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Parochial and Plain Sermons, Vol. VII (of 8)

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Title: Parochial and Plain Sermons, Vol. VII (of 8)

Author: John Henry Newman


        
Release date: January 11, 2008 [eBook #24256]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24256

Credits: E-text prepared by Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PAROCHIAL AND PLAIN SERMONS, VOL. VII (OF 8) ***


E-text prepared by Al Haines



PAROCHIAL AND PLAIN SERMONS

by

JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, B.D.

Formerly Vicar of St. Mary's, Oxford

In Eight Volumes

VOL. VII.

New Edition







London
Longmans, Green, and Co.
and New York: 15 East 16th Street
1891




CONTENTS.


SERMON I.

The Lapse of Time.

"_Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is
no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither
thou goest._"--Eccles. ix. 10


SERMON II.

Religion a Weariness to the Natural Man.

"_He hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see Him, there is no
beauty that we should desire Him._"--Isaiah liii. 2


SERMON III.

The World our Enemy.

"_We know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in
wickedness._"--1 John v. 19


SERMON IV.

The Praise of Men

"_They loved the praise of men more than the praise of God._"--John xii.
43


SERMON V.

Temporal Advantages.

"_We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry
nothing out.  And having food and raiment let us be therewith
content._"--1 Tim. vi. 7, 8


SERMON VI.

The Season of Epiphany.

"_This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and manifested
forth His glory; and His disciples believed on Him._"--John ii. 11


SERMON VII.

The Duty of Self-Denial.

"_Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned of
his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child._"--Psalm cxxxi. 2


SERMON VIII.

The Yoke of Christ.

"_Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in
heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls; for My yoke is easy, and
My burden is light._"--Matt. xi. 29, 30


SERMON IX.

Moses the Type of Christ.

"_The Lord thy God will raise up unto thee a Prophet from the midst of
thee, of thy brethren, like unto me; unto Him ye shall hearken._"--Deut.
xviii. 15


SERMON X.

The Crucifixion.

"_He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth; He
is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers
is dumb, so He openeth not His mouth._"--Isaiah liii. 7


SERMON XI.

Attendance on Holy Communion.

"_Ye will not come to Me, that ye might have life._"--John v. 40


SERMON XII.

The Gospel Feast.

"_When Jesus then lifted up His eyes, and saw a great company come unto
Him, He saith unto Philip, Whence shall we buy bread, that these may
eat?_"--John vi. 5


SERMON XIII.

Love of Religion, a New Nature.

"_If we lie dead with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with
Him._"--Romans vi. 8


SERMON XIV.

Religion Pleasant to the Religious.

"_O taste and see how gracious the Lord is: blessed is the man that
trusteth in Him._"--Psalm xxxiv. 8


SERMON XV

Mental Prayer.

"_Pray without ceasing._"--1 Thess. v. 17


SERMON XVI.

Infant Baptism.

"_Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into
the Kingdom of God._"--John iii. 5


SERMON XVII.

The Unity of the Church.

"_And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I
will build My Church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against
it._"--Matt. xvi. 18


SERMON XVIII.

Stedfastness in the Old Paths.

"_Thus saith the Lord, Stand ye in the ways, and see, and ask for the old
paths, where is the good way, and walk therein, and ye shall find rest
for your souls._"--Jer. vi. 16




SERMON I.

The Lapse of Time.

"_Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is
no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither
thou goest._"--Eccles. ix. 10.


Solomon's advice that we should do whatever our hand findeth to do with
our might, naturally directs our thoughts to that great work in which
all others are included, which will outlive all other works, and for
which alone we really are placed here below--the salvation of our
souls.  And the consideration of this great work, which must be done
with all our might, and completed before the grave, whither we go,
presents itself to our minds with especial force at the commencement of
a new year.  We are now entering on a fresh stage of our life's
journey; we know well how it will end, and we see where we shall stop
in the evening, though we do not see the road.  And we know in what our
business lies while we travel, and that it is important for us to do it
with our "might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor
wisdom, in the grave."  This is so plain, that nothing need be said in
order to convince us that it is true.  We know it well; the very
complaint which numbers commonly make when told of it, is that they
know it already, that it is nothing new, that they have no need to be
told, and that it is tiresome to hear the same thing said over and over
again, and impertinent in the person who repeats it.  Yes; thus it is
that sinners silence their conscience, by quarrelling with those who
appeal to it; they defend themselves, if it may be called a defence, by
pleading that they already know what they should do and do not, that
they know perfectly well that they are living at a distance from God,
and are in peril of eternal ruin; that they know they are making
themselves children of Satan, and denying the Lord that bought them,
and want no one to tell them so.  Thus they witness against themselves.

However, though we already know well enough that we have much to do
before we die, yet (if we will but attend) it may be of use to hear the
fact dwelt upon; because by thinking over it steadily and seriously, we
may possibly, through God's grace, gain some deep conviction of it;
whereas while we keep to general terms, and confess that this life is
important and is short, in the mere summary way in which men commonly
confess it, we have, properly speaking, no knowledge of that great
truth at all.

Consider, then, what it is to die; "there is no work, device,
knowledge, or wisdom, in the grave."  Death puts an end absolutely and
irrevocably to all our plans and works, and it is inevitable.  The
Psalmist speaks to "high and low, rich and poor, one with another."
"No man can deliver his brother, nor make agreement unto God for him."
Even "wise men die, as well as the ignorant and foolish, and leave
their riches for other[1]."  Difficult as we may find it to bring it
home to ourselves, to realize it, yet as surely as we are here
assembled together, so surely will every one of us, sooner or later,
one by one, be stretched on the bed of death.  We naturally shrink from
the thought of death, and of its attendant circumstances; but all that
is hateful and fearful about it will be fulfilled in our case, one by
one.  But all this is nothing compared with the consequences implied in
it.  Death stops us; it stops our race.  Men are engaged about their
work, or about their pleasure; they are in the city, or the field; any
how they are stopped; their deeds are suddenly gathered in--a reckoning
is made--all is sealed up till the great day.  What a change is this!
In the words used familiarly in speaking of the dead, they are no more.
They were full of schemes and projects; whether in a greater or humbler
rank, they had their hopes and fears, their prospects, their pursuits,
their rivalries; all these are now come to an end.  One builds a house,
and its roof is not finished; another buys merchandise, and it is not
yet sold.  And all their virtues and pleasing qualities which endeared
them to their friends are, as far as this world is concerned, vanished.
Where are they who were so active, so sanguine, so generous? the
amiable, the modest, and the kind?  We were told that they were dead;
they suddenly disappeared; that is all we know about it.  They were
silently taken from us; they are not met in the seat of the elders, nor
in the assemblies of the people, in the mixed concourse of men, nor in
the domestic retirement which they prized.  As Scripture describes it,
"the wind has passed over them, and they are gone, and their place
shall know them no more."  And they have burst the many ties which held
them; they were parents, brothers, sisters, children, and friends; but
the bond of kindred is broken, and the silver cord of love is loosed.
They have been followed by the vehement grief of tears, and the long
sorrow of aching hearts; but they make no return, they answer not; they
do not even satisfy our wish to know that they sorrow for us as we for
them.  We talk about them thenceforth as if they were persons we do not
know; we talk about them as third persons; whereas they used to be
always with us, and every other thought which was within us was shared
by them.  Or perhaps, if our grief is too deep, we do not mention their
names at all.  And their possessions, too, all fall to others.  The
world goes on without them; it forgets them.  Yes, so it is; the world
contrives to forget that men have souls, it looks upon them all as mere
parts of some great visible system.  This continues to move on; to this
the world ascribes a sort of life and personality.  When one or other
of its members die, it considers them only as falling out of the
system, and as come to nought.  For a minute, perhaps, it thinks of
them in sorrow, then leaves them--leaves them for ever.  It keeps its
eye on things seen and temporal.  Truly whenever a man dies, rich or
poor, an immortal soul passes to judgment; but somehow we read of the
deaths of persons we have seen or heard of, and this reflection never
comes across us.  Thus does the world really cast off men's souls, and
recognizing only their bodies, it makes it appear as if "that which
befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts, even one thing befalleth
them, as the one dieth so dieth the other; yea, they have all one
breath, so that a man hath no pre-eminence over a beast, for all is
vanity[2]."

But let us follow the course of a soul thus casting off the world, and
cast off by it.  It goes forth as a stranger on a journey.  Man seems
to die and to be no more, when he is but quitting us, and is really
beginning to live.  Then he sees sights which before it did not even
enter into his mind to conceive, and the world is even less to him than
he to the world.  Just now he was lying on the bed of sickness, but in
that moment of death what an awful change has come over him!  What a
crisis for him!  There is stillness in the room that lately held him;
nothing is doing there, for he is gone, he now belongs to others; he
now belongs entirely to the Lord who bought him; to Him he returns; but
whether to be lodged safely in His place of hope, or to be imprisoned
against the great Day, that is another matter, that depends on the
deeds done in the body, whether good or evil.  And now what are his
thoughts?  How infinitely important now appears the value of time, now
when it is nothing to him!  Nothing; for though he spend centuries
waiting for Christ, he cannot now alter his state from bad to good, or
from good to bad.  What he dieth that he must be for ever; as the tree
falleth so must it lie.  This is the comfort of the true servant of
God, and the misery of the transgressor.  His lot is cast once and for
all, and he can but wait in hope or in dread.  Men on their death-beds
have declared, that no one could form a right idea of the value of time
till he came to die; but if this has truth in it, how much more truly
can it be said after death!  What an estimate shall we form of time
while we are waiting for judgment!  Yes, it is we--all this, I repeat,
belongs to us most intimately.  It is not to be looked at as a picture,
as a man might read a light book in a leisure hour.  _We_ must die, the
youngest, the healthiest, the most thoughtless; _we_ must be thus
unnaturally torn in two, soul from body; and only united again to be
made more thoroughly happy or to be miserable for ever.

Such is death considered in its inevitable necessity, and its
unspeakable importance--nor can we ensure to ourselves any certain
interval before its coming.  The time may be long; but it may also be
short.  It is plain, a man may die any day; all we can say is, that it
is unlikely that he will die.  But of this, at least, we are certain,
that, come it sooner or later, death is continually on the move towards
us.  We are ever nearer and nearer to it.  Every morning we rise we are
nearer that grave in which there is no work, nor device, than we were.
We are now nearer the grave, than when we entered this Church.  Thus
life is ever crumbling away under us.  What should we say to a man, who
was placed on some precipitous ground, which was ever crumbling under
his feet, and affording less and less secure footing, yet was careless
about it?  Or what should we say to one who suffered some precious
liquor to run from its receptacle into the thoroughfare of men, without
a thought to stop it? who carelessly looked on and saw the waste of it,
becoming greater and greater every minute?  But what treasure can equal
time?  It is the seed of eternity: yet we suffer ourselves to go on,
year after year, hardly using it at all in God's service, or thinking
it enough to give Him at most a tithe or a seventh of it, while we
strenuously and heartily sow to the flesh, that from the flesh we may
reap corruption.  We try how little we can safely give to religion,
instead of having the grace to give abundantly.  "Rivers of water run
down mine eyes, because men keep not Thy law," so says the holy
Psalmist.  Doubtless an inspired prophet saw far more clearly than we
can see, the madness of men in squandering that treasure upon sin,
which is meant to buy their chief good;--but if so, what must this
madness appear in God's sight!  What an inveterate malignant evil is it
in the hearts of the sons of men, that thus leads them to sit down to
eat, and drink, and rise up to play, when time is hurrying on and
judgment coming?  We have been told what He thinks of man's unbelief,
though we cannot enter into the depths of His thoughts.  He showed it
to us in act and deed, as far as we could receive it, when He even sent
His Only-begotten Son into the world as at this time, to redeem us from
the world,--which, most surely, was not lightly done; and we also learn
His thoughts about it from the words of that most merciful Son,--which
most surely were not lightly spoken, "The wicked," He says, "shall go
into everlasting punishment."

Oh that there were such a heart in us that we would fear God and keep
His commandments always!  But it is of no use to speak; men know their
duty--they will not do it.  They say they do not need or wish to be
told it, that it is an intrusion, and a rudeness, to tell them of death
and judgment.  So must it be,--and we, who have to speak to them, must
submit to this.  Speak we must, as an act of duty to God, whether they
will hear, or not, and then must leave our words as a witness.  Other
means for rousing them we have none.  We speak from Christ our gracious
Lord, their Redeemer, who has already pardoned them freely, yet they
will not follow Him with a true heart; and what can be done more?

Another year is now opening upon us; it speaks to the thoughtful, and
is heard by those, who have expectant ears, and watch for Christ's
coming.  The former year is gone, it is dead, there it lies in the
grave of past time, not to decay however, and be forgotten, but kept in
the view of God's omniscience, with all its sins and errors irrevocably
written, till, at length, it will be raised again to testify about us
at the last day; and who among us can bear the thought of his own
doings, in the course of it?--all that he has said and done, all that
has been conceived within his mind, or been acted on, and all that he
has not said and done, which it was a duty to say or do.  What a dreary
prospect seems to be before us, when we reflect that we have the solemn
word of truth pledged to us, in the last and most awful revelation,
which God has made to us about the future, that in that day, the books
will be opened, "and another book opened, which is the book of life,
and the dead judged out of those things which were written in the books
according to their works[3]!"  What would a man give, any one of us,
who has any real insight into his polluted and miserable state, what
would he give to tear away some of the leaves there preserved!  For how
heinous are the sins therein written!  Think of the multitude of sins
done by us since we first knew the difference between right and wrong.
We have forgotten them, but there we might read them clearly recorded.
Well may holy David exclaim, "Remember not the sins of my youth nor my
transgressions, according to Thy mercy remember Thou me."  Conceive,
too, the multitude of sins which have so grown into us as to become
part of us, and in which we now live, not knowing, or but partially
knowing, that they are sins, habits of pride, self-reliance,
self-conceit, sullenness, impurity, sloth, selfishness, worldliness.
The history of all these, their beginnings, and their growth, is
recorded in those dreadful books; and when we look forward to the
future, how many sins shall we have committed by this time next
year,--though we try ever so much to know our duty, and overcome
ourselves!  Nay, or rather shall we have the opportunity of obeying or
disobeying God for a year longer?  Who knows whether by that time our
account may not be closed for ever?

"Remember me, O Lord, when Thou comest into Thy kingdom[4]."  Such was
the prayer of the penitent thief on the cross, such must be our prayer.
Who can do us any good, but He, who shall also be our Judge?  When
shocking thoughts about ourselves come across us and afflict us,
"Remember me," this is all we have to say.  We have "no work, nor
device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom" of our own, to better ourselves
withal.  We can say nothing to God in defence of ourselves,--we can but
acknowledge that we are grievous sinners, and addressing Him as
suppliants, merely beg Him to bear us in mind in mercy, for His Son's
sake to do us some favour, not according to our deserts, but for the
love of Christ.  The more we try to serve Him here, the better; but
after all, so far do we fall short of what we should be, that if we had
but what we are in ourselves to rely upon, wretched are we,--and we are
forced out of ourselves by the very necessity of our condition.  To
whom should we go?  Who can do us any good, but He who was born into
this world for our regeneration, was bruised for our iniquities, and
rose again for our justification?  Even though we have served Him from
our youth up, though after His pattern we have grown, as far as mere
man can grow, in wisdom as we grew in stature, though we ever have had
tender hearts, and a mortified will, and a conscientious temper, and an
obedient spirit; yet, at the very best, how much have we left undone,
how much done, which ought to be otherwise!  What He can do for our
nature, in the way of sanctifying it, we know indeed in a measure; we
know, in the case of His saints; and we certainly do not know the limit
of His carrying forward in those objects of His special favour the work
of purification, and renewal through His Spirit.  But for ourselves, we
know full well that much as we may have attempted, we have done very
little, that our very best service is nothing worth,--and the more we
attempt, the more clearly we shall see how little we have hitherto
attempted.

Those whom Christ saves are they who at once attempt to save
themselves, yet despair of saving themselves; who aim to do all, and
confess they do nought; who are all love, and all fear, who are the
most holy, and yet confess themselves the most sinful; who ever seek to
please Him, yet feel they never can; who are full of good works, yet of
works of penance.  All this seems a contradiction to the natural man,
but it is not so to those whom Christ enlightens.  They understand in
proportion to their illumination, that it is possible to work out their
salvation, yet to have it wrought out for them, to fear and tremble at
the thought of judgment, yet to rejoice always in the Lord, and hope
and pray for His coming.



[1] Ps. xlix. 2-10.

[2] Eccles. iii. 19.

[3] Rev. xx. 12.

[4] Luke xxiii. 42.




SERMON II.

Religion a Weariness to the Natural Man.

"_He hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see Him, there is
no beauty that we should desire Him._"--Isaiah liii. 2.


"Religion is a weariness;" such is the judgment commonly passed, often
avowed, concerning the greatest of blessings which Almighty God has
bestowed upon us.  And when God gave the blessing, He at the same time
foretold that such would be the judgment of the world upon it, even as
manifested in the gracious Person of Him whom He sent to give it to us.
"He hath no form nor comeliness," says the Prophet, speaking of our
Lord and Saviour, "and when we shall see Him, there is no beauty that
we should desire Him."  He declared beforehand, that to man His
religion would be uninteresting and distasteful.  Not that this
prediction excuses our deadness to it; this dislike of the religion
given us by God Himself, seen as it is on all sides of us,--of religion
in all its parts, whether its doctrines, its precepts, its polity, its
worship, its social influence,--this distaste for its very name, must
obviously be an insult to the Giver.  But the text speaks of it as a
fact, without commenting on the guilt involved in it; and as such I
wish you to consider it, as far as this may be done in reverence and
seriousness.  Putting aside for an instant the thought of the
ingratitude and the sin which indifference to Christianity implies, let
us, as far as we dare, view it merely as a matter of fact, after the
manner of the text, and form a judgment on the probable consequences of
it.  Let us take the state of the case as it is found, and survey it
dispassionately, as even an unbeliever might survey it, without at the
moment considering whether it is sinful or not; as a misfortune, if we
will, or a strange accident, or a necessary condition of our
nature,--one of the phenomena, as it may be called, of the present
world.

Let me then review human life in some of its stages and conditions, in
order to impress upon you the fact of this contrariety between
ourselves and our Maker: He having one will, we another; He declaring
one thing to be good for us, and we fancying other objects to be our
good.

1. "Religion is a weariness," alas! so feel even children before they
can well express their meaning.  Exceptions of course now and then
occur; and of course children are always more open to religious
impressions and visitations than grown persons.  They have many good
thoughts and good desires, of which, in after life, the multitude of
men seem incapable.  Yet who, after all, can have a doubt that, in
spite of the more intimate presence of God's grace with those who have
not yet learned to resist it, still, on the whole, religion is a
weariness to children?  Consider their amusements, their
enjoyments,--what they hope, what they devise, what they scheme, and
what they dream about themselves in time future, when they grow up; and
say what place religion holds in their hearts.  Watch the reluctance
with which they turn to religious duties, to saying their prayers, or
reading the Bible; and then judge.  Observe, as they get older, the
influence which the fear of the ridicule of their companions has in
deterring them even from speaking of religion, or seeming to be
religious.  Now the dread of ridicule, indeed, is natural enough; but
why should religion inspire ridicule?  What is there absurd in thinking
of God?  Why should we be ashamed of worshipping Him?  It is
unaccountable, but it is natural.  We may call it an accident, or what
we will; still it is an undeniable fact, and that is what I insist
upon.  I am not forgetful of the peculiar character of children's
minds: sensible objects first meet their observation; it is not
wonderful that they should at first be inclined to limit their thoughts
to things of sense.  A distinct profession of faith, and a conscious
maintenance of principle, may imply a strength and consistency of
thought to which they are as yet unequal.  Again, childhood is
capricious, ardent, light-hearted; it cannot think deeply or long on
any subject.  Yet all this is not enough to account for the fact in
question--why they should feel this distaste for the very subject of
religion.  Why should they be ashamed of paying reverence to an unseen,
all-powerful God, whose existence they do not disbelieve?  Yet they do
feel ashamed of it.  Is it that they are ashamed of themselves, not of
their religion; feeling the inconsistency of professing what they
cannot fully practise?  This refinement does not materially alter the
view of the case; for it is merely their own acknowledgment that they
do not love religion as much as they ought.  No; we seem compelled to
the conclusion, that there is by nature some strange discordance
between what we love and what God loves.  So much, then, on the state
of boyhood.

