hard, and we have need so greatly to pray for God's help, should we not all also be anxious to help one another? And knowing, as we do from our own consciences, how difficult it is to watch with Christ, and how thankful we should be to any one who were to make it easier to us, should we not be sure that our neighbour is in like case with ourselves; that our help may be as useful to him as we feel that his would be to us? This is our bounden duty of love towards one another; what then should be said of us if we not only neglect this duty, but do the very contrary to it; if we actually help the evil in our brother's heart to destroy him more entirely; if we will not watch with Christ ourselves, and strive to prevent others from doing so?



LECTURE XXIV.

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GOOD FRIDAY.

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ROMANS v. 8.

God commendeth his love towards us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

We all remember the story in the Gospel, of the different treatment which our Lord met with in the same house, from the Pharisee, who had invited him into it, and from the woman who came in and knelt at his feet, and kissed them, and bathed them with her tears. Our Lord accounted for the difference in these words, "To whom little is forgiven, the same loveth little;" which means to speak of the sense or feeling in the person's own mind, "He who feels that little is or needs to be forgiven him, he also loves little." And this same difference which existed toward him when he was present on earth, exists no less now, whenever he is brought before our thoughts. The same sort of persons who saw him with indifference, think of him also with indifference; they who saw him with love, think of him also with love. There is no art, no power in the world, which can give an interest to words spoken concerning him, for those who feel that little is and that little needs to be forgiven them, or to those who never consider about their being forgiven at all. To such, this day, with its services, what they hear from the Scriptures, or what they hear from men, must be alike a matter of indifference: it is not possible that it should be otherwise. Yet, God forbid that we should design what we are saying this day only for a certain few of our congregation, as if the rest neither would nor could be interested in it. So long as any one is careless, he cannot, it is true, be interested about the things of Christ; but who can say at what moment, through God's grace, he may cease to be careless? Is it too much to say, that scarcely a service is performed in any congregation in the land, which does not awaken an interest in some one who before was indifferent? I do rot say a deep interest, nor a lasting one, but an interest; there is a thought, a heeding, an inclination of the mind to listen, created probably by the Church services in some one or other, every time that they are performed. As we never can know in whom this may be so created, as all have great need that it should be created, as all are deeply concerned whether they feel that they are so or no, so we speak to all alike; and if the language does pass over their ears like an unknown or indistinct sound, the fault and the loss are theirs; but the Church has borne her witness, and has so far done her duty.

But again, for ears not careless, but most interested; for hearts to whom Christ is more than all in the world besides; for minds, before whom the wisdom of the gospel is ever growing, rising to a loftier height, and striking downwards to a depth more profound,—yet without end in its height or its depth; is there not, also, a difficulty in speaking to them of that great thing which the Church celebrates to-day? Is there no difficulty in awakening their interest, or rather how can we escape even from wearying or repelling them, when their own affections and deep thoughts must find all words of man, whether of themselves or others, infinitely unworthy to express either the one or the other? To such, then, the words of the preacher may be no more than music without any words at all; which does but serve to lead and accompany our own thoughts, without distinctly suggesting any thoughts of another to interrupt the workings of our own minds. We would speak of Christ's death; most good it is for us and for you to think upon it; so far as our words suit the current of your own thoughts, use them and listen to them; so far as they are a too unworthy expression of what we ought to think and feel, follow your own reflections, and let the words neither offend you nor distract you.

I would endeavour just to touch, upon some of the purposes for which the Scripture tells us that Christ died, and for which his death was declared to be the great object of our faith. This done in the simplest and fewest words will best show the infinite greatness of the subject; and how truly it is, so to speak, the central point of Christianity.