2. "Religion is a weariness."  I will next take the case of young
persons when they first enter into life.  Here I may appeal to some
perhaps who now hear me.  Alas! my brethren, is it not so?  Is not
religion associated in your minds with gloom, melancholy, and
weariness?  I am not at present going so far as to reprove you for it,
though I might well do so, if I did, perhaps you might at once turn
away, and I wish you calmly to think the matter over, and bear me
witness that I state the fact correctly.  It is so; you cannot deny it.
The very terms "religion," "devotion," "piety," "conscientiousness,"
"mortification," and the like, you find to be inexpressibly dull and
cheerless: you cannot find fault with them, indeed, you would if you
could; and whenever the words are explained in particulars and
realized, then you do find occasion for exception and objection.  But
though you cannot deny the claims of religion used as a vague and
general term, yet how irksome, cold, uninteresting, uninviting, does it
at best appear to you! how severe its voice! how forbidding its aspect!
With what animation, on the contrary, do you enter into the mere
pursuits of time and the world!  What bright anticipations of joy and
happiness flit before your eyes!  How you are struck and dazzled at the
view of the prizes of this life, as they are called!  How you admire
the elegancies of art, the brilliance of wealth, or the force of
intellect!  According to your opportunities you mix in the world, you
meet and converse with persons of various conditions and pursuits, and
are engaged in the numberless occurrences of daily life.  You are full
of news; yon know what this or that person is doing, and what has
befallen him; what has not happened, which was near happening, what may
happen.  You are full of ideas and feelings upon all that goes on
around you.  But, from some cause or other, religion has no part, no
sensible influence, in your judgment of men and things.  It is out of
your way.  Perhaps you have your pleasure parties; you readily take
your share in them time after time; you pass continuous hours in
society where you know that it is quite impossible even to mention the
name of religion.  Your heart is in scenes and places when conversation
on serious subjects is strictly forbidden by the rules of the world's
propriety.  I do not say we should discourse on religious subjects,
wherever we go; I do not say we should make an effort to discourse on
them at any time, nor that we are to refrain from social meetings in
which religion does not lie on the surface of the conversation: but I
do say, that when men find their pleasure and satisfaction to lie in
society which proscribes religion, and when they deliberately and
habitually prefer those amusements which have necessarily nothing to do
with religion, such persons cannot view religion as God views it.  And
this is the point: that the feelings of our hearts on the subject of
religion are different from the declared judgment of God; that we have
a natural distaste for that which He has said is our chief good.

3. Now let us pass to the more active occupations of life.  Here, too,
religion is confessedly felt to be wearisome, it is out of place.  The
transactions of worldly business, speculations in trade, ambitious
hopes, the pursuit of knowledge, the public occurrences of the day,
these find a way directly to the heart, they rouse, they influence.  It
is superfluous to go about to prove this innate power over us of things
of time and sense, to make us think and act.  The name of religion, on
the other hand, is weak and impotent; it contains no spell to kindle
the feelings of man, to make the heart beat with anxiety, and to
produce activity and perseverance.  The reason is not merely that men
are in want of leisure, and are sustained in a distressing continuance
of exertion, by their duties towards those dependent on them.  They
have their seasons of relaxation, they turn for a time from their
ordinary pursuits; still religion does not attract them, they find
nothing of comfort or satisfaction in it.  For a time they allow
themselves to be idle.  They want an object to employ their minds upon;
they pace to and fro in very want of an object; yet their duties to
God, their future hopes in another state of being, the revelation of
God's mercy and will, as contained in Scripture, the news of
redemption, the gift of regeneration, the sanctities, the devotional
heights, the nobleness and perfection which Christ works in His elect,
do not suggest themselves as fit subjects to dispel their weariness.
Why?  Because religion makes them melancholy, say they, and they wish
to relax.  Religion is a labour, it is a weariness, a greater weariness
than the doing nothing at all.  "Wherefore," says Solomon, "is there a
price in the hand of a fool to get wisdom, seeing he hath no heart to
it[1]?"

4. But this natural contrariety between man and his Maker is still more
strikingly shown by the confessions of men of the world who have given
some thought to the subject, and have viewed society with somewhat of a
philosophical spirit.  Such men treat the demands of religion with
disrespect and negligence, on the ground of their being unnatural.
They say, "It is natural for men to love the world for its own sake; to
be engrossed in its pursuits, and to set their hearts on the rewards of
industry, on the comforts, luxuries, and pleasures of this life.  Man
would not be man if he could be made otherwise; he would not be what he
was evidently intended for by his Maker."  Let us pass by the obvious
_answer_ that might be given to this objection; it is enough for my
purpose that it is _commonly urged_, recognizing as it does the fact of
the disagreement existing between the claims of God's word, and the
inclinations and natural capacities of man.  Many, indeed, of those
unhappy men who have denied the Christian faith, treat the religious
principle altogether as a mere unnatural, eccentric state of mind, a
peculiar untoward condition of the affections to which weakness will
reduce a man, whether it has been brought on by anxiety, oppressive
sorrow, bodily disease, excess of imagination or the like, and
temporary or permanent, according to the circumstances of the disposing
cause; a state to which we all are liable, as we are liable to any
other mental injury, but unmanly and unworthy of our dignity as
rational beings.  Here again it is enough for our purpose, that it is
allowed by these persons that the love of religion is unnatural and
inconsistent with the original condition of our minds.

The same remark may be made upon the notions which secretly prevail in
certain quarters at the present day, concerning the unsuitableness of
Christianity to an enlightened age.  Men there are who look upon the
inspired word of God with a sort of indulgence, as if it had its use,
and had done service in its day; that in times of ignorance it awed and
controlled fierce barbarians, whom nothing else could have subdued; but
that from its very claim to be divine and infallible, and its
consequent unalterableness, it is an obstacle to the improvement of the
human race beyond a certain point, and must ultimately fall before the
gradual advancement of mankind in knowledge and virtue.  In other
words, the literature of the day is weary of Revealed Religion.

5. Once more; that religion is in itself a weariness is seen even in
the conduct of the better sort of persons, who really on the whole are
under the influence of its spirit.  So dull and uninviting is calm and
practical religion, that religious persons are ever exposed to the
temptation of looking out for excitements of one sort or other, to make
it pleasurable to them.  The spirit of the Gospel is a meek, humble,
gentle, unobtrusive spirit.  It doth not cry nor lift up its voice in
the streets, unless called upon by duty so to do, and then it does it
with pain.  Display, pretension, conflict, are unpleasant to it.  What
then is to be thought of persons who are ever on the search after
novelties to make religion interesting to them; who seem to find that
Christian activity cannot be kept up without unchristian party-spirit,
or Christian conversation without unchristian censoriousness?  Why,
this; that religion is to them as to others, taken by itself, a
weariness, and requires something foreign to its own nature to make it
palatable.  Truly it is a weariness to the natural man to serve God
humbly and in obscurity; it is very wearisome, and very monotonous, to
go on day after day watching all we do and think, detecting our secret
failings, denying ourselves, creating within us, under God's grace,
those parts of the Christian character in which we are deficient;
wearisome to learn modesty, love of insignificance, willingness to be
thought little of, backwardness to clear ourselves when slandered, and
readiness to confess when we are wrong; to learn to have no cares for
this world, neither to hope nor to fear, but to be resigned and
contented!

I may close these remarks, by appealing to the consciences of all who
have ever set about the work of religion in good earnest, whoever they
may be, whether they have made less, or greater progress in their noble
toil, whether they are matured saints, or feeble strugglers against the
world and the flesh.  They have ever confessed how great efforts were
necessary to keep close to the commandments of God; in spite of their
knowledge of the truth, and their faith, in spite of the aids and
consolations they receive from above, still how often do their corrupt
hearts betray them!  Even their privileges are often burdensome to
them, even to pray for the grace which in Christ is pledged to them is
an irksome task.  They know that God's service is perfect freedom, and
they are convinced, both in their reason and from their own experience
of it, that it is true happiness; still they confess withal the strange
reluctance of their nature to love their Maker and His Service.  And
this is the point in question; not only the mass of mankind, but even
the confirmed servants of Christ, witness to the opposition which
exists between their own nature and the demands of religion.

This then is the remarkable fact which I proposed to show.  Can we
doubt that man's will runs contrary to God's will--that the view which
the inspired word takes of our present life, and of our destiny, does
not satisfy us, as it rightly ought to do? that Christ hath no form nor
comeliness in our eyes; and though we see Him, we see no desirable
beauty in Him?  That holy, merciful, and meek Saviour, the Eternal, the
Only-begotten Son of God, our friend and infinite benefactor--He who
left the glory of His Father and died for us, who has promised us the
overflowing riches of His grace both here and hereafter.  He is a light
shining in a dark place, and "the darkness comprehendeth it not."
"Light is come into the world and men love darkness rather than light."
The nature of man is flesh, and that which is born of the flesh is
flesh, and ever must so remain; it never can discern, love, accept, the
holy doctrines of the Gospel.  It will occupy itself in various ways,
it will take interest in things of sense and time, but it can never be
religious.  It is at enmity with God.

And now we see what must at once follow from what has been said.  If
our hearts are by nature set on the world for its own sake, and the
world is one day to pass away, what are they to be set on, what to
delight in, then?  Say, how will the soul feel when, stripped of its
present attire, which the world bestows, it stands naked and shuddering
before the pure, tranquil, and severe majesty of the Lord its God, its
most merciful, yet dishonoured Maker and Saviour?  What are to be the
pleasures of the soul in another life?  Can they be the same as they
are here?  They cannot; Scripture tells us they cannot; the world
passeth away--now what is there left to love and enjoy through a long
eternity?  What a dark, forlorn, miserable eternity that will be!

It is then plain enough, though Scripture said not a word on the
subject, that if we would be happy in the world to come, we must make
us new hearts, and begin to love the things we naturally do not love.
Viewing it as a practical point, the end of the whole matter is this,
we must be changed; for we cannot, we cannot expect the system of the
universe to come over to us; the inhabitants of heaven, the numberless
creations of Angels, the glorious company of the Apostles, the goodly
fellowship of the Prophets, the noble army of Martyrs, the holy Church
universal, the Will and Attributes of God, these are fixed.  We must go
over to them.  In our Saviour's own authoritative words: "Verily,
verily, except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of
God[2]."  It is a plain matter of self-interest, to turn our thoughts
to the means of changing our hearts, putting out of the question our
duty towards God and Christ, our Saviour and Redeemer.

"He hath no form nor comeliness, and when we see Him, there is no
beauty that we should desire Him."  It is not His loss that we love Him
not, it is our loss.  He is All-blessed, whatever becomes of us.  He is
not less blessed because we are far from Him.  It is we who are not
blessed, except as we approach Him, except as we are like Him, except
as we love Him.  Woe unto us, if in the day in which He comes from
Heaven we see nothing desirable or gracious in His wounds; but instead,
have made for ourselves an ideal blessedness, different from that which
will be manifested to us in Him.  Woe unto us, if we have made pride,
or selfishness, or the carnal mind, our standard of perfection and
truth; if our eyes have grown dim, and our hearts gross, as regards the
true light of men, and the glory of the Eternal Father.  May He Himself
save us from our self-delusions, whatever they are, and enable us to
give up this world, that we may gain the next;--and to rejoice in Him,
who had no home of His own, no place to lay His head, who was poor and
lowly, and despised and rejected, and tormented and slain!



[1] Prov. xvii. 16.

[2] John iii. 3.




SERMON III.

The World our Enemy.

"_We know that we are of God, and the whole world lieth in
wickedness._"--1 John v. 19.


Few words are of more frequent occurrence in the language of religion
than "the world;" Holy Scripture makes continual mention of it, in the
way of censure and caution; in the Service for Baptism it is described
as one of three great enemies of our souls, and in the ordinary
writings and conversation of Christians, I need hardly say, mention is
made of it continually.  Yet most of us, it would appear, have very
indistinct notions what the world means.  We know that the world is a
something dangerous to our spiritual interests, and that it is in some
way connected with human society--with men as a mixed multitude,
contrasted with men one by one, in private and domestic life; but what
it is, how it is our enemy, how it attacks, and how it is to be
avoided, is not so clear.  Or if we conceive some distinct notion
concerning it, still probably it is a wrong notion,--which leads us, in
consequence, to misapply the Scripture precepts relating to the world;
and this is even worse than overlooking them.  I shall now, then,
attempt to show what is meant by the world, and how, in consequence, we
are to understand the information and warnings of the sacred writers
concerning it.

1. Now, first, by the world is very commonly meant the present visible
system of things, without taking into consideration whether it is good
or bad.  Thus St. John contrasts the world with the things that are in
it, which are evil, "Love not the world, _neither_ the things that are
in the world[1]."  Again, he presently says, "The world passeth away,
_and_ the lust thereof."  Here, as in many other parts of Scripture,
the world is not spoken of as actually sinful in itself (though its
lusts are so, of course), but merely as some present visible system
which is likely to attract us, and is not to be trusted, because it
cannot last.  Let us first consider it in this point of view.

There is, as a matter of necessity, a great variety of stations and
fortunes among mankind; hardly two persons are in the same outward
circumstances, and possessed of the same mental resources.  Men differ
from each other, and are bound together into one body or system by the
very points in which they differ; they depend on each other; such is
the will of God.  This system is the world, to which it is plain belong
our various modes of supporting ourselves and families by exertion of
mind and body, our intercourse with others, our duty towards others,
the social virtues,--industry, honesty, prudence, justice, benevolence,
and the like.  These spring all from our present lot in life, and tend
to our present happiness.  This life holds out prizes to merit and
exertion.  Men rise above their fellows, they gain fame and honours,
wealth and power, which we therefore call worldly goods.  The affairs
of nations, the dealings of people with people, the interchange of
productions between country and country, are of this world.  We are
educated in boyhood for this world; we play our part on a stage more or
less conspicuous, as the case may be; we die, we are no more, we are
forgotten, as far as the present state of things is concerned; all this
is of the world.

By the world, then, is meant this course of things which we see carried
on by means of human agency, with all its duties and pursuits.  It is
not necessarily a sinful system; rather it is framed, as I have said,
by God Himself, and therefore cannot be otherwise than good.  And yet
even thus considering it, we are bid not to love the world: even in
this sense the world is an enemy of our souls; and for this reason,
because the love of it is dangerous to beings circumstanced as we
are,--things in themselves good being not good to us sinners.  And this
state of things which we see, fair and excellent in itself, is very
likely (for the very reason that it is seen, and because the spiritual
and future world is not seen) to seduce our wayward hearts from our
true and eternal good.  As the traveller on serious business may be
tempted to linger, while he gazes on the beauty of the prospect which
opens on his way, so this well-ordered and divinely-governed world,
with all its blessings of sense and knowledge, may lead us to neglect
those interests which will endure when itself has passed away.  In
truth, it promises more than it can fulfil.  The goods of life and the
applause of men have their excellence, and, as far as they so, are
really good; but they are short-lived.  And hence it is that many
pursuits in themselves honest and right, are nevertheless to be engaged
in with caution, lest they seduce us; and those perhaps with especial
caution, which tend to the well-being of men in this life.  The
sciences, for instance, of good government, of acquiring wealth, of
preventing and relieving want, and the like, are for this reason
especially dangerous; for fixing, as they do, our exertions on this
world as an end, they go far to persuade us that they have no other
end; they accustom us to think too much of success in life and temporal
prosperity; nay, they may even teach us to be jealous of religion and
its institutions, as if these stood in our way, preventing us from
doing so much for the worldly interests of mankind as we might wish.

In this sense it is that St. Paul contrasts sight and faith.  We see
this world; we only believe that there is a world of spirits, we do not
see it: and inasmuch as sight has more power over us than belief, and
the present than the future, so are the occupations and pleasures of
this life injurious to our faith.  Yet not, I say, in themselves
sinful; as the Jewish system was a temporal system, yet divine, so is
the system of nature--this world--divine, though temporal.  And as the
Jews became carnal-minded even by the influence of their
divinely-appointed system, and thereby rejected the Saviour of their
souls; in like manner, men of the world are hardened by God's own good
world, into a rejection of Christ.  In neither case through the fault
of the things which are seen, whether miraculous or providential, but
accidentally, through the fault of the human heart.

2. But now, secondly, let us proceed to consider the world, not only as
dangerous, but as positively sinful, according to the text--"the whole
world lieth in wickedness."  It was created well in all respects, but
even before it as yet had fully grown out into its parts, while as yet
the elements of human society did but lie hid in the nature and
condition of the first man, Adam fell; and thus the world, with all its
social ranks, and aims, and pursuits, and pleasures, and prizes, has
ever from its birth been sinful.  The infection of sin spread through
the whole system, so that although the frame-work is good and divine,
the spirit and life within it are evil.  Thus, for instance, to be in a
high station is the gift of God; but the pride and injustice to which
it has given scope is from the Devil.  To be poor and obscure is also
the ordinance of God; but the dishonesty and discontent which are often
seen in the poor is from Satan.  To cherish and protect wife and family
is God's appointment; but the love of gain, and the low ambition, which
lead many a man to exert himself, are sinful.  Accordingly, it is said
in the text, "The world lieth in wickedness,"--it is plunged and
steeped, as it were, in a flood of sin, not a part of it remaining as
God originally created it, not a part pure from the corruptions with
which Satan has disfigured it.

Look into the history of the world, and what do you read there?
Revolutions and changes without number, kingdoms rising and falling;
and when without crime?  States are established by God's ordinance,
they have their existence in the necessity of man's nature, but when
was one ever established, nay, or maintained, without war and
bloodshed?  Of all natural instincts, what is more powerful than that
which forbids us to shed our fellows' blood?  We shrink with natural
horror from the thought of a murderer; yet not a government has ever
been settled, or a state acknowledged by its neighbours, without war
and the loss of life; nay, more than this, not content with
unjustifiable bloodshed, the guilt of which must lie somewhere, instead
of lamenting it as a grievous and humiliating evil, the world has
chosen to honour the conqueror with its amplest share of admiration.
To become a hero, in the eyes of the world, it is almost necessary to
break the laws of God and man.  Thus the deeds of the world are matched
by the opinions and principles of the world: it adopts bad doctrine to
defend bad practice; it loves darkness because its deeds are evil.

And as the affairs of nations are thus depraved by our corrupt nature,
so are all the appointments and gifts of Providence perverted in like
manner.  What can be more excellent than the vigorous and patient
employment of the intellect; yet in the hands of Satan it gives birth
to a proud philosophy.  When St. Paul preached, the wise men of the
world, in God's eyes, were but fools, for they had used their powers of
mind in the cause of error, their reasonings even led them to be
irreligious and immoral; and they despised the doctrine of a
resurrection which they neither loved nor believed.  And again, all the
more refined arts of life have been disgraced by the vicious tastes of
those who excelled in them; often they have been consecrated to the
service of idolatry; often they have been made the instruments of
sensuality and riot.  But it would be endless to recount the manifold
and complex corruption which man has introduced into the world which
God made good, evil has preoccupied the whole of it, and holds fast its
conquest.  We know, indeed, that the gracious God revealed Himself to
His sinful creatures very soon after Adam's fall.  He showed His will
to mankind again and again, and pleaded with them through many ages;
till at length His Son was born into this sinful world in the form of
man, and taught us how to please Him.  Still, hitherto the good work
has proceeded slowly: such is His pleasure.  Evil had the start of good
by many days; it filled the world, it holds it: it has the strength of
possession, and if has its strength in the human heart; for though we
cannot keep from approving what is right in our conscience, yet we love
and encourage what is wrong; so that when evil was once set up in the
world, it was secured in its seat by the unwillingness with which our
hearts relinquish it.

And now I have described what is meant by the sinful world; that is,
the world as corrupted by man, the course of human affairs viewed in
its connexion with the principles, opinions, and practices which
actually direct it.  There is no mistaking these; they are evil; and of
these it is that St. John says, "If any man love the world, the love of
the Father is not in him.  For all that is in the world, the lust of
the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of
the Father, but is of the world[2]."

The world then is the enemy of our souls; first, because, however
innocent its pleasures, and praiseworthy its pursuits may be, they are
likely to engross us, unless we are on our guard: and secondly, because
in all its best pleasures, and noblest pursuits, the seeds of sin have
been sown; an enemy hath done this; so that it is most difficult to
enjoy the good without partaking of the evil also.  As an orderly
system of various ranks, with various pursuits and their several
rewards, it is to be considered not sinful indeed, but dangerous to us.
On the other hand, considered in reference to its principles and actual
practices, it is really a sinful world.  Accordingly, when we are bid
in Scripture to shun the world, it is meant that we must be cautious,
lest we love what is good in it too well, and lest we love the bad at
all.--However, there is a mistaken notion sometimes entertained, that
the world is some particular set of persons, and that to shun the world
is to shun them; as if we could point out, as it were, with the finger,
what is the world, and thus could easily rid ourselves of one of our
three great enemies.  Men, who are beset with this notion, are often
great lovers of the world notwithstanding, while they think themselves
at a distance from it altogether.  They love its pleasures, and they
yield to its principles, yet they speak strongly against men of the
world, and avoid them.  They act the part of superstitious people, who
are afraid of seeing evil spirits in what are considered haunted
places, while these spirits are busy at their hearts instead, and they
do not suspect it.

3. Here then is a question, which it will be well to consider, viz. how
far the world is a separate body from the Church of God.  The two are
certainly contrasted in the text, as elsewhere in Scripture.  "We know
that we are of God, and _the whole world_ lieth in wickedness."  Now
the true account of this is, that the Church so far from being
literally, and in fact, separate from the wicked world, is within it.
The Church is a body, gathered together in the world, and in a process
of separation from it.  The world's power, alas! is over the Church,
because the Church has gone forth into the world to save the world.
All Christians are in the world, and of the world, so far as sin still
has dominion over them; and not even the best of us is clean every whit
from sin.  Though then, in our idea of the two, and in their
principles, and in their future prospects, the Church is one thing, and
the world is another, yet in present matter of fact, the Church is of
the world, not separate from it; for the grace of God has but partial
possession even of religious men, and the best that can be said of us
is, that we have two sides, a light side and a dark, and that the dark
happens to be the outermost.  Thus we form part of the world to each
other, though we be not of the world.  Even supposing there were a
society of men influenced individually by Christian motives, still this
society, viewed as a whole, would be a worldly one, I mean a society
holding and maintaining many errors, and countenancing many bad
practices.  Evil ever floats at the top.  And if we inquire why it is
that the good in Christians is seen less than the bad?  I answer,
first, because there is less of it; and secondly, because evil forces
itself upon general notice, and good does not.  So that in a large body
of men, each contributing his portion, evil displays itself on the
whole conspicuously, and in all its diversified shapes.  And thirdly,
from the nature of things, the soul cannot be understood by any but
God, and a religious spirit is in St. Peter's words, "the hidden man of
the heart."  It is only the actions of others which we see for the most
part, and since there are numberless ways of doing wrong, and but one
of doing right, and numberless ways too of regarding and judging the
conduct of others, no wonder that even the better sort of men, much
more the generality, are, and seem to be, so sinful.  God only sees the
circumstances under which a man acts, and why he acts in this way and
not in that.  God only sees perfectly the train of thought which
preceded his action, the motive, and the reasons.  And God alone (if
aught is ill done, or sinfully) sees the deep contrition
afterwards,--the habitual lowliness, then bursting forth into special
self-reproach,--and the meek faith casting itself wholly upon God's
mercy.  Think for a moment, how many hours in the day every man is left
wholly to himself and his God, or rather how few minutes he is in
intercourse with others--consider this, and you will perceive how it is
that the life of the Church is hid with God, and how it is that the
outward conduct of the Church must necessarily look like the world,
even far more than it really is like it, and how vain, in consequence,
the attempt is (which, some make) of separating the world distinctly
from the Church.  Consider, moreover, how much there is, while we are
in the body, to stand in the way of one mind communicating with
another.  We are imprisoned in the body, and our intercourse is by
means of words, which feebly represent our real feelings.  Hence the
best motives and truest opinions are misunderstood, and the most sound
rules of conduct misapplied by others.  And Christians are necessarily
more or less strange to each other; nay, and as far as the appearance
of things is concerned, almost mislead each other, and are, as I have
said, the world one to another.  It is long, indeed, before we become
at all acquainted with each other, and we appear the one to the other
cold, or harsh, or capricious, or self-willed, when we are not so.  So
that it unhappily comes to pass, that even good men retire from each
other into themselves, and to their God, as if retreating from the rude
world.

And if all this takes place in the case of the better sort of men, how
much more will it happen in the case of those multitudes who are still
unstable in faith and obedience, half Christians, not having yet
wrought themselves into any consistent shape of opinion and practice!
These, so far from showing the better part of themselves, often affect
to be worse even than they are.  Though they have secret fears and
misgivings, and God's grace pleads with their conscience, and seasons
of seriousness follow, yet they are ashamed to confess to each other
their own seriousness, and they ridicule religious men lest they should
be themselves ridiculed.

And thus, on the whole, the state of the case is as follows: that if we
look through mankind in order to find out who make up the world, and
who do not, we shall find none who are not of the world; inasmuch as
there are none who are not exposed to infirmity.  So that if to shun
the world is to shun some body of men so called, we must shun all men,
nay, ourselves too--which is a conclusion which means nothing at all.

But let us, avoiding all refinements which lead to a display of words
only, not to the improvement of our hearts and conduct, let us set to
work practically; and instead of attempting to judge of mankind on a
large scale, and to settle deep questions, let us take what is close at
hand and concerns ourselves, and make use of such knowledge as we can
obtain.  Are we tempted to neglect the worship of God for some temporal
object? this is of the world, and not to be admitted.  Are we ridiculed
for our conscientious conduct? this again is a trial of the world, and
to be withstood.  Are we tempted to give too much time to our
recreations; to be idling when we should be working; reading or talking
when we should be busy in our temporal calling; hoping for
impossibilities, or fancying ourselves in some different state of life
from our own; over anxious of the good opinion of others; bent upon
getting the credit of industry, honesty, and prudence?  all these are
temptations of this world.  Are we discontented with our lot, or are we
over attached to it, and fretful and desponding when God recalls the
good He has given? this is to be worldly-minded.

Look not about for the world as some vast and gigantic evil far
off--its temptations are close to you, apt and ready, suddenly offered
and subtle in their address.  Try to bring down the words of Scripture
to common life, and to recognize the evil in which this world lies, in
your own hearts.

When our Saviour comes, He will destroy this world, even His own work,
and much more the lusts of the world, which are of the evil one; then
at length we must lose the world, even if we cannot bring ourselves to
part with it now.  And we shall perish with the world, if on that day
its lusts are found within us.  "The world passeth away, and the lust
thereof, but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever."



[1] 1 John ii. 15.

[2] John ii. 15, 16.




SERMON IV.

The Praise of Men.

"_They loved the praise of men more than the praise of God._"--John
xii. 43.


This is spoken of the chief rulers of the Jews, who, though they
believed in Christ's Divine mission, were afraid to confess Him, lest
they should incur temporal loss and shame from the Pharisees.  The
censure passed by St. John on these persons is too often applicable to
Christians at the present day; perhaps, indeed, there is no one among
us who has not at some time or other fallen under it.  We love the good
opinion of the world more than the approbation of Him who created us,
redeemed us, has regenerated us, and who still preserves to us the
opportunity of preparing ourselves for His future presence.  Such is
too often the case with us.  It is well we should be aware that it is
so; it is well we should dwell upon it, and that we should understand
and feel that it is wrong, which many men do not.

Now it is an obvious question, Why is it wrong to love the praise of
men?  For it may be objected, that we are accustomed to educate the
young by means of praise and blame; that we encourage them by kind
words _from us_, that is, from man; and punish them for disobedience.
If, then, it may be argued, it is right to regard the opinions of
others concerning us in our youth, it cannot be in itself wrong to pay
attention to it at any other period of life.  This is true; but I do
not say that the mere love of praise and fear of shame are evil: regard
to the corrupt world's praise or blame, this is what is sinful and
dangerous.  St. John, in the text, implies that the praise of men was,
at the time spoken of, in opposition to the praise of God.  It must be
wrong to prefer any thing to the will of God.  To seek praise is in
itself as little wrong, as it is wrong to hope, and to fear, and to
love, and to trust; all depends upon the object hoped, or feared, or
loved, or trusted; to seek the praise of good men is not wrong, any
more than to love or to reverence good men; only wrong when it is in
excess, when it interferes with the exercise of love and reverence
towards God.  Not wrong while we look on good men singly as instruments
and servants of God; or, in the words of Scripture, while "we glorify
God in them[1]."  But to seek the praise of bad men, is in itself as
wrong as to love the company of bad men, or to admire them.  It is not,
I say, merely the love of praise that is a sin, but love of the corrupt
world's praise.  This is the case with all our natural feelings and
affections; they are all in themselves good, and implanted by God; they
are sinful, because we have in us by nature a something more than them,
viz. an evil principle which perverts them to a bad end.  Adam, before
his fall, felt, we may suppose, love, fear, hope, joy, dislike, as we
do now; but then he felt them only when he ought, and as he ought; all
was harmoniously attempered and rightly adjusted in his soul, which was
at unity with itself.  But, at the fall, this beautiful order and peace
was broken up; the same passions remained, but their use and action
were changed; they rushed into extremes, sometimes excessive, sometimes
the reverse.  Indignation was corrupted into wrath, self-love became
selfishness, self-respect became pride, and emulation envy and
jealousy.  They were at variance with each other; pride struggled with
self-interest, fear with desire.  Thus his soul became a chaos, and
needed a new creation.  Moreover, as I have said, his affections were
set upon unsuitable objects.  The natural man looks to this world, the
world is his god; faith, love, hope, joy, are not excited in his mind
by things spiritual and divine, but by things seen and temporal.

Considering, then, that love of praise is not a bad principle in
itself, it is plain that a parent may very properly teach his child to
love his praise, and fear his blame, when that praise and blame are
given in accordance with God's praise and blame, and made subservient
to them.  And, in like manner, if the world at large took a correct and
religious view of things, then its praise and blame would in its place
be valuable too.  Did the world admire what God admires; did it account
humility, for instance, a great virtue, and pride a great sin; did it
condemn that spirit of self-importance and sensitiveness of disgrace,
which calls itself a love of honour; did it think little of temporal
prosperity, wealth, rank, grandeur, and power, did it condemn arrogant
and irreverent disputing, the noisy, turbulent spirit of ambition, the
love of war and conquest, and the perverse temper which leads to
jealousy and hatred; did it prefer goodness and truth to gifts of the
intellect; did it think little of quickness, wit, shrewdness, power of
speech and general acquirements, and much of patience, meekness,
gentleness, firmness, faith, conscientiousness, purity, forgiveness of
injuries,--then there would be no sin in our seeking the world's
praise; and though we still ought to love God's praise above all, yet
we might love the praise of the world in its degree, for it would be
nothing more nor less than the praise of good men.  But since, alas!
the contrary is the case, since the world (as Scripture tells us)
"lieth in wickedness," and the principles and practices which prevail
on all sides of us are not those which the All-holy God sanctions, we
cannot lawfully seek the world's praise.  We cannot serve two masters
who are enemies the one to the other.  We are forbidden to love the
world or any thing that is of the world, for it is not of the Father,
but passeth away.

This is the reason why it is wrong to pursue the world's praise; viz.
because we cannot have it and God's praise too.  And yet, as the
pursuit of it is wrong, so is it common,--for this reason: because God
is unseen, and the world is seen; because God's praise and blame are
future, the world's are present; because God's praise and blame are
inward, and come quietly and without keenness, whereas the world's are
very plain and intelligible, and make themselves felt.

Take, for instance, the case of the young, on (what is called) entering
into life.  Very many, indeed, there are, whether in a higher or lower
station, who enter into the mixed society of others early; so early,
that it might be thought they had hardly had time to acquire any
previous knowledge of right and wrong, any standard of right and wrong,
other than the world gives, any principles by which to fight against
the world.  And yet it cannot quite be so.  Whatever is the first time
persons hear evil, it is quite certain that good has been beforehand
with them, and they have a something within them which tells them it is
evil.  And much more, if they have been blessed, as most men are, with
the protection of parents, or the kind offices of teachers or of God's
ministers, they generally have principles of duty more or less strongly
imprinted on their minds; and on their first intercourse with strangers
they are shocked or frighted at seeing the improprieties and sins,
which are openly countenanced.  Alas! there are persons, doubtless
(though God forbid it should be the case with any here present!), whose
consciences have been so early trained into forgetfulness of religious
duties, that they can hardly, or cannot at all, recollect the time I
speak of; the time when they acted with the secret feeling that God saw
them, saw all they did and thought.  I will not fancy this to be the
case with any who hear me.  Rather, there are many of you, in different
ranks and circumstances, who have, and ever have had, general
impressions on your minds of the claims which religion has on you, but,
at the same time, have been afraid of acting upon them, afraid of the
opinion of the world, of what others would say if you set about obeying
your conscience.  Ridicule is a most powerful instrument in the hands
of Satan, and it is most vividly felt by the young.  If any one wishes
to do his duty, it is most easy for the cold, the heartless, and the
thoughtless, to find out harsh, or provoking, or ridiculous names to
fix upon him.  My brethren, so many of you as are sensitive of the
laughter or contempt of the world, this is your cross; you must wear
it, you must endure it patiently; it is the mark of your conformity to
Christ; He despised the shame: you must learn to endure it, from the
example and by the aid of your Saviour.  You must love the praise of
God more than the praise of men.  It is the very trial suited to you,
appointed for you, to establish you in the faith.  You are not tempted
with gain or ambition, but with ridicule.  And be sure, that unless you
withstand it, you cannot endure hardships as good soldiers of Jesus
Christ, you will not endure other temptations which are to follow.  How
can you advance a step in your after and more extended course till the
first difficulty is overcome?  You need faith, and "a double-minded
man," says St. James, "is unstable in all his ways."  Moreover, be not
too sure that all who show an inclination to ridicule you, feel exactly
as they say.  They speak with the loudest speaker; speak you boldly,
and they will speak with you.  They have very little of definite
opinion themselves, or probably they even feel with you, though they
speak against you.  Very likely they have uneasy, unsatisfied
consciences, though they seem to sin so boldly; and are as afraid of
the world as you can be, nay, more so; they join in ridiculing you,
lest others should ridicule them; or they do so in a sort of
self-defence against the reproaches of their own consciences.  Numbers
in this bad world talk loudly against religion in order to encourage
each other in sin, because they need encouragement.  They are cowards,
and rely on each other for support against their fears.  They know they
ought to be other than they are, but are glad to avail themselves of
any thing that looks like argument, to overcome their consciences
withal.  And ridicule is a kind of argument--such as it is; and numbers
ridiculing together are a still stronger one--of the same kind.  Any
how, there are few indeed who will not feel afterwards, in times of
depression or alarm, that you are right, and they themselves are wrong.
Those who serve God faithfully have a friend of their own, in each
man's bosom, witnessing for them; even in those who treat them ill.
And I suppose no young person has been able, through God's mercy, to
withstand the world's displeasure, but has felt at this time or that,
that this is so, and in a little time will, with all humility, have the
comfort of feeling it while he is withstanding the world.

But now supposing he has not had strength of mind to withstand the
world; but has gone the way of the world.  Suppose he has joined the
multitude in saying and doing what he should not.  We know the
careless, thoughtless, profane habits which most men live in, making
light of serious subjects, and being ashamed of godliness and virtue;
ashamed of going to church regularly, ashamed of faith, ashamed of
chastity, ashamed of innocence, ashamed of obedience to persons in
authority.  Supposing a person has been one of these, and then through
God's grace repents.  It often pleases God, in the course of His
Providence, to rouse men to reflection by the occurrences of life.  In
such circumstances they certainly will have a severe trial to stand
against the world.  Nothing is more painful in the case of such
persons, than the necessity often imposed upon them of acting contrary
to the opinion and wishes of those with whom they have till now been
intimate,--whom they have admired and followed.  Intimacies have
already been formed, and ties drawn tight, which it is difficult to
sever.  What is the person in question to do? rudely to break them at
once? no.  But is he to share in sins in which he formerly took part?
no; whatever censure, contempt, or ridicule attaches to him in
consequence.  But what, then, is he to do?  His task, I say, is painful
and difficult, but he must not complain, for it is his own making; it
is the natural consequence of his past neglect of God.  So much is
plain,--he must abstain from all sinful actions; not converse lightly
or irreverently where formerly he was not unwilling so to do; not spend
his time, as heretofore, in idleness or riot; avoid places whither he
is not called by actual duty, which offer temptation to sin; observe
diligently attendance on church; not idle away the Lord's Day in
vanity, or worse; not add to the number of his acquaintance any
thoughtless persons.  All this is quite plain, and in doing this I know
he will incur the ridicule of his companions.  He will have much to
bear.  He must bear to be called names, to be thought a hypocrite, to
be thought to be affecting something out of the way, to be thought
desirous of recommending himself to this or that person.  He must be
prepared for malicious and untrue reports about himself; many other
trials must he look for.  They are his portion.  He must pray God to
enable him to bear them meekly.  He must pray for himself, he must pray
for those who ridicule him.  He has deserved ridicule.  He has nothing
to boast of, if he bears it well.  He has nothing to boast of that he
incurs it.  He has nothing to boast of, as if he were so much better
than those who ridicule him; he was once as they are now.  He is now
just a little better than they are.  He has just begun a new life.  He
has got a very little way in it, or rather no way, nothing beyond
professing it; and he has the reproach of the world in consequence of
his profession.  Well, let him see to it that this reproach is not in
vain, that he has a right to the reproach.  Let him see to it that he
acts as well as professes.  It will be miserable indeed if he incurs
the reproach, and yet does not gain the reward.  Let him pray God to
perfect in him what He has begun in him, and to begin and perfect it
also in all those that reproach him.  Let him pray for Christ's grace
to bear hardships in Christ's spirit; to be able to look calmly in the
world's face, and bear its frown; to trust in the Lord, and be doing
good; to obey God, and so to be reproached, not for professing only,
but for performing, not for doing nothing, but for doing something, and
in God's cause.  If we are under reproach, let us have something to
show for it.  At present, such a one is but a child in the Gospel; but
in time, St. Peter's words will belong to him, and he may appropriate
them.  "This is thankworthy, if a man for conscience towards God endure
grief, suffering wrongfully.  For what glory is it, if when ye be
buffeted for your faults ye shall take it patiently? but if, when ye do
well and suffer for it, ye take it patiently, this is acceptable with
God."

What happens to the young in one way, and to penitent sinners in
another, happens in one way or other to all of us.  In the case of all
of us occasions arise, when practices countenanced by others do not
approve themselves to our consciences.  If after serious thought we
find we cannot acquiesce in them, we must follow our consciences, and
stand prepared for the censure of others.  We must submit (should it be
unavoidable) to appear to those who have no means of understanding us,
self-willed, or self-conceited, or obstinate, or eccentric, or
headstrong, praying the while that God's mercy may vouchsafe to us,
that we be not really what we seem to the world.

Some are exposed to a temptation of a different kind, that of making
themselves seem more religious than they really are.  It may happen,
that to advocate right opinions may be profitable to our worldly
interests, and be attended by the praise of men.  You may ask, since in
such cases God and man approve the same thing, why should the applause
of the world be accounted dangerous then?  I answer, it is dangerous
because God requires of us a modest silence in our religion; but we
cannot be religious in the eyes of men without displaying religion.  I
am now speaking of display.  God sees our thoughts without our help,
and praises _them_; but we cannot be praised by men without being seen
by men: whereas often the very excellence of a religious action,
according to our Saviour's precept, consists in the not being seen by
others.  This is a frequent cause of hypocrisy in religion.  Men begin
by feeling as they should feel, then they think it a very hard thing
that men should not know how well they feel, and in course of time they
learn to speak without feeling.  Thus they have learned to "love the
praise of men more than the praise of God."--We have to guard against
another danger, against the mistake of supposing that the world's
despising us is a proof that we are particularly religious; for this,
too, is often supposed.  Frequently it happens that we encumber our
religion with extravagances, perversions, or mistakes, with which
religion itself has no necessary connexion, and these, and not
religion, excite the contempt of the world.  So much is this the case,
that the censure of numbers, or of the sober-minded, or of various and
distinct classes of men, or censure consistently urged, or continued
consistently, ought always to lead a man to be very watchful as to what
he considers right to say or do in the line of duty, to lead him to
examine his principles; to lead him, however thoroughly he adheres to
these after all, to be unaffectedly humble about himself, and to
convince him in matter of fact (what he might be quite sure of
beforehand, from the nature of the case), that, however good his
principles are in themselves, he is mixing up with them the alloy of
his own frail and corrupt nature.