First of all, Christ died as a proper sacrifice for sin; as a sacrifice, the virtue of which, is altogether distinct from our knowledge of it, or from any effect which it has a tendency to produce on our own minds. We are forgiven for his sake; we are acquitted through his death, and through faith in his blood. What a view does this open, partially, indeed,—for what mortal eye can reach to the end of it?—of the evil of sin, and of God's love! of what God's justice required, and of what God's love fulfilled! This great sacrifice was made once, but it will not be made again; for those who despise this there remains no more offering for sin, but their sin abideth with them for ever.

Secondly, Christ's death is revealed to us as a motive capable of overcoming all temptations to evil. "How much more shall the blood of Christ purge your conscience from dead works to serve the living God?" "He suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God;" that is, that a consideration of what Christ's death declares to us should have power to melt the hardest heart, and to sober the lightest: that, when we think of Christ dying, dying for us, and so purchasing for us the forgiveness of sins, and everlasting life, such a love, and such a prospect of peace with God, and of glory, should in the highest degree soften and enkindle us; and from love for him, and confidence of hope through the prospect which he has given us, we should be able to overcome all temptations. "I am persuaded," says St. Paul, "that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Thirdly, Christ suffered for as, leaving us an example that we should follow his steps. He left us an example of all meekness, and patience, and humility; he left us an example of perfect submission to God's will; he left us an infinite comfort by letting us feel when we are in any trouble, or pain, or affliction, that he was troubled too; that he knew pain, and endured affliction. Above all, in that hour which must come to all of us, he has left us the greatest of all supports;—for he endured to die; and we may enter with less fear into the darkness of the grave, for even there Christ has been for our sakes, and arose from out of it a conqueror.

Fourthly, Christ died that he might gather together in one the children of God that were scattered abroad; he died to purchase to himself his universal Church. So it is said in the Scriptures: and on this particular purpose of his death, it may not be amiss to dwell, for none so needs to be held in remembrance. Many there are, and ever have been, who have rested their whole hope towards God on his sacrifice; many who have learnt from his cross to overcome sin; from his resurrection to overcome the world; many who, amidst all the troubles of life, and in the hour of death, have been supported by the thought of his example. But where is his universal Church? where the company of God's children gathered together into one? where is the city set upon the hill, that cannot be hid? where is the visible kingdom of God, where all its people are striving under one Divine Head, against sin, the world, and the devil? This is the sign which we look for and cannot find; this is the fulfilment of the prophecies for which we seem destined to wait in vain.

And what if, on the contrary, that which is called the Church act rather the part of the world; if our worst foes be truly those of our own household: if they who should have been for our help, be rather an occasion of falling: if one of our greatest difficulties in following Christ steadily, arise from the total want of encouragement, yea, often from the direct opposition of those who are themselves pledged to follow him to the death; if that Church, which was to have been the clearest sign to the world of the truth of Christ's gospel, be now, in many respects, rather a stumbling-block to the adversary and unbeliever, so that the name of God is through us blasphemed among the heathen, rather than glorified; may we not humble ourselves before God in sorrow and in shame? and must we not confess, that through our sin, and the sin of our fathers, Christ, in respect of this one purpose of his death, has as yet died in vain?