In conclusion, I would say to those who fear the world's censure,
this:--

1. Recollect you cannot please all parties, you must disagree with some
or other: you have only to choose (if you are determined to look to
man) with which you will disagree.  And, further, you may be sure that
those who attempt to please all parties, please fewest; and that the
best way to gain the world's good opinion (even if you were set upon
this, which you must not be) is to show that you prefer the praise of
God.  Make up your mind to be occasionally misunderstood, and
undeservedly condemned.  You must, in the Apostle's words, go through
evil report, and good report, whether on a contracted or a wider field
of action.  And you must not be anxious even for the praise of good
men.  To have, indeed, the approbation of those whose hearts are guided
by God's Holy Spirit, is indeed much to be coveted.  Still this is a
world of discipline, not of enjoyment; and just as we are sometimes
bound in duty to abstain from indulgences of sense in themselves
innocent, so are we sometimes bound to deny ourselves the satisfaction
derived from the praise even of the religious and conscientious.  Only
let us beware in all this, lest we act from pride and self-conceit.

2. In the next place, think of the multitude of beings, who, unseen
themselves, may yet be surveying our conduct.  St. Paul charges Timothy
by the elect Angels[2]; and elsewhere he declares that the Apostles
were made "a spectacle unto the world, and to Angels, and to men[3]."
Are we then afraid to follow what is right, lest the world should
scoff? rather let us be afraid not to follow it, because God sees us,
and Christ, and the holy Angels.  They rejoice over one sinner that
repenteth; how must they mourn over those who fall away!  What
interest, surely, is excited among them, by the sight of the
Christian's trial, when faith and the desire of the world's esteem are
struggling in his heart for victory! what rejoicing if, through the
grace of God, he overcomes! what sorrow and pity if he is overcome by
the world!  Accustom yourselves, then, to feel that you are on a public
stage, whatever your station of life may be, that there are other
witnesses to your conduct besides the world around you; and, if you
feel shame of men, you should much more feel shame in the presence of
God, and those servants of His that do His pleasure.

3. Still further: you fear the judgment of men upon you.  What will you
think of it on your death-bed?  The hour must come, sooner or later,
when your soul is to return to Him who gave it.  Perhaps you will be
sensible of your awful state.  What will you then think of the esteem
of the world? will not all below seem to pass away, and be rolled up as
a scroll, and the extended regions of the future solemnly set
themselves before you?  Then how vain will appear the applause or blame
of creatures, such as we are, all sinners and blind judges, and feeble
aids, and themselves destined to be judged for their deeds.  When,
then, you are tempted to dread the ridicule of man, throw your mind
forward to the hour of death.  You know what you will then think of it,
if you are then able to think at all.

4. The subject is not exhausted.  You fear shame; well, and will you
not shrink from shame at the judgment-seat of Christ?  There will be
assembled all the myriads of men who ever lived, a vast multitude!
There will be Apostles, prophets, martyrs, and all saints from the
beginning of time.  There will be all the good men you ever heard of or
knew.  There will be your own kindest and best friends, your pious
parents, or brothers, or children.  Now what think you of being put to
shame before all these?  You fear the contempt of one small circle of
men; what think you of the Saints of God, of St. Mary, of St. Peter and
St. Paul, of the ten thousand generations of mankind, being witnesses
of your disgrace?  You dread the opinion of those whom you do not love;
but what if a father then shrink from a dear son, or the wife, or
husband, your earthly companion, then tremble at the sight of you, and
feel ashamed of you?  Nay, there is One greater than parents, husbands,
or brothers; One of whom you have been ashamed on earth; and what will
He, that merciful, but neglected Saviour, think of you then?  Hear His
own words:--"Whosoever shall be ashamed of Me and of My words, of him
shall the Son of Man be ashamed, when He shall come in His own glory,
and in His Fathers, and of the holy Angels."  Then such unhappy men,
how will they feel shame at themselves! they will despise and loathe
themselves; they will hate and abominate their own folly; they will
account themselves brutish and mad, so to have been beguiled by the
devil, and to have trifled with the season of mercy.  "Many of them
that sleep in the dust of the earth," says Daniel, "shall awake, some
to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt."

Let us, then, rouse ourselves, and turn from man to God; what have we
to do with the world, who from our infancy have been put on our journey
heavenward?  Take up your cross and follow Christ.  He went through
shame far greater than can be yours.  Do you think He felt nothing when
He was lifted up on the Cross to public gaze, amid the contempt and
barbarous triumphings of His enemies, the Pharisees, Pilate and his
Roman guard, Herod and his men of war, and the vast multitude collected
from all parts of the world?  They all looked on Him with hatred and
insult, yet He endured (we are told), "despising the shame[4]."  It is
a high privilege to be allowed to be conformed to Christ; St. Paul
thought it so, so have all good men.  The whole Church of God, from the
days of Christ to the present, has been ever held in shame and contempt
by men of this world.  Proud men have reasoned against its Divine
origin; crafty men have attempted to degrade it to political purposes:
still it has lasted for many centuries; it will last still, through the
promised help of God the Holy Ghost; and that same promise which is
made to it first as a body, is assuredly made also to every one of us
who seeks grace from God through it.  The grace of our Lord and Saviour
is pledged to every one of us without measure, to give us all necessary
strength and holiness when we pray for it; and Almighty God tells us
Himself, "Fear ye not the reproach of men, neither be ye afraid of
their revilings.  For the moth shall eat them up like a garment, and
the worm shall eat them like wool; but My righteousness shall be for
ever, and My salvation from generation to generation."



[1] Gal. i. 24.

[2] 1 Tim. v. 21.

[3] 1 Cor. iv. 9.

[4] Heb. xii. 2.




SERMON V.

Temporal Advantages.

"_We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry
nothing out.  And having food and raiment let us be therewith
content._"--1 Tim. vi. 7, 8.


Every age has its own special sins and temptations.  Impatience with
their lot, murmuring, grudging, unthankfulness, discontent, are sins
common to men at all times, but I suppose one of those sins which
belongs to our age more than to another, is desire of a greater portion
of worldly goods than God has given us,--ambition and covetousness in
one shape or another.  This is an age and country in which, more than
in any other, men have the opportunity of what is called rising in
life,--of changing from a lower to a higher class of society, of
gaining wealth; and upon wealth all things follow,--consideration,
credit, influence, power, enjoyment, the lust of the flesh, and the
lust of the eyes, and the pride of life.  Since, then, men now-a-days
have so often the opportunity of gaining worldly goods which formerly
they had not, it is not wonderful they should be tempted to gain them;
nor wonderful that when they have gained them, they should set their
heart upon them.

And it will often happen, that from coveting them before they are
gained, and from making much of them when they are gained, men will be
led to take unlawful means, whether to increase them, or not to lose
them.  But I am not going so far as to suppose the case of dishonesty,
fraud, double-dealing, injustice, or the like: to these St. Paul seems
to allude when he goes on to say, "They that will be rich fall into
temptation and a snare;" again, "The love of money is the root of all
evil."  But let us confine ourselves to the consideration of the nature
itself, and the natural effects, of these worldly things, without
extending our view to those further evils to which they may give
occasion.  St. Paul says in the text, that we ought to be content with
food and raiment; and the wise man says, "Give me neither poverty nor
riches; feed me with food convenient for me[1]."  And our Lord would
have us "take no thought for the morrow," which surely is a dissuasion
from aggrandizing ourselves, accumulating wealth, or aiming at
distinction.  And He has taught us when we pray to say, "Give us this
day our _daily_ bread."  Yet a great number of persons, I may say,
nearly all men, are not content with enough, they are not satisfied
with sufficiency; they wish for something more than simplicity, and
plainness, and gravity, and modesty, in their mode of living; they like
show and splendour, and admiration from the many, and obsequiousness on
the part of those who have to do with them, and the ability to do as
they will; they like to attract the eye, to be received with
consideration and respect, to be heard with deference, to be obeyed
with promptitude; they love greetings in the markets, and the highest
seats; they like to be well dressed, and to have titles of honour.
Now, then, I will attempt to show that these gifts of the world which
men seek are not to be reckoned good things; that they are ill suited
to our nature and our present state, and are dangerous to us; that it
is on the whole best for our prospects of happiness even here, not to
say hereafter, that we should be without them.

Now, first, that these worldly advantages, as they are called, are not
productive of any great enjoyment even now to the persons possessing
them, it does not require many words to prove.  I might indeed
maintain, with no slight show of reason, that these things, so far from
increasing happiness, are generally the source of much disquietude;
that as a person has more wealth, or more power, or more distinction,
his cares generally increase, and his time is less his own: thus, in
the words of the preacher, "the abundance of the rich will not suffer
him to sleep," and, "in much wisdom is much grief, and he that
increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow[2]."  But however this may be,
at least these outward advantages do not increase our happiness.  Let
me ask any one who has succeeded in any object of his desire, has he
experienced in his success that full, that lasting satisfaction which
he anticipated?  Did not some feeling of disappointment, of weariness,
of satiety, of disquietude, after a short time, steal over his mind?  I
think it did; and if so; what reason has he to suppose that that
greater share of reputation, opulence, and influence which he has not,
and which he desires, would, if granted him, suffice to make him happy?
No; the fact is certain, however slow and unwilling we may be to
believe it, none of these things bring the pleasure which we beforehand
suppose they will bring.  Watch narrowly the persons who possess them,
and you will at length discover the same uneasiness and occasional
restlessness which others have; you will find that there is just a
something beyond, which they are striving after, or just some one thing
which annoys and distresses them.  The good things you admire please
for the most part only while they are new; now those who have them are
accustomed to them, so they care little for them, and find no
alleviation in them of the anxieties and cares which still remain.  It
is fine, in prospect and imagination, to be looked up to, admired,
applauded, courted, feared, to have a name among men, to rule their
opinions or their actions by our word, to create a stir by our
movements, while men cry, "Bow the knee," before us; but none knows so
well how vain is the world's praise, as he who has it.  And why is
this?  It is, in a word, because the soul was made for religious
employments and pleasures; and hence, that no temporal blessings,
however exalted or refined, can satisfy it.  As well might we attempt
to sustain the body on chaff, as to feed and nourish the immortal soul
with the pleasures and occupations of the world.

Only thus much, then, shall I say on the point of worldly advantages
not bringing present happiness.  But next, let us consider that, on the
other hand, they are positively dangerous to our eternal interests.

Many of these things, if they did no other harm, at least are injurious
to our souls, by taking up the time which might else be given to
religion.  Much intercourse with the world, which eminence and station
render a duty, has a tendency to draw off the mind from God, and deaden
it to the force of religious motives and considerations.  There is a
want of sympathy between much business and calm devotion, great
splendour and a simple faith, which will be to no one more painful than
to the Christian, to whom God has assigned some post of especial
responsibility or distinction.  To maintain a religious spirit in the
midst of engagements and excitements of this world is possible only to
a saint; nay, the case is the same though our business be one of a
charitable and religious nature, and though our chief intercourse is
with those whom we believe to have their minds set upon religion, and
whose principles and conduct are not likely to withdraw our feet from
the narrow way of life.  For here we are likely to be deceived from the
very circumstance that our employments are religious; and our end, as
being a right one, will engross us, and continually tempt us to be
inattentive to the means, and to the spirit in which we pursue it.  Our
Lord alludes to the danger of multiplied occupations in the Parable of
the Sower: "He that received seed among thorns, is he that heareth the
word, and the cares of this world and the deceitfulness of riches choke
the word, and he becometh unfruitful."

Again, these worldly advantages, as they are called, will seduce us
into an excessive love of them.  We are too well inclined by nature to
live by sight, rather than by faith; and besides the immediate
enjoyment, there is something so agreeable to our natural tastes in the
honours and emoluments of the world, that it requires an especially
strong mind, and a large measure of grace, not to be gradually
corrupted by them.  We are led to set our hearts upon them, and in the
same degree to withdraw them from God.  We become unwilling to leave
this visible state of things, and to be reduced to a level with those
multitudes who are at present inferior to ourselves.  Prosperity is
sufficient to seduce, although not to satisfy.  Hence death and
judgment are unwelcome subjects of reflection to the rich and powerful;
for death takes from them those comforts which habit has made necessary
to them, and throws them adrift on a new order of things, of which they
know nothing, save that in it there is no respect of persons.

And as these goods lead us to love the world, so again do they lead us
to trust in the world: we not only become worldly-minded, but
unbelieving; our wills becoming corrupt, our understandings also become
dark, and disliking the truth, we gradually learn to maintain and
defend error.  St. Paul speaks of those who "having put away a good
conscience, concerning faith made shipwreck[3]."  Familiarity with this
world makes men discontented with the doctrine of the narrow way; they
fall into heresies, and attempt to attain salvation on easier terms
than those which Christ holds out to us.  In a variety of ways this
love of the world operates.  Men's opinions are imperceptibly formed by
their wishes.  If, for instance, we see our worldly prospects depend,
humanly speaking, upon a certain person, we are led to court him, to
honour him, and adopt his views, and trust in an arm of flesh, till we
forget the overruling power of God's providence, and the necessity of
His blessing, for the building of the house and the keeping of the city.

And moreover, these temporal advantages, as they are considered, have a
strong tendency to render us self-confident.  When a man has been
advanced in the world by means of his own industry and skill, when he
began poor and ends rich, how apt will he be to pride himself, and
confide, in his own contrivances and his own resources!  Or when a man
feels himself possessed of good abilities; of quickness in entering
into a subject, or of powers of argument to discourse readily upon it,
or of acuteness to detect fallacies in dispute with little effort, or
of a delicate and cultivated taste, so as to separate with precision
the correct and beautiful in thought and feeling from the faulty and
irregular, how will such an one be tempted to self-complacency and
self-approbation! how apt will he be to rely upon himself, to rest
contented with himself, to be harsh and impetuous; or supercilious; or
to be fastidious, indolent, unpractical; and to despise the pure,
self-denying, humble temper of religion, as something irrational, dull,
enthusiastic, or needlessly rigorous!

These considerations on the extreme danger of possessing temporal
advantages, will be greatly strengthened by considering the conduct of
holy men when gifted with them.  Take, for instance, Hezekiah, one of
the best of the Jewish kings.  He, too, had been schooled by
occurrences which one might have thought would have beaten down all
pride and self-esteem.  The king of Assyria had come against him, and
seemed prepared to overwhelm him with his hosts; and he had found his
God a mighty Deliverer, cutting off in one night of the enemy an
hundred fourscore and five thousand men.  And again, he had been
miraculously recovered from sickness, when the sun's shadow turned ten
degrees back, to convince him of the certainty of the promised
recovery.  Yet when the king of Babylon sent ambassadors to
congratulate him on this recovery, we find this holy man ostentatiously
displaying to them his silver, and gold, and armour.  Truly the heart
is "deceitful above all things;" and it was, indeed, to manifest this
more fully that God permitted him thus to act.  God "left him," says
the inspired writer, "to try him, that he might know all that was in
his heart[4]."  Let us take David as another instance of the great
danger of prosperity; he, too, will exemplify the unsatisfactory nature
of temporal goods; for which, think you, was the happier, the lowly
shepherd or the king of Israel?  Observe his simple reliance on God and
his composure, when advancing against Goliath: "The Lord," he says,
"that delivered me out of the paw of the lion and out of the paw of the
bear, He will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine[5]."  And
compare this with his grievous sins, his continual errors, his
weaknesses, inconsistencies, and then his troubles and mortifications
after coming to the throne of Israel; and who will not say that his
advancement was the occasion of both sorrow and sin, which, humanly
speaking, he would have escaped, had he died amid the sheepfolds of
Jesse?  He was indeed most wonderfully sustained by Divine grace, and
died in the fear of God; yet what rightminded and consistent Christian
but must shrink from the bare notion of possessing a worldly greatness
so corrupting and seducing as David's kingly power was shown to be in
the instance of so great a Saint?  The case of Solomon is still more
striking; his falling away even surpasses our anticipation of what our
Saviour calls "the deceitfulness of riches."  He may indeed, for what
we know, have repented; but at least the history tells us nothing of
it.  All we are told is, that "King Solomon loved many strange
women . . . and it came to pass when Solomon was old, that his wives
turned away his heart after other gods; and his heart was not perfect
with the Lord his God, as was the heart of David his father.  For
Solomon went after Ashtaroth, the goddess of the Sidonians, and after
Milcom, the abomination of the Ammonites[6]."  Yet this was he who had
offered up that most sublime and affecting prayer at the Dedication of
the Temple, and who, on a former occasion, when the Almighty gave him
the choice of any blessing he should ask, had preferred an
understanding heart to long life, and honour, and riches.

So dangerous, indeed, is the possession of the goods of this world,
that, to judge from the Scripture history, seldom has God given unmixed
prosperity to any one whom He loves.  "Blessed is the man," says the
Psalmist, "whom Thou chastenest, and teachest him out of Thy law[7]."
Even the best men require some pain or grief to sober them and keep
their hearts right.  Thus, to take the example of St. Paul himself,
even his labours, sufferings, and anxieties, he tells us, would not
have been sufficient to keep him from being exalted above measure,
through the abundance of the revelations, unless there had been added
some further cross, some "thorn in the flesh[8]," as he terms it, some
secret affliction, of which we are not particularly informed, to humble
him, and to keep him in a sense of his weak and dependent condition.

The history of the Church after him affords us an additional lesson of
the same serious truth.  For three centuries it was exposed to heathen
persecution; during that long period God's Hand was upon His people:
what did they do when that Hand was taken off?  How did they act when
the world was thrown open to them, and the saints possessed the high
places of the earth? did they enjoy it? far from it, they shrank from
that which they might, had they chosen, have made much of; they denied
themselves what was set before them; when God's Hand was removed, their
own hand was heavy upon them.  Wealth, honour, and power, they put away
from them.  They recollected our Lord's words, "How hardly shall they
that have riches enter into the kingdom of God[9]!"  And St. James's,
"Hath not God chosen the poor of this world, rich in faith, and heirs
of the kingdom[10]?"  For three centuries they had no need to think of
those words, for Christ remembered them, and kept them humble; but when
He left them to themselves, then they did voluntarily what they had
hitherto suffered patiently.  They were resolved that the Gospel
character of a Christian should be theirs.  Still, as before, Christ
spoke of His followers as poor and weak, and lowly and simple-minded;
men of plain lives, men of prayer, not "faring sumptuously," or clad in
"soft raiment," or "taking thought for the morrow."  They recollected
what He said to the young Ruler, "If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell
that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in
heaven, and come and follow Me."  And so they put off their "gay
clothing," their "gold, and pearls, and costly array;" they "sold that
they had, and gave alms;" they "washed one another's feet;" they "had
all things common."  They formed themselves into communities for prayer
and praise, for labour and study, for the care of the poor, for mutual
edification, and preparation for Christ; and thus, as soon as the world
professed to be Christian, Christians at once set up among them a
witness against the world, and kings and monks came into the Church
together.  And from that time to this, never has the union of the
Church with the State prospered, but when the Church was in union also
with the hermitage and the cell.

Moreover, in those religious ages, Christians avoided greatness in the
Church as well as in the world.  They would not accept rank and station
on account of their spiritual peril, when they were no longer
encompassed by temporal trials.  When they were elected to the
episcopate, when they were appointed to the priesthood, they fled away
and hid themselves.  They recollected our Lord's words, "Whosoever will
be chief among you, let him be your servant;" and again, "Be not ye
called Rabbi, for one is your Master, even Christ, and all ye are
brethren[11]."  And when discovered and forced to the eminence which
they shunned, they made much lament, and were in many tears.  And they
felt that their higher consideration in the world demanded of them some
greater strictness and self-denial in their course of life, lest it
should turn to a curse, lest the penance of which it would defraud them
here, should be visited on them in manifold measure hereafter.  They
feared to have "their good things" and "their consolation" on earth,
lest they should not have Lazarus' portion in heaven.  That state of
things indeed is now long passed away, but let us not miss the
doctrinal lesson which it conveys, if we will not take it for our
pattern.

Before I conclude, however, I must take notice of an objection which
may be made to what I have been saying.  It may be asked, "Are not
these dangerous things the gifts of God?  Are they not even called
blessings?  Did not God bestow riches and honour upon Solomon as a
reward?  And did He not praise him for praying for wisdom?  And does
not St. Paul say, 'Covet earnestly the best gifts[12]?'"  It is true;
nor did I ever mean to say that these things were bad in themselves,
but bad, for us, if we seek them as ends, and dangerous to us from
their fascination.  "Every creature of God is good," as St. Paul says,
"and nothing to be refused[13];" but circumstances may make good gifts
injurious in our particular case.  Wine is good in itself, but not for
a man in a fever.  If our souls were in perfect health, riches and
authority, and strong powers of mind, would be very suitable to us: but
they are weak and diseased, and require so great a grace of God to bear
these advantages well, that we may be well content to be without them.

Still it may be urged, Are we then absolutely to give them up if we
have them, and not accept them when offered?  It may be a duty to keep
them, it is sometimes a duty to accept them; for in certain cases God
calls upon us not so much to put them away, as to put away our old
natures, and make us new hearts and new spirits, wherewith to receive
them.  At the same time, it is merely for our safety to know their
perilous nature, and to beware of them, and in no case to take them
simply for their own sake, but with a view to God's glory.  They must
be instruments in our hands to promote the cause of Gospel truth.  And,
in this light, they have their value, and impart their real pleasure;
but be it remembered, that value and that happiness are imparted by the
end to which they are dedicated; It is "the altar that sanctifieth the
gift[14]:" but, compared with the end to which they must be directed,
their real and intrinsic excellence is little indeed.

In this point of view it is that we are to covet earnestly the best
gifts: for it is a great privilege to be allowed to serve the Church.
Have we wealth? let it be the means of extending the knowledge of the
truth--abilities? of recommending it--power? of defending it.

From what I have said concerning the danger of possessing the things
which the world admires, we may draw the following rule: use them, as
far as given, with gratitude for what is really good in them, and with
a desire to promote God's glory by means of them, but do not go out of
the way to seek them.  They will not on the whole make you happier, and
they may make you less religious.

For us, indeed, who are all the adopted children of God our Saviour,
what addition is wanting to complete our happiness?  What can increase
their peace who believe and trust in the Son of God?  Shall we add a
drop to the ocean, or grains to the sand of the sea?  Shall we ask for
an earthly inheritance, who have the fulness of an heavenly one; power,
when in prayer we can use the power of Christ, or wisdom, guided as we
may be by the true Wisdom and Light of men?  It is in this sense that
the Gospel of Christ is a leveller of ranks: we pay, indeed, our
superiors full reverence, and with cheerfulness as unto the Lord; and
we honour eminent talents as deserving admiration and reward, and the
more readily act we thus, because these are little things to pay.  The
time is short, year follows year, and the world is passing away.  It is
of small consequence to those who are beloved of God, and walk in the
Spirit of truth, whether they pay or receive honour, which is but
transitory and profitless.  To the true Christian the world assumes
another and more interesting appearance; it is no longer a stage for
the great and noble, for the ambitious to fret in, and the wealthy to
revel in; but it is a scene of probation.  Every soul is a candidate
for immortality.  And the more we realize this view of things, the more
will the accidental distinctions of nature or fortune die away from our
view, and we shall be led habitually to pray, that upon every Christian
may descend, in rich abundance, not merely worldly goods, but that
heavenly grace which alone can turn this world to good account for us,
and make it the path of peace and of life everlasting.



[1] Prov. xxx. 8.

[2] Eccles. i. 18.

[3] 1 Tim. i. 19.

[4] 2 Chron. xxxii. 31.

[5] 1 Sam. xvii. 37.

[6] 1 Kings xi. 1, 4, 5.

[7] Ps. xciv. 12.

[8] 2 Cor. xii. 7.

[9] Mark x. 23.

[10] James ii. 5.

[11] Matt. xx. 27, xxiii. 8.

[12] 1 Cor. xii. 31.

[13] 1 Tim. iv. 4.

[14] 1 Matt. xxiii. 19.




SERMON VI.

The Season of Epiphany.

"_This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and
manifested forth His glory; and His disciples believed on Him._"--John
ii. 11.


The Epiphany is a season especially set apart for adoring the glory of
Christ.  The word may be taken to mean the manifestation of His glory,
and leads us to the contemplation of Him as a King upon His throne in
the midst of His court, with His servants around Him, and His guards in
attendance.  At Christmas we commemorate His grace; and in Lent His
temptation; and on Good Friday His sufferings and death; and on Easter
Day His victory; and on Holy Thursday His return to the Father; and in
Advent we anticipate His second coming.  And in all of these seasons He
does something, or suffers something: but in the Epiphany and the weeks
after it, we celebrate Him, not as on His field of battle, or in His
solitary retreat, but as an august and glorious King; we view Him as
the Object of our worship.  Then only, during His whole earthly
history, did He fulfil the type of Solomon, and held (as I may say) a
court, and received the homage of His subjects; viz. when He was an
infant.  His throne was His undefiled Mother's arms; His chamber of
state was a cottage or a cave; the worshippers were the wise men of the
East, and they brought presents, gold, frankincense, and myrrh.  All
around and about Him seemed of earth, except to the eye of faith; one
note alone had He of Divinity.  As great men of this world are often
plainly dressed, and look like other men, all but as having some one
costly ornament on their breast or on their brow; so the Son of Mary in
His lowly dwelling, and in an infant's form, was declared to be the Son
of God Most High, the Father of Ages, and the Prince of Peace, by His
star; a wonderful appearance which had guided the wise men all the way
from the East, even unto Bethlehem.

This being the character of this Sacred Season, our services throughout
it, as far as they are proper to it, are full of the image of a king in
his royal court, of a sovereign surrounded by subjects, of a glorious
prince upon a throne.  There is no thought of war, or of strife, or of
suffering, or of triumph, or of vengeance connected with the Epiphany,
but of august majesty, of power, of prosperity, of splendour, of
serenity, of benignity.  Now, if at any time, it is fit to say, "The
Lord is in His holy temple, let all the earth keep silence before
Him[1]." "The Lord sitteth above the waterflood, and the Lord remaineth
a king for ever."  "The Lord of Hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is
our refuge." "O come, let us worship, and fall down, and kneel before
the Lord our Maker."  "O magnify the Lord our God, and fall down before
His footstool, for He is Holy."  "O worship the Lord in the beauty of
holiness; bring presents, and come into His courts."

I said that at this time of year the portions of our services which are
proper to the season are of a character to remind us of a king on his
throne, receiving the devotion of his subjects.  Such is the narrative
itself, already referred to, of the coming of the wise men, who sought
Him with their gifts from a place afar off, and fell down and
worshipped Him.  Such too, is the account of His baptism, which forms
the Second Lesson of the feast of the Epiphany, when the Holy Ghost
descended on Him, and a Voice from heaven acknowledged Him to be the
Son of God.  And if we look at the Gospels read throughout the season,
we shall find them all containing some kingly action of Christ, the
Mediator between God and man.  Thus in the Gospel for the First Sunday,
He manifests His glory in the temple at the age of twelve years,
sitting among the doctors, and astonishing them with His wisdom.  In
the Gospel for the Second Sunday He manifests His glory at the wedding
feast, when He turned the water into wine, a miracle not of necessity
or urgency, but especially an august and bountiful act--the act of a
King, who out of His abundance gave a gift to His own, therewith to
make merry with their friends.  In the Third Sunday, the leper worships
Christ, who thereupon heals him; the centurion, again, reminds Him of
His Angels and ministers, and He speaks the word, and his servant is
restored forthwith.  In the Fourth, a storm arises on the lake, while
He is peacefully sleeping, without care or sorrow, on a pillow; then He
rises and rebukes the winds and the sea, and a calm follows, deep as
that of His own soul, and the beholders worship Him.  And next He casts
out Legion, after the man possessed with it had also "run and
worshipped Him[2]."  In the Fifth, we hear of His kingdom on earth, and
of the enemy sowing tares amid the good seed.  And in the Sixth, of His
second Epiphany from heaven, "with power and great glory."

Such is the series of manifestations which the Sundays after the
Epiphany bring before us.  When He is with the doctors in the temple.
He is manifested as a prophet--in turning the water into wine, as a
priest--in His miracles of healing, as a bounteous Lord, giving out of
His abundance--in His rebuking the sea, as a Sovereign, whose word is
law--in the parable of the wheat and tares, as a guardian and ruler--in
His second coming, as a lawgiver and judge.

And as in these Gospels we hear of our Saviour's greatness, so in the
Epistles and First Lessons we hear of the privileges and the duties of
the new people, whom He has formed to show forth His praise.
Christians are at once the temple of Christ, and His worshippers and
ministers _in_ the temple; they are the Bride of the Lamb taken
collectively, and taken individually, they are the friends of the
Bridegroom and the guests at the marriage feast.  In these various
points of view are they presented to us in the Services during these
weeks.  In the Lessons from the prophet Isaiah we read of the gifts and
privileges, the characteristics, the power, the fortunes of the
Church--how widely spreading, even throughout all the Gentiles; how
awful and high, how miraculously endowed, how revered, how powerful
upon earth, how rich in temporal goods, how holy, how pure in doctrine,
how full of the Spirit.  And in the Epistles for the successive
Sundays, we hear of the duties and distinguishing marks of her true
members, principally as laid down in the twelfth and thirteenth
chapters of St. Paul to the Romans; then as the same Apostle enjoins
them upon the Colossians; and then in St. John's exhortations in his
General Epistle.

The Collects are of the same character, as befit the supplications of
subjects coming before their King.  The first is for knowledge and
power, the second is for peace, the third is for strength in our
infirmities, the fourth is for help in temptation, the fifth is for
protection, and the sixth is for preparation and purification against
Christ's second coming.  There is none which would suit a season of
trial, or of repentance, or of waiting, or of exultation--they befit a
season of peace, thanksgiving, and adoration, when Christ is not
manifested in pain, conflict, or victory, but in the tranquil
possession of His kingdom.

It will be sufficient to make one reflection, which suggests itself
from what I have been saying.

You will observe, then, that the only display of royal greatness, the
only season of majesty, homage, and glory, which our Lord had on earth,
was in His infancy and youth.  Gabriel's message to Mary was in its
style and manner such as befitted an Angel speaking to Christ's Mother.
Elisabeth, too, saluted Mary, and the future Baptist his hidden Lord,
in the same honourable way.  Angels announced His birth, and the
shepherds worshipped.  A star appeared, and the wise men rose from the
East and made Him offerings.  He was brought to the temple, and Simeon
took Him in His arms, and returned thanks for Him.  He grew to twelve
years old, and again He appeared in the temple, and took His seat in
the midst of the doctors.  But here His earthly majesty had its end, or
if seen afterwards, it was but now and then, by glimpses and by sudden
gleams, but with no steady sustained light, and no diffused radiance.
We are told at the close of the last-mentioned narrative, "And He went
down with His parents, and came to Nazareth, _and was subjected, unto
them_[3]."  His subjection and servitude now began in fact.  He had
come in the form of a servant, and now He took on Him a servant's
office.  How much is contained in the idea of His subjection! and it
began, and His time of glory ended, when He was twelve years old.

Solomon, the great type of the Prince of Peace, reigned forty years,
and his name and greatness was known far and wide through the East.
Joseph, the much-loved son of Jacob, who in an earlier age of the
Church, was a type of Christ in His kingdom, was in power and favour
eighty years, twice as long as Solomon.  But Christ, the true Revealer
of secrets, and the Dispenser of the bread of life, the true wisdom and
majesty of the Father, manifested His glory but in His early years, and
then the Sun of Righteousness was clouded.  For He was not to reign
really, till He left the world.  He has reigned ever since; nay,
reigned in the world, though He is not in sensible presence in it--the
invisible King of a visible kingdom--for He came on earth but to show
what His reign would be, after He had left it, and to submit to
suffering and dishonour, that He _might_ reign.

It often happens, that when persons are in serious illnesses, and in
delirium in consequence, or other disturbance of mind, they have some
few minutes of respite in the midst of it, when they are even more than
themselves, as if to show us what they really are, and to interpret for
us what else would be dreary.  And again, some have thought that the
minds of children have on them traces of something more than earthly,
which fade away as life goes on, but are the promise of what is
intended for them hereafter.  And somewhat in this way, if we may dare
compare ourselves with our gracious Lord, in a parallel though higher
way, Christ descends to the shadows of this world, with the transitory
tokens on Him of that future glory into which He could not enter till
He had suffered.  The star burned brightly over Him for awhile, though
it then faded away.

We see the same law, as it may be called, of Divine Providence in other
cases also.  Consider, for instance, how the prospect of our Lord's
passion opens upon the Apostles in the sacred history.  Where did they
hear of it?  "Moses and Elias on the mountain appeared with Him in
glory, and spake of His decease, which He should accomplish at
Jerusalem[4]."  That is, the season of His bitter trial was preceded by
a short gleam of the glory which was to be, when He was suddenly
transfigured, "and the fashion of His countenance was altered, and His
raiment was white and glistering[5]."  And with this glory in prospect,
our Lord abhorred not to die: as it is written, "Who for the joy that
was set before Him, endured the Cross, despising the shame."

Again, He forewarned His Apostles that they in like manner should be
persecuted, for righteousness' sake, and be afflicted and delivered up,
and hated and killed.  Such was to be their life in this world, "that
if in this world only they had had hope in Christ, they had been of all
men most miserable[6]."  Well then, observe, their trial too was
preceded by a season of peace and pleasantness, in anticipation of
their future reward; for before the day of Pentecost, for forty days
Christ was with them, soothing, comforting, confirming them, "and
speaking of the things pertaining unto the kingdom of God[7]."  As
Moses stood on the mount and saw the promised land and all its riches,
and yet Joshua had to fight many battles before he got possession, so
did the Apostles, before descending into the valley of the shadow of
death, whence nought of heaven was to be seen, stand upon the heights,
and look over that valley, which they had to cross, to the city of the
living God beyond it.

And so again, St. Paul, after many years of toil, refers back to a time
when he had a celestial vision, anticipatory of what was to be his
blessedness in the end.  "I knew a man in Christ," he says, meaning
himself, "about fourteen years ago, caught up to the third
heaven. . . .  And I knew such a man . . . how that he was caught up
into Paradise, and heard unspeakable words, which it is not lawful for
a man to utter[8]."  St. Paul then, as the twelve Apostles, and as our
Lord before him, had his brief season of repose and consolation before
the battle.

And lastly: the whole Church also may be said to have had a similar
mercy vouchsafed to it at first, in anticipation of what is to be in
the end.  We know, alas, too well, that, according to our Lord's
account of it, tares are to be with the wheat, fish of every kind in
the net, all through its sojourning on earth.  But in the end, "the
saints shall stand before the throne of God, and serve Him day and
night in His temple: and the Lamb shall feed them, and shall lead them
unto living fountains of waters," and there shall be no more "sorrow
nor pain, nor any thing that defileth or worketh abomination," "for
without are dogs, and sorcerers, and whoremongers, and murderers, and
idolaters, and whosoever loveth and maketh a lie."  Now was not this
future glory shadowed forth in that infancy of the Church, when before
the seal of the new dispensation was opened and trial began, "there was
silence in heaven for half an hour;" and "the disciples continued daily
with one accord in the temple, and in prayers, breaking bread from
house to house, being of one heart, and of one soul, eating their meat
with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God, and having favour
with all the people[9];" while hypocrites and "liars," like Ananias and
Sapphira, were struck dead, and "sorcerers," like Simon, were detected
and denounced?

To conclude; let us thankfully cherish all seasons of peace and joy
which are vouchsafed us here below.  Let us beware of abusing them, and
of resting in them, of forgetting that they _are_ special privileges,
of neglecting to look out for trouble and trial, as our due and our
portion.  Trial is our portion here--we must not think it strange when
trial comes after peace.  Still God mercifully does grant a respite now
and then; and perhaps He grants it to us the more, the more careful we
are not to abuse it.  For all seasons we must thank Him, for time of
sorrow and time of joy, time of warfare and time of peace.  And the
more we thank Him for the one, the more we shall be drawn to thank Him
for the other.  Each has its own proper fruit, and its own peculiar
blessedness.  Yet our mortal flesh shrinks from the one, and of itself
prefers the other;--it prefers rest to toil, peace to war, joy to
sorrow, health to pain and sickness.  When then Christ gives us what is
pleasant, let us take it as a refreshment by the way, that we may, when
God calls, go in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights
unto Horeb, the mount of God.  Let us rejoice in Epiphany with
trembling, that at Septuagesima we may go into the vineyard with the
labourers with cheerfulness, and may sorrow in Lent with thankfulness;
let us rejoice now, not as if we have attained, but in hope of
attaining.  Let us take our present happiness, not as our true rest,
but, as what the land of Canaan was to the Israelites,--a type and
shadow of it.  If we now enjoy God's ordinances, let us not cease to
pray that they may prepare us for His presence hereafter.  If we enjoy
the presence of friends, let them remind us of the communion of saints
before His throne.  Let us trust in nothing here, yet draw hope from
every thing--that at length the Lord may be our everlasting light, and
the days of our mourning may be ended.



[1] Hab. ii. 20.

[2] Mark v. 6.

[3] Luke ii. 51.

[4] Luke ix. 30, 31.

[5] Luke ix. 29.

[6] 1 Cor. xv. 19.

[7] Acts i. 3.

[8] 2 Cor. xii. 3, 4.

[9] Acts ii. 46, 47.




SERMON VII.

The Duty of Self-Denial.

"_Surely I have behaved and quieted myself, as a child that is weaned
of his mother: my soul is even as a weaned child._"--Psalm cxxxi. 2.


Self-denial of some kind or other is involved, as is evident, in the
very notion of renewal and holy obedience.  To change our hearts is to
learn to love things which we do not naturally love--to unlearn the
love of this world; but this involves, of course, a thwarting of our
natural wishes and tastes.  To be righteous and obedient implies
self-command; but to possess power we must have gained it; nor can we
gain it without a vigorous struggle, a persevering warfare against
ourselves.  The very notion of being religious implies self-denial,
because by nature we do not love religion.

Self-denial, then, is a subject never out of place in Christian
teaching; still more appropriate is it at a time like this, when we
have entered upon the forty days of Lent, the season of the year set
apart for fasting and humiliation.

This indeed is not all that is meant by self-denial; but before
proceeding with the subject, I would ask whether the generality of
mankind go as far as this: it is plain that they do not.  They do not
go so far as to realize to themselves that religious obedience involves
a thwarting of those wishes and inclinations which are natural to them.
They do not like to be convinced, much less will they act upon the
notion, that religion is difficult.  You may hear men of the world say
plainly, and as if in the way of argument, "that God will not punish us
for indulging the passions with which we are born; that it is no praise
to be unnatural; and no crime to be a man."  This, however, may seem an
extreme case; yet are there not a great many decent and respectable
men, as far as outward character goes, who at least fix their thoughts
on worldly comfort, as the greatest of goods, and who labour to place
themselves in easy circumstances, under the notion that, when they can
retire from the business of their temporal calling, then they may (in a
quiet, unexceptionable way of course) consult their own tastes and
likings, take their pleasure, and indulge themselves in self-importance
and self-satisfaction, in the enjoyment of wealth, power, distinction,
popularity, and credit?  I am not at this moment asking whether such
indulgences are in themselves allowable or not, but whether the life
which centres in them does not imply the absence of any very deep views
of sanctification as a process, a change, a painful toil, of working
out our own salvation with fear and trembling, of preparing to meet our
God, and waiting for the judgment?  You may go into mixed society; you
will hear men conversing on their friend's prospects, openings in
trade, or realized wealth, on his advantageous situation, the pleasant
connexions he has formed, the land he has purchased, the house he has
built; then they amuse themselves with conjecturing what this or that
man's property may be, where he lost, where he gained, his shrewdness,
or his rashness, or his good fortune in this or that speculation.
Observe, I do not say that such conversation is wrong, I do not say
that we must always have on our lips the very thoughts which are
deepest in our hearts, or that it is safe to judge of individuals by
such speeches; but when this sort of conversation is the customary
standard conversation of the world, and when a line of conduct
answering to it is the prevalent conduct of the world (and this is the
case), is it not a grave question for each of us, as living in the
world, to ask himself what abiding notion we have of the necessity of
self-denial, and how far we are clear of the danger of resembling that
evil generation which "ate and drank, which married wives, and were
given in marriage, which bought and sold, planted, and builded, till it
rained fire and brimstone from heaven, and destroyed them all[1]?"