Israel after the flesh, lamenting their Jerusalem which is now not theirs, and mourning over their ruined temple, in all their synagogues repeat constantly the prayer, O Lord, build thou the walls of Jerusalem! O Lord, build! O Lord, build! O Lord, build! is the solemn chorus, marking by its repetition the earnestness of their desire. And should not this be the prayer of the Israel of God, scattered now as they are into their thousand divided and corrupted synagogues, and no token to be seen of the pure and universal Church, the living temple of the Spirit of God; should not we too, privately and publicly, join in the prayer of the earthly Israel, and pray that Christ would build for us the walls of our true Jerusalem? For only think what it would be, if Christ's Church existed more than in name; consider what it would be if baptism were a real bond; if we looked on one another as brethren, redeemed by one ransom, pledged to one service; if we bore with one another's weaknesses; if we helped one another's endeavours; if each saw and heard, in the words and life of his neighbour, an image of Christ, and a pledge of the truth of his promises. Consider what it would be, if, with no quarrels, with no jealousies, with no unkindness, we sought not every man his own, but every man also another's welfare; as true members one of another,—of one body, of which Christ is the head. Consider what it would be, if our judgments of men and things were like Christ's judgments; neither strengthening the heart of the careless and sinful by our laxity, nor making sad the heart of God's true servant by our uncharitableness; not putting little things in the place of great, nor great things in the place of little; not neglecting the unity of the Spirit; not stickling for a sameness in the form. Or, if we carry our views a little wider; if we look out upon the world at large, and hear of rumours of wars, and see the signs of internal disorders, and perhaps may think that the clouds are gathering which, herald one of the comings of the Son of man to judgment, whether the last of all or not it were vain to ask; how blessed would it be, if we could see such an ark of Christ's Church as should float visibly upon, the stormy waters; gathering within it, in peace and safety, men of various dispositions and conditions, and opinions; those who held much of truth, and those who had mixed with it much of error: those whom Christ would call clean, and those, too, whom some of their brethren call unclean, but whom Christ has redeemed, and will save no less than their despisers; all, in short, who fled from sin and from the world to Christ, and to the company of Christ's people! O if we could but see such an ark preparing while God's long-suffering yet withholds the flood! O that all God's scattered and divided children would join together in one earnest prayer, O Lord, build thou the walls of Jerusalem! O Lord, build! O Lord, build! O Lord, build!

Yet, for this, among other purposes of mercy, did the Son of God, as on this day, suffer death upon the cross: he died that we might be one in him. Let us turn, then, from the thought of the general temple in ruins, and let us see whether we cannot, at any rate, within the walls of our own little particular congregation, fulfil also this object of Christ's death, and be one in him. Let us consider one another, to provoke unto love and to good works: we too often consider one another for the very contrary purpose, to provoke to contempt or ill-will. True it is, that if we look for it we can find much of evil in our brethren, and they can find much also in us; and we might become all haters of one another, all in some sort deserving to be hated. But where is he who is entitled to hate another's evil when he has evil in himself; and when Christ, who had none, did not hate the evil of us all, but rather died to save it? And is it not true also, that, if we look for it, we can also find in every one something to love? something, undoubtedly, even in him who has in himself least: but much, infinitely much in all, when we look upon them as Christ's redeemed. Not more beautifully than truly has it been said, that Christian souls—

"Though worn and soiled by sinful clay, Are yet, to eyes that see them true, All glistening with baptismal dew."

They have the seal of belonging to Christ; they are his and our brethren. And, as his latest command, and his beloved Apostle's also, was that we should love one another; so, if we would bring all our solemn thoughts of Christ's death to one point, and endeavour to derive from it some one particular lesson for our daily lives, I know not that any would be more needed or better for us, than that we should especially apply the thought of Christ dying on the cross for us to soften our angry, and proud, and selfish feelings; to restrain us from angry or sneering words; from unkind, offensive, rude, or insulting actions; to excite us to gentleness, courtesy, kindness; remembering that he, be he who he may, whom we allow ourselves to despise, or to dislike, or to annoy, or to neglect, was one so precious in Christ's sight, that he laid down his life for his sake, and invites him to be for ever with, him and with his Father.



LECTURE XXV.

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EASTER DAY.

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JOHN xx. 20.

Then the disciples went away again unto their own home.

With this verse ends the portion of the scripture chosen for the gospel in this morning's service. It finishes the account of the visit of Peter and John to the sepulchre; and, therefore, the close of the extract at this point is sufficiently natural. Yet the effect of the quiet tone of these words, just following the account of the greatest event which earth has ever witnessed, is, I think, singularly impressive; the more so when we remember that they were written by one of the very persons, whose visit had been just described; and that the writer, therefore, could tell full well, to how intense an interest there had succeeded that solemn calm. They went away from the very sight, if I may so speak, of Christ risen, to their own homes. And what thoughts do we suppose that they carried with them? Let us endeavour to recall them, for our benefit, also, who, like them, are going, as it were, to the ordinary tenure of our daily lives from this day's high solemnity.