It is strange, indeed, how far this same forgetfulness and
transgression of the duty of self-denial at present spreads.  Take
another class of persons, very different from those just mentioned, men
who profess much love for religion--I mean such as maintain, that if a
man has faith he will have works without his trouble, so that he need
be at no pains about performing them.  Such persons at best seem to
say, that religious obedience is to follow as a matter of course, an
easy work, or rather a necessary consequence, from having some strong
urgent motive, or from some bright vision of the Truth acting on the
mind; and thus they dismiss from their religion the notion of
self-denial, or the effort and warfare of faith against our corrupt
natural will, whether they actually own that they dismiss it or not.  I
say that they do this at best, for it often happens, as I just now
intimated, that they actually avow their belief that faith is
all-sufficient, and do not let their minds dwell at all on the
necessity of works of righteousness.  All this being considered, surely
I am not wrong in saying that the notion of self-denial as a distinct
religious duty, and, much more (as it may well be called), the essence
of religious obedience, is not admitted into the minds of the
generality of men.

But let it be observed, I have hitherto spoken of self-denial not as a
distinct duty actually commanded in Scripture, but merely as it is
involved in the very notion of sanctification, as necessarily attendant
on that change of nature which God the Holy Spirit vouchsafes to work
within us.  But now let us consider it in the light of the Scripture
precepts concerning it, and we shall come to a still more serious view
of it, serious (I mean) to those who are living to the world; it is
this,--that it is our duty, not only to deny ourselves in what is
sinful, but even, in a certain measure, in lawful things, to keep a
restraint over ourselves even in innocent pleasures and enjoyments.

Now the first proof I shall give of this will at the same time explain
what I mean.

Fasting is clearly a Christian duty, as our Saviour implies in His
Sermon on the Mount.  Now what is fasting but a refraining from what is
lawful; not merely from what is sinful, but what is innocent?--from
that bread which we might lawfully take and eat with thanksgiving, but
which at certain times we do not take, in order to deny ourselves.
Such is Christian self-denial,--not merely a mortification of what is
sinful, but an abstinence even from God's blessings.

Again: consider the following declaration of our Saviour: He first
tells us, "Strait is the gate, and narrow is the way which leadeth unto
life, and few there be that find it."  And again: "Strive to enter in,
for many, I say unto you, will seek (only seek) to enter in, and shall
not be able."  Then He explains to us what this peculiar difficulty of
a Christian's life consists in: "If any man come to Me, and hate not
his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and
sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be My disciple[2]."  Now
whatever is precisely meant by this (which I will not here stop to
inquire), so far is evident, that our Lord enjoins a certain
refraining, not merely from sin, but from innocent comforts and
enjoyments of this life, or a self-denial in things lawful.

Again, He says, "If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself,
and take up his cross daily, and follow Me[3]."  Here He shows us from
His own example what Christian self-denial is.  It is taking on us a
cross after His pattern, not a mere refraining from sin, for He had no
sin, but a giving up what we might lawfully use.  This was the peculiar
character in which Christ came on earth.  It was this spontaneous and
exuberant self-denial which brought Him down.  He who was one with God,
took upon Him our nature, and suffered death--and why? to save us whom
He needed not save.  Thus He denied Himself, and took up His cross.
This is the very aspect, in which God, as revealed in Scripture, is
distinguished from that exhibition of His glory, which nature gives us:
power, wisdom, love, mercy, long-suffering--these attributes, though
far more fully and clearly displayed in Scripture than in nature, still
are in their degree seen on the face of the visible creation; but
self-denial, if it may be said, this incomprehensible attribute of
Divine Providence, is disclosed to us only in Scripture.  "God so loved
the world that He gave His Son[4]."  Here is self-denial.  And the Son
of God so loved us, that "though He was rich yet for our sakes He
became poor[5]."  Here is our Saviour's self-denial.  "He pleased not
Himself."

And what Christ did when He came on earth, that have all His saints
done both before and since His coming.  Even the saints of the Old
Testament so conducted themselves, to whom a temporal promise was made,
and who, if any, might have surrendered themselves to the enjoyment of
it.  They had a temporal promise, they had a present reward; yet, with
a noble faith, and a largeness of soul (how they put us to shame who
have so much higher privileges!) the Jewish believers grudged
themselves the milk and honey of Canaan, as seeking a better country,
that is a heavenly.  Elijah, how unlike is he to one who had a temporal
promise!  Or take again the instance of Daniel, which is still more
striking,--"They that wear soft clothing are in kings' houses."  Daniel
was first in power in the palace of the greatest monarchs of his time.
Yet what do we read of him?  First of his living upon pulse and water,
afterwards of his fasting in sackcloth and ashes, at another time of
his mourning three full weeks, eating no pleasant bread, neither flesh
nor wine coming in his mouth, nor anointing himself at all, till those
three weeks were fulfilled.  Can any thing more clearly show the duty
of self-denial, even in lawful things, in the case of Christians, when
even God's servants, before Christ came and commanded it, in proportion
as they had evangelical gifts, observed it?

Or again, consider the words of the text spoken by David, who, if any,
had riches and power poured upon him by the hand of God.  He says, he
has "behaved and quieted" himself lest he should be proud, and made
himself "as a weaned child."  What an impressive word is "weaned!"
David had put away the unreserved love and the use of this world.  We
naturally love the world, and innocently; it is before us, and meets
our eyes and hands first; its pleasures are dear to us, and many of
them not in themselves sinful, only in their excess, and some of them
not sinful at all;--those, for instance, which we derive from our home,
our friends, and our prospects, are the first and natural food of our
mind.  But as children are weaned from their first nourishment, so must
our souls put away childish things, and be turned from the pleasures of
earth to those of heaven; we must learn to compose and quiet ourselves
as a weaned child, to put up with the loss of what is dear to us, nay,
voluntarily to give it up for Christ's sake.

Much more after Christ came does St. Paul give us this same lesson in
the ninth chapter of his first Epistle to the Corinthians: "Every one
that striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things," i. e. has
power over himself, and keeps himself in subjection, as he presently
says.  Again, in the seventh chapter, "The time is short; it remaineth
that both they that have wives be as though they had none, and they
that weep as though they wept not, and they that rejoice as though they
rejoiced not, and they that buy as though they possessed not, and they
that use this world as not abusing it."  Here the same doctrine of
moderation or temperance in lawful indulgences is strongly enforced; to
weep, to rejoice, to buy, to possess, to marry, to use this world, are
not unlawful, yet we must not use God's earthly gifts to the full, but
in all things we must be self-denying.

Such is Christian self-denial, and it is incumbent upon us for many
reasons.  The Christian denies himself in things lawful because he is
aware of his own weakness and liability to sin; he dares not walk on
the edge of a precipice; instead of going to the extreme of what is
allowable, he keeps at a distance from evil, that he may be safe.  He
abstains lest he should not be temperate; he fasts lest he should eat
and drink with the drunken.  As is evident, many things are in
themselves right and unexceptionable which are inexpedient in the case
of a weak and sinful creature: his case is like that of a sick person;
many kinds of food, good for a man in health, are hurtful when he is
ill--wine is poison to a man in a fierce fever.  And just so, many
acts, thoughts, and feelings, which would have been allowable in Adam
before his fall, are prejudicial or dangerous in man fallen.  For
instance, anger is not sinful in itself.  St. Paul implies this, when
he says, "Be ye angry and sin not[6]."  And our Saviour on one occasion
is said to have been angry, and He was sinless.  Almighty God, too, is
angry with the wicked.  Anger, then, is not in itself a sinful feeling;
but in man, constituted as he is, it is so highly dangerous to indulge
it, that self-denial here is a duty from mere prudence.  It is almost
impossible for a man to be angry only so far as he ought to be; he will
exceed the right limit, his anger will degenerate into pride,
sullenness, malice, cruelty, revenge, and hatred.  It will inflame his
diseased soul, and poison it.  Therefore, he must abstain from it, as
if it were _in itself_ a sin (though it is not), for it is practically
such to him.

Again, the love of praise is in itself an innocent passion, and might
be indulged, were the world's opinion right and our hearts sound; but,
as things are, human applause, if listened to, will soon make us forget
how weak and sinful we are; so we must deny ourselves, and accept the
praise even of good men, and those we love, cautiously and with reserve.

So, again, love of power is commonly attendant on a great mind; but he
is the greatest of a sinful race who refrains himself, and turns from
the temptation of it; for it is at once unbecoming and dangerous in a
son of Adam.  "Whosoever will be great among you, let him be your
minister," says our Lord; "and whosoever will be chief among you, let
him be your servant[7]."  His reward will be hereafter; to reign with
Christ, to sit down with Him on His throne, to judge angels,--yet
without pride.

Again, even in affection towards our relations and friends, we must be
watchful over ourselves, lest it seduce us from the path of duty.  Many
a father, from a kind wish to provide well for his family, neglects his
own soul.  Here, then, is a fault; not that we can love our relations
too well, but that that strong and most praiseworthy affection for them
may, accidentally, ensnare and corrupt our weak nature.

These considerations will show us the meaning of our Saviour's words
already cited, about the duty of hating our friends.  To hate is to
feel that perfect distaste for an object, that you wish it put away and
got rid of; it is to turn away from it, and to blot out the thought of
it from your mind.  Now this is just the feeling we must cherish
towards all earthly blessings, so far as Christ does not cast His light
upon them.  He (blessed be His name) has sanctioned and enjoined love
and care for our relations and friends: Such love is a great duty; but
should at any time His guidance lead us by a strange way, and the light
of His providence pass on, and cast these objects of our earthly
affection into the shade, then they must be at once in the shade to
_us_,--they must, for the time, disappear from our hearts.  "He that
loveth father or mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me."  So He
says; and at such times, though still loving them, we shall seem to
hate them; for we shall put aside the thought of them, and act as if
they did not exist.  And in this sense an ancient and harsh proverb is
true: we must always so love our friends as feeling that one day or
other we may perchance be called upon to hate them,--that is, forget
them in the pursuit of higher duties.

Here, again, then, is an instance of self-denial in lawful things; and
if a person says it is painful thus to feel, and that it checks the
spontaneous and continual flow of love towards our friends to have this
memento sounding in our ears, we must boldly acknowledge that it is
painful.  It is a sad thought, not that we can ever be called upon
actually to put away the love of them, but to have to act as if we did
not love them,--as Abraham when called on to slay his son.  And this
thought of the uncertainty of the future, doubtless, does tinge all our
brightest affections (as far as this world is concerned) with a grave
and melancholy hue.  We need not shrink from this confession,
remembering that this life is not our rest or happiness;--"_that_
remaineth" to come.  This sober chastised feeling is the very temper of
David, when he speaks of having composed and quieted his soul, and
weaned it from the babe's nourishment which this world supplies.

I hope I have made it clear, by these instances, what is meant by
Christian self-denial.  If we have good health, and are in easy
circumstances, let us beware of high-mindedness, self-sufficiency,
self-conceit, arrogance; of delicacy of living, indulgences, luxuries,
comforts.  Nothing is so likely to corrupt our hearts, and to seduce us
from God, as to surround ourselves with comforts,--to have things our
own way,--to be the centre of a sort of world, whether of things
animate or inanimate, which minister to us.  For then, in turn, we
shall depend on them; they will become necessary to us; their very
service and adulation will lead us to trust ourselves to them, and to
idolize them.  What examples are there in Scripture of soft luxurious
men!  Was it Abraham before the Law, who wandered through his days,
without a home? or Moses, who gave the Law, and died in the wilderness?
or David under the Law, who "had no proud looks," and was "as a weaned
child?" or the Prophets, in the latter days of the Law, who wandered in
sheep-skins and goat-skins? or the Baptist, when the Gospel was
superseding it, who was clad in raiment of camel's hair, and ate the
food of the wilderness? or the Apostles, who were "the offscouring of
all things"? or our blessed Saviour, who "had not a place to lay His
head"?  Who are the soft luxurious men in Scripture?  There was the
rich man, who "fared sumptuously every day," and then "lifted up his
eyes in hell, being in torments."  There was that other, whose "ground
brought forth plentifully," and who said, "Soul, thou hast much goods
laid up for many years;" and his soul was required of him that night.
There was Demas, who forsook St. Paul, "having loved this present
world."  And, alas! there was that highly-favoured, that
divinely-inspired king, rich and wise Solomon, whom it availed nothing
to have measured the earth, and numbered its inhabitants, when in his
old age he "loved many strange women," and worshipped their gods.

Far be it from us, soldiers of Christ, thus to perplex ourselves with
this world, who are making our way towards the world to come.  "No man
that warreth, entangleth himself with the affairs of this life, that he
may please Him who hath chosen him to be a soldier.  If a man also
strive for masteries, yet is he not crowned, except he strive
lawfully."  This is St. Paul's rule, as has already been referred to:
accordingly, in another place, he bears witness of himself that he
"died daily."  Day by day he got more and more dead to this world; he
had fewer ties to earth, a larger treasure in heaven.  Nor let us think
that it is over-difficult to imitate him, though we be not Apostles,
nor are called to any extraordinary work, nor are enriched with any
miraculous gifts: he would have all men like himself, and all may be
like him, according to their place and measure of grace.  If we would
be followers of the great Apostle, first let us with him fix our eyes
upon Christ our Saviour; consider the splendour and glory of His
holiness, and try to love it.  Let us strive and pray that the love of
holiness may be created within our hearts; and then acts will follow,
such as befit us and our circumstances, in due time, without our
distressing ourselves to find what they should be.  You need not
attempt to draw any precise line between what is sinful and what is
only allowable: look up to Christ, and deny yourselves every thing,
whatever its character, which you think He would have you relinquish.
You need not calculate and measure, if you love much: you need not
perplex yourselves with points of curiosity, if you have a heart to
venture after Him.  True, difficulties will sometimes arise, but they
will be seldom.  He bids you take up your cross; therefore accept the
daily opportunities which occur of yielding to others, when you need
not yield, and of doing unpleasant services, which you might avoid.  He
bids those who would be highest, live as the lowest: therefore, turn
from ambitious thoughts, and (as far as you religiously may) make
resolves against taking on you authority and rule.  He bids you sell
and give alms; therefore, hate to spend money on yourself.  Shut your
ears to praise, when it grows loud: set your face like a flint, when
the world ridicules, and smile at its threats.  Learn to master your
heart, when it would burst forth into vehemence, or prolong a barren
sorrow, or dissolve into unseasonable tenderness.  Curb your tongue,
and turn away your eye, lest you fall into temptation.  Avoid the
dangerous air which relaxes you, and brace yourself upon the heights.
Be up at prayer "a great while before day," and seek the true, your
only Bridegroom, "by night on your bed."  So shall self-denial become
natural to you, and a change come over you, gently and imperceptibly;
and, like Jacob, you will lie down in the waste, and will soon see
Angels, and a way opened for you into heaven.



[1] Luke xvii. 27-29.

[2] Matt. vii. 14.  Luke xiii. 24; xiv. 26.

[3] Luke ix. 23.

[4] John iii. 16.

[5] 2 Cor. viii. 9.

[6] Eph. iv. 26.

[7] Matt. xx. 26, 27.




SERMON VIII.

The Yoke of Christ.

"_Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in
heart, and ye shall find rest unto your souls; for My yoke is easy, and
My burden is light._"--Matt. xi. 29, 30.


These words, which are brought before us in the Gospel of to-day's
festival[1], are also found in the address made to us upon Ash
Wednesday, in which we are told that if we "return unto Him who is the
merciful Receiver of all true penitent sinners, if we will take His
easy yoke and light burden upon us, to follow Him in lowliness,
patience, and charity; this, if we do, Christ will deliver us from the
curse of the law, and from the extreme malediction which shall light
upon them that shall be set on the left hand."  A few days since we
were upon a Fast-day called to take on us Christ's yoke, and now on a
Festival of an Apostle the call is repeated.

And with a particular fitness it occurs, now as often, that we
celebrate the feast of St. Matthias, during Lent; for if there be an
Apostle who above the rest may be taken to remind us of the duty of
mortification, it is he.  Our Lord, when asked why His disciples did
not fast, said, they could not fast while He was with them, but that
the time would come, when the Bridegroom should be taken away from
them, and then should they fast in those days.  That time was now come,
when St. Matthias was chosen to be an Apostle.  Christ _had_ gone away.
Peace and joy the Apostles had abundantly, more so than when He was
with them; but for that very reason, it was not such a joy "as the
world giveth."  It was His own joy which arose out of pain and
chastisement.  This was the joy which St. Matthias received when he was
made an Apostle.  He never had been an Apostle under age.  He had
indeed been with our Lord, but not as an Apostle.  The rest had been
chosen (as it were) as children; they had been heirs of the kingdom,
while under tutors and governors, and, though Apostles, had not
understood their calling, had had ambitious thoughts or desires after
riches, and were indulged for a while, ere new made, with the old wine,
lest the bottles should burst.  But St. Matthias came into his
inheritance at once.  He took upon him at once, upon his election, the
power and the penalty of the Apostolate.  No dreams of earthly
prosperity could flit around that throne, which was reared over the
grave of one who had been tried and had fallen, and under the immediate
shadow of the cross of Him whom he had betrayed.

Well, then, does St. Matthias repeat to us on this day our Lord's
words, "Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me," for he had taken it on
him from the first.  His Pastoral Staff had ever been a crosier.  He
had had no youth.  He had borne the yoke in his youth.  He entered at
once upon his long Lent, and he rejoiced in it.

The exhortation, then, which our Saviour gives in today's Gospel, and
of which St. Matthiases history reminds us, is at the present season
most suitable.  Our Saviour says, "Come unto Me," and then He adds,
"Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me."  Thus He first calls us to
Him, and next shows us the way.  "Come unto Me," He says, "and I will
give you rest," and then adds, "Take My yoke upon you, and ye shall
find rest for your souls."  He told the Apostles that they must come to
Him, but did not at once tell them the way; He told them they must bear
a yoke, but did not at once tell them what it was.  St. Peter, in
consequence, inquired about it on one occasion, and was bid to wait
awhile, and he should know of it more plainly.  Our Lord had said,
"Whither I go, thou canst not follow Me now, but thou shalt follow Me
afterwards."  "Ye shall seek Me," He said, "and whither I go ye cannot
come[2]." He spoke of His yoke, the way of His cross, as St. Peter
found when at length, after His resurrection, he was told plainly what
should befall him.  "When thou wast young," said our Lord to him, by
the lake of Tiberias, when thou wast a child in the faith, and hadst
thine own way, "thou girdedst thyself, and walkedst whither thou
wouldest," as just before St. Peter had girt his fisher's coat unto
him, and cast himself into the sea; "but when thou shalt be old, thou
shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry
thee whither thou wouldest not[3]."  And then He added, "Follow Me."
St. Peter, indeed, was called upon literally to take Christ's yoke upon
him, to learn of Him and walk in His ways; but what he underwent in
fulness, all Christ's disciples must share in their measure, in some
way or other.  Again, in another place, our Lord speaks more expressly;
"If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his
cross, and follow Me[4]."  Here we have the words of the text
emphatically repeated.  To come to Christ, is to come after Him; to
take up our cross, is to take upon us His yoke; and though He calls
this an easy yoke, yet it is easy because it is His yoke, and He makes
it easy; still it does not cease to be a yoke, and it is troublesome
and distressing, because it is a yoke.

Let us set it down then, as a first principle in religion, that all of
us must come to Christ, in some sense or other, through things
naturally unpleasant to us; it may be even through bodily suffering,
such as the Apostles endured, or it may be nothing more than the
subduing of our natural infirmities and the sacrifice of our natural
wishes; it may be pain greater or pain less, on a public stage or a
private one; but, till the words "yoke" and "cross" can stand for
something pleasant, the bearing of our yoke and cross is something not
pleasant, and though rest is promised as our reward, yet the way to
rest must lie through discomfort and distress of heart.

This I say must be taken as a first principle in religion; it concerns
us all, it concerns young and old, rich and poor, all of whom are apt
to consider it a valid reason for disregarding and speaking against a
religious life, that it is so strict and distasteful.  They shrink from
religion as something gloomy, or frightful, or dull, or intrusive, or
exorbitant.  And, alas, sometimes it is attempted to lead them to
religion by making it appear not difficult and severe.  Severe truths
are put aside, religion is made to consist in a worldly security, or
again in a heated enthusiastic state of mind.  But this is a deceit.  I
do not of course mean, far from it, that religion is not full of joy
and peace also; "My yoke," says Christ, "is easy, and My burden is
light:" but grace makes it so; in itself it is severe, and any form of
doctrine which teaches otherwise forgets that Christ calls us to His
yoke, and that that yoke is a cross.

If you call to mind some of the traits of that special religious
character to which we are called, you will readily understand how both
it, and the discipline by which it is formed in us, are not naturally
pleasant to us.  That character is described in the text as meekness
and lowliness; for we are told to "learn" of Him who was "meek and
lowly in heart."  The same character is presented to us at greater
length in our Saviour's sermon on the Mount, in which seven notes of a
Christian are given to us, in themselves of a painful and humbling
character, but joyful, because they are blessed by Him.  He mentions,
first, "the poor in spirit," this is denoted in the text, under the
word "lowly in heart,"--secondly, those "that mourn;" and this surely
is their peculiarity who are bearing on their shoulders the yoke of
Christ;--thirdly, "the meek," and these too are spoken of in the text,
when He bids us to be like Himself who "is meek;"--fourthly, those
which do "hunger and thirst after righteousness;" and what
righteousness, but that which Christ's Cross wrought out, and which
becomes our righteousness when we take on us the yoke of the Cross?
Fifthly, "the merciful," and as the Cross is in itself the work of
infinite mercy, so when we bear it, it makes us merciful.  Sixthly,
"the pure in heart," and this is the very benefit which the Cross first
does to us when marked on our forehead when infants, to sever us from
the world, the flesh, and the devil, to circumcise us from the first
Adam, and to make us pure as He is pure.  Seventhly, "the
peace-makers," and as He "made peace by the blood of His Cross," so do
we become peace-makers after His pattern.  And, lastly, after all
seven, He adds, those "which are persecuted for righteousness' sake,"
which is nothing but the Cross itself, and the truest form of His yoke,
spoken of last of all, after mention has been made of its fruits.

Such is the character of which the text speaks.  A man who is poor in
spirit, meek, pure in heart, merciful, peace-making, penitent, and
eager after righteousness, is truly (according to a term in current
use) a mortified man.  He is of a character which does not please us by
nature even to see, and much less to imitate.  We do not even approve
or love the character itself, till we have some portion of the grace of
God.  We do not like the look of mortification till we are used to it,
and associate pleasant thoughts with it.  "And when we shall see Him,
there is no beauty, that we should desire Him," says the Prophet.  To
whom has some picture of saint or doctor of the Church any charm at
first sight?  Who does not prefer the ruddy glow of health and
brightness of the eyes?  "He hath no form nor comeliness," as his Lord
and Master before him.  And as we do not like the look of saintliness,
neither do we like the life.  When Christ first announced His destined
sufferings, Peter took Him and began to rebuke Him, saying, "Be it far
from Thee, Lord, this shall not be unto Thee."  Here was the feeling of
one who was as yet a mere child in grace; "When he was a child, he
spake as a child, he understood as a child, he thought as a child,"
before he had "become a man and had put away childish things."

This is St. Paul's language, writing to the Corinthians, and he there
furnishes us with another description, under the name of charity, of
that same heavenly temper of mind in which Christian manhood consists,
and which our Lord had already described in the sermon on the Mount; He
says, "Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have
not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal."  And
then He describes it as suffering long, kind, envying not, vaunting
not, behaving seemly, unselfish, rejoicing in the truth, slow to be
provoked, bearing all things and hoping all.  And with this agrees St.
James's account of wisdom, that it is "pure, peaceable, gentle, easy to
be entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality and
without hypocrisy[5]."

In all these passages, one and the same character is described
acceptable to God, unacceptable to man; unacceptable to man both in
itself, and because it involves a change, and that a painful one, in
one shape or other.  Nothing short of suffering, except in rare cases,
makes us what we should be; gentle instead of harsh, meek instead of
violent, conceding instead of arrogant, lowly instead of proud,
pure-hearted instead of sensual, sensitive of sin instead of carnal.
This is the especial object which is set before us, to become holy as
He who has called us is holy, and to discipline and chasten ourselves
in order that we may become so; and we may be quite sure, that unless
we chasten ourselves.  God will chasten us.  If we judge ourselves,
through His mercy we shall not be judged of Him; if we do not afflict
ourselves in light things.  He will afflict us in heavy things; if we
do not set about changing ourselves by gentle measures, He will change
us by severe remedies.  "I refrain my soul," says David, "and keep it
low, like as a child that is weaned from his mother."  "I keep under my
body, and bring it into subjection," says St. Paul.  Of course Satan
will try to turn all our attempts to his own purposes.  He will try to
make us think too much of ourselves for what we do; he would fain make
us despise others; he will try to ensnare us in other ways.  Of course
he turns all things to evil, as far as he can; all our crosses may
become temptations: illness, affliction, bereavement, pain, loss of
worldly prospects, anxiety, all may be instruments of evil; so likewise
may all methods of self-chastisement, but they ought not to be, and
need not.  And their legitimate effect, through the grace of the Holy
Spirit, is to make us like Him who suffered all pain, physical and
moral, sin excepted, in its fulness.  We know what His character was;
how grave and subdued His speech, His manner, His acts; what calmness,
self-possession, tenderness, and endurance; how He resisted evil; how
He turned His cheek to the smiter; how He blessed when persecuted; how
He resigned Himself to His God and Father, how He suffered silently,
and opened not His mouth, when accused maliciously.

Alas! so it is; not only does the world not imitate such a temper of
mind as this; but, if the truth must be spoken, it despises it.  As
regards, indeed, our Lord's instance itself, the force of education,
habit, custom, fear of each other, and some remaining awe, keep the
world from reflecting upon the notes of character which the Gospels
ascribe to Him, but in His followers, it does discern them, it
understands and it condemns them.  We are bidden lend and give, asking
for nothing again; revenge not ourselves; give our cloak when our coat
is taken; offer the left cheek when the right is smitten; suffer
without complaint; account persons better than they are; keep from
bitter words; pray only when others would be impatient to act; deny
ourselves for the sake of others; live contented with what we are;
preserve an ignorance of sin and of the world: what is all this, but a
character of mind which the world scorns and ridicules even more than
it hates? a character which seems to court insult, because it endures
it?  Is not this what men of the world would say of such a one?  "Such
a man is unfit for life; he has no eye for any thing; he does not know
the difference between good and evil; he is tame and spiritless, he is
simple and dull, and a fit prey for the spoiler or defrauder; he is
cowardly and narrow-minded, unmanly, feeble, superstitious, and a
dreamer," with many other words more contemptuous and more familiar
than would be becoming to use in Church.  Yet such is the character of
which Christ gave us the pattern; such was the character of Apostles;
such the character which has ever conquered the world.  "In much
patience, in afflictions, in necessities, in distresses, in stripes, in
imprisonments, in watchings, in fastings, by pureness, by knowledge, by
long-suffering, by kindness, by the Holy Ghost, by love unfeigned, by
the word of truth, by the power of God, by the armour of righteousness
on the right hand and on the left, by honour and dishonour, by evil
report and good report, as deceivers and yet true, as chastened and not
killed, as sorrowful yet alway rejoicing;"--these are the weapons of
our warfare, "which are not carnal, but mighty through God to the
pulling down of strong holds[6]."  These are despised by the world, but
they have subdued the world.  Nay, though they seem most unmanly, they
in the event have proved most heroic.  For the heroical character
springs out of them.  He who has thrown himself out of this world,
alone can overcome it; he who has cut himself loose of it, alone cannot
be touched by it; he alone can be courageous, who does not fear it; he
alone firm, who is not moved by it; he alone severe with it, who does
not love it.  Despair makes men bold, and so it is that he who has
nothing to hope from the world, has nothing to fear from it.  He who
has really tasted of the true Cross, can taste no bitterer pain, no
keener joy.

I have been trying to urge on you, my brethren, that the taking of
Christ's yoke, and learning of Him, is something very distinct and
special, and very unlike any other service and character.  It is the
result of a change from a state of nature, a change so great as to be
called a death or even a crucifixion of our natural state.  Never allow
yourselves, my brethren, to fancy that the true Christian character can
coalesce with this world's character, or is the world's character
improved--merely a superior kind of worldly character.  No, it is a new
character; or, as St. Paul words it, "a new creation."  Speaking of the
Cross of Christ, he says, "God forbid that I should glory, save in the
Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me,
and I unto the world.  For in Christ Jesus neither circumcision
availeth any thing, nor uncircumcision, but a new creature[7]."  It is
a new character, and it is one; it is ever one and the same.  It is not
one in Apostles, and another in the Christian of this day; not one in
the high, another in the low; one in rich, another in poor; one in
Englishman, another in foreigner; one in man, another in woman.  Where
Christ is put on, St. Paul tells us, there is neither Jew nor Greek,
bond nor free, male nor female, but all are one in Christ Jesus[8].
What Lazarus is, that must Dives become; what Apostles were, that must
each of us be.  The high in this world think it suitable in them to
show a certain pride and self-confidence; the wealthy claim deference
on account of their wealth; kings and princes think themselves above
instruction from any; men in the middle ranks consider it enough to be
decent and respectable, and deem sanctity superfluous in them; the poor
think to be saved by their poverty;--but to one and all Christ speaks,
"Come unto Me," "Learn of Me."  There is but one Cross and one
character of mind formed by it; and nothing can be further from it than
those tempers and dispositions in which the greater part of men called
Christians live.  To have one's own way, to follow one's own tastes, to
please one's self, to have things to one's mind, not to be thwarted, to
indulge in the comforts of life, to do little for God, to think of Him
now and then indeed, but to live to this world; to aim at things of
this world; to judge of things by our own accidental judgment, be it
better or worse; to measure religious men, to decide upon right or
wrong in religion, by our favourite fancy; to take a pride in forming
and maintaining our own opinion; to stand upon our rights; to fear the
hard words and cold looks of men, to be afraid of being too religious,
to dread singularity; to leave our hearts and minds, our thoughts,
words, and actions, to take care of themselves:--this, on one side or
the other, in this measure or that, is the sort of character which the
multitude, even of what are called respectable men, exemplify; and no
wonder, this being the case, that they speak against those who have, or
strive to have, a more serious view of religion, and whose mode of
living condemns them.  If there be but one character of heart that can
please God, both of these contrary characters cannot please Him, one or
the other does not; if the easy religion is right, the strict religion
is wrong; if strict religion is right, easy religion is wrong.  Let us
not deceive ourselves; there are not two ways of salvation--a broad and
a narrow.  The world, which chooses the broad way, in consequence hates
and spurns the narrow way; and in turn our Blessed Lord, who has chosen
for us the narrow way, hates, scorns, spurns, denounces, the broad way.
Surely He does so; He hates the broad way as entirely as the world
hates the narrow way; and if we are persuaded to take part with the
world, we take part against Him.  When St. Peter said, "Be it far from
Thee, Lord," being shocked at the notice that his Lord should suffer,
what was His answer?  Did He thank him for his zeal?  Did He, at least,
let it pass in silence?  He answered, "Get thee behind Me, Satan, for
thou art an offence unto Me; for thou savourest not the things that be
of God, but those that be of men[9]."  And in like manner to the
corrupt church of Laodicea He says, "Because thou art lukewarm, and
neither cold nor hot, I will cast thee out of My mouth.  Because thou
sayest, I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of nothing;
and knowest not, that thou art wretched and miserable, and poor, and
blind, and naked; I counsel thee to buy of Me gold tried in the fire,
that thou mayest be rich, and white raiment, that thou mayest be
clothed; and anoint thine eyes with eye-salve, that thou mayest see."
And then He adds: "As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten;" that is,
He puts on them His yoke; "Be zealous therefore and repent[10]."

To conclude.  If Almighty God moves any of us, so that we have high
thoughts; if from reading Scripture or holy books we find that we can
embrace views above the world; if it is given us to recognize the glory
of Christ's kingdom, to discern its spiritual nature, to admire the
life of saints, and to desire to imitate it; if we feel and understand
that it is good to bear the yoke in our youth, good to be in trouble,
good to be poor, good to be in low estate, good to be despised; if in
imagination we put ourselves at the feet of those mortified men of old
time, who, after St. Paul's pattern, died daily, and knew no one after
the flesh; if we feel all this, and are conscious we feel it; let us
not boast--why? because of a surety such feelings are a pledge to us
that God will in some way or other give them exercise.  He gives them
to us that He may use them.  He gives us the opportunity of using them.
Dare not to indulge in high thoughts; be cautious of them, and refrain;
they are the shadows of coming trials; they are not given for nothing;
they are given for an end; that end is coming.  My brethren, count the
cost; never does God give faith but He tries-it; never does He implant
the wish to sit on His right hand and on His left, but He fulfils it by
making us wash our brethren's feet.  O fearful imaginations, which are
sure to be realized!  O dangerous wishes, which are heard and forthwith
answered!  Only may God temper things to us, that nothing may be beyond
our strength!



[1] Preached on St. Matthias's day during Lent.

[2] John xiii. 36, 33.

[3] John xxi. 18.

[4] Matt. xvi. 24.

[5] James iii. 17.

[6] 2 Cor. vi. 4-10; x. 4.

[7] Gal. vi. 14, 15.

[8] Gal. iii. 28.

[9] Matt. xvi. 23.

[10] Rev. iii. 16-19.




SERMON IX.

Moses the Type of Christ.

"_The Lord thy God will raise up unto thee a Prophet from the midst of
thee, of thy brethren, like unto me; unto Him ye shall hearken._"--Deut.
xviii. 15.


The history of Moses is valuable to Christians, not only as giving us a
pattern of fidelity towards God, of great firmness, and great meekness,
but also as affording us a type or figure of our Saviour Christ.  No
prophet arose in Israel like Moses, till Christ came, when the promise in
the text was fulfilled--"The Lord thy God," says Moses, "shall raise up
unto thee a Prophet like unto me:" that was Christ.  Now let us consider
in what respects Moses resembled Christ, we shall find that this inquiry
is very suitable at this time of year[1].

1. First, if we survey the general history of the Israelites, we shall
find that it is a picture of man's history, as the dispensation of the
Gospel displays it to us, and that in it Moses takes the place of Christ.
The Israelites were in the land of strangers, viz. the Egyptians; they
were slaves, hardly tasked, and wretched, and God broke their bonds, led
them out of Egypt, after many perils, to the promised land, Canaan, a
land flowing with milk and honey.  How clearly this prefigures to us the
condition of the Christian Church!  We are by nature in a strange
country, God was our first Father, and His Presence our dwelling-place:
but we were cast out of paradise for sinning, and are in a dreary land, a
valley of darkness and the shadow of death.  We are born in this
spiritual Egypt, the land of strangers.  Still we have old recollections
about us, and broken traditions, of our original happiness and dignity as
freemen.  Thoughts come across us from time to time which show that we
were born for better things than to be slaves; yet by nature slaves we
are, slaves to the Devil.  He is our hard task-master, as Pharaoh
oppressed the Israelites; so much the worse than he, in that his chains,
though we do not see them, become more and more heavy every year.  They
cling about us and grow; they multiply themselves, they shoot out and
spread forth, and encircle us, those chains of sin, with many links,
minute but heavy, weighing us down to the earth, till at last we are mere
slaves of the soil, with an evil husbandry, slaves of that fearful
harvest which is eternal death.  Satan is a tyrant over us, and it seems
to us useless to rebel.  If we attempt it, we are but overpowered by his
huge might, and his oppressive rule, and are made twice the children of
hell that we were before: we may groan and look about, but we cannot fly
from his country.  Such is our state by nature.

But Moses conducted the Israelites from the house of bondage to their own
land, from which their fathers had descended into Egypt.  He came to them
from God, and, armed with God's power, he smote their cruel enemies, led
them out of Pharaoh's territory, divided the Red Sea, carried them
through it, and at length brought them to the borders of Canaan.  And who
is it that has done this for us Christians?  Who but the Eternal Son of
God, our Lord and Saviour, whose name in consequence we bear?  He has
rescued us from the arm of him who was stronger than we; and therefore I
say in this respect first of all, Christ is a second Moses, and a
greater.  Christ has broken the power of the Devil.  He leads us forth on
our way, and makes a path through all difficulties, that we may go
forward towards heaven.  Most men, who have deliberately turned their
hearts to seek God, must recollect times when the view of the
difficulties which lay before them, and of their own weakness, nearly
made them sink through fear.  Then they were like the children of Israel
on the shore of the Red Sea.  How boisterous did the waves look! and they
could not see beyond them; they seemed taken by their enemies as in a
net.  Pharaoh with his horsemen hurried on to reclaim his runaway slaves;
the Israelites sank down in terror on the sand of the sea-shore; every
moment brought death or captivity nearer to them.  Then it was that Moses
said, "Stand still, and see the salvation of God."  And in like manner
has Christ spoken to us.  When our hearts fainted within us, when we said
to ourselves, "How is it possible that we should attain heaven?"  When we
felt how desirable it was to serve God, but felt keenly the power of
temptation; when we acknowledged in our hearts that God was holy and most
adorable, and obedience to His will most lovely and admirable, and yet
recollected instances of our past disobedience, and feared lest all our
renewed resolutions to serve Him would be broken and swept away by the
old Adam as mercilessly as heretofore, and that Satan would regain us,
and yet prayed earnestly to God for His saving help; then He saved us
against our fear, surprising us by the strangeness of our salvation.
This, I say, many a one must recollect in his own case.  It happens to
Christians not once, but again and again through life.  Troubles are
lightened, trials are surmounted, fears disappear.  We are enabled to do
things above our strength by trusting to Christ; we overcome our most
urgent sins, we surrender our most innocent wishes; we conquer ourselves;
we make a way through the powers of the world, the flesh, and the devil;
the waves divide, and our Lord, the great Captain of our salvation, leads
us over.  Christ, then, is a second Moses, and greater than he, inasmuch
as Christ leads from hell to heaven, as Moses led the Israelites from
Egypt to Canaan.

2. Next, Christ reveals to us the will of God, as Moses to the
Israelites.  He is our Prophet, as well as our Redeemer.  None was so
favoured as Moses in this respect: before Christ came, Moses alone saw
God face to face; all prophets after him but heard His voice or saw Him
in vision.  Samuel was called by name, but he knew not who called him in
the dark night till Eli told him.  Isaiah saw the vision of the Seraphim,
and heard them cry "Holy" before the Lord; but it was not heaven that he
saw, but the mere semblance of the earthly temple in which God dwelt
among the Jews, and clouds filled it.  But Moses in some sense saw God
and lived; thus God honoured him.  "If there be a prophet among you,"
said Almighty God, "I the Lord will make Myself known unto him in a
vision, and will speak unto him in a dream.  My servant Moses is not so,
who is faithful in all Mine house.  With him will I speak mouth to mouth,
even apparently, and not in dark speeches, and the similitude of the Lord
shall he behold[2]:" and on his death we are told, "there arose not a
prophet since in Israel like unto Moses, whom the Lord knew face to
face[3]."  When he was in the Mount Sinai it is said of him still more
expressly, "The Lord spake unto Moses face to face, as a man speaketh
unto his friend[4]."  In the Mount he received from God the revelation of
the Law, and the patterns of the holy services which the Jews were to
offer to God; and so, being favoured with the intimate knowledge of God's
counsels, when he came down, his face shone with glory.  The Divine
majesty was reflected from it, and the people dared not look upon him.
"The skin of his face shone while he talked with Him.  And when Aaron and
the children of Israel saw Moses, they were afraid to come nigh him."
"And till he had done speaking with them, he put a veil on his face[5]."