The disciples went away to their own homes; and there they waited, either in Jerusalem or in Galilee, pursuing, as we find from the last chapter of St. John, their common occupations, till, after their Lord's ascension, power was given them from on high, and the great work of their apostleship began. During this period, Christ appeared to them several times: he conversed with them, he ate and drank with them: but he did not live continually with them, as he had done before his crucifixion: he did not take them about with him as before, while he was performing the part of the great prophet of the house of Israel. They were now at their own homes waiting for his call to more active duties. They had seen him dead, and they had seen, him risen, and they were receiving into their souls all the lessons of his life and death and resurrection, brought before them, and impressed upon them by that Holy Spirit, who, according to Christ's promise, was to take of the things which are Christ's, and to show them to Christ's disciples.

It is true that there came upon them, after this, an especial visitation of the Spirit of power, to fit them for their particular work of apostles or messengers to mankind. Having been converted themselves, they were to strengthen their brethren. And as this especial visitation of the Holy Spirit was given to them only, and to those on whom they themselves laid their hands, so none have ever since been called to that particular work to which they were called, in any thing of the same degree of fulness. What is peculiar to them as apostles is not applicable exactly to us; but we are all concerned in what belongs to them as Christians: in this respect, their case is ours; and they, when at their own homes, and engaged in their own callings, stand in the same situation as we all.

We may, however, still make a two-fold division; we may regard the apostles going away to their own homes, as a temporary thing, as a mere term of preparation for the duties which they were afterwards called to; or we may look upon it as complete so far as earth is concerned, since, taking them as Christians only and not as apostles, they might have so lived on to the end of their lives, having received all those helps which were needed for their own personal salvation, and having only to use them daily for their soul's benefit. This same distinction we may apply to ourselves. We may consider ourselves as going to our own homes for a time only, awaiting our call to active life; or we may consider ourselves as withdrawing, after every celebration of Christ's resurrection, to that round of daily duties which on earth shall never alter; and to which all the helps derived from our communion with Christ are to be applied, with nothing future, so for as earth is concerned, for which we may need them. So then, of whatever age we may be, what is said of the apostles in the text may apply to us also: after having witnessed, as it were, Christ's resurrection, we go away to our own homes. Let us first take that part of the text which is common to us all, though not in the same degree—the having been witnesses of Christ's resurrection. John and Peter found him not in the sepulchre; they found the linen clothes and the napkin lying there, but he was gone. And upon this, as John assures us, both for himself and his companion, "they believed." They believed, we should observe, when as yet they had no more seen Jesus himself after his resurrection, than we Lave now. They only knew that he had been dead, and that he was not in the sepulchre. And this we know also; we have not seen him, indeed, since his resurrection: but we are sure he is not in the sepulchre. We are sure that the malice of his enemies did not do its work: we are sure, for we are ourselves witnesses of it, that that name, and that word, which they hoped would have been destroyed for ever, like the names of many, not only of false prophets and deceivers, but even of good men and of wise, have not perished, but have brought forth fruit more abundantly, from the very cause that was intended to put them out. Christ's gospel, assuredly, is a living thing, full of vigour and full of power; it has worked mightily for good, and is working; it is so full of blessing, it tends so largely towards the happiness that is enjoyed upon earth, that we are quite sure it is not lying still buried in Christ's sepulchre.