Yet, after all, favoured as he was, Moses saw not the true presence of
God.  Flesh and blood cannot see it.  Even when Moses was in the Mount,
he was aware that the very fulness of God's glory then revealed to him,
was after all but the surface of His infinitude.  The more he saw, the
deeper and wider did he know that to be which he saw not.  He prayed, "If
I have found grace in Thy sight, show me now Thy way, that I may know
Thee, that I may find grace in Thy sight; and God said, My Presence shall
go with thee, and I will give thee rest[6]."  Moses was encouraged to ask
for further blessings, he said, "I beseech Thee, show me Thy glory."
This could not be granted, "Thou canst not see My face; for there shall
no man see Me, and live."  So, as the greatest privilege which he might
attain, Moses was permitted to see the skirts of God's greatness--"The
Lord passed by in a cloud, and proclaimed the Name of the Lord; and Moses
made haste and bowed his head toward the earth, and worshipped[7]."  And
it was this sight of the mere apparel in which God Almighty was arrayed,
which made his face to shine.

But Christ really saw, and ever saw, the face of God, for He was no
creature of God, but the Only-begotten Son, who is in the bosom of the
Father.  From eternity He was with Him in glory, as He says Himself,
dwelling in the abyss of the infinite greatness of the Most High.  Not
for forty days, as Moses on the mount in figure, but for ever and ever
was He present as the Counsellor of God, as His Word, in whom He
delighted.  Such was He of old, but at the time appointed He came forth
from the Father, and showed Himself in this external world, first as its
Creator, then as its Teacher, the Revealer of secrets, the Mediator, the
Off-streaming of God's glory, and the Express Image of His Person.  Cloud
nor image, emblem nor words, are interposed between the Son and His
Eternal Father.  No language is needed between the Father and Him, who is
the very Word of the Father; no knowledge is imparted to Him, who by His
very Nature and from eternity knows the Father, and all that the Father
knows.  Such are His own words, "No man knoweth the Son but the Father,
neither knoweth any man the Father save the Son, and he to whomsoever the
Son will reveal Him[8]."  Again He says, "He that hath seen Me hath seen
the Father[9];" and He accounts for this when He tells us, that He and
the Father are one[10]; and that He is in the bosom of the Father, and so
can disclose Him to mankind, being still in heaven, even while He was on
earth.

Accordingly, the Blessed Apostle draws a contrast between Moses and
Christ to our comfort; "the Law," he says, "was given by Moses, but grace
and truth came by Jesus Christ[11]."  In Him God is fully and truly seen,
so that He is absolutely the Way, and the Truth, and the Life.  All our
duties are summed up for us in the message He brings us.  Those who look
towards Him for teaching, who worship and obey Him, will by degrees see
"the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in His face," and will be
"changed into the same image from glory to glory." And thus it happens
that men of the lowest class and the humblest education may know fully
the ways and works of God; fully, that is, as man can know them; far
better and more truly than the most sagacious man of this world, to whom
the Gospel is hid.  Religion has a store of wonderful secrets which no
one can communicate to another, and which are most pleasant and
delightful to know.  "Call on Me," says God by the prophet, "and I will
answer thee, and show thee great and mighty things which thou knowest not
of."  This is no mere idle boast, but a fact which all who seek God will
find to be true, though they cannot perhaps clearly express their
meaning.  Strange truths about ourselves, about God, about our duty,
about the world, about heaven and hell, new modes of viewing things,
discoveries which cannot be put into words, marvellous prospects and
thoughts half understood, deep convictions inspiring joy and peace, these
are a part of the revelation which Christ, the Son of God, brings to
those who obey Him.  Moses had much toil to gain from the great God some
scattered rays of the truth, and that for his personal comfort, not for
all Israel; but Christ has brought from His Father for all of us the full
and perfect way of life.  Thus He brings grace as well as truth, a most
surprising miracle of mercy from the freeness of the gift, as well as a
true wisdom from its fulness.

And yet, alas! in spite of all this bounty, men called Christians, and
how many! live heartlessly, not caring for the gracious benefit.  Look at
the world.  Men begin life with sinning; they quench the early promise of
grace, and defile their souls; they block up the entrances of the
spiritual senses by acts of sin, lying and deceit, intemperance,
profaneness, or uncleanness,--by a foolish and trifling turn of mind,--by
neglect of prayer when there is no actual vice,--or by an obstinate
selfishness.  How many are the ways in which men begin to lose sight of
God!--how many are the fallings away of those who once began well!  And
then they soon forget that they have really left God; they still think
they see His face, though their sins have begun to blind them.  Like men
who fall asleep, the real prospect still flits before them in their
dreams, but out of shape and proportion, discoloured, crowded with all
manner of fancies and untruths; and so they proceed in that dream of sin,
more or less profound,--sometimes rousing, then turning back again for a
little more slumber, till death awakens them.  Death alone gives lively
perceptions to the generality of men, who then see the very truth, such
as they saw it before they began to sin, but more clear and more fearful:
but they who are the pure in heart, like Joseph; or the meek among men,
like Moses; or faithful found among the faithless, as Daniel; these men
see God all through life in the face of His Eternal Son; and, while the
world mocks them, or tries to reason them out of their own real
knowledge, they are like Moses on the mount, blessed and hidden,--"hid
with Christ in God," beyond the tumult and idols of the world, and
interceding for it.

3. This leads me to mention a third point of resemblance between Moses
and Christ.  Moses was the great intercessor when the Israelites sinned:
while he was in the mount, his people corrupted themselves; they set up
an idol, and honoured it with feasting and dancing.  Then God would have
cut them off from the land of promise, had not Moses interposed.  He
said, "Lord, why doth Thy wrath wax hot against Thy people?  Turn from
Thy fierce wrath, and repent of this evil against Thy people[12]."  In
this way he gained a respite, and then he renewed his supplications.  He
said to the people, "Ye have sinned a great sin; but now I will go up
unto the Lord: peradventure I shall make an atonement for your sin."
Then he said to their offended Creator, "Oh, this people have sinned a
great sin, and have made them gods of gold.  Yet now, if Thou wilt,
forgive their sin."

Here Moses, as is obvious, shadows out the true Mediator between God and
man, who is ever at the right hand of God making intercession, for us;
but the parallel is closer still than appears at first sight.  After
Moses had said, "If Thou wilt, forgive their sin," he added, "and if not,
blot me, I pray Thee, out of Thy book, which Thou hast written."  He was
taken at his word.  Observe, rather than Israel should forfeit the
promised land, he here offered to give up his own portion in it, and the
exchange was accepted.  He was excluded, dying in sight, not in enjoyment
of Canaan, while the people went in under Joshua.  This was a figure of
Him that was to come.  Our Saviour Christ died, that we might live: He
consented to lose the light of God's countenance, that we might gain it.
By His cross and passion, He made atonement for our sins, and bought for
us the forgiveness of God.  Yet, on the other hand, observe how this
history instructs us, at the same time, in the unspeakable distance
between Christ and Moses.  When Moses said, "Blot me, I pray Thee, out of
Thy book," God did not promise to accept the exchange, but He answered,
"Whosover hath sinned against Me, him will I blot out of My book."  Moses
was not taken instead of Israel, except in figure.  In spite of Moses,
the sinful people were plagued and died[13], though their children
entered the promised land.  And again, Moses, after all, suffered for his
own sin.  True, he was shut out from Canaan.  But why?  Not in spite of
his having "done nothing amiss," as the Divine Sufferer on the cross, but
because he spake unadvisedly with his lips, when the people provoked him
with their murmurings.  The meek Moses was provoked to call them rebels,
and seemed to arrogate to himself the power and authority which he
received from God; and therefore he was punished by dying in the
wilderness.  But Christ was the spotless Lamb of God, "who, when He was
reviled, reviled not again; when He suffered, He threatened not, but
committed Himself to Him that judgeth righteously."  And His death is
meritorious; it has really gained our pardon.

Moreover, it is well to observe now apparently slight a fault it was for
which Moses suffered; for this shows us the infinite difference between
the best of a sinful race and Him who was sinless,--the least taint of
human corruption having in it an unspeakable evil.  Moses was the meekest
of men, yet it was for one sudden transgression of the rule of meekness
that he suffered, all his former gentleness, all his habitual humbleness
of mind, availed him nothing.  It was unprofitable, and without merit,
because it was merely his duty.  It could not make up for a single sin,
however slight.  Thus we see how it would be with us if God were extreme
to mark what is done amiss: and thus, on the other hand, we see how
supremely holy and pure that Saviour must be whose intercession is
meritorious, who has removed from us God's anger.  None can bring us to
Him but He who came from Him.  He reveals God, and He cleanses man.  The
same is our Prophet and our Priest.

We are now approaching the season when we commemorate His death upon the
cross: we are entering upon the most holy season of the whole year.  May
we approach it with holy hearts!  May we renew our resolutions of leading
a life of obedience to His commandments, and may we have the grace to
seal our good resolutions at His most sacred Supper, in which "Jesus
Christ is evidently set forth crucified among us."  It is useless to make
resolves without coming to Him for aid to keep them; and it is useless
coming to His table without earnest and hearty resolves; it is provoking
God "to plague us with divers diseases, and sundry kinds of death."  But
what shall be said of those who do neither the one nor the other,--who
neither vow obedience, nor come to Him for grace?--who sin deliberately
after they have known the truth--who review their sins in time past in a
reckless hard-hearted way, or put them aside out of their thoughts--who
can bear to jest about them, to speak of them to others unblushingly, or
even to boast of them, and to determine on sinning again,--who think of
repenting at some future day, and resolve on going their own way now,
trusting to chance for reconciliation with God, as if it were not a
matter to be very anxious about?  This state of mind brings upon man a
judgment heavier than all the plagues of Egypt,--a judgment compared with
which that darkness which could be felt is as the sun's brightness, and
the thunders and hail are as the serene sky,--the wrath to come.

Awake, then, my brethren, with this season, to meet your God, who now
summons you from His cross and tomb.  Put aside the sin that doth so
easily beset you, and be ye holy even as He is holy.  Stand ready to
suffer with Him, should it be needful, that you may rise together with
Him.  He can make bitter things sweet to you, and hard ways easy, if you
have but the heart to desire Him to do so.  He can change the Law into
the Gospel.  He can, for Moses, give you Himself.  He can write the Law
on your hearts, and thereby take away the hand-writing that is against
you, even the old curse which by nature you inherit.  He has done this
for many in time past.  He does it for many at all times.  Why should He
not do it for you?  Why should you be left out?  Why should you not enter
into His rest?  Why should you not see His glory?  O, why should you be
blotted out from His book?



[1] Lent.

[2] Numb. xii. 6-8.

[3] Deut. xxxiv. 10.

[4] Exod. xxxiii. 11.

[5] Exod. xxxiv. 29, 30, 33.

[6] Exod. xxxiii. 13, 14.

[7] Exod. xxxiv. 6, 8.

[8] Matt. xi. 27.

[9] John xiv. 9.

[10] John x. 30.

[11] John i. 17.

[12] Exod. xxxii. 11.

[13] Vide Exod. xxxii. 34.




SERMON X.

The Crucifixion.

"_He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth;
He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her
shearers is dumb, so He openeth not His mouth._"--Isaiah liii. 7.


St. Peter makes it almost a description of a Christian, that he loves
Him whom he has not seen; speaking of Christ, he says, "whom having not
seen, ye love; in whom, though now ye see Him not, yet believing, ye
rejoice with joy unspeakable and full of glory."  Again he speaks of
"tasting that the Lord is gracious[1]."  Unless we have a true love of
Christ, we are not His true disciples; and we cannot love Him unless we
have heartfelt gratitude to Him; and we cannot duly feel gratitude,
unless we feel keenly what He suffered for us.  I say it seems to us
impossible, under the circumstances of the case, that any one can have
attained to the love of Christ, who feels no distress, no misery, at
the thought of His bitter pains, find no self-reproach at having
through his own sins had a share in causing them.

I know quite well, and wish you, my brethren, never to forget, that
feeling is not enough; that it is not enough merely to feel and nothing
more; that to feel grief for Christ's sufferings, and yet not to go on
to obey Him, is not true love, but a mockery.  True love both feels
right, and acts right; but at the same time as warm feelings without
religious conduct are a kind of hypocrisy, so, on the other hand, right
conduct, when unattended with deep feelings, is at best a very
imperfect sort of religion.  And at this time of year[2] especially are
we called upon to raise our hearts to Christ, and to have keen feelings
and piercing thoughts of sorrow and shame, of compunction and of
gratitude, of love and tender affection and horror and anguish, at the
review of those awful sufferings whereby our salvation has been
purchased.

Let us pray God to give us _all_ graces; and while, in the first place,
we pray that He would make us holy, really holy, let us also pray Him
to give us the _beauty_ of holiness, which consists in tender and eager
affection towards our Lord and Saviour: which is, in the case of the
Christian, what beauty of person is to the outward man, so that through
God's mercy our souls may have, not strength and health only, but a
sort of bloom and comeliness; and that as we grow older in body, we
may, year by year, grow more youthful in spirit.

You will ask, how are we to learn to feel pain and anguish at the
thought of Christ's sufferings?  I answer, _by_ thinking of them, that
is, by _dwelling_ on the thought.  This, through God's mercy, is in the
power of every one.  No one who will but solemnly think over the
history of those sufferings, as drawn out for us in the Gospels, but
will gradually gain, through God's grace, a sense of them, will in a
measure realize them, will in a measure be as if he saw them, will feel
towards them as being not merely a tale written in a book, but as a
true history, as a series of events which took place.  It is indeed a
great mercy that this duty which I speak of, though so high, is
notwithstanding so level with the powers of all classes of persons,
learned and unlearned, if they wish to perform it.  Any one can think
of Christ's sufferings, if he will; and knows well what to think about.
"It is not in heaven that thou shouldst say, Who shall go up for us to
heaven and bring it to us, that we may hear it and do it?  Neither is
it beyond the sea that thou shouldst say, Who shall go over the sea for
us? . . . but the word is very nigh unto thee;" very nigh, for it is in
the four Gospels, which, at this day at least, are open to all men.
All men may read or hear the Gospels, and in knowing them, they will
know all that is necessary to be known in order to feel aright; they
will know all that any one knows, all that has been told us, all that
the greatest saints have ever had to make them full of love and sacred
fear.

Now, then, let me make one or two reflections by way of stirring up
your hearts and making you mourn over Christ's sufferings, as you are
called to do at this season.

1. First, as to these sufferings you will observe that our Lord is
called a lamb in the text; that is, He was as defenceless, and as
innocent, as a lamb is.  Since then Scripture compares Him to this
inoffensive and unprotected animal, we may without presumption or
irreverence take the image as a means of conveying to our minds those
feelings which our Lord's sufferings should excite in us.  I mean,
consider how very horrible it is to read the accounts which sometimes
meet us of cruelties exercised on brute animals.  Does it not sometimes
make us shudder to hear tell of them, or to read them in some chance
publication which we take up?  At one time it is the wanton deed of
barbarous and angry owners who ill-treat their cattle, or beasts of
burden; and at another, it is the cold-blooded and calculating act of
men of science, who make experiments on brute animals, perhaps merely
from a sort of curiosity.  I do not like to go into particulars, for
many reasons; but one of those instances which we read of as happening
in this day, and which seems more shocking than the rest, is, when the
poor dumb victim is fastened against a wall, pierced, gashed, and so
left to linger out its life.  Now do you not see that I have a reason
for saying this, and am not using these distressing words for nothing?
For what was this but the very cruelty inflicted upon our Lord?  He was
gashed with the scourge, pierced through hands and feet, and so
fastened to the Cross, and there left, and that as a spectacle.  Now
what is it moves our very hearts, and sickens us so much at cruelty
shown to poor brutes?  I suppose this first, that they have done no
harm; next, that they have no power whatever of resistance; it is the
cowardice and tyranny of which they are the victims which makes their
sufferings so especially touching.  For instance, if they were
dangerous animals, take the case of wild beasts at large, able not only
to defend themselves, but even to attack us; much as we might dislike
to hear of their wounds and agony, yet our feelings would be of a very
different kind; but there is something so very dreadful, so satanic in
tormenting those who never have harmed us, and who cannot defend
themselves, who are utterly in our power, who have weapons neither of
offence nor defence, that none but very hardened persons can endure the
thought of it.  Now this was just our Saviour's case: He had laid aside
His glory, He had (as it were) disbanded His legions of Angels, He came
on earth without arms, except the arms of truth, meekness, and
righteousness, and committed Himself to the world in perfect innocence
and sinlessness, and in utter helplessness, as the Lamb of God.  In the
words of St. Peter, "Who did no sin, neither was guile found in His
mouth; who, when He was reviled, reviled not again; when He suffered,
He threatened not; but committed Himself to Him that judgeth
righteously[3]."  Think then, my brethren, of your feelings at cruelty
practised upon brute animals, and you will gain one sort of feeling
which the history of Christ's Cross and Passion ought to excite within
you.  And let me add, this is in all cases one good use to which you
may turn any accounts you read of wanton and unfeeling acts shown
towards the inferior animals, let them remind you, as a picture, of
Christ's sufferings.  He who is higher than the Angels, deigned to
humble Himself even to the state of the brute creation, as the Psalm
says, "I am a worm, and no man; a very scorn of men, and the outcast of
the people[4]."

2. Take another example, and you will see the same thing still more
strikingly.  How overpowered should we be, nay not at the sight only,
but at the very hearing of cruelties shown to a little child, and why
so? for the same two reasons, because it was so innocent, and because
it was so unable to defend itself.  I do not like to go into the
details of such cruelty, they would be so heart-rending.  What if
wicked men took and crucified a young child?  What if they deliberately
seized its poor little frame, and stretched out its arms, nailed them
to a cross bar of wood, drove a stake through its two feet, and
fastened them to a beam, and so left it to die?  It is almost too
shocking to say; perhaps, you will actually say it _is_ too shocking,
and ought not to be said.  O, my brethren, you feel the horror of this,
and yet you can bear to read of Christ's sufferings without horror; for
what is that little child's agony to His? and which deserved it more?
which is the more innocent? which the holier? was He not gentler,
sweeter, meeker, more tender, more loving, than any little child?  Why
are you shocked at the one, why are you not shocked at the other?

Or take another instance, not so shocking in its circumstances, yet
introducing us to another distinction, in which Christ's passion
exceeds that of any innocent sufferers, such as I have supposed.  When
Joseph was sent by his father to his brethren on a message of love,
they, when they saw him, said, "Behold, this dreamer cometh; come now,
therefore, and let us slay him[5]."  They did not kill him, however,
but they put him in a pit in spite of the anguish of his soul, and sold
him as a slave to the Ishmaelites, and he was taken down into a foreign
country, where he had no friends.  Now this was most cruel and most
cowardly in the sons of Jacob; and what is so especially shocking in it
is, that Joseph was not only innocent and defenceless, their younger
brother whom they ought to have protected, but besides that, he was so
confiding and loving, that he need not have come to them, that he would
not at all have been in their power, _except_ for his desire to do them
service.  Now, whom does this history remind us of but of Him
concerning whom the Master of the vineyard said, on sending Him to the
husbandmen, "They will reverence My Son[6]?"  "But when the husbandmen
saw the Son, they said among themselves, This is the Heir, come, let us
kill Him, and let us seize on His inheritance.  And they caught Him,
and cast Him out of the vineyard, and slew Him."  Here, then, is an
additional circumstance of cruelty to affect us in Christ's history,
such as is suggested in Joseph's, but which no instance of a brute
animal's or of a child's sufferings can have; our Lord was not only
guiltless and defenceless, but He had come among His persecutors in
love.

3. And now, instead of taking the case of the young, innocent, and
confiding, let us take another instance which will present to us our
Lord's passion under another aspect.  Let us suppose that some aged and
venerable person whom we have known as long as we could recollect any
thing, and loved and reverenced, suppose such a one, who had often done
us kindnesses, who had taught us, who had given us good advice, who had
encouraged us, smiled on us, comforted us in trouble, whom we knew to
be very good and religious, very holy, full of wisdom, full of heaven,
with grey hairs and awful countenance, waiting for Almighty God's
summons to leave this world for a better place; suppose, I say, such a
one whom we have ourselves known, and whose memory is dear to us,
rudely seized by fierce men, stripped naked in public, insulted, driven
about here and there, made a laughing-stock, struck, spit on, dressed
up in other clothes in ridicule, then severely scourged on the back,
then laden with some heavy load till he could carry it no longer,
pulled and dragged about, and at last exposed with all his wounds to
the gaze of a rude multitude who came and jeered him, what would be our
feelings?  Let us in our mind think of this person or that, and
consider how we should be overwhelmed and pierced through and through
by such a hideous occurrence.

But what is all this to the suffering of the holy Jesus, which we bear
to read of as a matter of cours

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