They (the two disciples) then went away believing, because they found that he was not in the sepulchre. But Mary Magdalene came and told them, that she had seen him risen, and had heard his voice with her ears. What she told Peter and John, Peter and John are now telling to us. They tell us that they have heard him, have seen him with their eyes, have looked upon him, yea, that their hands have handled him. They tell us even more than Mary Magdalene told them; for she had not been allowed to touch him. We may well trust their testimony, as they trusted hers, being quite ready indeed to believe that he was alive, because they had found that he was not amongst the dead. And so we, finding that he is not amongst the dead, seeing and knowing the fruits of his gospel, the living and ever increasing fruits of it, may well believe that its author is risen, and that the pains of death were loosed from off him, because it was not possible that he should be holden by them.

In this way, we, like the two disciples, may be all said to be witnesses of Christ's resurrection. May it not be said still more of those amongst us who assembled this morning round Christ's table, to keep alive the memory of his death; when we partook of that bread, and drank of that cup, of which so many thousands and millions, in every age and in every land, have eaten and drunken, all receiving them, with nearly the same words,—the body that was given for us, the blood that was shed for us,—all, making allowances for human weakness, finding in that communion the peace and the strength of God; all alike receiving it with penitent hearts, and with faith, and purposes of good for the time to come? Did we not then witness that Christ is not perished? that he has been ever, and still is, mighty to save? That command given to twelve persons, in an obscure chamber in Jerusalem, by one who, the next day, was to die as a malefactor, has been, and is obeyed from one end of the world to another; and wherever it has been obeyed, there, in proportion to the sincerity of the obedience, has been the fulness of the blessing.

But this is now past, as with the two disciples, and we are going again to our own homes. There, neither the empty sepulchre nor the risen Saviour are present before us, but common scenes and familiar occupations, which, in themselves have nothing in them of Christ. So it must be; we cannot be always within these walls; we cannot always be engaged in public prayer; we cannot always be hearing Christ's word, nor partaking of his communion; we must be going about our several works, and must be busied in them; some of us in preparation for other work to come, others to go on till the end of their lives with this only. May we not hope that Christ, and Christ's Spirit, will visit us the while in these our daily callings, as he came to his disciples Peter and John, when following their business as fishers on the lake of Gennesareth?

How can we get him to visit us? There is one answer—by prayer and by watchfulness. By prayer, whether we are in our preparatory state, or our fixed one; by prayer, and I think I may add, by praying in our own words. Of course, when we pray together, some of us must join in the words of others; and it makes little difference, whether those words be spoken or read. But when we pray alone, some, perhaps, may still use none but prayers made by others, especially the Lord's prayer. We should remember, however, that the Lord's prayer was given for this very purpose, to teach us how to pray for ourselves. But it does not do this, if we use it alone, and still more, if we use it without understanding it. If we do understand it, and study it, it will indeed teach us to pray; it will show us what we most need in prayer, and what are our greatest evils; but surely it may be said, that no man ever learnt this lesson well without wishing to practise it; no man ever used the Lord's prayer with understanding and with earnestness, without adding to it others of his own. And this is not a trifling matter. We know the difficulty of attending in prayer; and if we use the words of others only, which we must, therefore, repeat from memory, it is perfectly possible to say them over without really joining with them in our minds: we may say them over to ourselves, and be actually thinking of other things the while. And the same thing holds good, of course, even with prayers that we have made ourselves, if we accustom ourselves to repeat them without alteration; they then become, in fact, the work of another than our actual mind, and may be repeated by memory alone. Therefore, it seems to be of consequence to vary the words, and even the matter of our private prayers, that so we may not deceive ourselves, by repeating merely, when we fancy that we are praying. Ten words actually made by ourselves at the moment, and not remembered, are a real prayer; for it is not hypocrisy that is the most common danger; our temper, when we are on our knees, is apt indeed to be careless, but not, I hope and believe, deceitful. This, of course, must be well known to a very large proportion of us; but, perhaps, there are some to whom it may be useful; some to whom the advice may not yet have suggested itself, that they should make their own prayers, in part, at least, whenever they kneel down to their private devotions.

And this sort of prayer, with God's blessing, is likely to make us watchful. We rise in the morning: we say some prayers of our own; we hear others read to us; and yet it is possible that we may not have really prayed ourselves in either case; we may not have brought ourselves truly into the presence of God. Hence our true condition, with all its dangers, has not been brought before our minds; the need of watchfulness has not been shown to us. But with real prayer of our own hearts' making it is different; God is then present to us, and sin and righteousness: our dream of carelessness is, for a moment at least, broken. No doubt it is but too easy to dream again; yet still an opportunity of exerting ourselves to keep awake is given us; we are roused to consciousness of our situation; and that, at any rate, renders exertion possible. There is no doubt that souls are most commonly lost by this continued dreaming, till at length, when seemingly awake (they are not so really), they are like men who answer to the call that would arouse them, but they answer, in fact, unconsciously. We cannot tell for ourselves or others any way by which our souls shall certainly be saved, in spite of carelessness; or any way by which, carelessness shall be overcome necessarily; all that can be done is, to point out how it may be overcome, by what means the soul may be helped in its endeavours; not how those endeavours and holy desires may be rendered needless.

Thus, then, we may gain Christ to visit us at our own homes and in our common callings, when we are returned to them. And that difference which I spoke of as existing between us, that some of us are waiting for Christ's call to a higher field of action, while others are engaged in that sort of duty which will last their lives, I know not that this—though it be often important, and though I am often obliged to dwell on it—need enter into our considerations to-day. Rather, perhaps, may we overlook this difference, and feel that all of us here assembled—those in their state of earliest preparation for after duties; those to whom that earliest state is passed away, and who are entered into another state, in part preparatory, in part partaking of the character of actual life; and those also whose preparation, speaking of earth, only, is completed altogether, who must be doing, and whose time even of doing is far advanced—that all of us have in truth one great call yet before us: and that, with respect to that, we are all, as it were, preparing still. And for that great call, common to all of us, we need all the same common readiness; and that readiness will be effected in us only by the same means,—if now, before it come, Christ and Christ's Spirit shall, in our homes and daily callings, be persuaded to visit us.



LECTURE XXVI.

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WHITSUNDAY.

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ACTS xix. 2.

Have you received the Holy Ghost since ye believed?

It appears, by what follows these words, that the question here related especially to those gifts of the Holy Ghost which were given, in the first age of the church, as a sign of God's power, and a witness that the work of the gospel was from God. Yet although this be so, and therefore the words, in this particular sense, cannot to any good purpose be asked now; yet there is another sense, and that not a lower but a far higher one, in which we may ask them, and in which it concerns us in the highest degree, what sort of answer we can give to them, I say, "what sort of answer;" for I think it is true of all Christians that, in a certain measure, they have received the Holy Ghost. Not only does the doctrine of our own, and I believe every other, church, concerning baptism, show this: but it seems also necessarily to follow, from those words of St. Paul, that "No man can say that Jesus is the Lord but by the Holy Ghost." And yet the Scripture and common experience alike show us, that a man may call Jesus Lord, and yet not be really his, nor one who will be owned by Him at the last day. So that what is of real importance to us is, the degree of fulness and force with which we could give the answer to the words of the text; not simply saying that we have received the Holy Ghost, which would be true, but might be far from sufficient; but saying that we have received Him and are receiving Him more and more, so that our hearts and lives are showing the impression of his heavenly seal daily more and more clearly and completely.

And this must really have always been the answer which it concerned every Christian to be able to make; although it has been in various instances, and by very opposite parties, tried to be evaded. It is evaded alike by those who set too highly the grace given in baptism, and by those who, setting this too low, direct our attention to another point in a man's life, which they call his justification or conversion. For both alike would give an exaggerated importance to one particular moment of our lives, and to the grace then given. Now, the importance of particular moments in men's lives differs exceedingly in different persons; but yet in all may be exaggerated. I suppose that if ever in any man's life a particular point was of immense importance, it was the point of his conversion in the case of St. Paul. There were here united all that grace which according to one view accompanies baptism especially, and all which according to the other view accompanies conversion and justification. Here was a point which separated St. Paul's later life from his earlier with a broader line of separation than can possibly be the ease in general. There can be no doubt that he, if ever man did, received at that particular time the Holy Ghost. But if, ten or twenty years afterwards, St. Paul had been asked concerning what the Holy Ghost had done for him, he would not certainly have confined himself in his answer to the grace once given him at his conversion and baptism, but would have spoken of that which he had been receiving since every hour and every day, carrying forward and completing that work of God which had been begun at the time of his journey to Damascus. And as he had received more and more grace, so was his confidence in his acceptance with God at the last day more and more assured. For he writes to the Corinthians, many years after his conversion and baptism, that he kept under his body, and was bringing it into subjection, lest that by any means, after having preached to others, he should be himself a castaway. And some years later still, though he does not use so strong an expression as that of becoming a castaway, yet he still says, even when writing to the Philippians from Rome, that he counted not himself to have apprehended, nor to have attained his object fully; but forgetting what was behind, even the grace of his conversion and baptism, he pressed on to the things which were before, even that continued and increasing grace which was required to bring him in safety to his heavenly crown. But if we go on some years yet farther, when his labours were ended, and the sure prospect of speedy death was before him; when the past grace was everything, and what he could expect yet to come was scarcely any other than that particular aid which we need in our struggle with the last enemy—death; then, his language is free from all uncertainty; then, in the full sense of the words, he could say that he had received the Holy Ghost, that his spirit had been fully born again for its eternal being, and that there only remained the raising up also of his mortal body, to complete that new creation of body and soul which Christ's Spirit works in Christ's redeemed. "I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me my crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give me at that day."

It seems, then, that the great question which we should be anxious to be able to answer in the affirmative, is this, "Are we receiving the Holy Ghost since we believed?" "Since we believed," whether we choose to carry back the date of our first belief to the very time of our baptism, when grace was given to us,—we know not to what degree nor how,—yet given to us, as being then received into Christ's flock; or whether we go back only to that time when we can ourselves remember ourselves to have believed, and so can remember that God's grace was given to us. Have we been ever since, and are we still, receiving the Holy Ghost? O blessed above all blessedness, if we can say that this is true of us! O blessed with a blessedness most complete, if we only do not too entirely abandon ourselves to enjoy it! Elect of God; holy and beloved; justified and sanctified; there is nothing in all the world that could impair or destroy such happiness, except we ourselves, in evil hour, believed it to be out of the reach of danger.

But if the witness of memory and conscience be less favourable; if we can remember long seasons of our lives during which we were not receiving the Holy Ghost; long seasons of a cold and hard state, in which there was, as it were, neither rain nor dew, nor yet sun to ripen what had grown before; but all was so ungenial that no new thing grew; and what had grown was withering and almost dying; what shall be said, then, and how can the time be made up which was so wasted? But we remember, it may be, that this deadly season passed away: the rain fell once more, and the tender dew, and the quickening sun shone brightly: our spiritual growth began again, and is now going on healthily; we have not always been receiving the Holy Ghost since we believed, but we are receiving him now. How gracious, then, has God been to us, that he has again renewed us unto repentance; that he has shown that we have not, in the fullest sense, sinned against the Holy Ghost, seeing that the Holy Ghost still abides with us! we grieved him, and tried his long-suffering, but he has not abandoned us to our own evil hearts; we are receiving him who is the giver of life, and we still live.

But must not we speak of others? is not another case to be supposed possible? may there not be some who cannot say with truth that they are receiving the holy Ghost now? They received him once; we doubt it not; perhaps they were receiving him for some length of time; their early childhood was watched by Christian care; their youth and early manhood, when it received freshly things of this world, received also, with lively thankfulness, the grace of God; they can remember a time when they were growing in goodness; when they were being renewed after the image of God. But they can remember, also, that this time passed away; the grace of early childhood was put out by the temptations of boyhood; the grace of youth and opening manhood died away amid the hardness of this life's maturity. It is so, I believe, often; that boyhood, which is, as it were, ripened childhood, destroys the grace of our earliest years; that again, when youth offers us a second beginning of life, we are again impressed with good; but that ripened youth, which is manhood, brings with it again the reason of hardness, and again our spiritual growth, is destroyed. We can remember, I am supposing, that this fatal change did take place; but can we date it to any particular act, or month, or day, or hour? We can do so most rarely: in this respect the seed of death can even less be traced to its beginning than the seed of life. And yet there was a beginning, only we do not remember it. And why do we not remember it? Because the real beginning was in some act which seemed of so little consequence that it made no impression; in the altering some habit which we judged to be a mere trifle; in the indulging some temper which even at the time we hardly noticed. Some such little thing,—little in our view of it,—made the fatal turn; we received the grace of God less and less: we heeded not the change for a season; and when it was so marked that we could not but heed it, then we had ceased to regard it; and so it was that the spring of our life was dried up: and it is of no more avail to our present and future state, that we once received grace, than the rain of last winter will be sufficient to ripen the summer's harvest, if from this time forward we have nothing but drought and cold.

Some few, again, there may be, who, within their own recollection, could not say that they have received the Holy Ghost: persons who have lived among careless friends, to whom the way of life has never been steadily pointed out; while the way of death, with all its manifold paths, meeting at last in one, has been continually before them. Shall we say that these, because they have been baptized, are therefore guilty of having rejected grace given? that this sin is aggravated, because a mercy was offered them once of which they were unconscious? We would not say this; but we would say that it is impossible but that they must have received the Holy Ghost within their memory; it is impossible but that conscience must have sometimes spoken, and that they must have sometimes been enabled to obey it; it is impossible but that they must have had some notions of sin, and some desires to struggle against it; and so far as they ever felt that desire, it was the work of God's Holy Spirit. Man cannot dare to say how great the amount of their guilt may be; but guilt there certainly is; they have grieved the Holy Spirit; and, though we dare not say that they have utterly blasphemed him, yet they have a long hardness to overcome, and every hour of delayed turning to God increases it: it may be possible still to overcome it, but meanwhile it is not overcome; they are not receiving the Holy Spirit; they are not being renewed into the likeness of Christ, without which no man can see God.

Here, then, are the four cases, one of which must belong to every one of us here assembled. Either we have been always and still are receiving the Holy Ghost; or we can remember when we were not, but yet are receiving him now; or we can remember when we were, but yet now are not; or we cannot remember to have received him ever, nor are we yet receiving him. I cannot say which of the last two states is the most dreadful, nor scarcely which of the first two states is the most blessed. But yet as even those happy states admit not of over-confidence, so neither do the last two most unhappy states oblige us to despair. Not to despair; but they do urge us to every degree of fear less than despair. There is far more danger of our not fearing enough than of our being driven to despair. There is far more danger of your looking on the season of youth, of our looking on to old age; you trusting to the second freshness and tenderness of the first,—we to the calmness and necessary reflection of the last. There is far more danger of our thus hardening ourselves beyond recall; there is not only the danger, but there is the sin, the greatest sin, I suppose, of which the human mind is capable, that of deliberately choosing evil for the present rather than good, calculating that, by and by, we shall choose good rather than evil. I believe, that it is impossible to conceive of any state of mind more sinful than one which should so feel and so choose; and this is the state which we incur, and which we persist in whenever we put off the thought of repentance. Now, then, it only remains, that we apply this each to ourselves; I say all of us apply it, the young and the old alike; for there is not one here so young as not to have cause to apply it; there is not one of us who would not, I am sure, be a different person from what he now is, if he were to ask himself steadily every day, Have I been and am I receiving the Holy Ghost since I believed?